by on

During the 2015 Canadian federal election, the niqab came into central focus as a key election issue with Canadians dividing themselves among the camps of supporters and condemners. The issue reached such a ridiculous fervour that, on the advice of the Alberta Muslim Public Affairs Council, I opted to write an opinion-editorial on the issue about how it was dividing the country and we must stand together to move forward. After this article’s publication, I received an email from the Rabbanit (wife of the Rabbi), Dorit, at Beth Shalom Synagogue. She proposed that we start a Muslim-Jewish women’s dialogue circle to talk about some of the issues that plague both of our religious groups and would allow us to create a safe environment for women from both groups to ask questions, offer insights and generally get pushed out of their comfort zones in the interests of learning.

Our first meeting in January at the Synagogue was small but intimate. The few women from both sides shared their life stories and, by virtue of the fact that the meeting was taking place in the Synagogue, answered many questions about their brand of Judaism, Jewish dynamics in the city and their perspectives on some political aspects of both faiths. Some amazing connections were made, especially between myself, Nakita, and Michelle from the Jewish community. A philosopher, feminist, life coach and convert, Michelle is a tour de force who has gone on to launch Edmonton’s first women’s film festival in honour of International Women’s Day. Nakita was lucky enough to help in a small way with this effort with The Drawing Board being privileged enough to build the website and help with some public relations aspects.

Such relationships are not the only beautiful thing to come out of the group so far. In our second meeting at the MAC Rahma Mosque in February, the turnout was much higher and the Muslim and Jewish women were lucky enough to get a tour of the mosque from the brand new Imam, Dr. El Sayed Amin. The Imam is exceptionally gifted in public speaking, interreligious dialogue and intellectual pursuits so to have his full attention was a true honour for all of us. Additionally, most of the Muslim women had never had a tour of their own mosque before so it was an amazing learning opportunity for us as well. The mosque was unbelievably hospitable to us, offering us the space on a continuous basis (bi-monthly as we change on and off with the Synagogue) and having the Imam around to answer any of our more in-depth questions and read us excerpts of the Qur’an.

The second meeting’s conversation revolved around the subject of veiling and modesty in both the Muslim and Jewish traditions and the dialogue was amazing. For many participants, it was the first time for them to encounter a person of the other faith, let alone sit across from them, sharing food and life stories. Perhaps my favourite part of all was when the Jewish women joined the Muslim women in the Musalla for ‘Asr prayer, with some Jewish women actually participating in the prayer, shoulder-to-shoulder with their Muslim sisters. It was so beautiful, it actually brought a tear to my eye.

In the coming months, we will be discussing such important and controversial issues as conversion, terrorism, Palestine-Israel and much, much more. As our group grows and solidifies, we hope to have more public events aimed at creating a better understanding of both of our often misunderstood communities. And if we can do this together with mutual respect and kindness, we have already won the day.

by on

On March 3rd, 2016 I was asked to give a talk to high school students in Alberta, British Columbia, Egypt and Bangladesh on the general subject of women’s advocacy and International Women’s Day. What follows below is an edited transcript of my talk.

The last time I did something for International Women’s Day was an interview I did with the Mohammedia Presse in Morocco in 2014. The interview was a poignant contrast to how women’s day is popularly marked in Morocco – which is to say, with flowers and chocolates handed to women in the street all across the country. My interview, however, was about not letting one day obscure the reality of the street for woman every day – which is, a haven for street harassers to relentlessly hound women of all shapes and sizes, all ages, all stages of life, all styles of clothing. Regardless of demographic, whether she’s urban or rural, educated or illiterate, veiled or not, it simply does not matter. The reality for women in the street in Morocco on every day other than International Women’s Day is that she will be intrusively approached by men, asked for all kinds of obscenities, or she will be followed for blocks and blocks, or she will be molested without remorse.

This happened to me countless times in Morocco while I was living there over a period of three years. It didn’t matter that I was 8 months pregnant and clad in a floor-length djelleba with a hijab – there would still be men asking if my baby had a daddy. It didn’t matter if I was walking, a professional director of a primary school in the village, there would still be a man on a motorcycle trying to corner me. On more than a few occasions I uttered profanities and threw rocks to protect myself.

And this sad reality has become so common there that two things have happened: Firstly, women have been unable to fight the tidal wave of harassment and often face physically violent repercussions if they defend themselves. A friend of mine stood up for herself and promptly received a black eye. Secondly, the prevalence of street harassment has caused a psychological trauma that is systemic culturally. It has gotten to the point that if rape culture is not reinforced (ie. if a woman is not sexually harassed by men in the street) in a gruesome manner, she will begin to find herself unattractive, thereby perpetuating and internalizing the oppressive mechanisms of patriarchy, permitting them to continue.

