Khadījah was the first person to embrace the Prophet’s ﷺ message, offering comfort and support as the first verses of the Qur’an were revealed and the weighty responsibility of prophethood began to take shape. 

Shortly thereafter, the Prophet ﷺ also suffered the loss of Abū Ṭālib, who had safeguarded the public dissemination of the message within Makkah. Upon his demise, animosity towards the Prophet escalated.

For believers, the Year of Sorrow symbolises more than a mere historical event. It strongly highlights the undeniable fact that even prophets, who stand as the pinnacle of creation, faced difficulties.

Khadījah : Strength at the Dawn of Revelation

At the dawn of revelation, when the first encounter with Jibrīl in the Cave of Ḥirā marked the beginning of prophethood, the Prophet ﷺ returned home deeply shaken by the magnitude of what had unfolded before him. At this juncture, Khadījah provided him with solace and encouragement. Her words are among the most profound affirmations chronicled in the Sira:

“Allah will never disgrace you. You maintain ties of kinship, you speak truth, you bear the burdens of the weak, you honour the guest, and you assist those afflicted by hardship.” [Bukhari]

Khadījah’s statements offer more than just comfort; they articulate a divine and spiritual truth by outlining key ethical behaviors in Islam, such as maintaining family ties, truthfulness, charity, hospitality, and supporting the vulnerable. Her response demonstrates an innate understanding that Allah does not abandon those whose lives are directed towards truth, devotion, and service to others. Her words continue to fortify the hearts of believers, serving as a reminder that a life founded on sincere intention and devout commitment is never forsaken by Allah .

Abū Ṭālib: Protection Amid Opposition

The Prophet ﷺ not only mourned the death of Khadījah but also suffered the loss of his uncle, Abū Ṭālib. Abū Ṭālib had nurtured him since childhood and was a staunch and unwavering guardian of his nephew. Due to his esteemed position as a leader of Banū Hāshim, Abū Ṭālib was instrumental in securing the Prophet’s safety in a social structure where tribal affiliation was the sole determinant of individual protection.  

Even though he did not embrace Islam, Abu Talib publicly and resolutely supported the Prophet ﷺ. He upheld this position despite the relentless pressure he endured from the Quraysh leaders because he recognised the Prophet’s ﷺ sincerity and moral integrity.

His death marked a significant change in the outward circumstances of the Prophetic mission. Although the divine message continued to be conveyed, the environment became increasingly difficult.  

With both his inner support and outer shield now gone, the Prophet ﷺ faced a much steeper path ahead.

Ṭā’if: A Day of Profound Difficulty

Given the escalating resistance to his message in Makkah, the Prophet ﷺ looked for a setting where his teachings might be met with openness. This prompted his journey to Ṭā’if. He was hopeful that its leaders would be receptive and would offer a platform for the Islamic message.

Sadly, the response he encountered in Ṭā’if was deeply distressing. He was met with rejection and harsh treatment. Even in this moment of profound difficulty, the Sira reveals something remarkable. The Angel of the Mountains appeared, offering to crush the inhabitants between the mountain ranges due to their defiance. However, the Prophet ﷺ did not display anger or seek vengeance. Instead, his response was marked by forgiveness and an enduring hope that future generations descended from them would dedicate their devotion solely to Allah .

In the aftermath of Ṭā’if, the Prophet ﷺ turned to Allah with words that reveal the depth of his reliance upon his Lord:

“O Allah, to You I complain of my weakness, my limited ability, and my insignificance in the sight of people.
O Most Merciful of those who show mercy, You are the Lord of the oppressed, and You are my Lord.
If You are not displeased with me, then I do not mind what I face, though Your protection is greater comfort for me.”

Sorrow does not distance the believer from Allah . Rather, it draws the heart closer to the One who knows the weights of its burdens. The Prophet’s ﷺ serves as a blueprint for spiritual resilience – prioritising Divine Pleasure over creation, recognising the difficulty of the moment, yet his concern remains firmly focused on Allah .

He does not measure success through the response of people:

If You are not displeased with me, then I do not mind what I face…

In this heartfelt supplication, the heart is directed towards the true measure of success. While human acceptance wavers, circumstances may shift, and outcomes may remain hidden, the believer finds stability in seeking the pleasure of Allah above all else.

In the wake of Ta’if’s hardships, this duʿā reveals a heart that is entirely anchored in Allah . It powerfully demonstrates the Prophet’s ﷺ boundless generosity of spirit, even at his most vulnerable state; he met cruelty with grace, proving that his nobility was shielded by a deep awareness of Divine Care. 

Despite fierce opposition, the core truth of the divine message remained untarnished. The Prophet’s ﷺ sincerity was unyielding, anchored by a steadfast resolve that no pressure could break. Throughout every trial, he found his ultimate strength and solace in Allah alone. 

Spiritual Insights from the Year of Sorrow

1. Faith: The Spiritual Anchor

The Sira shows that grief does not contradict spiritual strength. The Prophet ﷺ experienced deep loss, yet his trust in Allah remained an unwavering anchor amidst the waves of sorrow. Faith does not remove sorrow but calms and steadies the soul, orienting it towards Allah .

2. Sincerity: The Mark of Faith

Khadījah’s words show us that sincerity to Allah is reflected in good character. Upholding ties of kinship, speaking the truth, supporting those in need, and caring for the vulnerable are signs of a heart devoted to Allah . A life marked by generosity, integrity, and concern for others is never insignificant with Allah .

3. Allah Alone: The Eternal Source of Strength

The presence of Khadījah and the protection of Abū Ṭālib show that Allah places means through which His Servants are strengthened. Yet, the Sira is a powerful reminder that human support is limited, imperfect, and falters. Allah alone is Al-Ḥayy, the Ever-Living, and Al-Qayyūm, the One who sustains and upholds all things. Consequently, we learn that our ultimate trust should be placed in the One whose sustenance is never-ending.

4. Compassion – The Pinnacle of Resilience

The Prophet’s ﷺ response to the cruelty of Ṭā’if redefines strength. Years later, when ‘Aishah asked if any day had been more difficult than the battle of Uhud, he ﷺ identified Ṭā’if as one of the most painful days of his life. Yet it was in this moment of peak suffering that his character shone. This proves that a heart connected to Allah is clear and compassionate, even when broken. True resilience is not just the ability to survive hardship, but also being magnanimous in a harsh world; choosing mercy over vengeance, and guidance over grievance.

5. Divine Pleasure: The Sanctuary of the Soul

The heartfelt prayer at Ṭā’if reorients the heart towards the true measure of success: seeking the pleasure of Allah above all else. When the believer finds sanctuary in Allah’s Pleasure, even fluctuating circumstances, no matter how harsh, cannot shake the foundations of faith.

The Prophet’s ﷺ  legacy reminds us that while the world can be harsh and cruel, in those moments our response must be grounded in our faith: a God-centred life can be a source of light for the world. 

Related:

– On Prophetic Wisdom and Speaking to Children in Times of Distress

– Prophetic Lessons From The Muslim Men In Gaza

The post The Year Of Sorrow: Key Lessons On Spiritual Resilience From The Seerah appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

By Ibrahim Moiz for MuslimMatters

A Rare Ottoman Victory

The First World War was a seminal moment in modern Islamic history, setting off a chain of events that led to the collapse of the longstanding Ottoman Sultanate, which theoretically claimed leadership over the world’s Muslims as a caliphate, and the imposition of colonial rule in much of the Near East, with administrative structures and borders that have long outlasted the actual colonies.

The war also saw the encroachment of Western European, namely British and French, power in the region for the first time since the medieval era, with Britain in particular playing a major role in establishing a regional dominance unmatched by any non-Muslim power until the United States displaced and inherited its hegemony later in the twentieth century.

Yet at the outset of the war British success was far from certain, and stiff opposition, whether by Ottoman forces or local Muslim militants, continued for decades. This month marks eleven decades since a rare Ottoman victory against the British Empire, at the siege of Kut in central Iraq during the spring of 1916, which will be the subject of this article: the first of several examining key moments in the colonization of the Muslim world’s centre during these years.

Background and Build-Up

The Ottoman Empire just before World War I

British relations with the Ottomans had begun in the sixteenth century, and apart from a period of hostility in the early 1800s, where Britain backed the secession of Greece, had been more or less cordial for most of the nineteenth century.

Over this period Britain came to rule probably the single largest amalgamation of Muslim populations in the world, including such far-flung regions as Egypt and India, which became the regional bases for British policy toward the Middle East. Generally Britain maintained a legal fiction of simply “protecting” its vassals, such as various nobles in India and sheikhs in Arabia, as well as former enemies such as the former caliphal aristocracy of Sokoto and the religious orders of Sudan, which Britain had defeated at the turn of the twentieth century.

In practice, however, it held the whip hand. This was demonstrated in late 1914, shortly after the outbreak of the World War; when Cairo’s nominally independent government supported the Ottomans, its British “protectors” simply replaced it.

The British elite’s stance towards Muslims was mixed; parts of the imperial elite were outright hostile, while others, particularly the so-called “Arabists”, were fascinated, and a handful even embraced Islam. Circles within this elite had tended to favor Ottomans as a check against the powerful Russian Empire; others, particularly liberals, caricatured the “Turks” as oriental tyrants and, for either racial or religious reasons, sympathized with the Russian policy of trying to foment Christian minorities against the Ottomans.

It was not until the early twentieth century that Britain put this policy into practice.

Epitomized by Horatio Kitchener—the ruthless defense minister legendary throughout the British Empire for his exploits in Sudan, South Africa, and the Indo-Afghan borderland—the British elite had long feared that the Ottoman sultanate might incite an international jihad by the Muslims under or around their rule. When the Ottomans joined the World War and did just this, they found takers aplenty.

Muslim discontent in India, overlapping with calls for independence, was high, and many Muslim soldiers deserted the British army. Cairo had to be subdued from joining the Ottomans; the governments of Iran (then Persia) and Afghanistan formally declared neutrality despite severe pressure, and the Afghan regime at least hosted a largely Muslim “Free Indian” government in exile and intermittently supported Pashtun raids on the Indian frontier.

In Africa the Darfur sultanate, the Sanousi order in Libya, and the Dervish emirate in Somalia also lent support to the Ottomans. These were too scattered to change the war’s eventual outcome, but they did create a major headache for the British empire.

Under the rule of the energetic but heavy-handed “Young Turk” junta, the Ottomans in their core territories had managed to antagonize considerable proportions of their ethnic and religious minorities over the 1910s. Yet among at least its Muslim subjects support for the Ottoman cause remained extraordinarily high: only a small minority of Arabs and Kurds defected, many thousands instead fighting and dying under Ottoman colors in such arenas as Libya, eastern Anatolia, and the Dardanelles.

