Unpacking Allahu Akbar, beyond the Hollywood hype
A (second) guide to Muslim vernacular
Last year, I wrote an explainer on common phrases Muslims pepper into everyday conversation.
Insha Allah vs. Masha Allah - a Guide to Muslim Vernacular
If you’ve spent any time around a group of English speaking Muslims, you may have noticed that our sentences are peppered with Arabic phrases. If you pay really close attention, you’ll realize that most of these phrases end with Allah.
I homed in on Insha Allah, Masha Allah, and Astaghfirullah. The one I avoided? Allahu Akbar.
Allahu Akbar can make people uneasy. Probably because they’ve seen too many movies where a terrorist says it right before blowing himself and the whole block up. If they haven’t seen that one, they’ve seen the angry mob that’s chanting it on the cusp of a riot. Not to worry though, the American hero always manages to escape at the last second.
In actuality, Allahu Akbar is ubiquitous in Muslim life, given its prominence in the obligatory prayer we perform five times a day. In salah alone, Muslims will say Allahu Akbar a minimum of 85 times. And it doesn’t stop at prayer. Allahu Akbar is the perfect all-purpose phrase.
Found the last parking spot in the crowded Costco parking lot? Allahu Akbar! Your team scored a buzzer beater to win the game? Again, Allahu Akbar!
Allahu Akbar is so versatile, Muslims even use it in a call and response, with someone shouting “Takbeer!” while the crowd responds with “Allahu Akbar”. Watch for this at Muslim weddings and graduations, or really any occasion where a crowd wants to show appreciation.
Allahu Akbar loosely translates to “God is great”, or even “God is the greatest”. But this is silly, because in English “great” is such a casual word:
When your husband gets you a coffee on his way home from the store, he’s great! When he gets you your favourite blue-cheese ciabatta loaf too, now he’s the greatest!
The greatness in Allahu Akbar though? It’s something different. Something all-encompassing.
Allahu Akbar can be a cheer or a rebuke. It can be a celebration or a mourning cry.
And while we might use it in joy, its truest, deepest meaning is in turning to God when everything else has failed us.
Last week I watched yet another video on social media showing the aftermath of an Israeli bomb on a mosque in Gaza. The footage was shaky, the carnage everywhere. The man filming ran from body to body, some mangled beyond repair, some dead, some still alive but now brutally injured. The whole time, the man kept repeating, “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!”
I know how this sounds to the untrained ear, or rather to the ear that has been trained to see Muslims as people who only care for the next life, who think nothing of death in this world, who believe in sacrificing all at the altar of violence. I know the assumption will be that the man who is filming rejoices at the sight of the martyrs.
I also know that his Allahu Akbar here is the lament of a helpless soul. A lament that turns to God in the face of a world that has abandoned his people and says, “You are greater than all of this. Greater than our worries, than our pain, than our suffering. Greater than the bombs they drop, than the aid trucks they block at the border, than the UN vetoes, than the state-sanctioned abductions.”
Allahu Akbar is not a threat. It’s not an intimidation tactic. When we say it with force, it’s because we are shaking, because we are trying to regain our footing on the ground where we stand. When we say it with force, it’s because we are remembering our conviction.
We, too, are allowed conviction. We too, are allowed to seek strength.
For years, I avoided using the phrase Allahu Akbar in public for fear of scaring someone or looking like a scary Muslim instead of a good one. This essay took me weeks to write—there was a block, a fear that every attempt at explaining it would be woefully inadequate.
Next week, I’ll be sharing a personal story around the phrase Allahu Akbar with paid subscribers. If you’d like to read it and like to support writing that humanizes rather than demonizes, you can upgrade here.
Let’s Chat in the comments:
What do you think when you hear the phrase Allahu Akbar? Be honest, I won’t bite.
Do you have a misunderstood phrase in your life that you feel people react badly to?
I’m glad I read this. It revealed the pervasiveness of the false definition promoted by popular culture. Although I always thought there must be more to the expression, I couldn’t get the terrorists’ battle cry out of my head. And of course I had never heard it used with quiet reverence, for the reason you explain here. What’s not part of public speech can be easily demonized.
A Muslim man of strong faith used to work as a concierge at my condo. Sometimes I would see him praying. I never heard him say “allahu akbar.” He was unfailingly kind and I thought everyone liked him—until he was blamed for something and fired. I have always thought racism and suspicion contributed to his dismissal.
I feel happy nostalgia when I hear Allahu Akbar - I lived in Turkey teaching English for a number of years when I was younger, and I grew to love the call to prayer sounding out from the mosques at regular times. Interestingly enough the ezan was one of the things I missed most when I returned to England! I’m not Muslim but I just loved the sound, and the feeling of community it evoked.