Why al-Aqsa mosque is so often the site of conflict

The violence that spread from Jerusalem to cities across Israel and the Palestinian territories, leaving at least 60 dead so far, has both historical and contemporary roots.

In recent weeks, tension has flared over the eviction of Palestinian families in Sheikh Jarrah, East Jerusalem, Israeli authorities blocking access to the important Damascus Gate plaza during Ramadan, and a march of thousands of Israeli ultra-nationalists through the city on May 6, 2021, in celebration of “Jerusalem Day,” which marks the capture of East Jerusalem in 1967. 

But the one incident that led to a significant escalation involved Israeli security forces firing rubber-coated bullets, tear gas and stun grenades at worshipers gathered at al-Aqsa mosque on May 7.

When I teach introduction to Islam, I include a discussion about al-Aqsa as part of the syllabus. That’s because Al-Aqsa has deep religious significance for Muslims around the world. But, it is also important to highlight its remarkable political relevance for Palestinians. These two facts often make it a focal point for conflict.

The night journey of Muhammad

The Masjid al-Aqsa, or simply al-Aqsa, means “the farthest mosque” or “the farthest sanctuary,” and refers to the lead-domed mosque within the sacred precinct of Haram al-Sharif – “the Noble Enclosure.” The precinct includes the Dome of the Rock, the four minarets, the compound’s historic gates and the mosque itself.

Mentioned in Sura 17, verse 1 of the Quran, the mosque is linked to the story of Muhammad’s Isra – the “night journey” from Mecca to Jerusalem – that in part confirms him as the last and most authoritative of the prophets for Muslims. The Quran says the prophet was “carried…by night from the Sacred Mosque [in Mecca] to the Farthest Mosque [al-Aqsa], whose precincts we have blessed.” 

From there, it is believed that Muhammad ascended to heaven – called the Mir'aj. The Dome of the Rock – Qubbat as-Sakhra – is said to shelter the rock from where Muhammad physically ascended.

The mosque’s origins stretch back to the seventh century. It was first built in 637 C.E., just five years after the prophet’s death. It has been destroyed, rebuilt and renovated multiple times.

The current building largely dates to the 11th century and hosts daily prayers and Friday gatherings that draw large crowds. It lies adjacent to important Jewish and Christian religious locales, particularly the site of the First and Second Jewish Temples. 

At times, the Dome of the Rock – a shrine – and al-Aqsa – a mosque – have been confused as one and the same. While part of the same “Noble Sanctuary,” they are two distinct buildings with different histories and purposes. 

However, the term al-Aqsa is sometimes used to indicate the entire “Noble Sanctuary” complex. Originally, it is believed that the term “the farthest sanctuary” referred to Jerusalem as a whole. 

The Dome of the Rock, which shelters the rock from which Muhammad is believed to have ascended to heaven (PHOTO: Ken Chitwood)

Place in Islamic history

After Mecca and Medina, the vast majority of Muslims worldwide consider Jerusalem the third holiest place on Earth. 

Referenced frequently in Islamic tradition and hadith – records of something the Prophet Muhammad said, did or tacitly approved of – it is believed that while in Mecca, Muhammad originally oriented his community’s prayers toward al-Aqsa.

In 622 C.E., the community fled Mecca because of persecution, seeking refuge in Medina to the north. After a little over a year there, Muslims believe God instructed Muhammad to face back toward Mecca for prayers. In Surah 2, verses 149-150, the Quran says, “turn thy face toward the Sacred Mosque [the Kaaba in Mecca]…wheresoever you may be, turn your faces toward it.”

Nonetheless, Jerusalem and its sacred locales – specifically al-Aqsa and the Dome of the Rock – have remained sites of Islamic pilgrimage for 15 centuries.

The ‘most sensitive site’ in conflict

Given its sacred significance, there was great concern about the precinct’s fate after Israel’s victory in the 1967 Arab-Israeli War and its subsequent annexation of East Jerusalem.

Although Israel granted jurisdiction of the mosque and complex to an Islamic waqf – “endowment” – Israel still commands access to the grounds and security forces regularly perform patrols and conduct searches within the precinct. Under the Preservation of the Holy Places Law, the Israeli government has also allowed entry to different religious groups – such as Christian pilgrims. 

Many Israelis respect the sanctity of the place as the holiest site in Judaism. In 2005, the chief rabbinate of Israel said it is forbidden for Jews to walk on the site to avoid accidentally entering the Holy of Holies - the inner sanctum of the Temple, God’s place of promised presence on earth. Nonetheless, certain ultra-Orthodox Jewish groups controversially advocate for greater access and control of the site, seeking to reclaim the historic Temple Mount in order to rebuild the Temple.

Described as “the most sensitive site in the Israel-Palestinian conflict,” it has frequently been host to political acts. 

Riot gear on hand near an entrance to the “Noble Sanctuary,” Jerusalem. (PHOTO: Ken Chitwood)

For example, in August 1969, an Australian Christian named Dennis Michael Rohan attempted to burn down al-Aqsa, destroying the historically significant and intricately carved minbar – or “pulpit” – of Saladin, a treasured piece of Islamic art.

On Sept. 28, 2000, Israeli opposition leader Ariel Sharon and a delegation guarded by hundreds of Israeli riot police entered the precinct. This sparked protests and a violent crackdown by Israeli authorities, with multiple casualties. Many Muslims worldwide considered this a “desecration” of the sacred mosque, and the event helped ignite the Second Intifada, or Palestinian uprising. 

Tensions peaked again after an attack on Yehuda Glick, a controversial right-wing rabbi, in autumn 2014. In response, Israeli authorities closed down access to al-Aqsa for the first time since 1967. In March and April of that year, Israeli police used tear gas and stun grenades on Palestinians inside Al-Aqsa, prompting international outcry. 

Numerous other incidents between Israeli forces and worshipers have occurred at al-Aqsa in recent years. 

Controlled access to the site reminds Palestinians of their relative powerlessness in their ongoing land disputes with Israeli authorities. At the same time, attacks at al-Aqsa resonate with Muslims across the world who react with horror to what they see as the desecration of one of their most sacred sites. 

Defending al-Aqsa and fighting for rights to access it, I argue, have become proxy conflicts for both Palestinian claims and the need to defend Islam as a whole.

The age of "spirit tech" is here. It’s time we come to terms with it.

The electrodes are already attached to your scalp, so you settle into a seat that reminds you of the one they use at the dentist’s office. On the other end of a series of cords is a machine where a technician sits with a clipboard and a range of blinking and bleeping devices.

No, you’re not about to start a medical diagnostic exam.

You’re about to meditate.

Sound surreal? If so, welcome to the brave new world of “spirit tech,” where a range of researchers and practitioners are using brain based tech to “trigger, enhance, accelerate, modify, or measure spiritual experience.”

