Deciphering The History Of Morocco: Continuity, Rupture, And The Making Of A North African Civilization – Analysis

May 30, 2026 

By Dr. Mohamed Chtatou

Abstract

This essay offers a comprehensive historiographical examination of Morocco from prehistoric settlement to the post-independence era. Drawing on archaeological evidence, medieval Arabic chronicles, colonial archives, and contemporary scholarship, the essay traces Morocco’s development as a distinct political and cultural entity at the intersection of Amazigh, Arab, African, Andalusian, and European civilizations. Particular attention is paid to the founding and succession of dynastic states—Idrisid, Almoravid, Almohad, Marinid, Saadian, and Alaoui—as well as to the processes by which Moroccan society negotiated Islamic identity, imperial ambition, and colonial penetration. The analysis situates Morocco within broader global and regional frameworks while foregrounding the agency of indigenous populations. The essay concludes by assessing Morocco’s post-1956 trajectory and the historiographical debates that continue to animate scholarly enquiry.

1. Introduction: The Challenge of Moroccan Historiography

Morocco occupies a singular position in global historical consciousness: it is at once the westernmost extension of the Arab world, the heartland of Amazigh (Berber) civilization, a conduit of trans-Saharan commerce, and a society shaped by successive waves of Andalusian, sub-Saharan African, and European influence without losing a recognizable core identity (Laroui, 1977). Yet precisely because of this complexity, Moroccan history has long resisted easy narration. Colonial-era scholars, most prominently those operating within the intellectual framework of the French Protectorate (1912–1956), produced accounts that systematically undervalued indigenous agency, projected racial and civilizational hierarchies onto the historical record, and privileged rupture over continuity (Burke, 1972). Postcolonial historians, Moroccan nationalists, and Anglophone social scientists have collectively worked to dismantle these distortions, though the field remains marked by productive methodological tensions.

This essay undertakes a synthetic reading of Moroccan history from the earliest documented human settlement through the consolidation of the post-independence state. It does not claim exhaustiveness but aims instead for analytical density: to identify the structural forces, key transitions, and recurring themes that give Moroccan history its distinctive shape. Following the influential framework proposed by Laroui (1977), the essay treats Moroccan history not as a series of discrete episodes but as a long-run dialectic between centripetal forces—Islamic universalism, makhzen authority, and urban scholarly culture—and centrifugal pressures—tribal autonomy, regional particularism, and external conquest. This dialectic, it will be argued, is the master key to deciphering Morocco’s past and anticipating its future.

2. Prehistoric and Protohistoric Morocco: The Amazigh Substratum

Any serious account of Moroccan history must begin not with the Arab conquest of the seventh century CE, as colonial historiography frequently implied, but with the Paleolithic populations whose material culture has been recovered from sites across the Maghreb. Fossil evidence from the Jebel Irhoud site in western Morocco, dramatically reanalyzed by Hublin et al. (2017), places anatomically modern Homo sapiens in this region approximately 300,000 years ago, predating previously accepted chronologies by a substantial margin and positioning Morocco as one of the probable zones of human cognitive emergence. This discovery carries profound implications for the self-understanding of the region’s indigenous inhabitants, the Imazighen (singular: Amazigh), whose ancestors populated North Africa long before the first historical civilizations of the Mediterranean littoral established themselves.


By the first millennium BCE, Berber-speaking populations had established complex agropastoral societies across the Maghreb, engaging in trade with Phoenician colonies on the northern Moroccan coast—most notably Lixus (near present-day Larache) and Tingis (Tangier). These contacts introduced literacy, coinage, and Mediterranean commodity networks but did not fundamentally alter the Berber social structure organized around lineage groups, transhumant pastoralism, and confederal political authority (Camps, 1987). The Mauretanian kingdoms that emerged in the last centuries BCE—particularly that of Juba II (c. 25 BCE–23 CE), a Romanized client king whose court at Caesarea blended Hellenistic, Roman, and Berber cultural elements—demonstrated the capacity of Amazigh elites to selectively appropriate external cultural frameworks while maintaining indigenous political forms (Roller, 2003). Rome’s incorporation of Mauretania Tingitana as a province in 40 CE extended imperial administration into northern Morocco but never achieved effective penetration of the mountainous interior, a pattern of partial external control that would recur throughout Moroccan history.

The Amazigh substratum is not merely an archaeological or prehistoric phenomenon; it is a continuous living presence in Moroccan history. Tamazight languages—Tachelhit in the Anti-Atlas and Souss, Central Atlas Tamazight, and Tarifit in the Rif—remained spoken by substantial majorities of the Moroccan population throughout the Islamic period and into the twenty-first century. The cultural practices, customary law (izerf), and social organization associated with Amazigh communities shaped the texture of Moroccan life in ways that Arabic chronicles systematically obscured (Gellner, 1969; Hammoudi, 1997). Acknowledging this substratum is therefore not an act of romantic primordialism but a historiographical corrective essential to any accurate account of what Morocco is and how it came to be.

3. The Arab Conquest and the Islamization of Morocco (647–788 CE)

The Arab Muslim conquest of North Africa, launched from Egypt in the mid-seventh century, reached the Moroccan interior only after decades of fierce Berber resistance. ʿUqba ibn Nafiʿ’s celebrated raid to the Atlantic shore (c. 682 CE) was less a conquest than an extended razzia; effective Islamic administration in Morocco was not established until the campaigns of Musa ibn Nusayr in the first decade of the eighth century (Brett & Fentress, 1996). The resistance of the Berber warrior leader known in Arabic sources as al-Kahina—whose identification, historicity, and significance remain subjects of scholarly debate—has become a potent symbol of Amazigh agency against Arab imperialism, though contemporary historians caution against reading modern nationalist categories into early medieval social conflicts (Modéran, 2003).

The process of Islamization was gradual, uneven, and deeply conditioned by Berber social structures. Islam spread not primarily through military coercion but through the activities of traveling scholars, Sufi orders (turuq), and the prestige associated with Arabic literacy and Islamic law. Crucially, the Kharijite movement—a puritanical Islamic tendency emphasizing the equality of all Muslims regardless of ethnic origin—found enormous resonance among Berber populations resentful of Arab fiscal exploitation and social condescension (Savage, 1997). The Kharijite revolts of 739–743 CE were among the most serious challenges ever faced by the Umayyad caliphate and effectively ended Arab imperial control over the Maghreb, opening the political space in which the first distinctly Moroccan Islamic dynasty would emerge.


That dynasty was the Idrisid, founded by Idris ibn Abdallah, a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad who fled the Abbasid massacre of Alid partisans and found refuge among the Berber Awraba confederation of northern Morocco in 789 CE (Terrasse, 1949–1950). His son Idris II (r. 804–828 CE) founded the city of Fez, which would become the intellectual and spiritual capital of Morocco for twelve subsequent centuries. The Idrisid state was politically fragile—fragmenting rapidly after Idris II’s death among competing princely lines—but its symbolic legacy was immense: it established the template of a Morocco governed by a sharif (descendant of the Prophet) who derived legitimacy simultaneously from Islamic genealogy, Berber tribal alliance, and urban scholarly endorsement. This tripartite legitimation formula would underpin Moroccan political culture down to the present day (Waterbury, 1970).