Now, I’m not naïve to think that these women need my perspective at all for their liberation. That’s neo-imperialist, anti-feminist and a reinforcement of the patriarchy I am trying so hard to undermine, as far as I’m concerned. Moroccan women (and men!) are fully aware of the social ills that street harassment represents and they will often excuse the harassers as simply being “bored” or “out of work”. Or they’ll even go so far as to blame the monarchy for the economic ills of the country which have led so many young men to feel that way.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m bored or out of work, the last thing I would think to do is go whisper hideous aggressions as unsuspecting women in the street. I can, however, see it as a way for a hopeless young man to improperly regain some of his power at the expense of the dignity of another. And when I say hopeless, I mean hopeless – Morocco has one of the fastest growing economies in the Arab world and is definitely one of the most stable countries in the MENA region as well. In fact, in my experience, very few people even remotely wanted to protest the current King Mohammed VI’s authority during the Arab Spring and after a few hundred thousand did, the King relinquished much of his power constitutionally. At the best, we can say he had good intentions. At the worst, it was a ceremonial gesture. And yet despite the stability, the growth of the economy and infrastructure is consistently outpaced by the growth of the population, among a myriad of complicating factors, including widespread corruption.

For me, the heart of Morocco’s social ills has a lot to do with disenfranchisement of women and the lack of gender equality – of which, street harassment and economic ills are but social symptoms. And at the very heart of this disenfranchisement is a lack of education.

Which brings me to the reason I moved to Morocco in the first place. In 2010, shortly after I converted to Islam, I was planning to go to law school but on a trip to Italy before I could write my LSAT, I read a book by Nicholas Kristoff called Half the Sky which was about the socio-politico-economic consequences of female oppression worldwide. As a recent convert to Islam and a well-read one at that, I had a hard time understanding the disconnect between the gender equality and rights of women preached in the Qur’an and the Sunnah of Muhammad (PBUH) an what kind of oppressive, misogynistic practices I was seeing played out in real life cases. Of course, this oppression is not limited to Islamic contexts but the fact that I was finding the cures for such oppression in the scriptural sources of Islam clued me into a disconnect that, at its core, was educational.

As a Muslim, I believe that the information exists in our scriptural sources about how to promote gender equality and respect the dignity of women, and if this not is not something I am seeing practiced on the ground, there are only two possible explanations: either people don’t know, or they don’t care.

As an eternal optimist, I have to believe that the former is true, that the majority of people just don’t know what is the prescribed status of women in Islam. And, in my experience, living in a Muslim country such as Morocco for so long, I found this to be the case… thankfully, as I’m not sure how I’d deal with people knowing and simply not caring.

On that same trip to Italy, a mere two weeks after I finished reading Kristoff’s book and had made the vow to myself to work in women’s advocacy in the Islamic world instead of going into law, I met the man who would be my husband in Florence. He happened to be building a school in his rural Moroccan town. Within 6 months of meeting him, I visited the foundations of the school, then only one storey high and within a year, I had moved to Morocco to finish building it and open it as a primary school and center for women’s rights.

During this period, I lived the first year of my Muslim life. I did so in secrecy from my family and most of my friends so I am quite up-front about the fact that I hadn’t yet experienced life as a religious minority or as an underprivileged woman in Canada…and I most certainly had not yet experienced life as a hijabi. I did, however, begin to feel the first pangs of what life is like on the margins.

When I moved to the village, my life as a hijabi began because I was finally free to practice the Deen of Islam in such a context; however what I quickly came to realize was that what I had the freedom to practice and enact as my rights as a Muslim woman was not the same for every woman in the village. In fact my suspicions had been correct: education was a key issue. The literacy rate of women in the village was only 27%. That means that anywhere from 2 to 3 women out of 10 can read. And I’m not talking about reading the Qur’an or legal texts by which they would know their rights. I’m talking about medication bottles or formula recipes for their babies – things that you and I take for granted in a literate, word-saturated society.

So, as we built the school over three years, including a 6 month stint for me in Canada where I fundraised the money for our school bus and third level by holding an arts gala at the AGA, I came to know more and more about women in the community and the obstacles they encountered to self-actualization.

I met women who:

  • had literally never left their homes since their marriage day
  • couldn’t read
  • were forbidden to attend Salat-ul-Eid (Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was famous for encouraging their attendance on this day, of all days, in particular)
  • were physically and verbally abused
  • were kept in servitude
  • had no way to earn their own income
  • had no reproductive rights

Now, of course, the opposite was also true. I found plenty of women who had jobs and careers, were free to come and go as they pleased, dressed how they liked and generally did whatever they wanted. For a large majority of women though, this was not the case.

Additionally, I became a woman who:

  • was a visible minority in Morocco (as a Western convert) and in Canada (as a hijabi convert)
  • was harassed in the street
  • almost died in child birth because my reproductive rights were violating again and again during labour
  • would go on to organize a student-led country-wide campaign to end street harassment called Letters to Our Brothers

These stories could really go on and on but I want to conclude by talking a little bit about what I have learned from this experience.

