The nationalisation of religion: Youth and Soka Gakkai in Singapore

Abstract

The nationalisation of religion is introduced in this article as the condition in which the secular interests and values of the state are articulated and enacted by religious organisations or individuals participating in public life. It has two attributes: (1) performances are shrouded in a nationalistic character that renders the religious significantly invisible and as a result; (2) the prevailing political order proceeds unquestioned. To make its case, the article draws from the experiences of the youth of Soka who perform in public events such as the National Day Parade and Chingay in Singapore. These performances are some of the ways in which Soka presents itself as a cultural organisation working for peace and progress in Singapore. For them, it is about sending a message that individual and collective struggles can be overcome and that in spite of their differences, people can come together.

Introduction

As the lights dim, moving images of turmoil are projected on the wide backdrop shaped like the island of Singapore. Accompanied by orchestral music that evokes imminent danger, the turbulent waters fade into black-and-white scenes of the great fire that broke out in the squatters’ community of Bukit Ho Swee. People are seen fleeing and salvaging what they can. Although brief, the clips are powerful enough to remind the audience at the 2012 National Day Parade (NDP) of the island’s economic conditions more than 50 years ago. The incident would indeed be a turning point for Singapore. In its wake, residents of these communities were transferred to high-rise government flats, which characterise much of Singapore’s landscape today.

The images fade out and more than 500 performers, clad in red and flaming torches in hand, march in the direction of the centre of the stage. The performers gracefully move towards their respective positions. The music crescendos to a powerful peak, matched in time by the glorious sparks of their torches. When the lights fade out, the audience is left to behold the bright and lingering image of a lion’s head – the iconic symbol of Singapore.

The fact that the National Day Parade is being held at Marina Bay for the fifth year is not an accident. Its backdrop, Singapore’s skyscrapers, offers an unmistakable and towering view of the heights and accomplishments of the country. The symbolic prowess of the fiery lion demonstrates for the nation that catastrophes like the 1961 fire can be overcome.

The performers, the majority of whom are young people, belong to the Singapore Soka Association (SSA). The SSA is a Nichiren Buddhist organisation that teaches ‘Human Revolution,’ the idea that the ‘solution to society’s problems’ begins by cultivating one’s ‘inherent Buddha nature’ (SGI, 2011a: 9). According to this approach, overcoming the problems of the world – be they natural, economic, or social – first necessitates the discovery of the wisdom, courage, and eternal happiness that already reside within an individual (Machacek and Wilson, 2003).

The performance at NDP 2012 is just one of many the SSA has been involved in through the years. Although the state does not officially privilege any religion in politics, the youth of Soka Singapore have been a staple in NDP performances since the 1980s. In their performances, Soka presents itself to the public not as a religious organisation, but as a charity that works to improve society.

Their involvement demonstrates the state’s attempt to co-opt them as a laudable example of how religious organisations can be a force for social good (Metreaux, 2003). Simultaneous media commentary during Soka’s synchronised flag performance at NDP 2008 described the organisation as promoting ‘peace, self-empowerment, and value creation’ without any reference at all to Buddhism (Mediacorp, 2008). At that event, more than 600 young people performed a well-executed choreography of red and green banners on the theme ‘Creators of Possibilities.’ Members of Soka also participate in the Chingay Parade, held every Chinese New Year. They too have been doing so since the 1980s. In 2011, Soka’s segment paraded life-sized animal characters to depict ‘harmony between humans and nature’ (SGI, 2011b).

Their performances at NDP, Chingay, and other events are a source of pride for many members of SSA (Lai, 2010). Such events are time-consuming and demand physical and emotional commitment since preparations start months before the performances themselves. As a result, these are avenues encouraging communal bravado and a sense of belonging for its participants, especially young people (Neo, 2005). Admittedly, to synchronise movements and formations is an achievement that demands discipline, attention, and the organisational charisma to rally its youth behind a cause.

