Jonathan
Sacerdoti
Feeling
uncomfortable about Muslim prayer in Trafalgar Square isn’t racist
19 March
2026, 6:08am
If you
hear ‘allahu akbar!’ shouted in the street, you’ll probably run for cover. If a
stranger bellows the Jewish equivalent, ‘Baruch hashem!’ in public, you might
guess they’re expressing gratitude for their good health when asked how they
are. If the words ringing out from the midst of a crowd are ‘Jesus Christ!’
You’ll probably think someone has stubbed their toe, or seen something
ridiculous.
Islam is
a proselytising religion, unlike, say, Judaism, which actively discourages
conversion
Instinctive
reactions matter because they expose deeper dispositions, often aligning with
the very intention behind the action that provoked them. There is no true
equivalence between the three phrases, even if they appear to cover similar
ground across the Abrahamic traditions. Comparing our reactions to these
religions, and to others, rarely proceeds on a straightforward like-for-like
basis.
When Nick
Timothy posted a critical comment on X about the recent public Muslim prayer in
Trafalgar Square, which included the participation of London’s mayor Sadiq
Khan, opinion split quickly. Many thanked him for articulating what they felt
others were unwilling to say, while others responded with sharp criticism.
“Mass
ritual prayer in public places is an act of domination,” the Conservative MP
wrote. “The adhan – which declares there is no god but allah and Muhammad is
his messenger – is, when called in a public place, a declaration of
domination.” He went on to call the Trafalgar Square gathering “an act of
domination and therefore division” noting the “domination of public places is
straight from the Islamist playbook.”
Behind
this debate lies the idea that Islam is a religion of dominance, which seeks to
confer the rest of us into adherents. It’s a proselytising religion, unlike,
say, Judaism, which actively discourages conversion and makes it difficult to
achieve. The Islamic concept of Dawah, coupled with the regular manifestations
of violent Jihad the UK and the West have had to become accustomed to over
recent decades, is one reason why many people feel a genuine and legitimate
sense of unease when they hear the same words terrorists shout as they
slaughter us, echoing across our nation’s primary public square. It is
unsettling.
Many felt
equally uncomfortable seeing videos circulate of Islamic prayer echoing through
Windsor Castle, and more recently through Westminster Hall in the Houses of
Parliament. The very room thousands had shuffled through to pay their respect
to her late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and Winston Churchill, in the heart of
our Parliamentary buildings, now appeared to some to have been ‘conquered’.
Both venues carry the weight of being iconic, historical settings which
represent different branches of power in our nation, as does Trafalgar Square.
They represent power through royalty, parliament, and military victory.
Labour MP
Naseem Shah – the Labour MP who was once suspended from the Labour Party for
antisemitism for sharing posts online before she became an MP which suggested
that Israel should be ‘relocated’ to the US (‘problem solved’) and warning that
‘the Jews are rallying’ to skew an online poll – responded by saying Timothy’s
comments were ‘beyond awful’ because other faith groups regularly celebrate
their religious festivals and holidays in Trafalgar Square, but Muslims were
being ‘exceptionalised’.
It’s
true, I have stood several times under the shadow of Admiral Nelson next to a
massive Chanukiah, eating doughnuts and spreading Jewish good cheer. But it is
intellectually dishonest, and socially tone-deaf, to equate these events with
crowds of Muslim men prostrating on the pavement to the sound of “Allahu akbar”
during a full public prayer service. They register differently with Londoners
who witness them, shaped by distinct cultural backgrounds and motivations.
That, in essence, was the point Nick Timothy was making.
I have
often seen small groups of Muslim men praying in Israel’s Ben Gurion airport,
unfolding their rugs and quietly engaging in their religious practice. Nobody
bats an eyelid. Similarly in airports across the world, many observant Jewish
men wrap tefillin in groups of ten when it is time for their morning prayers.
These episodes tend be uncontroversial because they are clearly quiet, personal
moments of religious reflection, respectfully carried out in an unusual place
out of necessity, because of travelling schedules, time zones, or a lack of
synagogues or mosques nearby to pray in. Mass street worship is different.
Suppressing
discussion of the fears surrounding this sensitive subject will only deepen,
for some, the sense of being overridden or subordinated.
The
debate is not confined to London. New York City is home to nearly one million
Muslims, and in late February, soon after Zohran Mamdani became the city’s
first Muslim mayor, crowds gathered in Times Square to broadcast the Islamic
call to prayer during Ramadan.
In
France, since around 2010, when mosque overflow first pushed thousands to pray
in the streets in areas such as Goutte d’Or and Argenteuil, the issue has
remained a point of contention. Marine Le Pen, then leading the National Front,
described those scenes as an “occupation.”
If it’s
not an essential requirement, why would you want to pray on the dirty ground of
London’s streets, especially if you know the anxiety it causes about your
religion?
It is
intellectually dishonest, and socially tone-deaf to equate these events with
crowds of Muslim men prostrating on the pavement
Islamic
history links public congregational prayer and the adhan, the call to prayer,
to shifts in political and civilisational dominance. In Mecca, during Islam’s
minority phase, early Muslims prayed privately or within homes such as the
protected, semi-secret Dar al-Arqam. Public visibility was limited, constrained
by vulnerability.
With the
move to Medina and the consolidation of power, this changed. Public prayer
emerged as an open expression of authority and presence. The adhan became a
proclamation, audible and deliberate. The pattern appears again during the
conquests of the seventh and eighth centuries: military victory, followed by
public adhan and congregational prayer, then mosque construction, and the
gradual transformation of space into Islamic territory.
Some
interpret modern instances of street prayer in Europe and North America as a
continuation of this sequence in attenuated form, a soft replication in which
visibility and presence are asserted without military force. They point to core
Islamic sources emphasising supremacy, public ritual, and total societal
submission. For example, Mohammed is quoted as saying, in Sunan al-Tirmidhi
317, “All of the earth is a place of prayer except graveyards and bathrooms.”
Quran 9:33 and 61:9 state that Allah sent Islam “to manifest it over all
religion.” Surah Al-Fatihah, recited 17 plus times daily in prayers, includes
“Guide us to the straight path…not those You are displeased with,” which is
interpreted by some to mean Jews and Christians. All this frames public prayer
as affirming dominance over us infidels.
The
political part of Islam presents itself as more than personal faith, extending
into a comprehensive ideological project. Within that framework, mosques are at
times described as outposts in non-Islamic environments, a view reflected in
internal Muslim Brotherhood material. A 1991 memorandum, revealed in U.S. court
proceedings, outlines a strategy of “civilisational jihad” through settlement,
institution-building, and gradual influence. Public prayer, in this reading,
functions as a visible marker of presence. You can understand why some people
are afraid.
Mass
street worship is different
Because
contemporary rhetoric from imams and activists in the West often spreads ideas
of conquering Europe with prayers and babies, expressing Islamist political
action through prayer risks granting it immunity, and even the authority to
disrupt.
In
Britain, we fiercely protect freedom of religion, and any criticism of someone
else’s faith can easily be smeared as discrimination or inequality. It’s not in
our nature to do so. But Nick Timothy did not do that. He represented a widely
held concern that many ordinary citizens have, and went some way to explaining
why they have it. He started a debate, in a calm and respectful way, on a topic
of potentially explosive sensitivity. If that isn’t the job of a Member of
Parliament, what is?
Written
by
Jonathan
Sacerdoti
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