Messing with Mesopotamia

The strategically located and diversely ethnosectarian land of Iraq was one strategic arena: Britain had long suspected it to hold rich oil wealth, and it lay between three oil-rich regions—west of Persia, south of the Caucasus, and east of the Ottoman heartland on the Persian Gulf.

Britain would soon develop an obsession that Mosul was a hotbed of oil, but it was protecting their oil interests in Persia that were the first focus of their campaign. Britain had an arrangement with an Arab chieftain in the Ahwaz region of southern Persia, Khazal Jabir, to protect their pipeline and wanted to prevent its interception by the Ottomans.

For their part, despite a history of dissent in Iraq the Ottomans were able to rally widespread support; their commander in Iraq Hasan Cavit was even able to rally Shia clansmen and gain the support of the Shia cleric Kazim Tabatabai, who had a generally accommodationist attitude toward authority and would lose his own son in the war.

Ottoman soldiers

A British expedition, led by Arthur Barrett, landed in the Basran delta in autumn 1914 and after hard fighting managed to push back Cavit’s lieutenant there, Suphi Bey. Thousands of Arab clansmen, led by sheikhs Ajaimi Saadoun and Umran Saadoun, assembled a riverine fleet to sail to the coast to fight.

Meanwhile the Lami clan led by Ghadban Bunayya, a rival of Khazal, sabotaged the British pipeline at Ahwaz and ambushed the British reinforcements that arrived in response. In turn the British army, led by George Gorringe, ravaged the marshlands of southeast Iraq, his heavy bombardment killing hundreds in an attempt to dissuade Arab clansmen from joining the Ottomans.

By this point Britain was in some consternation after its early hopes of conquering Istanbul by sea had been shattered at the Battle of Gallipoli. Their new commander Eccles Nixon now set his sights on conquering Iraq.

In April 1915 he was encouraged with a major success at Shuaiba. The Ottoman army, usually based in Baghdad, was already overstretched, and relied heavily on the volunteering Arab clansmen under Muntafiqi chieftains Saadouns Abdullah and Ajaimi. Despite their courage, they were routed and their field commander Suleiman Askeri committed suicide.

The new Ottoman commander Mehmet Nurettin—known as “Bearded Nurettin” as the only Ottoman general to sport a beard—would earn a reputation as a ruthless, even fanatical, soldier; but, contrary to racialized British ideas of “oriental” incompetence that should have been put to bed at Gallipoli, he could fight.

The Ottomans had often relied on their German allies to provide military advice, if not outright command, as at Gallipoli, and much European opinion assumed that in the absence of German officers the “Turks” made good soldiers but poor commanders. Their overconfidence soared when by the summer the British army took the cities of Nasiria and Kut: Charles Townshend, commanding the British vanguard, dreamt of becoming “governor of Mesopotamia”.

Kut Cut Down to Size

Something of a vainglorious maverick, known for playing ribald songs on a banjo and bursting into bouts of spontaneous French, Townshend was already famous as “Chitral Charlie” in Britain for having led a besieged garrison in the highlands of the Indian frontier, now in northern Pakistan, against an Afghan siege twenty years earlier.

Nixon now ordered him to march all the way up to Baghdad. Though he romanticized about the fabled city, Townshend realized that his army might be overstretched. He preferred to stay at Kut, the Tigris town upriver of Baghdad. But despite his objections he was ordered forward.

By then, the British army had telegraphed its intention long enough for Nurettin to make thorough preparations.

The armies met in November 1915 at the site of the former Sassanid capital Ctesiphon, once the world’s largest city known as “Madain”, or metropolis, by the early Muslims, but now a backwater of Baghdad. It was an appropriate stage for a climactic battle, where the advantage tilted one way and another and nerves frayed.

Rendering of the Ctesiphon arch as it would have appeared in 1916.

At various stages both Townshend and Nurettin contemplated retreat as thousands were killed. However, it was the British army that buckled first, and Townshend fought his way out back to Kut with Nurettin in hot pursuit.

The British garrison in Kut was surrounded and a long siege set in over the winter as British supplies dwindled.

It was a rare moment of Ottoman advantage over Britain, and the Ottoman defense minister Ismail Enver, who had planned the Ottoman coalition against Britain’s Entente the previous year, arrived to soak in the moment.

Enver had spent much of the previous year in a bitter, bloody, and costly war to the north against Russia, whose main “achievement” had been the destruction of the Armenian community in response to a Russian-backed Armenian insurgency. He now replaced Nurettin with veterans of that campaign: firstly his uncle Halil, and secondly an experienced Prussian general recalled from retirement by Germany to help the Ottomans, Colmar Goltz.

If Nurettin had a reputation as a hard man, Halil was positively remorseless in the massacres against the Armenians. But he was tenacious; he had ridden on horseback to Iraq ignoring a serious, untreated injury, and his commitment to the cause was undoubted.

Goltz, for his part, had been advising the Ottoman military for decades, and though he had threatened to resign in order to stop the anti-Armenian slaughter, he was also committed to the Ottoman military, whom he saw as the engine to recover Turkish prestige.

Halil and Goltz took over just as the British army was preparing to counterattack in the new year. In early 1916 the British commanders, Fenton Aylmer and Gorringe, made three enormous attacks on Ottoman lines east of Kut; each one was repelled with thousands of soldiers slain.

Morale in the British army, both inside and outside Kut, sank; the Ottomans helpfully incited Muslim soldiery to defect from the British ranks to join their fellow Muslims; and Townshend, rotting inside Kut, blamed Nixon for ever having sent him toward Baghdad.

Indeed Nixon, whose nerves were shot to pieces, resigned, but his replacement Percy Lake had no more luck in relieving Kut.

Surrender and Aftermath

Even the death of their German taskmaster Goltz, who had spent much of his seventy-odd years with the Turks, did not dampen Ottoman spirits; it was an upbeat Halil and a glum Townshend who met on the Tigris river to arrange the terms of surrender in April 1916.

In the tradition of Ottoman soldiery, Halil was a sporting enemy—he congratulated Townshend on his heroic defense—but quite determined not to let his prey go. Townshend suggested a large financial sum in return for letting the garrison evacuate Iraq, but Halil cheerfully refused what he regarded as a bribe.

Similarly his nephew Enver, still relishing his checkmate of the infamous Kitchener, dismissed the British defense minister’s offer of payment in return for evacuation. When news of these offers spread, it embarrassed Britain greatly; Arnold Wilson, then a soldier and later to hold high office, bitterly complained about “our incredibly stupid attempt to secure by British gold what British military virtue was unable to compass.”

Kitchener would be killed two months later, in the summer of 1916, just before the bloodiest battles of the World War’s Western front. He left a long shadow that loomed not least over the Muslim world and Britain’s conquests therein, among his last experiences the humiliation against a Muslim army at Kut.

Halil would thereafter adopt the town’s name, Kut, as his personal surname. Its British garrison was captured and marched off to Anatolia, many soldiers dying on the route; however, Townshend was given a comfortable imprisonment at Istanbul and, much impressed with his captors’ gentlemanly treatment, would become a firm advocate for an arrangement with the Turks.

That came after Britain, “Kut” down to size by its experience in Iraq, resorted to subterfuge to undermine their Ottoman opponents, an episode that will be the next article in this series in sha Allah.

Related:

Part I | The Decline of the Ottoman Empire

Nationalism And Its Kurdish Discontents [Part I of II]: Kurds In An Ottoman Dusk

The post Kut and Thrust: The Ottoman Victory That Humiliated The British Empire In 1916 appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Shaykh Abdullah Mullanee and Zainab bint Younus muse over the nostalgia of the Golden Age of Islam, and question the tendency to romanticize the past without living up to its spirit. This episode pushes us to stop resting on our historic laurels and to examine how we can take the lessons of the past to rebuild the Ummah today: with creativity, curiosity, and exciting new contributions. So can the Golden Age of Islam actually save us, or is it just another legend that we tell without doing anything about the state of our Ummah today?

Related:

The Unsung Heroines Of Islamic History

Stats not Stories: Problems with our Islamic History

The post [Podcast] Can the Golden Age of Islam Save Us? | Sh Abdullah Mullanee appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

“And hold firmly to the rope of Allah all together and do not become divided.” Qur’an 3:103

Introduction

The Muslim community has never been entirely free of disagreement, nor should disagreement itself be treated as a sign of failure. Difference in interpretation, legal reasoning, and scholarly judgment has long existed within the Islamic tradition. At its best, that diversity reflected the richness of a civilization rooted in revelation, disciplined by scholarship, and guided by a sincere search for truth. Yet in our own time, disagreement often feels less like a mercy and more like a fracture. What was once carried with adab is now too often expressed through suspicion, polemics, and the urge to delegitimize those who differ.

In such a climate, it is worth pausing to imagine a different model. What if the four great Imams of Sunni jurisprudence, Abu Hanifah, Malik ibn Anas, Muhammad ibn Idris al-Shafi‘i, and Ahmad ibn Hanbal, were seated together at the same table today? What would their conversation reveal about knowledge, humility, disagreement, and responsibility in a divided age? More importantly, what might their example teach a community that is struggling not simply with difference, but with the loss of the ethical discipline required to navigate it?

To imagine such a gathering is not to romanticize the past or pretend that these towering scholars agreed on every matter. They did not. Their differences were real, substantive, and at times significant. Yet those differences unfolded within a shared moral and intellectual universe, one anchored in reverence for the Qur’an, fidelity to the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, and deep awareness of the responsibility of speaking about the religion of Allah. They disagreed without abandoning humility, and they defended principle without surrendering respect. Their legacy reminds us that the true measure of scholarship is not only what one knows, but how one carries that knowledge before Allah and before others.

A Gathering Rooted in Humility

The first quality that would likely become evident in such a gathering is humility. Each of these scholars understood the weight of speaking about the religion of Allah, and none of them claimed absolute infallibility. Abu Hanifah held his conclusions with seriousness, yet without arrogance, recognizing that legal reasoning is an effort to approach the truth, not to possess it completely.

Imam Malik famously taught that every statement may be accepted or rejected except that of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ. Imam al-Shafi‘i revised a number of his own legal views during his lifetime, demonstrating that intellectual maturity includes the willingness to refine one’s understanding. Ahmad ibn Hanbal preserved and transmitted narrations even when they challenged his own inclinations, placing fidelity to the Sunnah above personal preference.

