Al-Hajj Umar Taal or El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Malcolm X)? Case Studies on Islam and Interreligious Pan-African Unity

Abstract

A comparison between the function of Islam in the lives of Al-Hajj Umar Taal and El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Malcolm X) suggests that Shabazz’s example of translating his Islamic obligations into the secular philosophy of Pan-Africanism reflects more promise toward the interest of interreligious Pan-African unity. During the nineteenth century, figures like Edward Blyden and Duse Muhammad Ali both presented the compatibility of Islam with Pan-Africanism. However, the practical examples of the steps needed to obtain interreligious unity require continued exploration. The author begins with an examination of the question of jihad and the “religious other” in Islam as understood by some. Secondly, the author focuses on Umar Taal to explore the way his understanding of Islam affected his relationship with both Muslim and non-Muslim Africans he encountered in nineteenth-century West Africa. Subsequently, the author analyzes how Malik El-Shabazz understood Islam to relate to the quest for Pan-Africanism. Using concepts from the critical theory of religion, the author will argue that Shabazz’s determinate negation of elements of his religious commitments that might hinder unity among people of African descent is instructive for the construction of an interreligious Pan-African unity.

1. Introduction

Because Africana people subscribe to various religious (and non-religious) perspectives, there is a continuous need to explore the way religion functions within our efforts toward collaboration in the task(s) of Black liberation. This paper aims to interrogate the relationship of Islam with interreligious unity among people of African descent. While the issue of Islamophobia is a topic I take seriously, the focus on Islam in this essay is based on my own interest and expertise rather than an assumption that Islam poses a unique problem regarding the goal of Africana unity. Moreover, I am aware that there is a history of interreligious tensions in the Africana world connected to the way some Black people have understood and practiced other religious traditions, such as Christianity and African Traditional Religions.1 Similarly, I am aware of the numerous historical cases of African and African American Muslims who lived peacefully and sometimes collaborated with their non-Muslim counterparts (Sanneh 2016; Esack 2002; Diouf 1998; Curtis 2014; Gomez 2005; A. D. Austin 2011; Turner 2003). Thus, the task here is not to identify some deficiency with Islam. Rather, it is to critically explore the way certain interpretations of Islam have affected the ability of Africans to unify with other African Muslims and non-Muslims. Therefore, by considering the lives of Al-Hajj Umar Taal2 (d. 1863) and El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Malcolm X) (d. 1965), I conclude that although Umar Taal’s version of Islam is detrimental to Africana unity, the way Malcolm X understood Islam moves us closer to the kind of unity needed in Africana revolutionary struggles.

The specific type of unity referred to here is what is termed Pan-Africanism. Pan-Africanism can be defined as the belief in the “unity, common history and common purpose of the peoples of Africa and the African diaspora and the notion that their destinies are interconnected” (Adi 2018, p. 2). Moreover, Pan-Africanism is not merely a belief, but it is a political posture that is concerned with emancipation of African people on the continent and in the diaspora. This political strategy recognizes the strength of a unified Africana people and sees division as a weakness.

Included among the earliest people to express Pan-African thought was Paul Cuffee (1759–1817). He stated that unless Africa was developed, Black people would not be able to advance, no matter where they were globally. He was one of the first people to draw a link between African Americans and continental Africans (Adeleke 1998). There was also the Sons of Africa (an organization that was active in the 1780s) who sought to end Britain’s participation in the slave trade. This was one of the first Pan-African organizations (Adi 2018). Furthermore, the African Methodist Episcopal Church, the African Baptist movement and the first African Masonic lodge in North America all identified positively with Africa. In fact, an early missionary named Lott Carey (1780–1828) insisted that African Americans had a responsibility to help develop Africa. Moreover, the Appeal to the Colored Citizens of the World (1829) by David Walker is another example of an articulation of Pan-African consciousness in its embryonic form (Adeleke 1998).

In the twentieth century, however, Marcus Garvey was one of the most influential figures related to the spread of Pan-Africanism. He launched the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) in Jamaica in 1914. Garvey sought the support of all people of African parentage. His objectives included establishing a Pan-African brotherhood and promoting African pride and love. He found little success in Jamaica but then sailed to New York in 1916 and found immediate approval in Harlem. By 1919, Garvey had established UNIA branches all over the world. At its height, the UNIA had a membership estimated at two million. It was the largest political movement of Africans in the twentieth century (Adi 2018; Esedebe 1994). Unfortunately, Garvey was arrested and sentenced to a short prison term for allegedly misusing the US mail service. He was deported back to his native country Jamaica. Reflecting on the effects of Garvey’s movement, Obiagele Lake (1995) contends that his work to instill pride in one’s African ancestry is unequaled in African and diaspora history. Olisanwuche Esedebe (1994) adds that Garvey “shook the black masses of the diaspora into an awareness of their African origins. Without setting foot on African soil he created for the first time a real feeling of international solidarity among Africans and persons of African stock” (p. 64). Going further, Esedebe states that it was Garveyism that sparked the Pan-African congresses led by W.E.B. Du Bois.

When it comes to the formal conception of Pan-Africanism, Du Bois is of central importance. While I acknowledge the congresses that preceded it (1893, 1900), Du Bois organized the first Pan-African congress in Paris in 1919. He continued this work by organizing the second Pan-African congress in 1921 in London (Adi 2018; Padmore 1972). George Padmore (1972) explains that while these first two congresses stimulated a feeling of brotherhood between Africans globally, the concept of Pan-Africanism was still mostly confined to a small group of intellectuals on both sides of the Atlantic. Like the first two congresses, the third was also held in London, and it advocated for the right of Africans everywhere to have political power. Finally, after the fourth (1927) and fifth (1945) congresses, one can begin to see results from this movement. The fifth congress declared to the colonial powers that if things did not change, they would be moved to use force.

Subsequently, continental African leaders such as Kwame Nkrumah began to rise and pursue political power in their homelands. Nkrumah organized the West African delegates of the congress to form a regional committee. Because of his growing influence and political activity, he was arrested in 1948 by the British government. However, upon his release in 1951, Nkrumah obtained a leadership position again. Thus, in 1954, the Nkrumah Constitution was established (Padmore 1972). These and other events led to a widespread decolonization of Africa.

This history also alerts us to the fact that the exploration of Islam’s relationship with Pan-Africanism is not a novel task. In fact, figures such as Edward Wilmot Blyden and Duse Muhammad Ali connected the two in their own work. Describing this phenomenon, Dr. Su’ad Abdul Khabeer states that Blyden and Ali were nineteenth-century cultural nationalists and intellectuals who helped to propagate the notion that Islam is the natural religion of Africana peoples and therefore the most appropriate road toward genuine liberation (Khabeer 2017; also see Marable 2011).3 It is important to note that Blyden was the first scholar to connect Islam with Pan-Africanism. He suggested that Islam “created an authentically black civilization” (Curtis 2002a; see also Aidi 2009, p. 285). In fact, Blyden (1994) argued that Islam may have been the most important cultural factor that saved West Africans from complete defeat from slave hunters during the slave trade. In a similar way, the Sudanese Muslim Duse Muhammad Ali proclaimed the need for solidarity among non-whites, and he possessed a Pan-African political agenda. He was Blyden’s counterpart in the Arab world and championed liberal movements. Both Blyden and Ali impacted the ideology of Pan-Africanists and Islamic movements that appeared after them in the United States and influenced people like Elijah Muhammad and Malcolm X (Aidi 2009; also see Hicks 2009; Marable 2011). They laid the foundation for the connection of Islam with African-ness in the context of the United States. In more contemporary times, some African American Muslims have sought to identify with significant African Muslim historical figures to obtain religious authority and authenticity in the midst of a growing immigrant population of Muslims who may question their validity. They link themselves with figures such as the African Muslim Companion of their Prophet Muhammad Bilal ibn Rabah and the West African Muslim reformer Shaykh Uthman dan Fodio (Khabeer 2017; Curtis 2014).

