Abstract
This article aims at providing an answer to why and how, during the entire history of Islamic institutionalization in Belgium, Islamic education has remained at the centre of discussions concerning the place of Islam in Belgian society and in the formation of Belgian Muslim citizens. This question is differently approached in the northern/Flemish and southern/francophone part of the country, depending on specific historical sensibilities. By placing the figure of the Islamic teacher in the longer history of Belgian federalization and school struggles over the ‘soul of the child’, this article will simultaneously provide a reflection on Belgian secularism as a continuous ‘problem-space’ in which new and old ‘secularizers’ and ‘sacralizers’ are constituted and sustain the very question of politics’ relation to religion and vice versa.
Introduction
After the bilateral agreements made in 1964 with Turkey and the Maghreb-countries concerning guest workers, Islam was officially recognized in Belgium in 1974. With its estimated 500,000–800,000 followers, it has become a ‘significant and visible religious tradition’ in the ‘linguistically and regionally fractured kingdom’ of Belgium (Fadil et al., 2015: 222). Over 50% of Belgian Muslims are of Moroccan origin, whereas people of Turkish descent form the second largest group. One of the first structural regulations taken since 1974 was the organization of Islamic religious education (IRE) in state schools (Panafit, 1999: 132). This makes Belgium one of the western-European countries with the longest tradition of IRE, and therefore possibly an interesting case of comparison for others.
According to Boender and Kanmaz (2002: 169), public attention in neighbouring countries such as the Netherlands has been focused on the role of imams, whereas in Belgium the figure of Islamic teachers has for a long time been at the heart of the debate on Islamic presence in a context of secularization. This article will try to understand why and how, during the entire history of Islamic institutionalization in Belgium, IRE has remained at the centre of discussions concerning the place of Islam in Belgian society and state-church relations. For despite its more than four decades of experience, the Belgium case of IRE illustrates that rather than having reached a ‘post-secular society’ (Franken, 2018; Habermas, 2008), secularism remains an active and ongoing project aimed at the protection of the public order and secular–liberal subjectivity by the sovereign state (Agrama, 2012: 223).
This is, of course, in no way limited to Belgium alone. But by zooming in on the specificities of IRE’s contestation in Belgium, this article hopes to provide an example of the secular–religious ambiguities that are inherent to this context of dispute. And also, to demonstrate through IRE the workings of secularism as a ‘problem-space’, which is a specific ‘ensemble of questions and answers around which a horizon of identifiable stakes [. . .] hangs’ (Scott, 2004: 3). As will be further explained in the next paragraph, this secular problem-space does not undermine the nation-state’s sovereignty nor its politico-juridical project, but quite to the contrary (Agrama, 2012; Asad, 2003; Scott, 2004). Second, I will give a short overview of the history of Islamic presence in Belgium and the constitutional background of IRE in public state schools. Therefore, I will also shortly reflect on the longer history of the debates of religious education in Belgian state schools, concerned with the outlook of future citizens and/in the public space. The rest of the article will explore more in detail the further development and institutionalization of IRE in the increasingly federalized Belgian political context. The secular–religious ambiguity will especially play out in issues over the denotation, control, and education of IRE teachers. These will be the questions ‘worth asking’ concerning IRE in the Belgian secular problem-space (Agrama, 2012; Scott, 2004), which will also illustrate the ‘clash of authority’ (Salvatore, 2007: 145) over ‘the soul of the child’ (see sub) in a language game of externalizing and othering discourses of ‘integration’ first, and ‘(de-)radicalization’.
