A Sinner in Mecca

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A Sinner in Mecca Page 23

by Parvez Sharma


  What had this man heard? Syria and Iraq? Were there secret jihadi conclaves organized at the Mecca Hilton while unassuming pilgrims like me sat and sipped chai?

  If the winds of change from the Nile were to blow eastward, it was but natural that Syria and Iraq would be next. The first had an Iran-supported dictator. The latter was in a state of constant fitna, originated by George W. Bush and gang and now characterized by a sectarianism that was almost unprecedented in Arab history. America’s attempt to be a colonial power lay in dust. Democracy was not an outcome of the Iraq war, sectarian carnage was. Saddam Hussein, for all his evil, had at least held Iraq together.

  I now know Jaffar was referring to the coming savagery of ISIS. I will never know how he knew.

  In the streets of Mecca, there seemed to be a state of premonition. Jaffar had pointed out relevant graffiti to me to hint at it. And his words went even further. But was Jaffar the only Meccan to know about such matters? In the moment I was pretty sure he could not have been the only one. Other than in the Shia room 701 in Medina and sometimes in my group, politics was best left aside. It was clear, other than being the city that never sleeps, Mecca was also the only place in the world where extremist Muslims of all forms could meet and even strategize. I would even settle to be a fly on the wall of a violent jihad discussion. I was probably over-imagining these matters.

  The post–Osama bin Laden world was still not in agreement about how to describe in English the coming scourge, known at different times as IS (for Islamic State) or ISIS (Islamic State in Iraq and Syria). Last there was ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant). The Levant comprises Syria, Palestine, Jordan, Israel, Lebanon, Cyprus, and the Turkish province of Hatay. It’s a post-colonial term that implies the bloody and hastily drawn geographical divisions constituting these modern “nations.”

  Calling them by any of the terms above created a unique problem that glib Western pundits, with their Wikipedia talking points, did not understand. All of these terms validate what ISIS wants: the recognition of statehood, the indivisible rise of and right to an unbreakable caliphate. On Arab streets they are called Daesh, which is an acronym of what they are actually called: Dawlat al-Islamiyah f’al-Iraq w Belaad al-Sham (roughly, “The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria”). Unknowingly the West, including the ISIL-spouting Obama, has given them greater power and geography than they have ever had. So for me, they are Daesh.

  Saying “Daesh” to the likes of Chris Matthews of MSNBC hinted at a kind of superior knowledge, as if the paraded commentator of the moment knew an Arab secret that nobody else did. Using Daesh really pissed IS off. Their fatwa machines went into overdrive—those caught not saying the proper name of the group would have their tongues cut off. Daesh is similar to another Arabic word, das, which means “to trample down” or “crush.” The cable pundits say IS for Islamic State, not knowing some of Daesh are said to like this classification. It undoes the slur-like possibilities of Daesh, taking, as they prefer, just the part that says al-Dawla al-Islamiya (“The Islamic State”)—and, if pressed for time, the adherents to their savage ideologies could just say al-Dawla (simply “The State”). Most people don’t know that saying ISIS, IS, and even ISIL gives this “group” greater geographical legitimacy than they actually possess. Arab governments have usually used Daesh to deny any legitimacy the organization craved. And when US Secretary of State John Kerry used the D-word, all hell broke loose for an entire news cycle. I texted my friend Adham in Jeddah about the semantics. I had read that it could also mean “stick it in” if pronounced as “Da’hesh.” He said it was possible, yes.

  “LOL! Just the way you like it Habibi! Just google it,” he said.

  “I don’t have an Arabic keyboard,” I replied. I did ask around some more and a consensus emerged amongst my Arab friends, at least. Daesh could be a pejorative because the way the letters were conjugated in Arabic made a difference. And that was not the end. Unfortunately for these terrorists that loathe being named Daesh, the “word” could also be used for a bigot, sectarian, zealot, or even fanatic or maniac who forces his view on others.

  “Forcing their view on others” was exactly how the Ikhwan militias founded by ibn Saud during the eighteenth century had spread Wahhabism. Its roots in the Arabian Peninsula were all about savage war. While Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary was being deflowered by a ravishing Ottoman ambassador, Kemal Pamuk (who shared a first name with Turkey’s Gandhi, Kemal Attaturk), the bloodthirsty Ikhwan had the run of the Arabian Peninsula. Although Ikhwan means “Brothers,” they are not to be confused with Egypt’s much-repressed Muslim Brotherhood.

