The commercialization of da'wah : Understanding Indonesian Sinetron and their portrayal of Islam

Religious authority

During the production process of Hidayah, Munajah Cinta, and Para Pencari Tuhan, Islamic teachers (ustad) were consulted with to validate the outcome. The reasons for such consulting, however, were different. In the production of Hidayah, MD Entertainment mostly sought to validate its Islamic content. Ustad K.H. Acep Nurhasan was not a celebrity preacher and he was never used for any other MD-produced television shows. Interviews revealed that the ustad's validation was sought to avert public criticism over inaccurate representations of religious practices because the production team was not confident about their comprehension of Islamic rituals. He mainly made sure that things such as the pronunciations of Arabic phrases, Quranic recitation, or Islamic funeral rituals were correct. Hidayah director Katili claimed that the Islamic teacher was not always present on set. When Nurhasan was unavailable, he consulted over the phone and sometimes sent his assistant to the set. This suggests that the ustad's validation was comparable to proofreading, as he corrected form rather than substance.

With Munajah Cinta the consultation provided was limited to viewing and validating the first episode only. The ustads were those previously involved in other SinemArt-produced television shows, with whom good contact had already been established. There was no selection process or ideological consideration in selecting them. ‘We worked with Neno Warisman ⁷ on Pintu Hidayah. With religious sinetron, we needed an ustad or ustazah to set the limits within which we could work (pakem-pakemnya sejauh mana). Ustad Mansyur was involved with Maha Kasih’ (D. Suryani, 11 June 2011, personal communication). However, unlike Hidayah, no ustad appeared in the credits of Munajah Cinta, and no ustad-inspired content change was made.

In the production process of Para Pencari Tuhan, the role of the ustad was substantial, comparable to that of a scholar. In contrast to Hidayah's cursory consultation by a single ustad or his assistant, and to Munajah Cinta's three ustad and ustazah who were only asked to validate the pilot, Para Pencari Tuhan's producers had no less than five Islamic scholars brought in to approve every script. While on Hidayah and Munajah Cinta Islamic scholars were content with ‘least objectionable’ situations (Klein, 1979), those involved in the production of Para Pencari Tuhan verified the validity of Islamic interpretations in the light of the Quran and hadiths. ‘They re-evaluated Para Pencari Tuhan's religious substance. Generally Indonesians are Muslims. Particularly, while Muhammadiyah Muslims might think something is valid, NU Muslims might think otherwise’ (W.H. Sudarmo, 19 May 2011, personal communication). Sudarmo was referring to the two largest Muslim organizations in Indonesia, the liberal Muhammadiyah and traditionalist NU (Nahdlatul Ulama), which are often at odds on Islamic rituals. A classic case, which often provides fuel for casual jokes, is different Idul Fitri dates (the two organizations use a different calendar in relation with the end of the fasting month). Thus, the script was verified based on both sources as a conscious choice to step away from the political divisions in society and return to authoritative texts. Mizwar mentioned the book Al-Islam bila Mathahib or Islam without Madhabs (Muslim school of law), arguing that Indonesian Muslims have become too preoccupied with appearing more righteous than others instead of basing behaviors on authoritative text (D. Mizwar, 24 May 2011, personal communication). For Mizwar, Islamic orthodoxy is a means to reunite fragmented Indonesian Muslims.

Despite the differences in the way the ustads or scholars endorsed Islamic sinetron, in all production processes they were seen as a figure of religious authority. The endorsement of an ustad brings added value to a sinetron, whether as a marketing strategy or to give it the authority of scholarly Islamic interpretation. To a varying extent those involved in the production of Islamic sinetron—namely television station programmers and the production houses—treat them as religious promotion. . The producers of Munajah Cinta adapted Islamic content—in essence, polygamy—to market tastes. Hidayah enlisted the help of an ustad to ensure ‘accuracy’ of Islamic rituals in order to avoid controversy, whereas the Islamic scholars involved with Para Pencari Tuhan ensured accountable Islamic propagation. The Hidayah and Munajah Cinta producers court the Muslim market by avoiding inauthentic Islamic portrayals fraught with commercial risk, while the Para Pencari Tuhan producers focus on family viewers in the hope of drip-feeding Islamic teachings into their daily lives. While motivated by different factors, the various producers all approach Islamic sinetron as a balancing act between commercial interests and conformity with Islamic teachings.