If these four Imams were gathered today, their humility would shape the tone of the room from the beginning. The purpose would not be to defeat one another, nor to defend positions for the sake of pride, but to strive collectively toward what is most faithful to revelation and most beneficial for the Ummah. Their example reminds us that sincere scholarship requires openness to correction and fear of Allah in every word that is spoken.

Anchored in the Teachings of the Prophet ﷺ

Despite their methodological differences, the four Imams shared an unshakable foundation. Their scholarship was rooted in the Qur’an and the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. These were not merely sources among others. They were the compass that guided every discussion, every disagreement, and every legal conclusion.

Abu Hanifah, often associated with the use of reasoning and analogy, never placed personal opinion above authentic Prophetic guidance. He understood reason as a tool to apply revelation faithfully, especially when new situations required careful judgment. Imam Malik built much of his legal method upon the inherited practice of the people of Madinah, believing that the living tradition of the city of the Prophet ﷺ preserved the Sunnah in action. His work Al-Muwatta became one of the earliest systematic efforts to gather hadith and legal rulings rooted in the Prophetic tradition.

Imam al-Shafi‘i clarified the authority of the Sunnah within Islamic law and established a structured methodology that balanced the Qur’an, the Sunnah, consensus, and analogy. Ahmad ibn Hanbal devoted his life to preserving the words and actions of the Prophet ﷺ, compiling vast collections of hadith and refusing to compromise the authority of revelation even under political pressure. Though their methods differed, their devotion to the guidance of the Prophet ﷺ united them more strongly than any disagreement could divide them.

Listening Before Speaking

A defining feature of classical Islamic scholarship was the discipline of listening. These scholars were not formed in isolation. They studied with one another, learned through chains of transmission, and inherited traditions of respectful engagement. Imam al-Shafi‘i studied with Imam Malik. Ahmad ibn Hanbal studied with Imam al-Shafi‘i. Their relationships were built upon learning, not rivalry.

If they were seated together today, they would begin not with accusation, but with careful listening. Abu Hanifah might explain the role of analogy in addressing new circumstances. Imam Malik might emphasize the importance of preserving the living tradition of the community. Imam al-Shafi‘i would clarify the principles that govern sound legal reasoning. Ahmad ibn Hanbal would insist that speculation must remain anchored to authentic narrations. Each would listen before speaking, knowing that justice in scholarship requires understanding before judgment.

Advising with Wisdom and Respect

Their disagreements would be real, but they would not be stripped of adab. Islamic intellectual history shows that strong debate can exist alongside deep respect. The Imams differed on many issues, yet they spoke of one another with honor. Advice would be given with sincerity, not hostility. Correction would be offered as a means of preserving the truth, not defeating an opponent. In an age when disagreement is often driven by ego, their example teaches that sincere counsel can itself be an act of mercy.

Scholarship Lived Through Moral Courage

These Imams were not only scholars of law. They were people of moral courage. Abu Hanifah refused positions offered by rulers when he feared that authority might compromise justice. Imam Malik endured punishment for speaking truthfully. Ahmad ibn Hanbal remained steadfast under pressure rather than surrender what he believed to be the truth. Their lives remind us that scholarship carries responsibility, and that knowledge without integrity becomes a source of harm.

If they were to address the Muslim community today, their guidance would likely extend beyond individual legal questions. They would call for scholars to work together across schools of thought. They would encourage consultation and disciplined dialogue. They would remind students that disagreement has always existed within the tradition, but that it must be carried with humility and restraint. They would emphasize that the health of the Ummah depends not only on correct rulings, but on correct character.

Civil Debate as an Act of Worship

For the four Imams, debate was never entertainment or a contest for dominance. It was part of fulfilling the trust of knowledge before Allah. Disagreement was approached with seriousness, patience, and awareness that every word spoken about religion carries accountability. When governed by sincerity and taqwa, disagreement could become a source of mercy. When governed by pride, it became a source of division.

A Model for Today’s Muslim Community

The real lesson of imagining this gathering is not to ask what rulings the Imams would give today, but to ask how they would conduct themselves. They would listen deeply. They would advise sincerely. They would disagree honestly. They would preserve conviction without arrogance. They would hold firmly to the truth while maintaining respect for those who sought it sincerely.

The schools of law they established were never meant to divide the Ummah into factions. They provided structured ways for Muslims across different lands and generations to live according to the guidance of the Qur’an and the Sunnah. Their diversity was not a weakness of the tradition, but a sign of its depth and flexibility.

Conclusion

If the four great Imams were sitting together today, they would remind us that the real crisis is not that Muslims disagree. The real crisis is that we have forgotten how to disagree. We have mistaken loudness for strength, suspicion for piety, and factional loyalty for faithfulness to the truth.

Their legacy teaches that unity does not require uniformity. It requires humility, discipline, and fear of Allah. It requires scholars who speak with integrity and communities that value adab as much as argument. The future strength of the Ummah will not come from winning debates, but from producing people of character, scholars of sincerity, and communities that hold firmly to the rope of Allah without allowing difference to break their bonds.

In an age of division, the example of Abu Hanifah, Malik, al-Shafi‘i, and Ahmad ibn Hanbal calls us back to a more excellent path, one in which knowledge is joined to humility, conviction is joined to mercy, and disagreement is carried with dignity before Allah.

Related:

The Rise of the Scholarly Gig Economy and Fall of Community Development

Common Mistakes When Dealing With Crisis in the Ummah

The post If The Four Great Imams Sat At The Same Table Today appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

When I saw the image, I stopped scrolling. A mosque with an American flag in front of it. The words across the bottom: Ramadan has officially been recognized in Washington. And then the comments: Alhamdulillah. Historic moment. Muslim Americans are valued, respected, and part of the fabric of this nation.

I read it twice. And I felt something I wasn’t expecting—not joy, not gratitude. Something heavier. Something that has been building for a long time. I understand the impulse to find something to hold onto when you have been made to feel invisible for so long. I understand what it means to want proof that you exist in the eyes of a country that has spent years making clear it would prefer you didn’t.

But I struggle with the idea that Washington State’s proclamation is proof that we are valued and respected in this country. We have never fully been given that. Not without condition. We have been here, worked here, built here, and raised our children here. We have fasted every Ramadan and celebrated every Eid without waiting for anyone’s permission or recognition.

The Exception vs. The Baseline

I know what the asking for proof of belonging looks like up close. A supervisor once found out I was Muslim; he looked at me and said, “You’re one of the good ones”. He said it casually, as if it were a compliment. What it meant was that the rest—my community, my family—were not. That contempt for Muslims was his baseline, and I was the exception he was willing to tolerate.

In 2017, I came across a Facebook discussion in which a man stated plainly that all Muslims should be expelled from the United States—even those who are citizens. For the ones he deemed acceptable, they would be given a year to sell their homes; for the rest, he suggested death or immediate banishment. No whispers. No shame. No consequences. When I challenged him, he told me that I, too, should get my affairs in order and leave.

A Climate of Manufactured Enmity

We are told that Islam hates America, yet Muslims died in those towers on September 11th and were among the first responders. And then a President manufactured and circulated videos of Muslims celebrating that day—videos that were debunked and designed to rewrite the truth—to tell the country that we were the enemy.

That climate produces real-world consequences. A man who believed those lies walked up to my seventy-year-old mother on a street in December 2016. She had to run into a store where strangers helped her and called the police. This is the environment in which Washington State has chosen to recognize Ramadan—not an environment of genuine inclusion. It is an environment where rhetoric from top officials has portrayed Muslims as criminals, fueling racial profiling and hate crimes.

The Human Cost of Asymmetry

I know what this climate produces beyond the rhetoric. In June 2025, a 55-year-old mother of five was beaten on the E train in Queens after she confirmed she was Muslim. In October 2023, six-year-old Wadea Al-Fayoume was stabbed twenty-six times by his landlord in Illinois. Wadea was American. He was born here.

On social media, I recently saw an ad raising money for Muslim orphans. In the comments, people posted images of the Twin Towers and called us terrorists. I responded to one, noting that it is remarkable they feel free to dehumanize us this way—but if I were to do the same, heaven and earth would move to stop me. That asymmetry is not a coincidence. It is a climate.

Faith Without Validation

A signature cannot close the distance between symbol and safety. It does not protect a mother on the street, and it does not bring back a six-year-old boy. Freedom of religion is not a gift the United States government gives to Muslims; it is the First Amendment and the foundational promise of this country.

Muslims have been on this land since before its founding, kept alive in secret by enslaved Africans who fasted and prayed with no recognition from anyone¹. They did not need a proclamation then. We do not need one now.

What we need is to be treated as full human beings. We were never waiting for their permission to fast, and we were never waiting for their recognition to know our worth. We will continue to celebrate—with or without their proclamations. Our hope is part and parcel of imaan, and it has survived every generation that tried to break it.

Related:

– [Podcast] How to Fight Islamophobia | Monia Mazigh

– Islamophobia In American Public Schools

The post For Muslims In The US, Recognition Does Not Guarantee Safety appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Notwithstanding the diverse cultural and historical trajectories of modern societies, contemporary debates on religion and modernity frequently operate on the assumption that religious fervor must be restrained in order to achieve social progress and adapt to the changing demands of modern life.  Although this assumption is commonly associated with Western liberalism, it is equally visible within the neo-colonial dynamics of postcolonial Kerala’s communist–secular project¹.

Kerala, widely celebrated for its religious pluralism, high literacy, and cultural diversity, has in recent years become the subject of growing criticism from religious and cultural practitioners and leaders.  Within the broader context of neoliberal and neo-colonial transformation, neo-Marxist forces have played a leading role in advancing what critics describe as dialectical reinforcements that erode religious and cultural identities, particularly those of Muslim communities. These ideological pressures have increasingly generated anxiety and discouragement among religious populations regarding the future of cultural and religious pluralism, as modernity and liberalism advance their marginalizing tendencies (Osella and Osella 2008)².

The contemporary neo-Marxist influence in Kerala thus appears to reproduce patterns of cultural suppression reminiscent of colonial regimes.  Drawing on theories of cultural alienation, ideological state apparatuses, and postcolonial critique, this article demonstrates how Kerala’s Marxist secularism operates within a distinct postcolonial and communist context while simultaneously mirroring this ideological formation’s objective of defanging Islam. 

The Construction of the ‘Progressive Muslim’

This process of cultural degradation echoes the colonial disruption of the Orient analyzed by  Edward Said in Orientalism, where the so-called “civilizing mission” of colonial powers functioned not as enlightenment but as a project of cultural suppression and the construction of new ideological apparatuses of identity. These tensions, which have intensified over years of political governance, are now deeply embedded in the everyday lived realities of Keralites.