In their new book — Spirit Tech: The Brave New World of Consciousness Hacking and Enlightenment Engineering — Wesley J. Wildman and Kate J. Stockly take a stimulating journey into the technology that could shape our spiritual futures.

Investigating the intensifying interaction between technology and religion, they talk to innovators and early adopters who are "hacking the spiritual brain” using ultrasounds to help practitioners meditate or experimenting with “high-tech telepathy” to build a “social network of brains.”

Not only did I get the chance to read the book, I also sat down with a one-on-one interview with Stockly about how spiritual entrepreneurs and tech-savvy religious practitioners are using technology to modify spiritual experiences.

While critics may question “spirit tech’s” efficacy, elitism, and ethics, Wildman and Stockly are careful to note that religious people have always used tools — from mantras to mandalas, prayer beads to palm reading — to enhance spiritual experience. The difference now, they write, is the sheer number of “customizable and exploratory practices at the threshold between cutting-edge tech and the soul,” from synthetic psychedelic trips in lieu of Holy Communion to LED orbs that create connection between congregants.

Wildman and Stockly do not pretend to have it all figured out — spirit tech’s ability to balance innovation and enlightenment, they say, “is still being written” — but their thought-provoking introduction to the brave new world of transcendent tech gives both pious pioneers and defenders of traditional religion something to consider as they imagine the future of spirituality in the 21st-century and beyond.

For the House of One in Berlin, It's Complicated...

It sounds like a riddle: how do you fit the world’s religions into a single building?

For the team behind Berlin’s House of One, it’s not a riddle. It’s real life.

It’s also an immense challenge and a unique opportunity.

Dubbed “the world’s first churmosqagogue” by one Reddit user, the House of One — “the world’s first hybrid church-mosque-synagogue” — will break ground in Berlin on May 27, 2021.

By then, it will have been a project 12 years in the making, at an expected cost of at least 47.2 million euro ($57.2).

Its designers and leaders hope it will be used by Jewish, Christian and Muslim members as a place to pray, worship, gather and, perhaps above all, host a dialogue among their respective religions and with society at large.

Over the last few months, I had the distinct pleasure of getting to know the leaders behind the House of One and some of their partners around the globe.

I also got to speak with some practitioners of interreligious and intercultural dialogue here in Berlin, some of whom are skeptical about the concept and its eventual roll-out.

The result is my latest story with Religion News Service.

Faith Leaders on the Frontlines of COVID-19 Response

When Margaret Hoffman passed away last spring, her remains were brought from California to her hometown in Wisconsin and interred in a plot she chose years ago. There was a brief, Christian ceremony and those in attendance sang the hymn, “The Old Rugged Cross” per her request. In many ways, it all happened exactly as planned.

One thing Hoffman could not have foreseen, however, was that her funeral would take place during a global pandemic, which prevented most of her family from attending, save for a few distant cousins.

Along with claiming the lives of millions, COVID-19 has upended death rituals like Hoffman’s across faith traditions and spurred religious actors to respond with creativity and compassion when it comes to bereavement services and crisis response.

Here is the story of two faith leaders — one a rabbi in the United States and the other a priest in India — who have stepped up to provide frontline care, and inspire others to follow their lead, in the midst of an unprecedented pandemic.

Spotlight on: Dr. Karoline Cook - Forbidden Passages: Muslims and Moriscos in Colonial Spanish America

Emigrants from the Atlantic world came to the Americas for various reasons, with many motives, and precipitated by myriad circumstances. Some were forced, some came to escape an old society or to build a new one, others came to acquire riches or set-up shop. Yet, as J.H. Elliott wrote in his tome Empires of the Atlantic World: Britain and Spain in America 1492-1830, “they all faced the same challenge of moving from the known to the unknown, and of coming to terms with an alien environment that would demand of them numerous adjustments and a range of new responses.” 

Furthermore, as Elliott continues, “to a greater or lesser degree, those responses would be shaped by a home culture whose formative influence could never be entirely escaped, even by those who who were most consciously rejecting it for a new life beyond the seas.” While the local context with its diverse ecological, material, political, socio-cultural, and religious environments shaped the contours of American colonization and conquest, the colonial world was simultaneously defined and influenced by its transatlantic nature. Significantly, the historical and legal dimensions of imperial statecraft conditioned the experience of various constituencies in even the most far-flung reaches of the American empires. 

It is within this transatlantic imperial nexus that Dr. Karoline P. Cook situates the narrative of Forbidden Passages: Muslims and Moriscos in Colonial Spanish America.

The following is an interview with Dr. Cook, lecturer in the history of the Atlantic world at Royal Holloway University of London about her previous and current work that provides multiple insights into the state of study on Islam and Muslim communities in Latin America and the Caribbean over the longue durée.

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Why did you set out to write Forbidden Passages? Where did the process begin?

I became interested in Moriscos in the Americas when I was still an undergraduate student at Bryn Mawr College, researching my senior thesis on enslaved Moriscas who were tried by the Spanish Inquisition for practicing Islam. The summer before my senior year, I received a grant from Bryn Mawr to conduct research for my thesis at the Archivo Histórico Nacional (AHN) in Madrid, but first spent a couple of weeks in Seville with my family. In Seville I stopped by the Archivo General de Indias (AGI) to apply for an ID card that was required at the time for all researchers who wanted to consult Spain’s national archives. The archivists told me that I wouldn’t find information about Moriscos at the AGI because during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries they had been prohibited from emigrating to the Americas. Because I was already familiar with the rich historiography on conversos who faced the same travel restrictions as the Moriscos, and who nonetheless settled in the viceroyalties of New Spain and Peru, I began to wonder whether the same might have been true of the Moriscos. This knowledge and the questions it raised prompted my interest in whether Moriscos emigrated to Spanish America and if so, what implications their presence could have for our understanding of colonial society. Upon graduating from Bryn Mawr, I was granted a Fulbright Fellowship to spend the following year in the Spanish archives to determine whether I could answer these questions. I found more sources than I had anticipated amongst the Inquisition records at the AHN and the Royal Audiencia records at the AGI, and I began applying to PhD programs to continue researching the topic.

In your opinion, how much tactical thought was behind the accusation of being a Morisco?

Accusations that someone was a Morisco or had Muslim ancestry were very tactical, often aimed at discrediting an opponent. They drew upon understandings of limpieza de sangre (blood purity) that could be invoked to prevent a rival from holding prestigious offices, practicing certain professions, or emigrating to the lands claimed by Spain in the Western Hemisphere. The reality was much more complex, and the accused could go to court to assert their status and negotiate their position in colonial society. This allowed for degrees of fluidity in the ways that individuals presented themselves. But it was also about access and the persistent vulnerability to accusation that would result in lengthy and expensive litigation.  

Are there any implications for today’s political landscape that we can draw from the colonialist’s fear of Moriscos undermining their agenda and the subsequent failure to exclude the latter from the ‘New World’?