The secular problem-space and intra-Muslim contestation
Inspired by the critical approach of the American anthropologist, Talal Asad, the doctrine of secularism is not perceived in this article as an intellectual answer to the question of the separation of church and state; presuming that there would exist such a definite answer to a specific, sociohistorical context (Asad, 2003: 5). Instead, secularism is considered here as a continuous ‘problem-space’ in which the line between and the limits of the co-constituted ‘secular’ and ‘religious’ are constantly in the making and therefore often blurred (Scott, 2004: 3–6; Mahmood, 2009: 64). Inspired by David Scott, considering this ambiguity in terms of a ‘problem-space’ puts the focus not merely on the answers or contingent outcomes, but also on ‘the particular questions that seem worth asking [in this] context of dispute, [which is] a context of rival views, a context, if you like, of knowledge and power’ (Scott, 2004: 4). 1
In his own work on the secular problem-space in Egypt, Agrama has convincingly shown how, despite public and policy discourses proclaiming otherwise, secular–religious ambiguities ‘do not undermine secular power’:
On the contrary, [these ambiguities] work to sustain and even increase it precisely because they constantly call the line between religion and politics into question. That is, they create a space of critique internal to secular power, one that animates, sustains, and even further entrenches the question of religion and politics and the proper role of religion within social life. [. . .] The power of secularism is [thus] not the power of the norm, but of the question and how the ambiguities of state sovereignty and legal authority continue to animate it. (Agrama, 2012: 227; see also Asad, 2003: 200)
In the current context of securitization of Islam in particular, a protection of the limits between ‘the religious’ and ‘the secular’ is now more than ever considered necessary in order to guarantee the nation-state and the public order (Mavelli, 2012: 160; Franken, 2018: 134). However, various authors have shown how ‘the increasing construction of Islam in Western societies as a threat [. . .] authorizes the recourse to “exceptional” measures’, that allow nation-states to actively distinguish and intervene between ‘moderate/acceptable’ and ‘radical/non-acceptable’ Islam (Mavelli, 2012: 160; see also Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 117). Or, in other words, to intervene in the kind of Islamic subjectivity that is ‘tolerable’ in public space (such as schools), as opposed to the ‘Islamist terrorist Other’, who is, through the process of mutual construction, seen as the ultimate antidote to secular subjectivity (Asad, 2006: 507; Croft, 2012: 228). This seems to reconfirm Agrama’s argument that ‘secular-religious ambiguity goes hand in hand with democratic sovereignty even while seeming to undermine it’ (2012: 227). It furthermore illustrates that within this process, ‘the religious’ is rearticulated by secular power ‘in a manner that is commensurate with modern sensibilities and modes of governance’ (Mahmood, 2009: 65).
Importantly, throughout this rearticulation, ‘what might appear at first glance as simply a co-optation of Muslims, who are consequently turned into governmental subjects or docile/good Muslims, is equally mediated by intra-Muslim contestation’ (Fadil et al., 2019: 14; see also Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 109). This should be interpreted from an Asadian point of view that considers Islam as a discursive tradition with an ongoing and open argumentation among scholars and lay Muslims alike on what it means to act ‘aptly’ as a Muslim (Asad, 1986: 15). The intra-Muslim problematization of certain ways of theological reasoning or scepticism about acceptable forms of Islam or ‘Muslim-ness’ ‘provide a site of interaction (or even collusion) between state-led attempts at regulating (and securitizing)’ the field of IRE and its influence on the construction of ‘modern Muslim citizens’ (Fadil et al., 2019: 14).
The ensuing ‘clash of authority’ (Salvatore, 2007: 145–146) 2 in this matter between new and old Belgian secularizers and, thus also, variously constituted sacralizers can in a Foucauldian line of thinking be considered as technical instruments in the formation of subjects within a specific educational apparatus (Foucault, 2003[1975–1976]: 45–46). At stake, therefore, are ideas about citizenship and religiousness, with concrete consequences for people’s identities, their sensibilities, experiences, and practices (Asad, 2003: 14).
