About two weeks ago, Dr Ahmed Abbadi, Secretary General of the Rabita Mohammedia of Ulema, gave a remarkable lecture at Policy Exchange on the development of Islam in Morocco. What struck me most was not simply the sophistication of Morocco’s religious infrastructure, but how starkly it contrasted with the fragmented and increasingly politicised state of British Islam.
Dr Abbadi outlined a system of theological checks and balances that has created a more spiritually grounded, intellectually confident and socially cohesive form of Islam. In Morocco, religion is not left to drift in a vacuum of competing ideologies and self-appointed online clerics. It is shaped through institutions, scholarship, historical continuity and ethical oversight.
At the apex sits the Supreme Council of Ulema, which considers major religious rulings, security issues and the dissemination of fatwas. Alongside it sits the Rabita Mohammedia, which examines Islamic traditions, theology and religious practice through a broader intellectual and social lens. Supporting these institutions are the historic University of al-Qarawiyyin, which trains imams, the Ministry of Islamic Affairs, and a network of Sufi traditions that focus on ethics, humility and spiritual development.
What emerges is a deeply layered ecosystem of religious governance that actively curbs extremism, fragmentation and theological illiteracy. Contrast this with Britain.
Over the last twenty-five years of working with British Muslim communities, I have watched British Islam develop in a far more chaotic and politicised direction. Too often, religious authority here has been shaped by imported sectarianism, narrow scriptural literalism and ideological activism. Islamism, Salafism and Wahhabism have all exerted significant influence within parts of British Muslim life, while reasoned theological traditions have steadily weakened.
Morocco, by contrast, has systematically marginalised those currents from mainstream religious life.Dr Abbadi explained that major religious rulings in Morocco require broad scholarship, evidence, lived experience and consideration of national stability. Religious discourse is expected to operate within a framework of social cohesion and public responsibility. It is difficult to imagine such a model functioning in Britain, where fragmentation has become almost institutionalised.
Three observations particularly struck me during his talk.
First, the overwhelming majority of British imams have been trained abroad, often in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Bangladesh or India. Most are men over the age of fifty whose life experiences differ profoundly from those of younger British Muslims. The social realities facing a Muslim teenager in Birmingham, Bradford or Luton are worlds away from the environments in which many clerics were trained. That disconnect matters.
Secondly, British Islam is often anchored to a singular and rigid interpretive tradition, whereas Moroccan Islam draws from multiple strands of Sunni scholarship. Morocco’s religious model combines the Ash’ari creed, which embraces reason and rational thought; Maliki jurisprudence, which balances text with context and moderation; and Junaydi Sufism, which emphasises ethics, humility and purification of the soul. The Sufi traditions of Morocco reinforce moral cohesion and permit theological reflection and reinterpretation. Attempting similar religious flexibility in parts of Britain would likely cost many imams their jobs.
Thirdly, and perhaps most profoundly, Moroccan Islam appears deeply rooted in the concept of love rather than fear. Dr Abbadi described Moroccan Islamic thought through the dual prisms of boundaries and beauty, the latter centred on attachment to the beauty of God’s creation and the cultivation of compassion. That stands in stark contrast to much of the Islam I have encountered in Britain, where religion can sometimes feel stripped down to routine, conformity, rote learning and rigid boundary-setting. Compassion, intellectual curiosity and spiritual depth are too often pushed aside.
Even some Sufi traditions in Britain have mutated into forms almost unrecognisable from the rich spiritual heritage found in countries such as Morocco. That is painful for me to say. Sufism was the spiritual thread that ran through generations of my own ancestors, from Uzbekistan to Afghanistan, India, Pakistan and Uganda. Which is why the scenes outside Cineworld screenings of The Lady of Heaven in Bolton and Sheffield in 2022 were so disturbing. Many of those protesting came from Barelwi Sufi backgrounds. Who would once have imagined Sufi-identifying Muslims participating in what effectively became blasphemy mobs outside British cinemas?
The more uncomfortable question is this: how did we reach this point?
Recently, reports emerged suggesting that officials in the United Arab Emirates were reluctant to sponsor students to study in Britain because of fears around Islamist radicalisation on British campuses. When I travel in the Gulf, I am repeatedly asked why Islamist extremism appears so deeply entrenched in parts of Britain.
Frankly, it is embarrassing.
The reality is that many of the theological safeguards, ethical frameworks and institutional checks present in countries such as Morocco are simply absent within British Islam. In some quarters, reason, science and logic are discarded when conflicts erupt in the Middle East or when vulnerable individuals seek emotional or psychological support from religious figures. I have lost count of the number of times Muslims have told me they were advised about demons, black magic or sorcery instead of being directed towards proper mental health support. Some of these individuals should come with public health warnings.
Dr Abbadi’s lecture ultimately highlighted how much work remains to reform and contextualise British Islam. Two words from his talk stayed with me: text and context. In other words, living in the modern world does not require abandoning faith. But nor does faith require abandoning reason, common sense and intellectual humility when interpreting texts written more than a millennium ago.
Morocco appears to understand this balance. Britain, increasingly, does not.