Prof. Abdullahi An-Na’im

                              Islam and Human Rights

 As emphasized in various parts of this book, speaking of Islam is really about how Muslims understand and practice their religion, rather than religion in the abstract.  Moreover, this discussion of the relationship between Islam and human rights does not mean that Islam, or any other religion for its adherents, is the sole “cause” or explanation of the attitudes and behavior of believers.  Muslims may accept or reject the idea of human rights or any of its norms regardless of what they believe to be the orthodox view of their religion.  In fact, various levels of acceptance or compliance with human rights norms are more likely to be associated with political, economic, social and/or cultural conditions of the present Islamic societies, than with Islam as such.  Consequently, whatever the role of Islam may be, it cannot be understood in isolation from other factors that influence how Muslims interpret and attempt to comply with their own tradition.  It is misleading to attempt to predict or explain the degree or quality of human rights compliance by Islamic societies as the logical consequence of the relationship between Islam and human rights in an abstract theoretical sense.  Still, this relationship is important enough for most Muslims that their motivation to uphold human rights norms is likely to diminish if they perceive those norms to be inconsistent with Islamic precepts.  Conversely, their commitment and motivation to protect these rights will increase if they believe them to be at least consistent with, if not required, by their belief in Islam.

 A second general point to emphasize here is that Shari`a principles are basically consistent with most human rights norms, with the exception of some specific and very serious aspects of the rights of women and non-Muslims, as discussed in detail below.  Another serious conflict relates to the issues of freedom of religion and belief as I will briefly explain in the second part of this section below.  While appreciating the seriousness of these issues and seeking to address them through Islamic reform, I am calling for mediation rather than confrontation in this regard.  If I, as a Muslim, am faced with a stark choice between Islam and human rights, I will categorically opt for Islam.  Instead of suggesting that Muslims be faced with this difficult decision, I am proposing that we as Muslims consider transforming our understanding of Shari `a in the present context of Islamic societies.  I believe that this approach should be required as a matter of principle, as well as being desirable in pragmatic tactical terms. 

I am therefore calling for framing the issue in terms of the contextual nature of human understandings and practice of Islam, on one hand, and the universality of human rights, on the other.  This approach is more realistic and constructive than simplistic assertions of compatibility or incompatibility of Islam and human rights that take both sides of this relationship in static, absolute terms.  When we examine the dynamic and evolving relationship of Islam and human rights, we will find that Islam is in fact fully supportive of human rights.^[1]

The Universality of Human Rights

The revolutionary idea of universal human rights is as challenging to all human societies today as when it was first proclaimed in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948.  Yet, this idea is of paramount importance for every human being, and must therefore be affirmed by all of us in order to be able to claim it for ourselves.  For my purposes here, Muslims should neither discriminate against people on the grounds of sex, race, nationality, or religion, nor be required to abandon their religion in order to qualify for these rights.  In order to morally justify and practically realize our own human rights claims without distinction on such grounds, Muslims must accept the right of others to the same rights.  The same is true for all human beings, and not only of Muslims, but this is my focus here as a Muslim trying to promote among Muslims the imperative importance of human rights.

                      The Universal Declaration of Human Rights avoided identifying religious justifications for this basic idea in an effort to find common ground among believers and non-believers.  However, this does not mean that human rights can only be founded on secular justifications because that does not address the question of how to make human rights equally valid and legitimate from the perspectives of the wide variety of believers around the world.  The underlying rationale of the human rights doctrine itself entitles believers to seek to found their commitment to these norms on their own religious beliefs, in the same way that others may seek to affirm the same on the basis of a secular philosophy.  All human beings are entitled to require equal commitment to the human rights doctrine by others, but they cannot prescribe the grounds on which others may wish to found their commitment.

 The idea of human rights emerged in the aftermath of the Second World War as an attempt to achieve the benefits of strong entrenchment of certain fundamental rights beyond the contingencies of national politics.  The founding vision was that these rights are so fundamental that they must be safeguarded through international consensus and cooperation in order to ensure their protection under national constitutional and legal systems (Brems 2001, 5–7).  In other words, the object of creating international legal obligations to respect and protect human rights, whether through customary law principles or treaties, is to supplement the provision for these rights under domestic systems, to the extent that this is lacking or insufficient, and to promote their practical implementation. 

 The essential purpose of human rights is to ensure the effective protection of certain key entitlements of all human beings everywhere, including in countries where these entitlements are not guaranteed as fundamental constitutional rights.  This does not mean, however, that human rights are different from or superior to fundamental constitutional rights.  In fact, human rights are usually respected and protected through their inclusion in a constitutional bill of rights, or through their incorporation in the constitutional organization and regulation of state institutions.  The purpose of this idea, as it has been with constitutional rights, is to entrench and safeguard these key entitlements from the contingencies of political and administrative processes.  In other words, human rights, like fundamental constitutional rights, should not normally be subject to the will of the majority, at least not by a simple majority vote.  However, this does not mean that these rights are absolute, because many of them are qualified in various ways, and some can be suspended in times of drastic emergency, for example. The idea, therefore, is to make it harder to encroach on human rights, as it is with fundamental constitutional rights, except under specific circumstances or conditions (Brems 2001, 305). 

In view of the tension between this idea and the principle and practice of national sovereignty, however, it is critical for human rights standards to be acknowledged as the product of international agreement.  The challenge that these rights pose to a strict view of sovereignty would not be plausible or credible without the promise of international cooperation in the protection of human rights (Brems 2001, 309).  The claim of the international community to act as arbiter in safeguarding certain minimum standards in this regard is not credible without the corresponding commitment of its members to encourage and support each other in the process.  That role is also more likely to be accepted by a state when it is the collective effort of all other states and not simply the foreign policy objective of another single state or group of states.  The consistent and sustainable protection of human rights cannot be realized through military intervention or external imposition because such measures are necessarily arbitrary and temporary.  In other words, the practical protection of human rights can only happen through the agency of the states who are the primary violators of those rights.

                       In my view, human rights can be a powerful instrument for the protection of human dignity and the promotion of the well-being of persons everywhere precisely because of the universality of these rights as demonstrated by its powerful moral and political force.  The fact that these rights provide a “common standard of achievement for all peoples and nations,” as stated in the Preamble of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948, means that every national constitutional or legal regime must constantly strive to protect them.  The relevant principles of customary international law and treaties include substantive rights, like the freedom of expression, and procedural protections, such as the requirements of fair trial.  The protection and implementation of these and other human rights also require certain structural and institutional measures in the apparatus of the state and how it operates, such as the separation of powers and independence of the judiciary, highlighted earlier as a part of the concept of constitutionalism (Eide 2000, 124–28). 

