The relevance of institutionalizing worship?
In Senegal, religion extends beyond the private sphere; it actively contributes to social cohesion, crisis mediation, education, and at times, political governance. Despite this pervasive influence, the interactions between the State and religious communities largely depend on informal practices. This raises a critical question: can the formal institutionalization of worship move beyond clientelism while simultaneously upholding the nation’s secular principles? The discussion may no longer center on whether to institutionalize State-religion relations, but rather on how to achieve this without institutionalizing religion itself.
First, it is crucial to dispel a common misconception: formalizing the relationship between the State and religious communities does not automatically mean religion becomes a state affair. Several African nations have already opted to establish public structures dedicated to religious matters.
For instance, Mali operates a Ministry of Religious Affairs, Worship, and Customs. Guinea has a General Secretariat for Religious Affairs, and Côte d’Ivoire maintains a specific administration overseeing religious activities. Morocco has taken this institutionalization much further through its Superior Council of Ulemas and the role of Amir Al-Mouminine.
Senegal, too, possesses an early stage of institutionalization. The creation of the Directorate of Religious Affairs and Integration of Arabic Language Graduates in April 2024 marked a significant initial step. Its director, Djim Dramé, openly states that the objective is precisely to “formalize relations between the State and religions” and to foster peace, harmony, and coexistence. Consequently, the contemporary debate focuses less on the necessity of an administration for religious matters and more on the extent of institutionalization Senegal wishes to implement.
Islamologist Abdoul Aziz Kébé views the proposed transformation of the Directorate of Religious Affairs into a General Delegation as a “positive evolution” and an “institutional elevation.” His argument is particularly insightful: “religion is a resource in our country,” especially concerning social cohesion and the adoption of public policies.
If religion already serves as a vital social, cultural, and even political resource for Senegal, why continue to manage State relations primarily through personal connections, courtesy visits, ad hoc delegations, and situational arrangements? It is within this context that Ousmane Sonko’s proposal should be understood.
Sonko advocates for a genuine institutionalization of State-religious community relations, structured around several key proposals: establishing a dedicated budget for worship, elevating the Delegation for Religious Affairs to a State Secretariat or a full ministry, officially recognizing certain provisions granted to religious leaders, and regulating special funds through a commission of sworn individuals.
A “secularism of collaboration between politics and religion”
The underlying principle is clear: to transition from a system of discretionary favors to one based on predefined rights and rules. When a religious leader receives administrative assistance due to proximity to the President, it is a favor. However, if the same assistance is governed by a text with clearly defined conditions applicable to all leaders meeting identical criteria, it becomes an institutional process. The State’s role should not be to control religious affairs, but to establish a framework that organizes its interactions with them.
Senegal is a secular state. This constitutional reality cannot be circumvented or diminished. The Constitution asserts that the Republic is secular, democratic, and social, ensuring equality among citizens without religious distinction and respecting all beliefs. Therefore, the institutionalization of worship cannot lead to any form of state religion.
However, the crucial question is whether secularism prohibits the State from organizing its relations with religions. Political science professor Maurice Soudieck Dione aptly demonstrates that Senegalese secularism has a unique history. It does not precisely align with the strict French model of separation. He describes it as a “secularism of collaboration between politics and religion.” Thus, the distinctiveness of the Senegalese model lies in its operation through a “pragmatic accommodation” with confraternities and the Church.
Nevertheless, the debate cannot be oversimplified to: “since religion plays a significant role in society, a Ministry of Worship must be created.” Seydou Ka, a journalist and columnist for Le Soleil, rightly cautions against the risk of transforming secularism into a form of administrative control over religious matters. He expresses concern about the “bureaucratization of the sacred” and a potential drift towards a “laicism” that could undermine the autonomy of religious leaders.
This observation is fundamental, as there is a clear distinction between institutionalizing relations *with* religions and institutionalizing religions *themselves*. In the former case, the State establishes an administrative interlocutor. In the latter, it gradually begins to define legitimacy, who can speak on behalf of a community, which activities are permissible, how places of worship should operate, and which religious leaders qualify for public recognition.
The fear of a “bureaucratization of the sacred”
The State’s desire to organize religions themselves poses an evident risk and could fundamentally alter their nature. Researcher Bakary Sambe has perfectly summarized the danger inherent in the relationship between politics and religion in Senegal. He observes that “our leaders seek in religion a legitimacy they lack in politics.” The danger of institutionalization would be precisely to transform an already clientelistic relationship into a bureaucratized form of clientelism. Instead of politicians sporadically seeking religious blessings, permanent mechanisms for distributing public resources could emerge.
It is precisely because these risks exist that institutionalization appears necessary. Currently, a significant portion of the relationship between the State and religious authorities is personalized. A president cultivates a particular relationship with a specific caliph. A minister is close to a certain religious family. A community more easily secures certain investments due to its religious influence.
A major religious event receives special support because of its significance. The question then arises: is it better to leave these practices informal or subject them to public rules? In my view, it is preferable to institutionalize them. However, with an important clarification: we must not institutionalize faith itself; we must institutionalize the State’s relationship with religious reality.
This perspective seems to be shared by Djim Dramé when he asserts that the Directorate of Religious Affairs aims to listen to “all religious sensitivities” and formalize State-religion relations. The National Council of Laity has also expressed support for this approach, believing the Directorate could become an effective interface between the Church and the State. Its president, Philippe Abraham Tine, emphasized the need to clearly explain the structure’s role to prevent misunderstandings. This interfaith dimension is crucial.
Senegal is a profoundly religious society. Muslims constitute a vast majority, while Christian communities boast a significant historical and social presence. This socio-historical reality warrants an institutional response. If the State supports citizens in education, health, culture, or sports, why should it treat religious matters as a reality it can never institutionally address?
A public policy for religious matters
The State can support pilgrimages, help secure major religious events, back religious training, contribute to the renovation of certain places of worship, or assist religious establishments, provided that rules are transparent and the same principles of equity are applied. Islamologist Abdoul Aziz Kébé specifically highlights the goal of supporting “Muslim, Christian, and traditional religious communities” in their worship and development. Ultimately, Ousmane Sonko’s proposal initiates a debate far more profound than a mere administrative question.
It compels Senegal to critically examine its unique model of secularism. Seydou Ka reminds us of the risk of the bureaucratization of the sacred. Étienne Smith invites us to consider “proportional equidistance.” Seydi Diamil Niane stresses the necessity of institutionalizing relations between public authorities and religious leaders. Maurice Soudieck Dione illustrates a particular collaboration between the political and the religious spheres.
Experiences from Côte d’Ivoire, Mali, Guinea, Niger, and Burkina Faso each demonstrate various methods for organizing these relationships. Sonko, however, poses another fundamental question: why continue to manage through favors what could be organized by law? This is where the true merit of his proposal lies. Provided, of course, that a fundamental error is avoided: institutionalizing worship must not equate to nationalizing religion. The State must remain secular. Religions must retain their autonomy. And citizens must be free to practice their faith.
Thus, I would not necessarily advocate for a “Ministry of Religion,” which might suggest the State is managing spiritual affairs. Instead, I would support a republican institution tasked with transparently and equitably organizing relations between the State and various faiths. For Senegal cannot act as if religion does not exist.
The question is therefore no longer whether to institutionalize religious reality, but how to institutionalize it without losing the unique character of Senegalese secularism. And, in my opinion, the correct answer lies in one principle: do not institutionalize faith. Institutionalize the relationship with faith. This is the only path to reconcile republican secularism, religious freedom, confessional equity, and the autonomy of religious communities.