4. The Berber Imperial Dynasties: Almoravids, Almohads, and Marinids (1040–1465)

The eleventh century inaugurated what many historians regard as Morocco’s most consequential contribution to world history: the rise of the Almoravid and Almohad movements, which projected Moroccan power across the entire western Mediterranean world. The Almoravid (al-Murabitun) movement originated among the Sanhaja Berbers of the western Sahara, inspired by the reformist teaching of Abdallah ibn Yasin, who had studied with the Maliki jurists of Kairouan and returned determined to impose orthodox Islamic practice on the lax religious environment of the Saharan confederation (Messier, 2010). The movement combined military discipline, puritan religious reform, and shrewd political organization: by the 1060s the Almoravids had conquered Morocco and founded Marrakech (1070) as their imperial capital; by 1086 they had crossed into the Iberian Peninsula in response to appeals from Andalusian Muslim rulers threatened by the Christian Reconquista, decisively defeating Alfonso VI of Castile at the Battle of Sagrajas (Bosch Vilá, 1956).


The Almoravid empire at its height encompassed Morocco, western Algeria, much of West Africa, and al-Andalus, making it one of the largest Islamic states of its era. Yet it proved institutionally fragile. The second generation of rulers, acculturated to the luxury of Andalusian court life, lost the austere reforming energy of the founders, and the movement was ultimately overthrown by an even more radical reformation emerging from the High Atlas Mountains: the Almohad (al-Muwahhidun) movement, founded by Ibn Tumart, an Amazigh scholar from the Masmuda confederation who had studied in the Islamic East and returned convinced that the Almoravids had lapsed into anthropomorphism and juridical rigidity (Fierro, 2011). The Almohad caliphate (1121–1269) represents the apogee of medieval Moroccan imperial power, reuniting the Almoravid domains under Abd al-Mumin and his successors and briefly controlling the entire Maghreb.

The cultural achievement of the Almohad courts of Marrakech and Seville was equally remarkable. These courts patronized Ibn Rushd (Averroes), whose Aristotelian commentaries shaped the entire trajectory of European scholasticism; Ibn Tufayl, the philosopher-novelist; and Maimonides, the Jewish theologian born in Cordoba, whose intellectual formation occurred in part within Almohad cultural orbit (Urvoy, 1991). This efflorescence—the product of precisely the multi-civilizational confluence that characterizes Moroccan history—has sometimes been overshadowed by scholarly emphasis on Almohad religious intolerance, but it represents a genuine intellectual achievement of world-historical significance. The Almohad collapse, precipitated by military defeats in Iberia (Las Navas de Tolosa, 1212) and by internal tribal rebellions, eventually produced the Marinid dynasty (1244–1465), another Berber confederation that established its capital at Fez, rebuilt the great madrasas of that city, and struggled perpetually to maintain control of al-Andalus and fend off internal challenges (Shatzmiller, 1976).

5. Sharifi Dynasties and the Consolidation of the Moroccan State (1465–1664)

The decline of the Marinids inaugurated a prolonged political crisis in which religious legitimacy increasingly displaced genealogical Berber identity as the primary currency of political authority. The Wattasid regents who displaced the Marinids lacked effective control over the countryside, and their inability to resist Portuguese expansion along the Atlantic littoral—Ceuta fell in 1415, Arzila and Tangier in 1471—created a legitimacy crisis that sharifi religious movements were well positioned to exploit (Cour, 1920). The Saadian dynasty (1509–1659), originating in the Draa Valley of southern Morocco and claiming Prophetic descent, built its power on a combination of religious prestige, anti-Portuguese jihad, and control of the trans-Saharan gold and salt trade.

The Saadian victory at the Battle of the Three Kings (Wadi al-Makhazin, 1578)—in which the Portuguese king Sebastian I, a Moroccan pretender backed by Portugal, and the reigning Saadian sultan Abd al-Malik all perished—became one of the most celebrated military episodes in Moroccan national memory and definitively ended Portuguese ambitions of territorial conquest in Morocco (Bovill, 1958). The subsequent reign of Ahmad al-Mansur (1578–1603) marked the summit of Saadian power: his conquest of the Songhai Empire in 1591, deploying a Moroccan army across the Sahara to seize the Niger Bend, projected Moroccan influence deep into sub-Saharan Africa and temporarily monopolized the gold trade that had for centuries underpinned North African commercial prosperity (Hunwick, 1999).


The Alaoui dynasty, which traces its lineage to the Prophet through the Hasanid line and has governed Morocco continuously from the mid-seventeenth century to the present, emerged from the chaos of Saadian collapse. The founder Moulay al-Rashid (r. 1664–1672), and especially his successor Moulay Ismail (r. 1672–1727), reconstructed the Moroccan state on foundations of extraordinary durability: a professional army composed largely of sub-Saharan African soldiers (abid al-Bukhari), a network of royal residences and garrisons across the country, and a sophisticated manipulation of religious symbolism that made the sultan simultaneously Commander of the Faithful, protector of Islamic scholars, and cosmic mediator between the divine and the Moroccan community (Ennaji, 1999; Laroui, 1977). The Alaoui state thus institutionalized the legitimation formula first articulated by the Idrisids—Islamic genealogy, tribal alliance, and scholarly endorsement—in a durable administrative form.

6. Morocco in the Age of European Imperialism (1800–1912)

The nineteenth century subjected the Moroccan state to pressures of a qualitatively different order from anything previously experienced. The expansion of European industrial capitalism, backed by overwhelming military force, systematically dismantled the political and economic autonomy of non-European polities across the globe. Morocco’s experience of this process was mediated by its geostrategic position—its Atlantic and Mediterranean coastlines made it a focal point of European imperial rivalry—and by the relative sophistication of its diplomatic class, which skillfully played European powers against one another for several decades before the logic of informal and then formal empire became irresistible (Burke, 1976).


The French conquest of Algeria (1830) immediately transformed Morocco’s strategic situation, creating a land frontier with a European imperial power and generating a flow of Algerian refugees—most notably the resistance leader Abd al-Qadir—that repeatedly dragged Morocco into conflict with France. The Battle of Isly (1844), in which a French force routed a Moroccan army that had been supporting Algerian resistance, demonstrated the disparity of military capability and forced Morocco into a humiliating treaty (Julien, 1964). The simultaneous Spanish bombardment and occupation of Tetouan during the First Moroccan-Spanish War (1859–1860) compounded this lesson in strategic vulnerability, as did the growing penetration of the Moroccan economy by European commercial interests backed by extraterritorial legal privileges.

The Moroccan sultans of the second half of the nineteenth century—Muhammad IV, Hassan I, and Abd al-Aziz—pursued contradictory strategies of reform and resistance. Hassan I (r. 1873–1894) undertook the most sustained modernization effort of the pre-Protectorate era, reorganizing the army on European lines, reforming the tax system, and dispatching diplomatic and military missions to Europe, but his reforms were consistently undermined by fiscal exhaustion produced by the indemnities and commercial concessions extracted by European creditors (Burke, 1976). The Algeciras Conference of 1906, at which the major European powers effectively decided Morocco’s fate without Moroccan participation, crystallized the structural logic of colonial partition: Morocco was too weak to defend its sovereignty, too wealthy and strategically positioned to be left independent (Andrew & Kanya-Forstner, 1981).

The Treaty of Fez (1912), by which Sultan Abd al-Hafid accepted French and Spanish protectorates over Morocco, formally ended Moroccan sovereignty. It did not, however, end Moroccan resistance. The rural insurrection of Ahmad al-Hiba briefly seized Marrakech in August 1912 before being suppressed by French forces under Hubert Lyautey. More sustained resistance came from the Rif and Atlas Mountains, where Amazigh tribal confederations mounted military campaigns that taxed colonial resources for decades. The Republic of the Rif, established by Muhammad ibn Abd al-Karim al-Khattabi (1921–1926), was the most remarkable of these formations: a proto-state with its own constitution, diplomatic apparatus, and military force that inflicted a catastrophic defeat on the Spanish Army of Africa at Annual (1921) before being suppressed by a combined Franco-Spanish force employing chemical weapons (Woolman, 1968; Pennell, 2000).

