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Saturday, August 15, 2026

Iranian feminism, between war and the regime

First published in Spanish at Nueva Sociedad. Translation by International Research Group on Authoritarianism and Counter-Strategies.

The war in Iran has reshaped the political landscape that emerged from the 2022 uprising: it has strengthened the Islamic Republic, given new momentum to monarchist right-wing forces in the diaspora, and narrowed the space for an autonomous feminist politics. In this interview, Iranian scholar Firoozeh Farvardin examines how to oppose the regime without supporting foreign intervention, and how to sustain networks of care, resistance, and internationalism from below.

In September 2022, the killing of Mahsa Jina Amini — a 22-year-old Iranian Kurdish woman who had been detained in Tehran by the so-called “morality police” for allegedly violating mandatory hijab regulations — triggered one of the largest uprisings in Iran since the establishment of the Islamic Republic. Under the Kurdish slogan “Jin, Jiyan, Azadî” (“Woman, Life, Freedom”), protests against state control over women’s bodies quickly evolved into a broader challenge to the regime, its repressive apparatus, and the forms of social and political inequality that run through Iranian society.

Nearly four years later, the landscape has changed dramatically. State repression dismantled activist networks, imprisoned militants, and forced many activists into exile. At the same time, the military offensive carried out by Israel and the United States reshaped the political terrain: it enabled the Islamic Republic to present itself as a defender of national sovereignty, strengthen narratives of internal unity, and deepen the criminalization of those who oppose the regime. Meanwhile, monarchist and right-wing sectors, particularly active within the diaspora, gained visibility through a discourse that links regime change to foreign intervention and seeks to establish itself as the legitimate voice of the Iranian opposition.

In this interview, conducted by Carmín Rios Fukelman and Miranda Hochman, Firoozeh Farvardin — an Iranian feminist scholar currently affiliated with the University of Vienna and an associate researcher with the International Research Group on Authoritarianism and Counter-Strategies at the University of Potsdam, and affiliated with the Berlin Institute for Empirical Research on Integration and Migration (BIM) — reflects on the place of feminism in a context marked by internal repression, war, and struggles over who speaks for the Iranian opposition.

Much of the international coverage of the Iranian crisis is organized around a geopolitical lens: the United States, Israel, the Islamic Republic, Russia, China, regional powers. Within that framework, the voices of Iranian feminists are often pushed aside. What is lost when Iran is viewed only from that perspective? And how are the attacks by Israel and the United States interpreted by those struggling inside the country?

The narratives we encounter in the media and in much of public debate are almost always geopolitical. I am not suggesting that this dimension is unimportant. Of course it matters. But when people talk about this region, and Iran in particular, the conversation becomes almost entirely captured by that framework. The focus is on states, alliances, military balances, and strategic interests. What disappears is Iranian society itself.

I am interested in beginning from a different place: looking at what is happening inside Iran through the experiences of ordinary people. This means asking how domestic politics and external events relate to one another. They are not separate spheres.

For those living in Iran, the question is not only which international actor gains or loses power, but what possibilities remain for organizing, resisting, speaking out, and imagining a different life.

The first thing to understand is that war functions as a counterrevolutionary moment. Since 2016, Iran has experienced a cycle of revolutionary movements, reaching a peak in 2022 and another important moment in January 2026. Like many other Iranian feminists, I believe that war blocks the most progressive dimensions of that cycle. Whether the Islamic Republic wins or loses, war is a blessing for the regime because it allows it to suppress the opposition movement and gain legitimacy both inside and outside the country.

What is happening outside Iran is deeply concerning. In certain circles that see themselves as progressive or left-wing, the regime is beginning to be viewed almost automatically as a legitimate force simply because it confronts the United States and Israel. People forget that only a short time ago there was a massacre in which thousands were killed within a matter of days. Now the Supreme Leader and military commanders who were unlawfully assassinated are being praised, while it is overlooked that they themselves were also responsible for killings and repression.

Meanwhile, inside Iran, executions continue every day. Many people are arrested on accusations of espionage, opposing the war, or supporting the United States and Israel. To be clear, I believe the country was illegally invaded. Whether or not I agree with the regime is irrelevant. It was an illegal invasion. I cannot accept the assassination of a foreign country’s leader without consequences. But that is one problem. The other is that the regime uses that aggression as a pretext for even greater repression.

Nationalist sentiments are also growing. That does not mean everyone supports the Islamic Republic. However, many people begin to feel that in the face of an illegal war they should support the Iranian state as the protector of the nation. I do not agree with that position, but I understand how polarization pushes some people to believe that supporting the state is less harmful than supporting foreign intervention.

I say this not only as an academic living outside Iran, but as a feminist who remains closely connected to what is happening there and who continues, as much as possible, to work and conduct research with Iranians and on their experiences. The missing voice in the public sphere is that of those seeking a third path. That voice exists, both inside Iran and in the diaspora. It comes from people sustaining grassroots networks, practicing politics of care, and rejecting both the regime and the war. Yet these voices receive very little media attention. They are often the same people trying to rebuild or keep alive the networks that emerged during the 2022 uprising.

The Islamic Republic has been preparing for war for years. It has missiles, weapons, and a militarization program that kept running despite international sanctions. But it never prepared to protect its own population: it built no shelters, there is still no shelter for ordinary people, and there is no long-term plan for a war economy. The economic recession now under way is extremely severe. In that context, it is these same groups and circles that were politicized back in 2022 who provide concrete support at the level of everyday life. They keep trying to sustain daily life for ordinary people, for workers, and for political prisoners — to support them and to give people inside Iran a voice, despite everything.

A major problem now is that the internet has almost disappeared. It is extremely difficult to stay in contact. There is an internal, national internet, but the connection to the outside world has been cut off. A special, very expensive VPN exists, but only a small number of people — those who can afford it — are able to access it. This makes it very hard to know what is actually happening inside Iran. But from the news that comes out from time to time, through tweets or fragmented messages from comrades, it seems that people are still trying to keep these cells and communities alive and to work out what they can do next. It is, however, a mode of minimum survival. There is almost no political positioning happening right now.

In 2022, the opposition movement against the regime seemed to be marked by a strong feminist and emancipatory character. Now, however, monarchist, militarist, and openly pro-intervention discourses appear to be gaining ground. How has the landscape changed between the 2022 uprising and the more recent mobilizations, both inside and outside Iran?

When I say that the regime’s legitimacy has increased, even within Iran, I do not mean that it has become popular. There is still very strong opposition. Many ordinary people continue to protest against the Islamic Republic. There are even people who say they want war because living under the regime is worse than war. I do not want to judge them or deny their agency. But I also believe we need a concrete understanding of what war actually is. Now that war is taking place, fewer people openly say that they prefer war to the Islamic Republic. The situation is extremely polarized.

The new monarchist wave and support for war should be understood as a counterrevolutionary reaction. The monarchist far right already existed before. It was present during the 2022 uprising as well. As in any broad social movement, not all participating forces were progressive. But in 2022 monarchists did not possess political or discursive hegemony. Feminist voices, marginalized communities, and progressive positions had much greater capacity to shape public meaning.

By January 2026, however, monarchists had gained considerably more space. This is due, first of all, to repression. Many of the people who had been active in 2022 were either imprisoned or had left the country. But it is also explained by the support monarchist groups receive from Israel, the United States, and Saudi Arabia. It is visible through satellite television channels, social media, TikTok, and large-scale efforts aimed at promoting the idea that monarchical restoration is the only real alternative to the regime.

That position has become more popular. The language and rhetoric of the January 2026 protests were not the same as those of 2022, either inside or outside Iran.

At the same time, unlike other observers, I would not simply label that movement “fascist.” I do not see it that way. I believe there was continuity with the cycle of protest that began in 2022 after the killing of Mahsa Jina Amini. The evidence lies in those networks, in the participation of progressive forces in the streets, and in the forms of organization that persisted. Yet, especially outside Iran, the discourse that succeeded in organizing the political scene was the monarchist one.

This affects how the war is interpreted. From the outside, someone might conclude: “The Iranian people are mostly monarchist and therefore want war.” That interpretation helps justify an attack on Iran. Monarchists certainly exist and continue to have a presence. But after months of seeing that war does not bring regime change but rather the destruction of the country and the collapse of the state, I believe many people are beginning to understand something else. War is not directed solely against the Islamic Republic. It makes life inside Iran impossible. For that reason, I think that many people, both inside and outside the country, are becoming less supportive of this type of intervention.

One of the consequences of war, beyond destruction, trauma, and the impossibility of sustaining daily life, is that the Islamic Republic now possesses greater power. But it is also wounded. And that may make it even more dangerous. Tragically, ordinary people lose regardless of the regime’s fate. Before the invasion, thousands were killed through state repression. Now, with the invasion, there are also thousands of deaths and hundreds of children killed.

What I keep asking myself is why it has become so difficult to mourn all of these people. Politically, it has become almost impossible to say, “I oppose the killing of these people,” without someone responding, “Then you support the other side.” Perhaps the Iranian case is an extreme expression of something more general, but this is the condition of our world: a brutal polarization in which human lives matter less than the political camp one is expected to belong to. It is a very sad story.