With the historical links mentioned above, one may be tempted to believe that the relationship between Islam and Pan-Africanism is intrinsic or inadvertent. That is, there has not been much attention given to a critical exploration of how particular Muslims in the Africana world relate to their Muslim and non-Muslim neighbors. Nevertheless, this current study investigates the way two Africana Muslims situated themselves in the context of an interreligious Africana world. The task is not to argue for an essentialist interpretation that suggests that there should be a normative understanding of “real” Islam as opposed to other expressions that may deviate from it. Instead, it is to consider how a version of Islam that serves the needs of interreligious Pan-African unity might look.

2. Method

To complete the tasks mentioned above, I must utilize a method of analysis that will allow me to compare and contrast different expressions of Islam in light of the goal of interreligious Pan-African unity. Here, Ronald Walters’ Pan-African method of analysis provides a way forward. According to Walters (1997), this “Pan-African analytic approach is an associated Black studies methodology” (p. 46) and a type of comparative politics that allows one to study the Pan-African relationships between various Africana communities on the continent and in the diaspora. The aim of this approach is to compare and contrast the degree of success in accomplishing the goal of racial unity among African people in contact with one another. As with the current project, Walters contends that the assumption of the collective destiny among all African peoples renders an exact correlation of regional history among case studies as of lesser importance. Of greater concern is the mutual exchange of influence through ideas between these communities.

For example, Walters (1997) compares Black politics in both the United States and South Africa. By focusing on the use of accommodation, resistance and revolt, he analyzes the similarities and differences in the use of these various political strategies and their level of success in both contexts. Similarly, although the differing historical contexts of nineteenth-century West Africa and twentieth-century United States require careful historical nuance, the principles of interreligious African unity in the broader context of global white supremacy (in both its European colonial expansion in Africa and its anti-Black social and political structure in the United States) can be gleaned from comparing Umar Taal and Malik El-Shabazz.

To discern the role and function of their interpretations of Islam and how these perspectives affect their interreligious relationships with other people of African descent, I will employ the critical theory of religion. The critical theory of religion, as used in this article, refers to an intellectual discourse that recognizes that religion can be both a weapon of domination or a weapon of emancipation. Within this framework, “Bourgeois Religion” is described as privatized religion stripped of any potential for social critique and kept out of the public sphere. Moreover, this form of religion functions as an opiate because it is used to stabilize (the unjust) civil society (Byrd 2020a). However, there is another form of religion that echoes the cries of the masses who are longing for justice. This longing for utopia (absolute justice) articulates an indictment and prophetic critique against the unjust society. For this reason, the critical theory of religion does not unthinkingly reject religion, but rather, it takes seriously the liberatory aspects of religion and seeks to rescue those materials from the sacred stories by “determinately negating them into revolutionary theory and praxis” (Byrd 2020a, pp. 18–19).

According to Byrd (2020b), this concept of determinate negation, as opposed to abstract negation, is the rejection of the violent and criminal parts of the religion and preservation of the prophetic core. It is the critical evaluation of religion where one determines which elements are non-emancipatory, and then, those elements are negated or discarded. This approach begins with a dialectical view of religion that recognizes in it both good and bad. Modeled by the first generation of the critical theorist, the task of determinate negation is to rescue the emancipatory aspects of religion and allow them to “migrate” into critical political philosophy (ex. Pan-Africanism). Rather than an abstract negation (i.e., complete rejection) of religion, these scholars adopted a determinate negation of religion that rejected the aspects of religion that contributed to oppression. In this way, Byrd contends, the roots of critical theory are the materials from religion and theology that had been translated into critical philosophy. The Frankfurt School had a process of “profaning” religious concepts. The idea of “profaning” is the “process of removing a concept from its religious and/or theological context, translating it into secular language, and thus allowing it to be used freely by men” (p. 154). After engaging in a robust critique of the falsehood in religion, the Frankfurt School theorists were able to identify what ought to be preserved or augmented. Thus, they removed the concepts from their religious context by translating them into secular language to allow them to be used by philosophers.

For example, although critical theorists rejected theological explanations that sought to reconcile an omnipotent God with human suffering, they preserved the prohibition against representations of the divine from Jewish theology. This restriction on depictions of the divine was translated into a philosophical basis for critiquing the world as it is because the world that humans create cannot represent the absolute (Siebert 1985, 2012). This process of determinate negation allowed for the discarding of a religious view that could foster complacency and the preservation of a religious view that encourages resistance to injustice in the world. In this way, I will use a similar procedure below, first by identifying aspects of Islamic beliefs and practices that either hinder or support Pan-African unity. Then, I will assert that Africana people should discard the former and preserve the latter.

Combining both the Pan-African method of analysis paradigm with the critical theory of religion, this paper will critically compare how al-Hajj Umar Taal’s and El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz’s (Malcolm X) understanding of Islam affected their relationship with other African people in their two contexts. Using the Pan-African method of analysis, I will focus on these two distinct Africana communities for the purpose of gaining insight on the question of how interreligious relationships have functioned. While I engage the specific contexts and ideas of each case, I will highlight the religious ideas and practices and determine whether they support African unity or not.

Before the formal process of comparing these two case studies will begin, I will discuss the topics of jihad and religious diversity in some primary and secondary sources in the following section. These two topics are intimately connected because jihad (in its military expression) is often understood as serving the purpose of defending the Muslim community from outsiders. The actions and rhetoric of Umar Taal and Malik El-Shabazz cannot be properly assessed without situating them within the larger context of Islamic thought regarding non-Muslims. Subsequently, the author will focus on the actual jihad of al-Hajj Umar Taal to analyze the effects his (and his followers’) understanding of Islam had on his relationship with non-Muslim (or “unfaithful” Muslim) Africans he or his followers encountered. The paper will then discuss the explicit and intimate relationship between Pan-Africanism and Islam in the life and thought of El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz. This methodology will function to support the claim that although the jihad of al-Hajj Umar Taal was hostile to the religious “Other”, El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz provides an example of Islam working alongside Pan-Africanism.

3. Jihad and Religious Diversity According to Some Sources

Many of the earliest Islamic sources seem to make room for diverse interpretations around the meaning, goal and targets of jihad and at times have been read as reflecting hostility toward non-Muslims (especially those who refused Muslim rule). The two most important sources for understanding jihad are the Qur’an and the Sunna (actions and sayings of Prophet Muhammad) (al-Shafii 1961; Al-Qayrawani 1999; Kamali 2003). Yet, at the risk of being too simplistic, the quest to define the term jihad can be characterized by at least three approaches: the lexical, psychological and historical development approaches. Scholars who emphasize the lexical approach note that jihad, both linguistically and as a technical term, means “struggle” (Muhammad et al. 2013). While this definition remains vague, there are some who take this approach but still add a bit of commentary to fill in the gaps. For example, Ahmad ibn Taymiyyah (d. 1328 A.D.) stated that “jihad means to exert oneself to secure the faith and righteousness which God loves and to fight the unfaith, immorality, and sin which God hates” (Taymiyyah 2001, p. 457). Thus, the seeming ambiguity of the notion of “struggle” might warrant application to inward struggle against one’s sinful inclinations along with fighting in a physical battle against enemies; these two senses of the use of jihad have been confirmed by several scholars of Islam.4

The psychological approach has been defined by Gabriele Marranci (2006). For him, because the mental object we call “jihad” can only exist within a conscious mind, “jihad is what Muslims (or non-Muslims) say it is” (p. 29). Marranci critiques what he views as an essentialist perspective of Islam that ignores the fact that the meaning of jihad has developed and adapted to various historical contexts (see also, Syed 2017, p. 145). Thus, one’s personal interpretation of the Qur’an and Sunna along with his or her emotional state are more significant to the way that person defines jihad than what the texts say. Nevertheless, Marranci seems to offer his own essentialist definition of jihad when he accuses Muslims who justify the use of “aggressive jihad” as ignoring “Qur’anic verses that forbid aggression” and isolating “some verses out of their context that ‘sound aggressive against non-Muslims’” (p. 24). On the one hand, he criticizes those who contend that the text itself has meaning beyond the interpreter while also suggesting that some interpreters are mistaken in the way they deal with the texts. Moreover, another difficulty with this psychological/subjective approach is that it forces the scholar to present the term jihad as a vacuous concept and deny an interrogation of its theological meaning for the Muslim who views Allah as providing meaning to the word.