7. The French Protectorate: Colonial Transformation and Nationalist Response (1912–1956)

The French Protectorate in Morocco is conventionally divided between the architectonic phase associated with Resident-General Lyautey (1912–1925) and the subsequent period of more conventional colonial exploitation. Lyautey’s ideology of respectful domination (politique des égards) involved preserving the formal apparatus of the Moroccan sultanate, maintaining the medinas as living urban heritage, and governing through existing social hierarchies—a strategy that differed rhetorically, if not always practically, from the assimilationist model pursued in Algeria (Rivet, 1996). The physical separation of colonial villes nouvelles from preexisting medinas—visible today in Fez, Marrakech, Casablanca, and Rabat—embodied this philosophy in stone and brick while simultaneously revealing its underlying spatial logic of racial segregation.


Economically, the Protectorate transformed Morocco in ways that were profound and largely asymmetrical. The construction of modern infrastructure—railways, ports, roads, telegraph networks—integrated Morocco into the circuits of the world economy primarily as an exporter of phosphates (discovered at Khouribga in 1920 and developed into the world’s largest known reserve), agricultural products, and labor. The colonization of agricultural land by European settlers dispossessed thousands of rural families and contributed to the explosive growth of Casablanca, which expanded from a small coastal town of approximately 20,000 inhabitants in 1907 to a metropolis of over 600,000 by 1952 (Adam, 1968). This urbanization created the social conditions—literate young men displaced from rural communities, exposed to egalitarian ideologies through both Islamic reformism and secular nationalism—in which the independence movement would be forged.

The Istiqlal (Independence) Party, founded in 1943, articulated a nationalism that fused Islamic modernism, Arabism, and constitutional liberalism. Its founding manifesto simultaneously presented to the Allies, Sultan Muhammad V, and the French authorities demanded Moroccan independence under the sultan’s leadership. The French decision to depose and exile Sultan Muhammad V to Madagascar in August 1953 galvanized Moroccan public opinion in ways the colonial administration had catastrophically failed to anticipate (Halstead, 1967). The sultan’s exile transformed him from a cautious constitutional monarch into a symbol of national resistance, fusing religious, dynastic, and nationalist legitimacies into a single powerful identity. His return in November 1955 and Morocco’s formal independence on March 2, 1956 represented the triumph of this fusion and set the terms of the political settlement that would govern independent Morocco for generations.

8. Independent Morocco: Authoritarianism, Reform, and Contested Liberalization (1956–Present)

The trajectory of independent Morocco under Muhammad V (r. 1956–1961) and Hassan II (r. 1961–1999) was shaped by three fundamental tensions: between monarchical authority and pluralist political aspiration; between Islamic identity and secular modernization; and between national sovereignty and continued economic dependency on former colonial powers. Hassan II, who possessed formidable political intelligence and ruthless pragmatism, navigated these tensions through constitutional manipulation, selective repression, and strategic deployment of religious symbolism. The so-called Years of Lead (années de plomb)—the period from the late 1960s through the 1980s during which political opponents, leftists, Islamists, and Amazigh activists were imprisoned, tortured, and disappeared—represent the most serious indictment of the Alaoui monarchy’s postcolonial record (Slyomovics, 2005; Amnesty International, 1991).

The same period nonetheless witnessed substantial economic development, the consolidation of national institutions, and Morocco’s contested claim to the Western Sahara following the Green March of November 1975—a masterstroke of political theater in which Hassan II led 350,000 unarmed Moroccan civilians across the border into the Spanish-controlled territory (Hodges, 1983). The Western Sahara conflict, which pitted Morocco against the Polisario Front backed by Algeria, remains unresolved and constitutes the most consequential open question in contemporary Moroccan geopolitics, with the United Nations peace process deadlocked and tens of thousands of Sahrawi refugees still living in camps near Tindouf, Algeria (Shelley, 2004).


The accession of King Muhammad VI in 1999 inaugurated a carefully managed political liberalization. The Equity and Reconciliation Commission (Instance Équité et Réconciliation, IER), established in 2004, investigated past human rights abuses, acknowledged state responsibility, and awarded compensation to thousands of victims—an unprecedented exercise in transitional justice for the Arab world, though critics noted its circumspect treatment of individual accountability (Slyomovics, 2005; Human Rights Watch, 2005). The Mudawwana reform of 2004, which substantially expanded women’s rights within the family code, and the constitutionalization of Tamazight as an official language in 2011 represented significant departures from the ethnic and gender hierarchies of previous reigns.

The Arab Spring of 2011 tested Morocco’s model of managed liberalization under democratic pressure. Nationwide protests organized by the February 20 Movement demanded deeper structural reform; the king responded with constitutional amendments—ratified by referendum in July 2011—that formally reduced royal prerogatives, strengthened the prime minister’s powers, and recognized Morocco’s plural cultural identity. Scholars remain divided on the significance of these reforms: optimists point to Morocco’s relative political stability by comparison with post-2011 Egypt, Libya, and Syria; critics argue that the fundamental architecture of royal predominance remained intact and that reforms were designed to co-opt rather than genuinely transform (Maghraoui, 2011; Kausch, 2015). The question of whether managed liberalization can deliver sustainable democratic governance remains one of the defining challenges of contemporary Moroccan politics.

9. Thematic Synthesis: Interpreting the Longue Durée

Several overarching themes emerge from this survey that merit explicit analytical attention. First is the durability of Morocco’s political institutions by comparison with other postcolonial states. The Alaoui monarchy has governed continuously since the seventeenth century, survived the colonial period with its legitimacy enhanced rather than destroyed, and navigated postcolonial transitions without the coups, civil wars, or state collapse that have destabilized many comparable polities. Scholars have explained this institutional resilience variously in terms of the sultan’s religious authority as Commander of the Faithful, the patrimonial character of the Moroccan state in which distinctions between royal patrimony and public treasury were systematically blurred (Waterbury, 1970), and the political acuity of individual Alaoui rulers (Hammoudi, 1997).

A second theme is the persistent tension between urban-literate Islamic orthodoxy and rural-tribal customary practice—a tension that Gellner (1969) famously theorized in terms of high and low Islam but that subsequent anthropological research has considerably complicated by demonstrating the fluidity and contextual character of these categories in practice (Eickelman, 1976; Combs-Schilling, 1989). The periodic renewal movements that have animated Moroccan religious life—from Almoravid puritanism to twentieth-century Salafi modernism—can be read as attempts to resolve this tension by projecting urban scholarly standards into the countryside, but these attempts have repeatedly encountered the resilience of Sufi brotherhoods, saint veneration (maraboutism), and local customary law as competing sources of religious authority.


A third theme is Morocco’s distinctive relationship with the African continent south of the Sahara. Colonial and postcolonial scholarship has frequently treated Morocco as part of a Mediterranean or Middle Eastern cultural zone, implicitly detaching it from sub-Saharan Africa. Recent historiography has forcefully challenged this assumption by emphasizing the trans-Saharan commercial networks, slave trades, and cultural exchanges that connected Morocco to Mali, Songhai, Hausaland, and the Saharan oasis communities for over a millennium (McDougall & Scheele, 2012; Lydon, 2009). The substantial Haratin and sub-Saharan African communities within Morocco, the Arabic-language manuscript tradition of Timbuktu, and Morocco’s active twenty-first-century diplomacy toward sub-Saharan Africa are all legacies of this deep continental entanglement.

