Hajj Canceled for Most of World’s Muslims Due to COVID-19

Every year, more than 2 million Muslims from all over the world perform the special pilgrimage called hajj in Saudi Arabia. Performing hajj is an extremely important ritual for Muslims as it is one of the five pillars of Islam, which make up the core practices and beliefs. It is obligatory for Muslims to make the annual pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime as long as they are able-bodied and financially able to afford the trip.

In a rare move, Saudi Arabia announced on July 6 that hajj would be canceled for the majority of the world’s Muslims—the first time in recent years that it has been disrupted by an epidemic. This is also the first time that Saudi Arabia has significantly curtailed the pilgrimage since the country was founded in 1932—only people living in Saudi Arabia may perform the pilgrimage this year. “Hajj Minister Mohammad Benten said the government is still in the process of reviewing the number of overall pilgrims allowed, saying they could be ‘around 1,000, maybe less, maybe a little more,’” according to Al-Jazeera. Furthermore, no one over the age of 65 will be allowed to make the pilgrimage this year. Authorities released strict guidelines including a ban on touching the Kaaba, one of the holiest sites in Islam.

In March, the Saudi government made the decision to enforce travel restrictions into the Muslim holy sites of Mecca and Medina for umrah, a pilgrimage that can be performed at any time of the year that is not obligatory for Muslims as hajj is. While that decision caused frustration for some, hajj is sacred and typically a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Muslims. As such, the decision to cancel hajj is devastating to many who were planning to go.

For the rest of the world’s Muslims, fears of spreading the coronavirus during the upcoming Eid al-Adha holiday has prompted leaders to urge Muslims to continue following coronavirus guidelines.

Eid al-Adha marks the completion of the annual five to six day pilgrimage, and takes place on the tenth day of Dhul-Hijja, the last month of the Islamic lunar calendar. Eid al-Adha serves as a remembrance of the willingness of the prophet Ibrahim (Abraham to Christians and Jews) to sacrifice his son to God. The holiday does not celebrate bloodshed in order to please God—a sheep was provided at the last moment—but instead honors giving up something beloved and promotes charity and equality. To commemorate God’s intervention, an animal is sacrificed (typically a sheep, but goats, camels and cows are also acceptable) and the meat divided into three portions—one-third goes to the poor and needy, one-third to friends and family, and the final portion is reserved for one’s own household.

Muslim countries’ leaders worry that Eid al-Adha celebrations will cause a spike in COVID-19 cases as people travel to animal markets and slaughterhouses to perform the sacrifice. The head of Istanbul’s Chamber of Veterinary Surgeons, Murat Arslan, has warned that 1 million people could be at risk of contracting the virus in Turkey. As such, he said face masks should be made mandatory and disposable plastic shoe covers should be worn upon entering the marketplace, and buyers and sellers should avoid shaking hands upon completing a sale. Pakistan’s National Institute of Health is urging the public to stick to the coronavirus guidelines, especially on Eid al-Adha. The Pakistani government issued new rules for the holiday, including instructing people to avoid greeting friends and relatives on Eid al-Adha and urging sellers to arrange online purchases when possible, according to The Washington Post. Oman announced a complete lockdown beginning on July 25 and ending on Aug. 8, a drastic effort to prevent a spike in positive COVID-19 cases.

Hajj begins on July 29 with Eid al-Adha being celebrated on July 31 by the majority of Muslims.

Asiya Haouchine

is an Algerian-American writer who graduated from the University of Connecticut in May 2016, earning a BA in journalism and English. She was an editorial intern and contributing writer for Warscapes magazine and the online/blog editor for Long River Review. She is currently studying for her Master’s in Library and Information Science. @AsiyaHaou

25 Years On, Bosnia Mourns Victims of the Srebrenica Massacre

On July 11, mourners gathered for a memorial service at the Srebrenica Genocide Memorial in Potocari, Bosnia, to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre. The service, which included the burial of nine recently identified victims, comes as many Bosnians continue to mourn the loss of loved ones during the massacre.

The commemoration was not limited to the region around Srebrenica. Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina, played sirens throughout the city at noon on July 11 in memory of the victims of the massacre.

