VOLUME 2, ISSUE 1

IN THIS ISSUE
Oman: An Indian Ocean Empire

Misbah
Princeton’s First Magazine Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
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Misbah Magazine
Exploring Islam and the Muslim World

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF CONTRIBUTORS
Babur Khwaja ’09 Shagufta Ahmed GS ’07
Nour Aoude ’10
EXECUTIVE EDITOR Ahson Azmat ‘10
Joy N. Karugu ’09 Nancy Coffin
R. David Coolidge GS ’08
SENIOR EDITOR George Hatke
Aman Kumar ’10
Wasim Shiliwala ’09
Barbara Romaine
Sohaib Sultan
DESIGN AND LAYOUT
Waqas Jawaid ’10

SPONSORS DISCLAIMER/DONATIONS
Printing of this journal is made possible donations from private indi- Misbah is Arabic for “lamp,” a symbol of illumination. Misbah Maga-
viduals and generous grants from the following sources: zine explores the ideas, history and development of Muslims and Islam
in the world. It is offered free of charge to all students, faculty and staff
Office of the Dean of Religious Life
of Princeton University and the surrounding community. All questions
Peter B. Lewis Center for the Arts
about donations and off-campus subscription and advertising rates
Princeton University Center for Human Values
should be directed to misbah@princeton.edu.
Undergraduate Forum
Princeton University Council of the Humanities
Views expressed in Misbah Magazine do not necessarily reflect those of
Princeton Institute for International and Regional Studies
the editors, sponsors, trustees or of Princeton University. Letters to the
editor can be directed to misbah@princeton.edu and may be edited for
COVER IMAGE
length and clarity.
The cover photograph, titled “Dhows Coming Back Home,” was taken
by Ld Germain, and is used under the Creative Commons License. It
features the traditional arab ship used in the Indian Ocean, the Dhow.

Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World

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Contents
Editor’s Note 2

ENCOUNTERS Harry Potter and the Two Traditions 3

Ahson Azmat ’10

Mitigating Subjectivity: The Primacy of Qur’anic

Memorization (Hifdh) for the Future of Islam in America 5
R. David Coolidge GS ’08

SPIRITUALITY Reflections on the Essence of Ramadan 8

Sohaib N. Sultan

HISTORY Oman: An Indian Ocean Empire 11

George Hatke

The Druze of Lebanon 15

Nour Aoude ’10

ISLAM IN THE WORLD Journey Through Kosovo 18

Shagufta Ahmed GS ’07

ARTS A Translation of Ibrahim Aslan 20

Barbara Romaine

REFLECTION Foreskin and All 21

Aman Kumar ’10

OBITUARY Mahmoud Darwish 23

Nancy Coffin

Princeton University - Fall 2008

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Editor’s Note
Dear Readers,

The first issue of Misbah was well-received, and we hope to

Photo by Prasoon Rana
build on that success in future issues. Now, we have expanded
our content to include significant contributions from non-
Muslim writers. We hope that this trend grows stronger,
because the non-Muslim voice provides an important perspec-
tive to what we hope develops into a thorough and provoca-
tive discussion on Islam and the cultures of the Muslim
world.
To an extent, we created this magazine as a form of out-
reach in response to the narrow messages that the mainstream
media conveys about the Muslim world. Those messages are
not always false; it is just that in isolation they do not convey
the diversity of thought and richness of the arts, history and
culture of Muslim civilizations. A basic knowledge of those
histories contributes immensely to furthering tolerance and
rational debate.
But the primary focus of the magazine is inward, not out-
ward. The media’s focus on Islam’s problems is less due to any
bias or agenda and more because of internal failings within
the Muslim community. Virtually no Muslim country today
shows the intellectual, cultural and scientific achievement and
vibrancy that we see from coming from Western nations. In
fact, some of the most vibrant thoughts and developments on
Islam are coming from people living in the United States and
Europe. This was not always the case, and we hope that by
looking at the achievements in Islamic cultures, analyzing his-
torical legacies and honestly confronting our own traditions
that we can help to stimulate a re-awakening in the Muslim
community.
This publication is one marginal, but important effort in
that direction.

Sincerely,

Babur Khwaja
Editor in Chief

Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World


Harry Potter
and the Two Traditions
by Ahson Azmat
The controversy between those who see our species and our
society as a lucky accident and those who find an immanent
teleology in both is too radical to permit of being judged from
some neutral standpoint.
In year 6 of Harry Potter’s schooling, he talks to a professor
at his school about “horcruxes,” which, we learn, are pieces of
the soul a wizard can separate from himself in order to cheat
death. Through a complicated alchemical process, the wizard
breaks his soul into distinct pieces, stores them inside vari-
ous little objects, and preserves his life so long as any of these
objects remain intact. The idea is very taboo, even in the
wizarding world. Notions of defeating death and conquering
mortality are considered aspects of “Dark” magic, practiced
only by the corrupt and evil, the “bad guys,” as it were.
Harry’s professor, quite understandably, hesitates to talk
to Harry about this subject. After much pressure, he finally
explains the process to him, though he admonishes him
for asking about such a Dark idea. In the end, however, he
concedes, “it’s natural to feel curiosity about some of these
things…wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn
to that aspect of magic.”
This observation is, I believe, applicable beyond children’s
literature into diverse fields, such as religion, psychology, poli-
tics, and philosophy, among others. What I’d like to comment
on here is its insight into a very general field of comparative
religion, or culture, or sociology. My thesis is this: certain
people (or more specifically, a certain type of people) tend
towards a certain type of thinking. This thinking is creative,
confident, dynamic, independent, and assertive. It pushes
boundaries and breaks rules, justifying its behavior on the al-
tar of self-preservation, self-importance, and self-centeredness.
It is found and indeed characteristic of a growing, liberal,
humanistic West, is absent in the classical Islamic tradition,
and the binary therein represents an impasse beyond which
mutual understanding is distinctly unpromising.
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Harry Potter’s library. Photo by Aaron Jacobs.
II
The reconciliation of Islam and the West is a very popular
project in American-Muslim media. Events, conferences,
books, whole periodicals are devoted to this reconciliation, the
attempt to harmonize, or at least bring to common ground,
Islamic culture on the one hand and Western culture on the
other. The two are not alien, this project asserts. They are dif-
ferent in some ways, yes, but they are not mutually exclusive,
and there is much they can learn from one another.
I believe, to the contrary, that this insistence on common
ground and similarity is either superficial or false, from the
ground up. I believe that the respective intellectual frame-
works within which each operate, and through which each
proceed to generate a discourse in and about the world,
are indeed mutually exclusive, and that common points
are semantic, incidental, inconsequential, and, ultimately,
misleading. The “West,” of course, is not a monolith; what I
have in mind is a growing contingent of liberal, twenty-first
century college graduates, cognizant of post-colonial as well
as colonial criticism, critical of postmodern as well as modern
thought, subjectivist as well as positivist trends.
Here, I do not intend to make a normative argument one
Princeton University - Fall 2008
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way or the other, but rather to comment on what I under-
stand to be the governing principles of each tradition, if
exchange ideas, debate,
fight, compete with one
If you cannot convince
indeed we can totalize either tendency within discrete bound- another to illustrate a secularist that you
aries. This can be a problematic method, of course, but in the why particular expres-
context of the sort of sweeping and probably over-simplistic sions are better than are correct on the basis
generalizations I am about to make, I think we can justify it, others, what makes that “God told you
at least for now. them so, and what to do
We begin with two principles. On the one hand, accord- with them once we’ve so,” and if you cannot
ing to Islamic tradition, the world is made by God. Islamic demonstrated their
sciences posit that His holy book, the Qur’an, is undispu- superiority. There is no
convince a Muslim
table, the Word, from which laws are derived and, along with higher authority. There on the basis that
the Prophetic instructions, the religion codified. One of the is no savior. We are
names for the Qur’an (al-Furqan) in fact, means the “crite- alone. This is human- “right and wrong are
rion,” the barometer upon which morality is grounded. God’s
commands are absolute and binding, and the emphasis here
ism. This is the founda-
tion of post-Nietzschean
independent of God,”
is that they do not proceed from what is right and wrong, the liberal Western intel- then any measure
distinction an antecedent ontological fixture – they dictate lectual thought, and
what is right and wrong in the first place, and what posi- it is decidedly secular, upon which either
tion we should adopt on whatever issue is presented to us.
Whether interpreted by formally-instituted Islamic scholars or
grounded in a very real
moral agency ascribing
moves to the center is,
educated Muslims, all formulations are based on this prin- to us a power, capac- logically, false.
ciple, that God determines right because He is God, and his ity, and reason separate
Word is infallible. from God.
This is not to say, of course, that Muslims are unthinking From this Vichian
chattel, or that Islam discourages the pursuit of knowledge verum/factum equation, we proceed to an important corol-
or science. To the contrary, Prophetic aphorisms instruct lary: because knowledge is not given from on high or from
Muslims to learn and teach, to “seek knowledge even as far as some crystalline source, it is flawed. It is imperfect, messy,
China.” The point I am trying to make is that Islamic episte- subject to change, manipulation, coercion, deformation, and
mology is necessarily rooted in a very specific Word. At a cer- re-formulation. In a word, it is human. And though philo-
tain point, we reach God, and there, the investigation ends. logical learning and philosophical care can mitigate this, in
How could it not? There is nothing beyond Him, antecedent, the end all our knowledge and all our endeavors stemming
or more fundamental. from this knowledge will be, as Said has put it, “incomplete,
On the other hand, in the West, following a tradition adapt- insufficient, provisional, disputable, and arguable.” There will
ed by Vico and further articulated by Nietzsche, Foucault, always be something more to say; there will never be a veil
and Said after him, the world is made by men and women, beyond which we are not allowed to pass.
and not by God. History is wrought and understood by men;
knowledge of the universe is not received, but made; power is III
not conferred, but created. And because men have made the Juxtaposed, I do not see how we can reconcile these compet-
world, men can understand it. We do not need revelation, ing worldviews. When you have God on your side, what is
holy books, texts or any sort of metaphysical, extra-sensory left to discuss? How can anyone say anything to you, when
faculty in order to live and work meaningfully. Through dili- you believe you have special access to a pool of knowledge
gence, study, care, attention to detail, passion, and an insis- which cannot, by definition, be wrong? What sort of dialogue
tence on our own capacities, we shape our reality as we choose can there be, against this holiness? As F.J. Ghazoul wrote,
to, distinguish right from wrong as we see fit, make laws and “once you are one of the elect, or once you are convinced that
fashion societies in accordance with our desires, thought, and your people are the ‘chosen people’ – and chosen by no less
intuition. than God Himself – then there is no room for human inter-
A salient question in this world, then, is, what is morality? vention, no place for human agency.”
Is it something fixed and independent, something we must It is not simply that there are epistemological disagreements
learn, realize, or discover? Or is it purely relative, something from whence two points of view diverge. The structures of
each of us decides, and on the basis of our power, institutes? these two points of view are fundamentally opposing. If these
The question is difficult, and more than two centuries of were sterile academic differences, they would interest special-
philosophers have debated it across continents, sub-cultures, ists in Ivory towers. The reality, however, is that the rever-
war, and empire. The key, however, is this: we decide. We berations of these starting points spill over into very real and
choose how to govern ourselves – we discuss, we argue, worldly issues, such as, for example, abortion or homosexual-

Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World ENCOUNTERS


ity. It’s not simply that Muslims consider homosexuality a sin
because God has said so, and in contrast, non-religious people
may have no problem with it. If we look deeper, we find that
the conclusions, no matter how carefully, considerately, fairly
and compassionately they are reached on either side (for there
are, of course, such things as good and bad exegesis), proceed
from fundamentally opposed starting points.
Muslims look to their religious texts for not simply instruc-
tions on how to pray, but how to view and value everything.
Islam is a holistic vision. It offers normative principles in
every sphere, the moral, political, economic and philosophic.
God tells Muslims that homosexuality is wrong, and Muslims,
understanding His Word, then go about either agreeing or
disagreeing with it. In other words, God has laid down the
laws of nature, and if He says homosexuality is a transgres-
sion, then so it is.
Photo by Felix
A critical, secular thinker, in contrast, might try to under-
stand homosexuality and its relationship to moral right or
wrong in a different way. Like any other issue, he will study
it, turn it over in his mind, put forth arguments and counter-
arguments, talk to others, and then make up his mind. After
having decided, in accordance with his views, beliefs, emo-
tions, reason and rationality, he might then look to what
others believe. He may look at what Islam has to say on the
subject, and if it weighs in on the opposite side of the issue,
his reasoning, deployed independently, has turned out to be
different from God’s, and he cannot accept God’s Word be-
cause he cannot reconcile it with his reason, a faculty, to him,
just as, if not more, legitimate than scripture.
He does not, like the Muslim, take his cue from God in
the first place, and look at everything under the sun from
the fixed position that God’s Word is formative and defini-
tive. The secular thinker proceeds from the point of view
that nothing is fixed from the “beginning,” and that he must
decide for himself what is right and what is wrong. Having
decided, divergence between his views and God’s on specific,
individual issues may well be the impetus for disbelief, agnos-
ticism, atheism, etc. The crucial schematic difference is in the
origin of the formation of belief – does it proceed, transitively,
ENCOUNTERS
5
from God, or is it created, critically, via self-determination?
IV
This contrast may be expressed as the difference between
moral deduction and induction, reasoning from a pre-
ordained general truth-principle as opposed to reasoning
through a series of specific truths towards a general truth-
principle. In any case, the difference, I believe, is strongly
indicative of a gap between Islamic and liberal or humanistic
mentality that cannot be bridged.
The former is humble and modest. It begins from the
principle that God decides what is right and wrong, and we
align ourselves accordingly. The latter is prideful and assertive,
insisting that men and women construct identities of right
and wrong themselves. This attitude follows from a certain
hubris, and it is adopted by people of a certain mentality, if
not caliber, a secularism, a paradoxical, romantic fatalism, a
belief that there is no safety net, that we have only each other
to look to.
The belief that we cannot look to God, that we cannot
depend on a Higher Power to instruct us, teach us, and, in
the end, save us, is not a reflection of the Dark side of any
worldview – but it is a tendency native to some, and it is not
a matter of superficial difference, language, skin color, food or
culture. It is the opposite side of the spectrum, it cannot be
moderated, and if this is true – if you cannot convince a secu-
larist that you are correct on the basis that “God told you so,”
and if you cannot convince a Muslim on the basis that “right
and wrong are independent of God,” then any measure upon
which either moves to the center is, logically, false.
POSTSCRIPT
Two serious counterpoints come to mind in reaction to this
thesis. First, that it is untrue that Muslims are dependant, un-
creative, uncritical, non-dynamic and non-assertive thinkers,
especially in relation to Islam, ipso facto. My defense here is
that firstly, such qualities are not pejorative, in and of them-
selves. Secondly, I believe an honest inquiry into the forma-
tion of Muslim conviction regarding, for example, issues such
as abortion, same-sex marriage, homosexuality, church/state
separation, and women’s rights will bear out my observation:
of necessity, the Muslim mind proceeds in the world from a
pre-established position ordained by God. This conviction
may be buttressed by common sense, science, or appeal to
morality – in any case, it is established within the Muslim
mind by virtue of its origin, not merit. A subsidiary objection
might be that terms such as “the Muslim mind” echo the sorts
of gross generalizations and over-simplifications Edward Said
exposed throughout his work in the late twentieth century.
This anxiety might be well-placed, but I’d point out that I’m
not accusing or indicting Muslims inductively, of anything.
Rather, I’m describing, deductively, necessary conditions
that govern religious belief, no matter how rational they may
be. The aggregate of these conditions can be contrasted to
those principles that govern liberal, secular thought. In other
Princeton University - Fall 2008
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words, the limits of anti-essentialism lie in whatever nominal
characters vocationally identify a group as a group; it is these
characters I am addressing.
Second, that my observations apply equally to Christian-
ity, Judaism, and other traditional religious systems as well as
Islam. Moreover, Christianity and Judaism comprise a signifi-
cant portion of the “West,” whatever region or culture that
term might denote. How, then, can bridges between Islam
and the West be so shaky? I believe that the former is a fixed
Mitigating Subjectivity
The Primacy of Qur’anic Memorization (Hifdh) for the Future of Islam in America
by R. David Coolidge
In the Name of God, The Entirely Merciful, The Especially Merciful
And when you recite the Qur’an, seek refuge in God from
the accursed Devil. Truly, he has no power over those who be-
lieve and put trust in their Lord. His power is only over those
who make a friend of him, and those who ascribe partners
unto Him (Qur’an, 16.98-100)
Ibn Khaldun (d. 1406/808), the famous Muslim histo-
rian and sociologist, remarked that “instructing children in
the Qur’ān is a symbol of Islam.” Qur’anic education was
universally conceived as forming an indispensable basis for
pedagogy, because it laid “the foundation for all habits that
may be acquired later on,” and “the basis of all later (knowl-
edge).” The effect on the student was tremendous, for “the
first impression the heart receives is, in a way, the foundation
of (all scholarly) habits.” Indeed, it is perhaps fair to say that
all major scholars in the Islamic tradition, from the time of
the early community until recent history, have begun their
training with formal instruction in the proper recitation of
the Qur’an (tajwīd), its etiquettes (adab), and the mastering
of its text within their memory (hifdh).
Undoubtedly, many American Muslim parents instruct their
children in some form of recitation and memorization, often
under the tutelage of someone properly trained in the craft.
It is more common to find young American Muslims with an
ability to recite properly than it is to find those who cannot
properly do so. However, what is unique about the situation
of American Muslims is that while they are arguably one of
the most wealthy and educated Muslim communities on
the planet, they do not have a corresponding mastery of the
Qur’anic text on a communal level. Whereas in other times
and places one did not become learned in anything until after
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
term, while the latter is not. That might sound promising. It
is not. I believe the West is heading towards greater liberal,
secular, humanistic programs. Spaces open for a dissenting
religious right are filled; understanding among religions here
is at best mutual flattery, at worst, redundancy.
Ahson Azmat is a junior in the philosophy department. He can be
reached at aazmat@princeton.edu.
memorizing the entire Qur’an, now one can attain a PhD in
any field (even Islamic Studies) while barely knowing how
to recite the final 30th of the Qur’an (juz’ ‘amma). From
an Islamic paradigm of knowledge acquisition, this is highly
problematic, despite the coherence of such an approach based
on alternative paradigms.
Undoubtedly, it would be unrealistic to expect that every
American Muslim who graduates high school should also be
a Hāfidh. However, that theoretical goal should be one which
American Muslims attempt to realize on a communal level.
Also, American Muslims should believe that being a Hāfidh
(or Hāfidha, in the case of women) is an important qualifica-
tion for those who are publicly engaged in interpreting the
meaning and message of Islam, whether they are shaykhs,
imams, professors, or something else. Mastery of the Qur’anic
text is crucial for sound Islamic interpretation, for many
reasons. It is the only complete text which Muslim scholars
consider absolutely divine in origin, and simultaneously
absolutely pristine in its transmission throughout history
(tawātur). As such, from an Islamic perspective it is unlike
any other text currently existing on the face of the planet. Its
unique centrality as a text transcends all Islamic theological,
legal, mystical, and cultural divides. It is the only text whose
content can be considered absolutely objective, despite the
subjectivities of its interpreters. It is the mirror of reality, the
sign amidst the signs of the universe, and the firm hand hold
which can never break.
Much ink has been spilled in recent years about the process
of interpreting the Qur’an (tafsīr), and rightly so. Given the
centrality of the Qur’an, the process of Qur’anic interpreta-
tion will always be at the heart of the questions, “What is a
Muslim,” What should a Muslim do,” and “How should a
Muslim be?” But the question that must be asked by all is,
ENCOUNTERS