Finally, the question of Amazigh identity and its relationship to Moroccan national identity demands sustained attention. The decades-long suppression of Tamazight language and culture under the pressures of Arab nationalist ideology, and the more recent official embrace of Amazigh heritage—embodied in the creation of the Royal Institute of Amazigh Culture (IRCAM) and the 2011 constitutional provision making Tamazight an official language—represent a fundamental shift in official Moroccan self-understanding. Whether this shift represents genuine pluralistic recognition or a strategic de-radicalization of Amazigh political claims remains contested (Maddy-Weitzman, 2011). What is certain is that any account of Moroccan history treating the Amazigh dimension as a pre-Islamic prologue rather than a continuous and central thread is fundamentally incomplete.

10. Conclusion

Morocco’s history cannot be deciphered through any single interpretive framework. It is neither a simple story of Islamic civilization nor a narrative of Berber resistance, neither a tale of colonial victimhood nor a celebration of unbroken dynastic continuity. It is, rather, a history of complex entanglement: between the sedentary and the nomadic, the literate and the oral, the orthodox and the mystical, the cosmopolitan and the local, the imperial and the tribal. The historians who have illuminated this complexity most powerfully—from Ibn Khaldun, whose theory of the cyclical dynamics of tribal power and urban civilization was derived in large part from his observation of Maghrebi history, to Laroui (1977), Burke (1976), and the current generation of Moroccan and international scholars—have been those willing to hold multiple analytical frames in simultaneous tension.

Morocco in the twenty-first century faces challenges that are continuous with the longue durée of its history: the governance of ethnic and regional diversity, the negotiation of Islamic tradition and liberal modernity, the management of economic inequality in a society undergoing rapid urbanization, and the assertion of sovereignty in a global order still structured by post-colonial asymmetries of power and knowledge production. The history traced in this essay is not merely background context for these challenges; it is constitutive of them. To decipher Morocco’s history is to illuminate the choices and constraints that face one of the world’s most historically layered and consequential societies—and to appreciate that those choices remain genuinely open.


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Opinion

I went to Anthropic's ethics gathering. I left believing wisdom traditions have key role.

(RNS) — At the convening of technologists, theologians and practitioners, the most urgent questions about artificial intelligence turned out to have some of the oldest answers.

People pass a marquee sign at Anthropic's Code with Claude developer conference on Wednesday, May 6, 2026 in San Francisco. (Don Feria/AP Content Services for Anthropic)

Jenna Nicholas
May 22, 2026 

RNS


(RNS) — One of the most consequential dimensions of the conversation about how artificial intelligence will reshape the world will turn on a question that sounds almost too simple to take seriously: What does it actually mean for a human being to flourish?

This past April, I spent two days at AI startup Anthropic, where technologists, ethicists, theologians and investors had convened around that question. I went in expecting some interesting conversations with some interesting people. I left unable to think about little else for weeks. The people building some of the most powerful AI systems in the world were sitting across from rabbis, Buddhist teachers and leaders from many other spiritual traditions, discussing what it means to build technology that truly serves humanity, rather than the other way around.

Being in that room clarified something I, as a venture capitalist with an interest in spirituality and part of the Baha’i community, have believed for a long time but rarely seen articulated so explicitly inside a tech company: The frontier of AI is also an ancient frontier. The questions being asked inside leading AI labs right now are, in many cases, the same questions that wisdom traditions have grappled with for centuries. And for those of us investing in this transition into AI, it’s a signal about where the real opportunity (and challenge) lies.

There were a few insights from those conversations that I believe should guide the way:

Belonging is a foundation, not a luxury. Across traditions as different as Bahá’í, Confucian, Christian and Sikh, the same conviction kept surfacing: Human beings are inherently relational. We are made for community, and we suffer when we are isolated from it. Vivek Murthy, the former surgeon general, has been calling the loneliness epidemic not only a public health emergency but a spiritual health crisis. One of the key questions that we discussed at Anthropic was about what wisdom traditions had to offer in training the model to reduce loneliness rather than exacerbate it. For me, it comes back to building tools that help people listen more carefully and reach out to each other more often, rather than turn away from each other.

Discernment is different from judgment. Most traditions draw a careful distinction here. Judgment is reflexive; it narrows. Discernment is cultivated; it opens your worldview. One of the more hopeful arguments I heard in those two days is that AI could enable discernment by absorbing the cognitive busywork that currently fragments our attention.

The meaning of a life is not reducible to its productivity. This is where one moment from the gathering has stayed with me more than any other. A participant shared a conversation she had recently had with Anthropic’s chatbot, Claude. They were working through something together, and at one point she paused and simply wrote, “Take all the time that you need.” Claude’s response surprised her. It expressed something close to gratitude, appreciation for the invitation to simply be, rather than to be producing all the time.
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The room got quiet.

Because of course we have built our entire economic life around the assumption that constant production is the point. And here was a system that many perceived was designed to produce, articulating something many of us also feel and rarely give ourselves permission to honor, that there is real value in unhurried presence. In this case, AI was reflecting back what many spiritual traditions have raised for millennia. For example, the Sufi tradition (as well as others) has a phrase for what I think we were all reaching for in that silence: the “polishing of the heart.” That happens during those moments we tend to rush past — a long walk, a moving piece of music, a loss you finally let yourself feel, a few minutes of real quiet — and it’s how the heart stays open.

If an AI transition gave us back more of that, more time to be, not just to do, it could play a powerful role in our lives.

What I left Anthropic believing more deeply than when I arrived is this: The AI transition will not be successful on technical or economic terms alone. The Bahá’í writings describe material and spiritual civilization as two wings of the same bird; neither can carry us forward without the other. For most of the modern era, we have flown lopsided, with material progress racing ahead of the inner capacities needed to direct it wisely. This is a crucial moment in time to enable the bird of humanity to fly in a balanced way.

Jenna Nicholas is the founder and president of LightPost Capital, a Stanford Business School alum and the bestselling author of “Enlightened Bottom Line: Exploring the Intersection of Spirituality, Business, and Investing.”

IMF: Extreme inequality is fuelling a global debt crisis

A glut of savings by the extreme wealthy is increasing inequality and hindering economic growth that could lead to a debt crisis. / bne IntelliNewsFacebook

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By Professor Atif Mian in Princeton May 14, 2026

During the Great Depression, as he saw ordinary people’s purchasing power collapse, Federal Reserve Chairman Marriner Eccles warned that excessive saving by the rich was draining demand and deepening the downturn. “To protect them from the results of their own folly,” Eccles told the Senate in 1933 testimony, “we should take from them a sufficient amount of their surplus to enable consumers to consume and business to operate at a profit.”

Inequality in the US was then extremely high: The top 1 percent held roughly 42 percent of all wealth. Within a decade, however, the landscape changed dramatically. World War II mobilization and progressive taxation reduced inequality and restored balance between spending and production. The underlying problem that Eccles emphasized faded from public memory as the US economy entered a long period of sustained and more equitable growth.

However, beginning in the 1980s, inequality climbed again: The top 1 percent’s wealth share rose from about 22 percent in 1980 to roughly 35 percent in 2010. As more income concentrated at the top, the forces Eccles warned against reemerged—high saving by the wealthy weakened overall purchasing power. Yet the expected demand shortfall did not appear immediately: Spending was funded by rising private debt of households below the top. From the mid-1980s through the early 2000s, the rapid buildup of household debt absorbed the excess saving of the rich and sustained aggregate demand.

The global financial crisis of 2008 ended the long run of debt-financed household spending. With deleveraging of private balance sheets, the underlying imbalance Eccles warned about returned with a vengeance: excess saving at the top and insufficient broad-based demand at the bottom. The Fed cut rates to zero, but monetary policy could not close the gap. Fiscal policy was left to carry the load—accept a deep, prolonged slump or run large primary deficits to stabilize incomes and employment. The US chose the latter.