  Daesh had ignored a small part of Wahhabi ideology that was seen by many Islamic scholars as a “reform movement,” and taken all the majority violent parts of it that suited them. Daesh and Wahhabism, or what the Wahhabis would prefer calling Salafism, were connected at the very birth of Daesh. The sword-wielding, all-black-clad, masked warriors on horseback conjured up images of the earliest, barbarically violent, Wahhabi Ikhwans set up by the early al-Sauds like the ibn Saud of that time during the demise of the Ottoman Empire. After much bloodshed, Saudi Arabia was formed into a nation in 1932.

  Back at my group, there were whispered conversations. This same group also led Shia tours to prominent Shia religious places like Sham (a seventh-century name for Syria) and Karbala in Iraq. I have wondered why they would use a seventh-century word to describe what existed as a modern state. But I didn’t dare ask because it would again highlight my ignorance, a product in their minds of my Sunni-ness. The ever-growing turmoil in the region would have to have undermined their business of Shia spiritual tourism. Many whispered fears that Syria as they knew it would not be around for much longer. In that they were right, just as Jaffar had hinted.

  But there was even greater gossip to be heard. Their holiest shrines would begin to fall, they feared with familiar Shia fatalism. The Sayyidah Zaynab Mosque was named after the Damascus suburb of the same name, which according to Shia tradition is the grave of the Prophet’s granddaughter Zaynab. In Shia exegesis, she was sister to Imams Husayn and Hassan and daughter of Imam Ali and the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. There were fears that this sacred mosque could be blown apart. There had already been clashes in the region. A famous Shia ideologue of Iran’s Islamic revolution, who wrote in a grand poetic style I admired, Ali Shariati, was also buried in those grounds. In the last five years, the suburb has come under heavy attack from Daesh, and my group leaders’ fears of sectarianism becoming the new normal did come true.

  I haven’t dared to be in contact with them since, but I sometimes wonder how they negotiate Hajj and other Shia spiritual tourism in decimated cities filled with innocent dead, and when Iran and Saudi Arabia have cut off diplomatic ties once again. The 2014 version of the group the BBC called “the so-called Islamic State” were pleased with themselves. They had all the headlines they wanted and newer ready-to-radicalize Muslim youths to be plucked off what seemed like every corner in European and Arab streets. They had a “caliphate” and even a new khalifa, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, who could reach the entire planet on what I called the messy digital democracy of YouTube. A khalifa is Arabic for one who leads a caliphate—not to be confused with American rapper Wiz Khalifa, for those drawn to his music. Like Osama, Baghdadi does issue video and audio “sermons,” but everything else he does or (increasingly) is done in his name is crafted using every available tech and cyber tool available in these last few years of the twenty-first century’s second decade.

  For me, Daesh were just “Al-Qaeda repackaged with Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter,” I posted as a Facebook status while sitting waiting in a doctor’s office. I continued to wait as the number of likes and comments continued to grow—soon in the hundreds. It’s nice to be liked on Facebook. My gadgets and I had been under US intelligence surveillance for years anyway, so I was not afraid to use the D word from my phone, on the social web, and often on my own laptop for research. This Daesh that the world was still figu
ring out claimed that their famous white-on-black flag came from the time of the Prophet. They called the flag Rayat al-Uqab (“Banner of the Eagle”). This was a dangerous repackaging of Islam and the question was of Islamic fact vs. Islamic fiction. Daesh seemed to prefer the latter. Islam’s problem had always been that the majority of Muslims on the planet lived in extreme poverty and illiteracy. And for them words spoken at a sermon that seemed to legitimize Daesh could be a rallying call. Just as a few hundred humans could be rallied in Islamabad, Pakistan, against the Danish cartoons that offensively depicted the Prophet, an equal number could be produced supporting Daesh, as well. Not enough imams in Islam’s many worlds were delegitimizing the organization using Quranic principles during Friday sermons, when they do have the bully pulpit. And that is exactly what was, and still is, needed.