 However, the quality of being a universal norm can only be achieved through a global consensus-building process, instead of being assumed or imposed.  Since all human societies adhere to their own normative systems, which are necessarily shaped by their own context and experiences, any universal concept cannot be simply proclaimed or taken for granted.  In other words, human beings know and experience the world as themselves, men or women, African or European, rich or poor, religious believers or not.  As human beings everywhere, our consciousness, values, and behavior are shaped by our own cultural and religious traditions.  The question is therefore how to generate, promote, and sustain consensus on universal human rights norms.  What are the nature and implications of differentials in power relations between different participants in these consensus-building processes, within as well as among cultures? 

 This view of the universality of human rights as a product of a consensus-building process should not be seen as defending or justifying the claims of some governments or leaders that their societies should be exempt or excused from observing the same standards.  In fact, those claims are made by the ruling elites because of the perceptions that human rights are “Western,” and therefore alien to African and Asian societies in general (Bauer and Bell 1999, see for example).  Rather, my purpose is to challenge such claims by emphasizing that all societies are struggling with how to achieve and sustain a genuine commitment to the universality of human rights, and its underlying premise of the rule of law in international relations.  In particular, I reject the notion that the only valid model for the universality of human rights is set by Western or any other group of societies for the rest of the world to follow if they wish to be considered a part of the “civilized humanity.”  If human rights are to be universal at all (which they have to be since they are the rights of all human beings everywhere), they must be integral to the culture and experience of all societies, and not only of so-called Western societies who are “transplanting” them into other societies.  In support of this proposition, I wish to emphasize two points.

 First, it is clear that the present formulation of international human rights standards strongly reflects Western political philosophy and experience, with many of the articles of the Universal Declaration apparently copying the language of the Bill of Rights of the United States in particular (Brems 2001, 17).  But this does not make these norms alien or irrelevant to African and Asian societies, which can indeed appreciate the need to protect these rights in their own contexts.  The present formulation of these standards is premised on the nature of Western models of the territorial state and international relations, which are now part of the realities of all Islamic societies, as noted earlier.  Since Muslims now have to live with these Western institutions, they need to benefit from the safeguards developed by Western societies for protecting the rights of persons and communities under these systems (Beahr 1999, 2).  Conversely, those Muslims who claim to be rejecting human rights because they are Western should also reject territorial state and international trade, and economic and other relations that are premised on that model, which is clearly Western in every sense of the term.  If they are unable or unwilling to do that, then they should accept human rights as necessary and the effective ways of minimizing abuses and redressing harms, which are likely to happen under these Western models.  

 The second point I wish to emphasize is that the advocates of human rights and international legality must insist on these essential foundations of civilized humanity, rather than abandoning them because of the failure of some governments to uphold these principles.  Otherwise, Muslims would be conceding that Western societies and their governments are the sole authors of these principles, which stand or fall on their willingness or ability to uphold them.  Principles of human rights and international legality must be upheld and promoted in the face of any challenge, from whatever source, precisely because they are the joint effort of the totality of humanity, everywhere.  It is also important to note that, like any other human initiative, the protection of human rights can only be achieved through a process of trial and error, through practice that includes frets and starts, setbacks, as well as progress.  All people and societies must cooperate and collaborate in this process for these rights to be truly universal.  Muslims in particular, for my purposes here, must be active participants in this process, instead of complaining about being helpless victims of oppression by their own governments at home and subjects of Western hegemony in international relations.

Nonethless, difficulties have been mounting since the end of the Cold War, as old rivals of the so-called West and East blocks became collaborators in facilitating their narrower foreign policy objectives with diminishing reference to human rights considerations.  Several tentative examples of this can be found throughout the 1990s, from to , and from to , to by 2003.  It is true that some of the old human rights foreign policies continue, because such a fundamental shift in foreign policy is unlikely to occur completely and all at once.  But it is also clear to me that there is a gradual erosion and decline of the old policy, as offending governments watch carefully to see how much they can get away with, and those motivated to include human rights in their foreign policies consider how much they can risk to lose in the cause of protecting the human rights of people in far away places.  As the human rights movement concedes more of its traditional demands in appreciation of the weakness of its “bargaining power” in national and regional politics, governments become bolder in their assertion of the narrowly-defined national interest over human rights concerns.  This gradual erosion of the importance of human rights in foreign policy also tends to be legitimized through democratic processes, as illustrated by the re-election of President George W. Bush in the despite, or perhaps because of, his lack of concern for human rights and international law.

I do not mean to discredit the human rights idea itself, or predict its demise, in domestic settings and international relations.  My object is to shift the focus of human rights advocacy to a more “people-centered” approach that is less dependent on the ambiguities and contingencies of inter-governmental relations.  This does not mean the termination of the strategies of international advocacy because that is still necessary for the practical protection of human rights at present (Drinan 2001, for example).  What I am calling for is to gradually diminish reliance on international advocacy by progressively reducing the need for it through the development of the capacity of local communities to protect their own rights as the most effective and sustainable way (An-Na’im 2003, 1–28; An-Na’im 2001, 701–32, see for more explanation).  This shift to local efforts and away from international intervention is not easily made or secured against regression where it is already taking place, but it is the only way forward.  In the case of Islamic societies, this involves persuading and motivating Muslims to accept and implement human rights.  It is also clear to me that human rights are not a universal or total cure for all of the problems of any society, but these norms and institutions can empower people to engage in political and legal struggles for human dignity and social justice.

Islam, Shari `a, and the Freedom of Religion and Belief

The earlier discussion of conflicts between Shari `a and constitutionalism, as well as the possibilities of mediating them through a broader reference to Islam at large, is also applicable to human rights.  I am, therefore, calling for the clarification of the nature of tensions between some aspects of Shari `a and human rights, as well as exploring ways of addressing them through Islamic reform.  It is necessary to first acknowledge that there is a conflict and understand its nature, before we can hope to resolve or mediate it.  Conflicts between Shari `a and human rights include issues of the rights of women and non-Muslims.  I will now examine the third main area of conflict, namely, the freedom of religion and belief, by first clarifying the human rights issues and then exploring the possibilities of mediating the conflict through Islamic reform.  To avoid confusion, I do believe that it is possible, indeed necessary, to re-interpret Islamic sources in order to affirm and protect the freedom of religion and belief.  This is my position as a Muslim, speaking from an Islamic perspective, and not simply because the freedom of religion and belief is a universal human rights norm that is binding upon Muslims from an international law point of view.