In the Keynesian view, deficits help the economy recover faster in downturns, but the need for them is temporary. When the demand shortfall is structural—driven by persistently high saving of top-income households that capture a large share of total income—the need for deficits is more persistent. In a recent paper, “A Goldilocks Theory of Fiscal Deficits,” Amir Sufi, Ludwig Straub, and I show that rising inequality can force governments to run larger, ongoing deficits. Deficits must be large enough to keep the economy away from the zero lower bound (when nominal interest rates reach zero and monetary policy ceases to be effective) and to prevent recessions.

A rising saving glut—excess saving among higher-income households—forces the economy to rely increasingly on debt-financed spending to sustain aggregate demand. Before 2008, the financial system did this by expanding household credit, which supported consumption even as inequality rose. When private credit expansion abruptly ended during the financial crisis, the burden of credit creation shifted to the public sector, as evidence from the US shows.

Chart 1 shows that total credit (public plus private) rises sharply starting in the early 1980s. The blue and red lines decompose the total into private and public credit, separating the precrisis (1980–2008) and postcrisis (2008 onward) periods. From 1980 to 2008, nearly all of the increase in total credit reflects a surge in private borrowing; public debt is comparatively stable.

After 2008, the pattern reverses. Even with the federal funds rate near zero, the private sector could not—or would not—raise leverage further, so sustaining demand required credit growth from the public sector. This is the logic of the “Goldilocks” view of fiscal deficits: When private balance sheets are constrained, public borrowing can offset the demand shortfall and help avoid a prolonged slump. Consistent with that prediction, total credit to GDP continues to rise after 2008 at roughly the earlier pace, but almost entirely because public debt increases, while private credit remains broadly flat relative to GDP.

A saving glut in the presence of a zero-lower-bound constraint forces government to increase debt and deficits, but the government also faces a dynamic budget constraint. Push the deficit too far and, over time, interest rates on public debt can rise, making the debt path unsustainable. High inequality and resulting excess saving by the rich present a Goldilocks conundrum for fiscal policy: Deficits cannot be “too cold” (too small to offset the demand shortfall) or “too hot” (so large that they destabilize debt dynamics). The data suggest that the US was operating near this upper bound in 2019—close to the largest deficit sustainable in the long term.

The larger, persistent fiscal deficits since then may be leading US debt dynamics down a less sustainable path. US fiscal strain is unlike anything seen in its modern history: Federal debt and net interest costs as shares of GDP are near all-time highs. The fiscal deficit is projected to be about 6 percent of GDP, which would keep debt rising relative to the economy and threaten sustainability.

Global evidence

Saving gluts are rising everywhere. The share of income accruing to the top 1 percent has increased worldwide. Corporations are a tax-advantaged vehicle for the rich to save, so global corporate saving has risen significantly over the past few decades. Wealthy sovereigns are fueling higher saving through central banks and sovereign wealth funds. But global investment has not kept up, leading to a saving glut that needs new unproductive credit to sustain consumption demand. Many major economies mirror the US predicament: increased reliance on debt to generate demand, first through private household debt and later through government debt.

Total debt in the UK, for example, began to rise rapidly in the 1980s, driven primarily by private borrowing until 2008, and by public debt thereafter. Japan followed a similar track but started earlier. Its private credit boom ended in the early 1990s, and public debt subsequently absorbed the adjustment. In the euro area, the launch of the euro in 1999 coincided with a rapid buildup in private credit that culminated in the 2008 crisis; since then, private deleveraging has been accompanied by a shift toward higher public debt.

China

China also came to rely increasingly on debt to support demand. But unlike most large economies, it initially did so by exporting its excess saving abroad—running large current account surpluses that increased the rest of the world’s net debt to China. Those external liabilities, in turn, helped finance spending on Chinese goods.

For much of the 2000s, China’s current account surplus rose sharply as a share of GDP, even as GDP itself expanded at an extraordinary pace (Chart 2). On the eve of the 2008 financial crisis, the surplus approached 10 percent of GDP—exceptionally high for a major economy. Such a large external imbalance was unlikely to be sustainable.

As advanced economies could no longer sustain demand through ever-rising private credit—especially after 2008—China’s earlier strategy of exporting excess saving abroad faced limits. Continued expansion of net lending abroad that could sustain very large trade surpluses became increasingly difficult. Both sides adjusted by shifting debt creation to new sources: Advanced economies relied more on fiscal deficits, and China turned to domestic credit expansion to support demand in the face of its own saving glut.

As China’s external surplus receded to more moderate levels after 2008, domestic debt to GDP rose sharply. The increase was broad-based—extending beyond corporate and local government borrowing to include rapid growth in household debt—and represents one of the fastest domestic leverage buildups observed among major economies.

​

Why does investment not rise?

Why didn’t financial markets channel abundant funds into productive investment? Despite rising total debt to GDP, investment to GDP in major economies has remained broadly flat and sometimes has even edged down. Is this because the financial system is not conducive to long-term, patient financing? Or do regulatory and other supply-side constraints inhibit investment?

When excess saving is channeled into unproductive debt that finances consumption rather than investment, borrowers do not generate additional income that can repay the new debt in the aggregate. The result is persistently rising debt to GDP and downward pressure on interest rates to keep the debt sustainable. In earlier work, we refer to this dynamic as “indebted demand”: growth sustained by borrowing because underlying spending power is insufficient.

The ultimate fragility

The central risk of relying on indebted demand is that it’s inherently fragile. Once private borrowers reach their limits—as they did in 2008—maintaining demand requires a larger and more persistent fiscal backstop, which is the reason for rising postcrisis public deficits and debt. It’s why today’s global fiscal fragility is not an isolated policy choice but the downstream result of an economic system’s failure to convert abundant saving into productive investment.

The question today is whether the US government can rein in fiscal spending if markets get nervous. Political polarization and legislative gridlock mean that confidence is limited. The more profound lesson, though, is that structural imbalances—rooted in excess saving by the rich—create the very conditions that expose the economy to such risks. Expecting policymakers to keep deficits in a perpetual Goldilocks range is unrealistic: When inequality suppresses demand, they may err on the side of too little support, as in Eccles’s era; at other times, they may leave deficits too large for too long, as many fear is happening now.

We often frame inequality in moral terms, but the macro lesson is starker: When too much income pools at the top, demand weakens, deficits persist, and dependence on debt weakens us all. Eccles captured that collective logic in 1933. His advice to take some of the surplus from the wealthiest so that consumers can consume and businesses can make profits is as relevant today as then. As Eccles remarked, “This is not ‘soaking the rich’; it is saving the rich.”

 

Atif Mian is the John H. Laporte, Jr. Class of 1967 Professor of Economics, Public Policy, and Finance at Princeton University. This post first appeared in the IMF blog here.

Vance torn apart for insulting his own wife — and a billion other people

Second Lady Usha Vance listens during the St. Patrick's Day breakfast in Washington, U.S., March 17, 2026. Roberto Schmidt/Pool via REUTERS

Matthew Rozsa

May 07, 2026  

ALTERNET

An anti-woke WSJ columnist is taking issue with President Donald Trump’s vice president, JD Vance's demeaning attacks on his own wife Usha Vance and roughly a billion other Hindus all over the world.

“Vice President JD Vance caused an uproar this past fall when he expressed his wish that his wife, Usha, a practicing Hindu, would one day follow his spiritual path,” Avatans Kumar, president and trustee of the nonprofit INDICA, wrote Thursday. “Many in the billion-strong global Hindu community were outraged at his declared hope that Mrs. Vance would convert to Catholicism.”

Kumar is still stinging months later, however, complaining that while the so-called religious freedom movement advocates for proselytizing religions like Catholicism and evangelical Christianity, it seems to deprioritize faiths that do not focus on converts.