Photo by Bidwiya
“To what extent have I struggled with the Qur’an, and to
what extent have I allowed the Qur’an to struggle with me?”
Interpretation is not simply a one way street. Rather, the text
one chooses to read and study transforms oneself. No one
is ever the same after reading a new book, or re-reading an
old one. But more importantly, no one is ever the same once
committed to learning the entire Qur’an by heart. It is a jour-
ney, a great journey, and one begins to look at the world with
new eyes once one sets down that sacred road.
Each human being is a unique individual created by God,
unlike any other, and so it must be expected that interpreta-
tions of the Qur’an may be as numerous as the human beings
on the earth. But does that mean that there are no standards
by which communities can choose which interpretations are
better or worse? Is the interpretation offered by someone who
simply glances at a translation of the text as valuable as one
offered by someone who has made it their primary task to
memorize and understand the original text in all of its rich-
ness and nuance? While everyone has the right to struggle to
understand the text on their own terms, it is only natural and
logical that there should be communal standards which privi-
lege the efforts of those who have memorized the entire text.
Clearly, the memorization of the Qur’anic text is not a
panacea for all of the interpretive problems of the American
Muslim community. The spiritual rewards of memorizing the
text are irrefutable. There are numerous authentic sayings
of the Prophet (may the peace and blessings of God be upon
him) which indicate the great value of reciting the Qur’anic
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7
text in Arabic, even if one does not understand what they
are saying. However, knowing the text is simply the begin-
ning of understanding the text. While memorization can be
completed usually within two years of full-time study, under-
standing is the endeavor of a lifetime. Understanding involves
connecting the objectivity of the text to the subjectivity of
humanity, and has taken, and will take, myriad forms in his-
tory. However, the subjective nature of interpretation should
not lead to the abandonment of the goal of objectivity, which
means attempting to see the world through the “eyes of God,”
metaphorically speaking. That is the unattainable goal of the
greatest interpreters (mujtahidūn), who know that despite
their immense learning, “they will not encompass anything of
His knowledge except what He wills.” (Qur’an, 2.255).
All scholars are agreed that one must be instructed in the
Qur’an by a knowledgeable and pious teacher, who was
instructed by a pious and knowledgeable teacher, all the way
back to the original teacher, the Prophet Muhammad (may
the peace and blessings of God be upon him). The imbuing
of oneself with the text is thus not cut off from the historical
process by which Islamic civilization has spread throughout
the world, namely the spread of human beings who have
endeavored to live Islam to its fullest. As person meets person,
so is the text transmitted, creating a continuity of change,
as well as strengthening the bonds of humanity which are so
vital to the Islamic ethos. The process of taking the text from
a teacher also helps remind one that this text is not simply
theirs, but rather belongs to the whole ummah. As one is sit-
Princeton University - Fall 2008
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ting in school struggling to memorize its contents, so are one’s
classmates, and so are other people doing the same at all times
of the year throughout the world. Indeed, people have been
doing it since the very beginning of the religion.
Unfortunately, some young Muslims have very negative
experiences while trying to learn the Qur’an. They are beaten
by their teachers, forced to accept ideas that they have no abil-
ity to counter, and exposed to cultural practices which seem
at odds with their religious sensibilities. It it hard to say how
prevalent these experiences are in Muslim majority countries;
rather, the point is that they should never become part of
Qur’anic education in the American context. Some students
are even forced by their parents to learn the Qur’an, and hate
every minute of their studies. Unfortunately, some parents
see Qur’an school as a good form of punishing disobedient
children, and often Qur’an school teachers and administrators
are only expected by others to be disciplinarians. This attitude
must change if Qur’anic memorization programs are to play
a beneficial role in the lives of their students, as well as in the
American Muslim community at large. Teachers, administra-
tors, parents, and most importantly, the students, must work
together in pursuit of Allah’s pleasure and the betterment of
American Islam. Hopefully, as American Muslims continue
to develop a religious ethos which is in tune with their lives as
Americans, and as American Muslims realize the importance
of Qur’an memorization for the future of Islam in America,
the negative experiences will disappear and reveal the jewel of
the Qur’an in greater clarity.
There are wonderful signs that the process of infusing the
Qur’an into the lives of American Muslims is progressing
steadily. In many major American cities, dozens of Huffādh
born and bred in America lead tarawīh every year. Muslim
academics have begun to see the increasing importance of
Qur’an memorization for a proper understanding of Islam.
Most importantly, Qur’an programs are springing up across
the country, addressing different constituencies in their
struggle to live the Qur’an in America. The Quba Institute of
Arabic and Islamic Studies in Philadelphia, under the leader-
ship of Imam Anwar Muhaimin, primarily serves inner-city
African-Americans in their struggle to master the Qur’an.
Imam Anwar is also perhaps the first African-American
Hāfidh, trained in Saudi Arabia in his early teens. The In-
stitute of Islamic Education in suburban Chicago, serves a
diverse (ethnically and socio-economically) group of students,
and includes amongst its esteemed teachers Hāfidh Ali Toft,
a native of Chicago, and a graduate of both Northwestern
University and the Harvard Graduate School of Education.
Hāfidh Ali has developed a unique pedagogy of Qur’anic edu-
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
cation, adapting the traditional South Asian madrasa method
to the American context by incorporating Arabic language
instruction concurrently with Qur’anic memorization. In one
year, a sizeable number of his students went from being un-
able to read the Arabic text to reciting multiple 30ths (ajzā’)
from memory with roughly 90% understanding of the text’s
basic meaning. In suburban Dallas, the Islamic Association
of North Texas has produced numerous memorizers while
simultaneously giving them top-notch “secular” educations
in social studies, math, language arts, and other important
subjects. In California, the Zaytuna Institute has a 10-year
track record of teaching Qur’anic memorization in a manner
respectful of tradition and aware of American realities. Also,
it should be pointed out that all four schools are for both
men and women, thus removing any barriers to memorizing
the Qur’an based on gender. All of these programs should
be praised and supported, in whatever manner possible, by
the American Muslim community. There are other valuable
programs, to be sure, but these four are highlighted for their
exemplary contributions thus far.
As mentioned before, the journey to the Qur’an is never
complete. For the individual, it will only end with death,
and for the community, it will only be completed at the end
of time. In the United States, the journey of the American
Muslim community is still young, but there is much cause
for hope. However, everyone must ask themselves, young and
old, rich and poor, black and white, immigrant and Amer-
ican-born, liberal and conservative, Sunni and Shi’i, “Have
I done enough to give the Qur’an its proper due in my life?
Have I let the text infuse my being, such that I am no longer
the same person afterward? Have I tried to let the objectivity
of the Qur’an permeate my unique subjectivity? Have I lis-
tened to God with attentive ears and a humble heart, ready to
respond to the call?” Only after one has thrown oneself into
the Qur’an, with love and hope and reverence and humility,
can one begin to feel hopeful of clarity and salvation in this
world and the next. Knowing the text is the beginning to
understanding it, and the beginning to understanding oneself,
the other, the visible world, the invisible world, and the One
who has power over it all.
Let them also, with a will, Listen to My call, and believe in
Me, that they may walk in the right way. (Qur’an, 2.186)
R. David Coolidge is the Muslim chaplain at Dartmouth College. He
received an MA in Religion from Princeton in June 2008. He would
like to thank Intisar Rabb for reading and commenting on a draft of
this article.
ENCOUNTERS
 9

Reflections on the
Essence of Ramadan
by Sohaib N. Sultan campuses, even observe all days of the fast with Muslims
Ramadan is the holiest month in the Islamic calendar. It to experience something of the month’s spiritual and social
visits us with its many blessings every year in the ninth month vibrancy.
of the lunar calendar. It is a time of spiritual birth and rebirth The natural question that follows this description of Rama-
for individuals and communities across the globe. At its most dan is what makes this month particularly sacred and special?
essential outer core, Ramadan is known as a time of fasting or And, why is the spiritual discipline of fasting employed to
refraining one’s self from food, drink from dusk to dawn. For mark the month of Ramadan over any other spiritual practice?
Muslims, observing this fast fulfills one of the five pillars of And, lastly, what lasting impact does this month seek to have
Islam. In ritual law fasting during the month of Ramadan is on an individual believer and on a community of believers?
recognized as an obligation (fard) upon every healthy Muslim
who has reached an age of maturity. In spiritual treatises it is Ramadan to Honor Guidance
recognized as a special invitation or opportunity (tawfiq) to The Qur’an states, “Ramadan is the month in which the
spiritually feast with God. Qur’an was revealed as guidance for humanity, and as a clear
This intensely spiritual month is also associated with an articulation of that guidance, and as the criterion to discern
immensely social period in which
Muslims are encouraged to invite
their neighbors and friends for
opening (suhoor) and breaking (if-
tar) the fast together. Mosques hold
special night long prayers (tarawih/
tahajjud) during which worshippers
commune with one another while
enjoying Qur’anic recitation. New
relationships are established and old
ones reestablished. There is a unique
spirit of community, generosity,
and good-will during the whole
month. Many Muslims list Rama-
dan as their favorite time of the year
because of this atmosphere.
Today, Ramadan is also seen,
culturally, as a time to celebrate and
appreciate the Muslim presence in
society. It is commonplace to hold
interfaith conversations and din-
ners throughout the month and
many politicians, public figures, and
businesses send Ramadan greetings
to their Muslim constituents. The
White House invites Muslim leaders
every year to break the fast with
the president and other high level
government officials. Some non-
Muslims, particularly on university
Ramadan Food Fair in Istanbul, Turkey. Photo by Shagufta Ahmed GS’07.

SPIRITUALITY Princeton University - Fall 2008

 10
the true from the false” (2:185). Revealed guidance is prom-
ised by God to the children of Adam in the Qur’an, and
followers of such guidance are referred to as the faithful ones.
Interestingly, several Qur’anic commentators believe, based
on various sources, that other scriptures—such as the Torah
of Moses and the Gospel of Jesus—were also revealed in this
holy month. Therefore, Ramadan is a celebration of divine
guidance in the form of revealed scripture.
Since divine revelation itself is seen as a mercy, the month
in which it was revealed is also filled with divine mercy. The
Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) conveyed that Satan, the tempter
of evil, is locked away in chains and is thus unable to distract
the believers during the month of Ramadan. Also, every act
of devotion or good deed in this month is multiplied ten
times in the sight of God. The first ten nights of the month
are a period of gaining God’s grace. The second ten nights
are for attaining divine forgiveness. And, the last ten nights,
considered the most special nights, are a period of achieving
freedom from divine displeasure in the afterlife.
There is one night in the month of Ramadan—one of the
last ten nights according to most scholars—that is known
as the Night of Destiny (laylat ul-qadr), which the Qur’an
describes as better than a thousand months (97:3). In other
words, spending this one night in devotion is like spending
eighty-three years worshipping God. According to Islamic
tradition, the Night of Destiny is either the particular day
on which the Prophet Muhammad first began receiving the
Qur’anic revelation or the day the Qur’an was sent to the low-
est heavens in preparation for revelation. In any case, it is a
remarkably sacred night in which the angels descend in hosts
to collect the supplications of all supplicants. It is filled with
“peace till the break of dawn” (97:5).
It is no surprise, then, that the Prophet Muhammad said,
“Whoever fasts during Ramadan with faith and seeking re-
ward from God will have their past sins forgiven.”
Fasting to Reach Qur’anic Heights
Now, it is worth asking why God asks Muslims to engage in
a month of fasting, above any other spiritual discipline. There
are two main reasons for this:
The first reason is found in the idea that to successfully
receive and understand the Qur’anic message, a person needs
to purify their central organ of perception, which is the heart
(qalb). Only a beautiful and sound heart is able to recognize,
understand, and interpret things, especially divine revelation,
in a beautiful and sound way. This is why, according to several
scholars of the Islamic tradition, the Prophet Muhammad’s
heart was first washed and purified as a young boy in order to
prepare him for the awesome task of receiving and dispensing
the Qur’an. Fasting is a method of purifying the heart from
its various spiritual diseases—anger, selfishness, excessive ma-
terialism, and so on. Interestingly, all of the scriptures men-
tioned by name in the Qur’an are described as a light (nur).
One of the alternative names of the Qur’an is an-nur, the
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
light. As such, the more the veils of spiritual diseases are lifted
from the heart, the more the light of revealed scripture is able
to penetrate the heart till the heart becomes illuminated with
knowledge of reality and truth (haqq). So, fasting, when prop-
erly used to purify the heart, is a spiritual practice that opens
the heart to divine light and wisdom.
Second, upon examining the Qur’anic prescription for
positive individual change, various scholars of the spiritual
sciences have said that it centers on three main qualities: God-
consciousness (taqwa), patience (sabr), and gratitude (shukr).
Fasting is the one spiritual practice that, when observed prop-
erly, infuses all three characteristics into the human character.
These qualities can be described as the soul’s bread, meat, and
water during the fast.
It is a most unnatural behavior to sacrifice food and water—
essentials for sustenance and living—for a lengthy period
of time. It is only when a person finds himself or herself in
a relationship of awe and love that they would be willing to
do something so extraordinary. So, fasting for the sake of
attaining a closer relationship with God is in itself an act of
great respect and adoration. The more a person fasts with this
intention, the more they become conscious of their Beloved at
all times and in all aspects of life. This consciousness moti-
vates one to strive for the best of what will make their Beloved
happy with them. In the same manner, God-consciousness is
necessary for reaching the spiritual, ethical, and moral heights
taught to us in divine revelation. The Qur’an states, “O you
who have attained to faith, fasting is enjoined upon you, as it
was enjoined upon those before you, so that you may become
God-conscious” (2:183).
Alongside consciousness, a person needs to learn patience
and self-restraint in order to behave in accordance with one’s
consciousness. Fasting is a practice in controlling one’s desires
and suppressing one’s ego. When a person acquires this dis-
cipline of self-restraint he or she is able to ward off detestable
temptations and in turn align their character with the noble
teachings of the Qur’an. Patience, therefore, helps align the
consciousness of the heart with the actions of the limbs. The
Qur’an states, “Be patient, for God is with those who show
patience.”
The quality that beautifies and elevates noble character is
gratitude. Doing good out of a sense of thanking God for all
of life’s gifts is an even greater expression of God-conscious-
ness. Fasting by its very nature makes a person feel more
thankful for the sustenance that God makes available each
and every day. This sense of gratitude motivates a person to
not only restrain from detestable actions, but to in fact engage
in the good actions that revealed scripture motivates us to.
The Qur’an states, “Magnify God for what God has guided
you to, and become people of gratitude” (2:186).
The following Prophetic saying (hadith) summarizes the
relationship between fasting, good actions, and developing a
relationship with God. “Fasting is like a shield (from wrong
actions), and the one who fasts has two joys: a joy when they
SPIRITUALITY

