When I was preparing to become a Muslim scholar, one of the arguments I focused on countering was the argument that dhimmis—nonbelievers with legal protections in an Islamic state—were humiliated by Muslims. By addressing this, I aimed to show that Islam is a religion of peace. I believed I could win this debate despite its difficulty.

However, my argument was debunked. Below is my defence of jizyah and a summary of a debate I had with a secularist, where I was defeated using logic and Islamic sources.

My defence of jizyah

Jizyah was a tax paid by dhimmis in Islamic states (not to be confused with zakat, a tax paid by Muslims only). The jizyah rate varied based on the financial status of the dhimmi. Roughly speaking:

A. The richest dhimmis paid four dinars (gold coins).

B. Moderately wealthy dhimmis paid 20 dirhams of silver.

C. Those unable to pay did not pay anything.

This shows that the levying of jizyah was not intended to humiliate dhimmis: it was a fairly administered tax. Quran verse 9:29 indicates that only those capable of paying should do so. Though zakat was generally lower, jizyah still differentiated between dhimmis with different incomes. This fiscal system was fair, especially in an era with minimal tolerance for different faiths.

There were various valid justifications for jizyah:

1. The Islamic state uses zakat and jizyah payments for services, like security, benefiting all residents.

2. The extra amount of jizyah compared to zakat compensates for the dhimmis’ freedom to practice their faith. Countries today legitimately use citizenship rules to define rights and relationships among citizens, refugees, and immigrants.

3. The gradual increase in payment is based on financial capability, with the rich paying more and the poor paying nothing.

Do these not strike you as fair points?

Additionally, Islamic history shows that the Prophet forgave his enemies, so why would he humiliate dhimmis? Here, for example, is one of the authentic hadiths:

‘Al-Qasim ibn Salam reported: When his enemies came to the Ka’bah, they were holding onto its door and the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “What do you say? What do you think?” They said three times, “We say you are the son of our brother.” The Prophet said, “I say to you as Joseph said to his brothers: No blame upon you today. Allah will forgive you, for he is the most merciful of the merciful.” In another narration, the Prophet said to them, “Go, you are free.”’

Another example of Islamic mercy is Umar’s Assurance, a document written by Caliph Umar ibn Al-Khattab to the people of the recently captured Jerusalem in AD 637 or 638. This assurance guaranteed the safety of Christian churches and property, and it is said that the Caliph, despite being invited to do so, did not pray inside the Church of the Resurrection so as not to establish a precedent which might threaten the church’s Christian status.

The medieval Muslim scholar Imam Ibn Al-Qayyim, in his book Ahkām ahl al-dhimma, provided copious evidence that the humiliation of nonbelievers was not intended in Islamic states and that dhimmis were well treated (see, for example, his interpretations of Quran 9:29 and Umar’s Assurance). 

Further, the Encyclopedia Britannica tells us that:

‘During the Prophet Muhammad’s lifetime, the jizyah was not imposed on non-Muslim tribes consistently. For example, the Nubians of North Africa, despite being non-Muslim, were exempted; instead they entered into a trade agreement (baqt) with Muslims.

In the period following Muhammad’s death, the jizyah was levied on non-Muslim Arab tribes in lieu of military service. Performance of military service earned an exemption; for example, under the second caliph, ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb, the Jarājimah tribe was exempted when it agreed to serve in the army. The non-Muslim poor, the elderly, women, serfs, religious functionaries, and the mentally ill generally did not pay any taxes. Early sources state that under the first caliphs poor Christians and Jews were instead awarded stipends from the state treasury, which was funded largely by monies derived from the zakat, the obligatory tax paid by Muslim men and women of financial means, and from the jizyah paid by non-Muslim men of means.’

The principles instilled by the Prophet and Umar can still be felt today in regions where dhimmis and Muslims live in peace and mutual respect. In short: jizyah was a legitimate tax administered fairly and Islamic principles allowed for peaceful coexistence between believers and nonbelievers.

The debate

Such was my case for the defence when I engaged in a debate with a secularist on the issue.

