Reimagining Volunteering needs a decolonisation lens – what we should be cautious of

 Few will disagree that the concept of ‘volunteering’, doing something of service for

someone else, is part of the DNA and fabric of local communities, highlighting the best that

can be achieved when people come together to serve. Over the existence of human society,

we have seen the tremendous good that has come about when people of their own volition

have come together, often at times of tragedy but also other times, to serve those in need,

family and friends. Within every local faith and cultural tradition there is something that

describes this action and concept that is a reminder of that human fraternity. Volunteering

is very much active and present on a global, regional, national and local level.

Whilst there is much to celebrate in how volunteering is still an integral part of

communities, we still need to interrogate how volunteering is represented and discussed

and whether current discussions really consider, local realities, agency, ownership and

integration.

Volunteering as a concept, argument, terminology and process, in how it is understood and

discussed currently is a hangover of colonialism, shaped exclusively by Western / Christian

values, visible in power relationships, of the ‘missionaries’, often coming from privileged

places in their societies in the Global North, seeking to change the social, political and

economic structures of countries in the Global South with little input from affected

communities, the original ‘White Saviour’ moment. Initially, as the history of many social

movements show, volunteers were female, using their ‘free’ time as housewives to keep

themselves busy. Thus, many of the volunteering organisations and movements were led

by privileged women of society and volunteering remains disproportionately female.

Whilst other grandchildren of the colonisation, the development, and humanitarian sectors,

have started having conversations around decolonisation, the volunteering sector still

seems to be far removed from these conversations. This is a missed opportunity because

volunteering lies at the heart of community cohesion and engagement, either fed through

faith traditions or cultural values.

Yet in having a decolonised discussion on volunteering, we need to be prepared for some

hard truths.

Decolonising the volunteering narrative, must be bold to include a discussion around

disrupting the system or getting rid of the system altogther. A decolonisation discussion on

volunteering must consider that those from former colonised states, might want

decolonisation to deal with their own lived experience of oppression, injustice and

corruption brought about by their own current political and feudal elite let along dealing

with the colonial legacy. Decolonised discussions on volunteering need to crucially address

power imbalances today, inequity and inequality whilst discussing dignity, agency and

power. If we are discussing decolonisation of volunteering in the 21st century, we have to

address why it is still volunteers (largely white) coming out to countries with brown and

black subjects and ‘doing good’ and helping them, yet, very rarely is this reversed. Very

rarely is it acknowledged that people who volunteer are those who can afford to and that

the vast majority of people in the world, whilst having an intention to do something for free,

are unable to because their reality is that they need to put food on the table. Very rarely do

we in the volunteering sector discuss the real issues of the role of ‘volunteers’ from the

West / Global North, in geopolitics, military warfare, oil, illegal occupation, genocide, etc.

So a decolonisation discussion on volunteering whilst being cognisant of the past can not

simply ignore the current colonial or injustices that are taking place in the world today

Decolonisation of volunteering is about looking at the change in the whole system in place

that the sector subscribes to, describes, lives in and works with, which  are oppressive to

people who are Black, Indigenous or a Person of Colour (BIPOC) and from what is called the

Global South, itself a disputed term. We need to have openand honest conversations with

a diverse range of actors, democratising the space for people to share ideas. We need to be

prepared to have our ideas, definitions, business models challenged, critiqued and even

changed. A discussion on the decolonisation of volunteering means that we need to provide

a seat at the table for everyone to be able to share their ideas, to understand how different

people from different parts of the world approach the conversation of volunteering,

decolonization which can be difficult for many in terms of language and understanding

We must also understand that Colonialism is a fact. We can’t repair the past nor allow it to

become a ball and chain for the future, and so we need to look at the inherent

contradictions and complexities of the volunteering project to see our own humility and

shine a lens on our own project. In the last three years, when the world was shut down, and

the lockdowns and restrictions of movement exposed the fallacies of the current system

and the unsustainability of the current volunteering, we were provided a blueprint for true

local, decolonised volunteer action where locals had agency and power to act according to

their local challenges.

Decolonising volunteering needs to think about an equity-based understanding of

volunteering action which means understanding that manifestations of oppression are

rooted in power hierarchies that often do not operate alone. They intersect with gender,

religion, socio-economic status, geography, sexual orientation, and numerous other social

markers, creating layers of oppression that are inextricably intertwined. Thus, addressing

one facet of inequity is not enough. Effective volunteering action requires a local

understanding and approach which is intersectional and operationally rooted, that provides

agency, enables representation and address power dynamics.

The concept of volunteering has evolved and changed happening in difficult conditions that

are difficult to measure; that are as informal as they are formal, thereby making it difficult

to integrate and as spontaneous as they are organized, making ownership difficult to

attribute. We need to recognise these are all vital components of a wide spectrum of

volunteering that has to be decolonised, redefined reimagined and rethought for the 21 st

century.

We need to do better; we need to be better, not because it is the good thing to do, but the

right thing to do.

This orignally appeared here

From “diversity” to “justice”: understanding faith approaches to decolonisation

 My official journey with JLI started in early 2015, enroute to the World Humanitarian Summit of 2016. The Summit highlighted the need for exploring localisation and, in another way, the role of faith organisations. The latter is something of extreme importance to me, having had the discomfort of being firmly told on more than one occasion, “We don’t do faith!”. The way in which JLI provided a dedicated space for exploring the role of faith organisations in humanitarian work was of particular interest. It was filling a gap and creating a space for building understandings.

