Part 1 of 4
Soon after the death of the Prophet Muhammad in 632 AD, rents began to emerge in the nascent Muslim community. Arguably the first community to emerge in the earliest days of Islam, the Shiʿah are those members of the Muslim community who gravitated around the Prophet and his Household, commonly known as the Ahl al-Bayt in Muslim parlance. In the proceeding decades, the leading voices of the Ahl al-Bayt, taken as religious and political leaders by the Shiʿi faithful, fell prey to incumbent Muslim rulers such as the Umayyads, who tolerated little dissent, and factional rulers such as the Khawarij, who violently put down religious opposition. From ʿAli b. Abi Talib (killed in 661 AD) to Hasan al-ʿAskari (killed in 874 AD), members of the Ahl al-Bayt and prominent leaders of the Shiʿah community were either silenced, maligned, marginalised, imprisoned, or, as was often the case, killed by poison or assassinated.
As early as the first Islamic century, the memory of the Ahl al-Bayt was recorded in history books, preserved in hadith collections, and commemorated in devotional rituals of mourning and communal gatherings. To keep the message alive, the Shiʿah scholarly elite studied and carried the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad and his Household assiduously. By the second Islamic century, sectarian attitudes started to take firm shape and soon, in the decades that followed, Muslim scholarship became tainted by sectarian biases and prejudicial mentalities. The memory of the Ahl al-Bayt was either suppressed or censored from hadith collection, mischaracterised in historical writings, discarded from theological deliberations, and their spiritual teachings appropriated by the soi-disant authorities of the Muslim multitudes.
The story remained unchanged in the centuries that followed, right until the present day. Whether in seventh century Iraq or twenty-first century Quetta, Shiʿah Muslims remain the target of malicious attacks, sectarian killing, political silencing, and social marginalisation.
In recent years, however, a new reality started to unfold before us. Factional groups among the Shiʿah faithful have taken active steps to reverse the situation described above. To them, the Shiʿah religious and spiritual worldview has been suppressed and maligned for far too long. In the past and at present, Shiʿah Islam is too often viewed through the lens of Sunni Islam. In other words, Shiʿi teachings are measured and evaluated through the standards of Sunnism. This Sunni normativity is dangerous and traumatic in equal measure. It discounts Shiʿi suffering and trivialises centuries-old grievances. To be Shiʿi should be evaluated on its own terms—and not according to what Sunni theology considers validly Islamic. Muslim societies have enjoyed diversity and plurality in thought and practice since time immemorial. While it is the right of every group to believe in the claims of its own tradition as the authentic representation of Islam, it is hardly becoming for one Muslim community to prevent another from self-representation and self-expression. Everyone has the right to proclaim their faith, to promote their theology, and to celebrate their memories of the past. In what follows I will endeavour to offer my own reflections on the most oft-repeated debates surrounding the recent release of the Lady of Heaven film in selected cinemas across the United Kingdom.
The Lady of Heaven film is sectarian and divisive. It was produced by hate preacher Yasir al-Habib.
There is little doubt that Shaykh Yasir al-Habib is sectarian—and theologically extreme. I find him difficult to listen to, in his many video lectures online. He is indeed a hateful figure and harbours extreme views in matters of theology and history. It is also clear to me that he is a rabble-rouser who benefits from publicity and sensational gestures. In my view, the less we hear of him, the better. We should, however, leave the matter of his learning and scholarly credentials to the specialists. In my humble view, al-Habib is not ignorant of the Muslim tradition. In fact, he appears to have a relatively decent—but not excellent—grasp of historical polemics, early Muslim history, and theology. His Arabic is quite excellent; he demonstrates a strong command of the classical and modern diction. He writes well, too. However, commendable scholarly abilities do not necessarily make him learned in the traditional sense we are accustomed to. The truth of the matter is al-Habib is a drop in the ocean compared to the pillars of Shiʿi Islam, such as the likes of al-Hisham b. al-Hakam (d. 795), al-Fadl b. Shadhan (d. 874), al-Kulayni (d. 941), al-Shaykh al-Mufid (d. 1022), and al-ʿAllamah al-Hilli (d. 1325); or, more recently, Murtaza al-Ansari (d. 1864), al-Sayyid al-Khomeini (d. 1989), and al-Sayyid al-Khoei (d. 1992), to name but a few pioneering figures in arguably the oldest and most dynamic learning tradition of Islam.
