Sayyida al-Ḥurra: An Early Modern Decolonial Muslim Exemplar

Abstract

Five centuries ago, the Gibraltar Strait was emerging as the border zone between the core and the periphery of the modern/colonial world-system—a liminal position it continues to occupy today. During this period, Muslims on the southern shore of the Strait resisted the Portuguese and Spanish imperialism which was supported by several other Western European powers as well as the Catholic Papacy. This paper examines the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra (c. 1491–c. 1552), who played an active role in this resistance, as Governor of the city-state of Tétouan and eventually Queen of Morocco. It summarizes years of transdisciplinary research about her life, which draws upon historical sources and popular narratives, as well as fieldwork in Northern Morocco and Southern Spain. The main finding of this research is that Sayyida al-Ḥurra is an early modern Muslim decolonial exemplar who remains significant today. She embodied an alternate way of being a ruler, a warrior, a woman, and a Muslim. Remembering her life can inspire contemporary decolonial thought, since the very fact of her existence unsettles modern colonial formations of race, ethnicity, governance, war, gender, and religion.

1. Introduction

Decolonial thought is often deeply rooted in leftist political and secular intellectual frameworks which are problematic for Muslims and other peripheralized peoples within the global world-system.1 Politically, the struggles of peripheralized peoples do not fit neatly into the Left/Right divide which arose from the seating arrangement of French politicians in the National Assembly of 1789. El-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz, better known as Malcolm X, was keenly aware of this. He equally distrusted those he described as liberal “foxes” and conservative “wolves” (X and Haley [1965] 2015, pp. 380–81). Theoretically, decolonial thought should not be confined by the secular framework of modern social sciences developed to serve the needs of nineteenth century Western powers. Indeed, Islamophobia and other forms of epistemic racism were a constitutive aspect in the emergence of these disciplinary formations (Grosfoguel 2010). Yet, anticolonial, post-colonial, and decolonial literature are dominated by figures who are deeply committed to leftist politics and secular thought, such as Frantz Fanon (1925–1961), Ernesto “Che” Guevara (1928–1967), and Edward Said (1935–2003).

Without dismissing the value of such secular leftist figures, it is worth joining Muslim scholar and activist Dustin Craun (2013) in asking, “who does the Muslim world look for as its own exemplars of decolonization?” (p. 110). Craun suggests several names, but his open-ended list only includes people born after 1750. Ideally, such a list should begin two and a half centuries earlier, when Western European powers established the foundations of the modern/colonial world-system.

This article proposes that a Northern Moroccan woman named Sayyida al-Ḥurra (c. 1491–c. 1552) is an early exemplar of decolonization. But some theoretical issues need to be clarified before it is possible to support this claim. For instance, the very question to which this paper offers a response may seem strange to ask three generations after Muslims arose by the millions to end European colonial rule.

However, Craun is not simply referring to anti-colonial history. By decolonization, he is drawing upon the insight of the “modernity/coloniality school of thought” (p. 92) according to which the global world-system continues to be organized around colonial power dynamics despite the end of formal European colonialism in most of the world. These Western-centric dynamics dominate the global organization of every key aspect of human life, including government, commerce, class, race, sexuality, spirituality, knowledge, art, language, pedagogy, media, age, and ecology (Grosfoguel 2011, pp. 9–11). In short, the process of decolonization is unfinished.

Modern Western ways of being, knowing, and behaving continue to structure many aspects of life in Muslim-majority societies. For instance, I have observed in Morocco that expatriates from Europe and North America—most of whom are not Muslim— tend to be enthusiastically welcomed and easily integrated into managerial positions to which they might not have had access in their countries of origin. Sub-Saharan Africans, including Muslims, do not generally receive the same welcome. Moreover, since the kingdom’s independence in 1956, the mostly Muslim indigenous elites have benefited from their proficiency in European languages and their access to Western institutions, including universities, corporations, publishers, museums, and banks, to name but a few (Benhaddou 1997). Such an observation should not be understood as an accusation, an endorsement of any political orientations, such as Islamism, or a suggestion that Muslims should refuse to engage with the West and speak European languages. Rather, it is an attempt to illustrate the deep ongoing impact of colonization. Like other peoples peripheralized in the world-system, Muslims of every political persuasion and social location face difficulties finishing the process of decolonization since our very thought structures generally remain deeply colonial.

Seeking a path towards epistemic decolonization, Craun (2013) writes, “one of the central factors of dehumanization resulting from the colonization of peoples’ life worlds that has been grossly under-theorized is this desacralization of knowledge” (p. 104). He explains that the modern secular worldview has removed the sacred “from the center of what is considered to be ‘valid’ or ‘scientific’ or ‘rational’ forms of thought.” Consequently, the process of decolonization cannot be completed unless we “take seriously epistemologies beyond Western conceptions of knowledge,” which include the classical Islamic sciences.

The quest for Muslim exemplars of decolonization necessarily leads beyond twentieth century anti-colonial movements, many of which were organized by Western-educated and secularized indigenous elites. I am in no way questioning the heroism or legitimacy of those within these elites who participated in anti-colonial struggles. Their possibilities of thought and action were constrained by colonial structures which had been imposed upon them for generations, including the hegemony of Western knowledge formations. Yet, their efforts paved the way for a Western Muslim such as Craun to examine the deeper epistemic roots of colonial modernity and seek examples of Muslims whose entire way of being, knowing, and behaving disrupt the modern colonial approach to reality.

Having clarified some of the theoretical assumptions underlying Craun’s question, it should be easier to discuss why Sayyida al-Ḥurra is a Muslim decolonial exemplar. The historical fact of her existence as well as the narratives about her life unsettle colonial narratives. Five centuries ago, she lived on the southern shore of the Gibraltar Strait, the border zone between the progressively emerging core and periphery of the modern/colonial world-system. As Governor of the city-state of Tétouan (Arabic: Tiṭwān) and eventually Queen of Morocco, she fought the colonial order being established by Portugal and Spain with the support of the Pope and other Western European powers.

Today, Sayyida al-Ḥurra continues to inspire and fascinate for a variety of reasons. She is most vividly remembered where she lived, in the mountainous region of Northwest Morocco. However, international interest in her biography has grown since 1988, when it was included in a book about The Forgotten Queens of Islam, written by Moroccan sociologist Fatema Mernissi ([1988] 2006, pp. 18–19).

Clearly, Sayyida al-Ḥurra is a noteworthy historical figure. For her Catholic, Iberian enemies, she was a pirate queen, while her allies considered her a hero who fought valiantly against crusaders, conquistadors, and inquisitors. And she was a saviour for the Muslim and Jewish refugees she transported away from Spain to the safer shores of North Africa. Her father was a Muslim of noble lineage, and her mother a convert to Islam from Christianity. Sayyida al-Ḥurra was Andalusian, Moroccan, Amazigh, and Arab, with ancestors from Europe, Africa, and Asia. Later in life, she retired to a Sufi lodge in her hometown of Chefchaouen, where she reputedly devoted herself to worshipping Allah. As such, she is remembered by many northern Moroccans as a saint.

However, Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s significance is neither solely historical, nor restricted to the region where she lived. The historical fact of her existence inspires contemporary reflection on modernity, colonialism, governance, war, gender, Islam, Sufism, and sainthood.

This paper proposes such a reflection using a transdisciplinary and decolonial approach. It should be noted that this transdisciplinary approach is nevertheless informed by a focus on Islam and Muslims, in good part because of my academic training as a scholar of religions specialized in Islam West of Mecca. Based on over a decade of research and fieldwork on both sides of the Gibraltar Strait, this paper enters the conversation about the significance of Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s life for Muslims and other peripheralized peoples today. Moreover, it suggests new avenues to draw upon her life, and the discourse surrounding it, for decolonial thought and practice. In short, it argues that Sayyida al-Ḥurra is an exemplar of Muslim resistance to the Western-centric modern/colonial world-system.

2. The Decolonial Figure

Before discussing how Sayyida al-Ḥurra is a decolonial exemplar, it is important to clarify what decolonial studies are and how they differ from subaltern and post-colonial studies. Pioneers in the field of contemporary decolonial theory include Latin American scholars such as Enrique Dussel (1934–2023), Aníbal Quijano (1928–2018), and Walter Mignolo. They build upon leftist discourses such as Marxism, liberation theology, and the type of world-systems analysis expounded by U.S. American sociologist Immanuel Wallerstein (1930–2019).

Ramón Grosfoguel has applied the theoretical framework of decolonial world-systems analysis to both Latin American and critical Muslim studies. Interestingly, he once taught Dustin Craun as well as the author of this paper. Like Wallerstein (1974, 2004), Grosfoguel focuses on broad world-systems rather than nation-states as units of analysis, and he is interested in the longue durée of history (Braudel 1958). Grosfoguel (2010, 2011, 2012, 2013) also builds on Wallerstein’s (2004, pp. 1–22) radical critique of modern academic disciplines. I concur with their contentions that these disciplines, developed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, are too specialized to answer big questions, and that they are fundamentally Eurocentric. They were developed to answer the needs of the imperial and colonial West.

To overcome the limitations of modern academic disciplinary formations, Grosfoguel (2011) adopts a transdisciplinary approach. For scholars of the Islamic West, it is interesting to note that Ibn Khaldûn (1332–1406) already developed a similarly transdisciplinary approach which took a big-picture view of history, geography, and human sciences. His work also comprised a metaphysical dimension (Ibn Khaldûn [1967] 2005). Similarly, contemporary transdisciplinary approaches confront findings from various disciplines with the intent of discovering elements that traverse or transcend each one (Morin et al. 1994; Nicolescu 2008). This is different from more prevalent multidisciplinary and interdisciplinary approaches which tend to simply juxtapose or accumulate findings from different disciplines. Likewise, transdisciplinarity is more ambitious than these other approaches in considering literature, art, mysticism, and other non-academic fields as sources of knowledge.

As a contemporary transdisciplinary decolonial theorists, Grosfoguel (2011) is sympathetic towards both subaltern and postcolonial studies, but his approach is distinct. For instance, he posits that it is too early to speak of postcolonialism when the global world-system remains organized around colonial power dynamics. Moreover, he seeks to avoid the tendency of postcolonial and subaltern scholars to frame critiques of Eurocentrism in theoretical models developed by Western academic ‘giants’ such as Michel Foucault (1926–1984) (Grosfoguel 2011, pp. 2–5). Of course, Grosfoguel’s decolonial genealogy is also indebted to Western secular thinkers, but he is actively exploring other epistemic perspectives.

Decolonial thinking entails imagining the world from the viewpoint of those whose survival depends on resisting the modern/colonial system. Examining the modern/colonial world-system from its peripheries is the opposite of a Eurocentric perspective. While this is theoretically possible from any social location in the core of the system, it must not entail speaking for others or appropriating their experiences. Rather, it ought to be an act of analytical empathy which changes the epistemic position from which we speak. It means speaking as or with peripheralized people rather than about them. Speaking from the periphery about the core—rather than from the core about the periphery—also involves turning our critical gaze away from the marginalized, towards the dominant.

Grosfoguel (2011) calls this epistemic position from which we speak the “locus of enunciation,” which is not solely determined by social location, as he explains in the following passage:

It is important here to distinguish the “epistemic location” from the “social location.” The fact that one is socially located in the oppressed side of power relations does not automatically mean that he/she is epistemically thinking from a subaltern epistemic location. Precisely, the success of the modern/colonial world-system consists in making subjects that are socially located in the oppressed side of the colonial difference, to think epistemically like the ones on the dominant positions. Subaltern epistemic perspectives are knowledge coming from below that produces a critical perspective of hegemonic knowledge in the power relations involved. I am not claiming an epistemic populism where knowledge produced from below is automatically an epistemic subaltern knowledge. What I am claiming is that all knowledges are epistemically located in the dominant or the subaltern side of the power relations and that this is related to the geo- and body-politics of knowledge. (pp. 5–6)

To illustrate his argument, Grosfoguel suggests that we consider the standpoint of an Indigenous woman in the Americas. Without pretending to speak for any such woman, he wishes to shift our epistemic location to understand the following crucial contention:

What arrived in the Americas in the late fifteenth century was not only an economic system of capital and labor for the production of commodities to be sold for a profit in the world market. This was a crucial part of, but was not the sole element in, the entangled “package.” What arrived in the Americas was a broader and wider entangled power structure that an economic reductionist perspective of the world-system is unable to account for. From the structural location of an indigenous woman in the Americas, what arrived was a more complex world-system than what political-economy paradigms and world-system analysis portrait. A European/capitalist/military/Christian/patriarchal/white/heterosexual/male arrived in the Americas and established simultaneously in time and space several entangled global hierarchies […] (p. 8)

Imagining Europe arriving, rather than expanding, facilitates a holistic analysis of modernity. In contrast, Eurocentric narratives are typically concerned with the complex internal developments which led to modern European expansion through colonialism and imperialism. Likewise, such narratives tend scrutinize the intentions of Europeans in this expansion. But focusing on specific intentions distracts from the totalizing quality of the modern/colonial system which disrupted every aspect of people’s lives. Europeans may have been primarily motivated by economic or political interests in their conquests, as well as in many cases by a desire to save the souls of people unexposed to the message of Christ. They surely did not leave their homelands because they felt a pressing need to change the way others arranged their hair or expressed affection. Yet their intentions are of little interest to those who experienced or indeed still experience European interference in every aspect of their existence.