Many of the cultural performances of the SSA are planned, rehearsed, and carried out mainly by young people. To participate in the NDP in 2001, for example, Soka sent as many as 2,001 youths, a symbolic number which constitutes perhaps their biggest to date (SSA, n.d.). In 2010, as part of the inaugural Youth Olympic Games hosted by Singapore, 500 youth members participated in the grand opening ceremony while 234 volunteered in various capacities. During the Games, SSA youth also took the opportunity to stage an exhibit on environmental sustainability called ‘Seeds of Hope’ (SSA, 2010). And in 2012, SSA gathered 1,000 members from the Student Division (tertiary) and Future Division (secondary school) to perform for the Chingay Parade (SSA, 2011). Held at Marina Bay, the Soka segment showcased massive boats sailing through rough waters. The choreography, costumes, props and lighting all blended well to narrate a story of ‘triumph over challenges’. ¹

Argument and methods

The spectacles described above, devoid of any religious message, are important for the SSA in that they make the organization consistently present in the public’s consciousness. Soka Singapore is thus not immediately perceived as a religious organization. Lai (2010: 315) is right in observing that the SSA is ‘well known’ for its ‘high level of organisation of activities which it mostly labels as “social” and “cultural”’. Especially given the way Singapore manages diversity, these performances are politically neutral and in line with how the SSA wants to influence the world through peace workshops, cultural exhibits, and educational activities (Clammer, 2011). Devoid of any obvious attempt at proselytisation, these activities appeal to such universal values as religious harmony, tolerance, environmental protection, and social justice. This is why Soka members are in effect global citizens familiar with issues that affect humanity as a whole (Machacek and Wilson, 2003).

But what does the participation of youth in Soka’s cultural performances mean for them? In the succeeding sections, what unfolds is the idea that for these young people, their participation is their own way of giving back to society. Through these performances, the message conveyed is two-fold: they can tell the world that problems can be overcome and that different people can come together. These are for them universal values that go back to the principles of ‘Human Revolution’ espoused by Soka Gakkai (Machacek and Wilson, 2003). Out of concern for Singaporean society and by drawing on their understanding of Nichiren Buddhism, their volunteerism is a form of religious patriotism.

The study is in fact an inquiry into the role of nationalism in the expressions of the religious, especially when it is involved in performed projects of citizenship. The main point of the article is that religious patriotism in effect demonstrates the nationalisation of religion. This concept is defined here as the condition in which the public performance of a religious organisation is rendered in a form that is in line with the interests of the state of Singapore. As a result, religious content is concealed and the prevailing political order remains unquestioned.

This concept is my theoretical contribution to existing scholarship on religion and nationalism. The nationalisation of religion is a counterpoint to religious nationalism, the militancy of religion to resist secularism and other traditions to claim the identity and the governance of the nation-state (Van der Veer, 1994). The concept also nuances what Kuah-Pearce (2009) describes as religious engineering in Singapore. While religious engineering approaches partnering with religions from the point of view of the state, the nationalisation of religion draws on the very nuances of religious actors themselves with regard to their role in public life.

This article draws mainly from interviews I conducted with different youth members of Soka Singapore (mostly in their early twenties). The interviewees are diverse according to gender, educational background, professional experience, and role in the SSA. I have interviewed, for example, a female Soka leader who studies at a local university and a male youth who just finished his polytechnic education and is currently in National Service. I have also interviewed an engineering graduate who now works for the government but at the same time oversees a big group of Soka undergraduates, and a male management student who has just entered university and is very new to Soka.

The common denominator is that they have all participated in one way or another in cultural performances like the NDP, Chingay Parade, photo exhibits, stage plays, and even choral shows. Supporting these interviews are observations I have made of SSA’s various activities like a peace exhibit, a meeting of university students, and an entire division’s gathering in one of Soka’s centres in Singapore. Accounts of these activities punctuate the ensuing sections.

Religion and nationalism

Religion and nationalism have a historically ‘ambivalent relationship’ (Juergensmeyer, 2006: 182). This is because discussions of nationalism, following modernist discourse, consider religion a primitive phenomenon. Nevertheless, there are different ways in which the relationship between religion and nationalism can be approached: nationalism as a religion in itself; religion as offering historical explanations for the emergence of nationalism; religion as providing its symbols for nationalistic sentiments; and religious nationalism as a challenge to secular nationalism (Brubaker, 2012).