The discourses invoked by colonial officials against Muslims and anyone they perceived to be a Muslim finds a great deal of resonance with Islamophobia and anxieties about emigration today. Trump’s ‘Muslim ban’ is one of the most recent examples, but this goes back much farther. My Fulbright year in Madrid coincided with September 11 and the US invasion of Afghanistan – when I returned home each evening after reading denunciations of Moriscos in the archives, I continued to read the newspapers full of reports of hate crimes against people perceived to be Muslims and generally heightened anxiety about Muslims who were viewed with suspicion and associated with terrorism in the media. These images have a much longer history, and it was one of the points I wanted to write about in my book.

If there are any implications that can be drawn it is the insidious persistence of hate speech – the ways that negative images of Muslims and emigrants have been invoked for a variety of political agendas. It is important to recognize the types and patterns of anti-Islamic discourse and be attentive to such images in order to challenge them both verbally and legally before they can gain traction. The ways that the label ‘Morisco’ functioned in the context of local disputes can also tell us something about early constructions of race and racism, and the different forms that racism can assume in contexts that both pre-dated and extend beyond the 19th and 20th century examples.

If the numbers in the sources are reliable, what is your estimate of how many Moriscos came to the Americas?

This is a very difficult question and something I am still working on in the background, even if it wasn’t the focus or main interest of my first book. To date I have found approximately 200 references to Moriscos in the context of denunciations before the ecclesiastical and secular courts for practicing Islam in secret or having Muslim ancestry. I am continuing to gather references for a future book that will attempt to grapple with the question of the ways that individuals who did self-identify as Muslims in Spanish America during the early colonial period might have formed communities or ties with each other. This would include not only Iberian converts from Islam but also Muslims from the Maghreb and sub-Saharan Africa. 

That said, a focus on numbers alone can be problematic since it is often very difficult to determine who was or was not a Morisco, and such an approach risks replicating the concerns of inquisitors and colonial officials.

In the second half of the book you describe the Moriscos as providers of magical health services across all classes and castes. What implications do you see in this for understanding the colonial society as a whole?

There was a great deal of exchange at the local everyday level, where Moriscos were sought for remedies – their expertise was valued within their communities. We see this in a variety of contexts where multiple ritual specialists might be consulted if someone was ill or needed the intervention of a healer or a practitioner of love magic and divination. Morisco healers operated in the same local communities as indigenous and African healers, and alongside other broader Mediterranean traditions of healing. Inquisition denunciations could also operate as malpractice suits, but there were important differences between how someone denouncing a failed cure framed the event and the inquisitors’ propagandistic use of it in the context of pamphlets and autos de fe. Heightened political tensions or interpersonal rivalries created an environment where denunciations could occur. 

Read “From Disciples to Missionaries: The Trans-Continental Trajectory of the Khoja Shia Ithna-Asheri Community from South Asia to Latin America”

You use the term ‘Morisco’ for both, new Christian converts, and old Christians accused of descending from Moors. What was your reasoning behind this double connotation?

‘Morisco’ was a label that operated as a legal category with implications for someone’s rights and status. There is also little evidence that Moriscos in Spain referred to themselves by this label. I wanted to convey the tactical use of the term in disputes and lawsuits as well as highlight the multiple people who fell under this designation depending on the context. 

What has been the ‘afterlife’ of the book? In other words, what conversations has it inspired and what has it contributed to the study of Islam and Muslim communities in the Americas?

Since Forbidden Passages was published there has been more interest in the topic. It has inspired conversations about the presence of Muslim communities across the Americas. There are a number of young scholars now working on this topic from different perspectives, and it is gratifying to hear from them about their interests and their work.

If you would have the chance to rewrite the book today, what area would you include that is not covered in the first version?

I would write a lot more about Moriscas and gender generally. When I was researching Forbidden Passages I didn’t feel that I had adequate source material to do this well, but as time passes and I collect more sources I am increasingly incorporating gender analysis into my work.

What research project(s) are you currently working on?

I am working on two book-length projects, beyond the long-term project that I mentioned above that really won’t be ready to write for at least another ten years! My next book project examines constructions of nobility in the early modern Spanish Empire. I will focus on how a range of families who claimed descent from the Nasrid emirs of Granada, the Inca rulers of Peru, and the Mexica rulers of Tenochtitlan claimed noble status at a time when creole families in the viceroyalties of New Spain and Peru were also engaged in litigation regarding the perpetuity of their encomiendas, and they invoked and at times invented accounts of Christian-Muslim relations on the Peninsula in order to stake their claims. Broadly speaking I am interested in how such claims to noble status and representations of Muslims in the petitions and court cases can shed light on how ideas about race were taking shape in this period.

My other project is a microhistory that focuses on Cristóbal de la Cruz, a man who was born in Algiers and enslaved as a young boy after being captured on a fishing boat, taken to Seville and baptized. De la Cruz denounced himself before inquisitors in Barcelona, Seville, and Mexico City multiple times over a thirty-year period. I am comparing his testimonies between the 1650s and 1680s to analyse how he narrated his life story to inquisitors at the beginning of each trial, engaged them in theological debates, and recounted events and exchanges he had with Muslims and Christians in Spain, the Caribbean and in Mexico, all while expressing doubts about whether belief in Christianity or Islam would lead to his salvation. I have already written about De la Cruz in an article that appeared in The Americas in 2008.

To cite this article: “Spotlight on: Dr. Karoline Cook - Forbidden Passages: Muslims and Moriscos in Colonial Spanish America,” Latin America and Caribbean Islamic Studies Newsletter, Vol. 1, No. 2. (January 2021).

Sins of the fathers: How German evangelicals are confronting antisemitism, past and present

“The Grandchildren, The Dialogue” (Die Enkel, Der Dialog) event was meant to be a chance for the people of Eisenach, a town of 42,000 in the central German state of Thuringia, to reflect on their collective Nazi past. 

Part of a series of events focused on “interreligious and intercultural dialogue,” the event brought together public personalities in Eisenach’s St. George Church to discuss how their families addressed Germany’s antisemitic past and how they could confront it today.

Bodo Ramelow, Minister-President of the Thuringia State Parliament, said his family simply did not talk about it. “I only found out my family’s involvement with National Socialism later, in pieces,” he said.

Worried about this historical neglect, Ramelow said, “we thought antisemitism was gone, but it never really left. We just stopped talking about it and now, it’s back out in the open.” 

Despite the nation’s “Culture of Remembrance” (Erinnerungskultur), antisemitism is still a problem in Germany. The Department of Research and Information on Antisemitism Berlin’s (RIAS Berlin) most recent report recorded a total of 410 anti-Semitic incidents in the first half of 2020.

The most recent prominent attack occurred in 2019 in the eastern city of Halle when a gunman killed two people outside a synagogue during the observance of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. 

While some blame far-right politics or Germany’s Muslim community, data shows multiple sectors of society bear responsibility for the rise in antisemitic incidents, including Christians. 