The historical approach focuses on the early development and use of the term jihad and suggests a more absolute meaning for the word. Landau-Tasseron (2006) contends that the earliest view of the medieval exegetes and jurists was that Surah 9:5 (which states “fight and slay the Pagans wherever you find them”) and Surah 9:29 (which states “Fight those who do not believe in Allah”) abrogate all other statements about jihad. If one accepts this position as true, then they may define jihad as a call to physical war against non-Muslims. In fact, although David Lesch (2023) contends that the earliest meaning of jihad was “personal struggle to be a better Muslim and a better overall human being” (p. 49), David Cook (2005) argues that in the classical period of Islamic history, the understanding of jihad as referring to warfare was the overwhelming perspective, and alternative views about the word’s meaning (jihad of tongue, jihad of the soul) were comparatively unimportant.

The historical approach to defining the term is particularly significant for this present study. As Paul Lovejoy (2016) explains, jihads in subsequent generations of Islamic history have “referred back to the founding of Islam and favored strategies and ways of legitimization with reference to the original jihad [of the Prophet Muhammad]” (pp. 12–13). He goes on to state that the influence of this perspective is particularly manifest in West Africa between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries (Lovejoy 2016). However, the reliance on early Islamic history presents this perspective with its own set of problems.

For example, the work of historians of Islam, such as Jonathan Berkey (2003), Fred Donner (2010), Lesch (2023) and Ayman Ibrahim (2018, 2021, 2024), has exposed one of the weaknesses of the historical approach. They represent a broad consensus among scholars of early Islam that the extant sources available for this period in the history of Islam are late (two centuries removed) and thus not primary. According to them, these sources include contradictions (Donner 2010; Ibrahim 2018), internal discrepancies and designed historical accounts, such as ex post facto insertions and widespread fabrications (Ibrahim 2024; Lesch 2023; Berkey 2003). In fact, Ibrahim (2021) claims that there is evidence that both Ibn Shihab al-Zuhri (d. 741 C.E.) and Ibn Ishaq (d. 761 C.E.), two of the earliest sources on Islam, are unreliable because they were under pressure by their caliphs to develop “approved” historical narratives in the interest of their respective empires. These claims have led many historians to conclude that we cannot trust the sources on early Islam to provide accurate information, and we are left to guess what really happened (Lesch 2023; Ibrahim 2018, 2024; Berkey 2003).

Thus, it seems that for modern readers who aim to emphasize the ambiguity of the term “jihad”, the lexical model of analysis lends the most helpful assistance. Those who are determined to emphasize the subjective use of jihad, the psychological approach seems to fit well. Nevertheless, to those who want to define jihad as primarily an aggressive and physically violent attempt to subjugate the world to Islam, the historical development approach provides the most support.

Yet, Sherman Jackson (2002, 2024) offers an alternative understanding that both recognizes but moves beyond the historical development approach. Jackson (2002) attempts to explain the Qur’anic texts that some interpret as calling for universal jihad against all people who do not convert or pay the tax by arguing that the Qur’anic text was written in the pre-modern world, which had as its general characteristic a “state of war”. He argues that the Qur’an was not commanding people to initiate acts of war but encouraging them to fight in a context that assumed a continuous state of war. Going further, he explained that the Muslim jurists reflected the assumption that Muslims could only be safe as Muslims in a world with Muslims only. For them, the only means to guarantee their own security was to be in a continuous state of jihad. He maintains that “Muslim jurists’ most fundamental concern was with non-Muslim power and, more specifically, with what that power might do to them, as it could not be assumed that power-wielding non-Muslim states would recognize the ‘legitimacy’ of Muslim states” (Jackson 2024, p. 337). However, Jackson (2002) further argues that the “Covenant of the League of Nations” that was signed by the United Nations ended the “state of war”. He admits that the classical law manuals do not have a category for ending aggressive jihad because non-Muslim hostility was the only conceivable reality. He justifies this contemporary understanding of jihad by arguing that differing circumstances allow for the divine laws to change (see also Syed 2017). In other words, although it is true that the Islamic law during the pre-modern era had no conception of an end to aggressive universal jihad, since nations have called for a time of peace, then the law for Muslims today is to place a moratorium on aggressive jihad. According to Jackson, “non-Muslim” in the pre-modern world was synonymous with a person hostile to Islam. Although this is an important reading of Islamic texts and history, one difficulty of Jackson’s position is that the classification of what constitutes a “state of war” or hostility toward Muslims is open for interpretation. As Marranci (2006) argues, each individual Muslim can decide when they feel there is hostility toward Muslims and a challenge to their right to worship. This ambiguity has made it possible for various figures to shape the way some Muslims relate to non-Muslims.

3.1. Jihad and Religious Intolerance

Jackson’s clarification notwithstanding, some Muslim scholars throughout Islamic history believed that fighting non-Muslims and those deemed as unfaithful Muslims was a legitimate form of jihad (Taymiyyah 2000, 2001; Heck 2004; Azumah 2016; Ibrahim 2018, 2024). Moreover, a number of these scholars viewed this form of aggression as important for the spread of Islam. In fact, throughout the history of Islam, there have been significant figures who believed that one of the purposes of jihad was to convert non-Muslims by force (al-Bukhari 1997; Rushd 2000; Taymiyyah 2001; Khaldun 2005; al-Mahalli and al-Din Suyuti 2017; Dan Fodio 1961; Ibrahim 2018; Azumah 2016; Donner 2010; Landau-Tasseron 2006; Cook 2005; Heck 2004; Lesch 2023). While there is no evidence in the earliest Arabic sources that there was religious proclamation in the early Muslim conquests,5 there is still one reading that asserts that jihad for the purpose of converting non-Muslims is consistent with the example of the Prophet Muhammad. For example, one biographer claims that the Prophet Muhammad sent out multiple threatening letters to surrounding leaders telling them to submit to Islam (al-Makhtum 2008). However, Ibrahim (2018, 2021, 2024; see also Donner 2010; Berkey 2003) suggests that according to the earliest extant documents scholars have available, the early Muslim raids led by Muhammad and his followers were merely a continuation of pre-Islamic Arab raids meant to obtain spoils and demonstrate the hegemony and dominance of the new community. It was later Muslim thinkers who added a religious element to these military activities. While this latter generation of Muslim scholars sought to combine the political and religious roles of Muhammad, Ibrahim insists on the necessity of keeping them separate to avoid ethical implications of a religion spread through the sword (see also Lesch 2023).

Nevertheless, some have understood the sources on Islam to go beyond (what can be interpreted as) advocating jihad for the purpose of conversion; some of the material has been read as advocating a general hostility toward non-Muslims (Qur’an 9:73, 66:9. See the following translations: Nasr 2015; al Hilali and Khan 2002. For more on this topic, see Khaldun 2005; al-Mahalli and al-Din Suyuti 2017; Kathir 2003; Guillame 2012). Perhaps most relevant for the general theme of this study, it is recorded in al-Tabari (d. 932 A.D.) that Imam Malik (d. 795 A.D.) suggested that Muslims should not fight alongside unbelievers because their purposes are not the same (al-Tabari 2007). If the interpretations mentioned above were accepted as legitimate, each of the interpretations regarding Muslims’ relationship with non-Muslims would disrupt Pan-African unity. Moreover, as we look at the history of Islam in West Africa, it seems that many within that context were influenced by similar interpretations of Islam.

