A Comparative Analysis of Islamophobia and Antisemitism in Historical and Contemporary Contexts

One of the most pressing sources of political and cultural conflict, and therefore one that demands close inspection, is religion. However one defines it, religion operates as a core function of essentially every human group, its structures and systems even taking root in groups like the New Atheists who explicitly reject religious formalization. Though many argue that racism and sexism are more pernicious because they are based on immutable characteristics of individuals, religion is deeply bound up in the lifestyles and values of its respective cultures, making conflict surrounding the topic a comparably complex challenge. The histories and dynamics of Islamophobia and antisemitism are particularly revealing in this regard because both of them illuminate the common threads between various forms of religious conflict and bias while simultaneously revealing, for one, the multiplicity of forms that such conflict and bias can take and, for another, the challenges associated with such comparisons and generalizations.

            Assuming that Islamophobia and antisemitism are one and the same because they are both, in name at least, forms of categorical antipathy based on religion actually occludes much understanding of the nuances of how each originated and how each manifests today. Still, if we keep in mind that they are not the same only because they both have religions in their names, a comparison can help us uncover far more valuable, sophisticated, and fascinating insights into the roots of religious discrimination as a whole.

            A first specific point of comparison is the definition and scope of each term. In order to analyze particular similarities and differences between Islamophobia and antisemitism, establishing baseline working definitions of each term individually is worthwhile, even if they require adjustment or re-evaluation. Though it is a broader-ranging term, antisemitism is in some sense more straightforward to pin down. For one, the fact that “Jewish” is both a religion and an ethnicity largely cuts down on any difficulties in establishing whether antisemitism emphasizes religion or ethnicity: it strikes at both. To be fair, various instances may highlight one aspect or another, but the label is apt in both cases. A much more contentious aspect of antisemitism is to what extent anti-Zionism qualifies. Any attempt at a definitive survey of this delicate issue in this essay is bound to fall short and even distract from the broader comparison. However, in the interest of illustrating a difference between the terms here, suffice to say that even when criticism does not explicitly refer to religion or ethnicity, opposition to the state of Israel or actions that it might take is often identified as “antisemitism.” Some criticisms of the state of Israel may well be a more socially passable covert vehicle for attacks on Jewish people more generally, but this is not universally the case, rendering the question of whether anti-Zionism is antisemitism murky at best. Still, antisemitism includes definite elements of ethnic and religious bias, sometimes alongside opposition to Israel’s actions or its statehood itself. In comparison, Islamophobia lacks this latter challenge in parsing opposition to political action from opposition to a religion. Islamophobia, unlike antisemitism, lacks an analogous focal point like Israel that encapsulates both religious and ethnic identities. On its face, then, Islamophobia is far more centered on the religious element. In part, this stems from Islam’s status as a universalizing religion, which seeks converts from all ethnicities. As a result, Islam lacks a clear correspondence with any one ethnicity. Thus, Islamophobia more clearly and specifically targets religious dimensions. However, as we examine the role of antisemitism and Islamophobia in present-day global civilization, this apparent clarity begins to break down.

            In examining the differences in modern-day expression of antisemitism and Islamophobia, a consideration of their origins and development over time is valuable. Both have shifted in various ways over the centuries, making identification of any kind of specific origin point a challenge. Jewish people, for instance, have faced persecution, conflict, and warfare throughout their history, as evidenced to a debatable degree of historicity in their scriptures. In the Roman Empire, for example, Jewish people suffered oppression and exclusion from the pinnacles of social and political life. During the Middle Ages and early modern period, this discrimination took on a specifically anti-religious character in Europe as Christianity became the dominant social, political, and religious force there. In this context, Judaism was only a “problem” insofar as it represented a failure to recognize Jesus as the Messiah. In a ranging conversation with Dr. Sindre Bangstad, Professor Matti Bunzl calls this “anti-Judaism.” “There was antipathy against Jews,” he explains, “because they were not Christians. More importantly, there was a conception in anti-Judaism that allowed Jews to become normal if they only converted to Christianity.” In other words, Judaism could be “cured” by accepting Christ as Savior and converting to Christianity. In this construction, though, lies a revealing dynamic at the heart of much exclusion. While certainly some amount of the antisemitism in this early period can be ascribed to genuine zeal for Christian belief, there remains an implicit plea for homogeneity in worldview. The tension between the values of diversity and unity runs deep through every society—even those with only one religion and clear, defined roles and rituals, since individuals (each of us a singular form of “diversity”) must still adapt our own idiosyncrasies to life in such a unified society—and even in their varying forms, antisemitism in these periods ultimately boils down to efforts to resolve this tension by unifying a community. What Bunzl calls “Modern” antisemitism, which emerged in the 19th century, adjusts and expands this plea for homogeneity. Following Napoleon’s conquests of Europe and the resulting rise of nationalist projects across the continent, groups and states encountered a new self-awareness about their identities, which they sought to define in the form of the nation-state: a sovereign political entity governed by and for one “people,” or ethnicity. Naturally, defining in strict positive terms who did fit into a national project was far more challenging than definition through negation, and many polities saw Jewish people as outsiders. Even if a group couldn’t quite define itself, they knew they were definitely not Jews, so antisemitism could serve to unify that group at the expense of the other. Germany was one particularly striking case, where the newly created German state sought to articulate a national character that was specifically opposite the conception of “the Jew.” Bunzl explains, “In order to make sense of what Germany was, which was basically a mass of different provinces, different dialects… So how do you argue that ‘we are one great German nation?’ The easiest way to argue this is by saying what ‘we’ are not. ‘Jews,’ these people said, ‘is what Germany is not.’” Where Jewish people were seen as cosmopolitan, Germans would be local. Where Jewish people were seen as peaceful, Germans would be strong. This eventually even extended further, where any undesirable trait, whether stereotypically associated with Jewish people or not, would be ascribed to Jewish people as a way of signaling its unacceptability. Clearly, a great deal of alienation must have taken place in order to reach that point. The tragic culmination of this phase of antisemitism was, of course, the Holocaust, so severe that it could hardly be called redeeming to say that it made nationalist antisemitism an unacceptable position in general public discourse in the Western world. Still, antisemitism has found yet another form today, somewhat outside the Western world, particularly among Muslim youths who strongly oppose the state of Israel, a topic that will be revisited after establishing some historical forms of Islamophobia.