The possibility of IRE in public schools
While recognizing freedom of religion and state-church mutual independency, Belgium has since its foundation in 1830 also financially supported its recognized religions in what could be called a model of ‘active neutrality’ (Torfs, 2004: 15–22). This was the result of exceptional cooperation in the young Belgian state between Catholics (which was the nominal affiliation of practically all Belgians) and Liberals (Catholics in nomination, yet strongly anti-clerical) (Cook, 2002: 63). A liberal constitution was installed, which guaranteed freedom of religion in turn for independence of the church and of the Catholic schools from the state, and the payment of ministers of recognized religions (Cook, 2002: 56–57, 61–63; Strikwerda, 1997: 27).
With the law of 19 July 1974 on the official recognition of Islam in Belgium, 3 Muslims could appeal to Articles 24 and 181 of the Belgian Constitution (Loobuyck and Meier, 2014: 472). Article 181 guarantees state support for the payment of the salaries and pensions of imams, while Article 24 on the freedom of education guarantees the right of parents to demand the organization of IRE in public state schools (Boender and Kanmaz, 2002: 173). The latter was the result of the so-called Schoolpact of 1958. This established public state schools by local, provincial, or communal authorities and with a ‘neutral character’ on one hand, and ‘free education’ organized by private individuals, associations, or institutions which receive state subsidies on the other (mostly Catholic schools). Free education can rely on large pedagogical autonomy, whereas public state schools are obliged to offer parents of pupils the possibility to choose between two hours of denominational courses in a recognized religion or non-denominational ethics courses. By now, recent numbers have shown how courses on IRE are followed by 20% of the students in primary and secondary education in public state schools, which in large cities augments up to 50% (Franken, 2017: 491).
The arrangement over (non-)denominational education between public and Catholic schools has been the fragile outcome of a long struggle between the historically Liberal and Catholic ‘pillars’ in Belgian society (Dobbelaere et al., 1978: 101). 4 For despite the upcoming anti-clericalization efforts, Catholicism could keep a strong influence in public life and education through the formation of a Christian-democratic pillar by the end of the nineteenth century (Strikwerda, 1997: 12). This consisted of an extensive network of multiclass organizations in various domains of life. Especially in less urbanized Flanders, the Christian-democratic pillar could keep the upper hand in the competition with the Liberal and Socialist pillars (Cook, 2002: 82).
Education has always been one of the crucial elements in the ‘context of dispute, [. . .] of rival views, [and] [. . .] of knowledge and power’ within this ‘segmented pluralism’ (Billiet, 1973: 570; Scott, 2004: 4; Strikwerda, 1997: 12). Control over educational organization, its perspective, and the future citizen-outlook of pupils, have been key questions that were ‘worth asking’ in the Belgian secular problem-space since the early years of its existence.
The initial cooperation between Catholics and Liberals in the young Belgian state ended over a law that essentially monopolized elementary education in the hands of the church in the 1840s (Cook, 2002: 65). Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the first ‘school struggle’ (1879–1884) between so-called sacralizers and secularizers played an important role in the ensuing history of pillarization (Cook, 2002: 79–80). In public discourse, what was at stake in both the first and the second post-War school struggle of 1954–1958, was the ‘soul of the child’ (Dams, 1996: 140): either formed in ‘schools without God’ (Dobbelaere and Voyé, 1990: S2), which perceived religion to be incompatible with science and individual freedom, both necessary in order to save the country, its Constitution, and future citizens from a presumed ultramontane influence (Dams, 1996: 139–140; Lory, 1985: 729), or in Catholic schools according to whom a moral–religious education was beneficial for all citizens and ‘schools without God’ were, at least according to the Belgian Catholic bishops, ‘unconstitutional’ and even ‘dangerous’ (Dobbelaere et al., 1978: 102; Lory, 1985: 732–734).