  1. Corruption can kill any dream but you have to keep on fighting. Despite our greatest aspirations for the school and women’s center, we still have yet to obtain proper authorization for teaching older children and have been told point-blank by the provincial authorities that they will never give us the paper without “compensation” (meaning a bribe)
  2. The education of women is great. The reasons for this are innumerable. I am not one to uphold the gender binary, but particularly in Morocco, where Islam dictates certain binary-like gender performances based on biological sex, some things hold fast to those performances. This includes the fact that if you teach a woman, you are teaching a community. Information is passed through women at a much greater rate than through men and this is especially true in the education of children. Additionally, educating women doubles the economic participation of community members, but more often than not, women tend to participate in the economy in socially oriented ways that benefit the whole.
  3. The rights of women are a moot point if the duties incumbent upon men to provide them are not known. A married woman may have the right to an education and work and a roof over her head, but if her husband is unaware of his duty in providing those things for her.
  4. Similarly, we need men for feminism to work. I neglected to mention that the literacy rate of men in the same rural village is only 55%. We need men to be as educated as women, not in order to get permission for liberation but to join forces against oppression. This is predicated on the notion that patriarchy works systemically but not always consciously and it only has power if we let it. Additionally, this is to say nothing of the damaging effects of patriarchy on men, including creating an oppressive culture of hyper-masculinity.

Thank you.

by on

aaronThis blog was written as a guest column for The Drawing Board by Aaron Wannamaker – the celebrated writer behind www.muslisms.com, community leader, and published authour. In this op-ed, Aaron graciously offers his unique insights on what happens when someone converts to Islam.

 

Islam is the fastest growing religion in the world. As for the precise number of converts that make up that number, it is still unclear. But with Islam in the media spotlight, many people take it upon themselves to learn about Islam.

For those who decide to take the leap—or who have already taken it—this article is for you.

I help to run a program at one of the local mosques in Edmonton called Convert Connect. I’ve spoken one-to-one with many converts. Having been a Muslim for almost 9 years now, I’ve heard a lot of stories of people coming to Islam. Everyone has their own unique story to tell, and their own thing that drew them towards the religion. For some it was a sense of purpose; for some it came after a long, spiritual quest through many religions; for some, it just made sense.

Yet despite that, there are still many overarching themes that I find with convert stories. These are 11 of the common things you may come across, both in your personal life and in the community, after you’ve become a Muslim.

You’ll be tested. I know this sounds scary, so I might as well get it out of the way now. After you become a Muslim, there’s a strong likelihood that you’ll go through some form of difficulty. The first year is often the most difficult one. During this time, a lot of new Muslims face backlash from their friends and family and co-workers. Sometimes, health problems arise or jobs are lost. If you do go through a test or trial, think of it as your entrance exam. God says in the Quran:

“Do people think once they say, “We believe,” that they will be left without being put to the test?” (29:2)

However, He also says:

“So, surely with hardship comes ease. Surely with ˹that˺ hardship comes ˹more˺ ease.” (94:5-6)

This is a promise from God that, no matter what, things will get better. Be patient, and pray for God to help you. Eventually, your hardship will pass.

You’ll try to do everything all at once. Oftentimes, in their zeal for their new faith, a new Muslim will try and do everything: pray not just 5 times a day, but all the extra prayers—and the late-night tahajuud prayer. They’ll make an extensive, pages-long list of duas to recite morning and evening. They’ll throw themselves into studying fiqh and tajweed and hadith, with some memorization to boot. All of these things are great goals in and of themselves. But trying to take it all on at once is unsustainable.

If you try and do all of this at once, you’ll end up crashing and burning out. At which point, you’ll feel like you’re less of a Muslim because you’ve had to cut back on a lot of your ibadah (worship). You may even feel this because you’ve lost your New Muslim Zeal (which should be the name of a cologne). But fret not: this is normal. Sometimes you end up finding yourself on the extremes. A big part of Islam is finding your balance, so use this as a learning experience to help you find that balance.

You’ll become an ambassador of Islam. Like it or not, you’ll end up becoming the de-facto “Muslim” to the people in your life. In fact, you might even be the first (perhaps only) Muslim that your friends and family and co-workers meet. As such, whatever image you project of yourself inadvertently becomes an image people associate with Islam. This is why, personally, I’m against new Muslims changing their names—especially if they’re pressured into it. Your name is part of who you are. So if you’re friends grew up knowing Alex as a jean-wearing, ball-cap sporting soccer player, and now you’re Ammar with a thaub and kufi who no longer wants to deal with “filthy disbelievers” and is always talking about how evil the world is—well, would you blame them for thinking Islam turned you into this?