Risk avoidance

A second shared commonality of the three Islamic sinetron is the producers' decision to self-censor to some extent. Although the government does regulate TV content, none of the producers referred to this when explaining why they skirted sensitive issues. ‘Our government is still feudalistic, conservative in terms of [content], which is expected to provide “good” lessons. Lessons are both good and bad. But our government, our censorship body, is not like that’ (I. Kurniawan, 11 June 2011, personal communication). Kurniawan alludes to Philip Kitley's description of ‘the audience as childlike’ (2000: 83) and therefore needing guidance. In contrast, Kurniawan posited the ‘audience as market’ (Kitley, 2000: 94).

The positioning of the audience as market determines which issues are too sensitive to be represented in Islamic sinetron. These include issues related to 'SARA ⁸ or those that are much too “confrontative” (memojokkan) of a religious group' (D. Rusmana, 23 June 2011, personal communication). The producers' view of the audience as market guides the production of each sinetron in different ways. With Hidayah, the producers avoided overtly sensitive issues to make sure it was unobjectionable. In preproduction, an ustad's approval was the first safeguard. However, in some cases, the director might ‘stray too far’ (nyeleneh) which then required censoring in the editing process (D. Rusmana, 23 June 2011, personal communication). Such postproduction content control suggests that this risk aversion manifests itself through several levels (Barkin, 2004; Shoemaker and Reese, 1996).

The production of Munajah Cinta was also guided by commercial interest. While Hidayah eschewed SARA issues altogether, Munajah Cinta had to find ways around depicting sexuality.

There was a scene about marital relations but we had to show it visually to the audience. Beforehand, we discussed how we should represent it. We finally decided to set the characters on a bed, with the help of camera tricks. We moved the angle away. People would understand, so we wouldn’t need to picture it explicitly. (B. Hutabarat, interview, 10 May 2011).

In contrast to the Hidayah and Munajah Cinta producers’ view of the audience as market, the producers of Para Pencari Tuhan had a more pedagogical approach: the audience as pupils. Suspecting that audiences might take at face value whatever they heard on TV, scriptwriter Sudarmo argued that producing Islamic sinetron required content checking by Islamic scholars.

If you want to write about politics, you would have to understand [politics]. I learned Islam through reading the Quran here and there. In writing, I'm not an expert. That's why Para Pencari Tuhan has high-quality content, because I am not the sole writer. I am not an Islamic scholar. I am supported by a team of qualified Islamic scholars who were hired because of their knowledge. (W.H. Sudarmo, 19 May 2011, personal communication)

Although previous observers of Indonesia's sinetron industry have argued that its prime motive was to make money (Barkin, 2004; Ida, 2006), we see that with Islamic sinetron it is not always the case. The religious packaging allows some leeway between Islamic orthodoxy and commercial interests. For instance, one strategy the Citra Sinema producers used to maintain both profitability and Islamic validity was product placement: sponsor's products (e.g., herbal medicine, motor oil, household goods) were given pride of place in the plots. Sudarmo said that they wrote their scripts around hadiths which lent themselves to product placement. He illustrated this with a first season episode in which an ustad turned down a cash payment after a sermon because a hadith forbade taking money in such circumstances.

An ustad can receive pay, but he cannot set a fee. So usually when we invite an ustad, we'd say ‘Here you go, ustad. Not much, but enough to buy toothpaste’. Ustad Ferry, an ustad with integrity, discusses with his wife whether he really should buy toothpaste with the money he had received. Trying to be amanah (trustworthy), he buys one million Rupiah's [USD110] worth of toothpaste and distributes the stuff throughout the village. Enzim toothpaste was the sponsor. (W.S. Sudarmo, 19 May 2011, personal communication).