In this context of extreme polarization, how do feminist movements intervene? What forms of organization and care survive when the regime represses, war blocks political action, and the loudest voices in the diaspora seem trapped within the binary opposition between the Islamic Republic and foreign intervention?

Describing what is happening inside Iran today necessarily involves a degree of speculation. Information is extremely limited. Everyone seems to be taking sides within this polarization. Yet those who are actually doing something inside Iran are civil society activists — many of them feminists — and networks devoted to sustaining everyday life that were already active in different cities. They amplify the voices of prisoners, people facing death sentences, and affected families. They help the wounded and the imprisoned, share information, and provide support.

That is where real politics is taking place. Not among those outside Iran calling for war, nor among those claiming to represent the Iranian people through diaspora media. It is being carried out by these activist groups, many of them feminist in practice even when they do not explicitly identify themselves as such.

At the moment, people are largely in survival mode. Some groups are raising money to support workers who lost their jobs because many factories were destroyed. Iran also has a huge number of platform workers. That work has disappeared as well. It is difficult to imagine how many people have become unemployed. And there is no state plan to address the situation. As a result, these groups are beginning to create small alternative economies, mutual-aid structures, and ways of producing and sustaining themselves collectively.

Another example is assistance for those wounded during the January 2026 uprising. Many could go to hospitals because they risked being arrested or even killed there. Some still have pellets or small bullets lodged in their bodies. The people helping them are members of groups formed during the Jina uprising, networks that still know one another, remain connected, and continue to mobilize when needed.

First, because internet access has been cut and they cannot communicate. Second, because outside Iran, the loudest voices belong either to circles close to the regime or to various monarchist currents.

Women's rights have often been used to justify foreign intervention in the Middle East: the notion that the West must “save” women from Islamic extremism. At the same time, the Islamic Republic attempts to appropriate certain feminist demands and use them for its own propaganda. How do these competing appropriations of women’s rights operate today?

Whenever war occurs, a particular form of hegemonic masculinity re-emerges: the heroic man who protects the nation. Many cisgender men, including some who identify as left-wing and have recently aligned themselves with the Islamic Republic, frame the war in exactly these terms. They say, “We are protecting our territory just as we protect our women.” That image is present in Iran, but also in many other places.

We know that wartime conditions tend to increase gender-based violence and domestic violence. I do not have direct statistics on what is currently happening in Iran, but reports and testimonies suggest that this increase in violence is indeed taking place.

The Islamic Republic also instrumentalizes the issue of the hijab. Through years of struggle and sacrifice, women won certain forms of autonomy over their bodies. Today the regime attempts to claim: “We do not have a problem with the hijab.” At some pro–Islamic Republic demonstrations, women without hijab can even be seen participating. But this is propaganda. It is aimed at international audiences and seeks to demonstrate that women support the Islamic Republic. In other words, the regime takes rights won through women’s struggles and uses them for its own purposes.

Something similar happens from the outside. We saw Israel writing “Woman, Life, Freedom” on missiles, attempting to appropriate that struggle. It is a battle of narratives. Both sides seek to appropriate not only women’s rights but also Indigenous, anti-colonial, and anti-racist struggles.

That saddens me deeply. In the Iranian context, people who oppressed the Iranian people, Iran’s Indigenous peoples, Kurds, Baluch communities, minorities, and women are now transformed into heroes of anti-colonial and anti-imperialist struggles outside Iran. The logic seems to be: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Once again, the lives of people on the ground are forgotten.

The savior narrative exists on both sides. Yet I think it is used less than it was twenty years ago during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. After everything that happened, including the Taliban’s return to power, the United States seems to have partially abandoned the language of “exporting democracy” or “women’s rights” as a central justification. Today the rhetoric is much more openly about economic interests, oil, business, and preventing Iran from becoming too powerful. The idea of bringing democracy or liberating women still appears, but it no longer occupies the central place it once did.

In Latin America, we are also witnessing a resurgence of aggressive masculinities, often linked to the precarization of life. How do you understand the relationship between social powerlessness, reactionary masculinities, and the new right?

It is a reaction to powerlessness. All of us, in one way or another, feel that we lack agency. But the responses to that lack of agency differ. The far right, as well as some Iranian monarchist sectors, offer a very appealing promise: they tell people that they can regain power, become part of a winning project, that they are doing something meaningful. That promise is not real, but it produces very concrete effects.

Progressive sectors, by contrast, are losing the battle when it comes to offering a tangible promise about the future. Very often, the future appears as something overly abstract, as mere speculation. Some people might think we should abandon it altogether and focus only on the present. But in order to overcome fear and live a normal life, people need the promise of a normal life. We cannot ask people to sacrifice everything for an unknown future or for future generations. People need something concrete for the present and the near future.

We have greatly underestimated that need. We bear responsibility for not taking it more seriously. We need to think about how to make our projects more attractive to ordinary people, to people who simply want to live better, feel secure, and have some degree of control over their lives.

You recently moderated a conversation titled “Fascist Pleasures,” about the affective dimension of authoritarianism and the far right. In Latin America, this struggle also plays out in everyday life: in the face of precariousness, debt, and declining expectations, promises of individual autonomy proliferate — from entrepreneurship to financial speculation, cryptocurrencies, or simply the idea of “doing something” with one’s money. The right seems better able to understand the desire to regain control over one’s life. What should the left learn from this struggle over emotions and the sense of power?

I think this is a central issue. We are living through a very difficult moment for people in Iran, but we should not treat it as an exception. In recent years, we spoke about the genocide in Gaza as if it were something happening “over there,” in an exceptional place. Now something similar is happening with Iran. But this is the logic of the contemporary world: a regime of war and a process of fascization advancing on multiple fronts. We need to understand that this can reach all of us.

For that reason, we should not treat Iran as an exception, nor should we ask only how it is possible that part of the Iranian diaspora — or people inside the country — might support war or accept the destruction of their own territory. That tendency exists, but it is not uniquely Iranian. There is a destructive desire present across the world: people know that they too will be harmed by what they desire, and yet they desire it anyway. This is not disconnected from the rise of post-fascist and far-right movements. Nor is the extreme polarization of politics something unique to Iran.

I do not want to end on an overly pessimistic note. As I said, this entire movement of war and oppression is a counterrevolutionary attempt to prevent the waves that emerged in 2016 and 2017 from producing something genuinely new. But struggles for life continue. They experience interruptions, advances, and defeats, yet they continue. My hope is that something can emerge from them.

At the same time, I know that a purely national solution cannot succeed. All the authoritarian states in the region were frightened by what was happening in Rojava, in Kurdistan, in Iran since 2022, and during the second wave of the Arab uprisings. Despite their differences, those processes had much in common. And those states helped one another suppress the region’s progressive movements.

That forces us to rethink political strategy. Taking to the streets and mobilizing en masse no longer means the same thing it did ten years ago. It does not function in the same way, nor does it produce the same effects, because we are living through a different configuration of relations between states and societies. I am not saying we should abandon the streets, but street mobilizations alone are no longer enough.

Now, with war, everything is worse. The discourse of the most radical far right has become normalized. People can openly speak of the annihilation of entire civilizations without facing consequences. In that context, popular feminisms possess a more nuanced understanding and a broader repertoire of action than simple protest, because they connect everyday life with politics. But even feminism needs renewal. Feminist movements are also experiencing something of a recession. Not everywhere — Kenya, for example, still has a very powerful movement — but generally speaking, we are no longer in the same moment we were a decade ago, nor at the high point of the cycle that opened in Iran after the killing of Mahsa Jina Amini.

That is why I believe we all need to rethink the ways in which we practice politics. If we are to find solutions, they will not emerge at the national level. The question is how to build a new internationalism from below. Feminist movements can play a fundamental role in that process. As Verónica Gago has argued, they possess a unique capacity to connect very different struggles. That remains a light at the end of the tunnel.

War, technological transformations, precarity, and the growing power of capital are rapidly reshaping capitalism. At the same time, many institutions once considered progressive now seem captured by reactionary dynamics. Do you see any space within this crisis for new forms of socialism, internationalism, or emancipatory politics? And what would you like Latin American feminists to know about Iranian feminisms today? What kind of solidarity or conversation is needed at this moment?

I believe this is a profound crisis operating on multiple levels. Among other things, war reveals that the United States no longer possesses the hegemony and power it once had. There is no guarantee of a bright future, but that does not mean every door is closed.

That is why it is important to foster conversations across different regions. Power structures try to make us feel distant from one another: Argentina and Iran, Latin America and the Middle East, cultures and religions supposedly separated by insurmountable differences. But the similarities are greater than the differences. We are connected by precarity, gender-based violence, the rise of authoritarian right-wing movements, the sense that we can no longer live this way, and the need to imagine different futures.

I would like to see a real and honest conversation with Latin America. In some progressive and left-wing circles, I see very little empathy for the people of Iran. Because the Islamic Republic confronts the United States and Israel, they conclude that the regime must therefore stand with the people. They interpret the situation as an anti-imperialist struggle, but they fail to see what is happening at the grassroots level.

Among feminists, I would say this problem is less pronounced, although it is not entirely absent. There is a different sensitivity because, through the politics of everyday life, it is easier to understand what is happening, despite all the cultural differences. All of us experience gender-based violence, and that alone should be enough to understand what we mean when we say that the current state structure is harmful to feminized bodies.