Islam is meant to be something that facilitates good for others. Furthermore, Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) said to make things easy for people, and that “The best of people are those that bring most benefit to the rest of mankind.” Who you are as a human being can change people’s hearts about Islam and about Muslims—for better or worse. You’ll be the face of Islam for many people. They will come to you with questions—do Muslims do this? what does Islam say about that? why do these terrorists call themselves Muslim? And you’re not going to have all the answers at first. But keep on learning, and stay upbeat and positive.

You’ll start to see your world differently.  It won’t happen all at once, but gradually you will start to see the world through the lens of Islam. Things you once thought were normal or acceptable will seem strange or even wrong. You’ll notice that a lot of things our society partakes in are things that Islam prohibits—promiscuity, various forms of intoxication, even dealing with interest in a bank. However, this is not an excuse to hate on your own culture and society. Yes, there are problems. But there’s a lot of good in it, too: politeness, fairness in commerce, care for the disabled—all these things and more are things that Islam encourages. Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) lived in a society where people worshiped idols naked and where tribal honour took precedence over justice. And yet, as he was leaving Mecca, he turned to it and called it the most beloved place to him.

Everyone won’t see things the way you do. And remember that, for a time, you also saw things the way they do. Be empathetic towards them, and if someone questions you as to why you aren’t drinking anymore or wearing tight, low-cut skinny shorts, use it as an opportunity to tell them that it’s part of your faith.

You’ll become a minority. There’s a good chance that if you’re a Muslim convert, you’re Caucasian. For your average, 20-to-30-year-old white Canadian male or female, life is pretty normal. You may sympathize with minorities, but it’s another thing entirely to identify as one.

Even if you’re already an ethnic minority, when you become a Muslim you become part of the 3% of Muslims in Canada. For someone who grew up in your average Canadian household, it can be a bit of a shock. The words “oppression” and “fairness” take on new, and sometimes personal, meaning to you. You see how painful labelling others can be. You may even recognize prejudices within yourself that you never realized.

Unfortunately, in our heated climate, you’ll probably see or hear of things happening to your co-religion brothers and sisters that will hurt you. Prophet (pbuh) said that the Muslims are like “one body; when any limb of it aches, the whole body aches, because of sleeplessness and fever.” No matter what happens, though, don’t let it drive you to hate. We may be few, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make our voices be heard.

Your experience with the community will vary. When you get up in front of the prayer hall and repeat the shahada in Arabic, you’ll hear a lot of cheers and the whole community will come up and congratulate you (be prepared for lots of hugs). It may be a bit overwhelming, but know that everyone’s intentions are good.

The sad truth is, a lot of times Muslim communities, no matter how well intentioned, are not equipped to deal with Muslim converts. While some mosques have dedicated convert programs, many do not. Too often will a convert say their shahada and then be forgotten.

The upside is that you can usually find a way to get involved with the Muslim community. If you are at university, chances are there is a Muslim Students’ Association on campus and they’re always willing to accept new volunteers. If one mosque doesn’t seem particularly hospitable, find another one. Many mosques also function as community centers, so see which programs are going on and try to attend them. Again, at the very least, go to Friday Prayers. All of this can be a bit overwhelming, especially if you’re introverted. But the small amount of discomfort you’ll feel meeting new people will vastly outweigh the loneliness and confusion you’d feel otherwise. 

You’ll have to develop your filter. The thing about being a new Muslim is that you’re impressionable. And this is understandable. If someone who has been a Muslim all your life tells you you’re going to Hell if you wear your pants below your ankles, who are you to question him? You’ve only been a Muslim for a few days; he’s been a Muslim for a lot longer than you so he, obviously, must be an authority.

But the brutal truth is that just because someone has been a Muslim all their life doesn’t necessarily mean they understand their religion correctly. A lot of people will mix culture and religion, but it’s so subtle that they won’t even notice it. But a good rule of thumb is this: if someone’s advice sounds strange, or they don’t have evidence to back it up, you have every right to question it.

Not only that, but you’ll also be dealing with people whose temperaments and expectations and backgrounds are different than yours. You’ll be exposed to a lot of cultures and a lot of different ways of practicing Islam when you become a Muslim. You may hear different opinions regarding certain issues—such as the aforementioned pants-below-the-ankles. So even if things seem black and white, know that the majority of the time there’s a grey area that can be navigated. It takes time to develop this, and to find where you’re comfortable within that grey area.

You’ll have to find a mentor. You can’t become a Muslim in isolation. Islam is a communal religion, and as a new Muslim it’s imperative that you become part of the community. And even more important than that is that you find a mentor.

