Author: Ryszard Kapuściński
Source: Gazeta Wyborcza, 6–7 September 2003, no. 208/4419

Ryszard Kapuściński explains the history of the Shiites and the nature of this branch of Islam.

A Shiite is, first and foremost, a fierce oppositionist. In the beginning, the Shiites formed a small group of friends and supporters of the son-in-law of Mohammed — Ali, husband of his beloved daughter Fatima. After the death of Mohammed, who left no male heir and did not clearly designate a successor, a struggle broke out among Muslims for control of the prophet’s legacy — for who would be the leader (caliph) of the followers of Allah, the first person in the Islamic world. The party (for that is exactly what the word shi’a means) of Ali promoted its leader for that position, maintaining that Ali was the only representative of the prophet’s family, the father of Mohammed’s two grandsons, Hasan and Husayn. Yet the Sunni Muslim majority ignored the voice of the Shiites for 24 years, choosing Abu Bakr, Umar, and Uthman as the three successive caliphs.

Eventually Ali won the caliphate, but only for five years, for he would die murdered by an assassin who split his head with a poisoned sabre. Of his two sons, Hasan was poisoned and Husayn fell in battle. The death of Ali’s family deprived the Shiites of any chance of gaining power, which passed into the hands of the Sunni dynasties of the Umayyads, then the Abbasids, and finally the Ottomans. The caliphate, which in the prophet’s vision was to be an institution of modesty and simplicity, was converted into a hereditary monarchy. In this situation the pious and impoverished plebeian Shiites, who were offended by the nouveau-riche style of the victorious caliphs, went into opposition.

All this happened in the middle of the seventh century, yet it remains a living and passionately recalled history. In conversation with a devout Shiite about his faith, he will constantly return to those distant events and describe with tears in his eyes every detail of the massacre at Karbala, during which Husayn’s head was cut off. The sceptical, ironic European will think at this point: Good God, what does any of this matter today? But if he says this aloud, he will invite the anger and hatred of the Shiite.

***

The fate of the Shiites is, in every respect, truly tragic, and this sense of tragedy, of historical injustice, and of the unrelenting misfortune that accompanies them is deeply encoded in the consciousness of every Shiite. There are communities in the world to whom nothing ever succeeds over centuries, everything falls apart in their hands, any gleam of hope is immediately extinguished, all winds blow against them — in short, these peoples seem to be marked by some fatal stigma. Such is the case with the Shiites. Perhaps that is why they seem mortally serious, tense, stubbornly insistent on their rights, and alarmingly, even threateningly, principled — and also (this, of course, is only an impression) sad.

From the moment the Shiites (who constitute only one tenth of Muslims, the remainder being Sunnis) went into opposition, their persecutions began. To this day they live with the memory of successive pogroms of which they were the victims throughout history. They close themselves into ghettos, live within their own communities, communicate through signs only they understand, and develop conspiratorial forms of behaviour. But the blows keep falling. The Shiites are proud, they are different from the submissive Sunni majority, they oppose the official authority (which since the puritanical times of Mohammed has become encrusted with luxury and wealth), they challenge the prevailing orthodoxy — and so they cannot be tolerated.

Gradually they begin seeking safer places offering a better chance of survival. In those times of slow and difficult communication, when distance and space acted as effective insulators and walls of separation, the Shiites tried to move as far as possible from the centre of power (which was in Damascus, later in Baghdad). They scatter across the world, wandering through mountains and deserts, step by step going underground. In this way the Shia diaspora in the Islamic world — which has endured to this day — came into being. The epic of the Shiites, full of acts of extraordinary renunciation, courage, and strength of spirit, deserves a book of its own. Some of these wandering Shia communities headed east. They crossed the Tigris and Euphrates, passed through the Zagros mountains, and reached the desert plateau of Iran.

***

At that time Iran, exhausted and ruined by centuries of war with Byzantium, has just been conquered by the Arabs, who are now spreading the new faith — Islam. This process unfolds slowly and in an atmosphere of struggle. The Iranians had hitherto had an official religion (Zoroastrianism) linked to the ruling regime (the Sassanids), and now another official religion connected to a new (and moreover foreign) ruling regime — Sunni Islam — is being imposed upon them. It is a little like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.