Serge Brammertz, chief prosecutor of the U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia until its shutdown in 2017, spoke on the importance of honoring the massacre’s victims - and of labeling the event as a genocide, something many Serbs refuse to acknowledge.

“To truly honor the memory of those lost 25 years ago, and to recognize the victims and survivors with us today, it is our responsibility to keep fighting for justice and truth and to call what happened in Srebrenica by its name, genocide,” Brammertz said.

The Srebrenica massacre was the killing of more than 8,000 majority-Muslim Bosniak men and the mass deportation of Bosniak women and children from the area around the town of Srebrenica during the Bosnian War in 1995. Units of the Bosnian Serb army led by Gen. Ratko Mladic carried out the atrocities. The massacre was formally classified as a genocide by the United Nations in 2004.

In the 25 years that have followed, not all who call Srebrenica home have felt like the racial tensions which brought about the massacre have been addressed. According to a 2018 poll, 66% of Serbs in Republika Srpska, Bosnia-Herzegovina’s Serb-run entity, deny the genocide.

Almasa Salihovic, a survivor of the massacre, discussed in an interview with Al-Jazeera about how there are those within the community who celebrate July 11 as “the day of liberation of Srebrenica” from the Bosniaks.

“That's what scares me the most,” Salihovic said. “Even if we don't have incidents in Srebrenica like physical fights, we still have these hidden attacks which is far more worse … You have people who would still do the same thing tomorrow if they have the chance and if we don't speak even more loudly than we do now, then I'm really not sure where this is going.”

This misinterpretation of the genocide is not limited to the massacre’s sympathizers in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Shortly after the commemoration events began throughout the country, Serbian Prime Minister Ana Brnabic publicly referred to the genocide as one of several “misunderstandings from the past.” The Serbian government has previously apologized for the massacre, but has not yet recognized the event as a genocide.

For the time being, Bosnia-Herzegovina continues to urge the international community to counter any denial of genocide. The European Union, the United States and a number of other countries have officially recognized the massacre as a genocide, while Russia, notably, denies the event’s scale. Additionally, efforts to identify victims of the massacre within Bosnia-Herzegovina and abroad are ongoing.

Jacob Sutherland

is a recent graduate from the University of California San Diego where he majored in Political Science and minored in Spanish Language Studies. He previously served as the News Editor for The UCSD Guardian, and hopes to shed light on social justice issues in his work.

What is the Hajj?

Nearly 2 million Muslim pilgrims are gathering in the holy city of Mecca in Saudi Arabia for the Hajj. This five-day pilgrimage is a once-in-a-lifetime obligation for all Muslims who have the physical and financial ability to undertake the journey.

What is the religious and political significance of this annual pilgrimage?

The fifth pillar

Millions of Muslims come from countries as diverse as Indonesia, Russia, India, Cuba, Fiji, the United States and Nigeria – all dressed in plain white garments.

Pilgrims dressed in white garments. Al Jazeera English, CC BY-NC

Men wear seamless, unstitched clothing, and women, white dresses with headscarves. The idea is to dress plainly so as to mask any differences in wealth and status.

The pilgrimage is considered to be the fifth pillar of Islamic practice. The other four are the profession of faith, five daily prayers, charity and the fast of Ramadan.

The first day of the Hajj

The rites of the Hajj are believed to retrace events from the lives of prominent prophets such as Ibrahim and Ismail.

Pilgrims start by circling the “Holy Kaaba,” the black, cube-shaped house of God, at the center of the most sacred mosque in Mecca, seven times. The Kaaba occupies a central place in the lives of Muslims. Muslims, all over the world, are expected to turn toward the Kaaba when performing their daily prayers.

The Quran tells the story of Ibrahim, who when commanded by God, agreed to sacrifice his son, Ismail. Muslims believe the Kaaba holds the black stone upon which Ibrahim was to carry out his oath.

Pilgrims are bound by specific rules regarding going around the Kaaba. They may kiss, touch or approach the Kaaba during the pilgrimage as a sign of their devotion.

In performing these rituals, they join a long line of pilgrims to Mecca – including Prophet Muhammad, who circled the Kaaba.