The philosophical roots of this dynamic can be traced to Hegel’s assertion that the ultimate goal of the individual is the attainment of “human-consciousness,” a notion further developed by Francis Fukuyama through his concept of the “struggle for recognition” as a central motor of historical development. Within Kerala’s contemporary political culture, this pursuit has materialized in the construction of the figure of the “progressive Muslim,” whose religious identity is accepted only insofar as Islamic belief is rendered socially innocuous under the rhetoric of emancipation and rationality. 

Liberalism, Marxism, and the Regulation of Religious Identity

Visible practices of piety, such as hijab-wearing or the observance of traditional rituals, are often framed in public discourse as markers of ‘backwardness,’ whereas secular-liberal behaviors are celebrated as symbols of modernity. These representations, I argue, reflect not simply individual choice but the operation of ideological frameworks that subtly reshape Muslim subjectivity. Rather than promoting authentic religious freedom, such interventions can function as mechanisms for aligning community practices with secular-liberal and neo-Marxist norms. Carool Kersten, in Contemporary Thought in the Muslim World, referencing Abdolkarim Soroush, observes that when religion becomes ideology, it risks becoming a tool of oppression³. Yet this insight is frequently misappropriated in Marxist discourse to suggest that religious ideology itself is inherently oppressive, particularly in the case of Islam.

“Visible practices of piety, such as hijab-wearing or the observance of traditional rituals, are often framed in public discourse as markers of ‘backwardness,’ whereas secular-liberal behaviors are celebrated as symbols of modernity.”

While early Marxist critiques emerged from specific  European conditions—notably the entanglement of church and state that necessitated their separation—contemporary Marxist politics in Kerala deploy this framework to justify the extraction of religious “passion” from Muslim consciousness. From within the rational framework of Islamic theology, however, Muslim resistance to such interventions is neither reactionary nor irrational. Moreover, Islamic disapproval of certain religious celebrations does not translate into hostility toward other faith communities, underscoring that theological commitment and social coexistence are not mutually exclusive. 

The castration of religion is not necessary for religious harmony; rather, it depends on the internal rationality of the religious tradition itself. Certain interpretations of Islam, particularly as practiced within Kerala’s socio-political context, can be in tension with some liberal principles, such as secular-liberal educational norms or gender expectations. While liberalism historically negotiated its relationship with Christianity in the West, the engagement with Islam involves distinct theological, legal, and cultural considerations that resist straightforward assimilation into liberal frameworks. It is therefore clear that one does not become more “enlightened” or “progressive” as a Muslim by adopting the Marxists’ agenda and its conceited arguments. Instead, the absurdity of liberal logic has been deceiving its practitioners into distancing themselves from religion itself. As a socio-political theory, neo-Marxist secularism in Kerala is characterized by deep anxiety toward religion. Much of its cultural and political endeavor is governed by this anxiety rather than by a genuine commitment to social good. With the advent of this framework, it developed the myth of religious violence and oppression, which holds that religion—particularly Islam—is fundamentally backward, irrational, and exclusively responsible for emotional instability, social stagnation, and even violence if not strictly controlled. This assumption lies at the heart of this intellectual stance. 

Education, Culture, and Ideological Intervention in Kerala

A concrete illustration of this process can be observed in recent educational and cultural interventions in Kerala. The introduction and enforcement of Zumba dance programs in schools, for instance, alongside the restructuring of academic schedules in ways that conflict with Madrasa education,  have been promoted under the language of physical well-being and progressive pedagogy. Yet these measures remain largely inconspicuous to parents, students, teachers, and community members as instruments of ideological transformation. Public remarks by political figures,  including Anil Kumar⁴, further reinforce this trajectory by framing such interventions as necessary components of liberation and modernization. In practice, however, these initiatives operate as mechanisms for the displacement of inherited religious and cultural values, replacing them with new normative frameworks aligned with contemporary Marxist ideology⁵.

This process extends beyond educational policy into the domains of media and public discourse, where selective narratives, the monopolization of major communication channels, and digital attention economies cultivate new habits of perception, evaluation, and expression. Through these means, the  Ideological State Apparatus disseminates revised cultural forms that undermine religious traditions while normalizing secular-liberal values. The result is a systematic reshaping of subjectivity in which religious communities are encouraged to internalize ideological assumptions that erode their own cultural and moral foundations in the name of modernity and progress. 

Defanging Islam: Secular Anxiety and its Consequences

Although the communist approach to the alleged “problem” of religion is presented as liberation and tolerance, it in fact serves as a project of neutralization. This ideology seeks to strip Islam of its moral force, transforming it into a defanged identity with no authority over behavior or values,  rather than genuinely defending religious freedom. Religious sensibility is repeatedly violated in order to desensitize Muslim culture to its own ethical obligations, through media narratives,  educational reforms, and social regulation of personal choices carried out in the name of liberation theology. The underlying assumption is that once religious passion and zeal are removed, religion can be controlled and rendered compatible with contemporary modern life.

However, this assumption rests on a fundamental error. Islam is a comprehensive moral and intellectual tradition,  recognized as a complete way of life that integrates reason, rationality, spirituality, law, and social responsibility. This is clearly affirmed in the Qur’an itself, where human beings are described as vicegerents on earth. This reality stands in direct contrast to the claim that Islam is an irrational system of blind emotional imitation. Consequently, Muslim resistance to certain secular-liberal practices is not rooted in fanaticism or uncontrolled passion, but rather reflects a more nuanced, rational, and ethical position. 

This dogma continues to serve as one of the central explanations for the ongoing regulation,  mockery, and restructuring of Muslim life in Kerala, despite the absence of substantial historical or empirical evidence to support such claims. As Saʿad Yacoob argues, liberalism is not grounded in genuine rational inquiry but is instead an emotional reaction concealed beneath the language of reason and concern over religious passion. Likewise, Marxist discourse operates through emotional responses shaped by colonial modernity, producing a rigid binary in which secularism is portrayed as rational and progressive, while religion is framed as passion and regression. Within this framework, religious passion is assumed to be inherently prone to extremism and emotional outbursts, which are then collapsed into the single category of religious violence. This binary is thus constructed as the central challenge facing contemporary religious communities in Kerala. 

Yet many religious individuals continue to support the Communist regime because it offers liberal ideologies that are presented as progressive and indispensable for the modern world. In reality, this support reflects a profound delusion generated by the irrationality of this ideological framework,  through which religious individuals are persuaded to participate in the defanging of their own tradition, particularly Islam. In conclusion, when religious communities embrace the ideological positions promoted by the Communist movement, they actively weaken the seriousness and distinctiveness of their own religious heritage. 

In sum, while neo-Marxists exalt liberal-secular lifestyles as symbols of enlightenment, they simultaneously promote the portrayal of religious practices—such as hijab-wearing, cultural and ritual observance, and ethical restraint—as backward and non-progressive. As a result, in the contemporary cultural climate, Muslims who seek to be regarded as “modern” or “progressive”  increasingly find themselves under pressure to disengage from and dismantle their inherited religious traditions. Islam thus continues, ipso facto, to pose a serious challenge to Communist secular reasoning, which advances liberal ideas that seek to uproot religious passion from the believer. Muslims do not become enlightened by abandoning the coherence of their own heritage in favor of Marxist or other liberal ideologies; rather, they become dependent upon an ideology that requires them to surrender their cultural and spiritual agency—an agency originally formed in response to the very emotional anxieties toward religion that these ideologies themselves embody.

Related:

– Can India’s Financial System Make Room For Faith?

– Perpetual Outsiders: Accounts Of The History Of Islam In The Indian Subcontinent

The post Communist Anxiety And The Liberal Defanging Of Islam In Kerala appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The kitchen smelled faintly of sugar and vanilla, with something warmer underneath, perhaps yeast and butter lingering from the cookies that had come out of the oven an hour ago. Two cooling racks sat on the counter, with four varieties of cookies waiting to be decorated or frosted, while a smear of icing clung to the edge of a metal bowl, half-whipped.

Zaynab wiped her hands on a dish towel, then wiped them again, though there was nothing left on them. She felt jittery and bottled up.

She hadn’t been to the gym in three days. In that time, she had lifted her mother in and out of bed, helped her in and out of the bath, clipped her toenails, applied skin cream to her arthritic joints, managed her medication, cooked and cleaned, and answered the same questions more than once because her mother forgot or pretended to forget.

Aside from that, she ran her small bakery business, which meant evenings and late nights measuring flour, cracking eggs, going on grocery runs, and making midnight deliveries so that her clients would have the cookies ready for customers in the morning.

She moved constantly without any genuine release, and the energy had nowhere to go. It sat in her chest and shoulders and jaw, making her restless, irritable, as if something inside her needed to break loose or it would harden into something worse.

She glanced at the clock. Her sister, Heba, would be here soon. She visited every Friday night.

Part of her looked forward to the interruption, the presence of another person in the house, someone who could take over for a few minutes, even if only symbolically. But another part of her resented it. She resented the neatness of it, the way her sister could arrive, perform some act of kindness, and then leave again, returning to a life that moved forward instead of circling the same small rooms.

She knew it wasn’t fair, but that knowledge did nothing to soften the feeling.

“I’m going to the gym,” she said, tying her hair back with a rubber band she had stretched too many times. “Heba should be here soon.”

From the recliner in the adjoining room, her mother shifted, the fabric creaking, while the television murmured low, some silly sitcom with canned laughter rising and falling in tired waves. It was an old-fashioned, non-digital TV. “I like a TV with a knob that I can turn,” her mother would insist. “Not one of those flat black monstrosities that look like portals to Jahannam.”

“Stop at the store,” her mother said without looking away from the screen, “and get me -”

“Eggs?” Her mother always wanted eggs.

“What?”

“Eggs.”

“No. Toilet paper.”

She paused, one sneaker half on. “So you don’t want eggs?”

“I want toilet paper and eggs.”

A small smile tugged at Zaynab’s lips. “So I was right.”

Her mother’s eyes flicked toward her then, still sharp. “About what?”

“About the eggs.”

A dry breath escaped her mother. “What do you want, a prize? If you wanted a prize, you should have gone to college. I would have bought you a graduation gift.”

Zaynab’s smile disappeared. There was no point in responding. If she did, an argument would ensue, which would end in her mother weeping and screaming, “I’m an old woman! Why are you torturing me?” Then they’d give each other the silent treatment for three days. Zaynab had been through that cycle often enough to know that she desperately needed to move past it.

The refrigerator hummed in the background as a car passed outside, its tires whispering over asphalt. Zaynab stood still, breathing softly.

“I’ll get your toilet paper,” she said.