We need a form of solidarity that does not force a choice between the regime and the war. A solidarity capable of listening to those who sustain life, care for others, and resist from below. Opposing imperialism cannot mean closing our eyes to the violence of the Islamic Republic. And opposing the Islamic Republic cannot mean supporting the destruction of the country. That is the conversation we need.

Saturday, August 08, 2026

HOW BAHAI OF YOU

From Division To Dialogue: Toward An Abrahamic Curriculum For Peace, Pluralism, And Civilizational Literacy In The MENA Region – Analysis


LONG READ


Confessional educational monoculture across much of the MENA region leaves students with deep knowledge of their own tradition but almost none of the others, creating fertile ground for stereotypes, radicalization and sectarian narratives.

An “Abrahamic curriculum” that teaches the shared heritage, historical coexistence (Andalusian convivencia, Ottoman millet system, Moroccan Judeo-Muslim symbiosis) and critical comparative literacy of Judaism, Christianity and Islam would complement—not replace—confessional instruction and function as upstream preventive security policy.

Morocco offers the most promising regional laboratory for such reform thanks to its constitutional recognition of plural identity, documented history of coexistence, existing heritage initiatives and religious institutional architecture, provided the curriculum is introduced gradually, honestly and with robust teacher training.

Reimagining Religious and Intercultural Education as an Instrument of Preventive Diplomacy

Introduction: The Unfinished Business of Abrahamic Civilization

The Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region occupies a paradoxical position in the moral geography of the world. It is simultaneously the cradle of the three great monotheistic traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—and one of the contemporary world’s principal theaters of sectarian conflict, ideological radicalization, and identity-based violence. This paradox is neither accidental nor purely a function of geopolitics, foreign intervention, authoritarian governance, or economic scarcity, although each of these factors undeniably contributes to regional instability. A less visible but equally consequential driver of polarization is educational: the systematic failure of most MENA school and university curricula to cultivate religious literacy, comparative historical understanding, and intercultural competence among successive generations of students (UNESCO, 2023).

Confessional education throughout much of the region continues to be organized around the transmission of a single tradition, often in isolation from, and sometimes in explicit opposition to, the beliefs, histories, and lived experiences of neighboring faith communities. Students routinely graduate from primary and secondary education with a robust, if narrow, grounding in their own religious heritage and virtually no structured exposure to the doctrinal content, historical trajectory, or cultural richness of other Abrahamic traditions. This asymmetry is not a neutral educational gap; it is fertile ground for the stereotypes, prejudices, and reductive binaries upon which sectarian entrepreneurs and violent extremist organizations depend (Stern & Berger, 2015).

This essay argues that the MENA region urgently requires what may be termed an Abrahamic curriculum: a multidisciplinary, cross-institutional educational framework that introduces students to both the shared heritage and the internal diversity of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, while simultaneously cultivating critical thinking, historical literacy, democratic citizenship, interfaith dialogue skills, and resilience against radicalizing narratives. Such a curriculum would not supplant confessional religious instruction but would complement it, producing citizens capable of engaging religious plurality with curiosity rather than anxiety, and with historical grounding rather than ideological reflex.

It is important, at the outset, to specify what this essay does not claim. It does not claim that educational reform alone can resolve the geopolitical rivalries, authoritarian governance patterns, or economic disparities that also drive regional instability, nor does it claim that an Abrahamic curriculum would eliminate sectarian conflict or violent extremism outright. The claim is more modest and, for that reason, more defensible: that comparative religious and intercultural education constitutes a necessary, currently underdeveloped, and cost-effective component of a broader regional peace and security architecture, one whose absence has left successive generations of MENA students structurally underprepared to resist the narrative monopolies on which sectarian and extremist mobilization depends. This is a claim about relative educational deficit and remediable policy failure, not about education as a panacea.


The argument proceeds in several movements. It begins by situating educational monoculture within the broader psychological and sociological literature on radicalization, establishing why curricular reform constitutes a legitimate—indeed indispensable—instrument of preventive security policy. It then recovers the shared genealogical and ethical architecture of the Abrahamic traditions, before turning to historical models of coexistence, most notably Andalusian convivencia and the Judeo-Muslim symbiosis that characterized much of Moroccan history. The essay subsequently details the substantive components such a curriculum should comprise, examines the institutional architecture—principally universities and research centers—capable of sustaining it, and considers Morocco as a plausible regional laboratory for implementation, given its constitutional pluralism and diplomatic positioning. Finally, it surveys comparable international models, catalogues the political and pedagogical obstacles to reform, and outlines the long-term civic, diplomatic, and security dividends such an educational transformation could yield. The essay closes by situating curricular reform within a broader theory of preventive diplomacy, in which classrooms are treated as sites of strategic consequence comparable to ministries of defense or foreign affairs.


Theoretical Foundations: Religious Literacy, Educational Monoculture, and the Psychology of Radicalization

Radicalization is rarely the product of a single traumatic event or an instantaneous ideological conversion. Contemporary radicalization research instead describes a gradual, socially mediated process in which individuals move through successive stages of grievance articulation, in-group identification, moral disengagement, and eventual justification of violence (Moghaddam, 2005). Fathali Moghaddam’s influential “staircase to terrorism” model conceptualizes this trajectory as a narrowing psychological corridor: individuals ascend from a ground floor of perceived injustice toward increasingly constrained floors in which alternative, nonviolent options appear progressively foreclosed, until violence is experienced not as a choice among many but as the only remaining avenue of moral action (Moghaddam, 2005). Crucially, this staircase is not primarily traversed through poverty or illiteracy; empirical surveys of extremist recruits across multiple organizations reveal disproportionate representation of university-educated individuals, including engineers, physicians, and religious scholars (Kruglanski et al., 2014).


This finding complicates any straightforward equation of radicalization with deprivation or lack of schooling, and it redirects attention toward the content and epistemic structure of education rather than its mere quantity. Kruglanski and colleagues’ significance-quest theory of radicalization proposes that violent extremism functions as a compensatory mechanism through which individuals experiencing a loss, or anticipated loss, of personal significance seek to restore dignity and meaning through participation in a totalizing ideological narrative that promises heroic status (Kruglanski et al., 2014). Educational systems that discourage comparative inquiry, penalize dissenting interpretation, and treat religious knowledge as a closed and non-negotiable canon inadvertently prepare fertile psychological ground for such narratives, because they train students to expect certainty rather than complexity, and authority rather than argument.

Andrew Silke’s research on jihadi radicalization similarly identifies a specific cognitive vulnerability produced by low religious literacy: individuals with only superficial exposure to their own tradition’s textual and legal complexity are more susceptible to charismatic reinterpretation by self-appointed authorities who present highly selective, decontextualized readings of scripture as authentic and singular (Silke, 2008). Paradoxically, then, deep religious education—including comparative and historically contextualized study—functions as an inoculation against radicalization, whereas shallow, uncontested confessional instruction can heighten vulnerability by leaving students unable to recognize manipulation when it is dressed in familiar theological vocabulary.


Daniel Bar-Tal’s work on intractable conflict offers a complementary sociological register. Bar-Tal describes how protracted conflicts generate self-reinforcing “conflict-supporting narratives” transmitted through education, media, and public commemoration, which construct the in-group as exclusively victimized and morally righteous while delegitimizing the out-group as an undifferentiated threat (Bar-Tal, 2013). Curricula that never expose students to the historical narrative, suffering, or intellectual contribution of neighboring religious communities structurally reproduce these conflict-supporting narratives, even in the absence of explicit incitement, simply through omission. Silence, in this framework, is not neutrality; it is a pedagogy of asymmetry.

Taken together, this literature yields a coherent theoretical rationale for curricular intervention. If radicalization is substantially a problem of narrative monopoly, epistemic closure, and unearned certainty, then the appropriate educational countermeasure is not merely the addition of tolerance rhetoric but the systematic cultivation of comparative religious literacy, critical historiography, and structured exposure to the plural intellectual traditions from which one’s own religious civilization emerged. An Abrahamic curriculum, so conceived, is not a soft cultural add-on to security policy; it is itself a security intervention, operating upstream of the recruitment pipelines that later require police, intelligence, and military resources to interdict.

It is worth pausing on a common objection to this framework, associated loosely with Samuel Huntington’s thesis of an inevitable “clash of civilizations,” according to which cultural and religious blocs are destined toward confrontation by virtue of deep, largely fixed civilizational difference (Huntington, 1996). If Huntington’s thesis were correct in its strong form, curricular intervention of the kind proposed here would be of limited value, since intergroup hostility would reflect an essentially structural condition rather than a remediable educational deficit. The historical record surveyed later in this essay—particularly the sustained, if imperfect, coexistence documented in Andalusian, Ottoman, and Moroccan contexts—provides substantial empirical grounds for rejecting the strong version of this thesis. What the comparative historical record actually shows is not civilizational determinism but variable institutional and educational conditions under which coexistence has been sustained or has collapsed, a finding far more consistent with the significance-quest and narrative-monopoly models discussed above than with an essentialist reading of intercivilizational conflict.