Data such as this has recently forced Christians to reconsider how their communities respond to anti-Semitism, or whether they address it at all.

Although sources say that churches have long sidestepped the issue, many are learning to confront the history of Christian complicity in the greatest sins of the nation’s past and build better Jewish-Christian relationships in the present. 

Jesus for President?

A guest post from Ryan Dradzynski.

Apparently, Jesus makes quite an impact at the polls.

The influence that Jesus and his teachings exert on the voting-booth behaviors of certain segments of the population is well established. Earlier this year, for example, the Pew Research Center found that 49% of Americans—and 68% of American Christians—believe that the Bible should have ‘some’ or a ‘great’ influence on U.S. laws.

Despite this fact, it would be astonishing to find Jesus’s name on the ballot. And yet, that is exactly what one might be led to expect given the nationwide proliferation of signs, shirts, and stickers bearing the slogan “Jesus 2020.”

The campaign, of course, isn’t actually about electing a 2,000-year-old Jewish man from Nazareth to our nation’s highest office. Rather, the organizers of the movement, Martha Sikes and Joyce Hubbard of Sampey Memorial Baptist Church in Ramer, Alabama, hope it will lead “people to elect [Jesus] to be the leader in their life.”

Local coverage reported several weeks ago that the church has sold more than 30,000 signs and given away another 7,000. The official Facebook page, which displays photos of signs in yards from coast to coast and most places in between, attests to cross-denominational and nationwide support. The campaign coordinators attribute the rapid spread of their signs across our cultural and literal landscape to “God’s perfect timing and design.” What might these signs signify about the relationship between politics and Christianity in America?

Although the campaign began under the auspices of a small Baptist church in south-central Alabama, this is not the first time that Christianity has appropriated political structures and symbols for proselytization.

In Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture, Lamin Sanneh suggests that the medium and method of Christian evangelization has changed over time in response to its social, political, and economic environment. While Sanneh emphasized the linguistic and textual aspects of these ‘translations,’ the principle holds true in other areas as well (the appropriation of cross imagery or the Saxon Heliand come immediately to mind). In the U.S., there have been several movements which associated Jesus with political power, from a series of ‘Washington for Jesus’ rallies in the late ‘80s and ‘90s to a national speaking tour by the authors of Jesus for President in 2008.

What is striking about this latest manifestation of electoral evangelism is the fact that it is, according to its originators, apolitical.

Despite the organizers’ scrupulous attempts to prevent political leaven from polluting their efforts, the fact remains that they have chosen an explicitly political medium for their religious outreach. In doing so, they have implicitly made numerous assumptions and assertions about the relationship between Christianity and politics in America.

“In our highly polarized times,” observed Sightings author Corey D. Walker, “we are experiencing a moment in which our political concerns are framed within a theological architecture.” By framing theological concerns within a politicalarchitecture, the “Jesus 2020” campaign seems to indicate that the reverse is also true.

The danger of this, Walker notes, is that when political language is “imbued with the spirit of religion…[it] blurs the boundaries between religion and politics to such an extent that the political becomes synonymous with and an extension of the religious, even for those without an explicit religious” (and to this we might add, political) position.

Read in conjunction with each other, Sanneh and Walker can be used to illustrate how the appropriation of political motifs for the sake of religious proselytization necessarily entails political implications. This raises a number of challenging questions for the campaign, such as:

What does ‘voting for Jesus’ mean to historically disenfranchised communities?

How does this representation of Jesus, associated with the nation’s highest office, relate to America’s marginalized groups—the economic, political, and cultural ‘least of these’?

How might the reference to voting (an inherently exclusionary practice) perpetuate and exacerbate the deep divisions plaguing our polity?

What is the status of those—leaving aside questions of soteriological (s)election—who decline to ‘elect’ Jesus?

How might the belief that “Jesus is the only cure for this nation’s problems” allow his electorate to disregard their responsibilities to his creation and ignore their temporal obligations to their neighbor?

Seen in this light, exhortations to vote for Jesus imply either a repudiation of politics or a total subordination of politics to whatever interpretation of Jesus gains the upper hand. Secure in its assertion of apoliticism, these are concerns that the campaign does not raise, much less resolve.

While it would be inaccurate and uncharitable to accuse the campaign’s producers and consumers of demanding the abrogation of religious liberty or the establishment of a Christian theocracy, appeals to intent should not absolve them (or us) from facing the complicated relationships they invoke.

*Ryan Dradzynski is a former student of mine at the University of Florida, where he graduated in 2019. He recently completed an internship program in Washington D.C. at the Hudson Institute and now resides in Alabama, where he keeps an eye out for “Jesus 2020” election signs and intersections of religion, politics, and culture.

Building a Better World for Everyone: H.E. Cardinal John Oneiyekan on Interfaith Input at the G20

In 2005, Cardinal Onaiyekan’s commitment to peace and de-escalation was put to the test. He had just received word that a Danish newspaper had printed a series of satirical cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad, sending shockwaves through Nigeria and resulting in hundreds of casualties in a violent uprising between the country’s Christian and Muslim communities.

Following visits from the Israeli ambassador and a representative of the Palestinian Liberation Organization, Cardinal Onaiyekan reached out to the Sultan of Sokoto, the leader of Nigeria’s Muslim community. Together two of Nigeria’s most influential religious leaders issued a joint statement declaring that the incident was not a Muslim-Christian issue and urging both sides to settle disputes peacefully.

In the years since, His Eminence Cardinal John Olorunfemi Onaiyekan, Metropolitan Archbishop of Abuja, Nigeria, has earned his reputation as the person to call in Nigeria when there is conflict, especially those of an interreligious nature.

Following his education and early work with the Church, Cardinal Onaiyekan was appointed the Auxiliary Bishop of Ilorin at the age of 38. Now retired from official church duties, Cardinal Onaiyekan continues to advocate religious peacebuilding and justice in sub-Saharan Africa and around the world.

In 2012, he was named Pax Christi International’s 2012 Peace Laureate, an annual prize awarded to exemplary individuals who stand up for peace, justice, and nonviolence across the globe.

“I am involved at the international level for the same reasons I’ve been at the frontlines of Christian-Muslim dialogue in my country — to work for justice and peace,” he said.  

Due to his sterling record of interreligious engagement in Nigeria, and his persistent promotion of peace in other capacities throughout his career, he has served as honorary president of Religions for Peace (RfP), as President of the Christian Association of Nigeria and as President of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria.

He has also been invited to be a part of the upcoming G20 Interfaith Forum which will be held October 13-17 – a role that Cardinal Onaiyekan sees as an opportunity to bring the importance of faith in conflict resolution and sustainable development to the forefront.

Americans looking in...on my sermon notes?

It’s not every day that my sermon notes go on display in an art exhibition.