Building on Grosfoguel’s intellectual exercise, I am suggesting here that we consider the world-system from the standpoint of a Moroccan daughter of Andalusian refugees in the early modern period. I am inviting readers to imagine Catholic conquistadors, with their machinery of crusades and inquisitions, coming towards us and threatening not only our traditional ways of being, knowing, and behaving, but our very survival. There is enough information in the historical record to analyse how Sayyida al-Ḥurra perceived this threat without claiming to represent her. We know enough to hear her speaking at least faintly within the written archives as well as the oral traditions of contemporary Moroccans. The voices of the past are often muffled but we must not silence them. We must try to let them speak if we are to examine the foundations of the current world-system and attempt to decolonize our world.

By imagining how Sayyida al-Ḥurra perceived the world, we can simultaneously undertake two decolonial tasks: (1) to critically examine the conflictual foundations of the Western-centric order which still dominates the globe today; and (2) to consider alternate ways of being, knowing, and behaving.

Indeed, the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra offers us an alternative approach to gender, language, ethnicity, politics, war, and religion. This approach is not situated within the Eurocentric Left/Right spectrum. Consequently, Sayyida al-Ḥurra can serve as an entry point into a decolonial genealogy which draws upon Shâdhili Sufism, Ash‘arî theology and Mâlikî jurisprudence, rather than Marxist revolutionary theory, post-structuralist discourse analysis, or secular intersectional radicalism. This should be useful for Muslims but also non-Muslims who contest the reductionist binaries of the dominant discourses within the ever-expanding global monoculture.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s life and the discourse surrounding it can teach us much about what it meant to be a ruler, warrior, woman, and Muslim, in the border zone between premodern Islamdom and the Western European core of the emerging modern/colonial world-system. The complex interplay of her social roles reminds us of the multifaceted traditions of being, knowing, and behaving many peripheralized people are still fighting to perpetuate despite the existential threat posed by a global, late modern, Eurocentric monoculture, which remains hegemonic despite showing signs of decline. But before we can try to think with her about the world-system, we need to discuss who she was.

3. The Historical Figure

The historical record about Sayyida al-Ḥurra is rather scant, but it is possible to reconstruct the basic elements of her biography. Moreover, the discourse about her life is itself of interest since it demonstrates her multifaceted and ongoing historical impact.

Muslim and non-Muslim historians have tended to take different approaches to this topic. On the one hand, Muslim historians have been accused of treating women rulers like Sayyida al-Ḥurra with “disdainful silence” (Mernissi [1988] 2006, p. 18). However, since the last quarter of the twentieth century, Moroccan historians have shown renewed interest in her (Al-‘Âfiya 1989; Dawûd 1976). Likewise, Iberian historians have long recognized her significance. For instance, Rodolfo Gil Grimau (2000) emphasizes how she represented the deep connections between Southern Spain and Morocco. This approach is surely informed by the historian’s own positionality as a Spaniard of Muslim ancestry. However, he is not necessarily representative of his Iberian counterparts, many of whom have been criticized by Moroccan academic Hasna Lebbady (2012) for being overly concerned with sensationalist narratives of Christians captured and enslaved by Muslim North Africans (Lebbady 2012, p. 128).

Gladly, research about Sayyida al-Ḥurra is now being conducted by people of diverse origins, including many Moroccans. In fact, so much has been published about her, over the past four decades, that it might be right to ask if she is still a ‘forgotten’ Muslim queen (Mernissi [1988] 2006). Her life has even been portrayed in popular discourse. For instance, an article was devoted to her in the English-language magazine published in Saudi Arabia by Aramco, one of the largest corporations in the world (Verde 2017). Likewise, a documentary about her aired on Moroccan television station 2M, during prime time, in Arabic with French subtitles (Triqui 2016). And a thirty-episode Arabic fictionalized television drama on her life was broadcast on the Moroccan channel Al Aoula (Chkiri 2016).

It should be noted that none of the men in Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s life—including her second husband the Sultan of Morocco— has received this much attention, in Morocco or abroad. Yet, she is still depicted as “forgotten” in the title of a recent scholarly article (El Haimeur 2024). The persistence of this characterization seems justifiable insofar as contemporary acts of remembering position themselves in opposition to centuries of neglect. And scholars have played a crucial role in this re-examination of her life.

Lebbady (2012) has written an excellent critical survey of English, French, Spanish and Arabic scholarship about Sayyida al-Ḥurra. More recent studies (Idrissi Azami et al. 2023; El Haimeur 2024) have added some nuance to this survey, but their main contribution has been to further the discussion about how her biography is significant historically, culturally, socially, politically, and religiously. In subsequent sections, this paper seeks to contribute to this interpretive discussion. But first, it is necessary to summarize what is known about Sayyida al-Ḥurra.

Much of the historical record about her is blurry. According to Lebbady (2012, pp. 128–29), Sayyida al-Ḥurra probably lived from 1491 to 1552, but estimates range from 1485 to 1495 for her birth and from 1552 to 1561 for her death. Even her name is contested. Sayyida al-Ḥurra, which translates to ‘the free and noble lady’, may have been a title. Indeed, she was a member of the Northern Moroccan nobility. However, while some sources suggest her real name was ʿÂʾisha or Fâṭima, Sayyida al-Ḥurra was probably her birth name (Lebbady 2012, p. 131).

Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s ancestry was diverse. Her mother was Zuhra Fernandez (n.d.), a Christian convert to Islam, from the Spanish town of Vejer de la Fronter, near Cadiz, and her father was ‘Alî Ibn Râshid (n.d.) a descendant of the Prophet Muḥammad (peace be upon him). After participating in the resistance against Catholic conquistadors seeking to conquer the Naṣrid emirate of Granada (Arabic: Gharnâṭa), the last Muslim dynasty in Western Europe, Ibn Râshid retreated to Northern Morocco.

In 1471, Ibn Râshid established the city-state of Chefchaouen (Arabic: Shafshâwan) in the land of his ancestors, the Moroccan Rif Mountains. Situated 66 kilometres inland from the Mediterranean, this fortified city was designed as a refuge for Muslim and Jewish Andalusian exiles struggling to stop the advance of their enemies. Indeed, Portuguese and Spanish forces had been progressively conquering cities along the Moroccan coast since the early fifteenth century but had not made any serious inroads into the mountainous interior.

In Chefchaouen, Sayyida al-Ḥurra was raised in a non-egalitarian but pluralistic atmosphere, typical of North African cities at the time. For instance, historian Jerry Brotton (2016) somewhat enthusiastically describes mid-sixteenth century Marrakesh (Arabic: Marrâkush) as “a multicultural city, containing Berbers, Arabs, Sephardic Jews, Africans, Moriscos and Christians, many of them merchants and diplomats, others slaves and captives hoping to be ransomed and each professing one or another of a variety of religious persuasions.” He explains that a foreigner walking through the city “would have heard Arabic, Hebrew, Spanish—the lingua franca of most of the resident Europeans—Portuguese, Italian, French, and even German” (p. 127). The notion of Spanish being a lingua franca might be overstated, but Brotton makes a strong point.