I come to the JLI from a number of perspectives. I’d had practical experience of working with a faith based organisation in the field, and being denied a seat at the table because of my colour and the faith-based organisation that I represented.  I was soon led to believe that the humanitarian and development industry would prefer to disregard faith and faith engagement.  However for me, to disregard faith is to disregard the lived experience of millions of people worldwide –  this strikes at the heart of the decolonial debate, of a denial of agency, representation, thinking and ultimately power. We need to have faith at the table. 

 To disregard faith is to disregard the lived experience of millions of people worldwide

JLI’s Fair & Equitable Approach is an intriguing prospect for conversations to start.  It is a refreshing way to approach a process that has increasingly frustrated me. Now that suddenly it has become trendy to talk about “decolonisation”, we have seen the decolonisation discourse and narrative co-opted to instead focus on diversity and inclusion – as opposed to looking at the deeper, systemic problem of asymmetric power that comes from a pedagogy that brown and black subjects are not ready to take control of their destinies.

We need to understand the narratives of decolonisation, colonialism, and localisation and their intersection with diversity, equality and inclusion. They are not the same! Decolonisation is about looking at change in all systems which are oppressive to people who are Black, Indigenous or a Person of Colour (BIPOC), and from what is called the Global South (itself a disputed term).  However the current conversations seem limited to tinkering with, and not replacing, existing problematic systems – failing to acknowledge that the global aid industry is the grandchild of colonial missionaries and a result of colonial hangover.

The Fair & Equitable Dialogues, a series of webinars launched in December 2021, allowed us to have open and honest conversations, led by local actors, about what localisation and decolonisation meant for local faith actors working in the humanitarian space. From the word go, we consciously sought to democratise the space for people to share ideas,  and tried to correct power imbalances in terms of who was given the platform to speak, how discussions were structured, and what questions were being asked. Recognising that the space and the format itself needed to be decolonised and rethought was as much part of the thinking and process as who said what. 

What transpired from these dialogues was a consensus that confronting asymmetries of power, whilst uncomfortable, was needed, and required understanding from all sides. Understanding how people approached definitions of words was particularly important, as terminologies had different meanings for different people, and language gaps and cultural divides complicated matters. Terms like “decolonisation” can be difficult for many, due to how  different cultures approach this topic from a contextual understanding. But the dialogues provided a space where we could understand how different people approached conversations about decolonisation. 

There was also a realisation that we needed to create more of these spaces, especially supporting the agency of those faith actors who do not usually get a seat at the table to share their ideas.  Inevitably, what came up during the dialogues was still a sense of reluctance from international secular agencies to engage wholeheartedly with faith actors, especially those at the local level. There is much more work needed to overcome stereotypes of local faith actors and also vice versa.

He reminded me of the importance of having humility during this process of wanting to listen and learn.

Colonialism is a fact.

We can’t repair the past, but we can look at the inherent contradictions and complexities of the humanitarian project, adopting a sense of humility that calls on us to listen and learn.  This is where there are learning opportunities provided by the COVID-19 pandemic, where lockdowns and travel restrictions exposed the fallacies of the current system and the unsustainability of the aid relationship. It provided a blueprint for true local, decolonised action, where locals have agency and power to act according to their local challenges.  Recently I was  challenged by a Buddhist monk in Sri Lanka to explain in simple terms about what I meant in a language that he understood. He made me realise the importance of using clear, everyday language when engaging with local faith communities, instead of the inaccessible jargon favoured by our sector. He reminded me of the importance of having humility during this process of wanting to listen and learn.

In providing that blueprint, a space can be provided for an equity-based understanding of humanitarian action which advocates for ‘adapting humanitarian work to each individual’s needs and background [to ensure] those affected are being treated equitably’. This means understanding that manifestations of oppression, such as racism, are rooted in power hierarchies that often do not operate alone. They intersect with gender, religion, socio-economic status, geography, sexual orientation, and numerous other social markers, creating layers of oppression that are inextricably intertwined. Thus, addressing one facet of inequity is not enough. Effective action requires an intersectional, operationally-rooted approach to humanitarian action. 

This is ultimately at the heart of a decolonised approach to disrupting the system of humanitarian and development aid. We need to do better; we need to be better, not because it is the good thing to do, but the right thing to do, to treat people with dignity, respect and humanity.  This is our moral responsibility.

this orginally appeared here

Decolonising the international development sector requires a disruption (part 2): Engaging with faith actors to transform colonial power structures

This blog post is the fourth one in a series that captures some of the learning that took place during the roundtables that we organised at the Annual Conference of the Development Studies Association in the summer of 2021 and 2022. The roundtables brought together researchers, practitioners and theologians from Africa, Asia, Europe, the Middle East and North America who work at the intersection of decolonisation, development and faith. Our work also builds on the Fair and Equitable Initiative of the Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities.