Olivier Roy’s account of globalized Islam adds a further layer of nuance directly relevant to curriculum design. Roy argues that much contemporary religious radicalization among young Muslims in diaspora and, increasingly, in MENA contexts themselves is driven less by deep immersion in classical religious scholarship than by a phenomenon of religious “deculturation”—a rupture between inherited cultural transmission of religion within families and communities, and a new, often internet-mediated, individualized, and deracinated religiosity constructed largely outside traditional institutional authority (Roy, 2004). This finding reinforces the argument that curricular reform must operate not only at the level of content but at the level of institutional authority and transmission: an Abrahamic curriculum credible enough to compete with online radicalizing content must be delivered by instructors and institutions capable of commanding genuine intellectual and moral authority among students, rather than being perceived as one more disconnected, state-imposed content module.
Recovering a Shared Genealogy: The Abrahamic Traditions as a Civilizational Continuum

The notion of an “Abrahamic family” of religions is neither a twentieth-century diplomatic invention nor a theologically flattening slogan designed to erase doctrinal difference. It names a historically demonstrable continuity of prophetic self-understanding, ethical vocabulary, and sacred narrative that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam each claim, in different registers, as their own inheritance. All three traditions trace their spiritual genealogy to the figure of Abraham (Ibrahim), understood variously as patriarch, covenant-bearer, and exemplar of monotheistic surrender to God. From this shared root, the traditions articulate overlapping commitments to ethical monotheism, prophetic revelation, sacred history, distributive justice, charity, hospitality to the stranger, and ultimate accountability before a single transcendent God (Volf, 2011).

The Qur’an is explicit and repeated in its recognition of prior revelation, referring to Jews and Christians collectively as Ahl al-Kitab, the People of the Book, a designation that confers a distinct juridical and theological status within the Islamic tradition and that has historically structured the legal category of the dhimmi, however unevenly that status was honored in practice across different polities and periods. Numerous Qur’anic narratives directly parallel or explicitly reference biblical figures—Abraham, Moses, Joseph, Mary, Jesus—situating the Islamic revelation self-consciously within, rather than outside of, the broader Abrahamic narrative arc. Reciprocally, Jewish and Christian theological and historical scholarship has increasingly engaged Islam not as an alien intrusion but as a related monotheistic articulation emerging from a shared late-antique religious environment, an argument developed at length in comparative theological treatments such as Miroslav Volf’s study of the God of the Qur’an in relation to the Christian understanding of God (Volf, 2011).


None of this theological overlap should be read as erasing genuine and often profound doctrinal difference—on the nature of prophecy, the status of Jesus, the finality of revelation, the structure of law, and the shape of eschatology. An Abrahamic curriculum that collapses these differences into an undifferentiated ecumenism would be intellectually dishonest and pedagogically counterproductive, producing precisely the kind of superficial religious literacy that, per the analysis above, leaves students vulnerable to later ideological capture. The pedagogical task is instead to contextualize doctrinal difference within a longer civilizational conversation—one conducted across three millennia through scriptural exegesis, philosophical translation, interfaith polemic, scientific collaboration, commercial exchange, and shared cultural production—so that students come to understand disagreement itself as part of a continuous, intelligible historical dialogue rather than as evidence of irreconcilable, ahistorical enmity.

It is also worth attending to what an honest genealogical account requires the curriculum to teach about hierarchy and supersession, since each tradition has historically articulated, in different ways, a claim to possess the most complete or final form of divine revelation. Christian supersessionist theology has historically framed the New Covenant as fulfilling and, in some readings, superseding the Hebrew Bible; classical Islamic theology frames the Qur’an as the final and corrective revelation in the prophetic sequence culminating with Muhammad; and rabbinic Judaism maintains its own covenantal exclusivity regarding chosenness and revelation. A curriculum that suppressed these supersessionist and exclusivist claims in the interest of a comfortable ecumenical harmony would misrepresent each tradition’s actual theological self-understanding and would be quickly recognized as inaccurate, and therefore untrustworthy, by religiously literate students and parents alike. The pedagogically responsible approach is to teach these exclusivist claims explicitly and accurately, alongside the shared genealogical material discussed above, allowing students to understand that the Abrahamic traditions are related without being interchangeable, and that mutual respect need not, and historically has not always, required theological equivalence.


Jonathan Sacks, in his study of religious violence, makes the related point that the deepest resources for confronting sibling rivalry between the Abrahamic faiths lie within their own scriptural traditions rather than outside them: each tradition contains internal theological resources—stories of reconciliation, of shared inheritance, of divine concern extending beyond the immediate covenant community—that can be recovered and taught as counter-narratives to exclusivist readings (Sacks, 2015). Seyyed Hossein Nasr similarly argues that the Islamic intellectual tradition itself, properly recovered, contains a robust theology of religious pluralism rooted in the Qur’anic affirmation that God has sent messengers to every community (Nasr, 2002). An Abrahamic curriculum, therefore, need not import pluralism as an external liberal value superimposed upon the traditions; it can teach pluralism as an authentic, if contested, strand already present within each tradition’s own intellectual history.
Historical Models of Coexistence: Convivencia, Ottoman Pluralism, and Moroccan Judeo-Muslim Symbiosis

History offers no utopian precedent for interreligious coexistence, but it offers something more pedagogically useful: documented, imperfect, and instructive cases in which religious plurality was sustained, institutionalized, and culturally generative over extended periods. Medieval al-Andalus is the most frequently cited such case. The period of convivencia—literally “living together”—was not a condition of full legal or social equality among Muslims, Jews, and Christians, and it was periodically interrupted by persecution, forced conversion, and expulsion, particularly under the Almohad dynasty and later under Christian reconquest. Yet across several centuries, and especially under the Umayyad Caliphate of Córdoba and subsequent taifa kingdoms, the three communities sustained overlapping intellectual, commercial, and cultural life that produced extraordinary achievements in philosophy, medicine, astronomy, architecture, poetry, and translation (Menocal, 2002).


María Rosa Menocal’s account of this period, popularized under the phrase “the ornament of the world,” demonstrates that cultural creativity in al-Andalus arose not despite religious plurality but substantially because of it: the translation movement that transmitted Aristotelian philosophy, Galenic medicine, and Ptolemaic astronomy into Latin Europe depended on collaborative Muslim, Jewish, and Christian scholarly networks working across confessional lines in cities such as Toledo and Córdoba (Menocal, 2002). A pedagogically responsible treatment of convivencia must avoid the twin temptations of romanticization and dismissal. It should neither present al-Andalus as a lost golden age of frictionless tolerance, nor allow episodes of medieval discrimination and violence to eclipse the genuine and historically significant fact that sustained interreligious coexistence and intellectual collaboration were empirically possible and, at their height, extraordinarily productive.

A second instructive case is Ottoman pluralism, structured through the millet system, in which non-Muslim religious communities retained significant autonomy over personal status law, education, and internal governance under the umbrella of imperial sovereignty. Though hierarchical and unequal in its allocation of political power, the millet system institutionalized long-term coexistence among Muslim, Christian, and Jewish communities across a vast multi-ethnic empire, offering students a second historical case in which plural religious governance was neither anomalous nor unstable but constituted the normal administrative logic of a major Islamic polity for centuries.


Morocco offers a third, regionally proximate and pedagogically vivid case. Jewish communities are documented in Morocco for over two millennia, predating the Islamic conquest of North Africa, and Moroccan Jewish life persisted continuously—through periods of relative flourishing and periods of hardship—until the mass emigration of the mid-twentieth century (Schroeter, 2002). Elizabeth Gottreich’s spatial history of the Marrakesh mellah demonstrates how Jewish and Muslim urban space, commerce, and ritual life were often deeply intertwined rather than segregated in practice, notwithstanding formal legal distinctions between communities (Gottreich, 2007). Aomar Boum’s ethnographic study of Muslim memory of Jewish departure further shows that Muslim Moroccans across generations have continued to narrate Jewish neighbors, saints, and artisans as integral to local historical identity long after Jewish emigration, indicating that Judeo-Muslim coexistence persists as living cultural memory rather than merely as an archival fact (Boum, 2013).

This Moroccan case includes distinctive religious phenomena rarely discussed in general MENA curricula: the joint veneration of certain saints by both Muslim and Jewish pilgrims, shared participation in local pilgrimage (ziyara) circuits, overlapping musical and culinary traditions, and documented instances of Muslim custodianship of Jewish cemeteries and synagogues after emigration (Chtatou, 2020, 2023). These are not marginal curiosities; they constitute empirical evidence that interreligious coexistence in Morocco was embedded in everyday practice rather than confined to elite diplomatic gesture, and they offer contemporary students a locally rooted counter-narrative to the assumption that religious difference is intrinsically or inevitably a source of conflict. The city of Sefrou offers a particularly well-documented microcosm of this pattern: for centuries a substantial Jewish community lived alongside its Muslim neighbors in a relationship of religious symbiosis rather than mere toleration, sharing devotional sites, economic partnerships, and a common urban fabric until the mid-twentieth-century emigration wave (Chtatou, 2020, 2023). The physical infrastructure of this coexistence, notably the mellah quarters that structured Jewish communal and economic life within Moroccan cities such as Fez, similarly persists today as restored heritage sites maintained substantially through Muslim custodianship, offering curriculum designers not only textual sources but visitable, physically embodied evidence of the coexistence they are asking students to understand (Chtatou, 2022).