  Daesh had their own perverted logic on this, just as they did for all other matters Islamic. Prophet Muhammad did, according to most accounts, have a black standard, following in the Roman traditions of having standards. It was just what tribal leaders and leaders of nations fashionably did in his time. With many Muslim ulema who have an Armageddon-ish view of the world, the Prophet’s flag indicates the coming of Islam’s redeemer, the Mahdi. Many Muslims also believe that the coming of the Mahdi will be at the time of the resurrection of Jesus. The Mahdi will fight and defeat Dajjal, the Antichrist. So the Daesh claim (wrongly) to ape the Prophet with their standard bearing the obligatory Shahadah (Islam’s super-short declaration of faith). They have added the “seal” of Muhammad also known as Khatam-an-Nabiyyin. Khatam in Urdu and Arabic means “finish” or “the end.” Nabi is one of many words used for Muhammad and in this case literally means “Prophet.” In their perverted flag they want to claim Islamic finality. There are centuries of theological disagreement on what did constitute the Prophet’s standard, but Daesh has made this concocted version their own. By using it, Daesh is dangerously painting all of Islam with the color black, and saying the faith is monolithic, intolerant, and violent. Black because Islam is a dark force that can only evoke fear. And black does seem to enjoy worldwide revolutionary cred. “Revolting” anarchists from Seattle to London have often favored black scarves to conceal their identities. I wonder if Daesh has ever wondered about the fact that black is the most-used color in the rituals of the Shia they despise.

  “They r already talking about this Daesh shit in Makkah?” texted Adham from Jeddah. For sanity and perceived safety, we texted out of my MMS. His extended family was rich and powerful. If I got into trouble, perhaps I could rely on his connections.

  “Yes. Why, are they talking on TV?” I replied.

  “Yup. I have seen a lot on al-Arabiya. I am assuming you haven’t had time to watch our amazing variety of Saudi TV, Mr. Hajji!”

  “LOL,” I replied sending him a dramatic selfie and a dramatic sad-face emoji.

  Toward the end of my time in Mecca, I spent entire nights at the Kaaba. Contemplating it from the bin Laden–built acres of a smooth, air-conditioned, and marbled second floor offered great succor. Would future history say that these greedy bin Laden contractors had done good instead of destruction? As I viewed the mesmerizing tawaf, I felt at peace. This circling had not stopped for centuries. Surely even my atheist husband would attest to the fact that an object like this, touched and grasped for centuries by generations of “sinners,” had some kind of scientifically explicable power. Islam’s canon, which is exceptional in science, mathematics, and more, offers little knowledge for much that is ineffable.

  Brainpower lies in Islam’s first revelation. At what point did a violent Muslim lose his or hers? What was the cause? Bad childhood? Indoctrination? Religion being the opiate of the (illiterate) masses? Muhammad was an iconoclast. He married a businesswoman, a decade his senior. She fed their family. They spat on him and said he was a “kept man.” Mecca was nothing but misery without Khadija’s unwavering love and belief in his Prophethood.

  Intellectual command (Ikra!) should produce rational obedience. And centuries of Islamic thought has appealed to mortal rationality. But there is no rationality for the Al Saud or Daesh. Jahiliyah (literally, “time of ignorance”) was an important concept used by Muhammad, the Quran, and Islam’s canon to describe everything pre-Islamic, like the idolatry of the pagan Meccan tribes. Jahils were the ignorants.

  For Muhammad, twenty-first century Islam would also be a time of jahiliyah. And every foot-soldier of Daesh, of al-Qaeda, of the Al Saud and bin Laden families, are jahil.

  Many spokespersons of my faith disobey its command for intellectual engagement. I had hoped to find Muhammad’s legacy in Saudi Arabia, but I didn’t. Scholars learn to question faith, while believers just accept it. My adult self seemed to possess both abilities. My Hajj was a quest for knowledge and redemption. Sitting here, looking down at the Kaaba, I was bringing all my intellectual powers as a cultural historian, a reporter, a political analyst, and, primarily, a traveler of the spirit. Could I finally claim my own place at the table of the ongoing Islamic reformation that was forced upon Muslims post-9/11?

  As the deep sea of circling believers moved in an ancient ritual all around me, I was realizing that if Islam was to change, change would come partially from people like the ones whom I had surrounded myself with in my years of study and travel. But in truth, only believers could become change-agents. Transformation in Islam would happen inside-out. And while a very minor dose of ijtihad, independent reasoning, could be a tool for many, it certainly would never offer a solution alone. In fact, the rulers of this land I despised praised ijtihad. How could I be one with them?