 The colonial, Western and Christian legacy of the global aid industry

Given how secular the humanitarian and development sector presents itself these days, It is easy to forget that the global aid industry can be considered a result of the hangover of colonialism, shaped by Western and Christian values. Decolonisation did not start in 2020 following the murder of George Floyd but when people in the Global South, often led by faith leaders and institutions, began organising to counter the ideologies and practices of their colonial oppressors who sought to enforce power and to seize land. This colonial legacy lives on in the systems and structures that the ‘civilising missions’ of development and humanitarian agencies from the colonial powers still perpetuate. Many contemporary policies and actions instituted in and by humanitarian and development organisations re-enforce these colonial power dynamics, where people and institutions from the Global North systematically oppress and exercise domination over those from the Global South. These legacies influence humanitarian assistance and development activities in ways that make affected people feel that the services provided for them are not programmed for them, nor taking account of their input or designed according to their needs. It is these legacies that influence how affected people are treated and described, essentialising their dependency and lack of agency, where they are depicted as ‘vulnerable’, ‘powerless’, ‘helpless’, ‘disempowered’, or as ‘victims’.

Decolonisation debates in the development sector need to engage with religion

While religion, has played a role in establishing and maintaining or fighting against  colonial structures, the contemporary aid industry has not only tended to ignore this legacy, but it has also often overlooked the importance of religion for the majority of the world’s poor today. In a twist of irony, the assumption that secularisation will accompany development and modernisation has itself become an element of colonisation ignoring the lived experience of people in the Global South. This strikes at the heart of the decolonial debate, as it is a denial of agency, of representation and, ultimately, of power. Religion matters for people! Therefore, enforcing the post-enlightenment proposition that religion belongs in the private sphere, while all public matters ought to be treated as purely secular, does not make sense given the reality of millions of lived experiences. There is, thus, a need to disrupt and reframe the decolonisation narrative to include and engage with the influence of religious systems and structures on people’s social, political and economic lives, as well as the contribution of faith actors of different types, which provide support to individuals and communities facing poverty, inequality and injustice.

The significance, and limitations, of faith-based development actors

Faith actors in general, and faith-based organisations in particular, are often seen to have advantages over secular organisations. This includes an ability to leverage wide-reaching networks to raise funds, and to mobilise volunteers. Many faith-based groups operate with a spirit of selflessness, zeal and passion, encouraging a ‘volunteerism’ that gives them credibility and the capacity to demonstrate, through practice, the very ideas of self-help and self-reliance. Also, long standing connections with communities, bolstered via a shared faith identity, can earn them a position of trust to ensure important social benefits such as the uptake of vaccines during the COVID pandemic. In their connection to local communities, faith actors are also ideally placed to understand and address the local injustices that the poor experience. In addition, since many faith actors also have international links, especially when they are organised as formal faith-based organisations or networks, they can act as an effective bridge between communities on the ground and international actors. Despite these attributes and advantages in some settings, faith is not a panacea for addressing poverty, inequality, and justice. International faith-based organisations which are not rooted in a given community can sometimes be justly accused of parachuting in, at times literally, and leaving no sustainable footprint. In that regard, they do not act in significantly different ways to their secular international counterparts. Moreover, within faith communities (whether they are numerous and powerful, a minority struggling for a voice or an influential cadre), there is often as strong a history of internecine strife and struggle as there is of cooperation and collaboration.

Engaging with faith communities to transform Eurocentric power structures

It is against a framework of potential disagreement and division, as much as cooperation and collaboration, that a process of engagement must occur with faith-based organisations and other faith actors, breaking away from perpetuating a Eurocentric knowledge system that marginalises the significance of religion. This is an essential part of dismantling the ways that we, as international development and humanitarian actors, construct the communities we work in as “other”, i.e. places overseas with problems and needs, rather than places where solutions are generated and capabilities are in place. Most importantly, it involves transforming power structures so that those holding a seat of power start to look more like the communities where the work is taking place. This includes faith-based organisations which sometimes replicate the global secular system rather than challenge it.

Disrupting the existing system, developing a new paradigm

A genuine disruption of the system needs to entail the development of a new paradigm that critically interrogates the localisation agenda, identifies where it currently replicates colonial structures, and instead works with local voices, cultures and traditions to strengthen and make space for their agency. Decolonial development thinkers and doers need to facilitate a pedagogy of liberation and freedom that works in partnership with the affected community. It is about taking the risk and having the right actors at the table, to hear their voices, including faith actors and people of no faith. This is where the thinking on decolonisation within the humanitarian and development sector has to start and be explored in ways that are intersectional, intergenerational and operationally rooted. This means understanding that manifestations of oppression, such as racism, are rooted in power hierarchies that often do not operate alone. They intersect with gender, religion, age, socio-economic status, geography, sexual orientation, and numerous other social markers, creating layers of oppression that are inextricably intertwined. Thus, addressing one facet of inequity is never enough, and ignoring or overly focusing on any of them, as many in the humanitarian and development sector have done with religion for many years, is wrong and counterproductive.

this originally appeared here

Decolonising the international development sector requires a disruption (part 1): A focus on the past can mask the colonial present

his blog post is the third one in a series that captures some of the learning that took place during the roundtables that we organised at the Annual Conference of the Development Studies Association in the summer of 2021 and 2022. The roundtables brought together researchers, practitioners and theologians from Africa, Asia, Europe, the Middle East and North America who work at the intersection of decolonisation, development and faith. Our work also builds on the Fair and Equitable Initiative of the Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities.

Colonial legacies shape the development and humanitarian sector

Over the past few years, there has been a renewed discussion within the international development and humanitarian sector around decolonisation. This is a valid endeavour given the lingering remnants of colonialism visible in the unequal power relations that underpin aid flows. The humanitarian system has been shaped by Western and Christian values, ignoring other value systems and worldviews, while at the same time often seeking to change the social, political and economic structures of countries in the Global South with little input from affected communities. It is easy to forget that the global aid industry is the grandchild of the colonial Christian missionaries.