It is important to put the following discussion in perspective in at least two ways.  First, the conflict between religious law and freedom of religion is not peculiar to Islam alone, as it can be found in relation to other religions and ideologies.  For example, traditional understandings of Jewish and Christian texts imposed the death penalty and other drastic consequences for apostasy and related offences (Saeed 2004, 35).^[2]  Indeed, it can be argued that the enforcement of religious conformity by such measures is simply the equivalent of modern notions of treason, which remains a capital crime under most legal systems today.  The prohibition of apostasy and related matters under Shari `a, therefore, was neither unique among religious traditions, nor the phenomenon limited to religion, as similar penal and other measures continue to be applied to the so-called secular ideologies.  Non-conformity with Marxist ideology, for example, was probably punished more harshly in the former Soviet Union for much of the 20<sup>th</sup> century than apostasy and related crimes were ever punished under Shari`a. 

 Another important point to emphasize is that the relevant Shari `a principles have rarely been strictly and systematically applied in the past, and even less today.  Nevertheless, the existence of these principles constitutes a fundamental conflict with the premise of universality of human rights and source of serious violations of the freedom of religion and belief in practice.  It is therefore necessary for me as a Muslim to confront this issue in order to uphold the moral integrity of my religious beliefs, in addition to challenging the practical violation of this human right, however unlikely or infrequent that may be today. 

                      I will briefly discuss apostasy and related matters under Shari `a to clarify the inconsistency of those principles with religious freedom from an Islamic perspective, even without reference to modern human rights norms.  The proper application of the principle of the religious neutrality of the state will eliminate any possibility of negative legal consequences of apostasy and related concepts.  But that will not eliminate the negative social implications of traditional Shari `a principles.  That aspect should be addressed through educational and other measures over time to promote genuine and sustainable pluralism.  The following discussion applies to both legal and social aspects by showing that those Shari`a principles are so untenable from a moral and political point of view today that they should neither be enforced by the state, nor accepted by Islamic societies at large.

                       The Arabic term riddah, commonly translated as apostasy, literally means to “turn back,” and murtad is the person who turns back (Rushd, vol. 2; al-Samar`i 1968, based on the review of classical Islamic jurisprudence of apostasy; Rahman 1972, in English language).  Under the traditional understandings of Shari `a, riddah is reverting from the religion of Islam to kufr (unbelief), whether intentionally or by necessary implication (Saeed 2004, 36, 42).  In other words, once a person becomes a Muslim by his or her free choice, there is no means by which he or she can change religion.  According to Shari`a scholars, the ways in which riddah can occur include: denial of the existence or attributes of God; denial of a particular messenger of God or that a messenger is truly a messenger of God; denial of a principle that is established as a matter of religion, such as the obligation to pray five times a day or fast during the month of Ramadan; declaring prohibited what is manifestly permitted (halal), or declaring permitted what is manifestly prohibited (haram).  Apostasy is traditionally held to apply to any Muslim who is deemed to have reverted from Islam by an intentional or blasphemous act or utterance, whether it was said mockingly, out of stubbornness, or out of conviction (Saeed 2004, 36–37). 

The obvious objection to the view that apostasy is a crime or a legal wrong for which an apostate should suffer any punishment or other legal consequences is that this contravenes the position of the Qur’an on the subject.  As can be seen in verses 2:217, 4:90, 5:54, 59, 16:108, and 47:25 (cited here by number of chapter followed by number of verse), the Qur’an condemns apostasy but does not specify any legal consequences for it in this life (Saeed 2004, 57).  In fact, the Qur’an clearly contemplates situations where an apostate continues to live among the Muslim community.  For example, verse 4:137 of the Qur’an can be translated as follows: “Those who believed, then disbelieved, then believed, and then disbelieved [once more] and became more so, God will not forgive them or guide them to the righteous pathway.”  If it is true that the Qur’an imposes the death penalty for apostasy, the person would not continue to live among Muslims to repeat the same crime.  Nevertheless, Shari`a scholars relied on some Sunna reports in imposing the death penalty on an apostate, in addition to other negative legal consequences, for instance, barring inheritance by or from a murtadd (Saeed 2004, 413–14).

In addition to its incompatibility with the principle of freedom of religion, which is repeatedly emphasized throughout the Qur’an, there are two problematic aspects of the notion of apostasy in traditional Islamic jurisprudence itself, namely, the vagueness and fluidity of the concept, and the ambiguity of the basis for its legal consequences as a capital crime.  The main sources of the vagueness and fluidity of the concept of apostasy relate to its definition and punishment, as well as its close association with concepts such as unbelief (kufr), blasphemy (sabb al-rasul), heresy (zandaqah), and hypocrisy (nifaq).

Scholars of the four main Sunni schools classified apostasy into three categories: beliefs, actions, and utterances, with further sub-divisions for each of them.  But each of these categories can be controversial.  For instance, the first category is supposed to include: doubts about the existence or eternity of God, or about the message of the Prophet Muhammad or any other prophet, doubts about the Qur’an, the Day of Judgment, the existence of paradise and hell, or about any other matter of belief on which there is consensus (ijma) among Muslims, such as the attributes of God.  It would, therefore, logically follow that where there is no consensus on an issue, apostasy is not possible on that count.  Yet, as a matter of fact, there is no consensus among Muslims on many of the issues included in the list of various scholars and schools.  For example, since there is significant disagreement among Muslim scholars on the attributes of God, a person can be condemned as an apostate for accepting or rejecting an attribute of God according to the views of one scholar that is accepted or denied by another scholar (Saeed 2004, 37, 189; Gill 2003, 20).  Moreover, Muslim scholars did not generally discriminate among the various associated concepts and tended to use the broader category of apostasy as subsuming all of them (Saeed 2004,).  This makes this term dangerously broad and vague, and confuses the legal basis of an alleged crime and its punishment among different types of conduct.  I will now simply illustrate this point, without attempting a comprehensive discussion of the subject.

 Since apostasy means to be openly reverting to disbelief in Islam after having freely embraced it, an obvious association is with disbelief (kufr), i.e., open and complete rejection of the message of Islam itself (Saeed 2004, 42).  Although it repeatedly speaks of disbelief and belief, the Qur’an does not provide clear guidance on what these terms mean beyond the basic sense of confession of the faith—that “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his messenger.”  For example, the Qur’an frequently links belief to performing worship rituals like prayer and fasting during the month of Ramadan and doing good deeds, but does not say what should happen to those who fail to live up to these obligations other than punishment in the afterlife. 