But is a sectarian narrative problematic per se? Let it be known that all Muslim history is sectarian. To put it differently, all Muslim accounts of the past are tinged with a sectarian bias in their reporting, presentation of facts, and framing of narratives. Whether Sunni or Shiʿi, the celebrated works of history were almost always edited, presented, and framed to reflect sectarian worldviews and augment the theology of the rulers, the supporting patrons, or the authors. These would include such celebrated works as the (Sunni-centric) Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk by al-Tabari (d. 923) or the (Shiʿi-inclined) Muruj al-Dhahab by al-Masʿudi (d. 956). This is a reality we cannot simply ignore or brush under the carpet. To help us understand why sectarianism is not inherently evil, we would do well to remember that the term sectarianism is difficult to grapple. In fact, academics specialists of sectarianism warn sternly against lazy and essentialist definitions. Like nationalism, sectarianism can be benign, tolerable, aggressive, or toxic. It is hardly sectarian, for example, for a Shiʿi Muslim to pray on a turbah in a public place; or for a Shiʿi person to break their fast at later time while attending an iftar dinner among Sunnis who break their fast earlier. It would be considered sectarian, however, if a Shiʿi Muslim vilifies the caliph Abu Bakr in, say, a crowded Sunni quarter; or for a Shiʿi employer to refuse the hiring of a prospective employee because they happen to be Sunni. Sectarianism, then, is not necessarily a pejorative label nor does have to be a reprehensible act in and by itself. Context matters.
Is the telling of a sectarian historical narrative a bad thing? That depends on what we tell and how we tell it. For Muslims living in the West, there are two considerations to take into account: legality and ethics. It is neither illegal nor unethical to express a view of the past even if the narrative under consideration is contentious. There are obvious exceptions which we shall not mention. It is perfectly ethical for a Shiʿi or Sunni Muslim to recount their version of history, whether for the purposes of communal celebrations or commemorations (such as the mawlid al-Nabi or ʿAshura), or for pedagogical reasons such as children education. A Sunni parent is well within their right to teach their children about the merits of the Sahabah, as much as a Shiʿi parent is within their right to lecture their children about virtues of the Ahl al-Bayt. So far so good.
How do we address contentious and disputed topics, though? Let us now turn to the death of Fatimah, daughter of the Prophet Muhammad. She died shortly after her father in the year 632 AD. That Fatimah was a virtuous woman of impeccable religious credentials and piety is hardly disputed. The nature of her death, however, divides the Muslim faithful. To Sunni Muslims, the death of Fatimah was not without some controversy. Early authorities report a dispute that arose between her, in one camp, and Abu Bakr and ʿUmar, on the other. Authorities such as al-Tabari report that Abu Bakr regretted the threat made by some Companions who decided to attack the house of Fatimah after ʿAli refused to pledge allegiance to Abu Bakr. In later Sunni historical accounts, the details are diluted, and the matter is treated as if a minor scuffle among close relations.
For Shiʿi Muslims, the history of the death of Fatimah unfolded somewhat differently. Her house was attacked violently by a coterie of prominent Companions, spearheaded by ʿUmar b. al-Khattab (d. 644). Fatimah, Shiʿis believe, died as a result of injuries she sustained following the attack on her house. In some Muslim historical narratives, the attack caused Fatimah to miscarry her son, named Mushin by the sources.
To Sunni Muslims, the Shiʿa account of Fatimah’s death is a later invention. To Shiʿi Muslims, the Sunni account of Fatimah’s death is a later censoring. It is not the job of the laity and the pious multitudes to debate the intricacies of Muslim history. Those not trained in history and Islamic studies generally should steer well-clear of sectarian point-scoring. That said, Shiʿi Muslims who accept the death of Fatimah as a tragic event that heralded centuries of Shiʿi marginalisation and persecution should be allowed to commemorate their version of history. To ask Shiʿi Muslims to suppress their memory of Fatimah and her tragic death is to ask them to abandon part of the religious identity. One does not have to agree with the narrative in question—which has certainly found scepticism among pre-modern and modern Shiʿah voices.