The localisation agenda, becoming more prominent through the 2016 Grand Bargain Commitments made at the World Humanitarian Summit, has pushed for more agency from local actors, to become primary implementers and decision makers. However, there has been little open discussion of transformative changes to the power system or acknowledgement of the colonial histories of aid, development and peacebuilding that impact the modern-day approach to projects and engagement with local actors. Much has centred around reforming the process to bring local partners into the existing framework without interrogating whether the system itself needs a significant rehaul. In fact, there is little bold discussion around disrupting the system or getting rid of the system.

Most recently, the coronavirus pandemic has played a key role in exposing the fallacies of the current system and the unsustainability of the aid relationship.  While the international system has been left weak in its inability to respond due to the lockdowns, local communities, including local faith actors, have been on the forefront of response often without sufficient support and protective equipment. The Covid-19 lockdowns have exposed the deep systemic problem of asymmetric power that comes from a belief that the brown and black subjects are not ready to take control of their destiny. Now is the time to think about disrupting the system.

Part of the disruption that is required is a need to reframe the narrative on decolonisation and to look at what it really means.

Despite this need to think critically about colonial pasts and the implications of this for the international development and humanitarian system, part of the disruption that is required is a need to reframe the narrative on decolonisation and to look at what it really means: who is calling for it, what are they trying to decolonise, and why? Currently the danger is that, for many of us, discussions about decolonisation have become a distraction. It is a catchy term that has been co-opted to discuss a range of issues and concerns, such as diversity and inclusion, social justice and the social good, that are related yet not the same.

Who is shaping the decolonisation agenda?

Arguments on decolonisation are often made from Western academic perspectives, whilst in places like, say, South Africa or Pakistan many people are not so much talking about decolonisation but rather about the need for the realisation of dignity, agency and power. For many of us from former colonised states, we have somehow moved beyond our histories of colonialism in the sense that we deal with our own lived experience of oppression, injustice and corruption brought about by the greed of our own political and feudal elite. Our present haunts us more than our past in many ways, and though there is a connection with the colonial legacy, there is a need to crucially address power imbalances today in our own settings. Thus, in talking about ‘decolonisation’ is there a risk that the humanitarian/development space is once again being colonised, as agency is taken away from those in the global south, who have more pressing problems in many ways, and are often not participating in shaping the discourse?

In talking about ‘decolonisation’ is there a risk that the humanitarian/development space is once again being colonised?

A focus on the past can mask the colonial present

Others are suspicious that the fascination with decolonisation in the Western world is becoming a way of avoiding answering the very real questions about its role in geopolitical, military and economic alliances that result in illegal occupation, genocide and widespread environmental destruction, such as via the oil industry, yet make them seem as if they are invested in change. Reframing the narrative on decolonisation has to be authentic and cannot ignore the current, neocolonial injustices that are taking place in the world today. The silence around addressing current forms of colonialism that cause oppression and injustice, including the occupation or eviction of people from their lands, means that the wider decolonization discourse becomes hollow. It is disingenuous to talk about decolonising the past injustices, if there is silence on the current injustices. If we are looking to make amends for the past, let us also look to the present to see where there are modern forms of colonialism and injustice taking place and how to address those.

A decolonial approach to the international development and humanitarian sector needs to call out the past and the present.

Thus, a decolonial approach to the international development and humanitarian sector needs to call out the past and the present, as well as recognising that not all issues can be solved by addressing colonial practices. There is a need for people from the global south to have agency at the table to challenge past and present colonial structures. However, while colonialism may have set the scene for injustice and inequity, it is not always directly related to the current state of corruption, poor governance, economic and social collapse that many countries are suffering from. Recognising this has to be one of the first steps of addressing injustice and oppression, be they rooted in colonial legacies or not.

originally appeared here

Can faith protect vulnerable migrants from sexual and gender-based violence?

 Sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV) is widespread in the forced migration journey. Born of crises such as armed conflict, SGBV travels along migration routes even affecting victims at places of refuge. Women and girls are disproportionally affected, with 1 in 3 experiencing SGBV in her lifetime, but men and boys are also vulnerable, especially to torture and trafficking.

Many factors lie at the root of SGBV including loss of family, social connections and finance, economic deprivation, social exclusion, legal protection gaps for migrants, poor mental health, and lack of language skills. Religious discrimination, xenophobia, racism, and sexism all exacerbate migrants’ vulnerability to SGBV.

Faith and religious adherence are part of the lived experience for many communities around the world. Subsequently, many forced migrants maintain a religious affiliation as a key symbol of connection with ‘home’. Faith allows migrants to draw strength, meaning and comfort from a sense of belonging. Many resort to their faith to protect themselves in times of painful and traumatic experiences. But faith can also represent a risk - for example, religious discrimination and persecution can increase vulnerability to SGBV.

Religion never comes on its own – it intersects with culture, power, and politics. SGBV can be condoned by religious ideas and teachings, yet humanitarian organisations are often unable to deal with religion’s influence on experiences of violence and exploitation of women and minorities.

