Introduction: Historical Roots and Ideological Aspirations

I was raised by a revolution that broke through the routine of ordinary life – a movement whose passion served as a steady guide, giving me faith, purpose, and conviction. It defined who I would become, or at least who I would strive to become. Its lessons were etched into the very marrow of my being, leaving indelible footprints across the landscape of my soul.

Islamism emerged as a twentieth-century response to a series of crises: the colonisation of Muslim nations, the military and scientific advances of the West, and the fall of the Caliphate. Its proponents sought to reintegrate Islamic values into public life and state structures, positing Islam as a complete worldview, a framework for governance, economics, and society.

Rooted in the intellectual traditions of figures like Hasan al-Banna (Egypt) and Abul A‘la Maududi (India), Islamism rejected both imperial domination and authoritarianism, offering a moral and political project for the people to reclaim agency through Islam. Islamists envisioned a return to authentic Islamic governance as the path to justice and renewal.

This vision was animated by a desire to transcend imposed national boundaries and reconstitute a sense of collective Islamic belonging. Within this ideological architecture, Palestine assumed a central place as a moral and spiritual imperative. The sanctity of al-Aqsa Mosque made its defence a religious obligation. The occupation of Palestinian land and the establishment of Israel symbolised not just territorial loss, but the violation of an entrusted responsibility.

The occupation resonated across Muslim societies as a continuation of the colonial era. Muslim nations had been recently colonised, and the mechanisms of control in Palestine, military rule, displacement, and settler encroachment, all mirrored the structures of colonial subjugation they had endured. The Palestinian struggle thus became a crystallisation of shared historical trauma. For Islamist movements, it offered both a moral lens and a strategic focal point: a test of authenticity, resilience, and the viability of their political vision.

It is in this context and amid the current devastation in Gaza that the limitations of this narrative are being exposed. If Palestine once symbolised the grounds for Islamic revival, it now reveals the consequences of ideological disconnect, demanding urgent critical reflection.

This article examines the logic of Islamist narratives, their assumptions, political utility, and limitations. These narratives are recurring across the political spectrum, including by non-Islamist figures. 

1. Reliance on Prophetic Parallels 

Islamist rhetoric frequently invokes Prophetic stories as a political blueprint. Stories such as the Battle of Badr, where a small, outnumbered Muslim force triumphed against a vastly superior enemy, or the campaigns of Salah al-Din, are cited as proof that moral conviction and perseverance alone will secure victory. These references are powerful symbols of Divine justice and historical vindication, and they continue to shape public expectations across the Arab world and beyond.

Yet, when such narratives are elevated from spiritual inspiration to political strategy, they become deeply problematic. The Prophet’s life and early Muslim victories are often framed not as historically contingent episodes, but as timeless templates for action. This neglects the radically different conditions of our time: the presence of nation-states, the role of imperial powers, the complexity of multilateral diplomacy, and the decisive weight of military, economic, and institutional power. The issue is not the possibility of miracles, but the expectation of them as part of a political calculus. Strategy, by definition, must operate within the realm of human agency, negotiation, and material conditions. To rely on the occurrence of the extraordinary is to bypass the necessary work of institution-building and long-term planning.

The effect is twofold. First, it creates unrealistic expectations. By invoking Muslim victories in Badr or Khandaq as inevitable historical patterns, these commentators imply that perseverance alone, no matter the reality, will produce similar outcomes. Yet these battles are often referenced at a basic level, overlooking the sophisticated defensive measures, political calculations, and strategic foresight they entailed. Second, this framing romanticises struggle while sidelining the harder, slower work of statecraft, such as institution building, knowledge accumulation, political representation, and the management of investment and funds to create leverage. History becomes a sanctified script, and politics a stage for re-enactment, rather than a domain for negotiation, recalibration, and compromise.

This mythologisation also opens the door to manipulation. Lessons derived from the life of the Prophet , like all moral derivations from scripture, are subject to interpretation. Political analysts often treat their reading as authoritative, deploying it to justify political decisions. Nearly any political stance can be cloaked in religious legitimacy, so long as it is linked to a comparable event. 

The Muslim vote on the re-lection of Trump [PC: The Now Time (unsplash)]

This framing ignored the known consequences of a Trump presidency, not just for Gaza, but for Palestine activism within the United States. His administration openly targeted civil society organisations, deported student activists, criminalised protest, and dismantled the very channels through which advocacy had previously operated. These intentions were stated publicly well before the election. The argument that punishing the Democrats would “teach a lesson” doesn’t withstand scrutiny: pro-Israel lobbying spans both parties, and the Republican Party is not less Zionist but more openly aggressive in its commitments.

None of this is to dismiss the legitimate anger many Muslims felt toward the Biden administration. Nor is it to suggest that all Muslim voters were driven by the same logic. But the dominant framing in this discourse relied on historical analogy rather than strategic appraisal. The decision itself may have been defensible, but the process by which it was reached was not: there was no serious planning for what would follow a Trump victory, no roadmap for navigating the intensified repression his presidency would likely bring. The result was a politics more invested in righteousness than results.