That the relationship is ambivalent has been called into question given the interface between religion and politics and also the rise of ideologies and collectives that lobby for religiously inspired forms of nationalism (Van der Veer, 1994; Van der Veer and Lehmann, 1999). Religion affords individuals, communities, and movements the language to assert not just their rightful place, but also their imaginings of space and nation as a whole (Cornelio, 2015; 2017; Van der Veer, 2015).

What particularly makes religious nationalism distinct from its secular alternative is that its proponents have religious programs for the ‘ordering and regulating of public and private life’ (Brubaker, 2012: 13). They contest, for example, secularism that is anti-religion. Their brand of nationalism also asserts the centrality of a particular religion in public life and in defining the nation. As such, they reject other religions in defence of a unified understanding of national identity. Religious nationalism can then manifest in the ideology of ‘the nation as the community of co-religionists’ (Van der Veer, 1994: 22).

Van der Veer’s (2014) recent work advances on these points by comparing the experiences of India and China with regard to the relationship between religion and nationalism. Religion has played an important role in the formation of a pluralist form of anti-colonial nationalism in India whereas in China, its popular forms were seen as an obstacle to nationalist progress. Nevertheless, in both cases, religious ideas have been appropriated by the state to support its versions of secularism. In China, Confucian ideas were picked up to support scientism in education and to reject the clericalism and superstitions of popular religion. The intent is to use Confucianism as a secularist ideology. In recent years, the appropriation has been framed in terms of fostering social harmony in the country. In India, religion was never seen as an enemy either by the colonial government or the postcolonial state. Although there were parties that were either decidedly anti-religious or in favor of an official religion, they were a minority given the diverse religious traditions in India. Religions and the state have sought religious reforms to encourage tolerance towards people of other traditions.

The emphasis of these aforementioned discussions is largely on the presence of religion in nationalist sentiments or articulations whether by political or religious actors. Studies have focused on religious content in the form of symbols, metaphors, and explanations within expressions of nationalism.

But as the scenes described above and the narratives below show, religious elements are considerably downplayed in the cultural performances of Soka Singapore, a religious organisation. Offering a corrective to the literature, I then ask: what is the role of nationalism in the expressions – in particular, staged performances – of the religious?

Nationalism can broadly refer to the project of the state in the subjective formation of its citizens (Turner, 2006). This explains why the government taps Buddhist temples and other welfare organisations to provide charity work for the marginalised in Singapore. As such, these organisations are often characterised as co-opted. Indeed, as will be explained below, the way the Singaporean state manages religious diversity is pragmatic, taking advantage of existing organizations as strategic partners in nation-building. Kuah-Pearce (2009: 4) describes this as the process of religious engineering. I will revisit these ideas in discussing the ‘nationalisation of religion’ (Brubaker, 2012: 11).

This study is an attempt to inquire into the relationship between religion and nationalism through the experience of young people volunteering for SSA’s various cultural performances. This particular case is important. Whereas the youth of Soka in Japan, where the organisation originated, have actively participated in politics, their counterparts in Singapore have not done so (Fisker-Nielsen, 2012). It is intriguing given the political implications of Nichiren thinking that ‘national morality’ is ‘dependent on the ruler’s morality’ (Tong, 2007: 140; see also Aruga, 2003).

Overcoming struggles

The Youth Division of Soka Singapore stages the June Project every year, in which young people showcase their talents during school holidays. The event I have decided to attend features an exhibit and a major skit. My contact, Cherry, has agreed to meet at Tampines station so we could take the bus together to SSA’s headquarters. Wearing a black dress, Cherry rushes towards me while holding a phone to her ear. We are supposed to meet another friend who has just informed her that she would be coming late. Cherry, a bubbly and endearing girl in her early twenties, is a student at the National University of Singapore.

Not wanting to be late, we then decide to go ahead to the headquarters where a long line of Soka youth in blue shirts cheer and applaud the arrival of visitors. The sight is both thrilling and discomforting as I am hesitant to attract attention especially as a researcher. After going through an exhibit at the lobby, Cherry and I enter the main hall where a seat has been reserved for me in the very front row. In fact, a few seats away is a Member of Parliament, who happens to be the event’s guest of honour.