Sandra Pertek, Ahmed Aldawoody, and Amjad Saleem

Religion never comes on its own – it intersects with culture, power, and politics. SGBV can be condoned by religious ideas and teachings, yet humanitarian organisations are often unable to deal with religion’s influence on experiences of violence and exploitation of women and minorities. We, therefore, need greater faith literacy allied to innovative and faith-sensitive approaches to reduce SGBV occurrences among forced migrants.

Working with religion in SGBV prevention can be useful at many levels. Faith is a key component for communities who are often the first responders in humanitarian action, operating with local knowledge to address specific community problems. Personal and communal religious resources can thus help to tackle SGBV along the forced migration journey.

All sources of influence – whether religious teachings, cultural norms, local beliefs, or traditions – can help to mobilise protection against SGBV. Even when monopolised religious interpretations are used to justify the perpetration of sexual violence and exploitation of women, it is important to discuss such interpretations. This helps us to clarify and better understand causes of violence and develop relevant protection, response, and prevention mechanisms. For example, constructively engaging with religious leaders can help to respond to and prevent SGBV in humanitarian crises.

For example, as a significant number of armed conflicts take place in Muslim-majority countries and Islamic law plays a vital role in the daily lives of hundreds of millions of Muslims globally, the influence of Islamic law cannot be ignored in developing SGBV protection and prevention approaches in Muslim settings. Muslim institutions and religious leaders can help to develop SGBV protection responses to support the healing of survivors regardless of their background.

Faith can be the key to unlock solutions for tackling SGBV among survivors of forced displacement, who number more than 100 million globally. The University of Birmingham’s latest research project, unites humanitarian, law and protection experts from the UK, Switzerland, Qatar, Egypt, and Ireland on the 9^th of June workshop to explore how best to address the challenges women face in forced displacement in the Muslim world.

Protecting Forcibly Displaced Women and Girls in the Muslim World works toward establishing a new research agenda on women and forced displacement in the Muslim world. It develops an evidence base and conceptual resources for integrating the protection of forcibly displaced women and girls from violence, discrimination and exclusion into humanitarian policy and diplomacy in the Muslim world.

The project identifies dynamics and opportunities for strategic engagement with women’s and girls’ protection in multilateral organisations and humanitarian policy - creating recommendations to put the protection of displaced women and girls on the policy agenda.

There is a need to rethink how we engage with formal and informal female and male faith leaders, faith communities and institutions in SGBV prevention and response, allied to better literacy and sensitivity on addressing misinterpretations of religious perspectives. From an Islamic perspective, scholars of religious texts need to work with practitioners to develop a protection framework that helps us understand and tackle religion as both solution and challenge. There is still much work to do.

Sandra Pertek, University of Birmingham; Ahmed Aldawoody, ICRC/University of Birmingham alumni and Amjad Saleem, IFRC/Advisory Board member

This originally appeared here

In Memoriam — Dr M A Mohamed Saleem

 

Dr M A Mohamed Saleem

On the 20th of February 2023, my beloved father passed away after 4 days of being in the ICU following a sudden stroke. The nightmare that I had feared came to pass. I am not sure what is worse, dealing with a sudden death of a loved one or dealing with the inevitable death of someone who has been ill. Nevertheless, I have gone through many emotions grieving the loss of my father. From feeling overwhelmed, to intense emotions, to feeling like my childhood has suddenly disappeared, to feeling that I have to suddenly grow up. One month on, those emotions are still raw. All of this is normal I have been told, but it certainly isn’t easy, no matter what age you are to lose a parent and especially a father who has had a strong presence in your life.

My father was a man of deep faith and convictions and principles. He never compromised on this. Practically if you told him that you would call him or send him an email by a certain time, he would expect it. This was always a challenge growing up, when as a kid you learnt never to over promise and under deliver. But he made you value the concept of keeping your word and ensuring you helped people keep theirs.

Shortly after getting his PhD

He once wrote that “If you have to win the respect of people and live peacefully in this world, never consider yourself different from the rest and never expect special treatment from anyone”. This was how he lived his life not expecting any special treatment and not considering himself any different to anyone else. He went to great pains not to be an inconvenience to anyone, nor did he consider himself better than anyone because of his achievements. I never knew until recently about his ground breaking work in Nigeria or Ethiopia or the fact that he was one of the first PhD holders from the Eastern Province in Sri Lanka. He never chose to dwell on these accolades not because he didn’t value it, but because he feared that there would emerge an arrogance warranting special treatment because of it. He was very careful about arrogance and ego eating into the good deeds of someone. Many misunderstood this humility in him that meant that he didn’t show off his achievements and was always happy to not be in the limelight preferring to shine the light on others. At a time when people vacuously elucidate more than they have actually achieved, it was strange to many that my dad didn’t cave into societal demands or sang his own praises or that of his family. “Who are we trying to impress?” would always be his response when I would clash many times with him on this because the narcissist in me thought I had to talk about my achievements. His quiet diplomacy taught me a great leadership principle that when you shine the light on someone else, inevitable some of that light falls back on you.