But on Thursday, 8 October, notes from one of my messages will be part of an exhibition at the Center for Book Arts (CBA) in New York City, NY called, “Americans Looking In” curated by Emilie Ahern & Sherri Littlefield

Inspired by Robert Frank’s, “The Americans,” the gallery invites viewers to consider the question “what does it mean to be ‘American?’”

From the CBA’s webpage:

The Americans, by Robert Frank, was a highly influential book in post-war American photography. The photographs were notable for their distanced view of both high and low strata of American society and the book as a whole created a complicated portrait of the period, interpreted as skeptical of contemporary values and evocative of ubiquitous loneliness.

Both curators of Americans Looking In have reflected on what it means to be “American.” Having multicultural backgrounds and being raised in the States has given them both moments of confusion and frustration, and has led them to wonder what this country has to do with personal identity. When forming this exhibition, the curators presented themselves, artists, editors, leaders and everyday-people with the question – “What is American culture today, and what does an American look like?”

The hope is that viewers will explore this question with them by staring through the eyes of the artists in this exhibition, leading to self reflection upon exiting the space.

When Sherri invited me to display my sermon notes — the raw, unrefined, random, doodle-filled, scrap that gets somewhat organized into a coherent message later on — as part of the exhibition, she said it was to give viewers the chance to “look over my shoulder” as I prepared.

My sermon notes will be displayed along with content from religious leaders of other traditions.

My hope is that my notes, along with the stunning works of art on display, can play a small role in helping viewers wrestle with what it means to be “American” and how we can make sense of our personal identities in light of “others” and their perspectives, practices, and traditions.

The story of American religion is central to the American story as a whole.

Throughout our history, religion played a critical role in making the country what it is, and what it isn’t, today. For good or for ill, religion lies at the heart of our identity, our history, and our future.

And so, I am humbly honored to let other Americans “look in” on my sermon notes to help them explore what it means to be “American” from a spiritual perspective.

If you’re interested in learning more, the CBA will be hosting a live, virtual opening Thursday, October 8th, on Zoom at 6:30pm. Here's the event page, where you can find out more. 

An Axiom of Participation: The Role of Religion in Peacebuilding and Conflict Prevention

When it comes to conflict, religion holds a paradoxical place in the public imagination.

Religious actors acknowledge that they and their religious communities often fall short and that their faiths have been twisted to fuel hate and violence.

At the same time, representatives from across the religious and political spectrum believe that “when it comes to today’s crises, religion isn’t just part of the problem—it’s part of the solution.”

The G20 Interfaith Forum, scheduled to be streamed from Saudi Arabia from 13-17 October, highlights how interreligious cooperation can help solve global challenges, bringing together religious thought leaders and political representatives to seek solutions to some of the world’s most intractable problems.

According to conveners, the goal is to ensure “that the rich, countless ideas and actions of the worlds’ religious communities about global agendas are heard and understood.”

One of the prime emphases of this year’s forum will be on the role of religion in peacebuilding and conflict prevention. Representatives from various regions will wrestle with how faith communities can inform, and help enact, policy related to countering hate speech, protecting sacred sites, addressing violent extremism, promoting inclusive citizenship, and preventing human trafficking and modern slavery.

Book Review: Far From Mecca

Brenda Flanagan’s 2009 novel Allah in the Islands tells the story of the lives, dreams, and social tensions of the residents of Rosehill, a community on the fictional “Santabella Island.” The novel centers around the protagonist Beatrice Salandy and her decision whether or not to leave Santabella, a lush and tropical Caribbean island only thinly veiled as real-life Trinidad. Weaving its way through the novel is Beatrice’s relationship with an “Afro-Santabellan” Muslim community that is critical of island politics and outspoken on behalf of the poor.

Through first-hand narratives from Abdul—one of the members of the community and right-hand man to its leader, Haji—readers learn that the “Afro-Santabellan” Muslim community is planning a coup against the Santabellan government. This, in turn, is a thinly veiled reference to the real-life 1990 Jamaat al-Muslimeen coup. A key theme that runs throughout the book, and in contemporary Trinidad, is how the non-Muslim residents of Santabella view “Afro-Santabellan” Muslims. Situated between the island’s Black and Indian communities, Flanagan writes how island residents react with a mixture of awe and opprobrium to their Muslim neighbors.

While it may seem strange to start a review of one book with a discussion of another, I would not have been aware of Flanagan’s work if it were not for Aliyah Khan. Khan’s adept analysis of Flanagan’s Allah in the Islands serves as one of the primary means by which she argues that the 1990 coup is the seminal event for the Caribbean’s perception of Islam and Muslims. Combining this analysis with an interview with “Haji”—the real-life “celebrity terrorist” Imam Yasin Abu Bakr—and an exploration of popular calypso music about the coup, Khan shows how events in Trinidad in the 1990s “changed national perceptions of Muslims” (192) throughout the Anglophone Caribbean, long before 9/11.

This is just one small example of Khan’s masterful interdisciplinary treatment of the subject of Islam and Muslims in the Anglophone Caribbean.

In this regard and many others, Far From Mecca is a commendable monograph that will spark additional research in the burgeoning field of Latin American and Caribbean Islamic studies, building on previous literature on Islam and Muslims in the Anglophone Caribbean in particular. It is also a worthwhile text by which scholars in different fields—religion in the Americas, Caribbean studies, global Islamic studies, postcolonial studies, etc.—might branch beyond their main disciplines and come to learn something fresh, from a slightly different perspective. Such was the case for me as I came across Allah in the Islands in Khan’s work. It is rare for works to be able to speak to so many different fields and to do so cogently and convincingly, but Khan’s book is an exception that is enlightening for readers in multiple disciplines, critical of an array of entrenched scholarly discourses, and useful for various classroom discussions.

Overall, Khan argues that appreciating the continuous Afro- and Indo-Muslim presence and cultural influence in the Caribbean tells a different story about both global Islam and the Caribbean. Following Aisha Khan’s emphasis on Islam of the Americas, rather than Islam in the Americas, Aliyah Khan claims that Muslims are “not different from other Caribbean people in their negotiation of culture and place” and situates Islam and Muslims firmly within the history and society of the Anglophone Caribbean as a whole. At the same time, Khan also seeks to de-center the study of Islam in the Americas outside the USA, looking at the hemisphere’s “formerly colonial whole” and pinpointing events and figures beyond 9/11 and the USA’s respectively well-studied Muslim communities. Khan brings an interdisciplinary approach to the subject, weaving together literary analysis of fiction, autobiography, poetry, non-fiction, and music in Guyana, Trinidad, and Jamaica with interviews, media analysis, and personal connections to key events in the Anglophone Caribbean.

Khan’s work is a timely, incisive, and critical addition to the growing corpus of literature that seeks to bring the lens of Caribbean studies to bear on the study of global Islam and expanding the perspectives and paradigms scholars use to frame Islamic studies and its “literatures.”

