Spirituality
The writer, Dr Hasnain Walji (Texas, USA), is the Head of the Khoja Heritage Project of The World Federation of KSIMC. A lifelong educator and historian, he has dedicated over three decades to documenting the rich, socio-religious journey of the Khoja Shia Ithna-Asheri community. His landmark documentary, The Khojas – A Journey of Faith, traces this evolution across 600 years. Over the past 30 years he had been collecting care Gujarati and Khoji history books housed at the Mulla Asghar Memorial Library in Toronto, which he co-founded with Raza-Aly Hiridjee.
Serving for almost half a century, he had been the former Secretary General, Vice President, and President of The World Federation. Professionally, he is a nutritionist and has also authored 26 books on naturopathic medicine, translated into several languages. As Executive Director of the United Global Initiative and a Trustee of the Jaffer Family Foundation, he leads the CodeGirls project, which empowers underprivileged girls to pursue technology careers. He has also been instrumental in facilitating the ‘Ashura at Harvard’ study track at Harvard Divinity School, promoting academic discourse on Shi’ism through the fully funded the JafferFamily Foundation.
Every Friday, the khutbah drums into us the horrors of Jahiliyyah. That dark age before Islam. Daughters buried alive. Slaves whipped under the desert sun. Tribes killing each other over camels and water wells. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) came, they tell us, and shattered the idols of ignorance. He brought justice. He brought equality.
We nod. We cluck our tongues. How barbaric, those Quraysh. Then we step outside the mosque – and walk straight back into our own upgraded version of it. Neo-Jahiliyyah. A sleeker model, with better Wi-Fi and designer dishdashas.
The Prophet’s mission was nothing short of an earthquake. He didn’t nibble at the edges of society. He ripped out its foundations. In a world where slaves were disposable, he turned emancipation into a sacred act. Bilal, once chained and beaten, was lifted to the highest platform, his voice echoing through Medina as the first caller to prayer. That single act scandalised the elites. The man they spat on now stood taller than them all.
Tribalism, too, was smashed. The Prophet declared that no Arab was better than a non-Arab. No white over black. No privilege except piety. Imagine telling the Quraysh that their precious family trees were worth less than the sincerity of heart. It was a revolution disguised as religion.
And women, once dismissed as burdens. He honoured his daughter Fatima (SA) before all. He gave women inheritance rights. Property rights. A voice in marriage. What was once shame became dignity. What was once a weakness became a strength.
Even economics was re-engineered. Hoarding wealth was condemned. Cheating in trade was forbidden. Exploiting the poor was declared a sin. The Prophet’s vision wasn’t capitalism with charity sprinkles. It was a moral economy, built on justice.
In today’s world, where the search for meaning is more urgent than ever, these timeless teachings offer us a powerful framework for living a life of joy, purpose, and spiritual alignment. By embracing these principles, we can find the common ground that unites us all and discover a path to true happiness and fulfilment that resonates with both our inner selves and the world around us.
Fast Forward: Enter Neo-Jahiliyyah
Now let’s look around today. Muslim societies love to condemn the ignorance of the past. But scratch the surface, and you’ll find the same script running in high definition.
Slavery? Of course, we say it’s abolished. Yet millions of migrant workers still labour in the Gulf, passports confiscated, wages withheld, dignity erased. They build skyscrapers and marble mosques, then are barred from entering through the main doors. Tell me, is that emancipation – or rebranded servitude?
Tribalism? Alive and thriving. Try getting a government job without the right last name. Try marrying across certain clans and see how fast family honour is invoked. Pre-Islamic Arabia had tribes. We’ve just given ours official letterheads and ministry seals.
Gender equality? Still pending. In many places, Education is a privilege, not a right. Harassment is a daily reality. The Prophet stopped the burying of daughters. We just bury their potential instead.
And economic justice? Let’s not pretend. Palaces gleam with gold, while children rummage through garbage for food. Corruption is a lifestyle, not an aberration. Politicians quote the Qur’an in speeches, then wire stolen fortunes to Swiss accounts. If Quraysh elites were alive, they’d nod approvingly.
Business as usual, just digital now.
Here’s the irony that stings. In our textbooks, Jahiliyyah is painted as primitive, barbaric, and shameful. And yet, modern Muslim societies are among their best students. We condemn the old ignorance while perfecting the new. We scoff at Quraysh idol worship, yet our idols are power, money, and bloodline. We mock their tribal feuds, yet our sectarian divisions keep elections boiling and mosques divided. We sneer at their patriarchy, yet keep women in shadows, citing tradition. We ridicule their arrogance, yet we still judge worth by skin tone and passport.