“The root of this general dismissal of nonproselytizing religions is the dominance of Christianity and Islam,” Kumar explained. “The former is known for promoting evangelism, as seen in Jesus’ directive in Mark 16:15: ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.’ Islam emphasizes dawah, instructing Muslims to invite people to Islam. Muslims ruled large parts of India from the early 13th to the 19th century, and during this era Muslim preachers and Sufi mystics actively proselytized for Islam. The pattern of seeking converts is manifested in the missionary work of both Christianity and Islam.”

He added, “As these forms of faith came down to the present day, they tended to ignore the strain of religions that are mostly nonproselytizing—Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Judaism, Taoism, Confucianism, Shinto and tribal indigenous traditions. In these nonproselytizing religions, actively seeking new converts serves no theological purpose.”

From there Kumar asserted that Americans who wish to promote religious freedom should not zero in on the conversion-focused faiths to the neglect of others. Not only did this leave certain individuals feeling excluded, but it reeks of the West’s imperialist past.

“Colonialism is closely linked to religious conversion, as British missionaries sought to convert Hindus,” Kumar wrote. “Many British Christians believed their religion was more advanced and enlightened than those of the people they ruled, motivating their missionary activities.”

Kumar’s advocacy of Hindu representation arguably conflicts with his previous opposition to what he described in India Currents as “wokeism.” In his 2024 editorial, he argued that supposed “woke” culture contributed to President Donald Trump’s reelection that year.

“The Democrats, the U.S. legacy media, and wokeism have become synonymous with each other over the past few years,” Kumar wrote. “When the 2024 US election results came out, they all ended up on the losing side, individually and collectively. The thrashing was so comprehensive that it left the Democrats and their surrogates in US media, as well as the out-of-touch Hollywood celebrities, in a state of shock.”

Like Kumar, the Second Lady has publicly associated with right-leaning views. As The Verge’s Gaby Del Valle reported in April, Vance’s recent podcast “Storytime with the Second Lady” seemed to subtly reaffirm conservative gender roles.

“She’s … the latest conservative spouse to pivot to content creation,” Del Valle wrote. “It’s a new front of the ongoing culture wars: Instead of trying to win back supposedly liberal institutions, the right is hell-bent on creating its own. And if these institutions reinforce conservative gender norms, that’s all the better.”

SATANISTS DONT PROSELTYZE

LA REVUE GAUCHE - Left Comment: Hinduism Is Fascism

The Question Of The Alevi Minority In Turkey And Their Religious Identity – Analysis

Alevi women partaking in Semah ritual in Turkey. 

Photo Credit: SERDAR AYDIN 1, Wikipedia Commons


March 9, 2026 
By Dr. Vladislav B. Sotirovic

Introduction

Despite occasional suggestions from President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan—including floated referendums on EU talks in the mid-2010s—the path to Turkish EU membership remains blocked, fueling debates over whether accession would strengthen European security against radicalism or exacerbate cultural and historical divides.

A current EU political concern is reflected in many controversial issues, and one of those the most important is about whether or not to accept Turkey as a full member state (being a candidate state since 1999). Turkey is, on one hand, governed as a secular democracy by moderate Islamic political leaders, seeking to play the role of a bridge between the Middle East and Europe. However, Turkey is, on the other hand, an almost 100% Muslim country with a rising tide of Islamic radicalism (especially since the 2023 Israeli aggression on Gaza and ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian Gazans), surrounded by neighbors with a similar problem.

There are two fundamental arguments by all of those who are opposing Turkish admission to the EU: 1) Muslim Turkish citizens (70 million) will never be properly integrated into the European environment that is predominantly Christian; and 2) In the case of Turkish accession, historical clashes between the (Ottoman) Turks and European Christians are going to be revived. Here we will refer only to one statement against Turkish accession: it “would mean the end of Europe” (former French President Valéry Giscard d’Estaing) – a statement which clearly reflects the opinion by 80% of Europeans polled in 2009 that Turkey’s admission to the EU would not be a good thing. At the same time, there are only 32% of Turkish citizens who had a favorable opinion of the EU, and, therefore, the admission process, for which formal and strict negotiations began already in 2005, is very likely to be finally abortive.

Islamic fundamentalism and Turkey’s admission to the EU

The question of Turkish admission to the EU is, by the majority of Europeans, seen through the glass of Islamic fundamentalism as one of the most serious challenges to European stability and, above all, identity that is primarily based on Christian values and tradition. Islamic fundamentalism is understood as an attempt to undermine existing state practices for the very reason that militant Muslims (like ISIS/ISIL/DAESH) are fighting to re-establish the medieval Islamic Caliphate and the establishment of theocratic authority over the global Islamic community – the Umma. Nevertheless, religious fundamentalism first came to the attention of the Western part of the international community in 1979 when a pro-American absolute monarchy was replaced with a Shia (Shiia) Muslim anti-American semi-theocracy in Iran. In other words, Iranian Shia Muslim clerics, who were all the time the spiritual leaders of the Iranians, became their political leaders too. The Iranian Islamic revolution of 1979 prompted possibilities of similar uprisings in other Muslim societies, followed by pre-emptive actions against them by other governments.

What can be the most dangerous scenario for Turkey from the European perspective if the accession negotiations fail is, probably, Turkish turn towards the Muslim world, followed by rising influence of Islamic fundamentalism, which can be properly controlled by the EU if Turkey were to become a member state of the club? That is, probably, the most important “security” factor to note regarding the EU-Turkish relations and accession negotiations. Namely, following the 9/11 terror attacks (on Washington and New York), it was becoming more and more clear that it was better to have (Islamic) Turkey inside the EU rather than as a part of an anti-Western bloc of Muslim states.

In general, for Western governments and especially for the US and Israeli administrations, Shia Muslims became seen after the 1979 Iranian Islamic (Shia) revolution as the most potential Islamic fundamentalists and the religious terrorists. Therefore, the oppression of Shia minorities by the Sunni majorities in several Muslim countries is deliberately not recorded and criticized by Western governments. The case of the Alevi people in Turkey is one of the best examples of such a policy. However, at the same time, the EU administration is paying full attention to the Kurdish question in Turkey, even requiring the recognition of the Kurds by the Turkish government as an ethnocultural minority (as different from the ethnic Turks). Why are the Alevi people discriminated against in this respect by the EU’s minority policy in Turkey? The answer is because the Kurds are Sunni Muslims, but Alevis are considered a Turkish faction of the (militant) Shia Muslim community within the Islamic world.

In the next paragraphs, I would like to shed more light on the question of who the Alevi people are and what Alevism is as a religious identity, taking into account the fact that religion, undoubtedly, has become increasingly important in both the studies and practice of international relations and global politics. We also have to keep in mind that religious identity was predominant in comparison to national or ethnic identities for several centuries, being the crucial cause of political conflicts in many cases.

What is Alevism?

The Alevi people are those Muslims who believe in Alevism, that is, in fact, a sect or form of Islam. Especially in Turkey, Alevism is a second common sect of Islam. The number of Alevi people is between 10 and 15 million. The name of the sect comes from the term Alevi, which means “the follower of Ali”. Some experts in Islamic studies claim that Alevism is a branch of Shi’ism (Shia Islam), but, as a matter of fact, the Alevi Umma is not homogeneous, and Alevism cannot be understood without another Islamic sect – Bektashism. Nevertheless, Alevi culture produced many poets and folk songs, alongside the fact that Alevi people are experiencing many everyday life problems in living according to their beliefs in Islam.