Religion at the UN: From Gender Justice to Protecting the Environment, Faith Communities are Creating Sustainable Change

When Prof. Azza Karam was trying to create the Interagency Task Force on Religion and Sustainable Development (IATF) during her time at the UN, she often ran into a challenge that seemed embedded in the organization’s DNA.

“The UN is supposed to be the quintessential universal culture, you’re supposed to step through the doors and have no country, no religion, and serve all,” she said.

Respecting this altruism and admiring the broad human rights principles that make the UN what it is, Karam still felt something was missing — the heart. She wondered, “how can you serve all if you don’t understand what touches people’s hearts, their faith?”

Driven by a desire to see faith-based actors more involved with the UN, she worked with like-minded individuals to create the UN IATF in 2010. Today, it includes more than 20 UN agencies and works toward shared objectives with key partners in the faith-based world.

In 2018, the UN IATF established the MFAC to advise on key areas of the UN’s mandate, such as gender justice, environmental protection, and peacebuilding. KAICIID serves as the only intergovernmental organization that holds membership in the MFAC and co-chaired the council from 2018-2019.

Rabbi Burton Visotzky, Appleman Professor of Midrash and Interreligious Studies at Jewish Theological Seminary in New York City, was already involved with the UN Under-Secretary General for Genocide Prevention and was often consulted along with other faith leaders by the IATF, so much so that he thought of himself as “the UN’s ‘go-to Jew.’”

Along with other “religious friends of the UN” he came to serve on the MFAC when it was founded.

Although still in its infancy, Visotzky said the MFAC has already made an impact around the UN. “Having discovered religion, the UN has acted on that knowledge and is keen to partner with us in a variety of ways.”

"Said & Lody": Combatting hate with a one-two punch in Amsterdam

A Dutch rabbi and a Moroccan boxer walk down the streets of Amsterdam – what may sound like the beginning of a joke has formed the basis for one of the Netherlands’ most powerful interfaith partnerships.

A prominent leader in Holland’s Jewish community, Rabbi Lody B. van de Kamp is a former politician, and a member of the KAICIID-supported Muslim Jewish Leadership Council. In contrast, Said Bensellam recalls being a Moroccan youth from the borough of Bos en Lommer, adrift before he was admitted to the local kickboxing school. Today he is a self-made youth-worker and role model for his community, having been voted “Amsterdammer of the Year” in 2007.

Together, they form the duo “Said and Lody,” working to counter anti-Semitism and Islamophobia in their community – an inclusive partnership forged in the fires of hate and discrimination.

Bensellam and van de Kamp trace their first meeting back to a Nazi salute.

In 2010, while van de Kamp was serving as director of an Orthodox Jewish school in Amsterdam, he received complaints from students who reported facing discrimination and racial slurs during their daily walks home. Wanting to see for himself, van de Kamp and a partner brought a film crew on a 10 hour walk through the streets of Amsterdam. Both men wore traditional kippahs (head coverings for Jewish men).

During the walk, they encountered two explicit incidents of hate. At first, they were called names. Then, a teenager stood up in front of his friends and raised his arm in a Nazi salute while staring at van de Kamp.

The incident made national news and prompted renewed debates about integration, anti-Semitism and Muslims in Dutch society. Watching at home, Bensellam decided he had to do something on behalf of his community.

“After talking with Dutch authorities, I received a second call about the video,” said van de Kamp. “It was Said and he was asking me, ‘how can we solve this together?’” After much discussion, Bensellam reached out to the teenager, encouraging him to meet with van de Kamp. He then facilitated a reconciliation between them.

Said Bensellam makes up half the “Said & Lody” duo, fighting prejudice and discrimination in Holland. (PHOTO: KAICIID Communications)

The incident marked the beginning of a fruitful 10-year partnership. But, at times, Bensellam and van de Kamp admit they have faced an uphill battle. Over the last decade, the Netherlands has had to confront numerous public incidents of anti-Semitism and Islamophobia. Jews and Muslims have faced both physical and symbolic dangers from wide sectors of society.

According to experts, anti-Semitism and Islamophobia are not distinct phenomena, but instead often reinforce one another in a twisting helix of hate. For example, anti-Semitism within the Muslim community can exacerbate Islamophobia in Dutch society as a whole and, in turn, embolden elements of the public to express anti-Muslim and anti-Semitic rhetoric side-by-side.

From the beginning, Bensellam and van de Kamp’s primary motivation has been to ensure that hostility is not allowed to fester in their communities. “How can we make sure that antipathy doesn’t arise? That hate doesn’t grow?” van de Kamp asked. “Our answer was that our communities do not know each other.”

Bensellam and van de Kamp started with their own friendship and invited others to join them. They also reached out to youth in each community who were facing exclusion and discrimination. Working with schools, government agencies, and religious institutions, the two men found a willingness and welcoming hospitality to work together on both sides.

Perhaps an unlikely pair, Said and Lody are more than collaborators, but friends. (PHOTO: KAICIID Communications)

Over the past decade, van de Kamp says there have been countless stories of inclusion and reconciliation. For example, when a group of Muslim boys were found playing football in one of Amsterdam’s historical Jewish cemeteries, “Said and Lody” reached out to help them make amends.

“The police got involved because a cemetery is usually not a place for football,” van de Kamp said, “but when Said asked the boys what they were willing to do to make things right, they said they would clean the cemetery.”

Bensellam and van de Kamp took the offer a step further, inviting 20 Jewish youth to join the 20 Muslim youth in their clean-up initiative. “The idea wasn’t just to clean, it was to bring the two communities together. To have a common project. To get to know one another as we worked together,” van de Kamp said.  

Dr. Matthew Kaemingk, professor of ethics who has written on Christian-Muslim relations in the country, says that in order to defend against stereotypes, misinformation, and aggression, different religious subcultures in the Netherlands must come together.

Referring to “Said and Lody,” Kaemingk said, “Judaism and Islam are profoundly different theologically, culturally, and politically. The temptation to ignore those differences is very real. They have to find ways to collaborate across their deep differences.”

Neither Bensellam nor van de Kamp deny these dividing lines. Still, they emphasise how their friendship has led to meaningful discussions and a lot of laughs along the way. “It’s not comedy, it’s just conversation. It’s not a formal dialogue, it’s not a system. It’s just getting to know each other. Being there for each other. When you live life together, it’s organic,” van de Kamp said.

It’s also contagious. Following “Said and Lody’s” example of reaching out to one another in times of crisis, a group of Dutch Muslims recently brought flowers to a Jewish retirement home in order to help elderly individuals suffering from loneliness due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

This makes van de Kamp proud. “It’s not hard to reproduce the ‘Said and Lody system,’ if you want to call it that. This kind of work is not a luxury these days, it’s a necessity. What we do, anyone can do it,” he said.  

“And,” he emphasised, “they should be doing it.”