My dad was simple, again a quality that was largely misunderstood. In a world of bigger, better and shinier brands, he was an island in continuing to simply advocate that success is not about the bank balance or the car you drive but the brain talent you possess and the value you bring to people around you. He would tell me “why do you need to drive a $200,000 car or wear a $1000 wristwatch when you can drive a $10,000 car or wear a $50 wristwatch? They both have a functionality and a purpose. It’s not making you more efficient to have the more expensive product. You can save that and use that to help someone”. He lived that mantra as he truly believed that if you can make a difference in someone’s life, then you are a rich person. Judging from the number of people who have contacted our family following his passing saying how he helped them, my father was indeed a very wealthy man, touching the lives of all those he met with a compassion that I have not seen and having countless of voiceless people praying for him and sending him their thanks. From security guards from neighbouring houses, to trishaw drivers to academics, political leaders, faith leaders, leaders of industry, all came to pay tribute to him saying how he had helped them or advised them or touched their lives. There is a concept within Islam of giving in charity with your right hand so that your left hand doesn’t know. Certainly, dad gave in charity that we did not know about. Even recently we have been getting messages from different parts of the country of the level of his generosity. There are at least 3 or 4 Dr Saleems in Nigeria, kids who were named after my father, after their fathers worked for our family and the gratitude that they had for him and the greatest honour they could bestow in naming their kids after him. Someone in their condolence message to me said he dined with kings and walked with the poorest of the poor and there was no difference in how he treated them. This is the best description someone can give about my father.

He was a self confessed “Ghandian”, espousing subsidiarity, power from the bottom up as key to bringing about societal change. He truly believed that you had to model that change you asked people to aspire towards, and you could see him modelling this through his behaviour, diet and his relationships with others. He would tell me “Don’t ask people to sacrifice or volunteer something if you are not prepared to sacrifice it or volunteer yourself”, and sacrifice he did, whether it was his time or his money for a cause greater than himself.

He was also a quiet man, with very few words, but always reflecting and thinking, and asking the right question at the right time. He mastered the art of asking the right question and I have seen people who are experts flummoxed by his curve ball questions asking them to think about something they had not thought about. I remember him asking someone from Transparency International how transparent they were, when they came to pitch to a charity he was involved in about their services.

One of his philosophies in life was that he never wanted to be a burden on anyone or to cause inconvenience. Conflict was not his style, preferring to not engage or being a true preponderant of the Third Alternative, seeking creative solutions to problems. “Everything has a solution that could be overcome”- It’s something that I truly try to model in my own life, not to think within the box but to think there is no box.

Standing at the Peace Village in the East of Sri Lanka in 2014

He chose the mantra that “I will speak only when I have something useful to contribute”. Yet his quietness had a strength of character and purpose which is evident by the glaring hole and silence we feel in our lives and the home in Colombo, such was the strength of his character.

Next to being a deeply spiritual person, his second religion (as one of his school friends told me) was love. The love and compassion of people, friends, and of family. He was proud of his roots and his influences both in Sri Lanka, UK, Nigeria, Ethiopia. He was proud of his Commonwealth Scholarship that enabled him to do his PhD at the University of Ibadan, where he formed close ties with his supervisor from India. Even today, the ties with that supevisor’s (who has sadly passed) family are strong. He was proud of being an old boy of Jaffna College, understanding cultural diversity and inclusion in a way that was not understood then but has now become an industry within the international development sector. For him diversity was a positive disruption bringing different ideas and perspectives to the table. That pride and experience he carried with him even to his death and evident from all those who came to mourn him. Even a week before he passed away he had participated in an old boys association meeting. Conspicuous by their presence at his funeral and the days and month that has passed has been his classmates from over 50 years ago, who still remember “Saleem” as he was known, for his mischief, but more importantly for his appreciation of the other and respect for human dignity. Despite being spread across time and space, these relationships and memories are testimony to someone who truly understood and embraced diversity.

Addressing the Jaffna College Old Boys Association Meeting in February 2023 (courtesy of Jaffna College OBA Colombo Branch)

He was a proud Sri Lankan always discussing the potential of what the country could be, blessed in its diversity and open to the concept that the country belongs to all, he pushed for greater equity and equality at all levels of society and would write about it endlessly in a number of different columns. He emphasised that all of us have a role to play to contribute because the country belonged to all of us, not to a certain race or faith. This was what he had learnt from school and his friends and time abroad and is something that he truly felt Sri Lanka as a melting pot of faith and culture could aspire to. Even to his final days, he was thinking and writing about how we can work on improving Sri Lanka. One of his conversations with me was lamenting about how sad he was about the number of people wanting to leave Sri Lanka for pastures new. He wasn’t against people leaving the country but he also felt that after having spent more thatn 32 years abroad, there was no place like home, and that it was only Sri Lanka’s loss that bright people were leaving.

