Faith and Politics in the West: When Absence is the Right Move

Tom Facchine

Sharif Hussein and the British betrayal

When Sharif Hussein of Mecca joined forces with the British during the First World War, he imagined he was securing a noble future for the Arabs. The British promised him independence if he would revolt against the Ottomans, and Hussein obliged, launching the Arab Revolt with great fanfare. But while he was raising the banner of Arab freedom, the British were secretly dividing the region with the French through the Sykes–Picot Agreement and issuing the Balfour Declaration that would pave the way for dispossession in Palestine. In the end, Hussein’s rebellion unwittingly assisted in delivering Arab lands into colonialist hands. His story is not simply one of being betrayed by a sly enemy, it is also a story of how ostensibly sincere but ultimately naïve—even delusional—action can lead to disastrous consequences.

Are all tables worth sitting at?

In our American Muslim discourse, “civic engagement” has acquired a halo. It is presented as an inherent good, as if the way to end the genocide abroad and protect the Muslim community domestically is simply a function of attending interfaith luncheons and political roundtables. The phrase “having a seat at the table” is repeated so often that it has become a kind of mantra.

But are all tables worth sitting at?

Depending on which table we are sitting at, our presence could actually hinder influence rather than achieve it. When we show up in spaces not because our voice is valued, but because our image is desired—complete with kufi or hijab—our presence is at best banal tokenization, at worst a prop to launder reputations and whitewash crimes. Faith gatherings in particular are not just sites of dialogue, mutual understanding, and bridge-building. Too often, they are PR stunts hatched by oppressive regimes, simultaneously rituals and exercises of soft power. Our attendance becomes the photo-op they need, an avenue of plausible deniability, while their inhuman and evil policies remain unchanged. Our presence in such instances is not speaking truth to power; rather, it inoculates evil forces from the critique that they have malicious intent. “How could we?” their rehearsed retort goes, “when we have great partnerships with Muslim leaders.”

What, after all, do imams and Muslim leaders really have to offer at such gatherings? We don’t have money to give. We don’t represent powerful lobbies. We don’t command armies or monopolize the media. What we do have is moral authority and the credibility that comes with it. Imams and Muslim religious leaders in general must understand that whenever we receive an invitation, it is our moral authority and credibility that our hosts are after. Furthermore, we should be savvy enough to suspect that invitations are very deliberate and calculated; government agencies, political institutions, and interfaith councils choose their mascots, preferring a friendly, unsuspecting face. State agencies can and do co-opt minority communities, a reality that we have to reckon with and take into consideration when sizing up invitations and partnerships.

As religious leaders we do a tremendous disservice to our positions and the trust vested in us when we don’t even properly vet the organizations that are inviting us, the speakers who will appear alongside us, or take a minute to calculate the cost of showing up in certain spaces. I do not exaggerate when I surmise that most religious leaders accept invitations almost entirely based on the availability on their calendars. Simply put, the integrity of our community is damaged when we allow ourselves to be trotted out at such events as symbolic cover.

More Like This

The Politics of Representation: What Mamdani’s Victory Means for Muslims in America and Beyond Gauze, Prayers, and Healing Wounds: Finding Strength from Grief for Gaza

The Black Muslim American Mayor in the Home of the KKK

Slavery and Islam: What is Slavery?

Loyalty, solidarity, and red lines

In the Qur’an, Allah articulates a vision of principled, not naive, engagement. It is true that Allah tells us:

O mankind, We created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another.

(Qur'an 49:13)

Generally, we are expected to engage with and learn from one another. However, this general expectation does not apply to situations where engagement lends legitimacy to or facilitates oppression and injustice. If the Qur’anic injunction to “cooperate in righteousness and piety” is used to justify our civic engagement, we must not forget the rest of the verse:

but do not cooperate in sin and aggression. And fear Allah; indeed, Allah is severe in penalty.

(Qur'an 5:2)

We must refuse “engagement” that in reality constitutes cooperation in sin and aggression. At the very least, this must be the default position unless there is clear, concrete, and compelling rationale otherwise (discussed below).