A mentor doesn’t have to be a sheikh or imam. It can be an everyday Muslim. This person should be someone you can turn to with questions and advice, and if they can’t answer they should be able to point you to someone who can. But the deciding factor is that they should have a good understanding of the faith. How can you tell this? There are a few indicators:

  • Look at their character; is this person well-mannered and respected?
  • They should practice what they preach; does this person pray regularly, avoid bad habits and vices, ect.?
  • Their advice should be practical; is this person teaching you how to implement your faith in your everyday life? Or did they just give you a laundry list of “don’t do”s?
  • Pay attention to their attitude; are they a positive person, or are they always frowning and complaining about the “evils of society”?
  • Do you like them? A mentor should be your friend.

A mentor should be a positive and encouraging presence in your life. This will help you develop not just as a Muslim, but also as a person.

You’ll be a target. Not to be alarmist, but Muslim converts are easy targets for extremist groups. Because of their impressionable nature, Muslim converts are sought out because their minds are pliable. A seed of hate can be planted in the new Muslim’s head, which can easily be watered by anger and violence, and fertilized with twisted ideologies. Fear can be used as a way to pressgang a Muslim convert into accepting extremist ideas.

If someone comes to you with information that seems strange to you, refer it to your mentor or to an imam or sheikh that you trust. Oftentimes, the strategy of an extremist is to cherry-pick hadith or verses from the Qur’an and ignorantly present them as solitary, hard-and-fast truths, without any consideration for context or other evidences related to this issue.

You’ll have to keep learning.  Never stop learning. This is one of the most important things that every Muslim—not just new Muslims—need to grasp. The moment you think you’ve reached your spiritual plateau, a place where you feel like you know enough, is the moment you begin your downward descend. So keep striving to learn.

Well that’s what the internet is for, right?

No.

No no no no no.

When it comes to religious knowledge, the internet is like a minefield in the dark. There are some safe spots, but there’s a danger of getting blown up. On the internet, everyone’s an expert. A forum is not where you find your fatwas (religious rulings). YouTube is not your sheikh. While there are websites that provide good information (listed at the bottom), these should just be a starting point.

When opportunities for learning or guidance come up, take them. This can be in the form of a seminar, a visiting speaker, a weekly halaqa (gathering), and at the very least, Friday Prayer. Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) said that “The seeking of knowledge is obligatory for every Muslim.” You need to put your effort in to learn, because the truth won’t come to you if you’re just sitting in one place.

But just as it is important to learn, it’s also important to learn correctly. You can’t just power through the volumes of Sahih Bukhari or a book of fiqh (religious jurisprudence) and call yourself an expert and start dishing out religious verdicts to people. If you want to learn hadith, start with Imam An-Nawawi’s 40 Hadith. If you want to learn Qur’an, start with reading through a reliable English translation, such as Abdel Haleem’s. There are some resources at the bottom of this article to help get you started.

Always stay curious, and never be shy to ask questions. If you have a question, know that you’re not the first person to ask it. There are very few questions in Islam that can’t be answered; those that do relate to matters of the unseen, such as “what do angels look like?” or “how does God decree destiny?”. But questions like “what does this verse mean in the Qur’an?” or “why do I have to do this?” will have an answer. So keep your mind open, and never stop learning.

It’s all worth it.

Many things will bring a person to Islam. Perhaps it’s their own research. Maybe it’s the people they know. It may come after a long and painful spiritual journey. But as time goes on and you deepen your understanding of the faith, you really come to know not only yourself, but God as well. You become more aware and respectful of the world you live in. In your times of need and fear, you’ll find God if you seek Him. You’ll struggle and there may be times when things seem hopeless or like the fear or pain will never end. But they always do. After becoming a Muslim, a better world awaits you—both in this life and in the next.

Islam is a journey, not a destination. Its knowledge is an ocean; you can wade safely along its shore, or dive into its endless depths. It’s your comfort and your armour.

Islam is a way of life, and a way of thinking.

Its message is simple: God is One and Muhammad (pbuh) is His Last Messenger.

Its purpose is clear: to teach us how to live a good life by serving God and honouring His creation.

Islam is simple. So keep it that way.

Aaron’s Recommended Websites

Newmuslimacademy.com

Islamreligion.com

Seekershub.org

40hadithnawawi.com

Islamtoday.net/English

Convertconnect.net

 

 

 

 

 

by on

Historical discussion of the Almoravid and Almohad dynasties tends to conflate the two by labelling them both as Berber and “fundamentalist.” While both dynasties did, indeed, originate in Amazigh tribes from what is now Morocco, their interpretations of Islam were far from the same. Almoravids upheld the Maliki school of fiqh, whereas the Almohads adopted an early form of scripturalism, critical of the Maliki school, combined with ancient philosophy that committed exegesis through the use of reason. To see them as similar or a continuation of one another is a homogenization of their disparate ideological differences and likely arises from a tendency to view their influence as an incursion on an idealized understanding of Andalusian Islams and Iberia’s relegation to the status of an Amazigh colony under both polities. In this paper, I will briefly examine their theo-ideological differences, and other contingencies that separate the two dynasties. I will also examine their similarities and speculate as to the reason for their conflation among historians.