Addressing the Swarajya foundation conference in 2005

For him the concept of family and home was perhaps the third religion. Having been sent to boarding school at the age of 8, he was always keen not to lose out on the notion of the family. It was a conviction that centred him throughout his life and something that I grew up strongly believing in. When I was younger, after having watched the Godfather movies, I used to joke with him saying that our family seemed to be like the mafia because family was everything. However it was something that he strongly believed in. A year after he got married, my maternal grandfather passed away from cancer leaving a very young family to care for. My father took it upon himself to become the second father of my mother’s family. In later life, he would become a fatherly figure to the families of his siblings. My father would later tell me that this experience disciplined him and made him realise the importance of responsibility. It is this sense of responsibility for family that made him take early retirement in 2001 and move back to Sri Lanka allowing my mother to come back and spend time with her mother. When the tsunami struck Sri Lanka in 2004 affecting our immediate family, it is that sense of responsibility that allowed him to take a lead in the role of the recovery process for the larger extended family, ensuring the sub family units to return to their homes once the water levels receded. The post tsunami period from housing to coordinating support and recovery were done in the spirit of preserving family cohesion and common interest. My father when he retired in 2001, said that he wanted to spend more time looking after my mother, which in the last 6 months of his life, he did when my mother fractured her arm and needed support. The pleasure he took to look after her was evident in how he spoke of being blessed by God to be able to look after mum in a way she had done for him for the last 53 years. He was discovering the joys of being a grandfather to 4 grandkids and interacting in a way perhaps that he had not done previously with my sister and I. I would joke that he was having to do the things with his grandkids that he didn’t have time to do with his kids. He simply enjoyed this new role and talked about how blessed he was to have that new responsibility. Family was extremely important for my father. When I was getting married, he would tell me that it is not just an extra person coming into our family but her entire family as well. Family bonds were essential and sacrosant to him and it pained him when there were strains and tensions. In his true way though where there was conflict, he never wanted to take sides but would try and mediate. He would not know it but in his death, his dream of a united extended family has come true with family from his side, my mom’s side and my in-laws coming together, pitching in and working together. It’s one of the times that I miss that I can not share that anecdote with him, knowing how happy he would be to see people working together. More than anything he was always so proud to see the next generation standing up and developing their own lives. In death, I learned what my father had always tried to teach me about the importance of that extended network of family, who rally round and often sacrifice themselves to support you at times of great need.

He would teach me that taking responsibility is important in whatever needs to be done, and understanding your ability to respond to a situation. This is definitely one of the key lessons that I have taken in my life in whatever I do. This meant doing what you could do and being the best about it.

My dad was a deeply practicing Muslim, proud of his faith. My enduring memory of him is always murmuring some prayers whenever he could. He never missed his compulsory and supplementary prayers and fasts, nor the recitation of the Quran. Unwavering on compromising his faith, he also sought to delve deep into the meaning of faith. He was not content just to blindly follow but to question, to seek, to dig deep and understand. I understand and inherited his love of reading, digging into the theology, spirituality, understanding different Islamic movements, politics and intricacy of the Islamic faith. Spiritual practice was something he really sought to inculcate in his life and something he shared with me. The importance of that discipline of doing small practices regularly every day and not focussing on trying to do big things, but also the sense that anything that you do can be turned into a sense of worship. I would often complain about the mundane and regular things in life and he would respond “these are just opportunities to show your gratitude to the Almighty and also an opportunity to correct yourself on a regular basis”; so that regular commute turned into a journey of reflection and pondering and asking “Is there something I can do today that I didn’t do yesterday? Is there something I can do to make today better than yesterday to correct any mistake that I made?”

He was someone who cared deeply about the ethics and behaviour of Muslims beyond just adherence to articles of faith. For him, adherence to worship had to give Muslims an edge in terms of their behaviour with each other, their character and the values. If this was not the case, then mere observance of prayer or fasting would not suffice. He was often distressed with the state of the global Muslim community and in particular the state of affairs of the Sri Lankan Muslim community. He would not hesitate to tell off academics, religious leaders or politicians if he thought they did something wrong. He would talk for hours about how he felt that Muslims had departed from their spiritual purposes and focussed more on form not spirit. He would say that there are a lot of Muslims nowadays but there is very little Islam, very little development in the internal spirit of Muslims who he felt focussed more on outward manifestations of piety. His analysis was based on the fact that the behaviour, attitudes and values displayed by Muslims were often at odds with the teachings, practices of Islam whilst he felt they focussed more on dress code and food. His thinking around Islam and Muslims often put him at odds with the mainstream Muslim intelligentsia, but endeared him to many others. He was credited by a Buddhist monk for helping said monk change his negative perceptions of Muslims. His approach to understanding Islam and its purpose in the world is the foundation of how I approach my interpretation of the faith, the teachings and the practices.

At an inter religious conference in 2016

He also laid great emphasis on interfaith dialogue and the role of faith leaders. He saw the latter not just as teachers of prayer but more as instruments of ethics and values. His vision was that religious leaders should have a greater role to play to combat and denounce racism, discrimination and any threats to human dignity. He called faith leaders the conscience of society and called on them to rise to the challenge of valuing human dignity. In recent years, he focused on spirituality as transcending religion and rising above ideological affiliations, being the glue that binds people together in a spirit of ethics, morals and basic humanity. He understood the need for a common space and substance from which can emerge a shared vision to trigger action for the unity of humanity underpinned by compassion. Idealistic yes, but totally aspirational, which has prompted a Christian priest to say that “Dr Saleem was not a religious leader but a leader of religions”

My dad and I (i was aged 2 or 3)

My experience with my father I can surmise, was in three phases. The first phase was as a son who enjoyed life with his father. Between our time in Nigeria and Ethiopia, I have fond memories of a fun loving father who loved horse riding playing tennis, organising birthday parties and going on holidays.

My father in Nigeria (courtesy of Mark Powell)

with the farmers in Nigeria (courtesy of Mark Powell)

I rarely knew of his professional background but I knew he travelled around a lot because of work but it meant more toys for me. I never knew of his work but in recent years have come to realise his intellectual impact especially when Academia.Edu tags me on papers that reference his work and writings still to date and asks me if I that “Dr M A Mohamed Saleem”? Someone called him the “father of the fodder banks” but in true reflection to my dad’s character he underplayed this achievement. Yet his ties with his ex colleagues from Nigeria and Ethiopia are as strong now as they were then and have transcended generations with myself working and engaging with a number of them.