A key turned in the lock. The door opened.

Her sister, Heba, stepped in, carrying a leather Versace tote bag over one shoulder.

“As-salamu alaykum!” she called out. Removing her blue hijab, she hung it on the hat rack near the door.

For a moment, the younger sister simply stared, struck again by how much they resembled each other. They had the same eyes, the same shape of mouth, the same dark hair, though Heba’s was smoother, finely coiffed and pulled back neatly instead of tied in haste. They were the same medium height, built on the same slender frame, but the differences lay in the details: flour on her own sleeve, a faint smear of icing near her wrist, scuffed sneakers, while her sister wore a pressed blouse, designer slacks, and shoes that looked expensive without needing to say so.

She’s the sister who matters, Zaynab thought bitterly. The one who made the right choices, went to law school, and pays all the bills. Mom’s favorite. The lawyer. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror that reflected a different life – the one she might have had if she had been less rebellious, stayed in school… and of course if Mom had not gotten ill.

“I said,” Heba repeated, “As-salamu alaykum. What is this, a house of zombies?”

“I was just about to go out for eggs and toilet paper,” Zaynab said.

Her sister winced slightly. “Don’t use the T-word, please.”

“The what?”

“Toilet paper. Just… say something else.”

She stared at her. “Like what? That’s what it is.”

Her sister set her bag down by the wall. “Hygienic paper.”

“That’s not a thing. No one says that.”

“They do in Spanish,” her sister replied as she slipped off her shoes. “Papel higiénico.”

A short laugh escaped. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Reminding me you went to college. I know you minored in Spanish. That doesn’t mean you have to come in here and try to change how we talk.”

Her sister held her gaze briefly, then looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She crossed the room, bent, and kissed their mother on the cheek. “How are you, Mama? A bit heavy on the menthol skin cream, no? It’s like I’m in a mint factory.”

“It helps with her arthritis,” Zaynab said defensively. She was the one who’d applied it.

“You’re late,” their mother said.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Are you pregnant yet?”

Heba winced as if she’d been slapped. But her voice remained soft as she said, “No, Mama.”

The older sister straightened, stepped back, and then hugged the younger one briefly. She smelled of perfume and hushed office spaces.

“Good to see you, Zuzu,” Heba said.

“Don’t call me Zuzu. I’ve told you that many times.”

“Sorry.” Heba swallowed, touched Zaynab’s shoulder. “Could you – could you be nice to me tonight, please? I really need it.”

Zaynab was about to utter something caustic, but, looking in her sister’s eyes, she saw the same confusion and loss that she saw in her own eyes in the mirror sometimes, as if she had been carrying the secret to life and death in a little glass ball, but had dropped it and watched it shatter.

So instead, she turned away and gestured to the kitchen. “Have a cookie. It’s an order for tomorrow, but I always make extras.”

“They smell delicious.”

They wandered into the kitchen. Zaynab watched as Heba took a semi-sweet chocolate chip cookie, bit into it, and moaned in pleasure. “You could go places with this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m doing my best.”

Heba sighed. “I know.”

Her sister moved to the sink, rolled up her sleeves, and turned on the faucet. Water splashed against a stack of plates. Grabbing the sponge, she began washing the dishes.

“I was going to do that,” Zaynab objected.

“I know. I’m just… staying busy. Moving my hands.”

Zaynab watched her older sister, listening to the clink as Heba loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

“I said I was going to do it.”

Her sister nodded, but continued.

“Why do you do that?” Zaynab asked.

“Do what?”

“Come in here and act like everything’s fine.”

“I’m not acting.”

“You are.”

Her sister rinsed another plate.

“You come in, you hug her, you kiss her, and you ignore the cruel things she says.”

“She’s our mother,” her sister said quietly.

“And I’m the one who’s here,” Zaynab countered. “I’m the one who stayed. I have to hear it every day. The put-downs and negativity.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t fathom what it’s like. It’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.”

“It’s the illness talking. She doesn’t mean it.”

“I know that!” Zaynab snapped. She let out a breath in a huff and rested her elbows on the prep island in the center of the kitchen. “I feel like knocking someone out.”

Heba shot her a worried glance. “Not me or Mama, I hope.”

Zaynab gave an annoyed cluck of the tongue. “Of course not. Someone else. Some robbers. I want some robbers to break in so I can knock them out. Maybe even stab them.”

Her sister laughed loudly, then covered her mouth. “You can’t always get what you want,” she said, turning off the faucet.

Zaynab blinked. “But if you try sometimes…” She gestured to her sister, but only got a frown in return. “You just might find..” Still no response…. “you get what you need.”

Heba nodded. “That’s surprisingly profound.”

“It’s the Rolling Stones.”

“The what?”

“You’re kidding. You don’t know the Rolling Stones?”

“Is that a band? I don’t know music.”

“What do you listen to in the car?”

“The Quran.”

Zaynab felt the words settle between them like a recrimination. “You can’t know both?”

“I don’t have a lot of free time. I choose to invest it in the Quran.”

“So you’re a good Muslim, and I’m not?”

“Not at all.” She met Zaynab’s eyes with a serious look. “It’s the other way around. You’re the one taking care of Mama. You’re the one earning Jannah. You stayed. You put your life on hold.”

“Someone had to.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t you.”

“I know.”

The younger sister frowned. “You say that like it’s nothing. You come here once a week, wash a few dishes, say a few nice things, then go back to your life.”

“My life isn’t -”

“What? Perfect? Yeah, right.”

Her sister’s breath caught. “Do you want my life?” she asked. “Do you want to trade? You want what I have? Working twelve hours a day, sometimes all night, coming home to -” She stopped.

“What?”

Heba looked down at her hands. “He left.”

“What do you mean?”

“My husband Basim,” her sister added quietly. “He left me.”

The refrigerator hummed, and a clatter sounded as ice cubes dropped into the tray in the freezer. In the living room, canned laughter rose from the TV.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

Her sister gave a faint, tired smile. “Because I come here and I see you, and I think… what right do I have to complain? You are the hero of the family, not me.”

Zaynab pursed her lips. “You’re mocking me.”

She was stunned when Heba suddenly seized her cheeks in both hands and brought her face almost nose to nose. “I’m not! I mean it. You are the believer here. You are doing what matters.”

She heard the truth in her sister’s words, and tears welled in her eyes. It felt like something was breaking inside her. “Okay,” she said. “Let go.”

But Heba did not release her. Zaynab smelled the sweetness of chocolate on her sister’s breath.

“Do you want my life?” Heba asked again, more gently. Her hands gripped Zaynab’s cheeks even harder. “Wallahil-atheem, I will trade with you. I swear by Allah. You take my apartment, and I will quit my job and live here with Mama. Just say the words.”

“I don’t know!”

“I will do it,” Heba insisted.

“No, I don’t want to trade! Let go now, majnoonah!”

With this, Zaynab burst into tears. Her sister released her, and she slid down to the floor with her back against the cabinets, face in her hands. Heba lowered herself to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“What’s going on in there?” Mom called from the living room. “Did you get my toilet paper?”

The younger sister exhaled. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with a flour-stained sleeve.

“Not yet,” she called back, then added, louder, “And call it papel high-jenico, Mom.”

A pause.

“What the devil is that?” their mother called back.

Zaynab turned toward her sister, and something unguarded passed between them. Heba smiled, and Zaynab felt a laugh rise up in her own chest before she could stop it.

“Happiness is where you find it,” Zuzu,” Heba said.

Zaynab wanted to say, “At least you have the opportunity. I’m stuck here.” But that argument had already passed. And studying her sister now, she saw what she had missed earlier: the dark circles beneath the eyes, the worry lines, the sadness.

So instead she quoted:

Dostoevsky

“Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he does not count his joys.”

Her sister looked at her. “What is that? Your Running Stones again?”

Zaynab chuckled. “It’s Dostoevsky.”

“You read Russian literature?”

“Just because I didn’t go to college doesn’t mean -”

“Zaynab,” Heba said in a low, threatening tone. “Don’t start that again.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Wanna know what the Quran says?”

“Sure.”

“It says, Surely in the remembrance of Allah do the hearts find contentment.”

“So it’s that easy?”

“Why not? Allah created us. He knows what we need.”

“Then why aren’t all Muslims happy?”

Heba pursed her lips. “I suppose they’re chasing other things besides Allah. Attaching themselves to other things, coveting other things.”

“Like thousand-dollar Versace purses?”

Heba nodded slowly. “Yes. Like that.”

Zaynab stood, then sat back down with two cookies in her hand. She gave one to Heba. “Dark chocolate with macadamia nuts.”

They ate in silence. After a minute, Heba said, “You’re talented, mashaAllah.”

“I know. I’m the best.”

“And humble too,” Heba added.

Zaynab gave a snort of laughter.

“Do we have any nonfat milk?” the elder sister asked.

“No. We have two percent like normal people.”

Heba stood and poured them each a glass. They sat on the floor, eating their cookies and drinking cold milk. Warmth radiated from the oven even through the closed door, and water dripped softly from the sink.

THE END

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

A Wish And A Cosmic Bird: A Play

Searching for Signs of Spring: A Short Story

The post The Daughter Who Stayed – A Short Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

***

The chamber opened into silence.

But it was not the silence of peace.

It was the silence of desperation.

The simulation placed us on the outskirts of Makkah, in a dry valley encased by rocks and sorrow. No birds sang. No children played. Dust settled over thorny trees stripped of bark.

“Welcome,” the alien said, “to the Valley of Shi‘b Abī Ṭālib.”

The heat pressed against my skin. I heard coughing—dry, aching. Then the slow shuffle of feet. An old man clutched his stomach. A mother tried to nurse, but her milk had vanished days ago. A child with hollow eyes and cracked lips chewed on a strip of leather that had been boiled soft just to be edible.

I looked away.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because Quraysh didn’t respond with philosophy,” the alien said. “They responded with siege.”

He lifted his hand, and a scroll materialized in the air: brittle parchment nailed to the wall of the Ka‘bah. Its letters glowed in red, like they’d been written in blood:

No trade. No marriage. No protection. Until they hand over Muhammad.

“This,” he said, “was the first full-scale sanctions document in Islamic history. Sealed by twenty-five signatures of Makkah’s elite.”

He turned to me.

“Is this how you treat someone simply preaching in private?”

I hesitated.

“They hated his message. That’s all.”

The alien shook his head. “Hatred alone doesn’t explain a three-year logistical blockade. They didn’t just attack him; they attacked the system that protected him.”

He walked through the simulation—past a young girl digging for roots with trembling fingers.