In early modern Morocco, Christians, Jews, and Muslims generally coexisted peacefully, despite real interfaith rivalry, occasional conflict, and unwavering Muslim privilege. This is precisely the description of premodern Iberia offered by the late María Rosa Menocal (2002) in her book The Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews, and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain. Therefore, it clearly appears that early modern Andalusian exiles in Morocco perpetuated the traditions of their ancestral European land, where Arabic was the common language. They drew upon this heritage and contributed to the diversity of a North African society where Spanish was commonly spoken.

Another rapidly growing community of European origin living in early modern North African cities was composed of converts to Islam. Known as renegades in their homelands, European converts like Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s mother played a crucial role in the foundation of Chefchaouen, as they would in the creation of the early modern elite of the Ottoman Empire (Graf 2017). Their situation was radically different from that of converts to Christianity living north of the Gibraltar Strait, who were often severely marginalized. This marginalization was partly due to the racialization of religious identity occurring in Europe. According to Mignolo (2006, pp. 18–19), the first time the notion of race was applied to humans rather than horses was during the Spanish Inquisition established in 1478. Anyone suspected of having so-called ‘impure’ Muslim or Jewish blood was seen as a potential traitor and could be subjected to the horrors of the Inquisition to determine if their Christian faith was sincere.

Cities like Chefchaouen presented a different approach to religious difference. Ibn Râshid established the Jewish quarter strategically right next to his home. Jews benefitted from his protection and he from their expertise. This was not the type of arrangement to be found in Jewish ghettos established in early modern Europe. Brotton (2016) explains:

In Europe the religious persecution of Jews led to severe restrictions on their rights of employment, property ownership and freedom of movement. Under Muslim rule, Jews were granted the status of a protected minority (dhimmi) and acknowledged to hold important positions in government and finance, as well as the monopolies over trade in sugar and Christian captives. The vast majority were Sephardic Jews, thousands of whom had started to arrive in Morocco following the expulsions in 1492 of both Muslims and Jews from the Iberian Peninsula. […] (p. 127).

Considering her education and family history, it is safe to assume that Sayyida al-Ḥurra was acutely aware that intolerant currents within European Christianity posed an existential threat to her cosmopolitan community. Her entire life was rooted in pluralism. Fluent in Castilian Spanish, Portuguese, and Arabic, she benefitted from a holistic education in areas such as diplomacy, literature, and Islamic sciences. This is not to say that her community was incapable of prejudice, bigotry, and violence. They raided and pillaged foreigners on land and sea, and they transported Christian captives to cities like Chefchaouen, to be ransomed or enslaved. Such forced labour undeniably profited members of the Muslim elite. And Sayyida al-Ḥurra was unquestionably a member of this elite.

In 1510, she married the Governor of the city-state of Tétouan, Muḥammad al-Manẓarî (n.d.–c. 1519). He was the nephew of Abû al-Ḥasan al-Manẓarî (n.d.–c. 1505), who had rebuilt the city from 1483 to 1485 with a group of fellow Andalusian exiles. Tétouan had been destroyed by a Castilian raid in 1437, but under the al-Manẓarî family it prospered as a port whose trade relations extended all the way to Denmark. Moreover, its naval fleet counterbalanced nearby Portuguese and Spanish forces. After all, the Portuguese governed Ceuta (Arabic: Sabta), just 40 km away, and the Spanish had ruled the Northeastern Moroccan city of Mellilia (Arabic: al-Malîliyya) since 1494.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra became Muḥammad al-Manẓarî’s main confidant, advisor, and eventually informal co-governor. She officially became Governor of Tétouan after his death, in 1519. Twenty-two years later, in 1541, she married Sultan Aḥmad al-Waṭṭâsî (n.d-1549) of Fes (Arabic: Fâs), for whom her brother Ibrâhîm (1490–1539) had served as vizir. However, members of the al-Manẓarî family deposed her the following year, in 1542, thereby reaffirming the autonomy of Tétouan. The Queen then returned to Chefchaouen and abandoned public life. To this day, she is revered in her hometown as a Sufi saint who devoted her last years to worship. However, the political aspect of her biography has not been forgotten.

4. The Ruler

The titles of most works devoted to the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra refer to her using various Arabic, French, Spanish, or English terms for queen, governor, ruler, or leader. What seems to fascinate most of her biographers is the fact that a Muslim woman could exercise political power five centuries ago. While this fascination is understandable, her feats as a ruler are worthy of mention regardless of her gender. To underline her importance as both a ruler and a woman, this paper reserves a separate section to each role.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra demonstrated exceptional leadership skills as Governor of Tétouan and eventually Queen of Morocco. To be clear, she can be described as a queen since she was married to the king, but she did officially not co-rule with him. Her political power was mostly manifest in Tétouan, where she pursued a remarkably independent policy amid much more powerful polities. This small city-state was on the frontline in the struggle against Iberian invaders. As mentioned above, the closest major city, Ceuta, was occupied by the Portuguese at the time. From there, on a sunny day, one can clearly see Gibraltar and the Spanish coastline across the narrow Strait. Moreover, between Southern Spain and the Port of Martil in Tétouan, the distance is short enough for a sailboat to make a return trip in one day.

But Christian Iberians were not the only threats Sayyida al-Ḥurra had to consider. She also contended with several Muslim powers, such as the Ottomans to the east, the Waṭṭâsî monarchy based in Fes, and the Saʿdî dynasty whose stronghold was Southern Morocco. All these forces needed to be handled extremely carefully. There was even a risk of Sayyida al-Ḥurra being overthrown by members of her own family in Chefchaouen, who had varying views and political alliances. Yet, she defended the interests of Tétouan for decades. By carefully choosing when and with whom to form coalitions, as well as when to use force, she proved to be a formidable strategist, diplomat, and warrior.

As mentioned above, Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s political prowess is even more impressive since it has historically been extremely rare for women to directly govern Muslim, Christian, or Jewish populations rather than assert influence through male family members. It undeniably took exceptional circumstance and extraordinary skills for an early modern woman to impose herself as a ruler. Yet, Sayyida al-Ḥurra did just that, as did her contemporaries, Isabella I of Castile (1451–1504), and Elizabeth I of England (1533–1603). While this is not the focus here, an interesting research avenue would be to compare the role of elite women in the early modern Atlantic world. One might even ask whether that period was more or less male dominated than now. For now, it is safer to state that early modernity was a remarkable time during which equally remarkable women rose to power. But they did not emerge out of a void. All three women came from powerful families.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra was raised to carefully consider the political impact of personal decisions. In her sociohistorical context, the interests of individuals were inseparable from those of their family and broader community. Power was bred through personal networks. And nobody knew better than Andalusian exiles living right next to Spain how catastrophic political weakness can be to every person in a community.