But it is precisely at this moment that the weary, poor, and unhappy Shiites appear in Iran, bearing the visible marks of their entire ordeal. The Iranians now learn that these Shiites are Muslims — and moreover (as they themselves claim) the only rightful Muslims, the only bearers of the true faith, for which they are prepared to give their lives. Very well, the Iranians ask, but those Arab brothers of yours who have conquered us? Brothers? the Shiites exclaim indignantly — they are Sunnis, usurpers, our persecutors. They murdered Ali and seized power. No, we do not recognise them. We are in opposition! After this declaration the Shiites ask whether they may rest after their long journey, and request a jug of cool water.

This declaration by the barefoot newcomers sets the Iranians’ thinking on a very important track. Aha — so it is possible to be a Muslim, but not necessarily a regime-serving Muslim. What is more, from what they say it follows that one can be an oppositional Muslim! And that such a Muslim is actually a better Muslim! They like these poor and wronged Shiites. The Iranians at this time are also poor and feel wronged. Ruined by war and occupied by a conqueror. They quickly find common ground with the exiles who seek shelter here and hope for hospitality. They begin listening to their preachers and eventually accept their faith.

In this skilful manoeuvre performed by the Iranians, the full measure of their intelligence and independence finds expression. They have a particular ability to preserve their independence within conditions of dependence. For hundreds of years Iran was the victim of conquests, aggressions, and partitions; for centuries it was governed by foreigners or by local regimes dependent on foreign powers — and yet it preserved its culture and its language, its impressive personality, and enough spiritual strength that in favourable moments it was able to be reborn and rise from the ashes.

Over 25 centuries of recorded history, the Iranians have always — sooner or later — managed to outmanoeuvre those who believed they could govern them with impunity. Sometimes they have had to use the weapon of revolts and revolutions, paying a tragic tribute in blood. Sometimes they have adopted a tactic of passive resistance, but pursued with unbelievable consistency and extremism. When they have had enough of a power that has become unbearable, that they have firmly decided they can no longer tolerate, then the whole country freezes, the whole nation disappears as if swallowed up by the earth. Power issues commands but there is no one to listen, it frowns but no one watches, it shouts but its voice is a cry in the wilderness. And then power crumbles like a house of cards. But the approach they use most often is the principle of absorption, of assimilation — an active assimilation that means turning the enemy’s weapon into one’s own.

And so they act when they are conquered by the Arabs. You want Islam, they tell their occupiers — you shall have Islam, but in our national form, in an independent, rebellious version. It will be a faith, but an Iranian faith, in which our spirit, our culture, and our independence will be expressed. This philosophy underlies the decision of the Iranians when they accept Islam. They accept it, but in the Shia form — which at that time is the faith of the wronged and defeated, an instrument of contestation and resistance, the ideology of the unsubmissive who are prepared to suffer but will not abandon their principles, because they wish to preserve their distinctiveness and dignity. Shiism will become for the Iranians not only their national religion, but also their asylum and shelter, a form of national survival, and — at the right moments — of struggle and liberation.

***

Iran transforms into the most restless province of the Muslim empire. There is always someone plotting here, always some uprising; masked emissaries come and go, secret leaflets and pamphlets circulate. The representatives of the occupying power — Arab governors — sow terror, but its effects are the opposite of what is intended. In response to official terror, Iranian Shiites will engage in struggle, but not frontally, for they are too weak for that. One of the elements of Shia society will become — if such a term can be used — a terrorist fringe.

To this day these clandestine, small but fearless and merciless terrorist organisations sow terror in Iran. Half the murders in Iran attributed to ayatollahs are carried out at the behest of these groups. It is generally considered that the Shiites were the first in world history to create the theory of individual terror and put it into practice as a method of struggle. This so-called fringe is the product of ideological struggles waged over centuries within Shiism.

Like every persecuted community condemned to the ghetto and fighting for survival, the Shiites are characterised by ferocity, by an orthodox, obsessive, fanatical concern for doctrinal purity. A persecuted person, in order to survive, must maintain an unshaken faith in the righteousness of his choice and guard the values that determined that choice. Now, all the schisms that Shiism has experienced — and there have been dozens — shared one common denominator: they were (one might say) ultra-left schisms. There was always some fanatical faction that attacked the remaining mass of co-believers, accusing them of declining fervour, of disregarding the commandments of the faith, of comfort-seeking and opportunism. A split would follow, and then the most zealous of the schismatics would take up arms and go to settle scores with the enemies of Islam, atoning in blood (for they themselves often perished) for the treachery and laziness of their lagging brethren.