3.2. Islam and Religious Intolerance in West Africa

In the West African historical context, there has been a negative view of the religious other among some Muslims in that region. According to Gomez (2018), the five major sources for the era of maturity and expansion in the Kingdom of Mali include “Ibn Battuta, al-Umari, Ibn Khaldun,…al-Sadi (Ta’rikh as-sudan), and Mahmud Kati and Ibn al-Mukhtar (Ta’rikh al-fattash)” (p. 92). Not only do we find Arab Muslim anti-Blackness and African Muslim ethnocentrism in these sources (Al-Sa’di 2003; Battuta 2011; Kati 2011; see also Gomez 2018), but we also find that from the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries, a significant portion of the Muslim community in West Africa was characterized by hostility to non-Muslims (Al-Sa’di 2003; Kati 2011; see also Gomez 2018) that at times escalated into jihads and conquests against these unbelievers (al-Umari 2011; Khaldun 2011a, 2011b; Al-Sa’di 2003; see also Gomez 2018). In fact, this same hostility and violence was even directed toward other Muslims at times (Al-Sa’di 2003; Kati 2011). Despite both Gomez’s (2018) and Lovejoy’s (2016) claim that there was tolerance for religious diversity in West Africa during this era, the primary sources suggest that this can only be maintained if one understands tolerance to mean accepting the submission of non-Muslims to the dominance of Muslims.6 In fact, this position is even expressed explicitly by Jackson (2024) when he states that “in Muslim polities, once non-Muslims agreed to pay the jizyah [tax non-Muslims must pay], they were generally free to continue with significant aspects of their non-Muslim reglementary order, depending on circumstances and on the Muslim ruler’s practical assessment of how best to promote the interests of Islam” (p. 337). For Jackson (2024), this provision in the Islamic legal tradition to potentially allow non-Muslims to practice their religions as long as they submitted to Muslim rule and paid an additional tax required of non-Muslims was a sign of tolerance for religious diversity. Thus, the discourse regarding “tolerance” must be untangled from this tendentious interpretation.

Shifting to the era from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries, any discussion about religious tolerance and jihad in West Africa must highlight the significance of Sufi orders to these phenomena in the region during that timeframe (Lovejoy 2016). Sufism, the Islamic mystical tradition, came to the Sudan around 1450 C.E. and would play a significant role in the political world of sub-Saharan Africa. According to some scholars, these Muslims were known for their pacifistic sensibilities and their policy of non-engagement with politics. However, scholars claim that with the onslaught of enslavers in this area, many clerics abandoned their tradition of pacifism and chose to fight against the enslavement of Muslims; Sufis were prominent in these militant movements. In fact, virtually all the reform movements in West Africa since the seventeenth century were led by Sufi scholars. For example, the Qadiriyya Sufi Brotherhood that was founded in the twelfth century in Baghdad came to West Africa between the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries (Ernst 2011; Babou 2007; Campo 2009; Loimeier 2007; Ware 2014; Sanneh 2016; Vikor 2000; Kane 2016).

In the tradition of this brotherhood, however, is Uthman Dan Fodio (d. 1817) and his successors, who Lovejoy (2016) tells us led a jihad that was meant to “confront impure acts or objects of disapprobation through the use of the heart, the tongue, the hands, and military action” (p. 13). He believed that Muslim theocratic rule was vital for Muslim piety because Muslims must be in power in order for them to live an Islamic life (Dallal 1993). Moreover, Dan Fodio and his followers targeted non-Muslims and those they deemed as Muslim apostates to attack and enslave for their theological differences rather than the issue of slavery (Lovejoy 2016; Al-Kanami 1990). Quite the contrary, the raids targeting non-Muslims and Muslim apostates caused the caliphate Dan Fodio founded to become one of the largest slave societies in history (Lovejoy 2021, 2016).

To demonstrate this point regarding religious tolerance even further, Dan Fodio (1961) argued that jihad is obligatory against kings who abandon Islam through mixing it with heathen practices even if they have not verbally rejected their profession of faith. These instructions seem to promote a general hostility toward non-Muslims and those he considered unfaithful Muslims. He went as far as stating that Muslims are not even permitted to be friends with unbelievers and that believers should have negative thoughts about them (Dan Fodiyo 2004).

Most relevant, however, to this current study, the Tijaniyya Sufi Brotherhood was founded in the eighteenth century in Fez and arrived in West Africa that same century. While all Sufi orders claim the superiority of their order, the Tijanis believed that their founder, Ahmad al-Tijani (d. 1815 A.D.), was the seal of the Sufi masters/saints/friends of God; moreover, they believed he was the greatest of the Sufi masters (Ogunnaike 2020; Hiskett 1987).7 In fact, Tijani himself “insisted that affiliation with the Tijaniyya be exclusive of any other tariqas”. He went on to state that the Tijani path “provided the most legitimate connection with Muhammad” (Hanretta 2009, p. 65). Thus, as Oludamini Ogunnaike (2020) explains, the “doctrines of Tijani supremacy have been the source of some controversy among members of other Sufi orders” (p. 48). Adopting this Sufi tradition, there would be another individual who believed his connection to this saint provided him a level of authority over Islam in West Africa.

4. Al-Hajj Umar Taal: A Case Study

Born to Eliman Saidu and Adama between 1794 and 1796 in the Western Fuuta Tooro region of northern Senegal, al-Hajj Umar Taal would one day be designated the khalifa of the Bilad al-Sudan (the land of the Blacks) and would launch a jihad. In his early years, he was known to be very studious; he studied at all the major centers of Islamic education and was among the most highly educated men in his generation in the whole Islamic world (Robinson 1985; Wise 2017; Marsh 2018). Al-Hajj Umar Taal was first initiated into the Tijaniyya Sufi order in 1822 by a man named Abd al-Karim Ahmad al-Naqil. After deciding he would perform the hajj, Umar Taal traveled to Mecca, where oral tradition suggests that he was able to demonstrate his superior knowledge over all the people in the holy city. While still in Arabia, Taal came under the spiritual guidance of shaykh Muhammad al-Ghali for three years. Although he had already been initiated into the Tijani order, he resubmitted himself to a shaykh that seemed to have had more authority to promote Taal to a higher rank (Syed 2018; Robinson 1985; Jah 1973; Ogunnaike 2020; Wise 2017). As a result of his new training, al-Ghali appointed Taal the khalifah (or caliph) of the Bilad al-Sudan in 1830 (Robinson 1985).

The religio-political designation as caliph was very significant because Umar Taal saw this as a charge to return back to the Western Sudan, spread the tariqa and reform the region.8 He believed that he had obtained this position as a ruler through Sufi discipline and his subsequent closeness to God. After receiving the appointment as caliph, Umar Taal felt that he had a duty to impose the Tijaniyya version of Islamic teachings on what he saw as the imperfect version of Islam in the Sudan. Since he rejected religious pluralism, he saw Sufis of other orders, imperfect Muslims, African polytheists and local rulers who stood in his way as enemies of Islam (Hanretta 2009; Marsh 2018; Hiskett 1987; See also Rippin 2012; Lovejoy 2016).

The ideas of Tijani supremacy are manifest in his teachings recorded in kitab al-Rimah. In this text, Umar Taal (2021) contends that the Tijani path is superior to other paths and is the last of all Sufi paths. He goes on to state that just as the law of Prophet Muhammad replaced other religious laws, similarly, the Tijani path makes all other paths obsolete.9 As Robinson (1985) has noted, Umar Taal forced his followers to refrain from recitations of certain chants that he did not approve. Umar Taal articulates this view when he states

[I]f someone abandons one of the litanies of the Shuyukh for the sake of entering this Muhammadan path of ours, which God has honored above all the paths, God will keep him safe and sound in this world and the hereafter. They will therefore have no reason to be afraid of any affliction, not from God Exalted, nor from His Messenger…nor from his Shaykh, nor from anyone whomsoever among the living or the dead. As for someone who enters our company, but then backs away from it, they will be stricken by the afflictions of this world and the Hereafter, just as God’s Messenger decreed.

(pp. 226–27)

This passage has both the function of a “word of comfort” and a “word of warning”. The first half of the quote aims to comfort those who leave behind other teachings to adopt the teachings of the Tijani path. The latter half of the statement gives a warning to those who decide to leave behind the teachings of the Tijani path that they will be afflicted both in the afterlife and in this life.