If the Prophet walked through Cairo, Karachi, or Riyadh today, would he even notice a difference from Makkah 1,400 years ago? The costumes are updated. The stage lights brighter. But the plot remains the same.
A Blueprint Ignored
The Prophet’s Farewell Sermon was supposed to be our constitution. No racism. No tribal superiority. No exploitation. No injustice. Upright leadership. Instead, we’ve treated it as a framed quotation, recited on anniversaries, ignored in practice.
We’ve perfected the rituals and abandoned the revolution. Beards measured with rulers. Tajweed recited with precision. Hajj selfies are uploaded with hashtags. All while the poor sleep hungry and women remain voiceless.
It’s what I call Spiritual Ostrichism. We bury our heads in prayer rugs, pretending the injustice around us doesn’t exist. We’re pious on paper, but blind in practice.
The Prophet never separated worship from justice. He tied them together like a rope. Prayer without justice was hollow. Fasting without compassion, just hunger. Pilgrimage without humility, little more than religious tourism.
His was not a call to escape the world. It was a call to repair it. To dismantle oppression, whether it wore the face of a slave master, a tribal elder, or a corrupt merchant. Today, oppression wears suits, uniforms, and clerical robes. Yet our outrage is selective. We thunder against Western immorality while tiptoeing around our own tyrants.
Let’s be honest. Why do we cling to it? Because oppression benefits those on top. Because tribalism feels safe. Because inequality is profitable. Because it’s easier to wrap injustice in tradition and scripture than to confront it.
The Quraysh once said, “We follow the ways of our forefathers.” Our excuse today? “It’s our culture.” Different words. Same cowardice.
The Courage We Lack
If Muslims truly claimed the Prophet’s legacy, we’d be the loudest voices against corruption, racism, and exploitation. We’d be tearing down the walls of injustice, not wallpapering them with Qur’anic verses. Instead, we outsource that work to NGOs while we polish our prayer beads.
The Prophet’s stand wasn’t history. It was a mandate. To love him is to fight oppression in all its forms. Otherwise, we’re just sentimental fans, not followers.
It’s easy to condemn the ignorance of the past. It costs nothing to shake our heads at the Quraysh. But real courage is to admit the ignorance of the present – the one we call “culture,” the one we dress in religious vocabulary, the one we export to the next generation as identity.
So next time we hear a sermon condemning Jahiliyyah, maybe we should pause. Are we describing 7th-century Arabia – or looking at our own reflection in the mirror?
Because until we answer that honestly, we’ll remain devout practitioners of Neo-Jahiliyyah. Condemning the old ignorance while faithfully upholding the new.
So, what can we do? First, we must drop the ostrich act. Rituals alone won’t save us if we bury our heads while injustice struts around in plain sight. The Prophet began by naming oppression for what it was, even when it meant confronting his own tribe. That’s where we start, too – by calling things by their true names. Corruption is not “culture.” Racism is not “tradition.” Gender inequality is not “modesty.”
Change begins in small, stubborn acts. When the mosque committee overlooks someone because of their last name, speak up. When your workplace normalises the exploitation of the powerless, don’t laugh it off as the way things are. Justice doesn’t begin in courts – it begins in conversations, in living rooms, in Jamaat halls.
And then there’s how we raise our children. Teach them that prayer is not just recitation but responsibility. That zakat is not just a line item but solidarity. The Prophet was not just a spiritual leader, but a social reformer who risked everything to dismantle the injustices of his time. If we only hand them rituals without justice, we’re raising parrots, not followers of Muhammad.(SAW)
Above all, we must stop excusing ourselves. It’s easy to rail against the West, to curse modernity, to sigh over the Quraysh of old. The harder task is to admit that Neo-Jahiliyyah is thriving under our own watch, with our silent consent. Real reform will cost us comfort. But that’s exactly what the Prophet taught: faith without the courage to confront oppression is just performance.
And the Qur’an leaves no wiggle room here: “O you who believe, stand firmly for justice, as witnesses to God, even against yourselves, your parents, or your kin.” (4:135). There it is. No excuses. Justice is not optional. It is the beating heart of belief.
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