The Qur’an does not expressly state the consequences of questioning the meaning of the confession of the faith itself.  For instance, what does it mean to affirm the Muslim confession of faith that: “There is no God but God”?  What do believers know, or what should they know, about God?  What are the imperative consequences of belief in the unity of God for the personal practice or behavior of Muslims, whether at the private personal level or in relation to public socio-economic and political institutions and processes?  Who has the authority to adjudicate the inevitable disagreements about these and other matters after the death of Prophet, and how?

 The Qur’an leaves Muslims to struggle with all these issues for themselves.  It is true that they have the additional practical guidance of the Sunna, or the life-model of the Prophet, but that also has its uncertainties and ambiguities.  It is, therefore, not surprising to find major differences among Muslims on the role that actions or deeds (amal) play within the definition of belief (iman).  Whereas some Muslim scholars were willing to accept an apparent confession of the faith as sufficient for a person to be considered a Muslim, others insisted that the professed belief must be expressed in specific actions or deeds.  For those who require action according to belief, the question becomes what to do about the people who claim to be Muslims but fail to act accordingly.  But then, who decides whether or not a person has acted according to the requirements of the faith, and what consequences should follow from such a determination?  These debates and their manifestations ranged from the views and actions of the Kharijites during the civil wars of the seventh century to the status of the Ahmadiyya in Pakistan since the 1950s, to the present cults of murder and terrorism (Abou El Fadl 2001, for example).  Such profound uncertainties are further complicated by ambiguities and disagreements about other concepts.

This fluidity and vagueness also exist with regard to prohibitions on blasphemy.  Blasphemy is the use of foul language primarily about the Prophet Muhammad, known as insulting the Prophet (sabb al-rasul), God, or any of the angels or prophets, and is held by traditional Islamic scholars to be punishable by death (Saeed 2004, 37–38).  At a later stage, this offence was extended to cover using foul language against the Companions of the Prophet.  While for some scholars this category of blasphemy is a special category in which the person remains a Muslim, but can be killed as a punishment for this offence, others maintain that committing such a sin automatically removes the person from the fold of Islam.  If the act is committed by a non-Muslim, then the question of apostasy does not arise, but the person can still be punished by death for blasphemy.  As with apostasy, the punishment for blasphemy appears to be based on certain incidents in the lifetime of the Prophet as there is no clear Qur’anic instruction on the matter.  Even when the Qur’an uses the term sabb, as in 6:108, it only commands Muslims to refrain from reviling the deities of non-Muslims lest they revile God, but without any reference to punishment in this life.  While scholars cite incidents in early Islamic history in support of imposing the death penalty for blasphemy, it is clear that neither the Qur’an nor Sunna of the Prophet declare the existence of an offence called “blasphemy” or a specific punishment for it (Saeed 2004, 38–39).

                       Similar problems exist with the jurisprudence regarding heresy.  The term heresy (zandaqah) is applied in Shari `a sources to a heretic whose teachings become a danger to the Islamic community, thereby rendering him liable to the death penalty.  However, the term and its derivatives do not appear in the Qur’an at all, and seem to have come into Arabic from Persian.  This term was apparently used for the first time in connection with the execution of Ja`d bin Dirham in 742—more than a century after the Prophet’s death.  “In practice, the polemics of the conservatives describe as a zindik (one who is guilty of zandaqah) anyone whose external profession of Islam seems to them to be not sufficiently sincere” (Encyclopaedia 1991, 659).  However, there is no agreed definition of what that means, and only a variety of views exist about “the type of conduct” that constitutes zandaqah, or make a person a zindiq, such as those who outwardly show that they are Muslims while retaining their former religion.  But how is that to be known, or proved, in specific cases?  Without a clear and specific definition of the term, it is not surprising that some scholars were prepared to infer zindiqah because a person advocated indulgence in various acts that are prohibited in Islam such as zina or drinking wine (Saeed 2004, 40).  The need for a clear definition is also apparent when one considers that some scholars, of the Hanafi and Maliki schools in particular, would deny a zindiq or the chance to repent, while an apostate is afforded that opportunity (Saeed 2004, 41, 54–55).

 As this brief review clearly shows, there have always been substantial confusion and fluidity in these concepts and how they were defined, as well as uncertainty about the basis of their criminal punishment.  Since the Qur’an neither defined these concepts nor imposed a punishment for any of them in this life, the present Islamic societies can and should reconsider this aspect of Shari `a in terms of the freedom of religion and belief.  In fact, more texts of the Qur’an and Sunna can be cited for this view than in support of imposing any penal or other legal consequences on such conduct (Saeed 2004, 69–87).  In other words, there should be no penal or other negative legal consequences for apostasy and all of the related concepts from an Islamic perspective because belief in Islam pre-supposes and requires the freedom of choice, and can never be valid under coercion or intimidation.  The possibility of belief in anything logically requires choice in the matter, as one cannot believe in anything without the freedom and ability to disbelieve in it.

 The inherent vagueness and ambiguity of these Shari `a principles encourage their manipulation and abuse for political or polemical ends.  Many of the leading historical Muslim scholars who are now widely accepted among the most respected and authoritative, like Abu Hanifa, ibn Hanbal, al-Ghazali, ibn Hzm, and ibn Taymiyya, were accused of apostasy in their own life time (Saeed 2004, 30–31).  These risks also tend to diminish possibilities of legitimate theological and jurisprudential reflection and development within any Islamic society, or global community of believers (Umma).  These are compelling reasons for abolishing apostasy and all related notions in the best interest of Islam as a religion, and Islamic societies themselves, without any reference to international human rights norms.  To show that there is an internal Islamic argument and approach to protecting religious liberty in this way is the best way to promote the validity and the effectiveness of the principle of the universality of human rights (Witte and Vyver 1996, 337–59, see regard to the combination of both Islamic and human rights arguments against these crimes).  How can this desirable outcome be realized in practice today?

 A dilemma facing those who support such reform in Islamic societies today is whether to seek their objectives through the existing corpus and methodology of traditional Shari `a or attempt to avoid the limitations of that approach by seeking to impose a strict separation of religion and the state.  In my view, both approaches have their limitations. On one hand, reform within the traditional framework of Shari `a cannot achieve the complete abolition of the notion of apostasy and related concepts because that would not be allowed by methodology, usul al-fiqh, as formulated by Muslim scholars like al-Shafi`i 1200 years ago.  Traditional usul al-fiqh would support imposing the death penalty, or at least other legal restrictions, on an apostate because they are believed to be based on the categorical texts of Sunna, though not of the Qur’an.  At the same time, apostasy and related notions cannot simply be abolished through purely secular legislation without sufficient Islamic justification because of the paramount moral and social authority of Shari `a among Muslims.  The effective and sustainable abolition of these notions as a matter of re-interpretation of Shari `a must therefore address their traditional Islamic rationale, instead of simply relying on the authority of the secular state to abstain from imposing legal consequences. 