Divine intervention

Based on our viewing of Hidayah episodes, the series seems to revolve around the personal experiences of Muslims set as binary, good vs. evil situations. All of the protagonists are tested by economic problems, either successfully returning to the righteous path or finally driven to their doom at the end of the episode. Economic issues are portrayed through relationships between social classes, with unfair treatment at the hands of other Muslims resolved through divine intervention.

At the end of each episode, characters who dared defy religious authority embodied in ustad, husbands, mothers, etc. are stricken by God with mysterious, incurable diseases or sudden death. This celebration of authority centers on the family as a religiously legitimate social institution, as well as on interclass relationships. In the case of family, marital relationships are patriarchal and filial relationships are matriarchal. In marriage, a husband rules his wife, and by defying her husband, a wife is defying God. In the case of filial relationships, a child that offends his/her mother defies God, as suggested by the hadith that says ‘Heaven lies under mother's feet’ (Surga di bawah telapak kaki ibu). Quoting a hadith gives religious authority to these figures, legitimizing their power. However, regardless of the nature of the conflict, the trigger for such defiance is often financial. The financial autonomy gained by a wife or daughter allows her to defy religious authority. This defiance is quickly thwarted by an authoritative figure regaining his/her power through supernatural occurrences.

Those mothers and husbands who lose authority over their children and wives are comparable to the many oppressed, lower-middle-class Muslims portrayed in TV dramas—the ‘poor.’ Such characters are all similar in that they are devout Muslims trying to stay on the righteous path. They finally get the justice they deserve through divine intervention—which suggests it could not happen any other way. When authoritative figures lose their power or the poor are abused by socioeconomic power, most often by members of the upper-middle class, it is a result of some disorder in the social structure, and to restore this order, divine intervention is necessary.

In this regard, Hidayah shows that official and/or state institutions are helpless in assisting the poor. In one episode, a company's struggles to preserve employee benefits are presented in the context of gasoline subsidy cuts which came into effect on 1 October 2005. In other episodes, hospitals are portrayed as lacking compassion toward patients who are unable to pay their medical bills, causing more suffering in their lives. In a system that does not side with the poor, divine intervention comes to the rescue of protagonists suffering abuse and neglect at the hands of unscrupulous, powerful people. A general distrust toward formal institutions drives the main characters to find solutions to their problems. The root cause of such problems, as in the case of family conflicts, is lack of financial autonomy or ‘poverty,’ which positions the protagonists as oppressed. Antagonistic characters consult healers (dukun) and protagonists consult ustad. Caught between the former and the latter, doctors and law enforcers have limited power to solve the problem.

Dukun and ustad are polarized in Hidayah as evil and good, respectively. Such a polarization was invented by the film industry in the Suharto years to avoid censorship (Van Heeren, 2007: 219). Interviews with Hidayah producers also suggest that the presence of ustad in the storylines owes much to commercial risk avoidance concerns. In other words, while textual constraints remain—what may and what may not be represented in the realm of the supernatural—they are now reacting to changes in ideological pressure.

Likewise, there is never an open battle between dukun and ustad. Instead, the battle between good and evil occurs between the main characters and their social surroundings. The dukun's black magic is considered shirk (idolatry) or polytheism or bid'ah (heresy) by liberal Indonesian Muslims (Mujani, 2003: 99; Mundayat, 2005), but in Hidayah, black magic is a response to institutional failures. This suggests that the role of the dukun relates to the moral panic sparked by fears that these institutions are ‘threats towards a functioning social system’ (Ferzacca, 2001: 223). The ustad, for instance, advises a protagonist to seek the advice of doctors, and if unsuccessful, to surrender to God. When this does not work, the protagonist goes to a dukun. The strained relationship between modern Islamic practice and old, ‘traditional’ ways is stabilized by a fictitious power that supersedes both ustad and dukun and is limited to the protagonists' individual and private religious experience.