The lights dim and curtains are drawn, revealing characters played by actors from the Student Division. The story introduces Brandon, a successful man in Japan whose career has just taken off. Talking about himself and his busy schedule, Brandon embodies the highly accomplished yet selfish individual. This sense of achievement thus leaves Brandon resentful when he is unexpectedly retrenched from work. At this point, I tell myself the storyline is no longer mysterious; this is going to be about his conversion.

Indeed it is. Complicating Brandon’s situation is a major earthquake and its subsequent tsunami and nuclear catastrophe, reminiscent of recent events in Japan. His sudden failure and the natural catastrophe become an occasion for Brandon to rethink his selfishness. Encouraged by his wife and friends, he then volunteers for relief efforts. Seeing the faces of suffering individuals, Brandon finds renewed hope and meaning in what he now does. The story ends with Brandon reuniting with his family. As the program booklet puts it, he is convinced that ‘in striving to help oneself and others while remaining positive, darkness will be dispelled, and winter will definitely turn into spring.’

In my interview with Cherry later on, she explains that ‘through Soka, I believe that everybody has a good side and that we can just focus on people . . . and help each other in many ways.’ Cultural performances, according to her, are opportunities for the youth to influence society to bring out the ‘good side’ in them. For the most part, what this means is not only about being morally upright. It is in many ways about challenging individuals to be positive about life and realise that their struggles and limitations can be overcome.

But at another level, participating in cultural performances is in itself an opportunity for young people to show that they can overcome the very challenge of organising themselves. This appears to be a rallying call for young people to manifest their own ‘courage and determination,’ a phrase I repeatedly heard from my informants. Admittedly, it takes time, patience, and a lot of effort to plan, choreograph, and rehearse their complicated movements. So the months the members spend leading to the events in themselves constitute an arduous journey.

I end this section by noting that inasmuch as this overcoming ethos is present in their performances, it is also very evident in these young people’s discourses about their personal lives. Though he is only 22, Paul’s honesty and clarity of thought amaze me. Even if his English sometimes falters during the interview, he is nevertheless able to explain himself. In our conversation, he offers a harrowing narrative about the struggles his own family had to deal with, such as bankruptcy and his failures at school. Given this background, having finished a polytechnic degree and the ability to express himself well are in themselves his ‘actual proof’ that he has overcome his own struggles. ²

Coming together

An exhibit accompanies the June Project. Cherry explains to me that ‘Seeds of Hope,’ which has been staged in other settings like the Youth Olympic Games in Singapore, features different panels on pressing matters concerning climate change and how these can be addressed through community development.

Interestingly, while ‘Seeds of Hope’ is an international collaboration between Soka Gakkai International and Earth Charter International (SGI, n.d.), the volunteers try to make it relevant to Singapore. At the end of the exhibit, for example, the audience is invited to participate in a game involving garbage segregation using receptacles one can readily see in Singapore. Milk cartons are not easy to segregate, I realised, since they may have layers of plastic and other materials that first need to be dismantled. The idea is that segregation only works if everyone ‘comes together’ to play his or her part.

The attempts to make the exhibit locally relevant seem somehow artificial given Singapore’s standards concerning public health and sanitation (Chua, 2011). Having lived in Singapore for some time, I also know that the instruments of the state around public hygiene are simply efficient. Be that as it may, the exhibit appeals to this idea of harmony or coming together as Soka calls on its members and the audience to become citizens aware of global issues (Wilson and Machacek, 2003).

‘Coming together’ is a theme that also recurred in my interviews. Qing Song, a 24-year-old student in electrical engineering and part of the musical group Soka Chorus, tells me that ‘we want to spread this message that for mankind to continue in the future. . . people must be able to coexist with each other.’ What is noteworthy, however, is that while the skit, exhibits, and talks Soka has staged speak of global issues like environmental sustainability, my interviewees did not immediately articulate them. In fact, one volunteer merely laughs when I ask her if she does garbage segregation at all. Instead, when speaking of harmony and peace, my interlocutors mainly refer to local contexts involving religious diversity.