Surah al-Mumtahina offers concise lessons on the limits of engagement. We are told to take Prophet Ibrahim (as) as our example and are immediately shown the limits of his engagement:

There has already been for you an excellent pattern in Ibrahim and those with him, when they said to their people, “Indeed, we are disassociated from you and from whatever you worship other than Allah. We have denied you, and there has appeared between us and you animosity and hatred forever until you believe in Allah alone” except for the saying of Ibrahim to his father, “I will surely ask forgiveness for you, but I have not [power to do] for you anything against Allah. Our Lord, upon You we have relied, and to You we have returned, and to You is the destination.”

(Qur'an 60:4)

What is truly remarkable about Surah al-Mumtahina is that immediately after demonstrating Ibrahim’s disassociation, Allah tells us that friendship and enmity are temporary, conditional states that may change:

Perhaps Allah will put, between you and those to whom you have been enemies among them, affection. And Allah is competent, and Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.

(Qur'an 60:7)

Placing this verse after the example of Ibrahim seems to imply that making an adversary into a friend is not done through fawning or meekness, but rather by drawing clear boundaries and knowing when to walk away.

Engagement—in order to be ethical, effective, and dignified—must have boundaries. Uncritical engagement lacks dignity and might indicate an underlying inferiority complex or need for validation. Allah blames this attitude in the Qur’an, identifying it as one found in the hypocrites,

Give tidings to the hypocrites that there is for them a painful punishment—those who take disbelievers as allies instead of the believers. Do they seek with them honor [through power]? But indeed, honor belongs to Allah entirely.

(Qur'an 4:138–139)

Coming back to Surah al-Mumtahina, Allah gives us crystal clear boundaries,

Allah only forbids you from those who fight you because of religion and expel you from your homes and aid in your expulsion—[forbids] that you make allies of them. And whoever makes allies of them, then it is those who are the wrongdoers.

(Qur'an 60:9)

The Prophet ﷺ modeled engagement with clear red lines. The Charter of Medina united Muslims, Jews, and other groups under one civic pact—but it had conditions, and when those conditions were violated there were dire consequences. Treaties with the enemy are permissible, no one disputes this; yet the Treaty of Hudaybiyya also had conditions, the violation of which had clear consequences that were swiftly enacted. It would be a useful exercise to ask some of those justifying their own questionable civic and political engagements: when have you actually walked away or refused a meeting, a stage, or a platform? What are your conditions, what are your specific red lines?

If those questions are met with deafening silence—or worse, vague deflection—the community has a right to doubt the efficacy and even the dignity of that leader’s engagement.

This includes pointing to general juristic axioms that are known to all, such as the removal of harm, choosing the lesser of two harms when they conflict, preventing harm taking precedence over bringing benefits, etc. There is little to no disagreement among the jurists about these axioms in theory, but this is not what is being questioned. What is up for scrutiny is the application of these axioms in real-world situations. When certain leaders consistently fail to include relevant factors in their application of these axioms—factors such as government agencies’ stated goal of co-opting minority groups and organizations—the seemingly legitimate but ultimately unethical results cannot be brushed aside as “just ijtihad.” There must be a process of evaluation, and when necessary, contrition and even apologies to the community for well-intended missteps that brought harm to the community.

The abuse of Hudaybiyya

It has become common in American Muslim circles to invoke Hudaybiyya whenever and wherever the quality of our civic engagement is questioned. “See,” we are told, “the Prophet ﷺ himself accepted unfavorable terms for the sake of a greater good.” This is a regrettable abuse of the story of Hudaybiyya and its lessons.

Hudaybiyya was not a lesson in meeting the enemy halfway, nor can it be used to justify engagement no matter what. For one thing, it was a lesson in substance over symbolism. While the terms of the treaty looked lopsided on paper, with the Quraysh refusing even to allow “Muhammad, Messenger of Allah” to be written in the document, in reality the substance of the deal was very favorable for the believers and their interests at the time. Even the seemingly unfair double standard of having to send apostates to Mecca but not allowing converts to leave Mecca for Medina favored the Muslims by ridding them of subversive elements and planting sympathetic elements within Mecca, which they would soon conquer.