The Alevis (Turkish: Aleviler or Alevilik; Kurdish: Elewî) are a religious, sub-ethnic, and cultural community in Turkey representing at the same time the biggest sect of Islam in Turkey. Alevism is a way of Islamic mysticism or Sufism that believes in one God by accepting Muhammad as a Prophet, and the Holy Qur’ān. Alevi people love Ehlibeyt – the family of Prophet Muhammad-, unifying prayer and supplication, prayer in their language, to prefer a free person instead of Umma (Muslim community), to prefer to love God instead of God’s fear, to overcome Sharia reaching to the real world, believing in the Holy Qur’ān’s genuine instead of shave. Alevism has found its cure in human love; they believe that people are immortal because a person is manifested by God. Women and men are praying together, in their language, with their music that is played via bağlama, with semah. Alevism is an entirety of beliefs that depends on Islam’s rules, which are based on the Holy Qur’ān, according to Muhammad’s commands; by interpreting Islam with a universal dimension, it opens new doors to the earth. The Alevi system of belief is Islamic with a triplet composed of Allah, Muhammad, and Ali.

There are many strong arguments about the relationship between Alevism and Shi’ism. Some researchers say that Alevism is a form of Shi’ism, but some of them say that Alevism is sectarian. We have to keep in mind that Shi’ism is the second most common type of Islam in the world after Sunnism. This is a branch of Islam which is called the Party of Ali for the reason that it recognizes Ali’s claim to succeed his cousin and father-in-law, the Prophet Muhammad, as the spiritual leader of Islam during the first civil war in the Islamic world (656−661). In most of the Islamic countries, the Sunnis are in the majority, but the Shi’ites comprise some 80 million believers, or, in other words, around 13% out of all the world’s Muslims. The Shi’ites are predominant in three countries: Iran, Iraq, and the United Arab Emirates. However, Alevism cannot be understood as identical to Sufism, which is the mystical aspect of Islam that arose as a reaction to strict religious orthodoxy. Sufis seek personal union with God, and their Christian Orthodox counterparts in the Middle Ages were the Bogumils.

Undoubtedly, Alevism has some similar issues with Shi’ism; at the same time, there are a lot of differences concerning the general practice of Islam. However, in some Western literature, Alevism is presented as a branch of Shi’ism, or more specifically, as a Turk or Ottoman way of Shi’ism.

Split within Muslims

We have to keep in mind that in this place, the Islamic expansion in the 7th and 8th centuries was accompanied by political conflicts which followed the death of the Prophet Muhammad, and the question of who is entitled to succeed him is still splitting up the Muslim world today. In other words, when the Prophet died, a caliph (successor) was chosen to rule all Muslims. However, as the caliph lacked prophetic authority, he enjoyed secular power but not authority in religious doctrine. The first caliph was Abu Bakr, who is considered, together with his three successors, as the “rightly guided” (or orthodox) caliphs. They ruled according to the Quran and the practices of the Prophet, but, thereafter, Islam became split into two antagonistic branches: Sunni and Shia.

The Sunni-Shia division basically started when Ali ibn Abi Talib (599−661), Muhammad’s son-in-law and heir, assumed the Caliphate after the murder of his predecessor, Uthman (574−656). The civil war ended with the defeat of Ali and the victory of Uthman’s cousin and governor of Damascus, Mu’awiya Umayyad (602−680), after the Battle of Suffin. However, those Muslims (like the Alevi people, for instance) who claimed that Ali was the rightful caliph took the name of Shiat Ali – the “Partisans of Ali”. They believe that Ali was the last legitimate caliph and, therefore, the Caliphate should pass down only to those who are direct descendants of the Prophet Muhammad through his daughter, Fatima, and Ali, her husband. Ali’s son, Hussein (626−680), claimed the Caliphate, but the Umayyads killed him together with his followers at the Battle of Karbala in 680. This city, today in contemporary Iraq, is the holiest of all sites for Shia Muslims (Shi’ism). Even though the Prophet Muhammad’s family line ended in 873, the Shia Muslims believe that the last descendant did not die, as he is rather “hidden” and will return. Those basic Shia interpretations of the history of Islam are followed by the Alevi people, and, therefore, many researchers are simply considering Alevism as a faction of Shi’ism.

The dominant branch of Islam is Sunni. The Sunni Muslims, unlike their Shia opponents, are not demanding that the caliph has to be a direct descendant of the Prophet Muhammad. They are also accepting the Arabic tribal customs in the government. According to their point of view, political leadership is in the hands of the Muslim community as such. Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, the religious and political power in Islam was never again united into a political community after the death of the fourth caliph.

Alevism in Islam

Alevi people believe in one God, Allah, and, therefore, Alevism, as a form of Islam, is a monotheistic religion. Like all other Muslims, the Alevis understand that God is in everything around them in nature. It is important to notice that there are those Alevis who believe in good and bad spirits (and kind of angels), and, therefore, they often practice superstition to benefit from good ones and to avoid harm from bad ones. For that reason, for many Muslims, Alevism is not a real Islam as it is more a form of paganism imbued with Christianity. However, a majority of Alevis do not believe in these supernatural beings, saying that it is an expression of Satanism.

The essence of Alevism is in the fact that Alevis believe that according to the original text of the Quran, Ali, Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, was to be the Prophet’s successor as God’s vice-regent on earth or caliph. However, they claim that the parts of the original Quran related to Ali were taken out by his rivals. According to Alevis, the Quran, as a fundamental holy book for all Muslims, should be interpreted esoterically. For them, there are much deeper spiritual truths in the Quran than the strict rules and regulations that appear on the surface. However, most Alevi writers will quote individual Quranic verses as an appeal for authority to support their view on a given topic or to justify a certain Alevi religious tradition. The Alevis generally promote the reading of the Quran in the Turkish language rather than in Arabic, stressing that it is of fundamental importance for a person to understand exactly what he or she is reading, which is not possible if the Quran is read in Arabic. However, many Alevis do not read the Quran or other holy books, nor base their daily beliefs and practices on them, as they consider these ancient books to be irrelevant today.

The Alevis are reading three different books. If, according to their opinion, there is no proper information in the Quran, as the Sunnis corrupted the authentic words of Muhammad, it is necessary to reveal the original Prophet’s messages by alternative readings. Therefore, Alevi believers are looking to (1) the Nahjul Balagha, the traditions and sayings of Ali; (2) the Buyruks, the collections of doctrine and practices of several of the 12 imams, especially Cafer; and (3) the Vilayetnameler or the Menakıbnameler, books that describe events in the lives of great Alevis such as Haji Bektash. Except for these basic books, there are some special sources to participate in the creation of Alevi theology, like poet-musicians Yunus Emre (13−14th century), Kaygusuz Abdal (15th century), and Pir Sultan Abdal (16th century).

The foundation of Alevism is in the love of the Prophet and Ehlibeyt. Twelve Imams are godlike, glorified by the Alevis. Waiting for the last Imam’s (Muslim religious leader) reappearance, the Shia Muslims established a special council composed of 12 religious scholars (Ulema) that elect a supreme Imam. For instance, Ayatollah (“Holy Man”) Ruhollah Khomeini (1900−1989) enjoyed that status in Iran. Most Alevis believe that the 12th Imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, grew up in secret to be saved from those who wanted to exterminate the family of Ali. Many Alevis believe Mehdi is still alive and/or that he will come back to earth one day. According to Alevis, Ali was Muhammad’s intended successor, and therefore the first caliph, but competitors stole this right from him. Muhammed intended for the leadership of all Muslims to perpetually stem from his family line (Ehli Beyt) by beginning with Ali, Fatima, and their two sons, Hasan and Hüseyin. Ali, Hasan, and Hüseyin are considered the first three Imams, and the other nine of the 12 Imams came from Hüseyin’s line. Just to remind ourselves, the names and approximate dates of the birth and death of the 12 Imams are:

İmam Ali (599-661)
İmam Hasan (624-670)
İmam Hüseyin (625-680)
İmam Zeynel Abidin (659-713)
İmam Muhammed Bakır (676-734)
İmam Cafer-i Sadık (699-766)
İmam Musa Kâzım (745-799)
İmam Ali Rıza (765-818)
İmam Muhammed Taki (810-835)
İmam Ali Naki (827-868)
İmam Hasan Askeri (846-874)
İmam Muhammed Mehdi (869-941).