break their fast and a joy when they meet their Lord.”
Ramadan as a Lasting Transformation
It is tempting to reduce fasting to that of food and drink,
and to diminish the greatness of Ramadan to a single month.
However, such an idea is an injustice to the whole brilliance
of the month and ultimately an injustice to us. The Prophet
Muhammad warned that “Many people who fast get nothing
from their fast except hunger and thirst.”
In reality, Ramadan is a month of intense spiritual train-
ing for the rest of the year. The real work and struggle begins
when Ramadan ends. At the individual level, fasting is meant
to set us on a course of self-examination and self-purification.
It is an opportunity to rid ourselves of bad qualities and bad
habits, and in the process acquire good ones. As such, the
Prophet Muhammad said that “If a person does not avoid foul
speech and detestable conduct during their fast, then God has
no need for them to abstain from food and drink.”
As the individual is transformed, there is an inevitable
transformation of society and a removal of social ailments.
As the spiritual diseases are tackled one-by-one, their social
manifestations decrease in strength also one-by-one. The
SPIRITUALITY
11
Qur’an makes this point entirely clear when it tackles the
social injustices of economic exploitation (2:188), harmful su-
perstitions (2:189), and indiscriminate violence (2:190-193)
immediately following the core set of verses on Ramadan and
fasting (2:183-187).
Arguably, the two main sources of malevolence in our world
today remain economic injustice and wanton killing. It is per-
haps for this reason that the Prophet Muhammad advised us,
“Toward the latter days of indiscriminate violence, be like the
first and better of the two sons of Adam who said, ‘If you raise
your hand to kill me, I will not raise my hand to kill you.
Surely, I fear God, the Lord of the worlds.’” So, the lessons we
need to absorb from Ramadan are that God-consciousness,
self-purification, self-restraint, and gratitude are essential for
self and social transformation as we strive to remake the world
into a better and more beautiful place to live.
Sohaib Sultan is a Muslim Chaplain and the Muslim Life Coordinator
for Princeton University. He can be reached at ssultan@princeton.edu.
Princeton University - Fall 2008
 12

Oman
An Indian Ocean Empire
by George Hatke jam who assassinated ‘Ali in the mosque of Kufa in 661.
By the eighteenth century, Arabia entered the modern age Ibadis today, however, reject any connection with the
as its diverse polities began gradually to take on their current Kharijis, whom they reproach for their fanaticism and for
form as states. Some themes of this political evolution which their condemnation of non-Khariji Muslims as infidels. Thus,
are familiar today, such as Wahhabism, were already making while the other Khariji sects put to the sword those Muslims
their influence felt outside Arabia, as is evident from Saudi with whom they disagreed on matters of doctrine, the Ibadis
raids on Iraq at the turn of the nineteenth century. However, have traditionally maintained a more conciliatory stance vis-
influential though Saudi Arabia may be in the present-day à-vis their coreligionists. Rather than branding non-Ibadis as
Islamic world, the early Saudi state never succeeded in estab- unbelievers they view them instead as simply “unbelievers in
lishing a lasting foothold abroad. In fact, of the states of the God’s grace” (al-kuffar bi’l-ni’ma), who are still accepted as
Arabian Peninsula only Oman created a true empire. fellow Muslims, and with whom free association is permis-
Though it reached its zenith in the first half of the nine- sible. Indeed it is perhaps as a result of their moderation that
teenth century, the Omani empire was the end result of a the Ibadis are the only Khariji sect to survive to the present.
long relationship between trade and politics. For thousands of Adhering to an ideal of equality among believers, the Ibadis
years, maritime trade had bound Oman to the outside world, have long believed that political leadership should be open
and in the sixth century BCE the country was annexed by the
Achaemenid Persians. Iran continued to periodically exert po-
litical influence over Oman as late as 1744, when the last era
of Persian occupation was brought to an end by Ahmad bin
Sa’id, who went on to reign until 1783 as the first sultan of
the Al Bu Sa’id Dynasty. The Al Bu Sa’id established Muscat
as the country’s capital and holds sway over Oman to this day.
In the long term, however, it was the Arabs who had the
greatest impact on the country. Many of the Arab tribes
which settled in Oman hailed from Yemen. Chief among the
Yemeni groups that settled in Oman in pre-Islamic times was
the Azd confederation, some factions of which would later
settle in Syria-Palestine, Mesopotamia, and the western littoral
of the Arabian Gulf. Their presence in southern Mesopotamia
grew in the aftermath of the Islamic conquests of the seventh
century, when large numbers of Azdis took up residence in
the garrison town of Basra. Ties with other Azdis still living in
Oman may have helped diffuse to the latter the doctrines of
the Ibadi sect, which enjoyed widespread popularity in Basra.
The sect had emerged in the milieu of the Khariji move-
ment, which according to Islamic tradition began when some
12,000 troops deserted from the army of ‘Ali bin Abi Talib at
the Battle of Siffin in Syria in 657. Displeased by ‘Ali’s agree-
ment to an arbitration with his adversary, Mu’awiya—the
governor of Syria and future caliph—these soldiers not only
withdrew their support from ‘Ali but remained a constant
threat to his authority for the rest of his reign. Ultimately it
was a Khariji from Yemen named ‘Abd al-Rahman bin Mul- Photo by Amy Rathgeb

Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World HISTORY

 13

The establishment to any devout male

Muslim, regard-
of a plantation less of his race or
genealogy. This
economy by the egalitarian ethic was
very attractive tom
Omanis... in East Omanis at a time
when the Quraysh—
Africa itself, led Arab the Meccan tribe to
which the Prophet
and Swahili slave had belonged—
traders to penetrate looked down on the
Arab tribes of Oman
much further into as former vassals
of the Persians. In
the African interior addition, the Ibadi
method of select-
in search of human ing a leader (imam)
through consulta-
cargo. tion, confirmed
through a pledge of
support given by the rest of the community, roughly paral-
leled the selection of a shaykh in tribal society. As a result,
Ibadism had won the support of many of the tribes of cen-
tral Oman by the ninth century, and today Ibadis constitute
forty-five to seventy-five percent of the indigenous Omani
population.
Since the hold on Oman by such foreign powers as the Um-
ayyads and ‘Abbasids was often only nominal, it was easy for
doctrines like Ibadism to spread with little official resistance
and, in practice, real political power in the country was wield-
ed by the Ibadi imams rather than by the caliphs. But in the
course of time, as imams grew in power through their control
of agriculture and foreign trade, they came to prefer dynastic
succession to election by a council as the means of transmit-
ting power from one generation to the next. The consequent
inequalities within society created discontent, and as a result
elements within Omani society would from time to time rise
up against the ruling authority and advocate a return to the
Ibadi ideal. But once a new regime took steps to consolidate
its authority through the old means of dynastic succession
and economic control, the process was repeated once more as
the inequalities between ruler and ruled resurfaced.
This vicious cycle of political consolidation, prosperity, and
revolt made Oman an open target for invasion and occupa-
tion by first the Persians and then the Portuguese. Of the
two groups the Portuguese were by far the most disruptive to
Omani society and economy. After they discovered a sea route
from Europe to India around the southern tip of Africa at the
turn of the sixteenth century, they were able not only to cir-
cumvent Muslim middlemen in the Indian Ocean trade but
also to establish control over the major Indian Ocean ports
from East Africa to Southeast Asia, thus enabling them to
tap into the spice trade at its sources. Muscat fell to them in
Photo by Allesandra del Tufo
1507, and they managed to hold onto the port despite attacks
by Ottoman forces in 1551 and 1581.
Since infighting prevented the Omanis from responding ef-
fectively to the Portuguese threat, it remained for the Ya’ariba
Dynasty (1624-1724) to take the lead in ridding Oman of
foreign occupation. After the Ya’arubi ruler Sultan bin Sayf
recaptured Muscat in 1650, the Omanis used whatever Portu-
guese vessels they captured there to attack Portuguese garri-
sons in the Arabian Gulf, India, and East Africa. The conse-
quent closure of Portuguese ports in India to Omani vessels
forced the Ya’ariba to promote agriculture to make up for
what was lost in revenue from foreign trade. But the need for
slaves to work in the palm plantations of Oman also led the
Ya’ariba to take a greater interest in East Africa. Moreover, the
requests by the sultans of the Swahili Coast for help in ridding
East Africa of Portuguese hegemony provided the Ya’ariba
with a convenient pretext for invading East Africa and impos-
ing a hegemony of their own there. Thus, in the guise of a
program of liberation from foreign rule, the Ya’ariba not only
drove out all the Portuguese garrisons north of Mozambique
but established Omani garrisons at such towns as Mombasa,
Kilwa, Zanzibar, and Pemba as well. The liberators, it seemed,
had come to stay as occupiers.
Once the Al Bu Sa’id Dynasty came to power in 1749 and
annexed parts of the Swahili Coast and the Makran coast of
Iran and Pakistan, it became clear that the egalitarian tribal
ethic endorsed by Ibadism was hard to maintain in an increas-
ingly cosmopolitan world. The fact that the Al Bu Sa’id rulers
bore the title of sultan rather than imam, and that they estab-
lished their capital not in the Ibadi heartland of Oman but on
the coast at Muscat, were signs that the times were changing.
From being a set of guiding principles for the state, Ibad-
ism became an instrument of rebellion against the state by
disgruntled tribal elements, and once Qabus bin Sa’id over-
threw his father, the Sultan Sa’id bin Taymur, in 1970 and
introduced modern education and technology into Oman,
Ibadism was removed still further from the public arena, and
became calcified as a legacy of Oman’s medieval past.
The Al Bu Sa’id may have had an overseas empire, but the
strength of their hegemony varied from region to region. In