It is not mere conjecture to argue that Umar Taal saw himself as an instrument of that affliction that would occur in this life. For example, in a different writing, Taal (2018b) contends “Keep vigilant in remembering your Lord. For He will assist you against your enemies. Our Lord aids those who assist His religion” (p. 73). One should first notice the connection made here between being “against your enemies” and “assist(ing) His religion”. It seems that when they fight their enemies, they are working for the benefit of what Taal believed was God’s religion. This is consistent with an understanding of Islam being spread through violence. Furthermore, since God, according to Umar Taal, directed him to wage jihad against non-Muslims, he presumably aided him as well. Going with the logic of the quote, since God aided the jihad, then the jihad assisted God’s religion and was thus justified. Therefore, as Hanretta (2009) notes, Taal believed that his role as a caliph gave him the right to exercise independent judgement on legal matters and justified his military attacks.

However, before traveling back to his home area and enforcing these ideas, al-Hajj Umar visited Sokoto (Nigeria) and remained there for seven or eight years (Marsh 2018; Jah 1973; Vikor 2000; Wise 2017). Umar Taal returned to his region after spending twenty years away—from the time he left for his hajj. Perhaps related to his knowledge of the history of Muslim religious intolerance and views of ethnic superiority in these two areas, Taal began to recruit for an army from Fuuta Toro and Fuuta Jalon to launch his jihad (Robinson 1985; Lovejoy 2016).

Scholars disagree about how to interpret the events leading up to the launch of Umar Taal’s jihad; however, in 1849, Taal and his followers moved to a non-Muslim territory called Tamba. While Syed (2017) contends that Umar Taal moved there to avoid conflict with the ruler of Futa Jallon, Robinson (1985) states that Taal moved there to provoke an attack to justify launching his jihad. The local leader named Yimba allowed Taal and his community to build a settlement in his territory called Dingiray. Despite his claim that Taal did not move to Tamba with the intention of launching a jihad, Syed (2017) admits that Taal began to heavily fortify Dingiray and purchase weapons from the British and the French. Rather than pointing to a desire to launch a jihad, Syed suggests that these actions were simply for the purpose of protecting his religious community. He states that “The fortification of Dingiray, and the increasingly visible number of armed disciples, give the impression that Tal was preparing for war. But internal sources do not provide evidence to suggest that the sole reason he migrated to Dingiray was for the explicit purpose of going to war” (p. 160). I find the evidence Syed describes10 unconvincing and believe it was reasonable for Yimba to view a guest in his territory purchasing firearms and fortifying himself as a potential threat.

Thus, in September 1852, Yimba sent an army to capture Dingiray back from Taal and expel him and his followers from the land. Umar Taal and his men were attacked, and this commenced what is known as Umar’s jihad against unbelievers (Syed 2017; Tyam 2017; Robinson 2000; Jah 1973; Marsh 2018). He was authorized to begin this jihad based on a reported mystical experience where Prophet Muhammad, the Prophet’s family, the Prophet’s companions, and Shaykh al-Tijani is said to have warned Umar Taal about those who rejected faith. Initially, he was only authorized to call the “heathen” to Islam. However, he states that the Prophet Muhammad and Shaykh al-Tijani now ordered him to make holy war on the heathen (Zawiya 2017; Tyam 2017; Wise 2017; See also Syed 2017). Umar Taal explains this encounter by stating “I heard the voice of God cry out to me on three separate occasions, ‘You are authorized to make holy war!’” (Zawiya 2017, pp. 180–81). This reported authorization from the Supreme Being to Umar Taal was understood as justifying his jihad against those who refused to convert and his destruction of “pagan” regimes (Tyam 2017; Robinson 1985, 2000; Jah 1973).

From this point, Taal commenced on his jihad, targeting other surrounding areas. For example, after defeating Tamba, Taal conquered Minyin, Segu, and attacked the Bambara people (from whom El Hajj Malik El-Shabazz has paternal descent11) of Kaarta “because of their supposedly poor allegiance to Islam” (Lovejoy 2016, p. 240; See also Robinson 1985). Despite the variety of tendentious explanations12 offered to justify why Umar Taal would supposedly move this military campaign from a defensive jihad to protect his community to an attempt to conquer the region, it cannot be denied that by “the time of Umar’s death in 1864, the Tijaniyya jihad dominated much of the western Bilad al-Sudan” (Lovejoy 2016, p. 99). Moreover, Robinson (1985) seems to have got it right when he described Taal’s jihad as an imperial war to destroy infidelity in the region.

4.1. Umar Taal’s Jihad and the Religious “Other”

In this section, I will go into detail of how al-Hajj Umar Taal’s jihad hampered the possibility of interreligious Pan-African unity amidst the increasing European colonial presence in the Senegambian region. In general, Taal and his followers had a very negative view of non-Muslims. Referring to a village of people who refused to convert, the followers of Taal described them as “filthy heathen” and “stinking bastards who refuse to bathe” (Tyam 2017, pp. 68, 109). Moreover, extreme distress was voiced for merely having to live in close proximity to non-Muslims. For example, the people of a certain town named Diagha sent a message to Taal begging him to come to their location because they were living in the midst of a country populated by infidels. This view is in accordance with the teachings of Umar Taal when he proclaimed that it is obligatory for Muslims to emigrate out of a country that is under infidel rule (Delafosse 2017; Taal 1973; Tyam 2017). These examples mentioned above reflect hostility toward people who do not share their same faith.

Furthermore, Umar Taal and his followers’ hostilities did not remain as mere opinions but turned into brutal violence against non-Muslims. Dr. Christopher Wise, who has conducted research on the Umarian Tijaniyya, contended that in almost every village conquered by Taal and his militant disciples, non-Muslims were slaughtered without mercy, and their wives were divided up among the jihadists as spoils of war. Moreover, the children of these conquered communities were enslaved by these Tijani disciples. However, this violence was not exclusively aimed at non-Muslims, but Muslims of other tariqas increasingly became targets of this jihad.13 Sources confirm that on numerous occasions, Umar Taal and his men would send out a call for a particular community to convert to his version of Islam; if the people refused, they were beheaded, burned alive, or they experienced other forms of violent death (Vikor 2000; Wise 2017; Anonymous 2017; Tyam 2017). A description of the process provides some perspective as to how things unfolded: “they hunted down all those who denied Allah. They put to death all those who dared to turn the Sunna on its head” (Tyam 2017, p. 66). In certain cases, after seeing many people in their community killed, some decided to convert to Islam; by consequence, a mosque was built in these locations in some instances. For example, in one community, Umar Taal had the idols brought out before him. He then had the idols smashed and ordered a mosque to be built (Tyam 2017). It seems clear that Umar Taal and his men saw non-Muslims as worthy of death, and his smashing of idols and erection of mosques was a sign of the victory of Islam over the local religions.

It is interesting to note the distinction in how Umar Taal approached Africans as opposed to the French during the time of his jihad. In the initial stages of his jihad, Taal refrained from targeting the French; instead, he sought to sustain a mutual non-aggression relationship with them (Marsh 2018). Syed (2017) suggests that this accommodating relationship with the French was meant to protect Taal’s community. For example, in 1847, Taal sent a letter to a French commander stating, “I am in friendship with you, and I am at your service” (Syed 2017, pp. 154–55). Indeed, Taal made numerous attempts to collaborate with the French or to at least try to convince them to stand aside while he conquered his African enemies (Hiskett 1987; See also Syed 2017). In a letter written to the French commander at Fort Senedubu in 1854, Taal responds to their granting of asylum to those fleeing his jihad. He states, “This letter is to inform you that I love you. I know that you also love me and my students…I urge you not to give those who flee [to you] protection” (Syed 2017, p. 166). The unwillingness of the French to collaborate with him, their refusal to exchange paying a tax for trading in his territory and their assistance to his enemies is what ultimately led Taal to attack them. Because this attack was unsuccessful, in 1858, Taal called for a mass hijra to his territory in the east (Gomez 1992; Hiskett 1987). Thus, for Umar Taal, Africans were his enemies by virtue of their rejection of his view of religion, but the French were his enemies (temporarily) only when they sought to hinder his domination of Africans in that region.