            Like antisemitism, Islamophobia has emerged from slightly different roots at different periods of history; however, these variations are not as well-defined. That said, European Islamophobia, at least in its most explicit form, seems to have progressed through three main periods as well. The first was the rejection of Muslims on theological grounds, much like Christians excluded Jewish people who declined to convert. Because both Christianity and Islam are universalizing religions, their expansionist tendencies were far more likely to come into conflict with each other than either would with Judaism. As such, this iteration of the religious conflicts is more like a conventional geopolitical rivalry, two wrestlers grappling for the same turf. While Christian in name, conflicts like the Crusades resemble later wars between states much more than they do other forms of religious conflict within societies. Nevertheless, vivid examples like the Spanish Inquisition do still exist, where the religious minority Muslims were indeed ostracized and persecuted. In an analysis of the religious composition of Spain, David Wacks writes:

Over the sixteenth century, the Spanish Crown issued a series of edicts meant to strip the [converted Muslims] of their culture. They banned the use of the Arabic language in books and in daily speech, along with banning the traditional food, dress, music, and even communal baths used in Morisco communities. This increasing repression led to a bloody civil war in which Morisco forces, often viewed by Old Christians as a fifth column of Spain’s rival Mediterranean superpower, the Ottoman Empire, rose up in the Alpujarra mountain range south of Granada and held off royal troops for three years before being brutally put down.

Like the second phase of antisemitism, the second phase of Islamophobia emerges during the nationalist projects of the 19th century, though it takes on a slightly different character. Specifically, Jewish people lived within the borders of countries seeking to create ethnically pure states, while Muslims, understood more typically at that time as “Turks,” lived outside those borders. As a result, this form of Islamophobia again took the form of, or at least traced the same outlines as, conflicts between states. Bunzl cites the example of the Freedom Party in Austria: “...the Freedom Party was not particularly happy with the Turks, the largest foreign population in Austria. So the Freedom Party at times, sometimes more, sometimes less, said nasty things about Turks; ‘Turks this, Turks that.’” It is worth noting that the Ottoman Empire - the “Turks” - managed to successfully integrate differing religious groups within its borders, even while the rest of Europe grappled with difficult questions of national identity, a point that will be expanded on later. As a result of this difference, Islamophobia in this period did not result in the same type of monstrous acts as the Holocaust, since there was no perceived need to root out and expel Muslims from within borders due to the population being separated across states. The third phase of Islamophobia is where the term comes to resemble its literal meaning more clearly, in the present day.

            Next, let us compare and contrast the forms of antisemitism and Islamophobia as they stand in the present day, this time continuing with Islamophobia first. As traced in the previous paragraph, Islamophobia, in terms of targeted “fear” of or bigotry against Muslim people on the basis of religion alone, is in some ways a more modern phenomenon than antisemitism. The United States and Europe each present slightly different cases of where this conflict arises. In the United States, Islamophobia has emerged as a major social and cultural force following the rise in terror attacks, particularly after September 11, 2001. With that event came rising cultural depictions of Islam as a “violent” religion, whereas Christianity and other Western religions were not. While a closer examination of the religious texts reveals a far muddier picture, this perception still reigns in the popular imagination, even in “a United States that prides itself on being the most religiously diverse nation in the world.” Islam, in this conception, represents a physical threat to the safety and security of America and its citizens—a threat that must be actively opposed through invasion and military presence in the Middle East. In Europe, however, Islamophobia takes a form that more closely resembles “modern” antisemitism in the 19th century. The driving force behind this dynamic is the emergence of the European Union. Where the push for unity once came within individual countries, now the ambitions span across a larger territory and encompass a broader range of identities. With that expansion comes the need to identify, define, and exclude a new “Other.” When France and Germany are on the same side, for example, cooperation and shared identity require a much more categorically different group as a counterpoint. Into this role steps Islam. Matti Bunzl writes:

What does stand at the heart of Islamophobic discourse is the question of civilization, the notion that Islam engenders a worldview that is fundamentally incompatible with and inferior to Western culture… Islamophobes are not particularly worried whether Muslims can be good Germans, Italians, or Danes. Rather, they question whether Muslims can be good Europeans. Islamophobia, in other words, functions less in the interest of national purification than as a means of fortifying Europe. 

Uniting nations with longstanding rivalries requires a commitment to tolerating differences, but unity is ultimately impossible if any and all differences are infinitely tolerated. Without shared traits, there can be no shared identity. As such, the current integration of Europe into one supranational organization requires full commitment to diversity, but it would fall apart if that full commitment were taken to its absolute maximum extent. As such, Islamophobia is a complex challenge since it exposes the true limits of this commitment. Bunzl writes, “This tension reveals a critical fault line in the project of European integration: the struggle to articulate a coherent and inclusive European identity that can accommodate diversity while maintaining a sense of shared values and destiny.” If there are some limits, the logic suggests, then why should those limits be reached only at the boundaries of Europe and not at the traditional borders of the European countries? Such reasoning could lead back to a divided Europe, hence the harsh tension between commitment to tolerance for Islam and the heated conflict between Europeans and the more recent Muslim residents with origins in the Middle East. This confusion only escalates the tension, which has resulted in attacks and hate crimes against Muslims. Like a rope frayed by tension, these tragedies expose the underlying strains threatening to unravel the unity Europe strives for.

            In comparison to the present state of Islamophobia, antisemitism has also exhibited a shift in scope, from a national to a regional or even civilizational phenomenon. As mentioned previously, antisemitism today appears most prominently among Muslims and is intertwined to a large degree with mistrust of the state of Israel. Jewish people do not represent a cultural threat within Muslim states; instead, the state of Israel, with its attendant associations with Judaism, is a political threat. In this sense, antisemitism takes on some features of Islamophobia in its second phase, when European powers experienced antagonistic relations with Muslim states, clashing over territorial control. Matti Bunzl describes this new version of antisemitism: “It is a project of resistance against what I think most of them see as a European colonization of the Middle East, namely Israel. That is how Israel is understood first and foremost in the Muslim world, whether one likes it or not. Israel is seen as a European colony.” However, as he also points out, it is just as much about a sense of camaraderie among those within the Muslim faith. “There is a great degree of identification,” he explains, “in general in the Arab world and the Muslim world with fellow Arabs and Muslims who are under siege.” This is not to say, however, that antisemitism today is simply anti-Zionism. It instead occupies a complex place between ethnic, religious, and political conflict.

            Ultimately, this complex mixture is to a large degree reflective of all conflict surrounding the treatment of religious minorities within territories. So, how does an understanding of the similarities and differences between antisemitism and Islamophobia help us to better grasp and navigate such issues more generally? The critical common thread between the two is the use of a common enemy or “Other.” Historically, in both cases, much of the antagonism derives from a desire to unify some larger group despite its own internal differences. Anver Emon discusses this dynamic at length, highlighting how religious minorities can represent a threat to national values. Specifically, laws that may conflict with the practices of religious minority groups can create tension: “Religious minorities who demand respect and space for their religious practices and beliefs are still viewed as threats to the public good, and thereby to the enterprise of governance.” As such, we are perhaps fated to conflict between minority groups and majority groups because of the fundamental tensions between diversity and unity. However, not all hope is lost. Consider the case of the Ottoman Empire with the millet system. Even in a theocracy, the Empire saw remarkably little religious conflict due to its ability to manage the interests of different religious groups. Karen Barkey understands this as a result of the theocracy itself. Since there was no conflict between the state and religion, the Muslim world never proceeded through a singular socio-intellectual development like the European Enlightenment. Therefore, a clear hierarchy between state and religion, and religions with one another, could remain in place comfortably. Barkey writes:

In their attempt to construct such rule and establish legitimacy, they had to balance ruling Christians and Jews, Slavs, Vlachs and Armenians, Muslims of Sunni, Shi’a and many Sufi beliefs, incorporate each and every one of their communities and their local traditions, but also collect taxes and administer the collectivities. This had to be done by allowing space for local autonomy, a requirement of negotiated rule. For exactly this reason, whatever religion would mean locally, it had to be about legitimacy and rule for the state.

In the Western world today, though, a theocracy is hardly imaginable. The idea of a single religion granting legitimacy to a ruling group contradicts the secularizing and liberalizing trends that have developed over the centuries. The question becomes how to integrate religions more fully into the framework of the state without privileging one over the others.

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