A recent headline read: Israeli forces shooting Palestinians in Gaza waiting for aid.
We are living through the dying days of Western liberalism, the world’s oldest – and most pervasive – ideology. Would anyone now doubt that? What we’ve seen in Gaza since October – and the subsequent Western denial/ justification/ silence/ apathy/ feigned ignorance/ even support of blatant, unequivocal and live-streamed injustice, massacre and genocide – feels as though it has accelerated that process. There is disillusionment in the air – the veils of Western justice and ideals are falling down around us.
The West has not forgone liberal ideals, as some commentators like to suggest; what we are seeing is a realisation of liberalism – its inevitable endgame. The Western liberal order will do whatever it needs to do to maintain its power structures – not even its own ‘ideals’ will stand in the way of that. It is not only its leadership that has failed Palestine, but the ‘elites’ of its society have too. It’s no accident that prominent feminists and celebrities are silent; it’s not by mistake that influential think-tanks and organisations are suddenly apolitical. When the liberal order – that grants power and influence to some over others – is at stake, everything must be done to protect the status quo. The ends justify the means, even if those means are genocide.
When liberalism meets its inevitable end, the question is, what will replace it? In a European context, I’m not hopeful it will be anything better; people far cleverer than me have suggested that despotism or authoritarianism are real possibilities – but in any case, it is unlikely that whatever will come next will be good for Europe’s Muslims. This is, after all, a continent that defined its identity not by what it is, but by what it is not: Islamic.
Europe has a long history of scapegoating and ‘purging’ its chosen minorities – and if the last 20 years indicate anything, it’s that Muslims in Europe have been primed to fulfil a very specific role.
Spiritual Practice
I hope I’m wrong about Europe, and I’m not saying we will be forced to endure what the Palestinians have, but if there are difficult days ahead, there is a part of me that feels ashamed to ask God for His Help knowing what the men, women and children of Gaza are facing right now. Who are we to be saved? What makes us more worthy than them?
But I know too, that ultimately Allah is the One in control, He is All-Knowing, All-Aware, and despair is not the Prophetic Way.
The Qur’an is replete with examples of the prophets asking for God’s help during difficulties, and our tradition has numerous ‘Litanies of Victory’ and ‘Prayers of the Oppressed’ recited in times of great hardship and tribulation. They all have one thing in common: they acknowledge the reciter’s own powerlessness and His Power as the Source of true Power, their inability and His Ability, their dependence upon Him, and His Absolute Independence.
Despair is one extreme of the human experience, and apathy – indifference to human suffering – is the other; neither reflects the way of the prophets nor our predecessors.
Unlike the people of the past, we live in a time when news of events spreads around the globe in seconds. Horrible injustices have always happened, people have always been tested, but we witness them now in ways that were not possible in the past. Becoming desensitised to suffering, particularly through horrific images and videos, is a real danger.
Both despair and apathy, whether by witnessing the tribulations of others or experiencing our own, must be avoided, and having a daily spiritual practice or wird, is essential in this regard. These litanies, compiled by various teachers throughout the centuries, generally consist of specific verses from the Quran, and supplications made by the Prophet ﷺ, alongside other supplications seeking Allah’s protection and His forgiveness, among many other things. Daily spiritual practice can also consist of the recitation of specific Names of Allah and sending salawat upon the Messenger of God ﷺ.
While liberalism cuts itself off from the past, creating a sense of rootlessness and perpetual ‘presentism’, our spiritual practices ensure a connection to our tradition and to the Prophet himself ﷺ. They can enable our hearts to be fortified, prepared to deal with the trials and tribulations of the world, without falling into despair or apathy. This is something I have (at least partially) experienced.
Salawat
Not long after my second daughter was born, I read news reports about the bombing of a maternity hospital near Aleppo by Assad’s regime, one horrific incident among many at that time. Babies were injured by shrapnel and a pregnant woman was left needing her leg amputated. I was in the comfort of my own home, thousands of miles away, and perfectly safe, but instead of gratitude for my good fortune, I felt immense guilt and sorrow. Any woman that has given birth will understand the intense need to protect your baby, the intense need to ensure their safety. I felt embarrassed to pray for myself knowing what was happening in Syria; why did I have safety and they did not?