 Achieving the necessary degree of Islamic reform also requires the reformation of usul al-fiqh because traditional as well as alternative interpretations of the Qur’an and Sunna are necessarily the product of the historical context of the Muslim society of that time and place.  Thus, given the radical transformation of the political, social and economic context of Islamic societies today, as compared to what used to prevail when traditional understandings of Shari`a were developed, the methodology of interpretation must reflect present realities if it is to produce appropriate formulations of Shari`a.  This can be done, for example, by re-examining the rationale of enacting certain verses of the Qur’an and texts of Sunna into Shari `a principles, and de-emphasizing others as inapplicable in the context of early Islamic societies.  Once it is appreciated that that selection was made by human beings, rather than decreed by direct divine command, it becomes possible to re-consider the question of which texts are to be enacted today, and which are to be re-emphasized in the present context.  While I accept this particular approach as developed by the late Sudanese Muslim reformer, Ustadh Mahmoud Mohamed Taha, other approaches may also be possible (Taha 1987).

                       There is also a political or contextual dimension to this internal theological debate.  A reformer’s ability to gain the confidence of a community and authority among its members depends on his or her understanding of all of the complexity of their history and immediate context, concerns, and aspirations.  This is clearly shown by the case of Taha, who advocated his views in for forty years, and yet was himself executed for apostasy in January 1985 (An-Na’im 1986, 197–223).  Therefore, in addition to the availability of a coherent and effective reform methodology, one must take political, economic, social, and cultural factors into consideration in advocating such views.  This of course includes favorable forces or factors, as well as those that oppose the proposed reform. 

                       The state has a critical role in these processes, not only by refraining from purporting to enforce Shari`a as positive law, but also through the educational system, promoting critical thinking in the media, and generally securing the political and social “space” for dissent and free debate.  But the state itself, and the international community at large, can also be part of the problem.  The required political and social liberalization may appear, or in fact be, threatening for the elite who control the state, even when they claim to be secular in their political orientation.  Other states may also be supportive of oppressive regimes in Islamic countries, or pursue hostile foreign policy objectives that provoke conservatism and defensiveness in Islamic societies, instead of confidence and sense of security that would encourage internal political and social liberalization.  Accordingly, while the primary responsibility for securing religious liberty in Islamic societies lies within Muslims themselves, the international community also has a critical role to play in creating the most conducive conditions for that effort to succeed.  This brings me to the final issue, namely, the relevance of the idea of citizenship in this process, again from an Islamic perspective.

 IV. Citizenship

Whatever one may think of it, the fact is that European colonialism and its aftermath have drastically transformed the basis and the nature of political and social organization within and among “territorial states” where all Muslims live today (Piscatori 1986, see for example).  This transformation is so profound and deeply entrenched, permeating all aspects of economic activities, political processes, social life, and communal relations, the provision of education, health care, and other services, that a return to the pre-colonial ideas and systems is practically untenable.  Any change and adaptation of the present system can only be sought or realized through the concepts and institutions of this domestic and global post-colonial reality.  Yet many Muslims, probably the majority in many countries, have not fully accepted some aspects of this transformation and its consequences.  To contribute to clarifying and redressing this discrepancy, I will now focus on the question of citizenship, which has far-reaching implications for political stability, constitutional governance, and development at home and international relations abroad.  In particular, I will argue for human rights as a framework for highlighting and mediating the tension underlying the discrepancy regarding citizenship in the present Islamic societies.

 Human beings tend to seek and experience multiple and overlapping types and forms of membership in different groups on grounds such as ethnic, religious, or cultural identity, as well as political, social, or professional affiliation and/or economic interests.  The motivation to belong and the meaning of membership tend to be related to the rationale or purpose of that group, without precluding or undermining other forms of memberships.  That is, multiple and overlapping memberships should not be mutually exclusive, as they tend to serve different purposes for persons and communities.  This is obviously a simplified ideal model, because such bases of membership are unlikely to be clearly defined, their interaction is likely to be complex and contingent on other factors, and people may not necessarily be consciously aware of them or consistently act accordingly.  But the main point is that people tend to consciously or sub-consciously belong to or identify with various groups for different purposes, and not only with one group.

The term “citizenship” is used here to refer to a particular form of membership in the political community of a territorial state in its global context, and should therefore be related to this specific rationale or purpose without precluding other possibilities of membership.  This is not to suggest that people are always consciously aware of this form or type of membership or that they appreciate that it can be mutually inclusive of other forms of membership, each being appropriate for its specific purpose or rationale.  In fact, this part of the chapter assumes that there is confusion among Muslims about the meaning and implications of citizenship of a territorial state, as distinguished from, but not exclusive of, other forms or type of membership.

 It is important to note here that such confusion is not peculiar to Muslims or necessarily due to Islam.  For instance, there is the general human tendency to collapse different forms of membership, as when ethnic or religious identity is equated with political or social affiliation.  Thus, the development of the European model of the territorial “nation” state since the eighteenth century not only tended to equate citizenship with nationality, but has also continued to struggle with the genuine practical equality of citizens up to the present time (Heater 2004).  Considering citizenship to be synonymous with nationality is misleading because membership in the political community of a territorial state does not necessarily coincide with a subjective feeling of belonging or show any regard to how people feel about being identified as “belonging” to one conception of the nation or another.  The rights of citizens are also subjected to a variety of legal limitations in theory and serious restrictions in practice, as will be seen from the discussion on the headscarf issues in in Chapter 4 later. 

 This conception and practice of citizenship of a territorial state as nationalism has become the undisputed norm in domestic politics and international relations throughout the world, including all Islamic societies.  Even the notions of identity and sovereignty that underlie the claims of self-determination are now founded on these same European models.  Fortunately, these conceptions have continued to evolve and reflect the experiences of other societies, especially through the decolonization process and the development of universal human rights norms since the mid 20^th century.