In the Medieval Iberia reader, the distinction between Almoravids and Almohads is ambiguous, partly because the source materials associated with them are lumped into the same chapter, and the dating of these materials can be a bit unclear. The dating of Ibn Abdun’s Hisba Manual is simply “early twelfth century,” which does not leave much information for the reader as to whether it was a specifically Almoravid or Almohad document. Its emphasis on Qur’anic or hadith stipulations for governing the marketplace leaves things up in the air as to who the document could have belonged to as both groups tended towards reinterpreting these key scriptural sources. That being said, the Almoravids did not break from the Maliki school of fiqh as the Almohads did and a thorough study of legal opinions from that school in relation to the prescriptions of this document might help to make the connection (or non-connection) to the Almoravids clearer. The one account we are provided with that is directly attributable to the Almoravids is Al-Idrisi’s Description of Almeria which says little of their ideological preferences or other distinguishing features. It appears that the Almoravids were very much interested in commerce, manufacturing and trade but the same can easily be said about the Almohads whose trade networks would later extend much farther east across the Mediterranean. The other documents in the chapter tend to focus on Almohad theology, their patronage and their treatment of the Jews. It could be that the source materials for the Almoravids in Iberia are simply not available or not directly attributable to them, which leads to a conflation of the two dynasties by virtue of source issues. Looking at how they are arranged in the Medieval Iberia reader is one example of this conflation.

At the beginning of his chapter entitled “Moroccan Fundamentalists” in Moorish Spain, Richard Fletcher notes that although the Almohads were of a remarkably different sect of fundamentalism from the Almoravids, the two groups are “confusingly similar” and “there is nothing that can be done about it.”[1] Maria Rosa Menocal describes both the Almoravids and the Almohads as fundamentalist Berbers from Morocco.[2] It seems that the term fundamentalism is being used here to imply a kind of intolerance based on literal applications of Islamic interpretations. The argument that these two are largely indistinguishable from each other, however, remains unconvincing and in the interests of not generalizing about these groups, it is important to find their key distinguishing features.

Constable argues that the Almohads are easier to trace based on their theological projections being clearer than the Almoravids who preceded them.[3] Although Menocal (wrongfully) claims that the Almohad’s “narrow interpretation of Islam made their scholars far less avid than many Latin readers of [the] scientific and philosophical library,”[4] their Almohad Creed is an excellent example of how the influence of Aristotelian metaphysics impacted Almohad interpretations of Islamic doctrine. Arguments made in the Creed were meant to be tested against one’s own Reason and lived experience in order to arrive at the truth of the Almohad ontology. Sources suggest that this approach was unique to the Almohads and was not shared by the Almoravids who exhibited their “fundamentalism” by extinguishing practices in al-Andalus that were against Islamic fiqh rulings but remained within that rigid framework.[5]

Their differences in ideology are just one area we can use to nuance our demarcation between them. Al-Marrakushi’s history of the Almohads and Ibn Tumart’s rise and take over of Almoravid territory is a primary source document that helps to illustrate not only that these groups were different but that they were in contention with one another. The Almohads gained momentum quickly under Ibn Tumart’s leadership, conquering Almoravid territory in Morocco and into al-Andalus. In looking at their historical interaction, it sounds redundant to say, but these are obviously not the same group. I would go so far as to say that they are not the same brand of so-called fundamentalism either – a term problematic for its anachronistic connotations.

So, it remains, in what instances could it seem appropriate to put the Almoravids and Almohads in the same historical category together? Such an exercise might be useful from an Andalusian perspective as distinctions between the two groups might have been a moot point. The usurpation of power by the Almohads was still the unification of al-Andalus under a foreign polity – both polities which practiced radically different forms of Islam, not only from each other but from Andalusians themselves. In trying to uphold a narrative of Andalusian exceptionalism or preference for their cultural-religious practices, it would make sense to put two foreign, less cosmopolitan conquerors (who arrived one after the other) next to each other. For historians seeking to understand the differences between these two groups and to highlight the unique experience of Andalusians under each one, their conflation is of little value.

[1] Fletcher 105

[2] Menocal 141 and 195-6

[3] Constable 237

[4] Menocal 198

[5] Fletcher, 108.

by on

As the de-facto leader of the caliphate of al-Andalus under the reign of Hisham II, Al Mansour carried out a significant number of military expeditions to the Christian lands in the north, gathering booty and prestige along the way. One of the most significant campaigns occurred in 997 (386-7), when Al Mansour sacked the Santiago de Compostela. Historians such as Richard Fletcher, Maribel Fierro, and Maria Rosa Menocal have highlighted the significance of this event, for different reasons, trying to unpack the real motivations behind it. In this paper, I will briefly examine the justifications these historians give for the possible economic, political and religious reasons behind the sack, concluding with my own synthesis of their arguments in light of primary source materials. My hope is that this will yield a clearer picture of what might have been behind Al Mansour’s campaign to this particular place in Christendom.