This comes to light when I ask Qing Song to explain what exactly he means. Still fresh on his mind is Soka Chorus’s performance at the mid-autumn festival at Esplanade, Singapore’s most prominent theatre and concert hall: ‘We wanted to spread this message of peace through our songs.’ According to Qing Song, ‘We want to make people realise that practising this Buddhism is the path to happiness through our very own actions. But you don’t do it forcefully.’ He then recounts to me the various interreligious dialogues that SSA young people have organised with Muslim groups.

The immediate context for this is Singapore’s religious diversity, which is carefully managed by the state. Racial conflicts did define Singapore’s history, especially in its early years, and episodes involving politically sensitive action and statements by religious entities still crop up intermittently. Such experiences then explain why through laws like the Religious Harmony Act, the state is prepared to exercise its control over religious efforts that threaten social and political order (Tan, 2008; Thio, 2009).

In this light, the desire to foster peace is articulated by young people in terms of interreligious dialogue. They do not wish to force Nichiren Buddhism on other people. Finucane (2009) has rightly observed that members of the SSA have to achieve a delicate balance between asserting theirs as the true form of Buddhism and promoting ‘a set of global values’ through dialogues and cultural performances.

The idea of coming together also takes on other discursive forms. Markus, 23, is one of the performers and trainers in the NDP performance I recounted above. Having trained and facilitated 40 volunteers makes Markus really proud of his participation in the NDP. For him the experiences have been about ‘contributing back to Soka’ by giving his ‘time and effort.’ For him though they were all worth it because he gained ‘the friendship that I made, the experience that I learned and the realisations from having dealt with different kinds of people.’ When I ask him to elaborate, Markus pauses for a while and then carefully explains that ‘Singaporeans today, I think . . . are selfish, caring only about themselves.’ Markus then draws from his experience: ‘Let’s say in studies, I just want to study in my room and move all the way to the top. I just want to be the best and don’t care about others, society, or the people around . . . Sometimes it is very sad.’

For Markus, participating in performances is about influencing society to consider peace and harmony not just in terms of the absence of religious or cultural conflict. While the message of peace and harmony appears to be sheer rhetoric in a society where religious diversity is intensely managed by the state, its relevance for Markus and his peers lies in challenging what they have observed as the ‘selfishness’ of Singaporeans: ‘It’s about people helping one another or contributing back to society. It’s something a normal Singaporean would not want to care about. Like, “Why would I care about others? I should care about myself.”’

Youth volunteerism as religious patriotism

The illustrations above show that as far as my informants are concerned, their volunteerism is at once religious and patriotic. This is possible because they see their participation in cultural performances as opportunities to convey a clear message of solidarity with their society while at the same time drawing inspiration from Buddhism. This combination, after all, is what constitutes Reformist Buddhism (Kuah-Pearce, 2008b; Tong, 2007). This explains how Paul, who is currently in the National Service, can talk about his participation as ‘giving back’ to Singapore and to Soka at the same time. Paul has participated in four Chingay and three NDP performances. Although the performances SSA members stage during the NDP, Chingay, June Project, and other platforms are primarily cultural (as spaces to exhibit young people’s talents), they are inseparable from the members’ religious identity as Soka Buddhists. Their volunteerism can hence be characterised as a form of religious patriotism. ³

At one level, these young people are patriotic because their motivations are about Singapore. ‘Coming together’ is tied to the fact of religious diversity in the country (Lai, 2010), while ‘overcoming struggles’ is related to the social and economic upheavals the country has weathered. But these young people are also critical about what they perceive as the selfishness of many Singaporeans today. They are very much aware that the problem is with the way of life itself, which encourages Singaporeans to ‘only think of themselves and not care for others.’ At 25, William, who currently works for a government agency, tells me that the problem is ‘so bad that people stay in their own bubble . . . People don’t even know their neighbours around . . . and all they see is just themselves and fail to see that we all make up society.’