As societies across the world address the challenges and opportunities of globalisation, multi-ethnic communities, and alterations in national identity, Bensellam and van de Kamp’s influence has begun to extend beyond the Netherlands too.

When Dr. Amy Peloff and Dr. Nicolaas P. Barr of the University of Washington in the United States brought a group of 18 study abroad students to Amsterdam in June 2019, they spent an afternoon with van de Kamp. Barr said the students were struck by his gentleness, presence, and candor.

When it comes to dialogue between communities, I think that what Rabbi Lody embodies is the willingness to show up in a real way with, and for, others,” Barr said.

Barr says that although this doesn’t magically solve all disagreements, “it shows a willingness to hear where people are coming from, and building relationships with others, even if you don't agree on every single issue.”

Refugee Converts Aren’t ‘Fraudsters': the Fraught Politics of Convert Asylum in Germany

When you visit Trinity Lutheran Church in the Berlin district of Steglitz you’re going to meet a lot of different people, from all over the world: the German woman who thinks Mississippi is the greatest place in the world, the family from Bangladesh who comes to the English-language service every other week, the pastor — Rev. Dr. Gottfried Martens — who has learned Farsi in addition to English and German in order to minister to his community.

Then, you might get to know the hundreds of men and women who have found sanctuary at Trinity, seeking to remain in Germany and not be sent home to places as diverse as Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, or elsewhere.

This is a community whose lives are in limbo. They’ve applied for asylum on the basis of their conversion to Christianity and they claim that they will face religious, social, and political repercussions if forced to return to their countries of origin. Some fear for their lives.

Between 20,000 and 40,000 refugees are seeking asylum in Germany on the grounds of religious persecution because of their conversion to Christianity, according to a 2019 Open Doors report. Amid sharp national debates about anti-refugee sentiment, religious literacy, and religious freedom, a number of evangelical leaders have called for changes to the process of officially evaluating refugee conversion.

Currently, the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF) judges the sincerity of conversion and the severity of potential threats to asylum seekers’ lives. There is, however, a lack of explicit standards, clear criteria, or legal precedent for these examinations, and the BAMF grants asylum at significantly different rates in different parts of the country.

To say the least, this issue is fraught with multiple angles, opinions, and perspectives to consider. The process is mired by Islamophobic assumptions, a supposedly secular and neutral state making decisions in matters of religion, and the messy and mysterious question of “authentic faith.”

But for those seeking asylum, the issue is clear — “I’ve converted and my conversion puts my life, and the lives of those I love, in danger. I need asylum in Germany.”

Reporting on the topic for Christianity Today, I spoke with refugee converts, local pastors, evangelical leaders, scholars of Islamic law, government ministers, immigration authorities, and everyday Germans about how the issues around the question of judging asylum cases might be untangled.

The end result is that there is no clear answer, no silver bullet, no rubric that can be universally applied. Blame for the inefficiencies and failures of the process cannot be easily allocated — it isn’t an “Islam” problem, a secular government problem, or an evangelical Christian problem. It’s a shared problem, one that must activate multiple stakeholders with varying perspectives, postures, and positions on faith, the state, and religious freedom.

Nonetheless, in the course of my reporting, I did sense that there is the possibility for legal experts, politicians, government ministers, pastors, and religious actors to work together to seek the best solution for those involved.

These questions are not going to go away on their own. Instead, as the church body at Trinity Lutheran Church in Steglitz testifies, we are likely to continue to confront such questions in the years to come given the ongoing entanglement of people, traditions, and nations across the world.

Germany’s struggle offers a telling case-study for the issues we might encounter and the possibilities that lie before us. Perhaps, there is a “third way” that religious actors and the secular state can walk together to protect human rights and maintain peace and order.

Time will tell. For now, take a moment to explore an issue that is far more complex than it at first appears.

A short history of hajj cancellations

Saudi Arabia has urged Muslims to delay their plans for the hajj, amid speculation that the obligatory pilgrimage may be canceled this year due to the coronavirus.

Earlier this year, Saudi authorities halted travel to holy sites as part of the umrah, the “lesser pilgrimage” that takes place throughout the year.

Canceling the hajj, however, would mean a massive economic hitfor the country and many businesses globally, such as the hajj travel industry. Millions of Muslims visit the Saudi kingdom each year, and the pilgrimage has not been canceled since the founding of the Saudi Kingdom in 1932. 

But as a scholar of global Islam, I have encountered many instances in the more than 1,400-year history of the pilgrimage when its planning had to be altered due to armed conflicts, disease or just plain politics.

Coronavirus: How a Possible Epidemic is Shaping Muslim Pilgrimages

Coronavirus news, fears, and realities are impacting everything — even sacred pilgrimages.

Due to concerns over the global spread of the coronavirus – especially in nearby Iran – Saudi Arabia has temporarily suspended travel to its holy sites. Millions of Muslims visit the Saudi kingdom around the year for pilgrimage.

The current travel restrictions prevent the entry of both overseas pilgrims and Saudi citizens into the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. This has had a direct impact on the umrah pilgrimage, known as the “lesser pilgrimage,” that can be performed at almost any time of the year.

The question is whether or not the continuing spread of the virus will put a halt to the hajj later this year.

Click below to read about how past experiences with epidemics might shape the decision and understand the difference between umrah and hajj.

What is a caliphate? How the Islamic State tries to boost its legitimacy by hijacking a historic institution

Just days after the death of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi on Oct. 27, the Islamic State named Abu Ibrahim al-Hashimi al-Qurashi as the new “caliph.”

In 2014, IS conquered vast swaths of Iraq and Syria and declared itself to be the “caliphate.” 

Defined and applied in different ways over the centuries, the fundamental idea behind the caliphate is the just ordering of society according to the will of God. 

The Islamic State’s caliphate was never widely recognized among the global Muslim community and no longer has significant territory. But the Islamic State still uses the history of the caliphate to push their claims.

As a scholar of global Islam, every time I teach my “Introduction to Islam” class, questions about the caliphate come up, in part because of IS’s claims. 

Caliph conundrums

The leader of a caliphate is called the caliph, meaning deputy or representative. All caliphs are believed to be the successor to Prophet Muhammad. Muhammad was not a caliph; according to the Quran he was the last and greatest of the prophets. 

That means no one can replace Muhammad as the messenger of God. The caliph, for example, is not always seen as holding special spiritual authority. But he is meant to preside over the caliphate in the absence of Muhammad.

The debate over who was the rightful representative of the prophet began immediately after his death. While the majority supported Abu Bakr – one of the prophet’s closest companions – a minority opted for his young son-in-law and cousin, Ali. 

Abu Bakr’s supporters would come to be known as Sunni Muslims, who believe that Muhammad did not leave instructions regarding his successor. Those who felt Ali was appointed by the prophet to be the political and spiritual leader of the fledgling Muslim community became known as Shiite Muslims. 