My opponent questioned the three levels of jizyah I mentioned and the context around ‘humiliation’ in its payment. He argued that the terms used in Quran 9:29 imply subjugation and belittlement and questioned the validity of my interpretation of the verse.

I emphasised the importance of consulting the original Arabic text, explaining that ‘عن يد’ (ean yad) translates roughly to ‘out of hand’, or ‘those who can pay’, indicating flexibility in payment, not humiliation, and noted that many interpreters assert that the verse speaks of commitment rather than degradation. My opponent remained sceptical, insisting that ‘صاغرون’ (saghirun; roughly, ‘slavish’) implies humiliation and that the verse pertains to conquering non-Muslim lands.

The debate shifted to the concept of dhimmitude, the protected status of non-Muslims under Islamic governance. I clarified that ‘dhimmi’ means ‘protected person’ and that dhimmis’ feelings of subjugation stemmed from their having to live under Islamic law in general, not from any particular mistreatment. My opponent countered with examples from the time of Umar’s Assurance, highlighting restrictions imposed on Christians and arguing that these were humiliating. He pointedly asked if Muslims would find similar rules degrading.

I pointed out that the authenticity of Umar’s Assurance is debated, with some attributing it to later jurists rather than the Caliph himself. My opponent argued that the legitimacy of Islamic laws does not rest solely on the character of political leaders but on the consensus of jurists.

I asserted that true Islamic law is derived from the Quran and authentic hadith. My opponent questioned who determines the proper understanding of these texts, noting that scholars diverge widely in their views. I mentioned that consensus among scholars is crucial but acknowledged that different groups might have their own consensus. He cited legal manuals from various schools of Islamic jurisprudence, all of which included humiliating conditions for dhimmis, reinforcing his point that such practices are integral to Islamic law.

My opponent maintained that Islamic legal texts mandate even the poor to pay jizyah and that the humiliation is inherent in the laws themselves.

I argued that the Quran should be the primary source of Islamic law, and it contains no explicit command to humiliate dhimmis. My opponent pointed out that Islamic jurisprudence combines Quranic text, hadith, and juristic consensus, and that these have long produced discriminatory laws. He quoted various scholars and legal manuals to prove that systemic humiliation is part of established Islamic law, showing that my argument was insufficient against historical consensus.

To counter, I cited Ibn al-Qayyim’s work, which denies historical evidence for such humiliations in jizyah collection. Ibn al-Qayyim interprets the dhimmis’ feelings of being low or sad as arising from a feeling akin to paying taxes one disagrees with rather than stemming from discrimination and humiliation. My opponent remained unconvinced, emphasising that the majority consensus among jurists includes humiliating conditions and cannot be dismissed by a single scholar’s opinion.

Towards the end of the debate, I acknowledged the diversity of interpretations and the rigorous methods scholars use to authenticate hadith and derive legal rulings. My opponent insisted that the established body of Islamic law, including its dhimmi-humiliating aspects, is backed by centuries of juristic consensus and cannot be easily refuted. Despite my attempts to present a more humane and flexible understanding of jizyah, my opponent’s extensive citations from legal texts and historical practices ultimately made a compelling case for the systemic nature of these conditions, highlighting the challenge of reconciling ideal Islamic principles with historical jurisprudence.

I have now accepted my full and decisive defeat in this debate and my inability to defend the Islamic argument.

As a penance for this and many other defeats in debate, I have now shaved my beard and abandoned Islam. I have also paid my own form of jizyah to secular societies—a much better use of money, I think! I hope that by sharing these stories of my defeats I can help others to counter Islamic apologetics—and perhaps even help some Muslims to go on the same journey of enlightenment as I have.

Jalal’s ‘statement of defeat’ by secularists in debate can be found here.

Related reading

The need to rekindle irreverence for Islam in Muslim thought, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Artificial intelligence and algorithmic bias on Islam, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

When does a religious ideology become a political one? The case of Islam, by Niko Alm

Surviving Ramadan: An ex-Muslim’s journey in Pakistan’s religious landscape, by Azad

From religious orthodoxy to free thought, by Tehreem Azeem

Britain’s liberal imam: Interview with Taj Hargey, by Emma Park

Breaking the silence: Pakistani ex-Muslims find a voice on social media, by Tehreem Azeem

The post Jihad by Word #2: how I could not defend jizyah appeared first on The Freethinker.