Soka’s young people have volunteered to participate in cultural performances based on a concern for Singapore as their society. Their loyalty is not to the state. This is an important finding given that being ‘patriotic’ is not one of the ‘prioritized values’ among Singaporean youth today (Chang, 2010: 162). Patriotism, as Turner (2002: 49) shows, is distinct from nationalism in that the former is ‘love of country’ and the latter ‘respect for the state.’ Also, patriotism is a more appropriate term here given that nationalism involves complex ideological layers such as superiority over other countries (Mummendey et al., 2001) and the state’s project of narrowly defining the identity of a territorially bound collective (Friedland, 2002).

At another level, the volunteerism of Soka youth is religious. This is not readily discernible in their public performances. But when one turns to their motivations, this becomes evident. For Kang Sheng, for example, the performances at the NDP, during which the SSA is introduced as a cultural organization, are meant ‘to show society that our Buddhism is doing good for society.’ This religious motivation drives and sustains his participation.

The religious underpinning of their performances is also very important in view of Soka Gakkai’s placement relative to other Buddhist groups in Singapore, including traditional temples and another Nichiren Shoshu organization. SSA members are critical, for example, of the rituals and beliefs of other Buddhists and followers of Chinese religion in Singapore (Finucane, 2009). This I have certainly encountered among my informants as well. The limelight that SSA enjoys is a vindication of its strategic move in making Soka not simply a Japanese religion, but also a legitimate form of Buddhism (Tong, 2007).

In addition, having been an NDP facilitator himself for three years, Kang Sheng recounted to me that trainers are expected to ‘always practise, chant, and study’ so that ‘anytime we meet any struggle in NDP, we overcome them.’ The experience itself for my informants has been very religious. It is an opportunity for them, as mentioned above, to demonstrate that the difficulties of organising themselves can be overcome with ‘courage and determination.’ Finally, their performances draw from Nichiren Buddhism in terms of Human Revolution, or their belief that social transformation begins with the individual (Wilson and Machacek, 2003). For Kang Sheng, participating allows him to show that ‘when a person becomes happy, society will also be happy.’ He ends our interview by reflecting on his involvement in these performances: ‘Most of the people who want to do this have actually overcome their problems . . . that makes them want to contribute to society . . . If everyone is happy, then we all can live as a community and really contribute to the entire nation or even the entire world.’

The nationalisation of religion

Kang Sheng, Qing Song, Cherry, and my other informants are committed to making Singapore a better place. But this does not mean that they want to establish ‘a political order based on religious law’ (Juergensmeyer, 2006: 184). Nor are they interested in claiming Singapore in the name of religious purity (Friedland, 2002).

This finding is particularly striking given the political activism of Soka Gakkai in Japan (Fisker-Nielsen, 2012; Lee, 1975). The youth there, for example, have been active in campaigning for Komeito, a welfare-oriented political party affiliated with Soka Gakkai (Fisker-Nielsen, 2012). Very telling are the nuances my Singaporean informants have articulated – overcoming struggles and coming together. They do not fundamentally question or contest the political order in Singapore. In qualifying their statements, religious patriotism is thus a more appropriate terminology than religious nationalism.

The religious patriotism of these Singaporean youth effectively echoes the values cherished by their state. This is how their religious patriotism demonstrates the nationalisation of religion. Such nationalisation is particularly important for the Singaporean state because it is, given its small size, eternally haunted by the ‘need for survival’ (Ban, 2004: 5). It is therefore compelled to assert political order through, inter alia, the management of religious diversity and the constant re-imagining of Singapore’s success story (Tan, 2008; Chong, 2010).

In the past decade, the idea of the ‘global city’ has effectively captured Singapore’s drive to be an economic, technological, and research hub (Ban, 2004: 4). And Singapore’s developmentalism – cascaded through education – has consequences for individual aspirations (Chua, 1995). Hence, such values as ‘hard work, sacrifice, delayed gratification, [and] vision’ constitute the state’s success story, which has been effectively internalised by Singaporeans (Chong, 2010: 5).

The state attempts at forming a coherent and singular representation of a collective through various sanctioned institutions such as education and carnivals like the National Day Parade and Chingay. The values and aspirations articulated through these structures all contribute to a compelling national imaginary (Friedland, 2002). Nation-building, in other words, is inseparable from citizenship formation (Turner, 2006). This explains why all my informants are proud of having participated in these cultural performances as their own way of ‘contributing to Singapore.’