One example of how personal and political interests overlapped was Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s marriages. Her wedding to Muḥammad al-Manẓarî consolidated the alliance between Chefchaouen and Tétouan, two Northern Moroccan city-states governed by Andalusian exiles. Later, her marriage to the monarch in Fes forged an alliance with an even stronger polity. These unions represented an obstacle for early modern Catholic imperialism, just as the marriage of Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon (1452–1516), in 1469, had been a threat to Muslims and indeed all non-Catholics.

The unification of Castile and Aragon led to the establishment of the Spanish Inquisition, the completion of the genocide of the indigenous peoples of the Canary Islands, and the conquest of Granada, from which Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s family had been exiled. These events laid the foundations of the modern European nation-state, imagined as a polity serving the needs of a culturally, religiously, linguistically, and even racially homogenous population. Such nation states tend towards the extermination of ethnic minorities, but they can also act as metropoles ruling over a much broader and diverse colonial population. Early modern Spain exemplified both tendencies. Within months of conquering Granada in 1492, the Spanish royal couple sent Christopher Columbus (1451–1506) on a naval expedition which would start the genocidal conquest of the Americas and mark the symbolic birth of the modern/colonial world-system (Dussel [1992] 1995).

Just as a critical examination of Isabella’s biography can help us to consider the emergence of the modern/colonial world-system from a relatable human vantage point, the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra illustrates both early forms of resistance to the system and the factors motivating this struggle. As Governor of Tétouan, she was one of several Muslim rulers in the Mediterranean region whose combined efforts represent the first major counterreaction to the Western-European project which would develop into a the globalized modern/colonial world-system. Like her peers, she used every means at her disposal to ensure the well-being of her community in the face of major external threats. When she deemed it necessary, she practiced diplomacy with the Portuguese enemy installed in neighbouring Ceuta, or the Ottomans, who were considered rivals by the rulers of Fes and Chefchaouen. Her political manoeuvring could put her at odds with members of her own family and extended social network. Indeed, she was eventually removed from office by relatives. But this was not unusual. The historical record shows that, like her rivals, Sayyida al-Ḥurra understood the dynamics and consequences of politics and its intrigues. And she pursued a vigorously independent policy for Tétouan, even when it led to armed conflict.

5. The Warrior

To her enemies, she was a pirate queen, but to her friends she was a military hero. Yet, both sides agree that Sayyida al-Ḥurra was a warrior. As ruler of a coastal city, protected from the interior by mountains, she was principally but not exclusively involved in naval warfare. For three decades, she defended Tétouan against military forces which were generally bigger than hers and were all either openly or potentially hostile. But before discussing her military feats, it is important to understand the broader conflicts amid which she evolved as a leader.

In 1415, the Northern Moroccan city-state of Ceuta fell to the Portuguese. This not only represented a major victory for Portugal but also for a broader coalition. Indeed, the naval force which overtook the city in a surprise attack benefitted from a “fleet of galleys, barges, and tall ships lent by the states of northern Europe” (Cornell 1998, p. 164). For centuries, Ceuta had been a trade hub on the southern coast of the Gibraltar Strait. Conquering Ceuta allowed the Catholic forces to economically isolate the Naṣrid emirate of Granada, across the Strait, which was the last Muslim-led polity in Western Europe. Perhaps more importantly, it was a major symbolic victory for Western European Christendom. According to Islamic studies scholar Vincent Cornell (1998):

One cannot overemphasize the impact of the conquest and subsequent depopulation of Sabta [Ceuta] on the inhabitants of the Far Maghrib. Even the fall of Granada in 1492 failed to provoke the same level of outrage and despair as the loss of this mercantile and intellectual center on the formerly secure southern shore of the Dâr al-Islâm2 (p. 164).

The conquest of Ceuta was the first step of an African Crusade launched by Dom Henrique (1394–1460), better known in English as Prince Henry the Navigator (Beazley 1910). Just as the struggle to expel all Muslim rulers from Iberia was declared a crusade by Pope Innocent III (1160/61–1216), in 1212, Henrique’s Portuguese expansion into Africa was sanctioned by a series of papal bulls. In 1418, he became Ruler and Governor of the Order of Christ, which had integrated the Portuguese knights and estates of the Order of the Temple after its dissolution in 1312. He had impeccable credentials as a crusader.

Henrique’s subjugation of Ceuta opened a century of conquest for the Portuguese. They progressively captured nearly every major Moroccan coastal town. Moreover, they colonized Madeira (c. 1418), the Azores islands (c. 1432), and a series of trade posts along the Atlantic coast of Africa. This led them past the Cape of Good Hope, in 1488, and all the way to India, in 1498. Then, they began the conquest of what would become Brazil, in 1500, only eight years after the Spanish arrived in the Americas.

Christopher Columbus was mandated to sail across the Atlantic by one other than Dom Henrique’s great-niece, Queen Isabella I of Castile, and her husband King Ferdinand II of Aragon. However, the royal couple only authorized this expedition after their conquest of Granada, the emirate from which Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s family and broader community of Andalusian refugees had been exiled. This personal dimension is important to consider when discussing her historical role as a military leader opposing the two first modern Western European empires, Spain and Portugal.

However, as discussed in the previous section, Sayyida al-Ḥurra also had to contend with potential Muslim threats. For instance, the Ottomans remained the dominant imperial force in the Mediterranean at the time, ruling over much of Southeastern Europe, Western Asia, and Northern Africa. After Algiers was formally integrated into their empire in 1516, the Ottomans seemed poised to continue expanding until they reached the Atlantic shore. Tétouan was especially vulnerable as a coastal city, but Chefchaouen, Fes, and Marrakesh were far from safe. Rivalry between these Moroccan powers prevented them from presenting a united front against the Ottomans.

City-states such as Tétouan and Chefchaouen struggled to preserve their autonomy in the sixteenth century, as two rival dynasties fought for control of the entire region we now call Morocco. The Waṭṭâsî dynasty, whose capital was Fes, dominated most of Northern Morocco, while the emerging Saʿdî dynasty ruled over much of the South. In 1525, the Saʿdîs conquered Marrakesh and made it their new capital. They expelled the Portuguese from Agadir, Safi and Azzemour in 1541, the same year Sayyida al-Ḥurra married the Waṭṭâsî Sultan. One year later, she lost Tétouan to a faction the al-Manẓarî family loyal to the Sa‘dîs. Her husband was also overthrown when the Saʿdîs conquered Fes in 1549.