The pedagogical value of teaching convivencia, Ottoman pluralism, and Moroccan Judeo-Muslim history together lies precisely in their comparative juxtaposition. No single case should be presented as paradigmatic; rather, students should be trained to identify the specific political, legal, and social conditions—centralized but plural legal authority, economic interdependence, shared urban space, cross-confessional intellectual patronage—that historically enabled coexistence, as well as the conditions—doctrinal rigidity, external invasion, economic scapegoating, colonial manipulation of communal boundaries—that historically undermined it. Coexistence, taught this way, becomes an analyzable historical variable rather than a moral abstraction, which is precisely what renders it pedagogically transferable to contemporary policy design.

A further comparative dimension deserves explicit curricular treatment: the role of colonial and postcolonial rupture in destabilizing previously durable patterns of coexistence. In the Moroccan case, the introduction of the French Protectorate in 1912 substantially altered the legal and social status of Moroccan Jews, formally separating Jewish communal administration from the broader Muslim legal and political order in ways that had not existed in the same form under the pre-colonial makhzen, while simultaneously exposing Moroccan Jewish communities to new European antisemitic currents circulating through colonial settler populations (Schroeter, 2002). The subsequent departure of the large majority of Moroccan Jews between the 1948 establishment of Israel and the early 1970s was driven by a complex combination of Zionist mobilization, regional political tension, and economic opportunity abroad, rather than by any single expulsion event, a historical complexity that a responsible curriculum must convey with precision rather than reducing to either a narrative of harmonious coexistence undisturbed until external Zionist mobilization, or a narrative of straightforward persecution-driven flight. Teaching this complexity honestly—including colonial disruption as an independent causal variable distinct from either indigenous religious animosity or purely external political pressure—models exactly the kind of nuanced historical reasoning the curriculum as a whole seeks to cultivate.

Educational Deficits and the Structural Roots of Sectarian Polarization in MENA Curricula

Across much of the MENA region, primary and secondary religious education remains organized around what might be termed confessional monoculture: instruction confined to the tenets, jurisprudence, and historical narrative of a single tradition, typically delivered through rote memorization rather than comparative or critical inquiry. UNESCO’s 2023 Recommendation on Education for Peace, Human Rights and Sustainable Development explicitly identifies this pattern—curricula organized around exclusive national or confessional narratives, with minimal structured engagement with religious and cultural plurality—as a global risk factor for intergroup prejudice and, in conflict-affected settings, for susceptibility to violent extremist recruitment (UNESCO, 2023).


Several interlocking structural features sustain this monoculture. First, ministries of education across much of the region have historically treated religious curricula as instruments of national identity consolidation rather than as academic subjects subject to comparative pedagogical standards, a dynamic that discourages curriculum designers from introducing content that might appear to relativize the state-sanctioned confessional narrative. Second, teacher training programs rarely equip religious and social studies instructors with the comparative religious literacy or interfaith pedagogical methods necessary to teach plural content responsibly, meaning that even where curricular reform is attempted at the policy level, classroom delivery frequently reverts to familiar monocultural patterns (Weller, 2013). Third, textbook production in several MENA states remains centralized and politically sensitive, such that revisions perceived as concessions to religious minorities or to normalization narratives can generate disproportionate political controversy relative to their pedagogical modesty.

Moha Ennaji’s analysis of North African social movements after the Arab Spring situates this educational conservatism within a broader crisis of civic identity formation: post-independence North African states, Ennaji argues, constructed national identity substantially through a singular Arab-Islamic educational narrative that marginalized linguistic, ethnic, and religious plurality—including Amazigh, Jewish, and Christian components of the national past—producing citizens whose civic identity was narrower than the actual historical and demographic complexity of their societies (Ennaji, 2014). The consequence, on Ennaji’s account, has been a persistent gap between lived social plurality and taught national narrative, a gap that political movements across the ideological spectrum, including sectarian and extremist movements, have periodically exploited by presenting themselves as more “authentic” articulators of a purified, singular identity than the plural reality the state’s own curriculum fails to teach.

Language policy compounds this structural deficit in several MENA states, including Morocco, where the historical marginalization of Amazigh and other minority linguistic communities within a predominantly Arabized national curriculum has paralleled, and in some analyses reinforced, the broader pattern of confessional and cultural monoculture described above. Just as religious curricula have often taught a singular national religious narrative at the expense of minority religious history, language and literature curricula have historically privileged a single linguistic and cultural narrative at the expense of Amazigh, Hassani, and other minority heritage traditions, notwithstanding their constitutional recognition. This parallel is pedagogically significant: it suggests that the underlying curricular logic requiring reform is not narrowly religious but more broadly monocultural, and that an Abrahamic curriculum will likely find natural institutional allies, and encounter similar political dynamics, among the educators and policymakers already engaged in the longer-standing struggle for Amazigh curricular integration.

This educational deficit has a specific epistemological dimension relevant to deradicalization. John Esposito’s analysis of contemporary Islamist movements observes that extremist propagandists frequently succeed not by introducing entirely novel theological claims but by exploiting gaps in mainstream religious education, presenting decontextualized citation of classical texts as though it constituted unmediated and singular religious authority (Esposito, 2002). Where mainstream curricula have not equipped students with the interpretive tools to recognize selective quotation, asymmetrical historical framing, or the existence of competing classical juristic opinions, students lack the critical apparatus to identify manipulation even when it draws on genuinely canonical sources. Gilles Kepel’s comparative study of the “war for Muslim minds” similarly documents how transnational extremist media has deliberately targeted precisely this educational vacuum, producing simplified, emotionally compelling content designed to substitute for, rather than supplement, formal religious education among young people who perceive state-sanctioned curricula as either irrelevant or insufficiently authentic (Kepel, 2004).


The diagnosis that emerges from this literature is therefore not that MENA educational systems teach too much religion, but that they teach too little of it in comparative, critical, and historically contextualized form. The remedy is not secularization of the curriculum but its intellectual deepening: replacing monocultural transmission with structured comparative literacy capable of immunizing students against the epistemic shortcuts on which sectarian and extremist narratives depend.

A further dimension of the educational deficit concerns assessment culture. Even where comparative religious content is nominally present in a national curriculum, examination systems across much of the region continue to reward accurate reproduction of a single authorized textbook narrative rather than comparative analysis, source evaluation, or argumentation across differing interpretive positions. Because high-stakes examinations exert powerful backward pressure on classroom pedagogy, an assessment architecture built around single-narrative recall will tend to erode even well-designed comparative content, as teachers and students alike rationally prioritize what is tested over what is merely taught. Any serious Abrahamic curriculum reform must therefore extend to assessment design—incorporating comparative essay questions, primary-source analysis, and structured argumentation exercises—rather than treating curricular content revision as sufficient in itself.
Components of an Abrahamic Curriculum: A Pedagogical Architecture

An Abrahamic curriculum adequate to these diagnostic findings cannot be a single course appended to an existing syllabus; it must constitute an interdisciplinary educational ecosystem spanning several distinct but mutually reinforcing components, calibrated across primary, secondary, and higher education. Eight components are proposed here, moving from foundational content knowledge toward applied civic and security competencies.
Comparative Monotheistic Religion Studies

At the foundational level, students require structured exposure to the origins, sacred texts, prophetic figures, ritual practices, ethical systems, and internal legal and theological diversity of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, taught by instructors trained in comparative religious studies rather than confined to confessional apologetics. The pedagogical objective is religious literacy, not conversion or relativization: students should emerge able to accurately describe the core commitments of a tradition other than their own, in terms that adherents of that tradition would recognize as fair, a standard sometimes termed “empathetic accuracy” in comparative religion pedagogy (Eck, 2001). Diana Eck’s account of religious pluralism in the American context is instructive here precisely because it distinguishes pluralism from mere diversity or tolerance: pluralism, on Eck’s definition, requires active, informed engagement with religious difference rather than passive coexistence or relativistic indifference, a distinction directly transferable to MENA curricular design (Eck, 2001).