All parties therefore seemed to use their articulation of ‘the religious’ in order to support their claims towards a specific politico-social national project, in defence of the constitutional rule of law, and to what they considered to be the benefit of Belgian future citizens in/and the public order. Although sealed and secured with the Schoolpact, the debates over IRE show how these same concerns recur, now in relation to ‘the Islamic religious other’ (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 120). In the meantime, far-right parties utter their fear for the development of an Islamic pillar, which threatens the ‘Judaeo-Christian tradition’ of Belgium. Laicists, on the other hand, suspect a renewed growth of ‘the religious’, now in terms of Islam instead of Catholic clericalism (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008:114–115). In this problem-space, the ‘questions worth asking’ with regard to IRE are mainly the governance of the education and appointment of its teachers, though in different manners in the northern and southern parts of the federalized Belgian state.
Towards governing IRE (teachers) in a federalized state
In 1975, the Belgian state appointed the Islamic and Cultural Centre (ICC) of Belgium (which in 1982 became the Belgian representative of the Islamic World League based in the Wahhabi kingdom of Saudi Arabia) as the Islamic authority in charge of religious teachers. 5 The majority of the first generation of teachers appointed by it were either Moroccan students who were studying at Belgian universities and ended up teaching Islam at public schools, or Turkish teachers who were sent to Belgium for a period of four or five years (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004: 30; Rath et al., 1996: 202–203). All of them were paid by the Belgian Ministry of National Education (Leman and Renaerts, 1996: 167).
However, as several authors have noted, starting in the mid-1980s, the combination of local and foreign events fuelled the fear for a ‘radicalization of Islam’ and a hidden agenda of IRE (teachers) under control of the ICC (Fadil et al., 2015: 225). The pro-Lybia demonstration by Muslims marching in the streets of Brussels (in 1986), the creation of the first Islamic school located in the ICC (in 1989), and the outbreak of the headscarf debate at Brussels’ schools (in 1989) ‘reinforced the concept of an Islam which was in danger of threatening the more or less precarious equilibrium achieved by Belgian society regarding relations between religion and public authority’ (Leman and Renaerts, 1996: 169). This would place IRE under increased scrutiny, as Belgian policymakers and the media proclaimed the fear that Islamic teachers ‘were, in fact, bearers of Islamic fundamentalism’ (Leman and Renaerts, 1996: 169). Various criteria for its teachers were imposed throughout the years (such as residence, language, and diploma requirements), motivated by the desire that IRE would not contradict the objectives of integration as determined by the state (Leman and Renaerts, 1996: 171).
This showed a growing fear for the ‘unruliness’ of Islam, its presence in education, and its part in forming ‘the soul of the child’; all of which was increasingly considered as ‘a threat or potential insurgence to [the] dominant discourse’ (Sheth, 2011: 59). Under the influence of these (inter)national events, the problematic relationship between Islam and integration was crystallized (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 114). But it also contributed to the turning of immigrants into ‘Muslims’, who were culturalized as the ethnic and religious ‘other’ (Fadil et al., 2015: 227). The public manifestation of Muslim religiosity was therefore increasingly considered as a security threat, politicized as not only contrary to integration, but also ‘fundamentalist’ (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 113). This would pave the way for future talks about ‘radicalization’.
Towards a formalized representative organ in a federalized state
This was the context in which further measures were taken to integrate and thereby regulate the Islamic presence (and its education) from the top-down, by working towards a central and formalized representative body with an intermediary role between the Muslim community and the government (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 114–117). 6 Throughout this process, the ICC lost its representative role in the appointment of teachers of Islam in 1990 (Lafrarchi, 2017: 34). Demonstrating a countermovement against the ICC and their ‘conservative embassy Islam’ (Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 124), the Council of Elders and Technical Committee on Education that replaced them (1990–1994), did not consist of religious intellectuals. Instead, they were populated by a modernist elite of doctors, jurists, and researchers who urged for a ‘moderate’ and ‘Belgian’ Islam (Panafit, 1999: 295–296).
