Confronting different worldviews
Sandra and me in front of a horseshoe arch at the Castle of the Moors, 2007.
Conversations lately have been weighing on me, from dinner table discussions to exchanges with people I interact with regularly, and even debates on social media. What’s becoming increasingly clear is a deep divide in how we perceive and discuss complex issues like integration, identity, and justice. It’s frustrating, especially when those closest to you see the world through such a different lens.
During a recent conversation over dinner with friends in Portugal, I mentioned that I found it striking how Europe is often spoken of in strictly Judeo-Christian terms, as this perspective overlooks the hundreds of years of Islamic cultural influence on Europe, the evidence of which we still see today. Spain, which was under Muslim rule for over 400 years, is home to remarkable examples of this influence: The Alhambra in Granada, the Mezquita in Córdoba, and even the Arabic origins of Spanish words like "azúcar" (sugar) and "algebra" highlight this rich cultural exchange.
When discussing these contributions, I mentioned how remnants of Islamic culture are embedded in European heritage.
“But the real issue is integration,” was the response.
I felt a tightening in my chest, a tension rising in me, the kind that comes when you know you’re at a crossroads. Do you press on, knowing the conversation could take a turn, or do you let it slide? I wanted to dive into the topic, to push back against the idea that integration is just a matter of Muslims fitting into European societies. It is a reductionist view, one that ignores the deep, complex ways in which Islamic culture has shaped and been shaped by Europe. Why isn’t there more recognition of how much Islamic culture has already contributed, how deeply intertwined our histories and cultures are? But something in the room told me that it wasn’t the time or place for a debate. So I let it go, outwardly at least. But inside, the conversation kept replaying, gnawing at me.
The word “integration,” when used in discussions about Muslims, is a loaded term. It highlights a tendency to demand assimilation to a point where any differences are no longer visible, while also dismissing the significant historical contributions they've made to the broader culture. This term often suggests that Muslims must shed their cultural and religious identities to fit a narrow definition of integration, rather than recognising how Islamic culture has meaningfully shaped and enriched European heritage.
To avoid disrupting the evening, I decided to shift the conversation. Throughout the rest of the meal, I found myself reflecting on why integration was raised in response to a discussion about historical contributions. I wanted to delve further, to enquire why, in spite of everything I had said, the blunt use of the word "integration" was invoked to dismiss my observations so summarily. I would have loved to have continued the discussion, to interrogate why it is that when we discuss culture, it's often reduced to crude, stereotypical terms, as though British culture could be neatly wrapped in Union Jack bunting or French culture in a parcel of croissants and berets, when the reality is cultures are never static; they ebb, flow and evolve like organic material. And when we truly examine it, we realise how impossible it is to define culture and identity in such rigid terms.
I would have liked to suggest that in spite of integration often being seen as a one-way process where “newcomers” are expected to fit in, that successful integration often depends on how open and inclusive the society is, as well as the opportunities it provides for meaningful participation. I could have quoted both historical and contemporary examples that show that diverse societies can thrive when there’s mutual respect and a willingness to engage with each other’s traditions and values.
The Castle of the Moors is a hilltop medieval castle located in the central Portuguese civil parish of Santa Maria e São Miguel, in the municipality of Sintra.
In Portugal, where my wife’s family comes from a village called Lamas do Mouro (Land of the Moors), the legacy of Islamic culture is also evident. There’s an ancient Moorish castle nearby, and even my wife’s middle name, Fatima, and the Portuguese expression "oxalá" (God willing), rooted in Arabic, reflect this heritage.
A similar frustration hit me recently during the lead-up to the general elections when I discovered that someone I interact with regularly, who had always appeared to me a reasonable individual, supports Reform UK, a political party whose rhetoric on immigrants and Muslims I find deeply troubling. With genuine curiosity, I attempted to engage, hoping to understand the party's appeal to them. After some back and forth, it became clear they were entrenched in an ideology that scapegoats the most marginalised members of our communities for the failures of our politicians and the shortcomings of our political system. Once my counterarguments were ignored and met with tangential theories about the deep state (or the 'blob' as they called it), the rabbit hole of identity politics, and conspiracy theories, it felt futile to continue the conversation.
Then there are online debates. I’ve been going back and forth on social media about the Israeli state’s ongoing oppression of Palestinians. Someone pointed out that Palestine was a British protectorate, as though that justified the displacement of Palestinians. But colonial control doesn’t erase the rights and history of the people who live there, and using it to justify their displacement is a dangerous distortion of reality. It would be like saying the British protectorate over Egypt would have justified kicking Egyptians out of their own land, a clearly absurd and unjust proposition. Yet, my counter-argument fell on deaf ears. Too many individuals are so entrenched in their views that engaging with the reality of this injustice would threaten their entire sense of self.
As an emerging writer and filmmaker, I am drawn to exploring themes like identity, belonging, and moral frameworks in my work. Yet, in my personal life, having these discussions can feel far more challenging. It’s one thing to tell a story on screen or in print, where there’s a degree of distance and control, but it’s another to confront these same issues in everyday interactions with the people closest to me. I’m increasingly aware of how entrenched perspectives can be, and how difficult it is to bridge those divides, especially when emotions are involved.
The question that lingers for me is: How do we have meaningful discussions on deeply emotive issues with people we care about and interact with socially? As I reflect on this, I realise that certain topics are becoming non-negotiable, red-line issues for me. Our worldviews, in many ways, are reflections of our inner worlds. They reveal what someone truly thinks, not just about the issues at hand, but about me and the people and values I hold dear.
But how do we approach these conversations without fear of damaging relationships? How do we call out harmful views while remaining open, authentic, and curious? How do we engage with those we care about, knowing that challenging their views could threaten their sense of self? It’s becoming increasingly important for me to find a way to navigate this, to be able to engage in these conversations with confidence and empathy, without avoiding the discomfort or retreating into silence.