The show, and many others like it, received praise from the highly conservative Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (HTI) Muslim group. The group called the show is ‘a breath of fresh air’ compared to other sinetron. In fact, the good–evil polarization and unreal or improbable resolutions in Hidayah storylines are not novel sinetron devices. By resorting to such improbable solutions to the poor's plight and decaying social authority, the drama posits religion as the only means of salvation or escape. This notion is in line with senior television program director Harsiwi Achmad's explanation of Nielsen's ⁹ class C audience (lower-middle class) and ‘escapist’ content. While popular melodramas target lower-middle-class audiences thought to escape reality by losing themselves in the lives of fictitious upper-middle-class characters (see Rakhmani, forthcoming 2014), Hidayah offers up religious content through divine intervention as remedy to the social injustice its producers perceive to be part of the identity of their target audience. While narratively similar, supernatural dramas mainly differ from those sinetron that do not find favor with HTI in their obvious references to Islam.

Islamic piety

There are two major recurring themes in Munajah Cinta episodes. First, in various subplots, Islamic piety is often contrasted with a hedonistic lifestyle. In one scene, for instance, Muslims of both sexes have just returned from their umrah, or minor hajj (the lesser pilgrimage to Mecca). They are shocked to find that a karaoke bar and massage parlor has opened in front of the travel agency of main male protagonist Attar. The ensuing conversation between the pilgrims centers on the tainting of their great religious endeavor by their choice of a travel agent whose neighbors operate such shady businesses (commonly associated with illegal sexual practices).

In response to his customer's protests, Attar asks the neighboring business's owner to take down a provocative poster of a woman. Owner and main male antagonist Bakrie declines to do so and tells Attar that if he disapproves, he might want to move his travel agency to ‘Arabia.’ This scene and many others like it play on the frictions between Islamic piety and social practices that are permitted in Jakarta (although illegal). The dispute cannot be resolved and the karaoke bar becomes a recurring trigger for tensions between piety and ‘hedonism.’ The characters try to maintain the purity of their Islamic experience and as a result, their piety is challenged by politics and money. The pious characters thus pray to God to help them in this test, and their problem is resolved through acceptance (‘This must be Allah's grace’).

The second recurring theme in Munajah Cinta often plays on the degrees of piety between ustads. In one episode a kyai that is Attar's mentor has an argument with an anonymous ustad. Attar visits Maemunah, one of his two love interests, in her modest apartment (kost). Having had coffee accidentally spilt on him, he takes off some of his clothes, which leads nosey neighbors to think he is having an extramarital affair (zina). The couple is dragged to the police station on charges of adultery. They are imprisoned and interrogated. The witnesses and an anonymous ustad who recited a relevant hadith are interrogated as well.

The ustad claims that Islam prohibits a man and a woman from sharing a room unless they are married or muhrim, ¹⁰ further incriminating the couple. The police diligently type all statements made by the suspects, the witnesses, and the ustad. The kyai arrives and talks to the main protagonist, without giving him a straight answer, only quoting ambiguous verses from the Quran. On reflection, Attar decides to take his female friend as his second wife, provided his first one does not object. The charges are instantly dropped and the couple is released from prison.

The anonymous ustad is portrayed as a stereotypical, black-and-white religious zealot, whereas the kyai (a Javanese term for ‘Islamic teacher,’ in common use among traditionalist Muslims) is portrayed as a spiritual leader who helps the main protagonist find his own way of practicing religion. This difference is symbolized in their attributes. The anonymous ustad wears Indonesian clothing (peci and baju koko), and the kyai wears a turban, a scarf, and a gamis (Middle Eastern men's shirt) down to his knees (see Figure 1). OPEN IN VIEWER

Such ‘Middle-Eastern’ references are often related to a character's degree of piety. It is not only the kyai's apparel that symbolizes his Islamic authority over the ‘local’ ustad, but praying scenes are often accompanied by Middle-Eastern music. Such songs never accompany the praying scenes of characters with lower degree of piety.