Pilgrims then proceed to a ritual walk – about 100 meters from the Kaaba – to hills known as “Safa” and “Marwah.” Here they re-create another significant event recorded in the Quran.

The story goes that Ibrahim was granted a son by God through his Egyptian slave girl Hajar. After the birth of Ismail, God instructed Ibrahim to take Hajar and her newborn son out into the desert and leave them there. Ibrahim left them near the present-day location of the Kaaba. Ismail cried out with thirst and Hajar ran between two hills, looking for water until she turned to God for help.

God rewarded Hajar for her patience and sent his angel Jibreel to reveal a spring, which today is known as “Zamzam Well.” Pilgrims drink water from the sacred well and may take some home for blessings.

The second day of the hajj

Pilgrims praying on Arafat. Al Jazeera English, CC BY-SA

The hajj “climaxes” with a sojourn in the plains of Arafat near Mecca. There, pilgrims gather in tents, spend time with one another and perform prayers. Some pilgrims will ascend a hill known as the “Mount of Mercy,” where Prophet Muhammad delivered the farewell sermontoward the end of his life.

They then proceed to an open plain near Mecca, often a highlight of the journey for many pilgrims. Muslims believe that the spirit of God comes closer to Earth in this place at the time of the pilgrimage.

As a scholar of global Islam, during my fieldwork I have interviewed those who have gone on the Hajj. They have described to me their personal experiences of standing in the plains of Arafat or circling the Kaaba with fellow Muslims and feeling a close communion with God.

Final three days

Afterwards, pilgrims move to Mina, also known as the Tent City where more than 100,000 tents house the millions of pilgrims about 5 kilometers from the holy city of Mecca.

Here they recall how Satan tried to tempt Ibrahim to disobey God’s call to sacrifice Ismail. Ibrahim, however, remained unmoved and informed Ismail, who was willing to be offered to God. To reenact Ibrahim’s rebuff of Satan’s temptation, pilgrims throw small stones at a stone pillar.

They then proceed to follow Ibrahim in the act of sacrifice. The Quran says just as Ibrahim attempted to kill his son, God intervened and a ram was killed in place of Ismail. In remembrance, Muslims all over the world ritually slaughter an animal on this day. The “festival of the sacrifice” is known as Eid al-Adha.

Pilgrims stoning the devil in Mina. Al Jazeera English, CC BY-SA

Many pilgrims spend the next few days in Mina, where they repeat some of the rituals. It is where they start to transition to their worldly life by putting on their everyday clothes.

Muslims believe that a proper performance of the Hajj can absolve them of any previous sins. However, they also believe that just undertaking the pilgrimage is not enough: It is up to God to judge, based on the intention of those undertaking the pilgrimage.

Creating one Muslim community

Of course, the pilgrimage does not take place in a political void. The Hajj is a massive organizational project for the Saudi authorities. Issues concerning crowd management, security, traffic and tensions constantly plague the successful organization of the event. A tragic stampede in 2015 left over 700 dead. Since then Saudi authorities review preparations even more carefully.

There are other tensions too that come up at this time: Some Shiagovernments such as Iran, for example, have leveled charges alleging discrimination by Sunni Saudi authorities.

This year, Muslims from Canada are concerned about logistics traveling back from the Hajj. Saudi Arabia has suspended all direct flights to Canada in a diplomatic feud sparked by tweets related to the Kingdom’s human rights violations.

To address such issues, Muslims in the past have called to put together an international, multi-partisan committee to organize the pilgrimage. Perhaps that could help avoid regional or sectarian conflicts. The Hajj, after all, is any individual Muslim’s single most symbolic ritual act that reflects the ideal of unity.

By requiring Muslims to don the same clothes, pray in the same space and perform the same rituals, the Hajj has the potential to unite a global Muslim community across national and class boundaries.

KEN CHITWOOD is a Ph.D. Candidate of Religion in the Americas and Global Islam at the University of Florida

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

After the Niqab: What Life Is like for French Women Who Remove the Veil

Islamic headscarves and veils continue to be the subject of intense debate in Europe. Countries’ approaches toward the burqa and niqab, which cover the face, range from tolerance in the UK to an outright ban in France. Reactions of Muslim women to restrictions have varied, including protests by some, reluctant acceptance by others and also support for bans.