Afterwards, a series of provisional and since 1998 officially elected Executive of Muslims in Belgium (EMB) was installed (Michot, 1996: 11–14; Beyens and Boulif, 1998: 71–75). In May 1999, the EMB was officially recognized as the Head of Cult, in charge of the appointment of Islamic teachers, the organization of selection exams, the curriculum, the inspection of IRE at schools, and the IRE teacher training (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004). 7
By then, Belgium had also evolved into a federalized state. In 1980, the second state reform had divided the country into three communities based on language: the French, the Flemish, and the German Community, responsible for among others, integration and education (the latter since 1988). In the long run, federalization meant that matters concerning IRE moved along different lines, depending on pre-existing sensibilities and new political realities (Bousetta and Maréchal, 2004: 25; Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 12, 14).
Flanders, for instance, although with a strong Christian Democratic pillar that was in general less vigilant of minority religions, had to deal with an uprising of the far-right and Flemish nationalism since the end of the 1980s (De Ley, 2002: 114; Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 113, 122). This resulted in a strong electoral breakthrough of the far-right, anti-migration, and anti-Islam party Vlaams Blok in 1991. It was against this background that the Flemish Minister of Education of the ensuing governing period (1992–1998) established the requirement for future IRE teachers to obtain a Certificate of Pedagogical Competence (for those who had never had a pedagogical education or lacked sufficient knowledge of Dutch) (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004: 31; Leman et al., 1992: 59). To meet these linguistic and pedagogical criteria, the first bachelor programme in secondary education that included Islamic religion as an elective course was established at the Erasmus University College in Brussels in 1998, in cooperation with the EMB (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004: 31; Lafrarchi and Van Crombrugge, 2013: 396; Yüksel, 2001).
The installation of such linguistic, pedagogical, or other governing educational initiatives for (future) Islamic teachers took longer in the francophone part of Belgium, with a stronger discourse of laïcité and state non-interference (apart from linguistic courses for Islamic teachers since 2002) (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004: 33). However, the increasingly fortified securitization of Islam in the twenty-first century would ultimately also have repercussions on IRE in the francophone community, even resulting in a revision of the Schoolpact of 1958.
Governing IRE in a context of ‘de-radicalization’ 8
In 2004, Kanmaz and El Battiui (2004: 31) argued that the question of IRE teachers was no longer a matter of public concern. Ten years later, however, the departure of young people for Syria to fight with ISIS in the period between 2013 and 2015, the 2015–2016 wave of nearby terrorist attacks (Paris, Brussels, Nice, and Berlin, to mention only four places), and the threat of returning Syria fighters, seem to have put the matter right back at the centre of attention.
National themes were once again the control, quality, and education of IRE and its teachers, but also how to prepare them to detect, and deal with, ‘radicalized pupils’ (Belgische Kamer van Volksvertegenwoordigers, 2018: 78–79; Franken, 2017: 494; Lafrarchi, 2020; Vlaams Ministerie van Onderwijs, 2016). IRE was therefore more than ever considered as part of the problem of what was called ‘radicalism’, if left un-ruled, or maintaining elements of its solution – if governed. On both sides of the language border, measures were taken in the light of newly formed ‘de-radicalization policies’, with a renewed focus on the long-standing question of the education of IRE teachers (Franken, 2018: 133; Lafrarchi, 2020).
Reforming IRE and its teachers in Flanders
In response to the departure of Belgian Syria fighters since the spring of 2013, the Flemish government announced an Action Plan For The Prevention of Radicalisation That Might Lead to Extremism and Terrorism (Vlaamse regering, 2015). This promoted an ‘integral and preventive policy’ that nevertheless should go ‘hand in hand with repression’ (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 2). The introduction of the Action Plan mentioned that,
Democratic citizenship is central [to our society], in which there’s room for different ideologies, views and convictions, as long as they don’t undermine the survival/persistence of the rule of law [zolang zij het voortbestaan van onze rechtsstaat niet ondermijnen]. Violent radicalization poses a substantial threat to the fundamental rights and freedoms of our constitutional state and should be tackled vigorously. It’s important to impose our boundaries very clearly. (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 2)
In line with Mavelli (2012) and Croft (2012), the potential of violent radicalization that was attributed to young Muslim citizens ‘with a lack of resilience’ (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 2, 17), legitimized exceptional, preventive measures that, rather than ‘imposing the boundaries very clearly’, seemed to demonstrate, moreover, the secular–religious ambiguity as described by Agrama (2012), in a way tightening instead of undermining the power of the state’s rule of law in the process.
