Contrasting national edifices

UPON my first visit to Istanbul in 2010 I wrote: “The Hagia Sophia is quite unlike any other building I’ve been in: enormous Islamic calligraphy just metres away from truly ancient but relatively recently uncovered mosaics of Byzantine emperors and empresses flanking Jesus Christ. It was a church from 360 until 1453 when Mehmed the Conqueror had it converted into a mosque, which it remained until Ataturk turned it into a museum in 1935. The whole concept is quite unfathomable to a Malaysian: imagine a Langkasukan Hindu temple having been converted into a mosque and surviving to this day.”

Indeed, in India there are a few mosques still standing that were once Hindu temples (or on the site of one), which is a topic of contention today as religious polarisation comes to the fore.

In 2020, in a case that received international news coverage, the Turkish Council of State declared the Ayasofya (as the Hagia Sophia is known in Turkish) a waqaf (a religious foundation) of Sultan Mehmed II, making the 1935 conversion to a museum null and void. Thus the decision of president Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was reversed by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. At the time, concern was expressed about what impact this might have on ancient religious art contained within, especially as the building is included in the “Historic Areas of Istanbul” Unesco World Heritage Site.

I decided to have a look for myself during a brief stop in Istanbul en route back from Sarajevo. With demand being exceptionally high to join congregational prayers – not just on Fridays – I was lucky to find a spot in the second saf (row) having navigated through a mass of tourists.

The first difference since my first visit is that the entire place is now carpeted, with the exception of areas of particular Byzantine significance. But apart from that, the mosaics on the ceilings are still visible.

During prayer time – and only in the front of the mosque – the main picture of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus is covered with a piece of fabric. Even so, if you look straight up, there is a gap so you can still see the image.

Further back in the main hall, the face of a seraphim remains uncovered near calligraphy depicting the name of the Prophet Muhammad. This would surely be considered unacceptable to many Malaysian Muslims (for example, those who take issue with crosses in old missionary schools), but my Turkish Muslim guide – a student wearing a hijab – was proud that this marvel of history has remained intact while being able to service worshippers today.

I felt the same sense of national pride combined with religious confidence when I visited the Pyramids of Giza in Egypt and Borobudur in Indonesia: There is no insecurity at all in these Muslims in appreciating their countries’ pre-Islamic past. Similarly, in Jordan and now even in Saudi Arabia, the Nabataean sites of Petra and Hegra, respectively, are being proudly preserved. Perhaps we will one day appreciate Bujang Valley in Kedah in the same way.

Where we are more adept in combining culture and religion is in the tradition of Hari Raya open houses, and I was back in Malaysia in time to enjoy a representative selection of them. They come in four broad categories.

The first type are the family and friends’ open houses, which usually happen in the first week of Syawal: here you get traditional fare, kids collecting duit raya and the barrage of “Bila nak kahwin?” from aunties.

Then there are the “internal open houses” of companies and organisations, designed for staff, with speeches from CEOs and “best dressed” competitions.

Of course there are also the huge corporate open houses, nowadays bedecked with food stalls placed to ensure a constant circulation of people and thus networking opportunities. Indeed, many a deal or job offer has its roots in corporate open houses.

Yet there are those more impactful still, where youthful optimism for a better future can motivate more than just corporate deals. At Yayasan Chow Kit’s Pusat Aktiviti Kanak-Kanak (PAKK), children put on a Raya show to celebrate the birthday of their founder, Datuk Hartini Zainudin, whose founding of YCK and continued activism has uplifted the status of underprivileged children throughout the country.

Many people are aware of PAKK and KL Krash Pad (a safe space for teens), but at our safehouse for at-risk children, heartfelt singing and drawings of an incomparably better life than the one they had before showed that with strong leadership, vision and an open mind, Malaysia can still offer hope and opportunity to the next generation.

Indeed, at the national level, that can be true even without stunning edifices like Ayasofya.

Tunku Zain Al-‘Abidin is trustee of Yayasan Chow Kit. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.