Interfaith Studies

Building on comparative literacy, a second component should examine the methodology, history, and contemporary practice of interfaith dialogue itself, including historical encounters between religious scholars, contemporary interfaith initiatives, and structured case studies of cross-confessional cooperation on shared ethical concerns such as environmental stewardship, poverty alleviation, refugee protection, and humanitarian response. This component treats dialogue as a learnable skill and an institutional practice, not merely a diplomatic gesture, and should include practicum components in which students engage directly, where feasible, with peers or guest instructors from other faith communities.
Intercultural Studies

Because religious identity never exists independently of culture, students should analyze the linguistic, literary, musical, architectural, culinary, and folkloric expressions through which Abrahamic religious life has been culturally embodied and hybridized across the region’s history—Andalusian poetry, Moroccan Judeo-Arabic (haketia) linguistic traditions, shared pilgrimage music, and cross-confessional culinary exchange, among others. This component directly counters essentialist thinking, the tendency to treat religious communities as internally homogeneous and externally bounded, by demonstrating the historical porousness of cultural production across confessional lines.
Deradicalization Studies

Perhaps the most pedagogically innovative and security-relevant component, this strand should equip students to critically examine the rhetorical structure of extremist propaganda, recruitment methodology, conspiracy theory, online radicalization pathways, and identity manipulation techniques, with explicit attention to how such material selectively decontextualizes religious texts (Kruglanski et al., 2014; Silke, 2008). Rather than presenting extremist ideology purely as a subject of moral condemnation, this component should train students in the analytical skills to deconstruct its rhetorical mechanics—selective citation, false binary construction, victimhood narrative amplification, in-group glorification—thereby converting religious and civic education into a genuine instrument of preventive security.
Convivencia and Coexistence Studies

This component operationalizes the historical material examined above—Andalusian convivencia, Ottoman millet pluralism, Moroccan Judeo-Muslim symbiosis, and broader Mediterranean commercial and diplomatic networks—as a dedicated field of comparative historical inquiry, with explicit attention to the specific institutional and social conditions that enabled or undermined coexistence in each case, resisting both romanticization and cynicism (Menocal, 2002; Boum, 2013).
Peace and Conflict Resolution


Complementing historical and theological content, students should receive applied instruction in mediation, structured dialogue facilitation, restorative justice principles, and negotiation, with opportunities for experiential practice in resolving simulated or real interpersonal and intergroup disputes. Appleby’s study of the “ambivalence of the sacred” is instructive here: religious traditions, Appleby argues, possess a dual capacity to legitimate both violence and reconciliation, and religious peacebuilding capacity must therefore be deliberately cultivated rather than assumed to follow automatically from religious commitment itself (Appleby, 2000). Conflict resolution training operationalizes the reconciliatory capacity Appleby identifies as latent within religious traditions.
Human Rights and Citizenship

Religious identity should be taught as complementary to, rather than a substitute for, civic identity. Students require grounding in constitutional rights frameworks, minority protection law, international human rights instruments, and the principles of equality before the law and democratic participation, so that religious pluralism is anchored within a stable civic and legal architecture rather than left to depend solely on interpersonal goodwill.
Critical Thinking and Media Literacy

Given the centrality of digital platforms to contemporary radicalization pathways, students must be trained to evaluate source credibility, identify misinformation and disinformation, recognize the rhetorical signatures of hate speech, and distinguish scholarly argument from propaganda. This component functions as connective tissue across the other seven, since religious literacy, historical understanding, and interfaith competence are of limited protective value if students cannot apply them critically to the digital information environment in which radicalizing content is now overwhelmingly encountered (Kepel, 2004).

These eight components are designed to be sequenced and scaffolded rather than delivered as isolated modules: comparative literacy and intercultural studies should precede deradicalization studies, since students require accurate baseline knowledge before they can recognize its distortion; conflict resolution and citizenship components should be integrated throughout rather than confined to a single course; and media literacy should function as a recurring thread reinforced at each educational stage rather than a single terminal unit.

Sequencing across educational stages also matters considerably. At the primary level, curricular content should remain largely narrative and experiential—stories of shared historical figures, cross-confessional folk traditions, and age-appropriate introductions to the existence and basic practices of neighboring faith communities—without attempting the analytical density appropriate to later stages. At the lower secondary level, comparative religion studies and intercultural studies can be formally introduced as discrete subject content, supported by structured classroom debate and primary-source excerpts. Only at the upper secondary and university levels should deradicalization studies and applied conflict-resolution training be introduced in their full analytical complexity, since these components require a level of critical maturity and prior comparative grounding that younger students have not yet developed; introducing propaganda deconstruction exercises prematurely, absent adequate foundational literacy, risks generating cynicism or confusion rather than resilience.


Faculty and instructional design also require attention to a structural risk specific to interfaith pedagogy: the temptation, particularly among well-intentioned reformers, to present an artificially harmonized account of interreligious relations that omits genuine historical episodes of persecution, expulsion, and violence in the interest of promoting present-day tolerance. Peace education research consistently finds that such sanitized curricula are pedagogically fragile, since students who later encounter the omitted historical record—through family narrative, alternative media, or further study—may reasonably conclude that the entire curriculum was propagandistic, discrediting its legitimate content along with its omissions (Bar-Tal, 2013). An Abrahamic curriculum, to retain long-term credibility, must therefore be constructed on a principle of historical completeness: teaching coexistence and conflict, cooperation and persecution, together, and trusting students to develop a mature, non-reductive understanding of a genuinely mixed historical record rather than protecting them from its more difficult chapters.
Institutionalizing Change: The Role of Universities and Research Centers

While primary and secondary curricular reform is indispensable, universities possess distinctive institutional capacities to anchor, legitimate, and sustain an Abrahamic curriculum over the long term. Universities can institutionalize new interdisciplinary centers—in Abrahamic Studies, Comparative Civilization, Religion and Public Policy, Peacebuilding Studies, Intercultural Communication, and Counter-Extremism Research—that generate original scholarship, train specialized faculty, and produce the textbooks and pedagogical materials that primary and secondary systems require but rarely have the capacity to develop independently.

Graduate programs constitute a second institutional lever. Degrees such as an MA in Abrahamic Studies, an MA in Interfaith Leadership, an MA in Deradicalization Studies, or an MSc in Religious Peacebuilding would generate a professional cadre of specialists qualified to lead curriculum design, teacher training, and applied peacebuilding initiatives at national and regional scale—precisely the trained personnel whose absence, as noted above, currently constrains even well-intentioned curricular reform efforts (Weller, 2013).

Universities also possess a distinctive capacity for cross-border research collaboration that state ministries of education, operating under bilateral diplomatic constraints, often cannot easily replicate. Research partnerships spanning Moroccan, Israeli, Emirati, Jordanian, Egyptian, European, and American universities could generate comparative datasets on curricular design, teacher training methodology, and program evaluation that no single national system could produce alone, while simultaneously modeling, at the level of the research collaboration itself, the kind of cross-confessional intellectual partnership the curriculum aims to teach students to value.

University-based centers can also perform a function of particular relevance in the current regional climate discussed in Section 11: serving as a relatively insulated forum in which contested contemporary political questions—most acutely the Gaza war and its regional reverberations—can be addressed through rigorous human rights, international law, and conflict-analysis coursework, distinct from and without diluting the historical and theological coexistence curriculum discussed elsewhere in this essay. This institutional separation of contemporary political analysis from historical-theological pedagogy, both housed within the same research center but taught through clearly distinguished course tracks, allows universities to maintain the intellectual honesty that Section 11 identifies as indispensable to curricular credibility among a skeptical post-2023 student generation, while still sustaining long-term investment in the comparative religious literacy that this essay argues is necessary for durable regional peacebuilding.


Finally, universities offer institutional insulation—imperfect but real—from the electoral and populist pressures that make primary and secondary curricular reform politically fraught in the short term. A university-based Abrahamic Studies center can develop, pilot, and empirically evaluate curricular materials over multi-year cycles, generating an evidence base that can subsequently inform, and politically legitimate, reform proposals directed at ministries of education, in a sequencing strategy that has historically proven more durable than attempting wholesale primary-secondary curricular change in a single legislative cycle.
Morocco as a Regional Laboratory for Pluralistic Education

Among MENA states, Morocco possesses several distinctive comparative advantages that position it as a plausible pilot site for Abrahamic curricular reform. The 2011 Moroccan constitution explicitly recognizes the plural components of national identity, naming Amazigh, Arab-Islamic, Saharan-Hassani, African, Andalusian, Hebrew, and Mediterranean influences as constitutive elements of the Moroccan nation—a constitutional architecture of pluralism with few close analogues elsewhere in the region and one that provides a legal and symbolic foundation upon which curricular reform could be built without requiring prior constitutional change (Ennaji, 2014).

This constitutional pluralism has been accompanied by concrete institutional initiatives: the restoration and preservation of synagogues and Jewish cemeteries across the kingdom, the integration of Jewish heritage sites into national tourism and cultural policy, periodic reform of religious educational content under royal religious authority, and the establishment of institutions and royal initiatives oriented toward interfaith dialogue and the promotion of what Moroccan religious authorities have termed the “Maliki-Ashʿari-Sufi” model of tolerant religious practice. These initiatives constitute an existing institutional foundation—modest but real—upon which a more comprehensive Abrahamic curriculum could be constructed rather than initiated from nothing.

Morocco’s historical experience of continuous Jewish presence, documented across more than two millennia and substantiated in the specialized historiography of Moroccan Jewry, offers curriculum designers an unusually rich and locally grounded body of primary and secondary source material—oral history, material culture, architectural remains, communal archives—that need not be imported from distant historical contexts such as medieval Iberia (Schroeter, 2002; Gottreich, 2007). Aomar Boum’s ethnographic findings that Muslim Moroccans across generations continue to narrate Jewish neighbors and communal memory as integral to local identity further suggest that curricular content on Judeo-Muslim coexistence would resonate with, rather than contradict, existing popular historical consciousness, reducing the risk of curricular reform being perceived as an externally imposed narrative (Boum, 2013).