2. Conflation of Moral Victories with Political Success

Closely tied to the problem of analogy is a second pattern: the tendency to equate moral steadfastness with political achievement. This dynamic emerges most clearly in the aftermath of failure, whether in the face of electoral defeat, repression, or military loss, when Islamist actors reinterpret setbacks as demonstrations of moral legitimacy. The persistence of the movement, or the loyalty of its base, is offered as proof of success, regardless of tangible outcomes.

This orientation transforms virtue into a political currency. It displaces issues of political competence with assertions of sincerity and sacrifice. This can often function as a substitute for policy. Movements are not judged by what they deliver, but by what they endure.

The experience of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt exemplifies this. Despite widespread mobilisation and its brief ascension to power after the Arab Spring, the Brotherhood failed to consolidate power or articulate a coherent programme for inclusive governance. Its leadership struggled to navigate the post-revolutionary moment. Their removal from power in 2013 was interpreted by many supporters not as a political failure but as a moral vindication, a sacrifice that confirmed the treachery of deep-state forces and foreign powers. 

What followed was not introspection but reaffirmation. Rather than treat the loss of power as a moment for institutional reckoning or strategic recalibration, it was upheld as evidence of the righteousness of their cause. Internal critics such as Abdel Moneim Aboul Fotouh and members of the Wasat Party called for rethinking the Brotherhood’s majoritarianism and its overreliance on moral symbolism. However, they were marginalised, and the dominant current focused on reinforcing a self-image rooted in moral purity and persecution rather than political pragmatism. 

This retreat into a virtue-centric narrative foreclosed the possibility of learning from failure. A more productive response might have involved revaluating their majoritarian approach, forging coalitions across ideological lines, conceding on moral stances, and developing institutions capable of mediating power. Yet such paths required diluting ideological certainty and engaging in a politics of compromise. These were steps many in the leadership were unwilling to take. Consequently, the Brotherhood’s core assumptions, internal structures, and tactical approaches have remained largely unaltered. Despite exile, repression, and regional isolation, the movement has clung to its foundational principles, showing little inclination to interrogate the choices that led to its collapse.

3. Romanticised Rhetoric of the Ummah and the Politics of Disappointment

One of the most persistent features of modern Islamist discourse is the invocation of an idealised ummah, a unified global Muslim community bound by shared faith. Yet this imagined unity bears little resemblance to the historical experience of Muslims. The vision of a coherent ummah, as advanced by contemporary Islamists, is not only aspirational, it is also historically inaccurate.

While early Islamic empires such as the Umayyad (661–750) and Abbasid (750–1258) dynasties did foster a sense of shared religious civilisation, this unity was fragile and authority was constantly contested. It was fractured by dynastic rivalries, ethnic hierarchies, and regional interests. For instance, the Abbasid revolution itself was a response to perceived Arab dominance under the Umayyads and drew heavily on non-Arab Persian support. Under Abbasid rule, the Turkish military class eventually overshadowed both Arab aristocrats and Persian administrators, leading to recurring instability at the heart of the empire.

The empire’s fragmentation accelerated with the emergence of regional dynasties: the Fatimids established a rival caliphate in North Africa (909–1171). Similarly, the Umayyads of al-Andalus declared their own caliphate in Cordoba (929). Loyalties were shaped as much by lineage and geography as by doctrine. 

The Ottoman Empire, which governed much of the Arab world from the sixteenth century onward, further complicates the narrative. It was a Turkish-speaking, bureaucratic system based in Istanbul. While Islam provided a shared religious frame, Arabs were governed as provincial subjects. Arab society itself remained deeply localised, structured around tribal, sectarian, and regional affiliations. The Ottomans were also not the sole imperial authority. The Safavid Empire in Persia (1501–1736) and the Mughal Empire in India (1526–1857), which ruled over a vast and culturally diverse population, rivalled the Ottomans in scope and influence. These empires maintained distinct administrative systems, religious traditions, and geopolitical ambitions. The notion of a unified Islamic political identity did not guide governance. It has emerged more forcefully in retrospect, shaped by postcolonial frustration and the aspirations of modern ideological projects.

Despite this complex history, Islamist movements have continued to frame their cause as part of a universal moral and political struggle. This framing often draws on ideological currents well outside the Islamic tradition, namely Enlightenment humanism, with its emphasis on rights and moral universality, as well as from anti-imperialist Marxist traditions that envisioned global revolutionary unity. The integration of these frameworks into Islamist discourse has been rhetorically powerful but strategically unstable. The vision of a global ummah functions less as a policy direction and more as a symbolic register of grievance, solidarity, and aspiration.