 It is this evolving conception of citizenship, sovereignty, and self-determination that I am proposing for Muslims to accept and work with as a matter of principle, and not merely as a pragmatic concession to post-colonial realities.  It is true that Muslims everywhere have already accepted a basic concept of citizenship as the basis of the domestic constitutional and political system of their countries, as well as the international relations of those countries with the rest of the world.  Indeed, citizenship is the basis of relations among Muslims, so that I would need a visa issued by the government of to be able to go to Hajj or Umra there, and could not expect to be admitted into that country simply because I am a Muslim wishing to perform my religious obligations.  While citizenship is accepted in general terms, we again must take the next step.  My objective, therefore, is to develop and promote the principle of citizenship among Muslims in such a way that they can uphold and strive to realize a positive and proactive understanding of equal citizenship for all, without distinction on the grounds of religion, sex, ethnicity, language, or political opinion.  Citizenship should signify a shared understanding of equal human dignity for all, and fully inclusive and effective political participation to ensure the accountability of government for respecting and protecting human rights for all. 

The desirability of this understanding of citizenship throughout the world can no doubt be founded on a variety of considerations, including purely pragmatic realities of power relations within and among societies as indicated earlier.  However, it also requires the development of multiple religious, philosophical, and/or moral foundations for a definition of citizenship that is consistent with the universal human rights norms.  This combination of moral as well as pragmatic foundations can be seen in what is known as the Golden Rule, or the principle of reciprocity (mu`awada) in Islamic discourse.  Treating each other with mutual respect and empathy is required by a shared moral sensibility among different religious and philosophical traditions, in addition to being a pre-requisite for realistic expectations of reciprocal treatment.  Thus, persons and communities everywhere should affirm a shared conception of equal citizenship in order to be able to claim it for themselves at home and abroad.  That is, acceptance of this understanding of citizenship on the basis of universal human rights is the prerequisite moral, legal, and political basis of its enjoyment.

Muslims are already working with these ideas under domestic constitutional law and international law, as well as through cooperation with other people in the broader processes of defining and implementing universal human rights.  These international standards and processes are, in turn, contributing to the process of defining and protecting the rights of citizens at the domestic level.  The relationship between human rights and citizenship is therefore inherent to these two concepts, which are mutually supportive of each other.  When citizenship is defined from a human rights point of view, it would enable Muslims as citizens to participate more effectively in defining and implementing human rights.  That, in turn, will improve their enjoyment of citizenship.  This view of the relationship of these two concepts assumes that the governments that are bound by international law and human rights treaties are representative of their citizens.  Unfortunately, this is obviously not true of some parts of the world, especially where the majority of Muslims live, in Africa and Asia . 

 The challenge, therefore, is how to effectively apply this human rights approach to citizenship, which will in turn contribute to realizing the assumption of democratic governance and accountability.  The question is how to use existing resources, including the already accepted concepts of citizenship and human rights, in order to promote those same resources.  This process of mutual development of citizenship and human rights is subject to a large and complex web of factors and actors that are local, domestic, and international.  These include economic and social relations, in addition to the influence of the educational system and media activities, all in the historical and current socio-political context.  The same negative perceptions and hegemonic power relations that diminish the effectiveness and relevance of constitutionalism and human rights noted earlier also apply to this field of citizenship and its relationship to human rights. 

 It is therefore with a clear understanding of the complexity of the process and its unpredictable outcomes that I am focusing in the following discussion on the traditional Shari `a notion of dhimmihood in accordance with the objective of this book.  As explained below, dhimmihood signified the protection of some basic rights and limited communal autonomy for specific groups of non-Muslims (ahl al-dhimma), in exchange for their submission to Muslim sovereignty (Encyclopaedia of Islam 1991, 75–76; Ayoub 2004, 25–26).  While that system is simply untenable as the basis of citizenship of the territorial states where all Muslims live today, it continues to have strong influence on the attitudes and behaviour of Muslims.

 Dhimmihood in Historical Perspectives

The following review of the traditional dhimmihood system requires clarification of two elements of methodological confusion, which underlie some apologetic Islamic discourse that misrepresents Shari `a principles or subjects them to the immediate and arbitrary reformulation to suit the polemical objectives of the author (Doi 1981; Khan 2003, see for example).  First, our focus here is on how the founding scholars of Shari `a have actually understood the relevant texts of the Qur’an and Sunna in a systematic manner.  We must first be clear on the existing Shari `a principles of dhimmihood before we can examine possibilities of reform.  Second, any proposed reform must follow a clear and systematic methodology, instead of arbitrary selectivity among different sources because such claims can be repudiated by simply citing counter sources.  It is not helpful to cite texts of the Qur’an and Sunna that apparently support equality for non-Muslims without addressing those that can be cited in support of the opposite view.

 The traditional system of dhimmihood as it was actually developed by Muslim scholars was part of a world view that determined political allegiance on the basis of religious affiliation, in contrast to the present notions of allegiance to a territorial state (Morony 2004, 1–23).  As such, that view sought to shift political allegiance from tribal ties to Islam, thereby making membership in the political community accessible to all human beings who accept that religious belief.  As they believed themselves to be the recipients of the final and conclusive divine revelation, early Muslims assumed that they had a paramount and permanent obligation to propagate Islam through jihad, which included, but was not limited to, military conquest (Al-Nabhani 1981, 147). 

 Accordingly, the founding scholars of Shari `a maintained that Muslims should offer Islam peacefully initially.  If that offer was rejected, then they should fight unbelievers into submission, and impose on them what Muslims believed were the imperative precepts of Islam (Lambton 1985, 147–50).  That system was therefore premised on a sharp distinction between the territories of Islam (dar al-Islam) where Muslims ruled and Shari `a was supposed to prevail, and the territories of those at war with Muslims (dar al-harb) (Ali 1985, 201).  The underlying vision was that the obligation to propagate Islam, through military as well as peaceful means, remains until the whole world becomes dar al-Islam.  That view was no doubt encouraged by the remarkable initial success of Muslim conquests, from North Africa and southern in the west, to , Central Asia , and northern in the east, within decades of the Prophet’s death.  However, as the practical limitations of indefinite expansion became clearer over time, Muslim rulers had to conclude peace treaties (sulh) with unbelievers, which scholars acknowledged as legitimate, thereby accepting the inviolability of the territory of those at peace with Muslims (dar al-sulh) (Hamidullah 1968, 158–79; Khadduri 1955, 162–69, 245–46, 243–44; Gibb and Kramers 1953, 16–17, “Ahl al-Kitab,” 75–76, “Dhimma,” 91–92, “Dizya,” 205–06, “Kafir,” 542–44, “Shirk”).