One of the preventive measures that was taken with regard to IRE, was ‘the strengthening of the recruitment, professionalization and education’ of its teachers; among others by refining, upgrading, and further elaborating their role in the education of ‘inter- and intra-faith competencies’ (IFCs) of youngsters (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 13). The IFCs were developed and officially presented to the Flemish Parliament by the different recognized religions in Belgium already in 2013 (Commissie levensbeschouwelijke vakken, 2015: 1). As commented on by an important Muslim authority figure in the Flemish field of IRE:
The IFC’s are very important, [because] they also put the focus on intra-religious diversity within each religion, to respect that. And that is very important, because one of the problems [. . .] is the fact that there’s little respect for this internal diversity. [After which the interviewee mentions the importance of educating (I)RE teachers in intra- and interreligious debates about ethical dossiers such as abortion, homosexuality and evolutionist theory]. [. . .] The IFC’s are part of the curriculum now, that’s agreed upon with the [Flemish] Minister of Education. [. . .] One cannot but continue down this road. But it’s not just within Islam that there might be problems with [respecting intrareligious diversity], also within Judaism, Protestantism and Catholicism.
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The development of the IFCs thus illustrates how this ties in with intra-religious contestation (also, but not exclusively among Muslims). This denial of a mere passive resignation from the part of ‘the religious’, is also made clear by the fact that another deradicalization measure foresaw the cooperation with Islamic authorities (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 15), who propose a ‘rational’ and ‘critical’ Islam (Vlaamse onderwijscommissie, 2017). Since October 2015, the Flemish government has recruited a prominent Muslim authority figure to provide a ‘counter-discourse on radicalization’ in schools first and foremost (Vlaams Ministerie van Onderwijs, 2015). In his public interferences for a variety of Muslim and non-Muslim actors, in his publications and in his work as a de-radicalization expert, he proclaims how European Muslims need a ‘rational Islam’ as opposed to an ‘irrational Islam’, the latter of which is ‘today [. . .] confessed by many Muslims [and] springs from ideas that are irreconcilable with ratio and science’ (Benhaddou, 2016: 37).
This thus illustrates how the current initiatives in a context of de-radicalization also provide ‘new points of articulation’ for longer standing intra-Muslim debates and clashes of authority over apt and acceptable Islam(icness) (Fadil et al., 2019: 13–15; Groeninck, 2019: 81–93). But also, how ‘the religious’ is here rearticulated co-constitutively with governance – and debates about the protection – of ‘the secular’. This went hand in hand in the Flemish Action Plan with the desire for a substantive fortification of the inspection of IRE (Vlaamse regering, 2015: 13). Yet, as frequently repeated by policymakers in the Flemish Parliament, the content of IRE was uncontrollable by the state, since the inspection of it falls under the responsibility of the EMB. Emphasizing this religious–secular tension in a context of public and political aspirations for increased control, the then Flemish Minister of Education, Hilde Crevits (Christian Democratic Party), announced:
The separation of church and state prohibits the imposition of end criteria [by the state] for religious courses [which are the responsibility of the denominations themselves]. That would be an explicit violation of freedom of religion. What we can do, however, [is a formulation of] end criteria that, from another point of view, not a religious/philosophical (levensbeschouwelijk) one, asks questions about diverse forms of spirituality and so forth. [. . .] The new decree concerning end criteria also allows for extra control on religious courses. (Vlaamse Onderwijscommissie, 2019)
A few months after the Brussels attacks of March 2016, Crevits had used the ‘political momentum’ to sign a commitment statement with the EMB regarding the reform and professionalization of IRE and its teachers in order to meet the demands made in the Flemish Action Plan (Brinckman and Justaert, 2017; Vlaams Ministerie van Onderwijs, 2016). The ensuing installation of additional requirements for the education of IRE teachers at Flemish university colleges (Lafrarchi, 2020), together with the increased emphasis on the education of the IFCs and inspection thereof, and the additional right of the (school and Flemish) government to control whether the content of IRE ‘does not contradict the constitutional rule of law, universal human rights and educational end criteria in general’ (Vlaams Parlement, 2019), constitute the ensemble of non-religious/philosophical criteria that can be controlled.