HISTORY Princeton University - Fall 2008

 14
Photo by David Clay
the early nineteenth century large parts of what is now Oman
were beyond the jurisdiction of the sultan of Muscat. Dhufar,
in the far west of Oman, was one such area. A mountain-
ous region with some peaks as high as 5000 ft above sea
level, Dhufar is a land of forests and meadows with bubbling
streams—a world away from the sand dunes of the Rub’ al-
Khali just to the north. Abundant rainfall during the summer
monsoon keeps Dhufar green, enabling the local pastoral
tribes to graze their cattle. These tribes still speak their own
South Semitic languages—Mahri, Jibbali, and Harsusi—all of
them quite distinct from, though related to, Arabic.
Since 1806, Dhufar had been the personal domain of a
slave-owning pirate, Sayyid Muhammad bin ‘Aqil, who ruled
from the coastal town of Salala and claimed to be protected
by supernatural powers. Men working for Sayyid Muhammad
joined the crew of the Essex, an American spice-ship from
Salem, New Hampshire, as it docked at the Yemeni port of
Hudayba, only to massacre all the foreigners on board—all of
them, that is, except for John Hermann Poll, a Dutch cabin
boy whom they made their slave. Poll’s liberation came in
1829, when men from the Qara tribe of Dhufar killed Sayyid
Muhammad—his supernatural protection having apparently
fallen into abeyance in his later years—and took the former
cabin boy under their wing. Poll converted to Islam, married
a Qara woman, and rose through the ranks to become ‘Abd
Allah Lloreyd, the ruler of Dhufar. He held sway over the re-
gion until his death in the 1870s. These few reports, however,
are all that is known of this remarkable individual. Lloreyd
does not appear to have kept a journal and, like many seamen
of his day, may well have been illiterate.
Though we may never learn more about the life of ‘Abd
Allah Lloreyd, his experiences are part and parcel of Oman’s
increasing contact with an ever-expanding world, one that
now came to include Europe and America. The development
of trade relations between the United States and Oman in the
1830s was but one aspect of this phenomenon. On September
21, 1833 the first trade agreement between the two countries
was signed, allowing Americans to trade in Oman’s territo-
ries against an export tax payment of five percent. The most
favored Omani port of call for American ships was Zanzibar,
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
a possession of the Al Bu Sa’id Dynasty just off the Tanzanian
coast. Here American merchants sold cotton cloth, rifles,
gunpowder, watches, and shoes for cloves, ivory, and spices.
Sultan Sa’id bin Sultan (r. 1804-1856) carried on a friendly
correspondence with Andrew Jackson, as is evident from a
letter dated October 7, 1833, in which he wrote to the Ameri-
can president: “On a most fortunate day and at a happy hour,
I had the honor to receive Your Highness’ letter, every word
of which is clear and distinct as the sun at noonday and every
letter shone forth as brilliantly as the stars in the heavens”.
Less clear, however, was what to make of the gifts sent by
Jackson to the sultan two years later, among which were two
gowns for the women of the harem—not the traditional
outfits worn by Omani women, but dresses in the latest New
York fashion! Sa’id discreetly gave these rather embarrassing
gifts away to the wives of British visitors to Oman but, never
a man to be outdone in generosity, and in accordance with
time-honored Omani custom, he reciprocated with a gift
of his own: two or three beautiful Circassian slave women
for President Martin Van Buren. The women had come on
Oman’s largest ship, the Sultana, as part of a trade mission to
the United States in late 1839. Also on board was the Omani
ambassador, Ahmad bin Nu’man al-Ka’bi, who secured a place
in history as the first Arab diplomat to pay an official visit to
the United States. Cultural misunderstandings in such mat-
ters as gift-giving were thus by no means an impediment to
maintaining diplomatic ties.
Significantly, the only known portrait of Sultan Sa’id himself
hangs in the Peabody Museum of Salem, Massachusetts. In
it he sits by the window, through which one can see palm
trees and, beyond that, the ocean—a fitting backdrop for an
Arabian monarch whose realm looked towards the sea. The
Salem connection is indicative of the acceleration of American
commerce with Oman, for the town had by this point secured
a monopoly in trade with the Omani empire—to the extent
that Zanzibaris believed that all Europeans came from Salem,
and that England was a suburb of Salem. Needless to say, the
British, who thoroughly resented the influx of the Yankee par-
venus into the Indian Ocean, were not flattered. Nor could
they been pleased when, upon entering Sa’id’s durbar cham-
ber, they would have seen two pictures—also gifts from the
United States—depicting an American victory over the British
navy. In deference to the British consul, Sa’id had the offend-
ing pictures replaced by two paintings of the English victory
over the Ottoman armada at Navarino in 1827. He also took
care to establish ties with the British royalty by sending gifts
to Queen Victoria on her coronation, and in 1842 the Sultana
made a stop in London on its return from the United States,
at which point Oman’s envoy, ‘Ali bin Nasir, paid the queen a
visit on Sa’id’s behalf.
In the context of Oman’s political and economic influence
in the western Indian Ocean, it is easy to see why Britain and
the United States were in such heavy competition to gain
Sa’id’s favors. He had taken control of the Omani economy by
HISTORY
 15
minting his own coins to replace the German, Austrian, and
Spanish coins previously used throughout his realm, and with
in the form of
the Arabic print-
Only one month after
his merchant ships he maintained a lively trade not only with
Europe and America but with East Africa and India as well.
ing press. He
had first intro-
the island gained
He was beyond any doubt the most powerful ruler in the duced it to East independence from Great
western Indian Ocean. From his father, Sayyid Sultan, Sa’id Africa in 1879
had inherited control of the southern coast of Iran, including following his re- Britain in December
Hormuz, Qishm, Bandar ‘Abbas, the Henjam Islands, and the turn from a visit
Kerman coast. In Makran in today’s Pakistan he held Gwadur to Egypt and Eu- 1963, its last sultan,
and the port of Chahbar. rope four years
After the Persians reclaimed the coast of southern Iran, earlier. Due to Jamshid bin ‘Abd Allah,
Sa’id turned his attention to Zanzibar, which he made his
second capital in 1840. Part of the success of this venture was
the lack of local
expertise, “The
was overthrown in a
due to the introduction of cloves to East Africa. Indigenous
to Southeast Asia, cloves had been brought to Mauritius by
Sultan’s Press”
(al-Matba’a
bloody revolution in
the French in 1770. Once established as a cash crop in East al-Sultaniyya) which the local Africans
Africa by Sa’id, cloves became one of the main exports of the relied entirely
Swahili coast. The island of Pemba, off the northern coast of on printers from killed thousands of
Tanzania, eventually produced ninety percent of the world’s abroad for its
crop. Omani farmers came to East Africa in large numbers operation. In Indians and Arabs and
to get rich off of this lucrative crop, and by the middle of
the nineteenth century cloves were being cultivated on vast
1884 Barghash
imported anoth-
seized their properties.
plantations. er Arabic press
With the growing demand for cloves came a corresponding from the Jesuit Fathers’ Press (Matba’a al-Aba’ al-Yasu’iyyin)
demand for slaves to work on the plantations. Though slaves in Beirut and recruited Lebanese workers to run it. Among
from East Africa had been shipped across the Indian Ocean the works published by The Sultan’s Press were books on Ibadi
to labor in agricultural projects in the Tigris-Euphrates delta doctrine and jurisprudence. Long isolated from the centers of
as early as the ninth century, the establishment of a plantation Ibadi learning in Oman, many Omanis in East Africa were in
economy by the Omanis, not thousands of miles across the dire need of instruction.
Indian Ocean but in East Africa itself, led Arab and Swahili At times, however, such efforts to foster a pride in Ibadi
slave traders to penetrate much further into the African inte- identity led to a haughty attitude on the part of many Oman-
rior in search of human cargo. In the mid-nineteenth century is in East Africa. They looked down on Sunnis as a lower
they were active throughout the Great Rift Valley and the brand of Muslims who had lost their genealogical purity by
Congo River Basin and, as contemporary Portuguese reports mixing with the Africans. Prejudices notwithstanding, magical
indicate, even made it as far as present-day Angola. practices of African origin were still very popular among the
But at the same time as Oman was expanding into East Af- Omani elite. Sayyida Salme, a daughter of Barghash, records
rica the British, having strengthened their hold on India, were one of these in her autobiography. The Chemchem spring on
turning their attention to regions en route, which led them to the island of Zanzibar, she writes, was believed to be inhab-
intervene in the affairs of Oman. After Sa’id bin Sultan died ited by a spirit which would bring good luck if propitiated
in 1856 a dispute ensued between his two sons, Thuwayni in with animal sacrifices and gifts of incense, aromatic powder,
Muscat and Majid in Zanzibar. In 1861 the British recognized and sweets. Her own sister, Khaduj, had once fallen gravely ill
Majid as the autonomous sultan of Zanzibar, and in doing so and vowed to make an offering to the Chemchem spirit if she
cut Oman off from the East African capital of its overseas em- recovered. Having regained her health, she and Salme went
pire. Long favored over Muscat by foreign trading companies, with a full retinue of lavishly attired slaves to sacrifice a bull in
the island and its port had become richer than Oman itself, gratitude to the spirit.
and now that it was lost Oman entered a period of sharp Salme’s autobiography is in fact an invaluable source of
economic decline, becoming so poor that it had to rely solely information on daily life in Zanzibar under Omani rule, and
on British subsidies. the story of how it came to be written in the first place is
Cultural ties to the homeland, however, were maintained by quite remarkable in its own right. Having had an affair with
Bargash bin Sa’id, the Omani sultan of Zanzibar (r. 1870- a resident German merchant in Zanzibar named Rudolph
1888). A broad-minded modernizer who had introduced Heinrich Ruete, Salme became pregnant and in August 1866
indoor plumbing, roads, and hospitals to Zanzibar, he saw escaped by boat with her lover, whom she married after con-
modern technology as the key to achieving his goals, and verting to Christianity. After giving birth to their first child
found an ideal instrument for the diffusion of Omani culture and settling with Rudolph in Hamburg, she took the name

HISTORY Princeton University - Fall 2008

 16
Emily Ruete. The couple had three other children, but after
the death of her husband in 1870 the former princess was
left penniless, and wrote her autobiography in the hope of
bringing in some money. After Germany acquired Tanganyika
in the 1880s she was once again brought into contact with
her homeland when rumors began circulating that Otto Von
Bismarck, the Chancellor of the German Empire, wanted
to install her son Sayyid Rudolph Said-Ruete as sultan of
Zanzibar. Though nothing ever came of this plan, if indeed
Von Bismarck ever proposed it, Salme did manage to revisit
Zanzibar in 1885 and again in 1888. It was at this time that
she published her memoirs in Germany. Her book was soon
after translated into English and published in England, Ire-
land, and the United States, and is the earliest known auto-
biography of an Arab woman. Though she made no secret of
her conversion to Christianity, she took pains in her book to
defend Islam and Arab culture, and to correct some Western
misconceptions of both.
Though few Omanis—let alone Omani women—of her day
could boast of having spent so much time in the West, the
circumstances of Salme’s life are an indication that Oman and
the West were drawing ever closer together. In her lifetime
she saw Tanganyika and her island home of Zanzibar pass
from Omani to German rule and then, following Germany’s
defeat in the First World War, to British rule. At the same
time the British were making their presence felt in Oman
itself. In 1920 they brokered a treaty between the sultan of
Muscat, Taymur bin Faysal, and the Ibadi imam of the inte-
rior, according to which Taymur granted to the Ibadi tribes
the control of trade, administration, and law in the Omani
interior, in return for which these tribes pledged not to attack
the sultan. This may have allowed tribal groups a reasonable
amount of autonomy, but not prosperity. Already poor, there
was little trade in Oman to control, and the sultans of Muscat
lacked the modernizing spirit that characterized their cous-
ins across the Indian Ocean in Zanzibar. But it was not due
to a lack of exposure to the outside world on the part of the
sultans. Between 1922 and 1927 Taymur’s son Sa’id received
a British-style education at the College of Princes at Ajmer in
Rajputana (now Rajasthan) in India, where he learned both
English and Hindi. After coming to the throne in 1932 he
surrounded himself with British advisers, whom he liked to
impress by quoting Shakespeare.
However, a good education was not something that Sa’id
was willing to extend to his subjects. When his British advis-
ers attempted to set up a Development Department in Oman
in 1958, Sa’id reproached them, saying, “This is why you lost
India, because you educated the people!” There was more to
this crass remark than mere rhetoric, for Oman’s literacy rate
of only five percent in the mid-twentieth century testifies to
Sa’id’s indifference—if not outright opposition—to educat-
ing the Omani people. During his reign the country had only
three primary schools, and except for a bit of religious instruc-
tion higher education was out of the question. Not only that
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
but, eighty years after Barghash had established an Arabic
printing press in Zanzibar, Oman still had no press of its
own. The contrast between Oman and its former East African
colony could not be sharper. The country’s health hardly fared
better. With only one hospital in all of Oman, disease was
rampant, and infant mortality during the reign of Sa’id was
around seventy-five percent.
However, British geopolitical interests continued to trump
humanitarianism, and the British remained steadfast in their
support of Sa’id’s regime. Though never directly ruled by
Great Britain as a colony, Oman was kept subservient to Brit-
ish interests by an indirect hegemony exercised through Brit-
ish officials. As late as the 1960s all but one of Sa’id’s advisers
were British, and treaties with the British stipulated that, in
return for an annual salary of £1.5 million, the sultan of Mus-
cat would not initiate contacts with any foreign power except
Great Britain. By this means Oman, which only a century
earlier had had a vast overseas empire and had traded with
Africa, India, Europe, and North America, was almost entirely
cut off from the outside world. Even the discovery of oil in
Oman in the 1960s did little to ameliorate the situation, for
Sa’id did his utmost to ensure that there was as little contact
as possible between foreign oil companies and Omani nation-
als. In the process he isolated his own people from whatever
economic benefits were to be gained through the oil industry.
Not until Sa’id was overthrown by his son Qabus in 1970
was Oman brought into the modern era. Like his father, Qa-
bus was educated abroad, not only in India but also in Eng-
land. But just as Sa’id kept his countrymen in isolation from
the rest of the world, so did he keep his son out of the public
sphere after his return to Oman. Indeed, for six years Qabus
was kept under house arrest in the royal palace of Salala in
Dhufar, and it was not until Sa’id’s troops were defeated by
an army faction loyal to Qabus that the prince gained his
freedom, and with it a chance to reopen Oman to the outside
world from which it had been for so long kept isolated.
After expelling the most conservative of his father’s British
advisers and removing from office those Omanis who had
supported him, Qabus began building hospitals, schools,
universities, and shopping malls, and made health care avail-
able to all Omanis. He later signed agreements with foreign
oil companies stipulating that Oman retain eighty percent of
its oil revenues, which allowed him to fund his programs of
development. Qabus also encouraged a far more active Omani
participation in the administration of Oman’s oil industry,
and by the 1990s Omanis made up over half the employees—
and some forty percent of the senior staff—of Petroleum
Development Oman and Dhufar, the largest oil company
operating in Oman.
As a result of its economic gains, Oman began attracting a
large community of expatriate workers, teachers, and engi-
neers from the Arab World, South Asia, Europe, and North
America. It also attracted many Omanis from Zanzibar. Only
one month after the island gained independence from Great
HISTORY