In the above-mentioned episode, the police detain a couple suspected of adultery until all testimonies have been checked, including those of the anonymous ustad who was there to testify as an expert. This conflict is resolved when Attar announces his intention to marry Maemunah and the police release them. In effect, the storyline turns the policemen into enforcers of Islamic tenets: they process the case as if it were an offence punishable by law. Although Indonesian law does not prohibit extramarital relations, the plot has policemen enforce Sharia on the two characters as a device to legitimize their romantic relationship. In this episode of Munajah Cinta, State officials are shown as subordinate to religious authority.

At a glance, this may seem like puritanism, reminiscent of Saudi Arabia-based Wahabism (Hadiz and Teik, 2011). However, the goal of Munajah Cinta's producers was to replicate the commercial success of Ayat-ayat Cinta, a film set in Cairo, Egypt. One may therefore see the uncritical adoption of ‘Middle-Eastern’ values less as a portrayal of ‘puritanism’ and more as the commodification of ‘Middle Eastern’ cultural attributes. The sinetron producers we interviewed claimed that Munajah Cinta was meant to portray a ‘pure, peaceful’ brand of Islam and to highlight the ‘sincerity’ of female Muslims in polygamous marriages, along the lines of the classic love triangle of popular melodramas (I. Kurniawan, 11 June 2011, personal communication). Such ‘purity’ is embodied through idealized, ‘Middle Eastern’ religious rules. The degree of piety portrayed in Islamic melodramas does not reflect Islamic ideology so much as the producers’ ideas of what may attract those pious, middle-class, upwardly mobile Muslim audiences who have been loyal popular melodrama viewers.

Political criticism through Islamic views

Islamic tenets as remedy to poverty and/or social injustice—such is the general tone of Para Pencari Tuhan. The focus in this section is how collective identity associated with Islam becomes a means to challenge the purportedly essentialist assumption that religious authority is only in the hands of the learned ustad. Centering on the everyday lives of the residents of a small urban village, this show is often used as a vehicle for criticism on two major issues. The first issue is the economy, usually in the form of the villagers' struggle against poverty. A particular scene portrays the main protagonist, bang ¹¹ Jack, who is concerned that fewer and fewer people come to At-Taufik, the show's central, but small, mosque. This reinforces the larger context of Para Pencari Tuhan: criticism of a decrease in collective religious practice caused by an economic downturn. As an illustration, here is a scene where the main characters are waiting at the mosque for more people to join in prayer (shalat berjamaah). Bang Jack asks several passers-by to join them, but is rebuffed as they are all headed to work.

Bang Jack: People used to not visit our mosque because they were trying to save their families from poverty.

Barong: And now?

Bang Jack: Now they're still not visiting our mosque, because they're trying to save their jobs.

The second issue is related to everyday politics. Islamic tenets are usually invoked to challenge unquestioned traditions practiced in the village. In one episode, for instance, the villagers tell the richest man in the village, pak ¹² Jalal, that they want to celebrate his birthday, in the hope of getting free entertainment on his dime. Pak Jalal's niece Kalila reminds everyone that the Prophet and his companions did not have birthday celebrations. Therefore, if there should be an event funded by pak Jalal, it should serve to strengthen the bonds between everyone in the village. Before pak Jalal agrees on a carambole competition, he wants to have a pole climbing competition, usually performed on Indonesia's Independence Day.

Bang Jack: Yes, but why do we have to have a pole climbing competition, pak Jalal?

Pak Jalal: What's wrong with a pole climbing competition?

Bang Jack: Pole climbing is a tradition inherited from the Dutch when they colonized us, pak Jalal.

Pak Jalal: Wow, that's cool!