According to that original model of Muslim/non-Muslim relations developed during the seventh and eighth century, Shari `a classified all human beings into three main religious categories: Muslims, People of the Book (ahl al-kitab, those who are accepted by Muslims as having a revealed scripture, mainly Christians and Jews), and unbelievers.  The status of People of Book was extended by some Muslim scholars to Magians, for example, on the assumption that they had a revealed scripture (Yusuf 1963, 128–30).  But the basic scheme that remained was not changed or modified from a Shari `a point of view, thereby making Muslims the only full members of the political community; People of the Book were partial members.  Unbelievers (kufar) did not qualify for any legal recognition or protection as such, unless granted temporary safe conduct (aman) for practical reasons, such as trade and diplomatic representation (Encyclopaedia of Islam 1991, 206, see “Kafir”).

                       The term “dhimma” referred to a compact between the state ruled by Muslims and a People of the Book community, whereby members of that community were granted security of their persons and property, the freedom to practice their religion in private, and communal autonomy to govern their internal affairs.  In exchange, the community of People of the Book undertook to pay a poll tax (jizya) and observe the terms of their compact with the state (Encyclopaedia of Islam 1991, 91, see “Djizya”; Ali 1985, 22–23).  Those granted dhimma status were encouraged to embrace Islam, but not allowed to propagate their faith.  Common features of compacts of dhimma included restriction on participation in the public affairs of the state or holding public office that entailed exercising authority over Muslims (Doi 1981, 115–16).  However, the actual terms of these compacts varied over time, and their practical application was not always consistent with their theory for a variety of pragmatic reasons, as illustrated below.  However, the members of dhimma communities were by definition not entitled to equality with Muslims, who themselves did not have full citizenship in the modern sense of the term.  Unbelievers were presumed to be at war with Muslims (owing allegiance to dar al-harb), unless they were granted temporary safe conduct to travel through or reside in territories ruled by Muslims (dar al-Islam) (Ali 2000, 236).  The status and the rights of those people who belonged to the territories, which had a peace treaty with Muslims (dar al-sulh), were determined in accordance with the terms of that agreement (Newby 2002, 51). 

                       The dhimmihood system is now obviously totally untenable as illustrated by the case of , where the failure to acknowledge this reality has resulted in decades of destructive civil war in the southern part of the country (An-Na`im and Deng 1997, 199–223; Deng 1995).  When considered in its proper historical context, however, that system not only reflected the prevalent standards of governance and inter-communal relations throughout the world at the time, but also compared favourably to other systems.

 There is no alternative to the rule of law in international relations and the protection of human rights everywhere in order to confront some Western countries that seek to dominate others and challenge weak governments that oppress their own people.  International legality and human rights can only be upheld when each society upholds the values of equality and the rule of law in its own domestic and foreign policies, and thereby has the moral and political standing to demand the same from other societies.  For our purposes here, this means not only the formal abolition of the dhimmihood system from a Shari`a point of view, but also the repudiation of its underlying values by Muslims so that they can more fully internalize and implement modern notions of citizenship as defined above.  Once again, this trend has already begun among Muslims, and the question is how to develop it further and secure it against regression.

 From Dhimmihood to Human Rights-based Citizenship

 A human rights-based view of citizenship means that the substantive norms, procedures, and process aspects of this status should be derived from, or at least be consistent with, the present universal human rights standards.  As discussed above, the essential purpose of human rights is to ensure the effective protection of certain key entitlements of all human beings everywhere, regardless of whether these rights are protected by inclusion in the constitutional system of a country or not.

 International human rights treaties do not define citizenship as such, but several of those principles are relevant or applicable.  These include the fundamental principles of self-determination, equality, and non-discrimination on various grounds including religion provided for by Article 1(2) and (3) of the Charter of the United Nations of 1945, which is a treaty that is legally binding on all countries where Muslims live today.  These same principles are reaffirmed in the subsequent human rights treaties, like Articles 1 and 2 of both the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights and International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, both of 1966.  These two Covenants and other human rights treaties also provide for specific human rights, like equality before the law and the protection of freedom of religion, to which non-Muslim citizens of Islamic countries are equally entitled (United Nations 1994, vol. 1; Cassese 1995).

 The realization of the proposed human rights-based concept of citizenship among Muslims can be achieved through a combination of three elements.  The first element is the actual transition from dhimmihood to formal citizenship in the post-colonial era.  The second element is the means to sustain and develop that transition through methodologically sound and politically sustainable Islamic reform in order to root constitutional and human rights values in Islamic doctrine.  The third is the consolidation of those two elements into an indigenous discourse that transcends the present limitations and weaknesses of this concept of citizenship and its practice in Islamic societies.  These elements can be seen in transitions in and as the last imperial Islamic states into European model territorial states by the early twentieth century.  However, as further explained and evaluated in chapters 5 and 6, respectively, the transformation of citizenship in those countries was ambivalent and contested, and remains vulnerable to regression and setbacks to the present day.

                       Let us first examine the development of the concept of citizenship in .  Islam was first brought to the Indian sub-continent within decades of the Prophet’s death, but it took several centuries for Muslims to gradually become a minority ruling class in various parts of (Qureshi 1996, 3–34).  Despite their diverse ethnic and cultural origins (immigrant Turkic, Afghan, Persian, and Arab people, as well as native converts of various backgrounds), the Muslims of India gradually evolved traditions of toleration and co-existence that facilitated their interaction and assimilation with other religious communities of the sub-continent.  However, that was more in terms of mutual accommodation with Hindu feudal lords and other elite groups than broad acceptance of the citizenship of the population at large (Rizvi 1996, 67).  This is not a criticism since this concept was unknown anywhere in the world at that time and for many centuries to come.

 The system of state employment and administration system developed by Akbar (1542–1605) incorporated all interests and groups into the same graded hierarchy.  But a combination of technological and administrative stagnation, civil wars, and regional invasions slowly resulted in the disintegration of the Mughal Empire during the eighteenth century (Qureshi 1996, 52–57).  Efforts to halt the advance of British colonialism, like those of Shah Wali Allah (1703–72), to revive the notion of a Shari`a state as well as the jihad movement of Sayyid Ahmad Barelwi (1786–1831), Hajji Shari`at Allah (1781–1840) and Hajji Muhsin (1819–62) all failed (Rizvi 1996, 71–74).   Economic dislocations flowing from the expanding influence of the East India Company, coupled with changes in revenue and judicial administration introduced by British administrators in the late eighteenth century contributed to the decline of the power and authority of Muslims (Rizvi 1996, 77). 