Britain in December 1963, its last sultan, Jamshid bin ‘Abd
Allah, was overthrown in a bloody revolution in which the lo-
cal Africans killed thousands of Indians and Arabs and seized
their properties. Those Omanis who did manage to stay be-
came impoverished as a result of misgovernment by the Tan-
zanian president Julius Nyerere, making emigration to Oman
an attractive option. Yet even today the link between Zanzibar
and Oman remains. There are still daily flights between Mus-
cat and its former colony, and East African pop music remains
a favorite among Oman’s youth. As is often the case with great
powers, the cultural legacy of the Omani empire has outlived
its existence as a political entity.
How much longer Oman’s current standard of living will
last is another question, however. The country’s oil reserves are
relatively meager in comparison with those of Saudi Arabia
and the Gulf countries, and those it has are dwindling fast.
17
Furthermore, Oman has not invested abroad on the scale that
Kuwait has, and attempts to promote the caves of Dhufar as
tourist destinations seem dubious, particularly as a source of
income that can one day replace oil revenues. Oman has been
through difficult times before, but has weathered the vicis-
situdes of the past thousand years well. It has been at times an
empire, an impoverished backyard of the Arabian Peninsula,
and an industrialized oil producer. What it will become next
is an important question for the future of the Middle East.
George Hatke is a sixth-year graduate student in the Near Eastern Stud-
ies Department at Princeton University. He can be reached at ghatke@
princeton.edu.

The Druze of Lebanon

by Nour Aoude ’10
“Druze.”
“Jewish?”
“No, Druze.”
“A druid?”
“Not quite. D-R-U-Z-E. Druze. Go look it up on Wikipe-
dia; it exists. I swear.”
Having been eight years old myself when I discovered I was
Druze, I can hardly blame others, especially in the United
States, for taking a while to digest that never-before-heard,
funny-sounding word and assimilating it into their religious
vocabulary. As an eight year old, uprooted from my peculiar
community in Lebanon and living abroad in a predominantly
Sunni Muslim environment in Kuwait, this shocking revela-
tion was nonetheless a big source of comfort to me. I under-
stood, finally, why I was the only kid in my class who did not
attend Friday prayers, fast during Ramadan, or even own a
copy of the Qur’an at home. In the absence of all forms of
religious ritual, I could have lived my entire life not know-
ing that my family belonged to any religious sect at all. Little
did I know that I was experiencing the very essence of being
Druze: living in secret, stripped of symbols and rituals of
religious nature, and given instead the sole task of accepting
and guarding an ancient, underground belief. Despite having
abandoned that belief a good while ago, I still believe that the
Druze faith and way of life, owing to their peculiar nature,
deserve to be written about. A Kuwaiti friend of mine who
I once trusted with my true religious identity and who had
enough curiosity to go off and do a little research concluded Bater, a typical Druze village in the Chouf Mountains in Lebanon.
Photo by Nour Aoude ’10.
HISTORY Princeton University - Fall 2008
 18
that the Druze were a bizarre species of mountain elf. He was
more or less right.
Our tour of this mountain kingdom begins at the Damour
crossing on the Chouf coast in Lebanon, a few kilometers
south of the volatile melting pot of religions that is Beirut.
At Damour, one has the option to leave behind the noise
and grime of the coast and begin a sharp climb into the rural
heartland of the Druze community, whose geographic loca-
tion within the folds and valleys of the Chouf Mountains
of the Lebanon has enabled them to safeguard their beliefs
and traditions for nearly ten centuries. Shielded on all sides
by peaks reaching two thousand meters in height, the Druze
have often been able to keep their very existence a secret from
the outside world. This isolation has produced one of the
most conservative and traditional societies in the Middle East,
although this is not easily observable at first glance.
Unlike in all other regions of Lebanon, Druze villages are
characterized by a complete lack of religious architecture and
symbolism. Even in Bater, the village my father comes from
and where my grandfather, along with a perplexing web of
loosely defined relatives still live today, the only easily observ-
able religious building is the striking white church rising from
amongst the boxes of little Druze houses plastered against the
side of the hill. A little white church to serve a grand total
of one Christian family in a village of two thousand Druze
inhabitants! You could walk into the courtyard of the Druze
majlis (literally ‘sitting place’), the key to which is entrusted
to my grandfather, a well respected religious man, and cross
the far end without having noticed anything but three pine
trees and an old, seemingly deserted stone building with a few
arches. Only on a Thursday night, when the religious uqqal
(wise people) of the village gather to chant verses from the
Druze Kitab al-Hikmah (Book of Wisdom) is it possible to
suspect any activity of a religious nature within the confines
of the modest, truly unspectacular gathering hall.
Perhaps the most peculiar thing about a Druze village is
the sight of those uqqal, who are more commonly known as
mashayekh or ajaweed. Having grown up around my paternal
grandparents, who were themselves ajaweed and who attended
Thursday night readings at the majlis, it did not strike me as
strange that anyone should wear black their entire lives. A
long, black dress was the dress code for women, with a large
white headscarf known as a mandeel wrapped around the
head, covering everything but the eyes and falling down to
the knees at the back. For men, the dress was replaced with a
black, button-down shirt and a pair of loose pants, known as
a sharwal, with a white, cylindrical turban covering the head.
The black, I was told, was worn today in mourning of the
disappearance of the Druze lords and prophets, whose last ap-
pearance was 11th century Egypt – the time and place where
Druze history begins.
Descended from the Arab tribes of Wadi al-Taym in Leba-
non, the Druze today are the last remaining group that holds
by the teachings of the 11th century Egyptian Caliph
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
al-Hakim. Al-Hakim’s
message was propagated
within the Fatimid Caliph-
ate in Egypt by one of his
first followers, Hamza bin
Ali, who preached the divin-
ity of al-Hakim. All those
who accepted that al-Hakim
was indeed an incarnation
of God became known as
Druze, a word derived from
the name of Nashtakin
al-Darazi, an earlier fol-
lower of al Hakim. Follow-
ing al-Hakim’s mysterious
disappearance in 1021AD Member of Druze uqqal in typical
the Druze were labeled religious constume. Photo by Mar-
heretics and persecuted. garet Clark Keatinge.
All the communities across
the Middle East and North Africa which in a short time had
embraced Hamza’s message and become Druze were eventu-
ally converted out of the religion by persecution, except for
the tribes of Wadi
al-Taym.
In his book The origins of the Druze people and religion,
Lebanese historian Phillip K. Hitti (who taught at Princeton
between 1926 and 1954 and founded the academic field of
Arab Studies in the United States) traces every Druze alive
today back to those of Wadi al-Taym, who then migrated out
of the valley to create their most prominent communities in
the Chouf region of Lebanon, the Hawran region of Syria
– including the Golan Heights – , and the Galilee region
in Northern Israel. He believes that the Arab tribes of Wadi
al-Taym were influenced culturally and religiously by Persians
in Mesopotamia as they migrated out of the Arabian Penin-
sula into the Levant. It is this influence, he continues, which
rendered them more susceptible than any neighboring people
to the message brought by Hamza, who was himself Persian.
Indeed, many Druze families today, and especially prominent
ones such as Jumblatt and Arslan, still carry Persian and Kurd-
ish last names.
As is the case in my own community in the Chouf, there
exists in all Druze communities a strong divide between the
uqqal and the remaining population, the juhhal (ignorant
ones), to whom I can be said to belong. Unlike a Muslim
mosque or Christian church, the Druze majlis is not convert-
ed into a public site of worship when not occupied by wor-
shipping ajaweed. Seeing as there is no habitual Druze prayer,
that would indeed be pointless. Moreover, the single religious
ritual which the majlis does host, the reading of Kitab al-
Hikmah, is strictly limited to the ajaweed. As someone who
has not renounced the so called ‘material world’ for a modest,
pious life in conventional black and white garb, I am not al-
lowed access to the Kitab al-Hikmah. In this way, by limiting
HISTORY