In Moorish Spain, Richard Fletcher argues that the campaign in Compostela fit the mould of the previous caliph’s expeditions as being primarily to “exact tribute, plunder, livestock, slaves [and] treasure.”[1] The motivations of both leaders, according to Fletcher, were primarily economic and they used these campaigns to raise capital for a leadership that had a significantly smaller tax base (given the rise of conversions to Islam and the exodus of Christian emigres to the north). Fletcher likens the sacking of a monastery to “something like raiding a bank” while simultaneously downplaying any religious dimensions that may have been important for the campaigners.[2] Naming the expedition to Compostela as the “most daring and notorious in a series of hammer-blows…delivered to the Christian principalities”, Fletcher is also quick to situate it among nine other campaigns in the same paragraph. His point is that the Compostela raid was one of many (fifty-seven in total) and that it was not undertaken as an exceptional religious vendetta against the monastery of St. James the Moor-slayer.

With booty and capital would come political prestige and legitimacy. In the case of Al Mansour, he might have been less occupied with being named the real leader of al-Andalus so long as he wielded all the actual control anyway. Fletcher argues that the primary drive for the expeditions was likely economic in order to cover the enormous costs incurred by Al Mansour to maintain his rule. These costs included the building of Madina al-Zahira and the transfer of administration of the caliphate there, additions to the Great Mosque in Cordoba, reducing the amount of taxes he collected to build his popularity, rewarding loyal followers with considerable gifts and increasing the size of the army.[3] Financial gain, however, is only a means to an end and, in looking at what Al Mansour financed with his booty, it becomes clear that political strength and the consolidation of power are an important part of the motivation puzzle. Further, if Al-Mansour’s expeditions were following the same basic pattern as his caliphal predecessor, Abd al-Rahman III, it must be recognized that financial gain (while a beneficial byproduct) might not have been the only purpose behind these expeditions, Compostela included. As Maribel Fierro notes, the primary reason for the excursions under Abd al-Rahman, was to check Christian expansion into Islamic lands by “weakening the enemy to prevent attacks.”[4]

For Maria Rosa Menocal, the attack on Compostela was a continuation of Al-Mansour’s dictatorial and “bloodthirsty” rule, and, further, contained a distinctly religious flavour. Menocal claims that the taking of the church’s bells was not only “gratuitous” (implying that it was unprovoked or unjustified) but also that the bells were “purely religious trophies.”[5] In reading the ode written by Ibn Darraj al-Qastalli in praise of Al-Mansour and contemporary to the event, the invocation of religious imagery and allusions to divine sanction might seem to uphold Menocal’s claim.[6] However, this was a common literary tool of the time that might have more to do with the tastes and offering retrospective justifications for raids, than gaining insight into Al-Mansour’s personal motivations for the raid. In looking at the Latin account of the raid from Historia Turpini, there is little evidence to uphold Menocal’s argument as the description does not go much beyond that found in Fletcher’s book: it was a raid on the church in search of booty.[7] Of course, this account was written in the 12th century in France and so is difficult to use for accurate historical verification, but it does show that even later Christian-origin accounts of the expedition did not peg it as an exclusively religious enterprise.

And yet, the possibility of there being a religious dimension is difficult to ignore in light of some material evidence not yet considered. Firstly, Fletcher notes that Compostela was not an ideal location for a raid because without Christian mercenaries acting as the army’s guide, they would likely have not found their way there at all.[8] It is around 859km from Cordoba and was fully within Christian territory at the time. Secondly, as Menocal points out, nothing exceptional was done with the bells at the time, other than putting them to use a lamps in the Great Mosque of Cordoba.[9] In thinking about the sheer size and weight of the bells, the lack of practical use for them and the distance traveled to get them, it would seem that much more than economics is at play. But is this necessarily indicative of a religious motivation for Al-Mansour? The answer is no. It could just as easily be justified that any religious dimension to this raid could have been couched in such terms so as to meet specific political ends, particularly in the securing of legitimacy. The act of humiliating the Christians of Compostela and reclaiming the congregational bells of the famous Moor-slaying Saint James would have had too much socio-political currency to be framed in purely economic or purely religious terms. It also would have served as sufficient reason to warrant such a far expedition, in a land arduous to navigate, for extremely heavy booty that served no other purpose than decoration.

Ultimately, the problem herein lies in the historical question posed because it hinges on something ultimately unknown: an individual of history’s personal motivations for particular actions. What can be most illuminating about this type of exercise is not in trying to determine why someone did something, but rather, in figuring out what that action might have meant to them or others affected by it.