“If they hated his message,” he said, “they could have ignored him. But Quraysh didn’t just attack him. They punished his tribe. Even those who didn’t follow him.”

He waved his hand again.

I saw Abu Talib. Gray-bearded, noble, exhausted. Sitting beside the Prophet ﷺ, shielding him with nothing but loyalty. Not faith. Not belief.

Just blood.

“This was the Prophet’s ﷺ defensive strategy,” the alien noted. “Utilizing the ‘Asabiyyah’—the tribal honor—of his kin to create a physical buffer that the Quraysh couldn’t cross without starting a civil war. The Siege was the Quraysh’s attempt to break that buffer. They turned his kin into hostages because they saw not just a preacher, but a leader building a structure.”

“But why did they turn his kin into hostages?” I interrupted.

The alien took a deep breath and said:
“Because they saw not just a preacher, but a leader rising. Because Islam was already becoming power.” 

I swallowed, watching Sa‘d ibn Abi Waqqas hand a small fig to an orphan.

“You think Islam was only spiritual at this stage?” the alien asked.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Isn’t that what we’re taught? That the Prophet ﷺ had no power in Makkah. That he was waiting. Patient. Powerless.”

The alien tilted his head.

“Waiting is not the same as being inactive. And power is not only military. Influence. Organization. Unity. That’s power. Quraysh understood. Why else the boycott?”

He pulled another thread of the simulation.

I saw the men of Quraysh again—meeting in a darkened hall, whispering, calculating.

“If we cut them off completely,” one said, “they’ll fold. Hunger breaks even the proud.”

“But the children…”

“Their children will become ours once Muhammad is gone.”

The hologram faded.

I was trembling.

“This is cruelty,” I said.

“This is politics,” he replied. “This is what tyrants do when their control is threatened.”

He looked at me.

“Modern minds often imagine Islam began politically in Madinah. But that’s because they don’t understand what politics actually is.”

“Which is?”

“Power. Systems. Influence. Decisions that affect lives. Quraysh recognized the political implications of the Prophet’s ﷺ message long before the Muslims did.”

He turned back to the valley.

“And so, they waged war. Not with swords—but with hunger. Isolation. Humiliation.”

We heard a scream.

A mother had fainted.

And then, finally, the scroll in the Ka‘bah cracked—eaten by termites, as history records. Its injustice devoured from within.

The siege lifted.

But the scars remained.

The simulation dimmed.

“Three years,” the alien said. “Three years of collective punishment. Children starved. Marriages broken. And all for what?”

He looked at me.

“Still think Islam was just a private belief?”

I stared at the fading valley, haunted.

“Private beliefs don’t provoke sanctions,” he said. “But movements? Movements change history. And history resists.”

The chamber went black.

I didn’t speak.

Not because I agreed.

But because I couldn’t deny what I had seen.

***

Related:

– Fifteen Years in the Shadows: The Strategic Brilliance of the Hijrah to Abyssinia

– The Hijra: Lessons From The First Muslim Migration For Today

The post The Boycott: A Simulation Of The Valley Of Shib Abi Talib appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

“You will tread the same path as was trodden by those before you, inch by inch and step by step, so much so that if they had entered into the hole of the lizard, you would follow them in this also.” – Hadith of the Prophet ﷺ, Sahih Muslim

A Subtle Shift in How We Understand Islam

In a recent book talk I attended by a well-known western academic scholar where he wrote on Global Islam, he made a point that struck me deeply; With the advent of colonisation in Muslim lands across West Asia (the Middle East) and South Asia, many scholars such as Mohammed Abduh, Jamal ud Din Afghani and Rashid Rida often fought back against the different ideologies stemming from the West. In the process of responding to these ideologies, the scholar argued that Islam transformed from a religious worldview with God as the centre, to another ideology in the market of ideologies existing in the world.

Powerful as it may be, Muslims have, over time, engaged with Islam in the same ways that non-Muslims in the West have, often commoditising it and reading into it at a surface level. Among the best and most recent exemplifications of this transformation is the emerging Tech and Venture Capital Startup phase in the Muslim world.

Before I speak about this and possibly elicit some angry voices, let me begin with some preface into this idea that we call modernity, which sets the background for why all of this becomes a problem. This will allow me to outline some ideas as to what some possible solutions could be moving forward.

What Do We Mean by Modernity?

We keep hearing the word ‘Modern’ quite often, used to refer to humans, trends, architectural styles and many other different aspects of existence. One could be forgiven for thinking that this refers to the 21st century when the internet, computers and all their derivative products (mobile phones, social media, apps, etc.) became pervasive. Etymologically, ‘modern’ refers to  ‘relating to the present times, as opposed to the past’. In this sense, then, modernity could possibly mean the time that we are living in.

However, there is much more depth to this one word over which books upon books have been written over the last century or so. Let me try to break it down a bit, keeping in mind that many variations and understandings of this term exist.

In brief, up until the 16th century, the Roman Catholic church was politically powerful across Europe. The Church gatekept knowledge of the Bible in the hands of priests and often brutally repressed anyone who opposed its intellectual or political hegemony – a good example being the Church’s repression of figures like Galileo Galilei, who argued for heliocentrism—that the Earth revolves around the sun.

In the late 1500’s, the Church did something that set in motion a series of events that transformed the world as they knew it. It began to sell salvation to anyone who could afford it. In a tradition called the indulgences, it let its followers know that Heaven was for the taking for anyone who paid a small amount towards the church. Proceeds from these indulgences went towards building the St. Peter’s Basilica. Combined, the wealth-discriminatory approach towards salvation and the use of this money towards building a cathedral provoked the ire of a few individuals, the most prominent being a priest by the name Martin Luther.

From the Reformation to the Modern World

An erudite scholar and professor at Wittenberg University, Germany, Martin Luther wrote a document called the 95 theses. In this document, he criticised the practise of indulgences and also challenged the hegemony of the priests as the sole interpreters of the Bible, arguing that even the layman could interpret the Bible. This document was also translated to German – the language of the masses (as opposed to Latin, which was the language of the clergy). Martin Luther’s work would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the invention of the Gutenberg printing press, which helped mass produce (as of those days standards) the 95 Theses and went into the hands of more than just the clergy of the time.

Over the next few decades, this sparked what is known as the Protestant Reformation (those who protested Catholic doctrines), leading to mass uprisings and violent clashes between Protestants and Catholics across Western Europe. While the reasons for these clashes were nuanced and wealth-based in some instances (there have been well-known records of Protestants and Catholics fighting alongside each other against other Protestants or Catholics), the discourse around these clashes solidified the modern idea (and myth) that ‘religion causes wars’.

Nation-states, Capitalism, and the Logic of Growth

While I skip many details, nuances and differences due to the scope of this article, the Protestant Reformation and the ensuing ‘Enlightenment’ from the late 17th century led to various socio-intellectual developments that crystallised in the form of modernity. Let me draw your attention to two interlinked concepts that came out of this era, which did not occur in the pre-modern era.

The first is the concept of nation-states, and the second is capitalism. In pre-modern times, empires (which were one among the different types of political units) had fluid borders and did not have an over-reaching control of their ‘citizens’, the way modern nation-states do. The concept of sovereignty (where the modern nation – state had the theoretical right to enforce its own laws) was also one that has defined the world order in the centuries to come. This concept of fixed borders and complete dominion of a centralised government with regard to legal matters and military capacity was not a concept that existed before this era.

Capitalism is another such concept which did not exist before the modern era. While people seeking profits and being greedy existed in the pre-modern era, some of the main inventions of capitalism is the Joint stock company (where a company is a separate entity from the persons running it), the transformation of traditional labour (based on energy levels, the sun, the weather etc) to a 9-5 timing (especially in the post industrialisation age of the 19th century) and for the purpose of this article: the doctrine of economic productivity and progress.

Productivity was one of the most important concepts that interlinked with the concept of the nation-state, which had to rely on constant productivity to sustain growth. Of course, an over focus on growth sets human beings on a path towards environmental destruction (can we really keep producing goods that will get thrown in landfills without expecting huge wastes?). This focus on productivity is what led to the development of various technologies such as the internet, aeroplanes, and now Artificial Intelligence, mostly with significant amounts of government and military funding to maintain technological superiority over other countries.

Muslims, Technology, and the Illusion of Easy Solutions

With the rise of technology and Artificial Intelligence taking over the western world, it is inevitable that the feverishness around these technologies is also impacting Muslim societies. Muslims are now slowly working on building, especially in the post-October 23rd landscape. The fact that most companies we engage with, including those like Amazon, Microsoft and even Google, have now appeared on one version of the Boycott, Divest and Sanctions (BDS) list impressed upon Muslims the importance of building ethical Muslim alternatives to a lot of these fundamental technologies and platforms.

However, while there have been useful alternatives, it is an incomplete solution to an all-encompassing problem, creating internal issues within the Muslim world. The problem we have as Western Muslims is that we are transposing these standards onto everything we try to do, borrowing on Western notions of progress that are in fact damaging to us.

A stark example of this is the new maxim – ‘the solution to our problems is an app.’ That is a serious mistake we risk falling into. The number of people I spoke to who mentioned an app to learn Islam (across the UK and in Ummah-oriented summits) seems to be plentiful. This is an area we need to tread with caution since Islam’s form of learning is meant to be experiential and human-based (with Suhba or companionship being a major component of learning).  In the West, these can be difficult due to the increasingly atomised modes of living as well as rising costs of travel and meeting outside houses, which is why we resort to such apps – a reflection of the wider ecosystem we live in. To be sure, people who are well entrenched in tech are often aware of this issue; it is the enthusiastic newcomer (sometimes only tangentially linked to tech) that is often at risk of falling into this trap. A good example is an educational platform that tries to create an app about the ‘basics of Islam’ – a common ambition by many people in such fields.

But we have to remember that these should only be something for us to augment our learning experience and not be a substitute. This is something I feel is lost on many of us living in the West. As someone who engages passionately and conducts sessions around topics related to capitalism and secularism for Muslim professionals, I see how much we have imbibed these concepts ourselves and how much work we have to disentangle ourselves from these intellectual legacies.

Another example, as I heard from one of the participants in a well-known Summit, was that a session on education seemed to be about putting Muslim faces on colonial systems of education, which would not do much to address the lack of orientation around Allah and Islam’s teachings. To be clear, this is not meant to say we should avoid tech solutions; rather, what I am arguing for is to moderate our expectations and be wary of the traps that established techs have already fallen into. In fact, I do support many spaces that have complete tech gatherings (such as the Muslim Tech Fest that I attended for two years and that I wrote positively about previously).

