In the past few weeks, some Britons had a sense of déjà vu, reminding them the censorship campaign against Salman Rushdie’s blasphemous novel “The Satanic Verses” some thirty‐five years ago. This time, the center of angst was a movie titled, “Lady of Heaven,” which glorified the story of Lady Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad. Yet, in an unmistakably sectarian tone, the movie also demonized some of the most revered figures of Sunni Islam.
Hence came protests organized by some Sunni groups, from Bradford to London, in front of movie theaters. There was no violence, but the heated rhetoric seems to have caused worries. Hence, Cineworld, the UK’s greatest movie chain, pulled the film back “to ensure the safety of our staff and customers.” Another chain, Showcase, soon followed.
The result, as British writer Kenan Malik noted, was “a win for self‐appointed gatekeepers of Islam.” UK’s Health Minister Sajid Javid also saw it as a bad sign of growing “cancel culture in the UK.”
Meanwhile, the film has already been banned by various Muslim‐majority nations: Egypt, Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, and Morocco.
All these bans are indeed examples of “cancel culture,” which does not even have a name for it in many parts of the world, for the alternative, freedom of speech, is not appreciated in the first place. In much of Muslim world, in particular, any verdict that a book, a film, or an idea is “against Islam,” or even just an orthodoxy with it, often comes with the presumption that it should be banned.
The tragic result, which goes unnoticed, is intellectual ossification. Orthodoxies, unchallenged by alternatives, just keep reiterating themselves.
Which, of course, doesn’t mean that challengers of orthodoxies are always wise, accurate, and constructive.
This can well be said for the movie, “Lady of Heaven.” Its writer, Shiite cleric Yasser al‐Habib, was jailed in his home country Kuwait for his anti‐Sunni sermons. He ultimately found asylum in the UK, where he founded The Mahdi Servants Organization, whose website proudly says that they seek “achieving the Shia civilizational dominance.” Another website of the group, Rafida.org, uses the term “Sunni” only in quotations, and repeatedly condemns their “heresies.” They seem to be the mirror image of some bigoted Sunnis who see Shiites outside of the pale of Islam.
This sectarian spirit is unmistakable throughout the movie, which begins with the recent horrors of the “caliphate” of the Islamic State — which was condemned by virtually all Sunni authorities — only to project it back to the very first caliphate of Islam, led by Abu Bakr (d. 634) and later Umar (d. 644), both of whom are deeply respected by Sunnis.
It is well known that the political leadership of these two close companions of the Prophet Muhammad wasn’t wholeheartedly accepted by the Prophet’s family, in particular his daughter Fatima (d. 632) and the latter’s husband Ali (d. 661). Yet still, Sunnis and Shiites have radically different versions of what really happened between these founding figures of Islam.
Sunnis believe that the political tension was soon resolved, and Fatima died at a very young age just because of the heartbreak of losing her father. Shiite sources, in contrast, tell the story of a shrewd usurpation of Ali’s legitimate right to succession. They also tell a tragic story about Fatima: believing that her house had become a center of opposition, Umar raided the house with a group of angry men, who, while breaking in, physically injured the Prophet’s daughter, caused her a miscarriage, and ultimately caused her death.
No wonder this story is one of the most dramatic scenes in the “Lady of Heaven” — amplified and sensationalized. The movie also depicts a conspiracy by Abu Bakr’s daughter Aisha to poison the Prophet, which even most Shiites don’t believe in. (Critics also note that all bad characters were presented by actors with dark skin, revealing racist prejudice.)
In fact, such reports from this sect‐making moment in Islam could be handled with much more prudence, as American academic Hassan Abbas offers in his recent book, The Prophet’s Heir: The Life of Ali ibn Abi Talib. Himself from the Shiite tradition, Dr. Abbas, eruditely compares Sunni and Shia narratives, and suggests that at times the truth could be somewhere in between. For example, the injury of Fatima during the raid on her house “could have possibly been an accident, unintentional in its very nature.”
As a Muslim from Sunni tradition, I think the same way: the truth could be somewhere between the two opposite narratives. I also think that none of us were eyewitnesses to these fourteen‐century old events in Arabia, so we can all use some healthy dose of doubt.
I also see a broader lesson in early Islam that all Muslims should consider today.
This great religion of ours found political power too early in its making — and this has been not a blessing, as many think, but a curse. Political power, infused with religion, came with the abuse of power, and bitter struggles around it, which caused two bloody civil wars between the first Muslims, and the Sunni‐Shia split that still causes bloodshed in our day and age.
That ancient split requires healing today, not hate mongering. And while “Lady of Heaven” was not helpful to that goal, neither was the fury of the protestors who forced the film to be pulled back, some while also chanting anti‐Shia tropes.
Luckily there have also been sober statements from Muslim leaders in the US or UK, who criticized the film with scholarly arguments — like the Sunni and Shiite imams who released a joint declaration at the Al‐Mahdi Institute in Birmingham on June 10. One of them, Shiite scholar Shaykh Arif, also called for “mature engagement” among Muslims about their differences, “to resolve them, or to agree to live by them.”
This was a wise call, and it reminded an ever‐valid lesson: maturity is the best response to any provocative speech, book, or film — from “The Satanic Verses” to “Lady of Heaven.”