Before being deposed, Sultan Aḥmad al-Waṭṭâsî had sought protection from every other power in the region—including the Ottomans, the Portuguese, and even the French—but the Sa‘dîs were too strong. By the end of the sixteenth century, they had reconquered most of the Portuguese settlements in Morocco and annexed the northern city states. They had repositioned Morocco as a powerful entity in the Western Mediterranean and Northwestern Africa. However, this repositioning was partly due to the long-term resistance to the European crusades by diverse military leaders, including Sayyida al-Ḥurra. This made her infamous in the West.

A quick online search reveals that Western media still refer to the once Governor of Tétouan and Moroccan monarch as a ‘pirate queen.’ This suggests that she was a ruthless outlaw or rebel. In fact, she was an established ruler from a noble family, who successfully conducted naval warfare according to the norms of her day. This involved ransoming or enslaving European Christians captured during raids, an activity which proved a lucrative business for the Muslim and Jewish population of Tétouan (El Jetti 2013). Many of these raids were carried out by mercenary forces working for Sayyida al-Ḥurra, which explains her reputation in Europe as a pirate queen. But this depiction is not entirely fair.3

Outsourcing naval military operations to independent contractors was a common early modern practice in both North Africa and Western Europe. Sir Francis Drake (c. 1540–1596) was one such contractor. Rather than a pirate, the Englishman is remembered as a privateer who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth I (1533–1603). Yet, the English monarch is not remembered as a pirate queen. This terminological nuance is significant since it reflects political biases. Although a privateer is simply a pirate supported by a state, people tend to call their enemies pirates rather than privateers, just as enemy militias fighting on land are called terrorists rather than freedom fighters (Tinniswood 2010, p. xvi). Another term for naval militias is corsair, which is less pejorative than pirate, but still exoticizes and sensationalizes the privateering conducted by North African Muslims rather than European Christians.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s allies in naval warfare included the privateer brothers Oruç Reis (1474–1518) and Khayr al-Dîn (c. 1480–1546), who worked for the Ottomans. They were not outlaws. In fact, Khayr al-Dîn eventually became Admiral of the Ottoman fleet and Chief Governor of Ottoman North Africa. Still, in popular Western lore, both these brothers are remembered as one person—the infamous pirate Red Beard, or Barbarossa (Tinniswood 2010, pp. 6–10). In fact, barba rossa means red beard in Italian. This moniker seems to be a deformation of Baba Oruç (baba is Arabic for dad), given to the older brother by the many refugees he and Sayyida al-Ḥurra transported from Spain to North Africa, from 1504 to 1510. It seems safe to speculate that most of these Muslim and Jewish Andalusian refugees considered Oruç and Sayyida al-Ḥurra to be military heroes.

There is no doubt that early modern warfare was an ugly affair, which subjected civilian populations to plundering, capturing, ransoming, enslavement, and often death. In remembering Sayyida al-Ḥurra, I am not attempting to absolve her of any responsibility in such horrors. My focus is on the role she and others played in resisting the modern/colonial world-system, not on the personal innocence or guilt of military figures on either side of the Mediterranean.

North African naval forces, which included a significant number of privateers, slowed down the progress of Western imperialism and colonialism into Africa. Known in the West as Barbary pirates, these warriors inspired fear in their enemies. They enslaved well over a million “white, European Christians” between 1530 and 1780 (Davis 2003, p. 23). Consequently, when the French invaded Algeria in 1830, they claimed it was to quell piracy. But, at that time, the last remnants of North African naval resistance had already been mostly subdued by European powers. Ultimately, their disappearance facilitated the Scramble for Africa, of 1880 to 1914, during which Europeans went from ruling over a mere 10 percent, to about 90 percent of the continent (Boahen [1985] 2000, p. 1).

The Governor of Tétouan may not have known the full significance of her military actions for future generations around the modern/colonial global periphery, but she was undoubtedly aware that the forces coming from the north represented an existential threat to her cosmopolitan community. She allied herself with those who could help her counter this threat. However, she remained independent. Not only did she avoid becoming an Ottoman vassal, but she set the terms of her alliance with the Waṭṭâsîs. Marrying the Sultan consolidated the ties between Tétouan, Chefchaouen and Fes, but it did not signify the capitulation of Tétouan. Sayyida al-Ḥurra affirmed her strength by insisting that the embattled Sultan leave his capital to perform the wedding in her city, a unique event in Moroccan history. After the nuptials, she remained in Tétouan. Even after being overthrown, she returned to Chefchaouen, the town of her birth, rather than move to Fes. Clearly, the warrior and queen was no ordinary woman.

6. The Woman

Sayyida al-Ḥurra was a woman who wielded considerable social, political, and religious power (Idrissi Azami et al. 2023). Mernissi ([1988] 2006), explains that Muslim women who exercise political power have often been called al-ḥurra, which “means ‘free woman’, as opposed to a slave.” She further notes that Arabic “words such as hurr (free) and hurriyya (freedom) have nothing to do with the modern human rights connotation,” and specifies that, for Muslims, freedom is simply “the opposite of slavery” (pp. 14–15).These remarks serve as a crucial reminder that qualities such as freedom, power, and nobility, which are commonly used to describe Sayyida al-Ḥurra, are understood differently in different historical periods, and in different traditions. Consequently, we must be cautious not to project our own assumptions or biases onto her. Yet, we inevitably interpret historical events according to the needs of the present, and our perceptions inevitably determine how we interpret their significance.

If the significance of Sayyida al-Ḥurra is connected to historical representation or erasure of women, the very act of remembering her corrects a historical injustice. This implication is reflected in the title of works by Mernissi ([1988] 2006) and El Haimeur (2024), which include the words “forgotten” and “queen.” As mentioned above, both these authors argue that, despite being a ruler, Sayyida al-Ḥurra is forgotten in the male-dominated historical record precisely because she was a woman. They maintain that such occultation reflects a broader problem of patriarchal scholarship minimizing and often even erasing the women.

Yet, contemporary popular and academic sources seem fascinated with Sayyida al-Ḥurra precisely because, as a powerful woman, she disrupts stereotypes about women, Muslims, Moroccans, and early modern history. What are we to make of this disruption? On the one hand, Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s power might be exceptional, and consequently unindicative of the status of other Muslim or Moroccan women in the past or present. On the other hand, her very existence may serve to demonstrate that Muslim or Moroccan women are powerful, or at least that they once were.

Mernissi ([1988] 2006, pp. 18–19) contends that Sayyida al-Ḥurra is one of several Muslim women who have exercised power despite the constraints of tradition. This argument is grounded in a feminist understanding of Islam as a patriarchal tradition in need of modernization. However, subsequent scholars have added nuance to Mernissi’s ground-breaking revivification of Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s memory.

Hasna Lebbady (2009, 2012) situates Sayyida al-Ḥurra within what she calls “feminist traditions” in Andalusia and Northern Morocco. Her contention can be connected to the work of other scholars, such as Sachiko Murata (1992, pp. 79, 208, 322), who argues that both matriarchal and patriarchal Islamic currents have historically evolved alongside and in interaction with one another. Another valuable insight by scholars such as Lebaddy is that it is necessary to search beyond official written historical texts to examine women’s power and agency in Islamic contexts.

