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ndonesian Muslims associate Ramadhan with idealized peace. This notion is at times inspirational, yet often presented as something that comes along with this holy month, rather than something inherent in ourselves.

This understanding of “peace” as an add-on dangerously serves as a temporary panacea for the violent actions during the fasting month without considering the roots of the problem. Worse, Ramadhan in Indonesia neutralizes certain explicit forms of violence done in the name of observing the solemnity of Ramadhan, such as raids against hawkers, both official and by vigilantes.

This problem of turning Ramadhan into another framework for violence is partly rooted in our inability to recognize, and hence to criticize, our complicity that allows such violence to take place.

The widely shared response of netizen Gilang Kazuya Shimura to the posting of a recent high school female graduate, Afi Nihaya Faradisa, who argued on respecting religious pluralism, is one reflection of our insensitivity towards bullying, and one in which our obsession over quasi-religious arguments is taken to another level.

Gilang’s response sounded misogynist; yet many were mesmerized by his sporadic mention of the Quranic verses and the Prophet’s sayings (hadith).

The increasing exposure of our young Muslims to religious and racial bigotry is also apparent in the case of a circulating video, in which a group of children chant “kill Ahok” during a pre-Ramadhan parade in Jakarta. Not only does this reveal the gravity of religious and racial hatred within early education, it also demonstrates adult’s utter ignorance in spreading their toxic ideology to children.

The clearest example of religious bigotry can be seen in the outright denials about the latest Kampung Melayu bombing. Such denials represent a rising sense of religious triumphalism based on a dogmatic understanding of Islam, in which concern over the loss of lives is undermined by a defensive reaction of identity politics.

Some netizens remarked that the blasts were a fake scenario created by certain political interests in order to smear the image of Indonesian Muslims.

Yet it also shows a guilty conscience and the need to absolve oneself from the inhumanity of an act of terror whose ideology one also supports.

No doubt, our intensifying addiction to violence and our constant use of religious justifications significantly contributes to fertile ground for terrorism. How do we disentangle this addiction to violence and what is the role of Ramadhan in it?

One crucial aspect of mass hate speech by many Indonesian Muslims today is the intertwined relationship between religious superiority and the rapid commodification and consumption of religious attributes that transform our construction of religiosity.

In Islam, “consumption” and “religiosity” are supposed to be separate, yet “religious consumerism” is blatantly displayed, as in our malls. “Consumption” is a fleeting activity to satisfy our physical needs, while “religiosity” in the Islamic sense is a state of mind that needs continuous refining by moral and ethical practices and a commitment to social justice.

However, “religiosity” has been reshaped as fleeting, crude expressions of belief that offer transitory experiences, such as the seemingly heroic participation in the “Protests in Defense of Islam” (Aksi Bela Islam).

Religious consumerism also comes at a price; to be religious means to be able to buy “religious” things — such as a long, flowing abaya that costs a million rupiah, rather than to be able to stand with the poor against systemic injustices.

As a result, our contemporary religiosity is ripe for the adoption of violent paradigms due to its consumptive characteristics, similar to the reactionary nature of the hardline populist movement.

Religious consumerism feeds our superficial ego as much as the hardline populist paradigm emphasizes its movement on the vulgar display of excessive religious attributes.

This religious consumerism is further compounded by an essentialist approach of political Islam that is trapped within the outdated blending of religion and state of medieval times.

Hence the demands for sharia-inspired bylaws — which are dangerous for Indonesia’s religious and cultural plurality, and which perpetuate discrimination against marginalized groups such as women, sexual minorities and faith minorities.

Ramadhan can serve as a momentum for Indonesian Muslims to reflect upon their complicity in the continuous chain of violence plaguing our country.

First, mainstream Indonesian Muslims need to lessen their sense of religious supremacy and to acknowledge their participation in the infliction of suffering upon marginalized groups.

Second, we must move beyond an “imperial theology” of Islam that turns its rich tapestry of tradition into a monochrome of right and wrong.

An understanding of the Islamic tradition would then be highly contextualized and historicized, with a capacity to truly respond to current problems faced by believers.

Perhaps by doing so, Ramadhan can become a time for Indonesian Muslims to not only focus on our private religious activities, but also to replenish our commitment to social justice by standing with the most marginalized members of society.
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The writer is Ph.D student in theology at University of Notre Dame.