Morocco’s diplomatic positioning reinforces this pedagogical advantage. Morocco’s engagement across Africa, Europe, and the Arab world, together with its 2020 normalization of relations with Israel under the Abraham Accords framework, has created new institutional channels—educational exchange programs, diplomatic and cultural cooperation agreements, expanding people-to-people contact between Moroccan and Israeli citizens of Moroccan Jewish descent—that could plausibly be leveraged to support interfaith curricular content, including direct engagement with the Moroccan-origin Jewish diaspora, a community that retains strong linguistic, culinary, and familial ties to Morocco and that constitutes a distinctive bridge population for pedagogical exchange.


Morocco’s religious institutional architecture offers a further comparative advantage rarely available elsewhere in the region: the existence of a centralized, religiously credentialed authority—the Commandership of the Faithful (Imarat al-Muminin), constitutionally vested in the King as a direct descendant of the Prophet—capable of authorizing curricular content on religious grounds without requiring the kind of parliamentary or clerical consensus-building that can stall reform elsewhere. This institutional configuration carries evident risks of top-down imposition and limited grassroots ownership, risks that any implementation strategy must actively mitigate through genuine teacher and civil-society consultation. Yet it also means that religious legitimation of curricular reform, historically one of the principal obstacles identified in Section 10, can in the Moroccan case be pursued through an existing, religiously authoritative channel rather than requiring the construction of new religious legitimating institutions from scratch, a structural advantage that has already been leveraged in Morocco’s post-2015 reform of religious education content and its widely studied program for training religious guides (mourchidines) and female religious guides (mourchidates), which itself constitutes a partial institutional precedent for the kind of specialized interfaith and comparative religious instructor training an Abrahamic curriculum would require.

None of these advantages should be overstated. Constitutional recognition of pluralism does not automatically translate into classroom practice, and the persistence of conservative resistance to curricular reform, discussed further below, remains a genuine constraint even in Morocco’s comparatively favorable institutional environment. The claim advanced here is comparative rather than absolute: relative to most MENA states, Morocco combines constitutional pluralism, documented historical coexistence, existing heritage preservation infrastructure, and expanding diplomatic channels in a configuration that plausibly lowers the political and pedagogical costs of piloting an Abrahamic curriculum, making it a strategically logical starting point for regional experimentation rather than a template to be mechanically exported elsewhere.
International Models Worth Studying

MENA curriculum designers need not build an Abrahamic curriculum from first principles; several existing international institutions and initiatives model relevant components, even where none constitutes a directly transferable template. UNESCO’s Global Citizenship Education framework, most recently articulated in the 2023 Recommendation on Education for Peace, Human Rights and Sustainable Development, provides a normative and pedagogical scaffold for integrating intercultural competence, human rights literacy, and conflict prevention into national curricula, with explicit guidance on teacher training and assessment methodology (UNESCO, 2023).

The United Nations Alliance of Civilizations has developed structured guidance on education about religions and beliefs specifically designed for religiously plural or post-conflict educational systems, emphasizing factual accuracy, pedagogical neutrality, and the distinction between education about religion and religious formation—a distinction directly relevant to designing an Abrahamic curriculum capable of operating across confessionally diverse national systems without functioning as covert proselytization in either direction (United Nations Alliance of Civilizations, 2013).


The King Abdullah bin Abdulaziz International Centre for Interreligious and Intercultural Dialogue, based in Vienna and supported by Saudi, Austrian, and Spanish sponsorship, has convened interfaith educational and diplomatic programming across confessional lines for over a decade, offering a case study in how a MENA-originated institution can sustain interfaith programming with international legitimacy despite operating from a religiously conservative national base (King Abdullah bin Abdulaziz International Centre for Interreligious and Intercultural Dialogue, 2021).

The Abrahamic Family House, inaugurated in Abu Dhabi and comprising a mosque, church, and synagogue on a single shared campus, offers a distinctive architectural and programmatic model of physically co-located interfaith education and encounter, demonstrating that shared sacred space can function as pedagogical infrastructure rather than remaining a purely symbolic diplomatic gesture. Finally, the United States Institute of Peace’s sustained research and training programming on religion and peacebuilding offers a substantial applied literature on curriculum design for conflict-affected populations, including practical guidance on training religious leaders and educators as peacebuilding actors rather than treating clergy and religious educators solely as potential sources of ideological risk (United States Institute of Peace, 2021).

A further comparative resource, less frequently discussed in MENA policy literature but methodologically valuable, is the accumulated body of national reconciliation curricula developed in post-conflict societies such as Rwanda, Northern Ireland, South Africa, and the Balkans, each of which confronted the analogous challenge of designing history and civic education capable of acknowledging past intergroup violence without either perpetuating grievance narratives or imposing an artificial and premature reconciliation. Northern Ireland’s Education for Mutual Understanding program and South Africa’s post-apartheid history curriculum reform both offer detailed, empirically studied precedents for sequencing difficult historical content, training teachers to facilitate discussion of contested memory, and managing the specific political risk—directly relevant to Section 10’s discussion of political instrumentalization—that curricular reform addressing intergroup violence can itself become a site of renewed political contestation if introduced without adequate multi-stakeholder buy-in. While the confessional and geopolitical specificities of the MENA region differ substantially from these post-conflict cases, the general methodological lessons concerning teacher training, staged content sequencing, and stakeholder consultation are transferable independent of regional context.

The appropriate posture toward these models is adaptive rather than imitative. Each was developed within a specific institutional, financial, and political context—United Nations multilateralism, Gulf state religious diplomacy, Emirati confessional pluralism, American conflict-resolution methodology—that does not map neatly onto the more constrained fiscal and political environments of most MENA ministries of education. MENA curriculum designers should therefore extract specific pedagogical and institutional techniques—assessment methodology, teacher training protocols, curriculum sequencing, interfaith practicum design—while adapting content, framing, and political positioning to local historical narratives and national sensitivities, following the general principle, well established in comparative education research, that curricular transplantation without contextual adaptation tends to produce shallow or short-lived reform.

Obstacles to Implementation: The Political Economy of Curricular Reform

The path toward an Abrahamic curriculum will inevitably encounter substantial resistance, and a serious policy proposal must address these obstacles directly rather than treating implementation as a merely technical matter of curriculum design. Several distinct categories of resistance can be identified.

First, fears of religious relativism. Conservative religious authorities and segments of the public may perceive comparative religious education as implicitly equating traditions whose truth claims are, from a confessional standpoint, mutually exclusive, generating concern that comparative study will erode students’ confessional commitment. This concern is not addressed by denying the reality of doctrinal exclusivity but by explicitly distinguishing, in curriculum design and public communication, between education about religious plurality and relativization of religious truth claims—the distinction Eck identifies as central to genuine pluralism as opposed to mere syncretism (Eck, 2001).

Second, political instrumentalization of religion. In several MENA states, religious education functions as an instrument of regime legitimation or opposition mobilization, meaning that curricular content is evaluated by political actors substantially in terms of its effect on regime stability or opposition narrative rather than its pedagogical merit. Curricular reformers must therefore anticipate that even modest content changes may be read, rightly or wrongly, as coded political signals, requiring careful sequencing, stakeholder consultation, and transparent public justification grounded in security and civic outcomes rather than purely moral appeals.

Third, ideological polarization and regional geopolitical rivalry. Interfaith curricular content, particularly content addressing Muslim-Jewish relations, inevitably intersects with contested regional politics, including the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and varying national positions on normalization. Curriculum designers must distinguish, transparently and consistently, between historical and theological content concerning Judeo-Muslim coexistence and contemporary political controversy concerning the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, since conflating the two risks both politicizing historical pedagogy and reducing complex contemporary political questions to a simplified interfaith frame that neither serves accurate civic education nor advances genuine peacebuilding.

Fourth, insufficient teacher preparation. As noted above, most current religious and social studies instructors have not received training in comparative religious literacy, interfaith pedagogy, or conflict-resolution facilitation, meaning that curricular reform unaccompanied by substantial investment in teacher training risks producing approved syllabi that are inconsistently or superficially delivered in practice (Weller, 2013).

Fifth, conservative resistance to curricular reform more broadly, rooted not only in specifically religious objections but in a general institutional conservatism characteristic of centralized ministries of education, where textbook revision processes are often slow, politically risk-averse, and structurally resistant to externally proposed content, regardless of its substantive merit.


These obstacles collectively suggest that successful implementation will require gradual, evidence-based, multi-stakeholder sequencing rather than rapid top-down curricular mandate. Pilot programs at the university level, evaluated rigorously and communicated transparently to relevant religious and political stakeholders, followed by phased teacher training investment and incremental secondary-level integration, represent a more politically sustainable implementation pathway than attempting comprehensive primary-secondary curricular transformation in a single reform cycle. Transparent public dialogue addressing the specific fears outlined above—rather than treating resistance as mere obscurantism to be circumvented—is itself a necessary component of a credible reform strategy.

A sixth and often underestimated obstacle concerns financing and donor dependency. Many existing interfaith and comparative religious education initiatives in the MENA region have historically depended on external donor funding—from European development agencies, American foundations, or Gulf state sponsorship—raising legitimate questions about programmatic sustainability once initial donor funding cycles conclude, and generating a related perception risk in which domestically designed curricular reform can be mischaracterized by critics as an externally financed, and therefore externally motivated, intervention. Sustainable implementation accordingly requires a deliberate transition strategy from donor-funded pilot programming toward domestically financed, ministry-integrated curricular infrastructure, with donor support explicitly framed as time-limited seed investment in national institutional capacity rather than as an ongoing external programmatic presence.