access to the religious scripture to a particular stratum even
of the Druze population itself, the Druze have ensured that
the most important details of the texts have remained secret
even up until today. The other tradition which has protected
the community for centuries against foreign influences has
been the strict prohibition on intermarriage. All Druze, uqqal
and juhhal alike, are prohibited from marrying anyone who
is not Druze by birth, i.e. born to a Druze mother. In an
event where such a marriage occurs, the tragic result for the
transgressor is often being excommunicated and losing touch
with parents and all family members forever. In this way, even
Druze juhhal who are exempted from prohibitions placed on
the lifestyle of the uqqal (such as that on alcohol) and who
apparently lead secular lives are strongly bound to the cus-
toms and expectations of the community.
Away from the mysterious world of the uqqal, the single
Druze belief whose profound implications shape the daily life
of every Druze person and which distinguishes the religion
from all others in the Middle East, drawing instead from
Asian traditions, is the firm belief in human-only reincarna-
tion. Children as young as seven or eight, I learned upon
observing a rather precocious cousin of mine, may talk about
what they want to be in their next life. Neither is it uncom-
mon for people who remember their previous families to
visit them, resulting in comical (or emotional, or ridiculous,
depending on your level of faith) situations where people visit
children of theirs from previous lives who are now older than
they are. It is this belief in reincarnation which has enabled
the Druze to write their own history of the world in the
twenty two volume collection of 11th century letters known
as Kitab al-Hikmah. Beginning with Adam and passing
through names as unlikely as Akhenaten the Egyptian pha-
raoh and Pythagoras the Greek mathematician-philosopher,
the Druze story journeys between the Middle East, India
and China, and ends in 11th century Egypt having bestowed
upon a set of the most unexpected historical figures the grand
title of prophet. The belief holds that all these individuals are
not unique, but are reincarnations of older prophets.
This story, which at first sight appears random and slightly
over-imaginative, begins to make sense when viewed in the
light of a search for divine justice. By twisting the timeline
of human history into several cycles of divine revelation, the
Druze principle of reincarnation grants all people in all places
plenty of opportunities to embrace God’s way. Similarly,
God’s judgment is only seen to be fair if one is given oppor-
tunity to live many times, each as a different person under
different conditions. Reincarnation is even able to justify why
the Druze faith no longer accepts converts: The religion to
which one is born is not random, but is the one chosen by the
HISTORY
19
same person in a previous life. Only those who accepted the
Druze faith during the time of al-Hakim will continue being
reborn as Druze. The same applies to everyone else, replac-
ing the apparent arbitrariness of one’s religion at birth with
some degree of significance. In an area where the Abrahamic
religions have prevailed for centuries, it is the belief in reincar-
nation as well as in a different set of prophets, coupled with
Hindu and Buddhist inspired beliefs such as karma, moksha
and nirvana, that have historically earned the Druze the label
of heretics.
Today, through an active role in the politics of the region,
the Druze have earned the respect of Muslims and Christians
alike in Lebanon and Syria, as well as the Jewish population
in Israel. Although Druze unity and solidarity are ultimately
valued above political borders, the Druze have been unique
in their ability to integrate and coexist with the peoples of
their respective nations, which have often been at war with
one another. To ensure their survival and protect their beliefs,
the Druze have historically allied themselves with the ruling
majority. In the same way the Syrian revolt against the French
mandate in 1925 was lead by the Druze leader Sultan Pasha
al-Atrash, for example, so was the Cedar Revolution against
the Syrian military presence in Lebanon led by Druze leader
Walid Jumblatt in 2005. And unlike other Arab Israelis,
the Druze are allowed to serve in the Israeli Defense Forces,
which has constantly been involved in wars against other
Arabs and even other Druze.
To gain a better understanding of this conflicted lifestyle
without having to venture further than the Princeton Public
Library, I would recommend the Israeli film The Syrian Bride.
Set in the Israeli occupied Golan Heights, the movie follows
the story of an Israeli Druze girl as she makes her first and
final trip across the border to marry a Syrian Druze man, a
decision which means that she will never see her family again.
Set against the wedding preparations are a protest against
Israeli occupation and the return of the bride’s brother with
his Russian wife and son after years of no communication
with his family. With the lure of a liberal, modern Israeli life
on one side and the struggling shadows of Arab nationalism
and Druze traditions on the other, the movie explores the
theme of changing values in a community that has resisted
this change for centuries, in the belief that it is guarding
something more sacred and valuable than anything that can
come its way today.
Nour Aoude is a junior from Lebanon majoring in Architecture. He can
be reached at naoude@gmail.com.`
Princeton University - Fall 2008
 20
Journey Through Kosovo
by Shagufta Ahmed
I first arrived in Kosovo during the summer of 2006 to
do an internship as a part of my Woodrow Wilson School
graduate coursework. I was drawn to Kosovo for two main
reasons. Academically, Kosovo was an interesting case study
regarding post-conflict economic and political development.
On a personal level, I was attracted to Kosovo because over
ninety percent of its population is Muslim. However, almost
immediately, I found my expectations regarding Islam in Ko-
sovo did not meet the reality I found on the ground. In part
because of this, I was instantly intrigued by Kosovo and found
myself returning to the region often. Never having celebrated
Ramadan in a Muslim country, I returned to Kosovo in Oc-
tober 2007 to celebrate the end of Ramadan with what had
become my Kosovar extended family.
In the early morning of Bajram, or Eid al-Fitr as it is more
commonly known across the Muslim world, my Kosovar
friend picked me up from my hotel so that I could partake in
her family’s Bajram festivities. I noticed the particularly barren
streets while we made our way to the family’s apartment in
Dardania. While a few older men prayed in the ancient Sultan
Fatih Mehemit mosque that delineated the old downtown
of Prishtina, most cars, full of male members of each house-
hold, were headed to the city cemetery. According to Kosovo’s
Bajram tradition, men of the family visited grave sites of
deceased family members to offer silent prayers.
I watched as the men subsequently went off to do the “Ba-
jram circuit” – where young boys accompanied their fathers
to visit relatives and close friends and paid their holiday
respects. Upon their visit, they found every female head of
the household offering her own rendition of baklava. Polite-
ness often compelled the visitors to consume each dessert,
even though a large afternoon meal awaited them upon their
return home.
When I arrived at my friend’s home, I was served her
mother’s Bajram dessert specialty called nazlee fatima – which
in Albanian means “spoiled Fatima”. Although the source of
the name was long forgotten, as have most Muslim traditions,
my friend’s parents suggested that perhaps this was in some
way a loving reference to the Prophet Muhammad’s (pbuh)
daughter. It seemed some remnants of religious influence were
still apparent, although the younger generations of Kosovars
were largely unaware of them.
Elaborate preparations were made for the afternoon meal
that marked the end of the month of fasting. This was in stark
contrast to the fact that aside from one or two days, most Ko-
sovars did not fast during the month of Ramadan. For many
Kosovars religious traditions are not viewed as a part of their
Islamic identity but rather as a part of their ethnic Albanian
culture.
In the absence of a congregational Eid prayer that I was
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
accustomed to, I prayed the Dhuhr, or mid-day, prayer in
my friend’s home before joining the family meal. Forgetting
that this was not a common practice for most Kosovars, I was
surprised to find an audience at the end of my prayer. My
Kosovar friend and her family had quietly gathered to watch
my prayer. They marveled at my ability to pray, as they were
largely unfamiliar with the motions, the words and the mean-
ing of the prayer. Watching me pray reminded them of their
grandmother. She was the religious one of the family who
read the Quran and sometimes prayed.
They rushed to a high shelf in the hall closet and grabbed
a book that was carefully enclosed in a Ziploc bag. It was a
book whose reverence they knew, but a book they did not
know how to read. I opened the familiar book. It was their
grandmother’s Quran written in classical Arabic, similar to
my own copy back in the United States. Gathering around
me once again, they asked me to read it aloud.
In the evening, Bajram celebrations continued as the young-
er generation of Kosovars met in café bars to celebrate the end
of Ramadan. I accompanied my friends along the down-
town Prishtina social scene and found café bars full of young
Kosovar men and women, laughing, talking and dancing.
Although they were marking the end of the religious month
of Ramadan, the young Kosovars periodically toasted one
another with alcohol, wishing one another Me Fat Bajrami, or
happy Bajram.
In my early days in Kosovo, I had found that Kosovars were
in large part indistinguishable from their European counter-
parts. Most pride themselves in this aspect. Visually, save for
a few minarets in the skyline, there is hardly any trace of their
Islamic heritage even after centuries of Ottoman rule. Kosovar
Albanian women dress in the latest European fashions wheth-
er that calls for short skirts, tube tops or tight-fitting clothing.
Women wearing hijabs are rare, and for some Kosovars, an
uncomfortable sight as they are viewed as backwards, counter
to development, and ultimately, an obstacle to integration
within the larger Western European community and culture.
The active social scene, dominated by the substantial youth
population, occurs largely in the numerous café bars in cit-
ies throughout Kosovo, where it is evident that dating and
drinking practices are far more liberal than in other Muslim
countries. Although alcohol consumption is relatively less
than in other European countries, the consumption of alcohol
is permitted and widely accepted. Billboards in downtown
Prishtina advertise domestically produced beer. Thus, to the
naked eye, Kosovo is hardly recognizable as a Muslim-major-
ity state.
My initial evaluation, however, of Islam in Kosovo failed to
take into account some key issues. This became apparent to
me as I recalled my visit to Istanbul only a few days prior to
my Bajram trip to Kosovo. My non-religious Turkish friends,
ISLAM IN THE WORLD

The Blue Mosque is a recent construction in a country rediscovering
religion. Photo by Litscher used under the Creative Commons License.
who I visited during Ramadan, accompanied me for the
suhoor, or the pre-fast morning meal, out of a sense of respect
for their fasting guest. While they did not fast themselves,
they were familiar with the tradition of fasting and were
knowledgeable of the main tenets of Islam, and could pray the
Islamic prayer if they so desired. While there were those Turk-
ish Muslims who heard the adhan, the call to prayer, and were
compelled to pray, others ignored the call to prayer altogether.
But both unobservant and observant groups had a general
awareness of Islamic traditions and beliefs.
The lack of religious observance by Turks and Kosovars is
distinguished by a key factor – a lack of general awareness in
Kosovo about Islamic traditions and beliefs. While a Turkish
Muslim’s decision not to practice Islam is more deliberate and
conscience, it appears a Kosovar’s lack of religiosity is in part
due to his general lack of Islamic knowledge. This can largely
be explained by Kosovo’s political history.
I found that I was not the only one with a superficial under-
standing of Kosovo’s relationship with Islam. Media reports
in the immediate days after independence painted Kosovo as
a region that touts its practice of “Islam-Lite”, a more diluted,
more laid back, and perhaps a less threatening version of
Islam. However, such a representation of Islam failed to take
into account the relationship (or lack of relationship) Kosovar
Albanians have had with Islam as a result of their political his-
tory. Religion in Kosovo has in large part been dictated, and
in ways been adaptive, to political circumstances.
After centuries of Turkish rule and their eventual depar-
ISLAM IN THE WORLD
21
ture in 1913, Serbs regained control of the region. As a part
of former Yugoslavia and subject to the communist rule of
Josip Tito, both the practice of Christianity and Islam were
relegated to the private sphere. Islam and religiosity were not
only painted as counter to modernization, but those who
were religious had to pay a price for their religious devotion.
Some personal accounts point to religious individuals who,
regardless of their qualifications, were prevented from advanc-
ing in their professional careers. Turks and their religion of
Islam were conveyed as counter to modernization. As a result,
religious devotion was discouraged.
In the many years of Milosevic’s rule over Kosovo, any
public expression of Albanian nationalism, which included at
times the practice of the Muslim faith (though not targeted as
such), were stifled and restrained. Therefore, in part, a taper-
ing off of religious expression was a product of the political
situation of the times. As a result, the practice of Islam by
Kosovars may have become increasingly diluted from one
generation to the next.
With independence, Kosovars now have more freedom
in terms of their religious expression. Just as the economic
marketplace has opened up, so too inevitably will the religious
marketplace. With such an opportunity available to them,
it may be possible that in a few generations the practice of
“Islam-Lite” will be replaced by a stronger practice of the
faith.
This became increasingly evident during my return to newly
independent Kosovo in July 2008. Although the general
population is still largely unobservant, I found that Kosovars
are slowly beginning to explore their Islamic identity.
I attended the Jumu’ah, or Friday prayer, at the newly
constructed Catalulla mosque in downtown Prishtina. While
the number of mosques are few (under 30 in Prishtina), the
mosque I attended was near full capacity. While one would
expect the largest population of worshippers to be older than
sixty years of age, there was an even larger population of
worshippers under the age of 25. I was surprised to see both
young men and women rushing to the mosque to make the
afternoon prayer and to see young boys standing beside their
fathers in the prayer line.
In a way this signals that Kosovo is at critical point in its
religious development. As a newly liberalized democracy, not
only is Kosovo taking conscience steps to define its economic
and political identity, but it is also inadvertently defining a
new religious identity. Both politically and socially, this is
bound to be a period of discovery and challenge, owing in
large part to Kosovo’s communist past. How will a society that
has for generations suppressed its religious traditions and faith
now come to terms with its organic re-emergence? Perhaps I
will have the opportunity to uncover the answer in my future
travels to the region.
Shagufta Ahmed received her master’s degree in public affairs from the
Woodrow Wilson School at Princeton in 2007. She can be reached at
shaguftaiahmed@gmail.com.
Princeton University - Fall 2008
 22
A Translation of Ibrahim Aslan
by Barbara Romaine
Much of the information that reaches the West about the
Arab-Muslim world is sensational, focusing on divisions,
conflicts, flashpoints—in other words, a great deal that
reinforces, and little that opposes, our notion of that world
as a volatile place of intolerance and incessant conflagration.
Among many such stories that have found a place from time
to time in Western news reports are those of friction between
Muslims and Coptic Christians in Egypt. An inquiry into the
writings of some contemporary Egyptian writers, however, re-
veals a picture very different from the one we in the West have
received and, to an unfortunate extent, come to take largely
for granted. In contrast to our perception of an intractable
hatred between Muslims and Copts, these writers present
to us a tradition of easy symbiosis, mutual respect, and even
neighborly love between the two groups in communities from
Cairo to Upper Egypt. The author Bahaa’ Taher, in his novel
Aunt Safiyya and the Monastery, provides a rich portrait of a
Muslim village situated adjacent to a Coptic monastery in the
vicinity of Luxor, where the sense of fraternity and co-opera-
tion between the two communities extends to the monastery’s
offering sanctuary to a young Muslim villager whose life is
threatened because of a blood-feud, which both the elders
of the village and the monks at the monastery wish to see
aborted, rather than carried to its conclusion.
Ibrahim Aslan, countryman and literary contemporary of
Bahaa’ Taher, is perhaps best known for his evocative writings
about his beloved city of Cairo, and in particular the densely
populated neighborhood of Imbaba, where he grew up. In
the following piece, from the recently published collection of
essays entitled, Something Like This (Dar al-Shorouk, 2007),
he reminisces about Ramadan in the Imbaba of his childhood,
where Christian neighbors habitually joined in the festivities
of the season, and where the end of the fast day was signaled
first, not by the cannon, which would sound a moment later,
but by the illumination of the church that could be seen
across the Nile from the point at which Imbaba’s children
stationed themselves to keep watch and announce the appear-
ance of the lights across the river.
The Church is Lit!
Once upon a time . . .
There was a clear view across the river . . .
And once upon a time . . .
The residents of Imbaba would spend their wakeful nights
during the month of Ramadan all along its far-reaching
banks.
They would set out from their neighborhoods carrying straw
mats and thermoses. The children would play as everyone
kept vigil, drinking tea all night long until the hour of suhur,
when they would gather their belongings and go back home.
The family of Uncle Mansour, the Christian, were our
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
Exterior shot of Coptic Museum in Cairo. Photo by Carron White ’08.
neighbors both at home and at our customary place on the
riverbank. They used to contribute their own share to the
modest collection taken up by the children for the sake of
decorating the quarter, and they would not break fast un-
til the call to prayer. We would exchange baking sheets on
which were dense arrangements of holiday treats, sweet bis-
cuits, and ghurayyiba cookies. We would take turns carrying
them to the communal oven located nearby, where we would
stay until morning when all of us would return carrying our
baking sheets, and pay visits to one another on Eid, the feast-
day.
Among the images most fixed in my mind from those days
is the cannon on the riverbank that would signal the breaking
of the fast.
We would gather, dozens of us children, at the water’s edge.
The expanse of shoreline ended with a bend in the river at
the great Imbaba Bridge. Within the river-bend the Ramadan
cannon lay concealed, no part of it visible to the eye. For this
reason we didn’t look in that direction. Instead our eyes were
directed in anticipation across the river, at a building half-
hidden behind the trees, over in the district of Zamalek.
And the river would be replete, the water heavy with bub-
bling silt.
And the world would have turned to summer, the red dates
ripening.
And our eyes would stay fixed upon that half-hidden build-
ing.
All at once the church’s windows, narrow and widely spaced,
would light up through the branches of the trees.
At that moment we would exult, “The church is lit, the
church is lit!”
And, together with that reddish light in the windows and
our chanting, the cannon would sound a powerful, reverberat-
ing clap from its place of concealment in the bend of the river.
ARTS

