Granada-a 9/11 postscript

I started working on the Granada post a few weeks ago, but the demands of work, church, and family prevented me from spending more than a few minutes at a time on it. Since I hadn't touched it since last weekend, I had nearly forgotten about it. Then, today, as I sat at home from church with two pink-eyed children, I suddenly remembered to polish and publish that Granada post that I had been sitting on for so long.

Feeling very pleased with myself at having accomplished something, I proudly posted it on Facebook so that my three readers could be reminded that I indeed have a blog. As I did so, I noticed other people's comments about where they were ten years ago today when they heard about the terrorist attacks of September 11. I of course cannot forget that day. I was a student at Utah State University, and watched as events unfolded on a the screen at the front of the auditorium while I waited for my Integrated Science class to begin. As these memories came back to me today, so did the mix of emotions that I felt then: grief, anger, patriotism, and confusion.

Suddenly my two trains of thought for the day collided. I had just published a blog post exalting Islamic art and berating the Western world for its colonial attitude towards other cultures. Would someone reading my post take some unintended offense at this on a day like today? Should they be offended? Would it be better to take the post down and wait a few days?

I believe that the answer is no. In fact, I think that today is a particularly important day to reflect on the glories of Muslim Spain. Here is why.

The Alhambra is a physical reminder of a civilization that once filled most of the Iberian Peninsula, a caliphate known as Al-Andalus that was as much part of the Muslim world as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Iran are today. While the rest of Europe languished in what are now known as the Dark Ages, the scholars of Al-Andalus were rediscovering the science, philosophy, and literature of classical Greece and Rome. They built magnificent libraries and palaces, and their engineering projects continue to marvel us. The most amazing aspect of their civilization, however, is that they found a way for Muslims, Jews, and Christians to live together. It would be naive to assert that this was a perfect convivencia ("living-togetherness"), but the fact is that, while Muslims certainly dominated society, churches and synagogues received special protection, and mutual respect existed between the three great religions of the book. Some people converted to other religions, but most were able to share in the best characteristics of the other cultures without giving up their own beliefs or identity. They studied one another's languages. Jews and Christians served as advisers and even viziers to Muslim political leaders. Muslim poets delighted in Christian folk songs and incorporated them into their own compositions. Churches and synagogues from the era display the horse-shoe arches and exquisite decoration typical of mosques.

I am not aware of any other society where the three faiths have co-existed quite so well, but it makes me exceedingly proud of my country to think that our democratic system makes convivencia possible as long as "We the People" are willing to work to make it happen. Reflection on our history during the twentieth century, while in some ways disheartening because of certain ill-advised decisions and attitudes, is also inspiring because of the rapid progress that has been made towards a more inclusive society.

If Al-Andalus had so many good things going for it, what happened to turn Spain into a mono-religious society where an institution as horrific as the Inquisition could flourish? What happened to cause a strict devision between Christians and Muslims in the Mediterranean and, eventually, the entire world? Obvious there were many complex historical factors involved, but I believe that at the heart of it all was the emergence of a radical "us-versus-them" attitude on both sides. Christian kingdoms in the north of the Peninsula, inspired by the Pope's call to the Crusades, decided to wage their own Crusade in Spain. The Almohades and Almorávides, Muslim extremists from North Africa, decided that their Iberian coreligionists had become lax in their devotion, and invaded the Peninsula in order enforce a greater adherence to Islam. The best way to accomplish this was to unite them against a common enemy, the Christians. Convivencia crumbled. The only safe place was among one's own kind.

I can't claim to fully understand the motives of the criminals who orchestrated and carried out the September 11 attacks, but my sense is to categorize them with the Almohades, Almorávides, Crusaders, and other extremists. I believe that they have almost nothing in common with the Muslims who created the brilliant monuments of Al-Andalus. I think that they observed efforts in the Western world to create the sort of convivencia that was starting to characterize Al-Andalus, and saw that as a threat to the "us-versus-them" attitude upon which extremism thrives. They wanted the Muslim world, which they perceived as having become lax in their devotion, to unite against a common enemy, and therefore needed to provoke that enemy. Their goal was for us to invade Muslim countries. They wanted us to discriminate against our Muslim neighbors. They hoped we would reject every good thing about Islamic culture. They needed us to forget Al-Andalus.