[1] Fletcher, Richard. Moorish Spain. University of California: Berkeley. 1992: p 75

[2] Ibid. p 76

[3] Ibid

[4] Fierro, Maribel. ‘Abd al-Rahman III: The First Cordoban Caliph. Oneworld: Oxford. 2007: p 70.

[5] Menocal, Maria Rosa. The Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain. Back Bay Books: New York. 2002: p 97

[6] Ibn Darraj al-Qastalli, “Ode in Praise of al-Mansur’s Victory” in Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources. Olivia Remie Constable, ed. Majd Yaser Al-Mallah, trans. University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 2012: p 93-98.

[7] “Latin Account of al-Mansur’s Raid” inES Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources. Olivia Remie Constable, ed. Colin Smith, trans. University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 2012: p 98

[8] Fletcher, p 75

[9] Menocal, p 97

by on

In “Legends of the Fall: Conde Julian in Medieval Arabic and Hispano-Latin Historiography”, Denise Filios uses the figure of Julian and his various representations to examine the role of the historian in the use of primary source materials. Weaving together both Arabic and Hispano-Latin sources according to chronology, Filios drains Julian of any essential, a priori qualities and shows him to be a culturally-saturated figure around which political-historical contingencies orbit. In doing this, Filios reminds students and scholars alike that some of the tasks of the modern historian are in uncovering the meaning inscribed in cultural representations, the weight of their social currency, and how they fit into the larger worldviews (or memory-scapes) in which they are found. As such, the article can serve the learning needs of a wide readership, subtextually introducing them to some of the methodologies found in memory studies and narrative theory, regardless of interest in the historical particularities of her subject.

From the beginning of the article, Filios is clear that her purpose in analyzing the source material is not in determining their “historical reliability” which “misconstrue[s] the nature of the truths that the chronicles attempt to construct.”[1] While it is important for the historian to determine if a source is a complete fabrication (and even that is valuable to explore in terms of how and why that might occur), Filios is clear and adamant that the best “truths” to be found in these sources are in determining how they were used to represent and develop “a meaningful reality”.[2] In “Collective Memory: In Search of a Meaning,” James Wertsch highlights this difference in scholarship as divided between determining “accuracy criterion” of texts versus how they provide us with a “usable past”.[3] Previous scholars such as Nora and Halbwachs (the fathers of continental memory studies) pitted collective memory against history. However, what Wertsch further outlines and Filios negotiates very well is that the tasks of differentiating accurate representation from the creation of a usable past need not be mutually exclusive endeavours for the historian any longer. In focusing on what social memory expert, Ehud Ben Zvi calls “Future Memories” or how these texts sought to persuade their readers about the future, Filios is careful and quite right to not label them as elite propaganda of their time. Studies on collective memory, particularly where narrative theory is concerned, view a narrative “memory” (or in this case a cultural representation or text) as neither a simple copy of reality, nor entirely active (re)constructions.[4] Filios balances both in her analysis of Julian by asking poignant historical questions. Rather than trying to determine if Julian was real per se, she is instead focused on what he meant to his authours and his audiences.

In textually-mediated collective memory studies in particular, narrative theory can be useful because it presumes that narrative plays a central role in human consciousness and that it is a cultural tool developed in historical and institutional settings that will invariably be reflected through the text.[5] Moving effortlessly through the chronicles of Yulyan in Ibn ‘Abd alHakam and ‘Abd alMalk ibn Habib, and Iulianus’ presence (or absence) in Hispano-Latin sources like Duclidius or Historia Silence, Filios shows how Julian comes to stand as a metaphor for the Strait of Gibraltar – either making it passable and losing relevance quickly after Conquest or as a reflection of Christian views of Muslims through time. In the latter formulation, the Strait often comes to represent a border through his figure. As such, through these juxtapositions, it quickly becomes clear that Julian has no essential characteristics and, in fact, cannot even be said to have existed! Since the latter is not Filios’ research question, that is of little consequence. The point is that even seemingly important narrative details about him vary widely, depending on their author and their historical situation which tell us more about them than Julian himself.

This relatively short article is valuable to readers who are unsure of how to deal with primary source materials, particularly narratives. While not being explicit about her connection with narrative theory or critical memory studies (other than a reference to Hayden White), Filios has provided such readers with an excellent, well-researched example of what is possible through memory studies, regardless of their individual research areas.

[1] Filios, Denise, “Legends of the Fall: Conde Julian in Medieval Arabic and Hispano-Latin Historiography,” Medieval Encounters, Vol 15, 2009, p 377.

[2] Ibid

[3] Wertsch, James. “Collective Memory: In Search of a Meaning” in Voices of Collective Remembering. Cambridge University Press. 2002, p 31.

[4] Ibid. p.32

[5] Ibid. p.56-7