  Will Muhammad still be a force to reckon with fourteen centuries from now? Probably. Will Daesh and their Wahhabi masters be mere footnotes? Hopefully.

  As I prepared to leave Saudi Arabia, I reflected on just how deeply Wahhabi Islam had for years affected even my tiny world as a Muslim. The 96th Street mosque in Manhattan, where I often went for Jummah (Friday) communal prayers, was built with Saudi money. Newly created imams from Wahhabi-ization factories regularly rolled out for Friday prayer sermons. Manhattan had its share. And they always echoed medieval logic, such as how the only mandated place for women was at home. They were only to be baby-making and cooking machines. There were even methods to rein in “disobedient” wives. I was always stupefied. There in probably the world’s freest city, my chosen home, in that little corner of Manhattan, the women had probably been relegated to some dark, dank corner of the mosque that I couldn’t even spot. And they sat there as if obedient listeners to this perverted logic about their existence, coming as usual from Wahhabi-schooled men. And did they then go back to dilapidated apartments or projects in Queens and Brooklyn and set forth to do exactly that? Cook Pakistani-style biriyani (a South Asian rice dish) with a healthy amount of halal mutton for their cab-driver husbands?

  In my youth, imams had often spouted unadulterated Wahhabi Islamic logic, which I didn’t quite understand at the time. People who came back from working in the region or Hajj when I was growing up showed up with fancy electronics like shiny new color TVs, Akai sound systems, and Sony VCRs. I remember wondering if the Hajj was actually a shopping trip and Mecca a land of many modern gadgets. Their Wahhabi-ized brains manifested in other ways. Almost overnight, it sometimes seemed, women in their neighborhoods took to wearing the all-black burqas. My mother’s carelessly thrown dupatta to cover her head was not for them anymore. Fathers would start sending my classmates and friends, little girls in eighth grade, to school wearing hijabs.

  During recess, or “tiffin break,” they would stand in their own circles and not interact with me as they always had in my girl-boy past.

  Our gardener Saeed once visited with his wife after they had completed their Hajj. It had taken a lifetime of saving money for them to accomplish this sacred act they felt compelled to do.

  “Assalamulaikum Hajji Saeed,” I greeted him. He had now earned the highest title in the religion, that of a Hajji, one who has completed
the Hajj. Used as a prefix to his name, it would immediately increase his standing in his own community. People would come and consult him on small religious matters. That’s just how it worked. Saeed and Fatima had often together visited my parents. This time Fatima came dressed in a full-on blue burqa (the color the Taliban later favored). With the typical naiveté of my age, I asked Saeed why Fatima was dressed like this.

  “I can’t even see her face,” I said.

  “This is how it should be in our religion,” said Saeed, adding, “This is how the Prophet wanted good Muslim women to dress.”

  The Wahhabi plague has not always spread in sinister ways. Our eyes have always been wide open.

  As colonial powers fled Muslim lands in the twentieth century, religious organizing, zealotry, and fashionable “jihad” branding flourished. Wahhabi logic increasingly held it all together.

  Muslims at the time were looking at a new world order. The loss of land was in part the natural outcome of the demise of the Ottoman Empire. But this change went deeper. It was the loss of culture, of entire histories and the advances of knowledge, discovery, and invention, architecture, poetry, and progressive thought that Muslim rulers had brought to their conquered lands. The loss of the idea of a caliphate was deep. It was a loss that was deeply mourned and never resolved. To add insult to injury, the departing colonizers butchered the centuries-old maps of Muslim regions into nation-states that suited them.

  Was bereavement the primary characteristic of what the colonizers left behind? Not really. Just as it wasn’t everything that an ascendant and colonial Islam of other times had left behind for those it colonized. Fourteen centuries proved it. Islam had always molded itself into the fabric of entire societies and cultures, creating an unprecedented religious syncretism. It left majestic legacies wherever it went. And it had never been an intolerant faith. If it were, then the immensity of empire would not have been the proof of its worldwide success. But the colonizers of Muslims rebirthed an essential Islamic problem. For centuries, Muslims were taught that their faith was not just spiritual. Just as it was rigid in its rules for the expansive universe of human behavior, it could doctrinally also be rigidly political. Political parties based entirely on religion are not a novelty. Just look at the Knesset of present-day Israel. Islam had the same skills of marrying religion and politics that its predecessor monotheisms had.

 

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