The Iranian Shiites live underground, in catacombs, for eight hundred years. Their life resembles the torments and miseries of the first Christians in Rome thrown to the lions. Sometimes it seems they will be exterminated completely, that final annihilation awaits them. For years they shelter in mountains, live in caves, die of hunger. Their songs that have survived from those years are full of grief and despair, they foretell the end of the world.

But there are also quieter periods, and then Iran becomes a refuge for all oppositionists in the Muslim empire, who flock here from all over the world to find among the conspiring Shiites shelter, encouragement, and salvation. They can also learn lessons in the great school of Shia conspiracy.

They can, for example, master the principle of concealment (taqiyya), which facilitates survival. It permits a Shiite, if faced with a stronger adversary, to nominally accept the ruling religion and declare himself a faithful adherent of it, so long as he can save his own existence and that of his loved ones. They can master the principle of disorienting the adversary (kitman), which permits a Shiite in a dangerous situation to deny to someone’s face everything he said a moment before, to play the fool.

Thus Iran becomes in the Middle Ages a mecca for all manner of dissidents, rebels, agitators, the most extraordinary hermits, prophets, visionaries, heretics, stigmatics, mystics, soothsayers, who converge here by every road and teach, contemplate, pray, and prophesy.

All this creates in Iran that atmosphere so characteristic of the country — of religiosity, exaltation, and mysticism. “At school I was very devout,” says an Iranian, “and all the children believed that my head was surrounded by a luminous halo.” Let us imagine a European leader saying that as he rode on horseback he fell into a chasm, but a saint reached out his hand, caught him in mid-air, and thus saved his life. Yet the Shah describes such a story in his book and all Iranians read it with gravity. Belief in miracles is deeply rooted here. And also belief in numbers, signs, symbols, omens, and visions.

***

In the 16th century the rulers of the Iranian Safavid dynasty elevated Shiism to the status of the official religion. Now Shiism, which had been the ideology of popular opposition, became the ideology of an oppositional state — the Iranian state opposing the domination of the Sunni Ottoman empire. But in the course of time the relations between the monarchy and the Shia Church would deteriorate more and more.

The point is that the Shiites not only reject the authority of caliphs but barely tolerate any secular authority at all. Iran represents a unique case of a country in which the society believes only in the rule of its religious leaders — the Imams — of whom, moreover, the last, by rational (though not Shia) criteria, departed this world in the 9th century.

Here we come to the essence of Shia doctrine, the main article of faith for its adherents. The Shiites, deprived of any chance at the caliphate, turn their backs on the caliphs forever and from that point recognise as leaders only those of their own faith — the Imams. The first Imam is Ali; the second and third are his sons Hasan and Husayn; and so on to the twelfth. All these Imams died violent deaths, murdered or poisoned by the caliphs, who saw in them the leaders of a dangerous opposition. Yet the Shiites believe that the last, the twelfth Imam — Mohammed — did not die, but disappeared into a cave of the great mosque in Samarra (Iraq). This occurred in the year 878. He is the Hidden Imam, the Expected One, who will appear at the appointed time as the Mahdi (guided by God) and establish a kingdom of justice on earth. Then the end of the world will come. The Shiites believe that if this Imam did not exist, if he were not present, the world would perish.

The belief in the existence of the Expected One is the source of the Shiites’ spiritual strength; they live with this belief and die for it. It is a very human longing of a wronged and suffering community, which in this idea finds solace and, above all, a meaning to life. We do not know when this Expected One will come, but he could appear at any moment — perhaps even today. And then all tears will end and everyone will receive a place at the table of abundance.

The Expected One is the only leader to whom the Shiites are prepared to submit fully. To a lesser degree they recognise their religious helmsmen — the ayatollahs — and to an even lesser degree the Shahs. While the Expected One is an object of worship, is the Adored One, the Shah could at best be merely Tolerated.