This contrasting desire to collaborate with the French while on the other hand being hostile toward other Africans are practices that would continue among Taal’s followers even after his death. For example, not only did Taal’s son Agibu join forces with the French in the 1890s, but his grandson Seydou Nourou Tal “was one of France’s greatest Muslim intermediaries” when colonial occupation began (Hanretta 2009, p. 60; See also Robinson 1985). According to Hanretta (2009), these acts of accommodation were attempts to adapt the statism of the jihad era to the new conditions under an overwhelmingly powerful colonial force.

However, the Umarian Tijanis would also participate in what Hanretta (2009) described as the “most important and divisive religious movements of the twentieth century” with another Tijani group (p. 60). In a dispute between the more anti-colonial group known as the eleven-bead Tijanis, the Tal family (who were known as twelve-bead Tijanis and who had a more accommodating relationship with the French colonial occupiers) sought to sabotage their coreligionist by mobilizing the French administration to suppress the group in the 1920s (Hanretta 2009). Following in the tradition of Taal, the hostility these Umarians directed at their fellow Muslims stemmed from theological disagreements.

Based on what was described above, the religious beliefs of al-Hajj Umar Taal and his followers put them at odds with those who held to a different form of spirituality. The historical material demonstrates that they disliked non-Muslims and thought that living in their midst was objectionable. These Sufi Muslims slaughtered or enslaved Africans who were unwilling to convert to their version of Islam. Ironically, however, they took a compromising stance toward the French non-Muslims who were encroaching on African land, and the Umarians were willing to cooperate with them. These actions were seen as justified because Umar was believed to be authorized by God and ordered by Prophet Muhammad and Shaykh al-Tijani to fight against non-Muslims. Furthermore, Tal’s role as caliph, the Sunna of Prophet Muhammad and the assistance of Allah were sources that were used to justify the jihad. However, this religious movement had devastating consequences for Africans in the region.

4.2. French Capitalizing on African Disunity

Fights between Africans in the Senegambia region, particularly the followers of Umar Tal, left them susceptible to the colonial schemes of the French. Like Europeans elsewhere on the continent seeking to exploit Africans, one strategy that the French used was to intentionally manipulate local rivalries and feed ethnic sentiments among the indigenous population. Once these hostilities were stirred, the colonizers would obtain more control of the local area and people. In some cases, the French did not have to manufacture grievances among local people; they merely had to sit patiently until the division was at a level they could use to their advantage. For example, as Robinson (1985) notes, “[t]he French counted upon…the fragmentation of Futa as they constructed Podor [i.e., a fortress in Senegambia] in 1854” (p. 147). Relevant for the case covered in this paper, the French were able to co-opt some Muslims, but they initially saw the Tijaniyya as enemies (Triaud 2000; Hanretta 2009). For this reason, they assisted certain leaders in an attempt to weaken the Umarian Tijanis. In 1855 and 1856, while the Umarians were preoccupied with local revolts, the French exploited the opportunity and pressured the people of Bundu to renounce their allegiance to Umar Taal. The growing support of local leaders and the French control over war material in the region successfully weakened the followers of Taal (Gomez 1992). Thus, “by the end of 1857 the French were masters of the crucial arteries of recruitment and trade in the Senegal valley” (Robinson 1985, p. 330).

Perhaps the clearest perspective of the connection between the jihad of Umar Tal and the increased French occupation of the area is presented by David Robinson (2000). He points out that the focus on waging jihad against non-believers contributed to the eventual colonial rule of the French in the Sudan. Robinson makes this connection based on the fact that Taal’s focus on mobilizing soldiers for war left him little time to construct the Islamic state he had acquired. Moreover, the continual jihads his successors maintained after his death destabilized the region. As they focused on putting down revolts, the French steadily intruded on the region. Robinson (1985) explains that the “competition between coalitions and the resentment against central Futa made any unified response to European intrusion that much more difficult” (p. 148; See also Lovejoy 2016). Between 1890 and 1893, the French “destroyed the last vestiges of the Umarian state and laid the foundations for the colonial territory of the Soudan” (Robinson 2000, pp. 142–43). In other words, despite Ware’s (2014) claim that it was Muslims who led the “most sustained and effective military resistance” (p. 180) toward the French, it was African Muslim infighting that set the stage for their domination by the French in that context.

The religion of al-Hajj Umar Taal incited conflict, caused denunciations of those who had a different religious perspective, and the aim to convert people to Islam through violent intimidation caused deep divisions based on religion. Moreover, along with other opposing trends, there is a long history of some people in the Muslim community using both the Qur’an and Sunna to support hostility and violence toward non-Muslims. This mentality was adopted by Umar Taal, and the French exploited the division in the region; religion successfully disrupted a united African front against the French. A question that might emerge from this study is whether Islam is inherently destructive toward Pan-African unity in the liberation struggle. While Islam among the Umarian Tijanis weakened their ability to ward off the French, there is a counter example in history.

5. El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Malcolm X): Islam and Pan-African Unity

Islam and Pan-Africanism were inseparable in the thought of Malcolm X. Malcolm X is a pivotal figure in African American history, the history of Pan-Africanism and the history of the global Africana liberation struggle. His life and thoughts have been analyzed by scholars and utilized by the popular culture industry alike. Many Muslims and Black radical activists have viewed him as a source of inspiration. As is typical of humans, people often highlight the aspect of a figure’s life that caused them to gravitate toward the person. Those inspired by his faith tend to emphasize his religious qualities, while those attracted to his politics accentuate that part of his experience. An important set of questions that this present project interrogates include how can people from both the aforementioned groups come together in unity for revolutionary action? In other words, what does the example of Malcolm X have to offer as a model for a Pan-African interreligious (and non-religious) movement? How can Africana people of diverse opinions regarding the ultimate reality and from various communities around the world pose a united front against oppression?

This section of the paper will examine the way Malcolm X’s commitment to Islam related to his commitment to Pan-African liberation. To do this, I will first situate Malcolm in the historical context of Islam and Pan-Africanism. I will then discuss Malcolm’s commitments to both Islam and Pan-Africanism. Subsequently, I will show that Malcolm saw Islam and Pan-Africanism as interconnected. I will then conclude this paper by discussing how Malcolm can be mobilized in current activist work in light of his example.

5.1. Garveyism in Malcolm’s Religious Development

Some of Malcolm’s first impressions of the combination of religion and politics were from the example of his father. Louis DeCaro (1996) argues that the religious life of Malcolm X was shaped by his childhood household. He describes the Little household as subscribing to Garvey’s gospel of black nationalism. Malcolm’s father, Earl Little, was both a Baptist minister and an organizer for the UNIA (Malcolm X and Haley 1999). Louise Little, Malcolm’s mother, was also an active member of the group. Originally from Grenada, she had been exposed to Islam and could have potentially been a liberal Muslim (Malcolm X and Haley 1999; Shabazz 1994; Tryman 2002). The particular philosophy Malcolm observed among his parents as both religious and Black activists was a major factor in his future religious development. Thus, one may argue that the origin of Malcolm’s view that religion must be race-conscious was the example of his parents (DeCaro 1996). Malcolm’s attraction to Pan-Africanism and a religion he saw as supporting it should be no surprise.

5.2. Malcolm X’s Commitment to Islam and Pan-Africanism

It is important to highlight that Malcolm X seems to have been genuinely committed to Islam and Pan-Africanism. Although there is more that could be said of his belief in these two outlooks prior to his conversion to Sunni Islam in 1964, I will focus on Malcolm’s view of both after his adoption of “traditional” Islam because this is the time of his life that his commitments are most contested.14 Nevertheless, speaking to Malcolm’s sincere belief in Islam, Edward Curtis (2015) challenges the idea that Islam was merely a front for his political aims. He argues that Malcolm could have joined any number of movements focused on Black liberation, but he chose to be a Sunni Muslim political activist. Malcolm’s acceptance of Sunni Islamic teachings was a gradual process, with its high point being his completion of the Muslim pilgrimage. However, as early as 1962, a student named Ahmed Osman challenged Malcolm on the teachings of Elijah Muhammad at a Mosque #7 service. This encounter developed into a relationship where Osman frequently wrote to Malcolm, sent him Islamic literature and advised him to approach Dr. Mahmoud Shawarbi, director of the Islamic Foundation in New York and professor at the University of Cairo, to learn more about Islamic doctrine; Shawarbi complied (Sherwood 2011; Baldwin and Al-Hadid 2002; DeCaro 1996). After expanding his understanding, Malcolm would then articulate the Muslim profession of faith: “There is no God but Allah, and that Muhammad ibn Abdullah who lived in the Holy City of Mecca fourteen hundred years ago was the Last Messenger of Allah”15. Moreover, Malcolm X (2011a) stated

I believe in the religion of Islam. I believe in Allah, I believe in all of the prophets. I believe in fasting, prayer, charity, and all that which is incumbent upon a Muslim to be a Muslim.

