Don’t you know that Muslims were the first to discover the New World?”
This is how Sheikh Youssef kicked off our conversation in Vega Alta, Puerto Rico. I was conducting research on Islam and Muslims in Puerto Rico and he wanted to make sure that I knew one thing before I went any further in my investigations. He quickly followed his initial incredulous question with a bold claim: “Muslims came here long before Columbus and Cortes and all the rest,” he said,“they were the first to come here and they did not colonize or destroy the place. That’s the difference between us and them.”
Sheikh Youssef is not alone in his reading of history. Far from it. Instead, his remarks reflect a widely held belief among Muslims — in the Americas and elsewhere — that long before Europeans set foot in Latin America, the Caribbean, or elsewhere in the American hemisphere, there were Muslim navigators, explorers, and settlers who arrived on these shores and who left evidence of their presence in maps, records, language, and cultural artifacts.
In the second chapter of my recent book The Muslims of Latin America and the Caribbean, I explore the claims, stories, the supposed evidence that supports them, and the ways in which Muslims utilize them as a means of claiming space and authenticity in the Americas today.
Based on the available evidence, there is no reason to lend theories of “Muslim first contact” any credence or historical credibility.
And yet, the claims remain historically significant because they are just that: claims.
Before we can deal with the documented historical evidence about Muslims in the Americas arriving alongside and after European colonizers, it is important to first address claims such as Sheikh Youssef’s.
As evidence of pre-Columbian Muslim “discovery” of the “New World,” various advocates of the theory raise up the following:
Maps from the likes of Abu al-Hasan Ali ibn al-Husain al-Mas‘udi, Abu Abdullah Muhammad al-Idrisi al-Qurtubi al-Hasani as-Sabti (better known as al-Idrisi), or Ahmed Muhiddin Piri (better known as Piri Reis) that hint at lands and peoples beyond the Atlantic.
Pre-Columbian inscriptions, explorers’ accounts, and supposed linguistic parallels that point to West African presence in the Americas.
Secondary sources written by the likes of Leo Weiner (Africa and the Discovery of America) or Barry Fell (Saga America), neither of whom were trained historians.
Although the evidence is spurious — and the claims effectively erase the accomplishments of the Americas’ indigenous peoples and civilizations — the reference of it affords an opportunity to consider why it is that so many different cultures and countries claim that they were the ones to “discover” the Americas in in the first place.
In my book, I suggest that although the claims lack scientific proof, it is not in architecture, society, or genealogy that we should begin thinking about Islam and Muslim communities in the Americas, but in the realm of ideas, identifications, and historical claims.
Whatever it is that is remembered in this narrative of Muslim first contact, it is not verifiable facts, or in any case not just facts. Claims of first contact are an attempt to underscore fluctuating, marginalized, and uncertain identities with historical primacy and critique those who are able to control the narrative of a region’s identity and history. In the case of the Americas, it is a means of pushing back against Eurocentric (and predominately Christian) frames that dominate our understanding of the hemisphere.
Even though the claims are not true, they illustrate the ongoing importance of the Americas in the global Muslim imagination and the ongoing importance of discussing and debating the place of Islam in the Americas. In the end, I suggest that these claims are less about confirming pre-Columbian Muslim presence in Latin America and the Caribbean and more about claiming the region as their own today.
Thus, any assessment of these claims needs to not only examine the available evidence, but perhaps more poignantly, explore the claims’ contemporary significance for Muslims across the hemisphere.
Fictions can be full of useful truths that do real work in the world, even though they are not true. To craft a sense of identity, of belonging, takes more than facts, it takes faith. To belong is, in a sense, to believe in more than what is simply historical fact. While we must distinguish between fact and fiction — and critique the myths we know we are making — we cannot dismiss fictions that take on a truth of their own in the lives of those who believe them, claim them to be true, and advance them as historical fact.