Quebec holds a cultural distinction in the framework of the Canadian Federation that should be better understood and appreciated. The Quebecois know what it means to take pride, collectively, in what they have fought for. Yet too often and by too many, Quebec is harshly and wrongly called racist for its pride in preserving its secularist, pluralist culture. This culture is the very same one that endless numbers of new Canadians—immigrants and refugees—freely choose to adopt by coming to Quebec to create new lives for themselves.

Yves-François Blanchet, leader of the Bloc Québéçois, made this point during a press conference before he met with Amira Elghawaby, the federally-appointed anti-Islamophobia adviser, earlier this year. Elghawaby had written in 2019 that ‘the majority of Quebecers appear to be swayed not by the rule of law, but by anti-Muslim sentiment.’ This was in response to public support for Bill 21, a Quebec law placing limits on the wearing of religious clothing by several types of public sector workers. Blanchet’s response to her was: ‘Someone who says Quebec is racist needs to know more about Quebec.’ I agree with him on this point. Unless you study Quebec’s history, you will have little understanding of the sociocultural and sociopolitical transformations that the province underwent after 1960, during the period of la Révolution Tranquille (‘the Quiet Revolution’).

Before the Quiet Revolution swept across the province, Quebec was a largely rural and conservative society dominated and maintained by the Catholic Church, which promoted traditional social hierarchies. During the first half of the 19th century, the Catholic Church wielded significant power in the cultural, religious and political spheres, especially in higher education. In fact, the province set up a Ministry of Public Instruction in 1868 but abolished it in 1875 due to pressure from the Church. Catholic religious leaders combined nationalism with anti-secular Ultramontane ideas to further their interests and increase their authority.

Conservative Catholic domination of Quebec reached its apogee in la Grande Noirceur (‘the Great Darkness’), the period during which Maurice Le Noblet Duplessis’ Union Nationale party held power (from 1936 to 1939 and again from 1944 to 1959). Duplessis viewed Quebec as a Catholic province and ran it with an iron fist, as if it were his own private Catholic corporation. He championed values aligned with the Church and allowed Catholic leaders to directly participate in education, health services, and social assistance, thus affirming the idea of a Quebec that was distinctively and exclusively Catholic. The Duplessis era was the culmination of centuries of Catholic domination of the social and cultural framework of the province.

By the 1960s, the people of Quebec were no longer willing to remain subservient to the clergy and its political backers. ‘Things have to change,’ was one of the slogans of Quebec’s Liberal Party, led by Jean Lesage, during the 1960 election campaign. The victory of Lesage in that year was the beginning of a period of nearly 20 years of dramatic modernisation. New, progressive approaches were adopted in the social and political realms.

Notably, the Liberal government set up a Ministry of Education which created a state-controlled education system and gave women the same rights to higher education as men. It also effectively secularised Quebec by decoupling Church and state and limiting religious influence in public institutions. Since the 1960s, Quebec’s identity has been rooted in the ideal of secular governance; it is seen by Quebecois as a place where all people are represented fairly, rather than one governed by ecclesiastical power in which the clergy dominates the people.   

This brings us back to Bill 21 and Quebecois secularism today. Should accommodations for religious minorities be granted? If so, how should they be implemented and what are the limitations on such accommodations?

There are justified criticisms of Bill 21 but there is also much misunderstanding about it. These misunderstandings often stem from two different traditions and interpretations of secularism. In the English-speaking world, secularism focuses on individual freedom of religion whereas in the French-speaking world, laïcité focuses on the collective freedom from religion. This is because the English-speaking and French-speaking worlds have had different historical experiences with religion. In general, the French sought freedom from the dominance of the Catholic Church and the English fought for the individual’s freedom to worship according to their conscience.