What surfaces here then is that inasmuch as the participation of my informants in cultural performances is religiously informed by their understanding of Nichiren Buddhism, the nuances of their motivations have been effectively arrogated in favour of the interests of the state for its population. In contrast to the potential of the carnival as space for political critique (Janack, 2006; Goh, 2011) and of public rituals for the assertion of religious nationalism (Van der Veer, 1994; Schultz, 2013), SSA’s cultural performances and the participation of their youth bear in them the very imprint of state interests and the glaring de-emphasis of religion.

In effect, the religious patriotism of Soka’s youth demonstrates the nationalisation of religion. I offer a working definition based on the discussion thus far: It is the condition in which the secular interests and values of the state are articulated and enacted by religious organizations or individuals participating in public life, downplaying in effect their religious character. In this case, it manifests through performances. As a result, the nationalisation of religion ⁴ means that its public performances are shrouded in a character that renders the religious significantly invisible and the prevailing political order unquestioned. It is a process that religious actors themselves have internalized.

These two attributes complement Kuah-Pearce’s (2009: 4) discussion of ‘religious engineering’ in Singapore. In her work, ‘religious engineering’ approaches partnering with religion as a systematic act of the state. Singapore has categorised its population according to religio-ethnic lines and compelled religious institutions to be functionally productive in welfare distribution. The way I develop the nationalisation of religion as a concept, however, primarily draws on the subjectivity of the religious actors themselves. The two attributes spelled out above, in other words, expound how religious engineering has taken shape for religious actors, especially in performed projects of citizenship in which Soka has played a prominent role.

In this sense, the nationalisation of religion stands in contrast to the militant motivations and conditions of religious nationalism, which want to take over politics, governance, and public life (Van der Veer and Lehmann, 1999). In fact, religious nationalism, as far as India is concerned, has been a reaction to the efforts, among others, of the secular state and the colonial project to classify its population according to religious lines (Van der Veer, 1994). Its call for reform and purity also responds to what its proponents see as the decline of moral and religious adherence.

Downplaying religion

The nuances of young people’s religious patriotism – overcoming struggles and coming together – mirror the success story of the Singaporean state. This success story is narrated in terms of the prosperity and ideological harmony of a racially diverse citizenry. In this light, the invisibility of religion is a remarkable achievement when contrasted to the active partnerships that the state has pursued with other organisations to provide welfare services in which volunteers’ religious identity is not deliberately downplayed (Kuah-Pearce, 2008a).

In the end, that the religious is significantly invisible in young people’s performances is not simply a result of the state’s active management of religions in Singapore (see Mock, 2013). It also demonstrates how religion has been nationalised. What makes this nationalisation thoroughly possible are both Soka’s attempts to territorialize itself in Singaporean society and the state’s management of religious diversity. On one hand, Soka has successfully presented itself as an organisation in line with Reformist Buddhism involved in cultural and charitable activities (Tong, 2007). ⁵ Hence, it is not immediately perceived as a new religion from Japan. On the other hand, the Singaporean state has a secularist character, but one that does not aim to completely eradicate religion from the public sphere. Laws like the Religious Harmony Act have been passed to allow the state to intervene if individuals or organisations were stirring up potential conflicts through heightened proselytisation or politicised rhetoric. Tan (2008), however, suggests that the kind of secularism in Singapore is pragmatic as it recognises the contribution of religious organisations to nation-building.

Indeed, the state has returned the favour by recognising the organisation as an example of how religion can be a force to perform and articulate its interests. In 2005, the Youth Division received the Singapore Youth Award (SYA), an important national recognition for the SSA. According to the chairman of the SYA committee:

It did not come as a surprise to me when SSA was nominated. Though you are a Buddhist organisation, I understand that your activities know no discrimination when it comes to extending your helping hand to others. Not only have you extended your reach to society and interfaith groups, you have also distinguished yourselves as well as a community [that] serves with a heart (SGI, 2005).

Both the state and the SSA have institutional interests to uphold, and working with one another will sustain their objectives – political and economic stability for the former and public recognition for the latter (Sebastian, 2010). Put differently, their religion, as far as the youth of Soka are concerned, reflects the interest of the state articulated through discourses and practices of religious harmony (Tan, 2008).

