Azra himself once called this gap “the forgotten network.” And it’s a telling phrase. Because at the grassroots level—villages, coastal communities, remote regions—ulama have long shaped the lived texture of Islam in ways that are no less significant.
My own thesis, The Jiou Network (Local Ulama) and Islamic Patterns on the Southern Coast of Bolaang Mongondow, North Sulawesi, in the 20th Century (2021), tries to step into that silence. It traces the jiou ulama network and shows how deeply their influence runs—quiet, persistent, and formative in shaping local expressions of Islam along that coastline.
These works, taken together, sketch a larger picture. Islam in the archipelago did not spread in isolation, nor did it grow randomly. It moved through people—through scholars bound together in networks, visible and invisible alike.
How Scholarly Networks Take Shape
Drawing from Azra’s analysis in Jaringan Ulama Timur Tengah dan Kepulauan Nusantara Abad XVII dan XVIII, we can see that these networks tend to form in two distinct ways: directly and indirectly.
Direct networks grow out of tangible relationships—teacher and student, parent and child, in-law ties. They are personal, traceable, almost genealogical.
Consider the Wali Songo. Sunan Ampel and Sunan Bonang were father and son. Bonang, in turn, taught Sunan Kalijaga. Across the network, these lines of knowledge and lineage intertwine, forming a web grounded in both blood and learning.