But what happens when a woman who has worn a niqab, sometimes for years, makes the decision to leave it behind?

Hanane and Alexia – whose names are pseudonyms to protect their identity – were both born in France. Hanane grew up in a non-practicing Muslim family, while Alexia converted to Islam at age 22. For five years they both wore a niqab. Hanane began in 2009, just before France banned the full-face veil, while Alexia adopted it later. Once ardent defenders of the right to wear the niqab, both women have now completely abandoned it. But the transition took place gradually and was accompanied by a growing distance from extreme Salafist ideology.

Hanane today. Agnès De Féo

‘Start living again’

On January 10, during the New Year’s discount sales in France, Alexia and I met near Paris’ Gare du Nord train station. She wanted to buy clothes and “start living again”. In the first shop she bought four slim pairs of pants and a trim jacket. She then tried out some Nepalese clothes designed for Western tastes, including a colourful jacket and pants with huge bell bottoms.

As she came out of the dressing room, Alexia gauged herself in front of the mirror: “It’s really me, I finally feel like myself again after years of being locked up.” With her hair brushing her face, she looked like a modern woman, fully alive. I was impressed with her metamorphosis: it’s hard to imagine that she wore a niqab for five years and was one of the most radical women I’d ever met.

I met Alexia in August 2011 in the context of my research on the full-length veil during a demonstration by the Salafist group Forsane Alizza(literally Knights of the Pride) in a city near Paris. She was wearing a niqab and presented herself as the wife of one of the group’s leaders.

Event of the Salafist group Forsane Alizza in August, 2011. At the centre is its leader, Mohamed Achamlane, who was jailed in 2015 for criminal conspiracy in connection with a terrorist enterprise. Agnès De Féo, Author provided

Alexia remembers that time:

We considered all Muslim supporters of the French Republic to be unbelievers. We were doing the takfir (excommunication) against those who did not practice like us. We were opposed to the taghout (idolatry in the broad sense), i.e., the state and institutions. We defined ourselves as ghûlat, which means ‘extremists’ in Arabic.

Estimates of the number of women who wear the niqab vary widely, from a few hundred to several thousand. In terms of even France’s Muslim population the percentage is tiny.

Hanane, whom I met on the side-lines of a demonstration in front of the French National Assembly, 2010. Agnès De Féo, Author provided

‘The niqab was protecting me’

I’ve known Hanane even longer than Alexia. We met during a January 2010 demonstration of women in niqab at the Place de la République in Paris and then in front of the National Assembly. She and others were protesting a proposed measure that would outlaw concealing one’s face in public.

At the beginning of 2017, Hanane reached out to ask me to help her write a book about her life. In the book she’d like to write, Hanane doesn’t want to denounce the niqab, but to tell the story of the rapes she says were repeatedly inflicted by her father-in-law. To her, they help explain her involvement in Salafism.

Religion brought a lot that helped me escape from the trauma of rape. I was 19 to 20 years old when I started wearing the niqab, I took it off when I was 25. The further I went, the more I wanted to cover myself. The niqab protected me, I liked hiding from men. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me.

Unlike Alexia, who decided on her own to begin wearing a veil, Hanane remembers the influence of her social circle at the time:

We were a bunch of girlfriends and wore niqab almost all at the same time. In our group the earliest was Ayat Boumédiène, who adopted it more than two years before the law. At first everything was normal with her, and then she started to organise gatherings to encourage us to take up arms. It was her husband, Ahmadi Coulibaly, who turned her head – he was low-key until he went to jail. Ayat wanted to introduce me to a man she said I should marry, she really pushed hard. He was later imprisoned for murder. Thank goodness I didn’t give in – I’d be in Syria today.

On January 9, 2015, Ahmadi Coulibaly attacked the Hyper Cacher market near Paris. Boumédiène left Paris one week earlier, and was spotted at the Istanbul airport. She remains at large. Coulibaly killed five people during his attack and died when the police assaulted the grocery store in which he was holding hostages.