But a crucial point needs to be emphasized: the nationalisation of religion has not engendered a decline in religious participation. Instead it has provided the leeway for young people to showcase their commitment to Buddhist beliefs even if in fact the religious is downplayed. Soka is among resurgent religious groups in Singapore that attract young people.

Prevailing political order remains unquestioned

Another attribute of the nationalisation of religion is how criticisms of the existing political order are downplayed. My informants say they are not interested in politics in Singapore. Qing Song, an engineering student, tells me that ‘it’s not about being unconcerned about Singapore. But I really never thought of how Buddhism can help me view politics.’

What reinforces this absence of political consciousness perhaps is the very aspirational ethos among my informants. Having the drive to overcome individual and collective struggles focuses the attention on the problems themselves and not the surrounding structures of power and political control. Through their participation in cultural performances, Soka youth are socialized to see that hardships may be surpassed. This is why, as I have recounted above, many of them are proud to testify about the ‘actual proofs’ in terms of their improved grades and better situations in the family. A few of them have also carried on from polytechnic schools to obtain degrees from local universities, a major achievement in itself given the rigidity of post-secondary education in Singapore (Ng, 2013).

Hence, even if they may call into question the stereotypical ideal of success through money and career as dangerously synonymous with ‘selfishness,’ these young people will not necessarily reject these achievements. These are indeed ‘actual proofs’ that they have overcome their previous limitations. This ethos explains why Soka has been attracting ‘younger upwardly mobile members’ in Singapore (Metreaux, 2003: 429). In this sense, religious patriotism supports not just individual aspirations but the desire of the state to produce an achieving population that is aligned with its narratives of success (Ban, 2004; Chong, 2010).

Conclusion

The overall theoretical goal of this article has been to introduce the concept of the nationalisation of religion. It is the process in which the interests of the state are internalised, articulated, and even performed by religious entities. I have done so by drawing from the experiences of the youth of Soka in Singapore as they participate in projects of citizenship like the NDP and Chingay. But it also takes shape even in their own local cultural events like the June Project. Therein lies the power of the nationalisation of religion. It takes shape not only in official projects of citizenship, but also in the internal activities of religious groups that work together with the state.

I began this article by explaining young people’s involvement. Two key nuances emerged. For them, participating in public events like the NDP and Chingay Parade give them opportunities to demonstrate that struggles – individual and collective – can be overcome. The message of their performances has also reflected this. But at the same time, participating in the performances themselves has allowed young people to see that through discipline and collective effort, massive choreographies, which are difficult to orchestrate, are possible to execute. This gives them the actual proof that even in their own lives, struggles can be overcome. Also, participating in cultural performances allows these youth to show that different people can come together. I have illustrated above that this aspiration for peace and harmony is linked to the religious diversity in Singaporean society and is an antidote to what they perceive as the selfishness of their fellow Singaporeans.

Collectively, these ideas are expressions of religious patriotism insofar as members’ participation is about their concern for Singapore as their society. The concern is in fact informed by their understanding of Nichiren Buddhism. Apart from community, cultural performances afford them a sense of purpose as young people, which explains why the experience is cherished. Members are ‘giving back to society’ through these performances.

Looking more closely, however, I have unpacked two rather intriguing attributes that underpin their performances: the religious aspect is downplayed and the prevailing political order remains unchallenged. These attributes are important in relation to my overall inquiry. At the onset, I have sought to ask what role nationalism has in the expressions of the religious, especially when it is involved in performed projects of citizenship. Discussions on the relationship between religion and nationalism are too often preoccupied with the presence of religion in nationalist ideologies, discourses, and movements. The nationalisation of religion, as a concept, serves as counterpoint to religious nationalism and complements discussions of religious engineering.

The findings in this article have shown that in the case of my youth informants and their cultural performances, the articulation and enactment of religious patriotism keep religion at bay. At the same time, the nuances of overcoming struggles and coming together parallel the aspirations of the Singaporean state concerning material affluence and racial harmony. The political order is thereby left unquestioned.