A related and final obstacle concerns the risk of curricular reform being captured or diluted by bureaucratic incentives unrelated to its substantive pedagogical goals. Ministries of education operate within complex incentive structures involving teacher union relations, textbook publishing contracts, examination board procedures, and international donor reporting requirements, any of which can subtly reshape a reform proposal’s content and delivery in ways unrelated to its original pedagogical rationale. Sustained, embedded monitoring by the university-based research centers proposed in Section 7—rather than one-time external evaluation—offers a partial safeguard against this drift, since ongoing academic engagement with implementation can identify and flag departures from the curriculum’s original design before they become institutionally entrenched.
The Post-2023 Regional Context: War, Youth Disillusionment, and the Urgency of Reform

The argument for an Abrahamic curriculum cannot be developed in historical abstraction from the acute regional context that has prevailed since October 2023. The Gaza war and its extraordinarily high civilian toll have generated a documented surge in regional and global anger, grief, and polarization, disproportionately concentrated among young people who have encountered the conflict primarily through unmediated social media imagery rather than through any structured educational or historical framework capable of contextualizing it. Regional survey and polling data gathered since 2023 consistently indicate declining youth trust in national governments, international institutions, and normalization diplomacy across much of the Arab world, alongside sharply elevated skepticism toward interfaith and coexistence initiatives specifically, which many young people have come to perceive as diplomatically convenient rhetoric disconnected from the lived reality of Palestinian suffering.


This context complicates, without invalidating, the argument advanced in this essay. It would be pedagogically and ethically indefensible to introduce or expand interfaith curricular content in the current environment while remaining silent about the war’s human toll, or to present Muslim-Jewish coexistence material in a manner that implicitly asks students to bracket their legitimate moral response to ongoing civilian suffering. An Abrahamic curriculum credible to a post-2023 generation of MENA students must therefore explicitly distinguish, more emphatically than earlier iterations of interfaith pedagogy may have done, between the historical and theological content concerning Judeo-Muslim-Christian coexistence discussed throughout this essay, and the contemporary political and humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza, treating the latter as a legitimate and necessary subject of independent civic and human rights education rather than as an inconvenient complication to be managed away or minimized within interfaith programming.

Handled honestly, this distinction can strengthen rather than weaken the broader curricular project. A curriculum that teaches human rights law, international humanitarian law, and the civilian toll of the Gaza war as part of its human rights and citizenship component, while separately and rigorously teaching the historical and theological material on Abrahamic coexistence discussed in Sections 3 and 4, models exactly the kind of complex, non-reductive reasoning that Section 6 identifies as the antidote to the narrative monopolies exploited by radicalizing movements—reasoning capable of holding moral outrage at civilian suffering and historically grounded appreciation of interreligious coexistence as simultaneously true, rather than forcing students into a false choice between the two. Deradicalization studies, as outlined above, take on particular urgency in this context, since post-2023 youth disillusionment constitutes precisely the kind of significance-quest vulnerability that extremist recruiters on multiple sides of the region’s conflicts have moved rapidly to exploit (Kruglanski et al., 2014).
Toward Measurable Outcomes: Assessing Impact and Long-Term Benefits

A curricular reform proposal of this scope requires attention to measurable outcomes if it is to be credible as policy rather than aspiration. Several outcome domains are plausible and, in several cases, precedented in existing comparative education and peacebuilding evaluation literature. At the individual level, appropriate metrics include measured changes in intergroup attitude scales, reduction in implicit and explicit prejudice measures toward out-group religious communities, improved performance on standardized religious literacy assessments, and increased demonstrated capacity to identify manipulative or decontextualized use of religious text in media literacy exercises—each of which has established assessment methodology within the broader peace education and prejudice-reduction research literature (Bar-Tal, 2013).

At the institutional level, relevant indicators include the number of trained teachers certified in comparative religious and interfaith pedagogy, the extent of textbook revision incorporating comparative Abrahamic content, the establishment and research output of university-based Abrahamic Studies centers, and the frequency and quality of cross-national academic collaboration generated by such centers. At the societal level, longer-term and necessarily more indirect indicators include trends in documented sectarian incident rates, survey-measured social trust across religious communities, recruitment and retention patterns among domestic extremist organizations, and the frequency of positive cross-confessional civic initiatives, including heritage preservation projects, interfaith humanitarian cooperation, and joint commemorative practice.


Beyond these measurable domains, the long-term diplomatic and economic dividends of curricular reform, while harder to isolate causally, are plausible and historically consistent with the broader literature on the relationship between religious literacy and national soft power. Enhanced regional diplomatic capacity, expanded academic collaboration across historically estranged national systems, growth in heritage-linked cultural tourism connected to shared Abrahamic sites, and the general strengthening of social cohesion and civic identity all constitute plausible second-order benefits, consistent with Appleby’s broader argument that religious traditions’ peacebuilding capacity, once deliberately cultivated through education and institutional investment, generates returns extending well beyond the immediate reduction of intergroup conflict into broader domains of social and economic development (Appleby, 2000).

Amartya Sen’s analysis of identity and violence offers a final, more foundational framework for understanding why these outcomes should be expected. Sen argues that a principal driver of sectarian violence is the artificial reduction of complex, multiply-constituted individual identity to a single, allegedly all-determining religious or communal affiliation—a reduction that violent movements actively cultivate because it is strategically useful to them (Sen, 2006). An Abrahamic curriculum, by teaching students the plural, overlapping, and historically interwoven character of their own religious civilization, directly counters this reductive logic, offering students a more historically accurate and psychologically resilient understanding of identity itself, one substantially more resistant to the totalizing single-identity appeals on which sectarian and extremist recruitment depends.

A methodologically honest assessment framework must also acknowledge the limits of attribution in this domain. Sectarian violence and radicalization are multiply determined phenomena, shaped simultaneously by economic conditions, geopolitical grievance, state repression, family and peer networks, and individual psychological vulnerability, in addition to educational content. No curricular reform, however well designed, should be expected to function as a sufficient condition for the prevention of radicalization, and evaluation designs should be constructed accordingly, measuring curricular impact on the specific proximate outcomes—religious literacy, prejudice reduction, propaganda-recognition capacity—that theory and prior research suggest education can plausibly influence, rather than claiming direct causal responsibility for macro-level security outcomes that depend on many factors beyond the classroom. This calibrated framing is not a concession of the curriculum’s unimportance but a condition of its long-term policy credibility: overclaiming educational impact invites the kind of disappointment and backlash that has historically undermined otherwise sound peace education initiatives once inflated expectations proved unmet.
Conclusion: Classrooms as Instruments of Preventive Diplomacy

The durable peace of the MENA region cannot be secured through military coalitions, intelligence cooperation, border security architecture, or economic investment alone, however necessary each of these instruments remains. Sustainable peace ultimately depends on the formation of successive generations of citizens equipped to engage religious and cultural plurality with historical literacy, critical judgment, and civic confidence rather than anxiety or reflexive hostility. Classrooms, lecture halls, and university research centers are therefore not peripheral to regional security policy; they are, on the analysis developed here, as strategically consequential as ministries of defense or foreign affairs, operating upstream of the recruitment and polarization dynamics that later require far costlier security interventions to address (Kruglanski et al., 2014; UNESCO, 2023).


An Abrahamic curriculum, as outlined in this essay, offers a transformative educational vision rooted not in the denial of genuine religious difference but in the historically grounded recognition that such difference has been, and can again be, understood through structured inquiry rather than merely feared through ideological reflex. By integrating comparative monotheistic religion studies, interfaith dialogue methodology, intercultural studies, deradicalization studies, convivencia and coexistence studies, conflict resolution training, human rights and citizenship education, and critical media literacy into a coherent, sequenced educational framework, MENA societies can cultivate citizens who are intellectually curious, civically engaged, and substantially more resilient against the ideological monopolies on which extremist recruitment depends.

The region that gave humanity the Abrahamic traditions possesses both the historical depth and the cultural legitimacy to pioneer this educational renaissance. Morocco, with its constitutional recognition of plural cultural identity, its documented and continuing history of Judeo-Muslim coexistence, and its expanding diplomatic engagement across Africa, Europe, the Arab world, and Israel, is particularly well positioned to serve as an initial laboratory for implementation—not as an exclusive or exportable template, but as a comparatively favorable pilot environment from which lessons could plausibly be adapted elsewhere in the region. Implemented thoughtfully, incrementally, and with sustained attention to the political and pedagogical obstacles identified above, an Abrahamic curriculum would not merely revise a school syllabus; it would begin to reshape the underlying social contract of MENA societies, replacing inherited suspicion with informed understanding and transforming education into one of the most consequential available instruments of peace, democratic resilience, and shared civilizational prosperity.


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About Dr. Mohamed Chtatou

Dr. Mohamed Chtatou is a Professor of education science at the university in Rabat. He is currently a political analyst with Moroccan, Gulf, French, Italian and British media on politics and culture in the Middle East, Islam and Islamism as well as terrorism. He is, also, a specialist on political Islam in the MENA region with interest in the roots of terrorism and religious extremism.
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