Then we would lean out, craning our necks in that direction,
and see the thick white smoke issuing from its hiding-place.
It spread itself densely across the surface of the water.
Every year without fail we kept our appointment--and every
year without fail the lighting of the church kept its appoint-
ment.
But the river receded, held prisoner behind walls and more
walls.
The communion between one shore and the other was oc-
cluded.
My friend Edwar al-Kharrat called to say, “Best wishes for
23
the Feast!” I asked him the name of the church that could be
seen from Imbaba, once upon a time. He replied that Zama-
lek, where he lives, had only one church, the Church of the
Holy Virgin, in Muhammad al-Murashli Street.
“I can’t see it anymore,” I told him. “Perhaps other build-
ings have obscured it,” he said.
Barbara Romaine is a translator and instructor of Arabic, who was a
lecturer in the Near Eastern Studies Department at Princeton for two
years (2006-08), and is currently teaching at Villanova University.

Foreskin and All

by Aman Kumar lim, no point denying it.
‘We have a male secondary here!’ he said, smiling stiffly at I am, however, equally Hindu and agnostic. Muslim friends
me. He was looking with some alarm at the four large red S’s tend to remember this. ‘You’re not Muslim!’ they laugh, all
scrawled across my boarding pass. I was at Newark airport. of them admittedly more Islamic than I. Shrugging aside the
‘I’ll get the gloves!’ his colleague responded. absurdity of Muslims laughing in post-9/11 America—we are
It was my turn to look alarmed. But I’m not Muslim! I only allowed to do so, I am reliably told, if simultaneously
wanted to cry out. waving the stars and stripes—I coldly beg to differ. Invari-
Which, I later consoled myself, wasn’t really a hypocritical ably, then, they bring up my mongrel stock and blasphemous
thought. (The gloves, it transpired, were only needed to swab
my laptop for traces of explosives.) By most measures, I’m no
more Muslim than John McCain. I’m a grudging agnostic,
with a Hindu father and a Muslim mother, neither of whom
has willingly entered a house of worship once in the nineteen
years I’ve had my eye on them. My mother traces her ances-
try back to some chap who often hung around the Prophet
Mohammad, but the line of descent is muddied by a proud
tradition of godless Communists far closer to her end. My
father, as I mentioned, is a heretic.
Despite all this, I do feel Muslim occasionally. At home in
India, it’s mostly the defensive twinge I get while reading the
papers: another communal riot, another ‘Islamic terrorist’,
one more bearded man hauled up by the police, electrocuted,
and made to confess to nothing and everything. A friend
at Princeton—himself a Muslim and an inebriate—assured
me I felt sympathy for these poor souls not because they’re
Muslims, but because they’re victims. And everyone knows
leftists sympathise with the underdog, he confidently added.
(It seems he had me down as a leftist the day we met. He still
doesn’t know about my mother’s father, a card-carrying Marx-
ist.)
Now, this friend of mine doesn’t often get things right, but
his thesis made me happy. Far better to empathise with the
wounded in general, I thought, than throw in my lot with
Muslims in particular, even—shudder—identify as one of
them.
The Jama Masjid, a historic mosque in Delhi, India.
But it turns out that I do identify with them. I am a Mus- Photo by Waqas Jawaid ’10.

REFLECTION Princeton University - Fall 2008

 24
beliefs. I am silenced.
I was a bit harsh on the United States in that last parenthe-
sis. Freshman fall, I arrived at Newark on high alert, expecting
a cavity search at best and extraordinary rendition at worst.
I was let through immigration with barely a second glance.
Even the time I forgot my I-20 at home, I was not water-
boarded. Cynics would tell you this was because (a) I’m not
from a ‘Muslim’ country, (b) I don’t have a ‘Muslim’ name,
and (c) I’m clean-shaven. Perhaps. But all in all, most of my
fears about post-9/11 America have come to naught, with
little or no bigotry on display. Of course, I am an Indian liv-
ing in New Jersey, so this is perhaps not all that surprising.
In Egypt, too, where I spent spring semester last year, the
Muslims who surrounded me didn’t quite consider me one of
them, at least on the religious front. Sitting in a cab once with
a Palestinian friend, I was subjected to cheerful interrogation
by the driver:
‘Welcome in Egypt. Where you from?’
‘India.’
‘India! Amitabh Bachchan! Are you Muslim?’
I was about to say yes, but my friend cheerily interceded, ex-
plaining my precarious situation. His mother is, but his father
isn’t, she said. This, it was deemed, made me an infidel.
‘It does not matter. God is merciful,’ the cab driver consoled
me. I replied that I hoped so.
‘God is one,’ he added with some gravitas, perhaps trying
to inspire me to convert to the faith. Once again, I said that I
hoped this was true.
Misbah - Exploring Islam and the Muslim World
Another evening, trying desperately to build some Moham-
medan cred, I revealed to a few friends that my mother’s
family claimed descent from the Prophet’s main man. They
smiled and nodded. I thought they looked impressed. After a
polite silence, one of them said: ‘My family is descended from
the Prophet’s.’ ‘Mine too,’ said another. ‘So is mine,’ another
chimed in. I was punching above my weight. My mother’s
family was Blessed, my roommate told me, but not quite
Blessed enough. Mohammed from down the hall disagreed.
His understanding was that I wasn’t Blessed at all. In fact,
what with my Hindu father and agnostic beliefs, I was not
even Muslim. I smiled and told them it didn’t really matter,
but afterwards I spat in Mohammed’s drink.
Later in the evening, as I watched Mohammed gulp down
his Coke, I realised my Muslimness, however ersatz, is occa-
sionally important to me. It surfaces when I hear about other
Muslims being targeted. I assert it when it’s questioned by
someone else.
This, it seemed to me, was a wonderfully mundane and
self-pitying conclusion, and I thought I really must write an
article to lead to it some day.
Aman Kumar is a junior and a comparative literature major from
Delhi, India. He can be reached at amank@princeton.edu.
REFLECTION
 25

Mahmoud Darwish
by Nancy Coffin

Photo by POOL/AFP

I Belong There
by Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Carolyn Forché and Munir Akash

I belong there. I have many memories. I was born as everyone is born.

I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell
with a chilly window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own.
I have a saturated meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,
a bird’s sustenance, and an immortal olive tree.
I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey.
I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to
her mother.
And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.
To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood.
I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a
single word: Home.

With great sorrow, the Arab world – and, indeed, lovers of poetry from all over the globe – mourned the passing of the pre-
eminent Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish on August 9 this past summer. Darwish died, at the age of 67, in a hospital in
Texas, from complications of open-heart surgery.
Born in 1941 in the Galilee in what was then British-Mandate Palestine, Darwish’s family sought refuge in Lebanon from
the Arab-Israeli war of 1948. When they managed to return, a year later, to the Galilee, the family found that their village had
been destroyed and replaced by two new settlements; thereafter, they lived in semi-clandestine fashion as “present absentees”,
an odd-sounding term used to designate Palestinian refugees within the newly-formed state of Israel. It was clear to Darwish as
he grew up that he was a second-class citizen, and his outspoken poetry became part of the Palestinian literature of resistance,
for which he was jailed and placed under house arrest while still in Israel.
After leaving Israel in 1971, Darwish began an itinerant existence, moving from Moscow to Cairo, Beirut, Tunis and Paris.
Over the years, he worked for the Palestine Research Center, served as editor-in-chief of the literary review al-Karmel, and
joined the Executive Committee of the PLO: it was he who wrote the Palestinian Declaration of Independence in 1988. But
always it was poetry that was his first love, and it was for his poetry that he was known and loved throughout the Arab world.
His poetry readings in the Arab world would attract thousands of listeners, from all walks of life.
He has published some twenty volumes of poetry, beginning in 1960 and his works have been translated into more than 22
languages. His words have given shape and meaning to the Palestinian experience, and he lives on, wherever his works are sung
or recited, or engraved in the hearts of his admirers.

Nancy Coffin is a lecturer of Arabic in the Near Eastern Studies Department at Princeton. The poem is taken from “Unfortunately, It Was Paradise”
by Mahmoud Darwish, translated and Edited by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché with Sinan Antoon and Amira El-Zein. Copyright © 2003 by
the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted by permission of the University of California Press. All rights reserved.

OBITUARY Princeton University - Fall 2008