Since the Safavids, Iran has existed under a peculiar dual power — of the monarchy and the Church. The relations between the two forces are varied, never overly friendly. If, however, the balance of these forces is disturbed, if the Shah attempts to impose total power (moreover with the help of foreign protectors), then the people gather in the mosques and the struggle begins.

***

The mosque is for the Shiites something more than a place of worship; it is also a haven in which one can weather a storm and even save one’s life. It is protected ground, upon which authority has no entry.

Even in the construction of a Christian church and a mosque one can discern essential differences. A church is an enclosed space, a place of prayer, concentration, and silence. If anyone begins to talk, others will reprimand him. In mosques it is different.

The largest part of the structure is an open courtyard in which one can pray, but also walk and discuss, and even hold rallies. Here a rich social and political life goes on. The Iranian who is hurried at work, who at every office encounters only surly bureaucrats extracting bribes from him, who is shadowed everywhere by the police, comes to the mosque to regain his balance and peace, to recover his dignity. Here no one hurries him, no one abuses him. Here hierarchies disappear, everyone is equal, everyone is a brother; and since the mosque is also a place of conversation, a place of dialogue, a person can take the floor, state his opinion, complain and listen to what others say.

What a relief that is, and how necessary for everyone! That is why, as the dictatorship tightens its grip and ever greater silence descends at work and on the streets, the mosques fill with people and with the sound of voices. Not all who come here are fervent Muslims; not all are brought by a sudden surge of piety — they come because they want to breathe, because they want to feel like human beings.

A Shiite visits the mosque also because it is always nearby, in the neighbourhood, on the way. In Tehran alone there are a thousand mosques. The untrained eye of a tourist will notice only a few of the most imposing. Yet the majority of mosques, especially in poor districts, are modest premises difficult to distinguish from the flimsy construction of the little houses in which the plebeian world is crammed. They are built of the same clay and so absorbed into the monotonous landscape of streets and alleyways that one can walk past many of these temples without noticing them at all. This creates a workday, intimate bond between the Shiite and his mosque. No need for long journeys, no need to dress formally — the mosque is everyday life itself.

The first Shiites were city people, small traders and craftsmen. They enclosed themselves in their ghettos, where they built a mosque, and alongside it stalls and small shops. In the same place craftsmen opened their workshops. Since a Muslim should wash before prayer, public baths also began to operate there. And since after prayer a Muslim wants to drink tea or coffee or eat — he has restaurants and cafés nearby as well. Thus arose the phenomenon of the Iranian urban landscape — the bazaar (for that is the word that describes this colourful, crowded, noisy, mystical-commercial-consumer place).

If someone says — I’m going to the bazaar — it does not mean he must take a shopping bag. One can go to the bazaar to pray, to meet friends, to do some business, to sit in a café. One can go to listen to gossip and to attend an opposition meeting. In one place — the bazaar — without having to rush about the city, without having to go anywhere, the Shiite can satisfy all the needs of body and spirit. Here he will find what is necessary for his earthly existence, and here too, through prayers and offerings, he ensures himself eternal life.

The oldest merchants, the most talented craftsmen, and the mullahs of the bazaar mosque form the elite of the bazaar. The whole Shia community listens to their guidance and opinions, for they decide the matters of life on earth and in heaven. If the bazaar declares a strike and shuts its gates — people will die of hunger and will also lose access to the place where they can refresh the spirit. That is why the alliance of mosque and bazaar is the greatest force, capable of overthrowing any authority.

As the struggle grew in intensity, the Shiites felt more and more in their element. The talent of the Shiite shows itself in struggle, not in labour. Born malcontents and oppositionists, people of great dignity and honour, tireless agitators — entering into battle, they found themselves once again on familiar ground.

For Iranians, Shiism has always been what a sabre kept hidden behind a beam in the attic was for our conspirators in the age of insurrection. If life was tolerable enough and the forces not yet organised, the sabre lay concealed, wrapped in oiled rags. But when the battle signal sounded, when the time came to answer the call of need, one could hear the creaking of the stairs leading to the attic, and then the thunder of hooves and the whistle of the blade cutting through the air.

Ryszard Kapuściński

The essay, written in the early 1980s, comes from Ryszard Kapuściński’s book Shah of Shahs. Text from the 11th edition, Czytelnik, Warsaw 2001.

source: kapuscinski.info