(p. 45)

Shawarbi would eventually confirm Malcolm’s conversion and then encourage him to perform the hajj (Baldwin and Al-Hadid 2002; See also Sherwood 2011; Malcolm X and Haley 1999). Shawarbi sent a letter of approval to Mecca with Malcolm (Malcolm X and Haley 1999), but he was required to validate his acceptance of orthodox Islam even further. Malcolm was obliged to go before the high Muslim court before he could enter Mecca. After being approved, he was eventually told by a Sheikh that it was hoped that Malcolm would spread Islam in America (Boyd and Al-Shabazz 2013; Malcolm X and Haley 1999). He would receive additional training later that year until obtaining a certificate from the rector of Al-Azhar University in October 1964 (DeCaro 1996; Curtis 2015). These facts lead the author to contend that Malcolm was genuinely committed to the religion of Islam.

Malcolm’s Commitment to Pan-Africanism

Malcolm founded the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU) on 24 June 1964. Although the OAAU began after his first trip, it may be best to discuss it first and then look at his travels subsequently, focusing on his work in specific countries in 1964 rather than an emphasis on the chronological ordering of such. As an outcome of conversations Malcolm had with revolutionaries throughout the United States, he and Lynn Shifflet began leading meetings for this new organization. Along with the attempt to unite Afro-Americans in their fight against oppression with a “by any means necessary” ethic, it was Malcolm’s goal to link the OAAU with the OAU (Malcolm X 2012a; Sales 1994). At the founding rally, Malcolm told his audience that their intention was to “find out what it was our African brothers were doing to get results, so that you and I could study or benefit from their experiences” (Malcolm X 2012a, p. 60). In this way, the OAAU was meant to unite Afro-American people under a Pan-African political vision. Less than a month later, J. Edgar Hoover, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation at that time, described Malcolm and the OAAU as a national security threat and aimed to destroy the new organization (Sales 1994).

To provide a brief picture of Malcolm’s Pan-African praxis, the author will now look at the activities of Malcolm in countries in Africa, such as Nigeria and Ghana. While in Nigeria, Malcolm was given the opportunity to speak at Ibadan University. In his speech, he emphasized the need for African Americans to adopt a Pan-Africanist framework and argued that independent African nations should help African Americans bring their case against the United States to the United Nations (Boyd and Al-Shabazz 2013; Malcolm X and Haley 1999). He was also able to appear on Nigerian T.V. and radio, but more significantly, he engaged some officials in private conversations. These officials told Malcolm that the U.S. Information Agency was spreading the impression that the problems confronting African Americans were progressively being solved. Moreover, many knew that this was not true, and, according to Malcolm, they saw it as a plot to keep them from uniting with African Americans. One official actually declared that the course of the world would change the moment African people globally united (Sherwood 2011; Malcolm X and Haley 1999). It was also in Nigeria where Malcolm received the name “Omowale” (the son who has come home) (Curtis 2002a).

Malcolm thought of Ghana as the fountainhead of Pan-Africanism. When Malcolm visited the country in 1964, he had numerous speaking engagements that included the Ghanaian Parliament, the University of Legon and the University of Ghana. In these contexts, Malcolm espoused a Pan-African vision and warned them of American propaganda aimed to dissuade Africans from linking with African Americans (Lacy 1990; Gaines 2006; Malcolm X and Haley 1999; Sherwood 2011; Marable 2011; Edozie 2015). Having described Malcolm’s commitments to Islam and Pan-Africanism each individually, the author will now move to the connection Malcolm made between the two.

5.3. Islam as a Religion of Pan-African Liberation

Malcolm X’s belief in Islam influenced his understanding of Pan-Africanism, and his Pan-Africanism influenced his interpretation of Islam. While this author stands by his argument above that Malcolm genuinely believed in Islam, it is also true that when Malcolm began to focus his study on “orthodox” Islam, he sought a solution for the problems Black people faced (Shabazz 1990). He saw in Islam a religion that, historically, “had the power to stand and fight the white man’s Christianity for a thousand years! Only Islam could keep white Christianity at bay” (Malcolm X and Haley 1999, p. 376). The views mentioned above suggest that Malcolm had a human-centered view of religion. That is, a religion’s doctrines had to include an element that had practical application toward the Pan-African liberation struggle.16

Weeks before his assassination, Malcolm explicitly stated that he believed in a religion that included political and social action (Malcolm X 1992). A short time before then, he was asked by Jan Carew about his political stance; Malcolm responded, “I’m a Muslim and a revolutionary” (Carew 1994, p. 36). It should be noted that although he was being asked about his politics, he brought up his religious affiliation. Malcolm’s revolutionary Pan-African politics were inseparable from his identity as a Muslim. Similarly, he declared that “the religion of Islam combined with Black Nationalism is all that is needed to solve the problem that exists in the so-called Negro community” (Malcolm X 1991b, p. 140). Here, we see that Malcolm subscribed to an understanding of Islam that included Black Nationalism.

However, Malcolm believed that his Pan-African mobilization would not benefit from explicit Islamic language. For example, in his “Ballot or the Bullet” speech, Malcolm identifies the message of Black Nationalism as a gospel. He says, “our gospel is black nationalism” (Malcolm X 1965b, p. 41). He admits that this terminology stems from his observation of the gospel preacher Billy Graham. Malcolm says the power of Graham’s gospel message (which Malcolm describes as white nationalism) is that Graham calls people to Christ and points them to a local church to join. This avoids inciting jealousy among local pastors; in fact, these local pastors cooperate with him. Malcolm goes on to say that his gospel of Black Nationalism would not threaten the existence of other organizations. One could remain a member of any organization that was preaching and practicing the gospel of Black Nationalism (Malcolm X 1965b, pp. 40–41). Here, Malcolm discursively associates religion (gospel) with politics (Black Nationalism) while maintaining its universal appeal.

The example above helps clarify his comments on an occasion when he says, “I’m not here tonight to discuss my religion. I’m not here to try and change your religion” (Malcolm X 1965b, p. 24). This statement has led some to believe that Malcolm held a dichotomy between his religion and his politics.17 On the contrary, this author suggests that Malcolm was merely being diplomatic. That is, he was practicing what Sherman Jackson (2024) describes as the Islamic Secular. Defining “islam ma wara’ al-hukm al-shar’i” (i.e., the Islamic Secular), Jackson argues that it refers to the area of Islam that goes beyond the juristic ruling (p. 124). He explains that there are two distinct modes of religiosity: (1) the shar’i mode and (2) the non-shar’i mode. Referring to the latter mode, Jackson contends that this is still recognized within the Islamic juristic tradition as both religious and Islamic. This is because although the tradition recognizes shari’ah as a bounded entity, shar’i was not understood as “conterminous with Islam as religion” (p. 17). He explains that through taqwa (God consciousness) and qurbah (intent to draw near to God), any juristically permissible act “can convert non-shar’i, ‘aqli skills and disciplines, even those developed by non-Muslims, into constituents of the Islamic Secular” (p. 167). While Jackson views Malcolm’s commitment to the non-Muslim African American community as an example of the Islamic Secular, he relies on an earlier interpretation of Malcolm given by Edward Curtis18 to suggest that Malcolm turned to Pan-Africanism instead of creating an Islamic approach to racism in America (p. 340; see also p. 487 note 166). Like Curtis, who reconsidered his previous conclusion, I contend that Malcolm did not simply view his use of Pan-Africanism as consistent with his Islamic faith. But, perhaps going further than Curtis, I contend that Malcolm saw Pan-Africanism as a form and expression of taqwa, qurbah, and thus, an essential part of his faith.