This ambiguity over the increased government and control of that which is by Constitution still ‘free’ and by discourse still deemed ‘uncontrollable’, continued to animate the debate and policy over IRE in the coming years.
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This led the formerly introduced Islamic authority figure to conclude that,
It seems like pushing the limits of the separation between church and state. [. . .] ‘You can teach [Islam], but . . . [on numerous conditions]’ [. . .] They find these IFC’s very important, the inspection of IRE has to report on it to the Flemish Parliament. [. . .] [And still] there are people who claim IRE should be cancelled, because the government has no control over it.
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‘Who controls the [IRE] inspectors?’, they ask. They give the impression that IRE inspectors are radical or fundamentalist. Whereas there is control: inspectors have to report on what they’re doing [in the Flemish Parliament], plus school directors have the right to attend the IRE courses in their schools or check the course materials.
Hence, the aspiration for increased control, yet in a tense relation with state-church separation that only allows different kinds of interventions in the ‘domain of the non-religious’ (Vlaamse Onderwijscommissie, 2019), nevertheless confines and rearticulates what is deemed crucial, ‘apt’, and differing for and between ‘the secular’ and ‘the religious’ (see also Mahmood, 2009: 65; Kanmaz and Zemni, 2008: 126). This is also clear from the evolutions in the francophone part of the country with its concerns over laïcité (Kanmaz and El Battiui, 2004: 33).
Reducing and reforming IRE in the francophone community
In the period of the departure of the Belgian Syria fighters, a commission that soon received the name ‘Belgian Islam’ (2013–2015) was assigned by the francophone Minister of Higher Education, Jean-Claude Marcourt. Residing in it were representatives of the three largest francophone universities and of the EMB (Blogie, 2015a). In December 2015, they came up with a list of eight propositions to enhance a formation of a Belgian Islam by focusing on the training of (future) Islamic authorities (Blogie, 2015a, 2015b; Rea et al., 2015).
Some of these propositions therefore concerned the education of (future) Islamic teachers. Among them was the obligation for all future and current teachers of IRE to obtain a didactic certificate for Islamic education (CDER Islam), which was installed in the academic year of 2015–2016. This could be obtained at the Université Catholique de Louvain, which, in cooperation with the EMB, provided courses both in theological and didactic competences (Torrekens, 2018).
At the same time, however, the francophone community (with its federation in Wallonia and Brussels) reduced the number of hours spent in primary (starting 2016) and secondary (starting 2017) public schools on religious education with 50%, replacing one hour of denominational or ethics course with a new course on Education of Philosophy and Citizenship. This was the result of a long discussion since the 1990s in the francophone part of Belgium, which ultimately resulted in their adaptation of the Schoolpact of 1958 and a structural cut-back in the practical relevance of IRE in public schools within the francophone community (Sägesser et al., 2016: 65–68, 2018: 45).
Among others due to this structural decrease of IRE and, thus, the decreased relevance of its teachers, the Commission Marcourt demonstrated a more explicit focus on imam education programmes (Sägesser et al., 2018: 42).
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This was underlined by their creation of an Islamic institute for the future establishment of a Bachelor and Masters program in Islamic theology for the academic formation of Belgian Islamic authorities.