Beyond the substance of the treaty, Hudaybiyya would not have been possible if the Muslims had not first created the leverage needed to negotiate from a position of strength. This was done in two ways. First, by daring to make a pilgrimage deep into enemy territory, the Muslims put the Quraysh in an impossible position. Had the Quraysh slaughtered the Muslims—as they surely would have liked to do—it would have jeopardized their political legitimacy, which rested squarely on their facilitation of the pilgrimage. Attacking the Muslims would have been tantamount to politicizing the pilgrimage, something that no Arab tribe would stand for, as they would then have to wonder if their own pilgrimage rites were secure should they happen to run afoul of the Quraysh. At the same time, the Quraysh couldn’t simply let the Muslims perform their pilgrimage in front of the Meccan population, which would have functioned as an incredible advertisement for Islam. It was for this reason that the Quraysh insisted in the Treaty of Hudaybiyya that the Muslims return home and postpone their pilgrimage to the following year to an agreed upon period of three days when the Quraysh would evacuate the city of Mecca.

Besides the daring pilgrimage itself, the Muslims established leverage by having clear, inviolable red lines, demonstrated by a key event in the sirah known as Bayʿat al-Ridwan. Bayʿat al-Ridwan occurred before the Treaty of Hudaybiyya and was prompted by rumors of ʿUthman ibn ʿAffan (ra), their emissary, being murdered by the Quraysh. Despite being dressed in pilgrims’ garb and unequipped for war, the Muslims gathered under a tree to take an oath that if ʿUthman had indeed been murdered, they would fight the Quraysh to the death then and there, prepared or not. Of that oath Allah said,

Certainly was Allah pleased with the believers when they pledged allegiance to you, [O Muhammad], under the tree, and He knew what was in their hearts, so He sent down tranquillity upon them and rewarded them with an imminent conquest.

(Qur'an 48:18)

By drawing clear boundaries, the Muslims demonstrated the immense strength of their faith, to which was added the metaphysical strength of having gained Allah’s approval. It was from this very strength that they were then able to negotiate the Treaty of Hudaybiyya, once it became clear that ʿUthman had not been murdered. Without such strength, compromise is, in fact, capitulation. When some of our leaders today point to Hudaybiyya to justify every type of engagement under the sun, we should point to Bayʿat al-Ridwan. Have you made your Bayʿat al-Ridwan? What are your red lines? Without Bayʿat al-Ridwan, Hudaybiyya would not have been possible. Unfortunately, I fear that if our community were in a situation similar to the one the companions were in before Hudaybiyya but instead our emissary had, in fact, been killed by our enemies, some of our leaders would only call us to more and more “engagement” rather than draw boundaries and take a stand like Bayʿat al-Ridwan. To me, this signals a subtle heresy that has been unwittingly internalized by leaders calling to “engage” no matter what: the internalized belief that Islam itself actually constitutes a security threat, or that extremism is the root problem (to which “moderate” imams are the solution) rather than Western foreign policy. This warrants an entire discussion in a separate article.

Good intentions are not enough

It is important to emphasize that sincerity does not guarantee effective nor strategic engagement. I have been careful in this piece to only address scenarios and phenomena where the sincerity of everyone involved is beyond question. But sincerity alone does not prevent misjudgment, nor should it shut down valid criticism. It is entirely possible that a particular Muslim leader might excel in his duties as imam as well as in personal piety, akhlaq, and spiritual insight while still being terrible at politics and strategic engagement.

We can take a lesson from the story of Hatib ibn Abi Baltaʿah (ra). He was a companion of the Prophet ﷺ, sincere in his faith, a veteran of Badr, yet he made a serious strategic error leading up to the Conquest of Mecca. By sending a letter to Quraysh warning them of the Prophet’s movements, he endangered the Muslim community. His intentions were not malicious—he was trying to protect his family in Mecca. But good intentions did not erase the danger of his actions. Tellingly, ʿUmar ibn al-Khattab asked for permission to execute him. While the Prophet ﷺ denied ʿUmar the request and forgave Hatib, he also didn’t upbraid ʿUmar for a lack of adab or for being divisive.

