The Hidden Volcano
Along the Nā Pali Coast of Kauaʻi, the cloud-wrapped mountains look as though the Pacific itself had split them open to reveal their history: layers of lava risen from the ocean floor, then carved by water until the volcano turned green and almost concealed its origins. However far apart the Hawaiian islands may appear above the water, beneath it they belong to a single geological movement.
It occurred to me that, across the Arab and Islamic ocean, too much time was spent looking at the islands and not what lies beneath them.
Then came the news from Makkah.
Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan signed the Makkah Mutual Defence Agreement, under which an attack on one is treated as an attack on all. Egypt and others might join the heart of the archipelago. The agreement should not be understood as a Sunni alliance against Iran or Shiism. Its deeper significance is an attempt to redefine security: the security of the collective, not the security of sect.
Makkah is not a party to a sectarian equation. Makkah is a centre. Makkah is compass and qibla. And there is a profound difference between centrality and privilege.
That brought Salman the Persian to mind. Al-Tirmidhi relates that the Prophet ﷺ told him: “O Salman, do not hate me and thereby leave your religion,” and then explained that hatred of the Arabs was a form of hatred toward him.
That Salman was the man addressed is the key to the meaning. Elsewhere, Salman is described as “one of us, the People of the House.” Islam’s universality did not make Arabs a chosen people, but neither did it erase the civilizational vessel that carried the message. Makkah was a trust, Arabic its vessel, and Arab centrality meant more responsibility, not more privilege.
Nor should hatred of Arabs from outside be the only concern. More troubling is when Arabs internalize it themselves, mistaking estrangement from their own depth for modernity and distance from their surroundings for pragmatism. Self-contempt does not become sound policy merely because it speaks the language of interests.
Our region does not suffer from a shortage of identities. It suffers when identities forget the difference between particularity and chosenness. Collective narcissism begins when a people imagines that its history, its wound, its lineage, its creed or its wealth exempts it from responsibility toward others.
We see it in a guardianship that derives present authority from a Hidden Imam; in a political evangelicalism that turns our land into a stage for the Second Coming; in a Zionism that slides from the security of a state toward “Greater Israel” and the Third Temple; and even in the city-state that imagines wealth can purchase history. These are neither identical doctrines nor equivalent dangers. But they share one defect: a sense of chosenness without responsibility.
In thinking about responsibility, I was struck by the paradox of the word Sayyid across two very different jurisdictions.
Under the guardianship of the jurist, Iran’s Supreme Leader bears the title Sayyid, signifying descent from the Arab House of the Prophet. If proximity increases responsibility, how can such descent sit comfortably beside a policy that turns Arab capitals into arenas for its conflicts?
In another jurisdiction, Michigan, Dr. Abdulrahman El-Sayed—an Egyptian-American physician who entered public life through public health and service—has risen to the forefront of American politics as a candidate for the United States Senate. Genealogy is not the point, but the responsibility honour imposes. In one jurisdiction, lineage is invoked to clothe arbitrariness in legitimacy; in another, a man gives honour to his name through what he does for others.
At Nā Pali, the volcano disappeared millions of years ago, but the mountain did not forget the fire that made it. Greenery and cloud covered it, water cut through it, and its origins remained carved into the rock.
Then came the news from Makkah.
Perhaps it was not the saviour who was hidden. It was the collective.
Discipline begins in Atturaif…
and is tested in the world.
Prof. Dr. Malik Ãl-Dahlan
Professor of Law and specialist in international law; International Mediator.
Honorary Professor, University of St Andrews;
Emeritus Professor of International Law and Public Policy, Queen Mary University of London, and;
Member, Peterhouse, University of Cambridge.