It is useful to examine how Sayyida al-Ḥurra is portrayed in popular culture. For example, the 2016 Moroccan television series devoted hours to fictional reconstructions of her romantic and family life, filled with intrigue and personal rivalries. These accounts might seem gossipy, but they are surely meaningful to many viewers of the series. And these viewers surely include some contemporary Northern Moroccan women who perpetuate oral tales whose origins can be traced to medieval Andalusia. According to Lebbady (2009)

Such tales can help us to enrich our present by taking into consideration our authentic heritage, which we no longer view through a distorted colonial lens. As Moroccan women we have a rich history of creative women, who were trying to cope with problems very similar to the ones that face us today. […] In fact, the storytelling in which the traditional communities of women were involved served, among other things, as a form of consciousness-raising that was as good as any devised by Western feminists more recently. (pp. 52–53)

Another area, in which many Muslim women have historically obtained social status and influence is scholarship. Islamic studies scholar Margaret Rausch (2006) writes:

Muslim women throughout the world over time have been actively involved in acquiring as well as transmitting knowledge in a variety of capacities. The daughters of scholars, for example, often received instruction from their male relatives, and some became teachers, scholars or poetesses. (p. 174)

She provides several examples of renowned Muslim women scholars from various times and who lived in such diverse places as Syria, Egypt, Nigeria, Mauritania, Morocco, and Libya, adding that “[s]ome medieval Muslim women served as instructors of men and women in hadith-transmission within the local central educational institutions. Several of them gained prominence in their day” (p. 174).

Islamic scholar Mohammad Akram Nadwi has observed a similar phenomenon. He has documented the biographies of over 9000 women scholars of hadith from all Islamic periods and regions, a summary of which is available in English (Nadwi 2007). Yet, hadith scholarship is but one of many traditional Islamic sciences in which women have engaged. For instance, biographical surveys of prominent women Sufis have been published since at least the eleventh century (Al-Sulamī 1999 [original Arabic version circa 11th century]).

The existence of a broader Islamic tradition of empowering women through knowledge seems to contradict the notion of a generalized lack of empowerment for Muslim women, but there are surely variations in time and place. To properly assess the significance of gender in the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra, it is useful to consider the distinct context of Morocco. Like Lebbady, Rausch (2006) has found that Moroccan women have long been “recognised as indispensable in the transmission of Islamic knowledge to other women” (p. 175).

However, no credible source suggests that Sayyida al-Ḥurra was unexceptional. While she was not the only influential or indeed powerful woman in Moroccan history, she is the only one who led men into battle as Governor and eventually became Queen. And it is worth repeating that part of the reason she has attracted international attention is that women have been excluded from exercising direct political power, for most of recorded history, in most of the world.

The challenge for contemporary scholars is to draw upon the life of Sayyida al-Ḥurra in a nuanced manner which allows for complexity and even paradox. We must recognize that Muslim women have not solely been agentless victims of patriarchal structures. They have faced catastrophic tragedies just as they have enjoyed phenomenal successes and victories. At various times, and often simultaneously, they have been liberators, oppressors, and oppressed. Likewise, women are not only important as women. For instance, Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s life also exemplifies how Muslims have delved into their traditions of being, knowing, and behaving, to resist the modern/colonial European project of genocidal conquest. She was not only free and a lady; she was Muslim.

7. The Muslim

Sayyida al-Ḥurra was raised in a vibrant Islamic environment. She was connected to the prophetic household through her father. Her paternal lineage includes the renowned Northern Moroccan Sufi, Shaykh Abd al-Salâm Ibn Mashîsh (c. 1140–c. 1227, sometimes referred to as Ibn Bashîsh), and King Idrîs I (745–791), who founded the first independent Muslim dynasty in the land we now call Morocco. Likewise, Islam was central to her mother’s identity. Zuhra Fernandez lived in exile from the land of her birth, disconnected from her Christian relatives precisely because she had become Muslim and moved to Morocco to avoid religious persecution.

One of Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s teachers was the eminent Sufi shaykh ‘Abd Allâh al-Ghazwânî (n.d.–1528/9). He revived the pilgrimage to the mausoleum of her ancestor Ibn Mashîsh, at the top of a mountain not far from Chefchaouen. Through al-Ghazwânî, Sayyida al-Ḥurra was attached to the Jazûlî branch of the Shâdhilî Sufi Order, in which women have played an active role. Rausch (2006) explains:

Al-Jazuli (d. 1465), founder of the Jazuli Sufi order, emphasised the importance of women’s education, as did his successors and their disciples, ‘Abdallah al-Ghazwani (d. 1528/9), ‘Abdallah al-Habti and Musa ibn ‘Ali al-Wazzani (1562/3). Al-Ghazwani is known to have initiated entire villages, men as well as women, into the Jazuli Sufi order to insure the spread of religious knowledge. Al-Habti and Yusuf at-Tilidi (d. 1543/4) were known to maintain separate women’s zawiyas [Sufi lodges], which were presided over by women trained in fiqh [Islamic jurisprudence]. Al-Habti’s wife Amina bint Khajju was a fully trained legal scholar who taught local women Islamic and Sufi dogma and practice in her own zawiya in Shafshawan [Chefchaouen] in northern Morocco. (p. 175)

This passage indicates that during her lifetime, Sayyida al-Ḥurra was far from the only influential woman in the religious circles of her hometown, Chefchaouen.

Al-Ghazwânî supported the Saʿdî dynasty which was taking over Morocco during Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s lifetime. He proclaimed their legitimacy as rulers, based on their noble status as members of the prophetic household, as well as their active role in fighting the invading Christian fighters (Al-Ashhab 2015; Jallâb 2017, vol. 2, pp. 55–158). His spiritual authority and those of several other religious figures facilitated the Sa‘dî rise to power (Al-Ḥâjjî 2013). Interestingly, Sayyida al-Ḥurra did not follow her religious mentor in supporting the Sa’dîs, despite being of noble descent, like them, and similarly inclined to resist early modern Iberian colonialism.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra and al-Ghazwânî took opposing sides in a political conflict despite being from the same Shâdhilî Sufi order, genealogically connected to Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s ancestor, Ibn Mashîsh. Another famous figure from the same order, Aḥmad Zarrûq (1442–1493) of Fes, had a more quietist view. He opposed political engagement by Sufis, especially when it involves overthrowing Muslim rulers (Kugle 2006). It should be noted that all three of these figures are considered saints within the Shâdhilî lineage, despite their political differences. Still today, leaders from the Shâdhilî and other orders frequently diverge on how to engage in or refrain from politics. Such pluralism within the Islamic tradition allows for a broad range of positions about when and to which extent a religious figure ought to intervene in matters of governance (Heck 2009; Dickson and Sharify-Funk 2017, pp. 258–62).