Startup Culture and the Problem of Endless Scaling

Startup culture and VC Funding: The second aspect I could see throughout the different festivals was the startup culture and the fundraising attitudes. Going back to fundraising and larger Western attitudes – remember that Capitalism’s main bequest to us is not greed – that is something that existed throughout humanity, as we see in the Qur’an. What capitalism gave us is a system that creates profit solely for the sake of more profit, in other words: Growth for the sake of growth. It’s why when I speak to startup founders and business owners, I keep hearing the question ‘How much can we scale this up?’ to which I often think – ‘for what’?

I submit that most people think of building up profits coming in from this scaling for the sake of wealth itself, without any thoughts of funding long-term community initiatives, as a result of absorbing the ‘growth and scaling up culture’. Moreover, even if the initiative exists, there needs to be a very tight scrutiny on infinite growth ambitions, given the often cutthroat nature of such growth, with immense profits taking place at the cost of oppressing labour.  Mega Corporations like Amazon and others have witnessed protests against their work practises at the cost of enriching top management. As the famous adage goes, ‘No one ever makes a billion dollars; they often take a billion dollars’.

When Technology is Useful—and When it is Not

Given the above background, the dominance of VC culture in Muslim-educated spaces that are trying to fundraise for causes is a new trend that we see. This is a good thing to an extent, but it has some limitations and dangers. At many conferences and summits that I have attended, mainly in the West, the VC culture that we are now seeing is forcing Muslims to think of profitability and equity far beyond what they should be. This is an important component of building Ummatic infrastructure, but it is not the only one, and the risk we have is that we are now moving from a model where we donated for the sake of Allah and for alleviating people’s problems to one where we solely expect a return on our investment.

On the other hand, the places where people do give money to causes without expecting a profit often turn out to be relief donations that are surface-level despite their importance (such as feeding people and building wells). We don’t allocate much of our funding towards tackling root causes such as the broader political reasons for poverty and corruption, as well as the wanton killing of Muslims and many other populations across the world, where part of the answer lies in research, policy and advocacy.

We can wax eloquent about the importance of building narratives, but we have to remember that media companies are largely loss-making business entities and yet, billionaires invest in them for much more than just money – they do so to control the narrative. This is something we need to understand and engage with better over time, especially when we think of ‘decolonising’ and focusing on Allah , His book and His Messenger’s guidance in improving the standards of humanity.

Most organisations that I see being funded or supported in different fests and conferences are often tech-oriented, which serves a purpose. As this article by the Policy Minaret argued, there are three types of usage of tech and Islam, 1) Genuine gap work – where real gaps exist that tech/app creation can help with (a Qibla and prayer timing app in the early days were good examples of this. 2) Infrastructure work – where larger infrastructure such as payment platforms, VPN’s etc are required where they are more ethical (w.r.t. privacy, data protection etc) and 3) Formation-adjacent work – where gaps exist but technology is not always the right option (think of non-contextualised Fiqh apps where works should be done by real scholars instead of an app).

It is the third type of work (formation adjacent work) that I feel is often tech-dominated in a way that should not be the case. There are organisations that are upcoming and are filling important gaps in society that should be supported in different ways than building apps or going online. Some may require mentorship, others require exposure, and others may require money. Muslim conferences should be encouraging such organisations with long-term impact without any financial profitability to showcase their work in a structured manner.

There was, for instance, the Spark Awards, which was an initiative by an organisation called Collective Continuum that gave away funding for new startups. While the winner was a non-profit focused on preventing pregnancy-related deaths, a majority of the finalists seemed to be tech solutions. Similarly, the Ma’a Awards (from Malaysia) also featured a significant number of tech-related organisations in its 15 finalists.

This is not to say that we should not have tech solutions; it is important. In fact, in aspects like building critical infrastructure like Web Services, VPN’s, payment providers (alternatives to Stripe and Paypal), there should be (and is) some impetus to develop systems that don’t replicate the power and wealth hungry, but there exist many organisations that do not rely on tech and should not rely on tech in some instances. Indeed, a rising prevalence of tech usage and dependency for alleviating societal problems contains a high chance of pushing people into loneliness by forcing them to the screen and also causing neurological dependencies that are akin to drug addictions in some cases. To force organisations to showcase their tech proficiency to help receive funding is a pathway we should not adopt without any introspection whatsoever.

Rethinking Progress: Beyond the ‘Golden Age’ Narrative

The problem of the Islamic Golden Age narrative – This is reminiscent of problematic Muslim narratives of ‘The Islamic Golden Age’. We often love professing the glories of scholars like Al Jaber, Ibn al Haytham and Ibn Rushd and many other scholars who engaged in ‘scientific developments’ that are responsible for the enlightenment of Europe.

Two problems are ensconced within this narrative. First, by scrambling to showcase how we had Muslim scientists (even though it is not the same as modern scientists), we are already operating from a space of inadequacy with tech/scientific development as the pinnacle of mankind. We are trying to show the Western world that we had our own scientists as well, who seem to be the only people of value. Second, we ignore the polyglot nature of these scholars who weren’t just scientists but also philosophers, social scientists and most importantly, Islamic scholars as well. These realities and especially their orientation towards Allah are what pushed them to engage in scientific and other advancements.

This focus on material realities (translated to sole importance on tech solutions to societal issues) is the trap we need to avoid. We have to think outside of money-oriented fields and work to subsidise those organisations and figures who are working outside of the tech space, such as in spaces like Social Sciences, Islamic Studies and the humanities (perhaps an article for another time). These will be the thinking leaders of the Ummah if we nurture them, and these are the people that the enemies often come to attack in the first instance, given the awe-inspiring power that the sincere and God-fearing among them hold to influence the masses towards goodness and away from Shaytan.

Policy Solutions

I don’t want to be a complainer without giving any sort of solution towards this issue, so I want to write down a few practical solutions that we could think of and open a conversation on these ideas. After purifying our intentions and seeking help from Allah (without which none of our actions can make any headway), we can think of a few steps that can work.

First, among the most important aspects to make a significant difference would be to deepen our scholarship, especially on foundational Islamic principles and issues of modernity. For example, as someone who engages regularly with topics such as secularism, nationalism and other such ideologies stemming from the post-Reformation, it is clear that we have some level of expertise on political ideologies, but a much lesser grasp of issues like capitalism, economics and the like from a critical Islamic lens. Moreover, it is also important to understand how these issues trickle down to daily Muslim practises and avoid capitalist traps (do we really need to pay influencers millions to raise money for Gaza, or does that follow capitalist models that come from outside of our religion?).

Second, it is important to take these conversations on ideologies and the depth involved. This is not done with the expectation of making the masses experts in such subjects. It is practically not possible for people reading topics for one hour a day to develop deep expertise in the same way as someone who dedicates decades of their life towards studying and engaging with these concepts day in and day out. That said, demonstrating the depth required is something that should ideally push people towards supporting such initiatives. Think of how much the Islamophobia industry spends; Al Jazeera estimated it to be around 200 million USD in the 2014-2016 era alone. Are Muslims spending similar amounts towards deep scholarship and dissemination, or are we playing catch-up and crying victim?

The third step to keep in mind is that the work towards tech solutions and VC startups must continue, but in a more guided fashion. As prominent voices such as Ibrahim Khan from Islamic Finance Guru and Adil, the founder of the boycott app and now VPN, have noted, we don’t need another Qur’an App or even a knowledge learning app because we have enough that exist today. What we need is foundational infrastructure that is of benefit to everyone who doesn’t want to engage with an extractive capitalist system. The Buycat VPN is one such good example. VPN’s, which were initially developed to avoid surveillance, have now been compromised, given that most of these companies are now purchased by Israeli-linked firms, leading to fears of surveillance.

Similarly, developing payment platforms that empower not just Muslims but any community that is often subject to their bank accounts being blocked due to Islamophobic (and also racist) ideologies operating within banking apps is another such important need. These initiatives must continue, but growth should not be for the sake of growth alone but rather for the sake of providing ethical alternatives.

The fourth would be to ensure that funders and established organisations could be connected with social service organisations rather than just tech-oriented startups. Mentorship, social media presence, skills and funding should be among the various ways this could be done. One way of facilitating this could be an award ceremony with finalists being given some small funds to help with their operations, logistics or even sustainability. Oftentimes, even 1000 dollars can be the difference between survival and continuity for such an organisation.

This is also something that the organisers of different big conferences can think of – is it possible to set up small funds for different initiatives in the next conference, which can help support small organisations to grow and sustain over time? For instance, at the GEM summit in Doha, Qatar, which I attended, I proposed a book writing grant off the back of an excellent workshop on writing books – many have great ideas and want to write, but don’t have the resources required to do the research or hire editors for such work. A small grants scheme could potentially supercharge some of this important work.        

The fifth and likely one of the most fundamental recommendations would be to orient people – especially community leaders, event organisers and tech founders on the larger spiritual and intellectual underpinnings of what we need to do and how to go about each in our specific fields. For example, as media narratives go, we aren’t here to replicate the nasty practices of the far right. Rather, we are invested as Muslims in ensuring that we speak truth because that is our obligation to Allah and that we research and showcase the many social benefits of Islamic practices rather than trying to kowtow to modern liberal narratives (“Brother, the Quran speaks about scientific miracles too”).

Conclusion

In sum, the development of modernity has been long and uneven across the world and has been pervasive in its many ideologies, be it capitalism, secularism, or liberalism (many of which we did not touch upon in this article). These systems are most intensely felt in the West, and while Muslims came over to many parts of the Western world to escape political repression and seek out better economic opportunities, they have not been immune to the many vagaries of modernity that they constantly absorb by dint of being in these lands.

There are a few voices that have tried to speak and make Muslims introspect about these issues, but they are far and few and are often drowned out by loud Muslim influencers and social media celebrities (another major symptom of capitalism – given their hunger to grow audiences by inducing outrage).

There are ways to engage better, but it needs to be far more strategic and thoughtful, especially when it comes to copying systems that are imported outside of Islamic thought and devoid of any relationship with the creator. May Allah grant baraka to us all, keep us sincere and ensure that we serve him in the best way possible.

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The post Muslim Capitalism And The Rise of Tech And VC Culture: Are We Going Down The Technological Lizard Hole? appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Part 1  | Part 2  | Part 3

11. The Haram Has Underground Levels

When most people picture Masjid al-Haram, they imagine a single open courtyard surrounding the Ka’bah, filled with worshippers performing tawaf.

Of course, if you’ve been there, you’re aware that there are multiple levels for prayer, and perhaps even that tawaf can be performed on upper floors. But few people realize how much of the Haram exists below ground.