Trailer of the film Forbidden Veil, directed by Agnès De Féo and produced by Marc Rozenblum, 2017.

‘I felt like I was getting out of jail’

When France banned full-length veils in 2010, some of the women who wore the niqab switched to the jilbab, which covers the whole body except the face, while others gave in to public pressure and ceased wearing it. Both Alexia and Hanane are different: they say they’ve turned the page completely.

Alexia has even become a fierce opponent of the Islamic veil and Salafism. She continues to define herself as a Muslim but reads the texts with a critical eye. Hanane admits that she has become less diligent in her rituals: “I often skip prayers or make them late. Some days I don’t even have time to pray. When I wore the niqab I was a little more regular, even though I was often late.”

Both say they’ve put aside the more radical texts they once favoured, and no longer frequent fundamentalist websites. But this process didn’t happen all at once – it took several months. Alexia says she decided to remove the niqab on the advice of the man who shared her life at the time. A convert to Islam and Salafism, he was a supporter of conservative dress for women, but nonetheless suggested she cease wearing the niqab:

When he saw my physical condition, he asked me to remove the niqab – he feared for my health. I had worn it to please Allah, but because of the lack of sunlight I wasn’t synthesising vitamin D any more – my health was failing. I followed his advice, but it’s been long and hard.

Alexia remembers:

When I took the niqab off, I felt like I was getting out of jail. But that doesn’t mean I was released – I still felt bad. It takes years to get by and I haven’t finished cleaning my head yet.

Hanane abandoned her veil after the attacks on the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in 2015 because she feared for her safety, facing more and more insults in the street. She said the hardest part has been the exclusion from her social circle:

Since I removed my veil, many of my Muslim sisters no longer want to talk to me. I find them stuck-up and unfair, because anyone can choose to take off their veil. A few rare ones talk to me, but it’s not like it used to be.

For a long time Alexia would put her veil back on when returning to her old neighbourhood in northeast Paris where social and religious conservatism is strong in certain communities. Then she finally changed her life entirely.

My life began to change when I enrolled in a gym, which allowed me to get out of the Salafist social networks that were my only source of socialisation before. Then I got a job and then I finally said goodbye to my past.

And it was at this job that she met the man whom she would marry. He is not Muslim and the civil marriage took place at city hall, an unthinkable choice for this woman who once hated French institutions.

Alexia visits a booth at the annual salon for French Muslims at Le Bourget, north of Paris, 2017. Agnès De Féo, Author provided

A bitter taste

In hindsight, neither Alexia nor Hanane spoke of their “exit” from the niqab as a liberation. Instead, the experience has left them with a bitter taste. They say they were convinced at some point in their lives of the importance of wearing a full-length veil: Alexia believed that she was achieving Muslim perfection and giving meaning to her life – she imagined meeting the pious and virtuous man who would save her from her life as a single mother. For Hanane, the goal was to heal the wounds of an adolescence torn apart by family trauma and foster care.

Alexia now feels that this period cost her years of her life and expresses anger at the propaganda coming from Saudi Arabia. She blames the entire system that indoctrinated her, even though she acknowledges it was, in a sense, voluntary. According to her, the Islamic State benefits from the naivety of those who believe they are committed to Salafism for legitimate reasons.

Even if they’ve both renounced the niqab, neither Hanane nor Alexia support the 2010 ban. Hanane told me recently: “The law is counterproductive. The only way out is by yourself. The ban will never convince any woman to take it off.” Alexia has the same reaction, saying that the law that has led some women to cut themselves off from society and that some might adopt it as a rebellious gesture.

Testimonies of those who’ve chosen to “leave the niqab behind” are rare. The number of women who have adopted it is extremely low, and the ones who then choose to renounce it must often sever their old relationships and adopt what is in many ways a new identity – they change their e-mail addresses, phone numbers and move on completely. For them the full-length veil has become something firmly in the past, representative of a transitional stage in their lives.

Translated from the original French by Leighton Walter Kille.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.

AGNÉS DE FÉO

Agnès De Féo is co-founder of Sasana Productions and teaches at the journalism school CFPJ.