It can be argued that Sayyida al-Ḥurra was faithfully applying the Islamic teachings of her mentor by acting in the way she considered best fulfilled her responsibilities as a Muslim ruler. At the same time, she did not cling to power. Once relieved from the burdens of governance, she reputedly isolated herself in a Sufi lodge (Arabic: zâwiya) and focused on her spiritual life.

To understand the spiritual significance of her legacy, it is not sufficient to study textual sources. Some experiential knowledge is required. As part of my fieldwork in Northern Morocco and Southern Spain, I visited Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s zâwiya. My intention was to connect with her on a more personal level by visiting her mausoleum in Chefchaouen and speaking to contemporary representatives of her family and spiritual lineage. I visited the town on several occasions, hoping to enter the zâwiya under which she is buried. It is situated, in the heart of the old quarters, next to her family home, just behind the old fortress (Arabic: qaṣaba) whose red ramparts recall the Alhambra citadel in Granada, where her family had lived before founding Chefchaouen. Yet, every time I went, the front door was locked. Although I knew that the shaykh of the zâwiya lived nearby, shyness prevented me from introducing myself to him. However, during a visit with my family in 2021, I garnered the courage to knock at his door.

We were warmly welcomed by the elderly but extremely energetic shaykh Ali al Raissouni, who lives in the house of his ancestor, ‘Alî Ibn Râshid, the founder of Chefchaouen. He introduced us to his son Jamal Eddine Raissouni, who later gave us a tour of the international Quranic studies institute they have established. Although we came unannounced, Shaykh Ali generously spent the afternoon talking to us of religion, history, his ancestry, and his plan to make Chefchaouen an international hub of Sufism. In addition to being a Sufi shaykh, he is a professional historian of Northern Morocco who is keen to help spiritual seekers as well as scholars in their quests. For instance, he was also interviewed recently by El Haimeur (2024).

In a traditional living room next to a beautiful inner courtyard, Shaykh Ali emotionally related to us that, in that very place, Shaykh al-Ghazwânî had taught Sayyida al-Ḥurra. Afterwards, he took us to his office and his library, where he gave each of my children a Quran. Then, he and his son took me through an internal passage to his zâwiya. After we prayed together, Jamal Eddine escorted me into a little room where the burial place of Sayyida al-Ḥurra is indicated by a small niche in the wall. I was touched and honoured.

Two years earlier, I had visited the mausoleum of her father, ‘Alî Ibn Râshid. Interestingly, despite having established the entire complex which now comprises the Raissouni home, library, office, and zâwiya, the founder of Chefchaouen is buried behind a mosque, several minutes away by foot. His mausoleum is big and well decorated, but the modest space in which his daughter is buried and remembered appears to represent the most intimate spiritual center of the city. In this sanctuary, as well as in the folk tales and songs of Northern Morocco, Sayyida al-Ḥurra is remembered as a saint.

8. Conclusions

Sayyida al-Ḥurra is remembered as a Muslim saint who resisted the early modern genocidal expansion of Western Europe. Historically, the fact of her existence challenges triumphalist narratives of white, Christian Europeans expanding across non-white Africa, America, and Asia. After all, Sayyida al-Ḥurra had overlapping heritages as a Muslim daughter of a Southwestern European convert from Christianity to Islam and a Muslim of North African and Southwest Asian ancestry. From this liminal position, she resisted the early modern Western European imperial and colonial project. The worldview with which she was raised was certainly Islamic, but it was also cosmopolitan and multi-confessional. Championing this view meant defending Muslims, as well as Jews and Iberian Christians with Muslim ancestry, against a genocidal project to eliminate diversity in Western Europe, based on incipient formations of race rooted in the notion of pure Christian blood. During Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s lifetime, this genocidal project extended beyond Iberia, annihilating indigenous peoples in the Canary Islands and the Americas.

Muslims were the main rivals of Catholic Europeans in the early modern period. Church leaders, royal families, oligarchs, intellectuals, and adventurers who conceived the early modern colonial and imperial project lived in the extreme northwestern margin of a vast intercontinental land mass in which Islamdom was the central power. The Catholic project was very much a crusade meant to destroy or subjugate Muslims and replace them as the center of a new transregional order. Naturally, Muslims such as Sayyida al-Ḥurra were the first major opponents to this project. Their ongoing resistance has resulted in Islam remaining the main globalized alternative to Western hegemony to this day.

During Sayyida al-Ḥurra’s lifetime, the Strait of Gibraltar was slowly becoming the first geographical border between the core and the periphery of the modern/colonial world-system, and it remains so today. Its troubled waters simultaneously connect and divide Europe and Africa; the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea; and ultimately the West and the rest (Hall [1992] 2010). But this is not how she would have perceived the region. Under Muslim rule, the Strait had been an internal passage connecting two parts of the same civilization, rather than a border between conflicting worlds. The entire Western Islamic world comprised economic, religious, intellectual, and even cultural networks, which connected Sub-Saharan Africa to Northern Iberia and several Mediterranean islands. In turn, these networks were connected to broader ones which spread all the way to Eastern Asia. There was conflict and discontinuity within Islamdom, but also considerable pluralism and civilizational continuity, which in many ways united Muslims and members of other faiths. Moreover, it facilitated the existence of people with hybrid identities. This was the complex heritage Sayyida al-Ḥurra fought to preserve.

People such as Sayyida al-Ḥurra have unique identities based on multiple heritages and attachment to multiple communities of belonging. Notions of pure homogenous identity pose an existential threat to such people (Maalouf 1998). The early modern system, established by Portugal and Spain, with the help of broader Western Christendom, strove to impose a unique linguistic, ethnic, and religious identity within states with clearly defined borders. Ethnic cleansing, genocide, imperialism, and colonialism are constitutive elements of the interstate system which has long since become globalized (Grosfoguel 2013). Fighting this system is a matter of survival for people with hybrid identities today as it was for Sayyida al-Ḥurra five centuries ago.

Sayyida al-Ḥurra represents an exemplar for Muslims and other communities around the world seeking to perpetuate their diverse traditions of being, knowing, and behaving against the existential threat posed by colonial modernity and its current mutation into late modern global monoculture. She embodies an alternate way of being a ruler, a warrior, a woman, and a Muslim. Her very existence, as well as the narratives about her life, unsettles modern colonial formations of race, ethnicity, governance, war, gender, and religion. Accordingly, she can inform our efforts to reimagine the present. Drawing upon the complex heritages people such as Sayyida al-Ḥurra fought to perpetuate can help us actualize diverse ways of being, knowing, and behaving. Moreover, examining the world-system alongside such predecessors can provide us with the alternative viewpoints from which to imagine a fully decolonized global future.