It took months for the intensity of those feelings (at times bordering on despair) to be slowly replaced with an acceptance and understanding that I was not the one in control, He was. The injustices experienced by those women, and so many others before and since, though never to be rationalised and made acceptable, would ultimately be put right by Him. Their oppressors, who may evade justice in man’s world would not escape God’s Justice. The same is, of course, true for the people of Gaza.
I came to that acceptance through a number of means (alhumdulilah), but there was one particular practice that I feel contributed in a large way to pulling me out of that dark time. A teacher recommended reciting 300 salawat daily (this figure is said to be enough to be counted among those who send salutations on the Prophet ﷺ “abundantly” – and who would be closest to him on the Day of Recompense). A friend (who had also recently had a baby) and I, made the intention to incorporate this practice into our daily routines and keep each other motivated.
Eventually, I found myself moving away from that sense of despair, but I continued the practice daily nonetheless. Seven years went by, and by Allah’s grace, I didn’t miss a single day of reciting. It wasn’t perfect; I fully admit that my concentration was not always great, but still, I always made sure I completed at least 300 salawat.
On that seventh year, on the night of my birthday, I dreamed I was in Madina, outside the mosque of the Prophet. The green dome and masjid were to my left. Amongst the crowd there were two men with their backs to me, standing arm in arm. The man on the right turned his face towards me; it was the teacher who had recommended the salawat. The man on the left, wearing white clothing, did not turn to face me, but I knew who he was, Peace and blessings be upon him. On my shoulder was what I can only describe as a shawl consisting of salawat. I heard them speaking to each other, and I understood, only because the salawat enabled to me to do so.
[I cannot emphasise enough that I’m not someone who has achieved an extensive spiritual practice, I only aspire to do so. If I can do this much, I don’t doubt anyone else who aspires to can also.]
I took the dream as reassurance that I should continue with my daily practice.
Hope in Allah
Just as there is no room for despair and apathy, fatalism is also not an option in our tradition – and having a spiritual practice does not absolve us of the responsibility to act. As we watch Gazans face tribulation after tribulation, like voyeurs from the comfortable safety of our homes, we still need to do everything in our capability to fight / speak up / advocate for ourselves and for others – whether in Palestine, Syria, or Congo; Sudan, Kashmir or Ukraine. Though there is no suggestion that we passively accept our ‘fate’ – all action must be carried out with the knowledge that whatever happens will be by His Will, not ours.
Even if we had no conceivable worldly power to enact change, we should still never accept or dismiss injustice, especially on the ‘behalf’ of others – but this sentiment too, must be underpinned with the certain knowledge that He will ultimately right all wrongs, “On the Day when every soul will come pleading for itself, and every soul will be repaid what it did, and they will not be wronged.”
Part of this, of knowing that Allah is in control, is also knowing with certainty that worldly circumstances can be rendered obsolete if He so Wills.
Pharaoh thought his authority was limitless, that no one could stand in his way, until the time for Allah’s command came. His destruction, in the form of water, was a humiliating end for one who thought he was indestructible.
We have witnessed Palestinians endure unspeakable injustices over the past few months (decades, in fact), and yet we have also seen their unshakeable faith in God. They have not lost hope in Him, and nor should we. Hope in Allah is part of faith, it is a counter to despair, apathy and fatalism.
The Prophet Moses (peace be upon him) and the Children of Israel had their victory, and so too will the people of Gaza. Like Pharaoh, their oppressors (and all those who have enabled them), will have their humiliation too, when the time for Allah’s command comes.
In the West, our collective trials pale in comparison with the Palestinians. But if liberalism is dying, now more than ever, we need to ensure we are rooted in his ﷺ tradition. Whatever will come, will come – this was never meant to be heaven on earth – and the Ummah of the Messenger of God, fortified with His Remembrance and love of His beloved ﷺ could never fall into despair or apathy. We need the unshakeable faith of the Palestinians.
RESOURCES RELATED TO DAILY LITANIES AND SALAWAT