Abu Bakr was the first caliph and Ali the fourth. 

The second and third caliphs were Umar and Uthman. Under Umar, the caliphate expanded to include many regions of the world such as the lands of the former Byzantine and Sassanian empires in Asia Minor, Persia and Central Asia. Uthman is credited with compiling the Quran. 

That al-Baghdadi adopted the name of the first caliph was no coincidence. Together, Sunni Muslims call the first four caliphs the Rashidun, or the “Rightly Guided Caliphs,” because they were close companions or relations of Muhammad. They are also believed to be extraordinarily pious. This period lasted about 30 years. 

The complex history of the caliphate

After rebels assassinated Uthman in A.D. 656, Ali was elected caliph. However, a civil war soon broke out between Ali and Muʿawiya ibn Abi Sufyan. The civil war ended in Sufyan’s victory and the formation of the Umayyad caliphate in A.D. 661. 

The Umayyad dynasty lasted 89 years.

The Abbasid dynasty descended from Muhammad’s uncle, Abbas ibn Abdul-Muttalib, and succeeded the Umayyads.

These two caliphates oversaw the continuing expansion of the empire. Under them architecture, the arts and sciences flourished.

For example, the “Dome of the Rock,” a shrine in the Old City of Jerusalem, was built under an Umayyad caliph as a monument to the rising supremacy of their empire.

The Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem (PHOTO: Ken Chitwood).

The Grand Library of Baghdad, also known as the “House of Wisdom,” was supported by Abbasid patronage. The “House of Wisdom” is credited with being a center of translation, scientific study and academic exchange. This period of flourishing, from the eighth to the 14th century, is often referred to as the “Islamic Golden Age.”

Both before and after the fall of the Abbasids in A.D. 1258, a succession of various empires made overlapping and competing claims to the caliphate. These included the Mamluks of Cairo and the Umayyads in Cordóba, Spain. 

In 1517, the Turkish Ottomans amassed enough land and power throughout Asia Minor, North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula and Eastern Europe to claim the title “caliphate.” Ottoman sultans, however, were not universally recognized as caliphs. Many Muslims believe that the caliphate effectively ended after the Mongol conquest of Abbasid Baghdad in A.D. 1258.

Nonetheless, the Ottomans effectively held on to that title until 1924, when the Turkish nationalist and secularist Kemal Ataturk abolished the caliphate. 

Resurrecting the caliphate?

The idea of the caliphate, which the Islamic State has forcefully promoted, recalls a time and a place when Islamic states flourished politically, economically and socially. It also summons up a spiritual vision of a supposedly more devout and dedicated Muslim community than exists today. 

Other modern-day Islamists have called for a resurrection of the caliphate, or at least its ideals, as a way to recapture the vibrancy of the past. However, only violent extremist groups such as al-Qaida or the Islamic State have tried to make it a tangible reality.

Killing al-Baghdadi has not quashed the Islamic State’s version of the caliphate. The idea lives on and continues to motivate its members in enclaves across the globe. It is worth mentioning that the name of their new caliph is an honorific title for a member of Prophet Muhammad’s family – “al-Qurashi.” This prophetic lineage is one more way IS is trying to resurrect the history of the caliphate for its destructive purposes.

What does it mean to be a cosmopolitan? (And no, I'm not talking about the drink or the magazine)

In November 2017 I came across the work of Naeem Mohaiemen at a New York Museum of Modern Art’s PS1 gallery while doing research with the city’s Puerto Rican Muslim population. 

In "Volume Eleven (A Flaw in the Algorithm of Cosmopolitanism),” Mohaiemen explores his uncle Syed Mujtaba Ali’s “flawed cosmopolitanism.” On the one hand, his uncle was a Bengali author who fought against colonial interference in the affairs of India and Pakistan. On the other hand, Ali wrote words of adoration for Nazi Germany and Adolf Hitler. 

The artist wrestles with the (im)possibility of both being true, but comes to the uncomfortable “conclusion” that in Volume 11, a collection of his renowned uncle’s essays, there is a “flaw in the algorithm of cosmopolitanism” — evidence of the swirling contradictions and inconsistencies of what it means to live as a minority in the late-modern world. 

Cosmopolitanism is often presumed, or proposed, as a moral ideal or political ideology. I think cosmopolitanism is something else.

Through my ethnographic research alongside Puerto Rican Muslims — in New York, New Jersey, Florida, Puerto Rico, and online — I became convinced that cosmopolitanism is more a condition. One which we all share in a modern world that is evermore speeding up and spreading out. Like Mohaiemen’s uncle, we face some choices regarding what to do in this cosmopolitan world, but we cannot opt out.

There is no way to be non-cosmopolitan in the 21st century.

When Islam Is Not a Religion: A Response to Asma Uddin

After wrapping up a Q&A session at a public conference where I presented on the topic of Islam and Christian-Muslim relations to a largely evangelical Christian audience, an older man who was sitting in the back approached me at the podium.

Rather nonchalantly, he asked, “You do know that the Constitution wasn’t written for Muslims, right?”

As we talked, he elaborated on his opinion that the concept of religious freedom does not apply to Islam and Muslims because, he said matter-of-factly, “Islam is not a religion.” At the time, it seemed to me a fringe theory cooked up in the dark corners of the internet or in 6am greasy-spoon breakfast meet-ups.

In short, I could not really believe — given my own biases — that people could actually think that the First Amendment and its promise of religious freedom did not extend to Islam and Muslims in the U.S.

However, far from fringe political theory or radical cultural posturing, this view has found its way into legal briefs, court cases, and political contexts in recent years. In fact, these legal and political perspectives are the fodder for Asma Uddin’s new book When Islam Is Not a Religion: Inside America’s Fight for Religious Freedom.

In this work, Uddin points out that many Americans insist that the religious liberty they so quickly claim for Christianity or Judaism (or other religions beyond the nation’s so-called “Judeo-Christian” heritage) does not extend to Islam and Muslims in the U.S.

What does the Hajj mean to millions of Muslims?

Nearly 2 million Muslims will gather in the holy city of Mecca in Saudi Arabia on Aug. 9 for an annual pilgrimage known as the hajj. 

The five-day journey is a once-in-a-lifetime obligation for all Muslims who are physically and financially able to undertake it. It is considered the fifth pillar of Islamic practice, along with professing faith, saying five prayers daily, giving to charity and fasting during Ramadan. 

In calling Muslims to perform the hajj, the Quran says: “Proclaim to men the pilgrimage: they will come to thee on foot and on every lean camel, coming from every remote path.” 

The millions of Muslims from around the world who meet each year in Saudi Arabia dress simply to mask any differences in wealth and status. Women wear plain, white dresses and headscarves. Men drape themselves in seamless, unhemmed clothing.

As a scholar of global Islam, I’ve interviewed many Muslims who have gone on the hajj. They have described to me having profound experiences on the pilgrimage, both political and spiritual.