Bill 21 is in the spirit of the secularism of the French Republic, which has also been accused of racism because of its enforcement of laïcité for religious minorities. Such accusations are misplaced, however. Bill 21 makes no distinction, for example, between the types of religious symbols worn or displayed. All religions are removed from the public sphere, and this is seen as an equaliser for the benefit of all Quebecois citizens.

‘Est Québécois qui veut l’être’ (‘Whoever wants to be a Quebecer is one’), said René Lévesque during his victory speech after the 1976 Quebec election. The ethical importance of that statement is that the social criteria for being Quebecois are not centred on ethnicity or allegiance to any religion but instead are founded in the upholding, understanding and embracing of the immemorial values of Quebec society. These values are the values of the Enlightenment, as well as liberalism and democracy.

Opponents of Bill 21 see it as a ‘racist’ ban on religious symbols. They see it as an assault on religious minorities in Quebec and argue that it misapplies the principle of religious neutrality as understood in Canadian law. This Canadian principle, which is an interpretation by the Supreme Court of Canada, holds that governments must remain neutral on questions of religion by neither favouring nor disfavouring any particular belief. This implies that although the Canadian government cannot be explicitly religious, it also cannot be explicitly anti-religious: the state must treat religious groups equally.

The problem created by treating religious groups equally is that it opens the door to limitless demands from all religious groups, including illiberal ones. These groups would have criticism of religion designated as hate speech. They would have illiberal and bigoted practices—such as the imposition of Sharia family courts—be not just tolerated but approved of. Treating religious groups equally is mistaken because it falsely assumes that they consist of a homogenous community that can be represented by one or a few loud (usually conservative and male) voices. It thus disregards the repressive treatment that minorities within these minorities often face and it sets up bigoted, misogynistic interpretations of religious doctrine as the one true version that must be respected and accommodated.

Bill 21 does not misapply religious neutrality. It understands and applies it through a French lens. This differs from the English lens that interprets religious neutrality on the federal level. This is perhaps why Anglophone Quebecois were more upset with the bill than their Francophone fellows—indeed, English-language school boards were exempted from the law by Canada’s Supreme Court. It is important to recall that the notwithstanding clause of the Canadian Constitution, which was invoked by Quebec’s National Assembly in passing Bill 21, was intended precisely so that unreasonable court decisions could be rejected by Parliament and provincial legislatures. In 1981, Justice Minister Jean Chrétien stated clearly that the clause would allow legislatures to quickly ‘correct absurd situations’ resulting from court decisions. ‘We needed to have the supremacy of the legislature over the courts,’ Peter Lougheed, then the Alberta premier, who suggested the clause in the final negotiations on the Constitution in the early 1980s, explained. ‘We did not [want] to be in a position where public policy was being dictated or determined by non-elected people.’

The question, then, is this: What kind, or rather kinds, of religious beliefs will be accommodated, permitted and tolerated? Quebec more than perhaps the rest of Canada at present has an excellent chance of strengthening its vigorously pluralistic society. But for this to happen, religious groups need to be compelled to abandon certain presumptions that are incompatible with Quebec’s open liberal democratic society—and should certainly not be allowed to undermine Quebecois secularism.

‘A nation is judged by how it treats its minorities,’ Lévesque once said. Must we now shy away from treating religious minorities with the same maturity as we would any other religious group? Why should we not have the same expectations of minority groups as with any others? Should they not be expected to assimilate and to be open to justified criticism of their practices and beliefs? Is it not insulting to give special protections to their feelings of offence?

The domestication of religion is one of the unremitting responsibilities, as well as one of the hallmarks, of civilisation. Those who, inspired by nebulous notions of diversity, equity and inclusion, would cast aside liberal and Enlightenment values, must understand that they would be throwing away the very things that make liberal democracy a system worth having in the first place. Quebec’s Bill 21 is an assertion of liberalism in the spirit of the Quiet Revolution, not a negation of it, and the values of laïcité are among the most precious—and hard-won—that Quebec has.

The post Quebec’s French-style secularism: history and enduring value appeared first on The Freethinker.