This symbolic register often falters in practice. As Gaza faces extermination today, calls for ummah-wide mobilisation fail. In such moments, the ummah becomes a site of disappointment, its imagined unity serving only to magnify the disunity of reality.

Toward a Pragmatic Turn?

“A critical element of this reorientation involves narrative change.” [PC: Vladyslav Kuznietsov (unsplash)]

The primary audience for these solutions are Muslim political actors. These include organised groups, individual religious and political leaders, intellectuals, activists, artists, and creatives both in the Muslim world and in Western diaspora. These actors are strategically positioned to drive cultural and political change.

Narrative Change 

A critical element of this reorientation involves narrative change. Islamic unity must be reframed, not as something to be abandoned, but as a concept reimagined beyond the outdated Marxist-influenced model advocating for a single unified state or struggle. Instead, Islamic unity should be grounded in shared religious beliefs, cultural identities, and most importantly, mutual geopolitical interests. Moreover, incorporating inclusive frameworks alongside Islamic principles can enrich political discourse and broaden its appeal. Clearly distinguishing moral imperatives from strategic and tactical decisions, without compromising ethical foundations, is vital for a coherent and impactful narrative.

Another crucial narrative shift involves diversifying political tactics by analysing and strategically targeting the structures underpinning state policies that undermine Muslim interests. Take the example of Gaza again: state policies in the neoliberal world order are heavily influenced by private corporate interests, notably arms manufacturers and defence companies, which significantly drive international support for Israel. Muslim political strategies should directly challenge these economic interests at multiple levels. Grassroots activism should target factories and disrupt supply chains through direct action. Simultaneously, robust lobbying efforts should be mobilised at the state level to counterbalance the political influence of arms manufacturers. Recognising and actively opposing these economic and corporate drivers of policy must become an essential narrative and strategic shift within Muslim political discourse.

Lastly, realism must anchor this evolving political narrative. Goals should be firmly grounded in the existing political realities and practical possibilities within current frameworks. Some objectives may appear less aspirational or morally satisfying, but political discourse must move beyond articulating what merely feels good or morally righteous. For instance, the liberation of Palestine as an overarching political objective, while morally compelling, is not realistically attainable in the short term. Many acknowledge that liberation is not within reach without a shift in the global balance of power. Therefore, the immediate stated goals must prioritise building robust political infrastructure and institutional capacities. Articulating such incremental objectives is often challenging because it lacks the emotional resonance and moral clarity of broader liberation rhetoric.

Capacity Building

The narrative shift will only matter if accompanied by successful capacity building. Tactics such as forming strategic voting blocs, expanding media influence, establishing policy-focused think tanks, and investing in academia and scholarship are important action points. Continuous skill and career development for emerging leaders will strengthen overall capabilities. Further, creating leverage within state systems should be cultivated by supporting political organisations capable of influencing policy decisions, particularly in geopolitically influential regions, such as the US and the UK. Concrete investments in political and civic infrastructure will translate grassroots activism and protests into tangible policy outcomes. For example, UKIP’s ability to influence UK foreign policy by targeting key voter concerns demonstrates the significant impact achievable through strategic political organisation and targeted electoral pressure. Lastly, sustained support for independent academic institutions and knowledge production initiatives will support the development of creative solutions.

The Muslim community is known for its generosity, but the direction of community investment needs review. While sending aid addresses immediate humanitarian needs, it does not create lasting political solutions. Moreover, these needs could be more effectively met by wealthy Muslim-majority states, such as the Gulf countries. Internally, community investments often focus on mosque building and development; although this is undoubtedly important, capacity building in political and civic infrastructure should be considered of equal if not higher importance to achieve long-term strategic goals.

Conclusion

Reflecting on the limitations and consequences of Islamist rhetoric, particularly amid the ongoing genocide and devastation in Gaza, it is clear that spiritual and religious discourse offers comfort and a sense of moral clarity to many. However, reliance on spiritual rhetoric as the sole or primary strategy for political engagement risks perpetuating illusions and unrealistic expectations. It inadvertently sidelines pragmatic considerations of institutional strength, strategic alliances, and material realities.

The critical challenge, therefore, is not in deepening religious conviction but rather in translating these beliefs into effective political strategies that build resilient institutions. The proposed solutions presented here are not exhaustive, definitive, or necessarily correct; they are simply suggestions intended to guide the conversation towards more realistic strategies. Islamist narratives often rely heavily on the comforts of idealised visions without providing sufficient practical guidance. The imperative is not to discard ethical commitments but to marry them with an astute understanding of political leverage, economic influences, and institutional capacities. The viability of any politically engaged Islamic discourse hinges on this transformation: from symbolic defiance to substantive, structural engagement. It is the myths that must be shed, not the ethics.

Related:

– Politics In Islam: On Muslims Partaking In Political Engagement In Non-Muslim Countries

– Rising To The Moment: What Muslim American Activists Of Today Can Learn From Successful Community Movements During The Bosnian Genocide