Like most Americans, today I will think about the victims of the 9/11 attacks. I will feel a wave of patriotism come over me each time I see an American flag. I will shed a tear of admiration for the sacrifices of the people who served and continue to serve as firefighters, police, and military personal. But I will also strengthen my resolve to defeat extremism through tolerance and cooperation. And I will proudly tell the world about the glories of Al-Andalus.

Granada

This will be the first of several posts about Spain, where I got to spend a month this summer leading a study abroad program. While I was there, I wondered about the appropriateness of  writing about the colonizer in a blog dedicated to its colonial legacy. Then I strolled through the National Archaeology Museum in Madrid. It is set up in chronological order, starting with early pre-history, moving to Celtiberian tools and art, giving way to the remains of Greek, Roman, Visigothic, Moorish civilizations. I also toured towns like Toledo and Granada, where mosques and synagogues have been converted into Christian churches, just like some Aztec and Inca temples in the New World. It occurred to me that Spain's history is fundamentally about waves of conquest and colonization. Modern Spaniards are only the most recent colonizers of the Iberian peninsula, and they did it at basically the same time that they colonized the Americas. Few places reveal this process better than the last Moorish stronghold to fall to Christian forces: Granada.

Granada in many ways fits the Romanticized view of Spain: mountains, sunshine, and whitewashed buildings with red-tile roofs.

Granada is home to the most visited tourist site in all of Europe: La Alhambra. If Granada was the last Moorish kingdom in Spain, the Alhambra was its stronghold. Although it fell into neglect for many centuries, Irving Washington's Tales of the Alhambra in the nineteenth century led to efforts to restore and preserve it. Today it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

The park where the Alhambra is located actually contains two sites, the Alhambra proper and the Generalife, a gorgeous palace and garden complex. Here is a panoramic view of the Generalife.

 

The immense gardens in front of the Generalife form a maze that is worth getting lost in. 

The palace contains some of the most ornate examples of Moorish decorative art, based primarily on calligraphy and geometric patterns.

It also where you start to get a sense of the importance of water in the Alhambra. Since Islam began in the Arabian Peninsula, water is essential to its concept of Heaven, and the Alhambra is meant to be an approximation of Heaven. Here is a staircase with cold water running in the handrail.

One of the most iconic views of the Alhambra proper can be seen from the Generalife. For a Spanish professor, the medieval ballad "Abenámar y el rey don Juan" immediately comes to mind. In it, King John marvels at the red towers and metaphorically proposes marriage to Granada. The city speaks back, politely declining the proposal because of how well her Moorish husband treats her.

Getting there from the Generalife is a matter of crossing a bridge. Parts of the Alhambra have been left unrestored.

Other parts are reminders of the fact that the Moorish kingdoms in the peninsula were being colonized at precisely the same time that the New World was. For example, here is a Christian church built right in the middle of the last Moorish stronghold.

Next to it is Carlos V's palace, one of the most outstanding examples of Spanish Renaissance architecture. It is elegant and imposing, and would have been one of my favorite buildings in Spain if it stood anywhere else. Normally for me everything related to the Renaissance represents optimism and faith in humanity. The fact that this palace is in the middle of the Alhambra, however, makes it seem awkward. Its austere style clashes with the florid design of Moorish buildings, making it symbolize instead the arrogance of the conqueror.

Fortunately, Carlos V kept his hands off some of the most stunning parts of the Alhambra, including the alcazaba, or citadel, perched on the edge of the hill standing guard. It's easy to see how Granada was able to hold out against Christian invaders for so long.

Here is a view from inside the citadel.

And here is the view of the modern city of Granada from one of its towers. The dome in the middle of the photograph is the cathedral, which Carlos V began building in the sixteenth century, and it wasn't completed until the eighteenth century.

The gem of the whole complex is the Nasrid palace. In fact, when you buy your tickets for the Alhambra, you have sign up for a time slot to see the Nasrid palace, and they do not let you into it at any other time. It's worth the hassle, though. It has some of the most exquisite examples of Islamic art in the world.

In a way, the Nasrid palace encapsulates the motifs that characterize the entire Alhambra. Certainly water is as important here as anywhere in the complex.

The most emblematic monument in the Nasrid palace (and the Alhambra as a whole) is the Patio of Lions. As Murphy's Law would have it, the lions were undergoing restoration during my visit. This is all there is to see in the patio right now (although the lions are on display indoors--where photography is prohibited).

Disappointed as I was, the bright side is that it gives me an excuse to go back!