The reaction of ʿUmar and the Prophet ﷺ indicate that while we remain forgiving and forbearing, taking people’s intentions into consideration, our leaders and representatives must be held accountable, even if they are sincere. A photo with a genocider or a handshake with a normalizer are not acts of intelligent engagement if they come at the cost of our credibility and violate the solidarity due to believers across the globe.

Hatib’s misstep was an isolated incident. What, then, about contemporary Muslim leaders who have a decade or more of questionable or even brazenly problematic engagements? At what point are we allowed to scrutinize the results of a leader’s engagement without being accused of delving into his intentions or seeking to tarnish his reputation? To dismiss such criticism as the work of woke keyboard warriors or to equate it to calling for isolation—no engagement at all—is irresponsible.

Much of the confusion comes from an acute lack of transparency. Organizations are required to file reports and expected to issue statements indicating clearly where they stand on certain issues. Imams choosing to involve themselves in civic engagement should do the same. Failing this, the community should not be blamed for suspecting or criticizing leaders if they only have problematic photo-ops and a list of questionable actions to decipher an imam’s positions and strategy. Indeed, it is a Prophetic quality to go out of one’s way to anticipate and clarify potential doubts. In a well known story, the Prophet ﷺ was accompanying one of his wives at night when two companions appeared at a distance. When they noticed the Prophet ﷺ and his wife, they changed direction in an attempt to avoid them. In response, the Prophet ﷺ called them over to clarify who he was with and why.¹ In another example, the Prophet ﷺ refused to take action against the hypocrites because he expected such an action would cause doubt and unwarranted suspicion.²

Calls for accountability are not akin to a witch hunt, a smear campaign, or advocating for imams and Muslim religious leaders to just stick to the mosque. It is simply a recognition that civic engagement as a targeted minority is a minefield that is not suited for everyone. If any given imam is going to choose to involve himself in this work, he should expect scrutiny and offer transparency, since such a leader doesn’t just represent himself in those spaces, he represents all of us.

There is also no shame in acknowledging one’s limitations and adjusting one’s sphere of activity accordingly. Even among the companions there was specialization and the recognition that despite their righteousness and piety, certain companions were not fit for certain tasks. The Prophet’s exchange with Abu Dharr al-Ghifari (ra) is instructive here:

Abu Dharr reported: I said, “O Messenger of Allah, will you not appoint me as a leader?” The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, struck my chest with his hand, then he said, “O Abu Dharr, you are weak and it is a position of public trust. Verily, on the Day of Resurrection it will only result in regret, except for one who takes it by right and fulfills its duties.” And the Prophet said, “I love for you what I love for myself. Do not command even two people, and do not manage the property of an orphan.”³

We need our imams to rise to the moment, but only those who are built for the work.

A call to purposeful absence

Islam calls us neither to isolation nor to engage at all costs and in all circumstances. Rather, it calls us to purposeful presence—and, when necessary, to purposeful absence. Civic engagement, in order to uplift our community, further our interests, and above all please Allah, must have red lines that are never crossed. If they are crossed, the minimum consequence is withholding our presence as religious leaders, refusing to give moral cover or credibility to our adversaries. To refuse the table, to decline the invitation, to leave the chair empty—that can sometimes speak louder than any speech we deliver once seated. Purposeful absence sends a message: our moral authority is not for sale. Our faith is not a prop. Our loyalty to the truth and to each other is not negotiable.

The Prophet ﷺ taught us when to engage, and he taught us when to disengage. To imitate his sunnah in America today means not just rushing to every table we are offered, but having the courage to say: this table is not worthy of us. Let us not forget Malcolm’s words: “Sitting at the table doesn’t make you a diner. You must be eating some of what’s on that plate.”⁴

In the end, our community’s dignity will not be measured by the number of rooms we were invited into, but by the integrity we preserved in the rooms we chose to avoid.

Notes

1. ^ Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, no. 2035.

2. ^ See Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, no. 4905.

3. ^ Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, no. 1825.

4. ^ Malcolm X, “The Ballot or the Bullet” (speech, Congress of Racial Equality, Cleveland OH, April 3, 1964).