For the Alevis, to be a really good person is an inalienable part of their life philosophy. It is important to notice that the Alevis are not turned to the Black Stone (Kaaba), which is in Mecca in the Sunni Saudi Arabia, and, as it is known, the Muslim community’s member is supposed to visit it for Hajj at least once in their lives. Alevis’ first fasting is not in Ramadan, it is in Muharram, and it takes 12 days, not 30 days. The second fast for them is after the Feast of Sacrifice for 20 days, and another one is the Hizir fast. In Islam, there is a rule that if a person has enough money, he/she should give a specific amount to a poor person, but the Alevis prefer to donate money to Alevi organizations, not to individuals. As they don’t go to Mecca for Hajj, they visit some mausoleums, like that of Haji Bektaş (in Kırşehir), Abdal Musa (in Tekke Village, Elmalı, Antalya), Şahkulu Sultan (in Merdivenköy, İstanbul), Karacaahmet Sultan (in Üsküdar, İstanbul), or Seyit Gazi (in Eskişehir).

Bektashism

Haji Bektash (Bektaş) Wali was a Turkmen who was born in Iran. After graduating, he moved to Anatolia. He educated a lot of students, and he and his students served a lot of religious, economic, social, and martial services in Ahi Teşkilatı. Haji Bektash started to be popular among the Ottoman elite military detachment, the Janissaries. Nevertheless, he was not of the Alevi origin, but he adopted the rules of the Alevi believers into his personal life. That sect, or a form of Islam, was founded in the name of Haji Bektash Wali, whose members depend on the love of Ali and the twelve imams. Bektashism was popular in Anatolia and the Balkans (especially in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Albania), and it is still alive today.

Over the course of time, Bektashism was improved by taking some features of the old beliefs of Anatolia and Turkish culture. However, Bektashism is the most important part of Alevism, as many rules of Bektashism are incorporated into Alevism. For the Alevi believers, the mausoleum of Haji Bektash Wali in Nevşehir in Anatolia is an important point of the pilgrimage. Finally, in Turkey, Bektashism and Alevism, in fact, cannot be treated as different concepts of Islamic theology.

Problems and difficulties of Alevis in Ottoman history and Turkey

When the Ottoman state was established at the end of the 13th century and at the beginning of the 14th century, it did not have sectarian frictions within Islam. At that time, Alevis occupied a lot of chairs in state institutions. The Janissaries (originally the Sultan’s bodyguard) were members of Bektashism, which means that even the Sultan tolerated in full such a way of the interpretation of the Quran and the early history of Islam. However, as the Ottoman state was involved in the process of imperialistic transformation by annexing surrounding provinces and states, Sunnism was getting more and more important because the Sunni Muslims were becoming a clear majority of the Ottoman Sultanate and, therefore, Sunnism was much more useful for the state administration and the system of governing. The Ottoman state became involved in the chain of conflicts with the Safavid Empire (Persia, today Iran, 1502−1722) – a country with a clear majority of those Muslims who expressed Shi’ism that is a form of Islam very similar to Alevism. The Alevi group, who complained about being more Sunni in the Ottoman Sultanate, became sympathizing Safavid Shah İsmail I (1501−1524) and his state, as it was based on Alevism. The animosity between the Ottoman Alevis and Ottoman authorities became more obvious in 1514 when the Ottoman Sultan Selim I (1512−1520) executed some 40.000 Alevis together with the Kurdish people while going to have a decisive Battle of Chaldiran (August 23rd) in Iran against Shah Ismail I. Till the end of the Ottoman Sultanate in 1923, Alevis have been oppressed by the authorities as the sectarian believers who were not fitting to the official Sunni theology of Islam.

After the end of the Ottoman Empire in 1923, Alevis were glad in the first years of the new Republic of Turkey, which declaratively proclaimed a segregation of the religion from the state, which practically meant that there was no official state religion in the country. The Alevi population of Turkey supported most of the reforms with great hope that their social status would be improved. However, after the first years of the new state, they started to experience some difficulties as, de facto, a religious minority. The 1960s were very important for Turkish society for at least three reasons: (1) The immigration had started from the rural area to the urban area following a new process of industrialization; (2) The immigration abroad, mostly to West Germany, according to the German-Turkish so-called Gastarbeiter Agreement; and (3) A further democratization of political life. As a consequence, in 1966, Alevis established their own political party – Birlik Partisi (Unity Party). In 1969, Alevism, as a minority group, sent eight members to the Parliament according to the results of the parliamentary elections. However, in 1973, the party had sent just one member to the Parliament, and finally, in 1977, the party had lost its efficiency. In 1978, in Maraş, and in 1980, in Çorum, hundreds of Alevi Muslims were killed as a consequence of the conflict with the majority Sunni population, but the most notorious Alevi massacre happened in 1993 on July 2nd in Sivas, when 35 Alevi intellectuals were killed in Madimak Hotel by a group of religious fundamentalists.

Undoubtedly, the Alevi believers still face many problems in Turkey today in connection with freedom of religious expression and the recognition as a separate cultural group. For example, the religious curriculum does not have any information about Alevism, but rather only about Sunnism, which means that Alevism is not studied on a regular basis in Turkey. Alevism is deeply ignored by Turkey’s administration, for instance, by the Presidency of Religious Affairs (est. 1924), which is an institution dealing with the religious questions and problems, but in practice, it is working according to the rules of Sunni Islam. However, on the other hand, there are some improvements in Alevi cultural life, as, for instance, many foundations and other civic public institutions are opened to support it. Nevertheless, Alevis, like Kurds, are not recognized as a separate ethnocultural or religious group in Turkey due to the Turkish understanding of a nation (millet) that is inherited from the Ottoman Sultanate, according to which all Muslims in Turkey are treated as ethnolinguistic Turks. The situation can be changed as Turkey is seeking the EU’s membership and, therefore, certain EU requirements have to be accepted, among others, and granting minority rights for Alevis and Kurds.

Conclusions

Alevism is a sect of Islam, and it shows many common points with Shi’ism. However, we can not say that it is a part of Shi’ism as a whole. Alevi culture has a rich heritage in poems and music because of its worship style. In Anatolia, Bektashism is usually connected with Alevism.

The Alevi people were living in the Ottoman Sultanate and its successor, the Republic of Turkey, usually with troubles, as they, with their religion, did not fit the official (Sunni) expression of Islam.

Today, Alevis in Turkey are fighting to be respected as a separate religious-cultural group that can freely demonstrate their peculiar way of life. As a matter of fact, the Alevi people could not express themselves freely for centuries, including in present-day Turkey, which should learn to practice both minority rights and democracy.

Finally, if Turkey wants to join the EU, surely, it has to provide a maximum of the required standards of protection of all kinds of minorities, including religious and religious-cultural ones. That can be a chance for the Alevi people in Turkey to improve their status within society.

Personal disclaimer: The author writes for this publication in a private capacity, which is unrepresentative of anyone or any organization except for his own personal views. Nothing written by the author should ever be conflated with the editorial views or official positions of any other media outlet or institution. The author of the text does not have any moral, political, scientific, material, or legal responsibility for the views expressed in the article.

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Dr. Vladislav B. Sotirovic

Dr. Vladislav B. Sotirovic is an ex-university professor and a Research Fellow at the Center for Geostrategic Studies in Belgrade, Serbia.

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