Bang Jack: Not really. Natives were instructed to compete against each other, through pole climbing, to win prizes of clothes, cheese, sugar, coffee, etc., while the Dutch watched, laughed, and drank tea, looking at natives scrambling to outdo one another to win clothes and food.

Pak Jalal: Really? But it has since become our tradition.

Bang Jack: Pak Jalal, our society's traditions also needs correcting. For me, the pole climbing tradition can only degrade our nation's pride by perpetuating a colonizer's game.

Pak Jalal finally tells the committee that no matter what they suggest, the event should not include a pole climbing competition. This scene clearly shows that Para Pencari Tuhan is used to tell audiences that several traditions need to be questioned and that their current practices have roots in history. Here, pak Jalal listens to the religious advice of bang Jack, a man from a lower socioeconomic class. The episode about pak Jalal's birthday introduced the issue of dominance and national pride, with Islamic teachings becoming a means to challenge otherwise unquestioned traditions.

Similar social criticism is also apparent in another episode, where several villagers come to the mosque to pray together. Upon arriving, they are confused about whether to join in the congregational prayer: there is usually only one such prayer going on in a mosque at any given time, with latecomers joining in as they arrive. Here, however different groups are praying separately (see Figure 2). OPEN IN VIEWER

Responding to the unusual situation, one of villagers says that maybe there are different prayers because each group follows a different schools of thought: one may be hardline (garis keras) and the other one more progressive (garis lembut). To avoid confusion, the newcomers join neither group and conduct their own prayer, stating that they would rather not be led in confusion ‘thus we should create our own [political] party that accommodates our aspiration.’ This implies that their religious ritual is comparable to religious–political affiliation. Finally, while the three congregational prayers are being held simultaneously in the mosque, the main characters chat in dumbfounded disbelief:

Bang Jack: This is just like our people (umat), we have too many political parties. The more flags we have, the less power each party possesses. Like bubbles in the sea, abundant but without force.

Azzam: Let's do our preprayer washing. Then we can start our own political party.

Bang Jack: No, we shouldn’t imitate them. This is an example of people conducting rituals without understanding why. We'll wait until they finish.

The multiple congregational prayer scene alludes to the dealignment (dealiranisasi) of Islamic political parties after Suharto stepped down (Tomsa, 2010; Ufen, 2006). The scene shows the villagers choosing to have their own congregational prayer rather than unwittingly following another prayer. An anonymous villager says that having their own authentic congregation is like having ‘a party that accommodates our aspiration.’ Bang Jack echoes the reference toward political parties. He states that political dealignment is what makes the umat or ummah (Islamic community) weak: because Muslims are fragmented into small, powerless groups. The scene occurs at the end of the episode, leaving the issue open-ended. The panjat pinang scene indicates that a dominant group may tear people apart by pitting them against one another. Such fragmentation is depicted negatively in the above episode, with Islamic views being used to further the notion of Muslim unity.

In both scenes Islamic views elucidate the ambiguity of everyday ethical problems that manifest themselves through Muslim politics. Despite the nontrivial issues, the humor blanketing social criticism helped the show become unobjectionable. Para Pencari Tuhan airs on SCTV (Surya Citra Televisi). Programming Director Harsiwi Achmad says that Mizwar's sinetron has been popular because its lower-class setting appeals to lower-middle and middle-class audiences while its realistic narratives appeal to upper-middle-class viewers, with its comedic packaging appealing to all three categories. This is a new strategy of television stations intent on widening their audiences. Therefore, while Para Pencari Tuhan's production process and content show this sinetron is intended for da'wah, it appeals to a market that transcends the Nielsen audience class that is not apparent in the first two clusters that were produced to repeat commercial successes. Citra Sinema adopted new creative strategies that followed the commercial logic of the sinetron industry while enlisting Islamic scholars to validate Islamic representations. The negotiations between re-contextualizing Islamic texts and remaining sellable suggest that the da'wah agency is working through the commercial space of television.