Enjoying the coast of the UK in 1997

The second phase was when I went to boarding school and then university back in the UK at the age of 16. I know my father was reluctant to send me based on his experiences at boarding school, but made it a point to try and visit every quarter as he transited in London on every official trips that he made. it meant that my friends and i got treated for fancy dinners which when you are a struggling uni student meant quite a bit. During this time, it was a learning time for me, understanding how to see the world and to take decisions on what to do or not do. I may not have fully followed through in my learnings, but this time of spending together allowed me to focus on my career as an engineer and then to diversify. I still value that time that he took to come and spend even a day with me during his official trips. More importantly I valued the supply of food that he would bring from my mother.

Working together in 2005

The third phase was after the tsunami in 2004, when I came back to work with Muslim Aid in Sri Lanka’s post tsunami recovery and I had the privilege of working with my father on different projects.At that time, my father had developed a keen interest in understanding the ghandian philosophy and working on alternative energy and medicine, along side his interfaith work. This was the synergy that allowed us to come together to work on something better. Though we sometimes had professional differences on how to approach things, we always resolved it in a way to learn from each other. It remains my greatest pleasure and honour to have worked alongside him on a number of different projects along the years from the Commonwealth People’s Forum to a number of peace conferences to humanitarian relief to engaging with faith leaders. I would also have a stint at working with him again when I came back to work in Sri Lanka from 2013–2017 and though it was a different platform, the aim was the same. How can we best unearth the potential of Sri Lanka? more improtantly what was the role of faith leaders and faith communities? The time that we worked together was the most valuable university lesson that I have followed. it is these lessons that I carry with me when I deal with people or situations.

Meeting with government officials in 2014

He was not only my father but my mentor and professional confidante. When I had issues at work I would talk to him about the frustrations of not being valued, and he would always remind me that the value is in the work being done and the impact being felt on the ground and being seen in the eyes of God. “Don’t worry about these temporary accolades and appreciation so long as He knows what you are doing” was his constant reminder as he sought to temper my urge for more. Accolades only serve to make you forget who you are was his response.

One of my last conversations with him was around legacy and my worry about what mine would be. His answer was typically that “those whose legacies posterity talk about and idolize never, in their lifetime, were concerned about their own legacies. They lived a life of conviction and realization that they had a purpose and pursued it regardless of their own challenges and changing circumstances. Only when such people depart from the stage others who had been around or who came after them built up legacies for the departed. Those who were deeply concerned and conscious about their legacies invariably were also found to live double lives and exhibited split personalities. This is because such people tended to tailor their actions to cater a targeted and selected group(s). We can see this happening more in this contemporary world. Such legacies have no value either to the one who worked hard to accumulate them or to those who succeeded that person as siblings, or associates. after the person’s departure. Such legacies may not even have any value and may even be discounted in the final assessment. One requires no fancy education or material resources to build this legacy. It requires only the realization that every human is to function as a humble servant and he is required to be the vicegerent of the owner for the beginning and the end. It does not matter what means of livelihood the person adopts.”

He was my editor for numerous pieces of my academic writings and especially during my PhD phase, read through my thesis at least twice to ensure that it made sense. In fact, the last piece of work that he helped to edit was a chapter I wrote around Muslim Democrats in Sri Lanka for the book ‘Rethinking Islamism beyond Jihadi violence’. In his typical thoughtful way, he cautioned me to reconsider whether people might misinterpret what I was trying to say and asked me to reframe the points being made. “We can’t conflate islamism with jihadi violence but its also important you stress the true nature of Islam” is what he told me.

Sharing my PhD with the original Dr M A Mohamed Saleem

When I got my PhD in 2019, I joked with him, we now have a Dr M A Mohamed Saleem, number 2, to which he replied “I have to retire now”. But typically that was my dad, his next response was, “what are you going to do about it now?” His philosophy was that you just do the best you can in what you can do. Be the best. If you are a street cleaner, be the best. If you are the scientist be the best. Never rest on your laurels, continue to work and push the boundaries.

Little did I realise that 4 years after, this retirement would be permanent and suddenly that anchor and compass would no longer be there. In his book “Who will cry when you die?”, Robin Sharma talks about tapping into that special ability to make the world a better place. My father had this special ability to connect with someone, make them feel important, special and unique, to understand their problem and come up with a way of helping them. The 11th century persian scholar Abu Sa’id Abul-Khair said (and this was taken up by Ralph Waldo Emerson amongst others) that “When you were born you were crying and everyone else was smiling. Live your life so at the end, you are the one who is smiling and everyone else is crying.”

My dad would certainly have been embarrassed at all the accolades that are being thrown his way, in the wake of his passing and by all the people who have emerged from the woodworks to pay him tribute. He would probably be angry with me for writing this because he was one to stay in the shadows. I hope that he is smiling because his life was full and that his legacy is a continuous charity which all of us will strive to emulate and keep going and that he forgives me for wanting to share his story and example with the world as a way to inspire, to remember and to celebrate him.

Whilst my father in his quiet way achieved a lot for the community, he was first and foremost my father, and I will truly miss him.

May God bless him, and accept him into His highest fold. May we be united in a better abode.

originally published here on medium