Beneath the marble courtyards and prayer halls lies an extensive underground network that serves as the hidden infrastructure of the masjid. This includes pedestrian tunnels, service corridors, and carefully designed access routes that guide the movement of millions of worshippers. It also includes climate-controlled prayer areas, circulation corridors, and wudu facilities that provide relief from the intense desert heat while allowing the steady flow of people to continue.

There is yet another level below that. Here are found essential systems that most visitors never see. These include water storage and pumping systems, maintenance and service areas, and the infrastructure that supports the distribution of Zamzam. The Zamzam system itself operates largely through underground networks, where water is stored, cooled, treated, and pumped throughout the Haram.

In addition, security services are found underground. These include emergency services stations as well as surveillance stations operated by Saudi security services, which monitor the feeds from the extensive network of cameras around the Haram. This is done to prevent security threats, obviously, but also for the safety of the pilgrims, to prevent overcrowding that could lead to trampling, for example. This security layer also includes holding areas where people may be detained for lost documentation, disturbances and safety violations. This may sound ominous, but it’s normal and expected. At busy times, the Haram contains as many people as a good-sized city. And like any city, it requires police and emergency services.

This subterranean world is not something most pilgrims ever encounter. And yet, without it, the Haram as we know it could not function.

Above ground, the experience is one of openness, light, and movement. Below ground, it is structure, engineering, and control. Together, they form a system capable of supporting one of the largest and most concentrated gatherings of human beings on earth.

Despite the Haram’s size and complexity, the purpose remains simple. Every element of the structure, whether seen or unseen, exists to shelter, sustain, and serve those who come to worship. No matter where you stand within the Haram, whether close to the Ka’bah or deep within its lower levels, you are standing in sacred space.

12. Land in the Central Area of Makkah Is Among the Most Expensive in the World

Ever fantasized about owning a little apartment in Makkah, within sight of the Haram, where you could stay whenever you go to ‘Umrah? Better check your bank balance first. Land in the central area of Makkah, especially within walking distance of the Haram, is among the most valuable real estate on earth.

Across the city as a whole, purchase prices vary widely, but average residential properties range from roughly 5,000 to 15,000 Saudi riyals per square meter ($1,350 to $4,050 USD). In more desirable areas, those figures more than double, depending on proximity to Masjid al-Haram.

Apartments with views of the Haram, particularly in developments like Jabal Omar or the Abraj Al Bait complex, can exceed 3 million riyals (over $810,000 USD). That $810K would likely get you a modest two bedroom 1 bath with a compact kitchen. So yeah, pretty pricey.

This places prime real estate in central Makkah in a range comparable to New York, Paris, or Hong Kong.

Rental prices tell a similar story. While modest apartments farther from the Haram may rent for under 20,000 riyals per year ($5,400 USD), properties closer to the center command far higher prices, especially during Hajj and Ramadan when short-term demand surges dramatically.

Unlike most global cities, however, the value of land in Makkah is not driven primarily by business, finance, or industry. It is driven by proximity to a single point: the Ka’bah.

The closer a building stands to the Haram, the greater its value. Not because of views, amenities, or prestige alone, but because of what it allows. A shorter walk to prayer. More time in worship. Easier access to the sacred spaces.

In this way, the real estate market of Makkah reflects something unique. It is one of the few places in the world where land derives its value not from commerce, but from closeness to ‘ibadah. There is a certain irony in that. But in the end, the masjid is open to everyone, whether they live in a spacious luxury home or a cramped flat. All stand equal before Allah, and none is elevated over another except by taqwa.

13. The Ka’bah’s Covering Is Replaced Every Year

When I was a kid I thought that the Ka’bah itself was made of black stones. It’s not, heh heh. It’s covered in a massive cloth called the Kiswah.

Not only that, the cloth is changed every year.

The Kiswah, which envelopes the Ka’bah, is not merely decorative. It is a symbol of honor, reverence, and continuity, renewed annually as part of a tradition that stretches back to pre-Islamic times and was affirmed by the Prophet ﷺ and maintained by Muslim rulers for over fourteen centuries.

The Kiswah is produced in a specialized facility in Makkah, where skilled artisans work year-round to complete it. It is made of high-quality silk and weighs approximately 650 kilograms. The embroidery alone is substantial, consisting of 120 kilos of gold and silver-plated threads woven into intricate Qur’anic calligraphy.

The cost of producing the Kiswah is estimated at 20 to 25 million Saudi riyals per year ($5 to $7 million USD). Today, it is funded by the Saudi government, continuing a long-standing tradition in which Muslim rulers took responsibility for honoring the House of Allah.

The process is both artistic and deeply symbolic. Panels of cloth are woven, dyed, cut, and then assembled into a single covering that fits the Ka’bah precisely. Each element is measured and crafted with care.

Once a year, on the 9th of Dhul-Hijjah, the Day of ‘Arafah, the old Kiswah is removed and replaced with the new one. The change is carried out with great ceremony. The previous covering is then cut into pieces and distributed as gifts to dignitaries and institutions around the world. Some of these pieces are preserved in museums and collections, where they are treated as historical and sacred artifacts.

To the casual observer, the Ka’bah appears unchanged from year to year. But this quiet renewal is a reminder that even in a place defined by permanence, there is movement, effort, and continual devotion behind what we see.

The Kiswah is not just a cloth. It is a testament to the love, skill, and reverence that generations of Muslims have directed toward the House of Allah.

14. The Keys to the Ka’bah Have Been Held by the Same Family for Over 1,400 Years

Who holds the keys to the Ka’bah?  You would probably guess the king of Saudi Arabia.

Actually, no. It may come as a surprise that the answer is not a ruler, government official, or religious authority. The keys to the Ka’bah have been held by the same family, Banu Shaybah, since before the time of the Prophet ﷺ.

When the Prophet ﷺ entered Makkah at its conquest, he took possession of the Ka’bah and ordered that it be cleansed of idols. At that moment, the question arose as to who would be entrusted with its custodianship.

According to historical reports, Ali ibn Abi Talib suggested that the honor of holding the keys be given to the Prophet’s own clan, Banu Hashim.

However, the entire conquest of Makkah is a story of incredible compassion and forgiveness, and this incident was no exception. The people of Makkah had persecuted the Prophet ﷺ, killed his followers, driven him from his home, and even tried to exterminate his new community. He would have been fully within his rights to take away the honor of holding the keys, and grant it to his own clan, or to one of the honored Muhajireen, perhaps even to one who had been tortured by the Quraysh.

But he was not there to humiliate the Quraysh, lord it over them, or take away their heritage. He was there to bring them into the light of Islam and welcome them as brothers and sisters. So he called for Uthman ibn Talha, who had held the keys before the conquest – and who, in that moment, was still a mushrik – and returned the keys to him, saying:

“Take it, O family of Talha, eternally, until the Day of Judgment. None shall take it from you except an oppressor.”

That trust has endured.

Even in modern times, a specific member of the Banu Talha clan is entrusted with the key. Until recently, this role was held by Dr. Saleh bin Zain Al-Abidin Al-Shaibi, who served as the 109th generation custodian of the Ka’bah in his tribe. He was not only a key holder, but a scholar of Islamic studies and a lecturer at Umm Al-Qura University, reflecting how this role continues to be carried by individuals of knowledge and standing.

After his passing in 2024, he was succeeded by another member of the same family, continuing a chain of custodianship that stretches back more than fifteen centuries.

Over the centuries, the keys themselves have changed. Historical keys from the Abbasid, Mamluk, and especially Ottoman periods still exist today, preserved in museums and collections. Some Ottoman-era keys, dating from the 16th to 19th centuries, are large and heavily ornamented, sometimes over a foot long, engraved with Qur’anic inscriptions and the names of sultans.

I myself saw one once. I had no idea what it was until the exhibit manager told me it was an Ottoman-era key to the Ka’bah. It was much larger than I would have expected. I remember thinking, “If the key is here, how can anyone get in?”

The modern key is very different. It is smaller, simpler, and designed for function rather than display, reflecting the current structure of the Ka’bah door.

Empires have risen and fallen. Dynasties have come and gone. Even the keys themselves have changed in form and design But the trust has not.

To this day, the descendants of one family remain the custodians of the Ka’bah, holding its keys just as their ancestors did at the time of the Prophet ﷺ. It’s interesting that the city of Makkah itself has changed, with ancient sites demolished and overbuilt, but these ancient human links remain unbroken. I think there’s a message there about what matters, and what lasts.

15. Within the Haram, All Life Is Sacred

Within the boundaries of the Haram, life is treated with a level of sanctity that is difficult to find anywhere else in the world.

The Haram is not simply Masjid al-Haram itself. It is a defined sacred territory, established since ancient times, with known boundaries that extend well beyond the masjid into the surrounding valley and hills. Within this entire zone, special rulings apply.

This is not a modern rule. It is an ancient one, established by Allah and affirmed by the Prophet ﷺ. Violence is forbidden. Hunting is forbidden. Even harming animals or cutting down plants without valid reason is prohibited within this sacred precinct.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said:

“This city was made sacred by Allah on the day He created the heavens and the earth. It is sacred by the sanctity of Allah until the Day of Judgment. Its thorns are not to be cut, its game is not to be frightened, and its lost items are not to be picked up except by one who will announce it.”

(Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim)

This does not mean that all human use of the land is forbidden. Farmers may harvest their crops. Gardeners may trim or cultivate plants when there is a legitimate need, such as encouraging growth or preventing harm. But unnecessary destruction is not allowed. No one may simply pluck a leaf, cut a branch, or disturb living things without cause.

Even the smallest forms of harm are restricted. A bird is not to be chased. An animal is not to be struck. A plant is not to be uprooted without need.

Walk through the Haram and you will see what this looks like in practice. Pigeons gather in large numbers, moving calmly among the crowds. Cats roam freely between rows of worshippers. They are not driven away or mistreated. They are part of the environment, protected by the same sanctity that protects the people.

In a place that receives millions of visitors, where movement is constant and space is limited, this creates a remarkable atmosphere. Despite the density and the pressure, there is an underlying expectation of restraint. You lower your voice. You watch your steps. You become conscious of your actions.

Here, the sanctity of life is not an abstract concept. It is lived, observed, and enforced, reminding every visitor that they are standing in a space set apart by Allah Himself. This is a beautiful thing, and fitting for the most sacred space in the world.

This series is complete! I hope you enjoyed reading it. I actually learned several knew things in the process of writing it, and deepened my knowledge of Makkah’s history and the Haram’s secrets. Maybe later I’ll do a “10 more things” follow-up, inshaAllah.

* * *

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

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The post 15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 3] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.