Through a range of political, military, and economic strategies to gradually expand its influence, the British crown finally assumed control of the government throughout by the mid-nineteenth century.  Some Muslim leaders, like Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817–98) adopted a positive attitude to British and the general Western influence, but he was also ambivalent about the concept and the scope of citizenship in .  He combined commitment to the modernization of as a united nation with elitist suspicion of popular democratic institutions.  His effort to mobilize Muslim opposition to the Indian National Congress also represented a precursor to the politics of the struggle for independence that culminated in the partition of and by 1947 (Rizvi 1996, 67–96).  It is not possible to review those developments here, except to note that they reflect both Hindu resentment of earlier Muslim hegemony, including elements of the dhimmihood system, and Muslim apprehensions of Hindu domination.  Ironically, while so many Muslims remained citizens of , the partition did not achieve the benefits of citizenship for the Muslims of Pakistan.  In both countries, the concept of citizenship needs to be developed and protected against the risks of divisions between Muslims and non-Muslims (Ahmed 1970, 97–119, vol. 2A).

The understanding of citizenship developed in a markedly different way in the Ottoman Empire and the Republic of Turkey .  The flexibility and fluidity of the Ottoman millet system in west Asia and North Africa already represented a far-reaching and irreversible retreat from the traditional notions of dhimmihood in response to the pragmatic economic, military, and social realities.  Those pre-existing realities probably facilitated and were, in turn, enhanced by the processes of Western penetration and Ottoman capitulations that eventually transformed the Empire and set the scene for the transition of into a secular republic by the 1920s.  Another factor to note in that process is the rise of nationalist movements among Muslim (such as Arabs and Albanians), as well as among Christian minorities, which resulted in the establishment of territorial states based on the modern principle of citizenship. 

 While protracted and gradual, the most significant shift in the Ottoman policy and practice started with the Tanzimat decree of 1839, which began the process of officially affirming the legal equality of all non-Muslim and Muslim subjects of the sultan (Küçük 1986, 1007–24).  While the earlier Tanzimat decree did acknowledge Shari`a as the law of the Empire, the Ottoman decree of 1856 simply asserted the equal status of non-Muslims, abolished the jizya, and prohibited derogatory treatment or reference to dhimma communities and their members, without any reference to Islamic principles.  Various aspects of the modern principles of equality before the law and non-discrimination on the grounds of religion were enacted in articles 8 to 22 of the Ottoman Constitution of 1876.  Those principles were consolidated by the subsequent constitutional development during the rest of the Ottoman Empire , and further entrenched during the Republican era since 1926.

 Similar processes of transition to those of and the Ottoman Empire evolved throughout the Muslim world during the twentieth century, and came to be formally entrenched during the de-colonization processes after the Second World War.  As a result, notions of dhimmihood are neither practiced nor advocated anywhere in the present Muslim world, which has been fully integrated into the present international system of territorial states (Saeed and Saeed 2004, 13–14).  Although these transformations have been formally instituted by European colonialism, all Islamic societies have voluntarily continued the same system after independence.  Far from expressing any reservations or attempting to modify this system at either the domestic or international level, states ruling Islamic societies are now actively engaged in the operation of this system at home and abroad (Piscatori 1986).  But the tension with the traditional notions of dhimma and its underlying values persists, as illustrated by controversies in Indonesia about whether it is permissible for Muslims to extend Christmas greetings to Christians or enter into inter-religious marriage (Aqsha 1995, 470–73), civil war in southern Sudan (Jok 2001), and homicidal riots over the enforcement of Shari`a in northern Nigerian states since 2001 (Ilesanmi 2001, 529–54).  This tension calls for supporting transitions to citizenship through methodologically sound and politically sustainable Islamic reform.

To recall earlier discussion of the subject, the main premise of a viable Islamic reform process is that Muslim belief that the Qur’an and Sunna are the divine sources of Islam does not imply that their meaning and implementation in everyday life is independent of human interpretation and action in specific historical context.  In fact, it is simply impossible to know and apply Shari`a in this life except through the agency of human beings since the Qur’an is expressed in Arabic (human language) and relates to specific historical experiences of actual societies.  Any view accepted by Muslims as being a part of Shari`a today or at any other time, even if unanimously agreed, necessarily emerged out of the opinion of human beings about the meanings of the Qur’an and Sunna, or the practices of Islamic communities.  Such opinions and practices became a part of Shari `a through the consensus of believers over many centuries, and not by the spontaneous decree of a ruler or will of a single group of scholars.  It therefore follows that alternative formulations of Shari `a principles are always possible, and can be equally valid if accepted as such by Muslims.  Moreover, a sound reform methodology should also address the two concerns indicated at the beginning of the preceding section of this chapter.  First, reform efforts must be clear about the pre-existing principles of Shari `a as established by Muslim scholars, and not confuse them with possible re-interpretations.  Second, one must avoid arbitrary selectivity among competing Qur’an and Sunna texts, without addressing texts that can be cited in support of the opposite view. 

 An Islamic reform methodology that is based on the above premise and meets the noted requirements is that proposed by Ustadh Mahmoud Mohamed Taha, who argued for a shift in the basis of social and political aspects of Shari`a from verses included in the Medina phase of the revelation of the Qur’an (622–32) to those revealed during the Mecca period (610–22).  To simplify and summarize, the rationale of this proposed shift is that earlier revelations represented the universal message of Islam, while the latter were specific responses to the historical context of human societies at the time.  Ustadh Mahmoud also demonstrated the temporary rationale of the notions of aggressive jihad and discrimination against non-Muslims that underlie the dhimmihood system, as revealed during the Medina phase. The basic point here is that Islam was offered first through the peaceful propagation of its universal message during the Mecca period.  But, when that was shown to be unrealistic in the context of the seventh century Arabia , a more historically appropriate message was advanced during the Medina period that sanctioned the use of aggressive jihad and discrimination against non-Muslims.  Thus, the chronologically later message of Medina came to be implemented first as Shari `a since the seventh century.   Asserting that it is now possible to implement the earlier message of peaceful propagation and non-discrimination, Ustadh Mahmoud calls for that shift to be achieved through a fresh concept and methodology of ijtihad.

In this way, Taha’s methodology is able to explicitly set aside those verses underlying the dhimmihood system as a matter of Shari `a, although they remain part of the Qur’an.  Since the process of selecting which verses of the Qur’an are applicable and which are not was always the work of Muslim jurists, earlier choices can be replaced by new ones simply as a revision of what Muslims did in the past, not of the Qur’an and Sunna themselves.  This framework provides a coherent and systematic methodology of interpretation of Qur’an and Sunna, instead of the arbitrary selectivity of other modern scholars who fail to explain what happens to the verses they choose to overlook.  Thus, relevant revelations during the Mecca period can support the development of a modern concept of citizenship from an Islamic point of view (Taha 1987, An-Na`im 1990).  While I find this approach very convincing, I remain open to similarly sound methodology that is capable of achieving the necessary degree of reform.