The history of the narrative surrounding Fatimah’s tragic death is hardly the matter of disagreement, however. It is not a recent fabrication. The narrative of her untimely death is recorded in the earliest accounts of Islamic history—as is the attack on, or threats to attack, her house. Even if some medieval or modern Sunni authorities wish to challenge the Shiʿi perspective on things, their findings rest on historiographical methods that are not without sectarian motivations. For instance, the argument often rests on assumptions that the Companions of the Prophet held his family in high esteem and would never contemplate a violent intrusion into the house of Fatimah. For other Sunnis, the historicity of the event was dismissed by the reliance on Sunni-centric criteria of hadith evaluation—that is, the study of ʿilm al-rijal (a branch of hadith criticism) which assesses the veracity of hadith narrators using methods that are underpinned by sectarian biases. For example, the erudite Sunni Moroccan hadith scholar and faqih, ʿAbd al-Aziz al-Ghumari (d. 1997), counted among the best Sunni hadith masters of the last century, often took issue with the sectarian methodology of Sunni hadith collectors such as al-Bukhari (d. 870), who was accused by al-Ghumari of suppressing pro-ʿAli reports and editing away contentious historical issues.
The takeaway message is this: all history is sectarian, in so far as it tells of a biased point of view. To remember the death of Fatimah is a right many Shiʿis were robbed off during the pre-modern period. For millions of Shiʿi Muslims today, the memory of Fatimah is part of their faith and religious identity. It is, as it was in the past, a way to be Shiʿi.
We will deal with the topic of how to remember the past and toxic sectarianism in the next question, but for now let us take a case study of Iraqi Shiʿah and cultural colonisation.
A Case Study: The Shiʿah of Iraq
History bears witness to the social, religious, and economic oppression of the Shiʿah of Iraq (and elsewhere in the Muslim world). Political rulers and state institutions placed Shiʿah Muslims on the margins of society. For the most part of the twentieth century, Iraqi Shiʿahs lived in impoverished conditions far removed from the riches of the corrupt elite that ruled from Baghdad. Poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, and lack of services defined the lives of the Shiʿah faithful, while the politicians and a good chunk of non-Shiʿahs lead luxurious lives. The Shiʿah came to identify themselves as the forgotten, poor majority, regarded by the Iraqi elite as the wretched of the earth. The Arabic appellations ascribed to the Shiʿah majority, formerly by the Baʿthista but also by middle-class Iraqi Sunnis, is miʿdan, shroog, and hamaj, roughly translatable to the Marxist notion of lumpenproletariat, or the slum-folk.
The increasing visibility of Shiʿi identity in Iraq is, arguably, a form of restorative justice, comparable to Fran Fanon’s the wretched of the earth which describes the restorative action brought about by the lumpenproletariat. The Shiʿah of Iraq today see themselves as the group capable of establishing a social movement for the decolonisation (and de-Baʿthification) of Iraq after years of Sunni political dominance that almost erased Shiʿi memory. The Shiʿah authorities encourage the pious to partake in politics deliberately so as to awaken the Iraqi Shiʿah lumpenproletariat, who in Marxist theory provide the force required to affect the expulsion of the colonists. The lumpenproletariat is considered the lowest, most degraded stratum of the proletariat social-class: the criminals, the vagrants, and the unemployed, which strikes an almost exact chord with conception of Iraqi Shiʿahs by the former and present political elite.
In the view of learned Shiʿah figures, the emergence of ISIS and other Sunni militants marks a relapse of Iraqi society into Sunni colonialism (a type of ‘internal colonialism’). Internal colonialism describes the notion of structural, political, and economic inequalities between regions within a nation state, such as uneven effects of economic development on a regional basis. Furthermore, the increasingly vocal Shiʿah actors in Iraq seek to challenge the cultural colonialism of Iraqi society, that is, the asymmetrical influence of one culture (Sunni, Baʿthist, and middle class) over another (Shiʿah and working-class).
The recent rise of Shiʿah political activism and religious mobility in Iraq sees cultural colonialism as the most pernicious of affronts on Iraqi Shiʿah identity, especially during the decades of repression. For decades Iraqi Shiʿahs were subject to “cultural imperialism” and cultural domination of Sunnis and Baʿthists, a domination that included hegemony over the media, educational, academic, intellectual, scientific, and linguistic arenas.
While toxic and aggressive sectarianism is unethical and out of line with the teachings of the Ahl al-Bayt, a confidently assertive Shiʿah identity is mostly certainly needed—and should not be put down or lampooned by detractors. Shiʿi Islam should not be held hostage to Sunni normativity and the cultural dominance of non-Shiʿi religiosities.
Part 2 to follow later in the week…
Stranger in the Land
5 June 2022
London