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At the time of the announcement of these measures proposed by the Commission Marcourt in December 2015, the Minister himself indicated that in this sphere of ‘cultural insecurity’, it’s the state’s role to
Make sure religions are a richness for social cohesion (le vivre-ensemble), instead of a threat. A lot of our Muslim and non-Muslim co-citizens [. . .] fear one another. It’s the role of the state to intervene by setting the conditions in which everyone may live according to its choice and beliefs. (Blogie, 2015a)
Hence, the same secular–religious ambiguity, which was present in the governing of IRE (teachers) in the Flemish part of the country, plays with regard to the education of imams in the francophone part. This was made explicit by the fact that the EMB, out of a fear for a lack of students and legitimacy in the eyes of the broader Muslim community, declared that ‘this institute does not concern itself with the pastoral formation of future imams, which is up to the Muslim community itself to organize’ (Alparslan, 2017; Echallaoui, 2017). This showed how Muslim actors, even in the French community with its frequent discussions about the incorporation of laïcité in the Belgian Constitution (Sägesser et al., 2016: 35), nevertheless felt the need to bring under reminiscence the principle of religious neutrality of the state, ‘that does not compromise with contingent interests of state control and monitoring of the religious field by the state’ (Salvatore, 2006: 556). Throughout this process, what belongs to the sphere of ‘the religious’ and ‘the secular’ is continuously rearticulated co-constitutively, showing once more how IRE has put the ambiguities inherent to the Belgian secular problem-space to the test.
Conclusion
As this article has shown, IRE has remained at the heart of the debate between variously constituted sacralizers and secularizers in Belgium. By approaching the secular–religious ambiguities in terms of a ‘secular problem-space’, attention was put not only on the contingent results of these debates, but also on what mattered according to the historical and sociopolitical context of it. Therefore, I returned to the historical school struggles between Catholics and Liberals, in order to indicate how religious education has always been considered crucial for state-church relations in Belgium, the social cohesion and public order in the young nation-state, and the aspirations for its future citizens’ outlook. This allowed us to understand what was at stake when it concerned the ‘Islamic other’ – as post-War labour immigrants from Morocco and Turkey were increasingly perceived since the late 1980s. The fragile state-church balance achieved over religious education in public state schools (as stated in the Schoolpact of 1958) especially showed its ambiguities in a context of increased securitization of Islam and deradicalization measures. Ultimately, what this article has tried to demonstrate through the example of IRE in Belgium are the secular–religious ambiguities that Agrama considers inherent to the problem-space of secularism (2012: 227. See supra). But also, how these ambiguities do not undermine democratic sovereignty as often proclaimed in popular and political debate. Instead, a continuous rearticulation is taking place about what is deemed crucial for (the protection of) ‘the secular’, in relation to its rearticulation of ‘the religious’; among others, how both are to be confined or what they (do not) entail. And finally, by elaborating on the history of the ICC, on the scepticism towards it within the Islamic community and its ultimate replacement by the EMB, as well as on Muslim actors’ role in deradicalization policies through the development of IFCs and a counternarrative, this article has demonstrated how such rearticulation of ‘the religious’ aligns with intra-Muslim debate and contestation over ‘apt’ Islam(icness). Through IRE, this ‘clash of authority’ (Salvatore, 2007: 145) aspires to intervene in the outlook and sensibilities of future Muslim citizens, and, therefore, the historical concern for the soul of the child remains indeed at high stakes.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author thanks Maurits Berger, Welmoet Boender, and Nadia Fadil for their feedback.
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by a European H2020 Marie S. Curie Individual Fellowship (Grant No. 797138) conducted at the University of Leiden in the Netherlands.
Notes
Author biography
Address: Faculty of Humanities, Leiden Institute for Area Studies, Leiden University Centre for the Study of Religion, Leiden University, Matthias de Vrieshof 3, 2311 BZ Leiden, The Netherlands.
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