Using this framework, Malcolm realized that religion, in the popular imagination, sought converts and spread doctrinal claims. Contrarily, “he interprets religion as a frame of political action” (Miri 2016, pp. 37–38). In other words, since Malcolm saw religion and politics as one and the same, he could discursively separate the two to pacify the fears of those who were not interested in religious debate while simultaneously holding the two together within his own personal philosophy.

Malcolm did not believe that the religious imperative to assist oppressed Africans globally was something he imposed on Islam but that it was a fundamental belief of the religion (i.e., the non-shar’i mode vis à vis the Islamic Secular). In May 1964, Malcolm X (1965c) cited the Qur’an saying that it “compels the Muslim world to take a stand on the side of those whose human rights are being violated, no matter what the religious persuasion of the victims is” (p. 61). Curtis agrees that Malcolm interpreted the Qur’an as requiring Muslims to be concerned with the well-being of humans universally and that they had a religious obligation to help liberate Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Continuing, Curtis also confirms that Malcolm saw politics as the heart of Islam (Curtis 2002a; Curtis 2015). DeCaro (1996) also held this interpretation when he asserted that, for Malcolm, “even though much of the African American community was considered to be Christian, the Muslim world was nevertheless obligated to ‘take a stand’ for their human rights” (p. 248). It is likely that this conclusion by Malcolm was encouraged by what he read in a text he received from Dr. Mahmoud Shawarbi, director of the Islamic Foundation in New York, written by the Egyptian Muslim Abd Al-Rahman Azzam called The Eternal Message of Muhammad (Malcolm X and Haley 1999). In this book, Azzam (1993) argued, using the Qur’an, that Allah commanded Muslims to fight for the religious freedom of Muslims, Christians and Jews. He went on to say that “Islam the religion and Islam the state legally obligated the believers to war on oppression and in aid of the oppressed, whether individuals or communities, Muslims or non-Muslims” (p. 152). The fact that while Malcolm was on his Hajj trip he would meet Azzam, stay in his home and converse with him further supports the idea that Malcolm was aware of this type of interpretation of Islam (Marable 2011). Thus, Malcolm did not see non-engagement with the liberation struggle of the oppressed as morally neutral; participation in the liberation struggle for the oppressed was a necessary aspect of Islam in Malcolm’s eyes.

Pan-Africanism Influencing Malcolm’s Islamic Beliefs/Praxis

Malcolm’s continued commitment to Pan-Africanism was met with some criticism from some “orthodox” Muslims. Defending his particular contextual concern, he states, “It takes some of the same poison to counteract (i.e., work as antidote for) poison. Europeanism has been such a strong poison for centuries it now becomes essential to emphasize Africanism to counteract it” (Boyd and Al-Shabazz 2013, p. 133). In response to other critics in the orthodox Muslim community, Malcolm’s response demonstrates his commitment to unity with Black people: “As a Black American I do feel that my first responsibility is to my twenty-two million fellow Black Americans who suffer the same indignities because of their color as I do. I don’t believe my own personal problem is ever solved until the problem is solved for all twenty-two million of us” (Malcolm X 2008, pp. 101–2). For Malcolm, he would not allow Islam to hinder his identification with Black people. This was why he created the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU), so that he could unite Black people of any religious persuasion. He does not mention the separation of religion and politics within his own worldview as the motive. Rather, he states that it was to make room for Black Christians who were not broad-minded enough to associate with an explicitly Muslim organization (Malcolm X 2011b).19

This method of translating his understanding of Islamic principles into the Pan-African project is not only a praxis of the Islamic Secular, but it also fits within the paradigm that Dustin Byrd (2020b) describes as determinate negation. Malcolm X seems to have modeled this same approach. Although for him, his Pan-Africanism was an expression of his religious commitments, he was able to strategically translate his Islamic obligations into the secular philosophy of Pan-Africanism.

6. Conclusions

This study set out to investigate the principles for interreligious Pan-African unity for the purpose of strengthening the Black liberation struggle. The tools used to accomplish this task were the theory of Pan-African analysis and the critical theory of religion. It was determined that religion can cause division based on charges of inauthenticity and attempted conversions. The critical theory of religion directed the author to perform a determinate negation of the harmful aspects of religion rather than totally discarding it. To analyze this claim about the harmful effects of religion and the need to cut away certain aspects of it, the author used Al-Hajj Umar Taal and the El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz as case studies.

It was observed that the jihad of Al-Hajj Umar Taal was hostile to other African Muslims, non-Muslim Africans and inadvertently supported French expansion into Senegambia. Utilizing a tradition of jihad that some try to trace back to the Prophet, Umar Taal was violently hostile toward non-Muslim Africans. He and his men slaughtered whole towns of men and only relented if people accepted his call to Islam. This was all considered justified by the Umarians based on the notion that Taal was directed by Allah to wage jihad, and his role as the caliph also afforded him this authority. As a result of Taal’s attention being focused on fighting other Africans, the French were able to take advantage of his neglect and gained more colonial control of the region. Rather than finding a way to obtain unity with non-Muslim Africans, he instructed his followers to set aside their differences “until we have beaten the infidels” (Delafosse 2017, p. 211). While not ignoring the numerous examples of Africana people of diverse religions working together against oppression, this should not cause the reader to move so quickly to the positive examples. Umar Taal’s jihad was an unhelpful use of Islam and ultimately cost the region, and Taal’s heirs, more than it gained them. This example confirms the dangerous role Islam can play among Africana people who are being oppressed by Europeans.

Although Malcolm X has long been an icon of the Black liberation struggle, few have mobilized the example of the migration of his Islamic beliefs into Pan-Africanism as a model for the contemporary Black freedom struggle. In contrast to Taal, who sought to kill or subjugate Africans who disagreed with him on religious matters, Malcolm desired to link together with other African Americans for a common struggle against racial oppression regardless of their religious beliefs. This was exemplified in his attempts to connect with non-Muslim activists, such as Andrew Young, Martin Luther King Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer and other Civil Rights activists in the 1960s (Malcolm X 1965a; Young n.d.; Evanzz 1992; Carson 1991; Breitman 1967). Moreover, his creation of the OAAU functioned as a bridge to welcome and unite with non-Muslims for the purpose of interreligious collective action. By de-emphasizing the need to proselytize and defend his religious beliefs while simultaneously lifting up what he saw as an imperative within Islam to fight for the liberation of all oppressed people, Malcolm put determinate negation into practice. In this way, he functions as a model for interreligious Pan-African mobilization. Based on this example, I conclude that African people must be able to come together in the spirit of Pan-African unity while placing their religious disputes aside. This should cause religiously inclined African people to discern whether the cost of disunity is worth the benefits of settling theological debates.

There are a variety of religious beliefs represented in the Africana world. Some Africana people have maintained an expression of their ancestral religious beliefs and practices. Others have adopted religions such as Christianity, Islam or Buddhism. There are numerous debates about which religion(s) is legitimate for people who want to be true to their African identity. What must be realized is that while Africana people are debating this issue, their oppressors are continuing to exploit them.

Because I believe that Pan-Africanism is the only viable option for Africana freedom, my hope is that Malcolm’s attempt to remove barriers that could be caused by diverse religious commitments would be emulated by contemporary Africana activists. Africana activists can remain committed to whatever religious position they have accepted while allowing their emancipatory religious views to be “profaned” and migrate into the political philosophy of Pan-Africanism. For this to happen, there must be a robust critique of their religious beliefs to determine which are emancipatory and which are oppressive. Furthermore, they must determinately negate those elements that are not conducive to Black liberation. When they have set aside their religious differences and conflicts, Africana people can truly say that they desire freedom by any means necessary.