Channel 4 are right to broadcast the Muslim call to prayer

It will be a refreshing treat to listen to the call for prayer via a mainstream British media channel for the first time, says Imran Awan.

Channel 4’s "provocative" decision to broadcast the Muslim call to prayer during Ramadan should be welcomed. No doubt the cynics  both inside and outside the media will feel differently, though - the Sun has already unhelpfully thrown down the gauntlet with a piece entitled: "Ramadan a ding-dong" and "Holy month ‘bigger than the Jubilee’". Yet more sensationalised headlines that seek to portray Islam and Muslim affairs in a negative light. 

The reaction to the Woolwich incident is a testimony to the fact that a number of British media organisations are quick to make the usual lazy assumptions that Islam and extremism are somehow connected. In his statement on the decision to broadcast the call to prayer, Channel 4’s head of factual programming Ralph Lee appears to agree with this sentiment: “Not surprising when you consider [Ramadan's] near invisibility on mainstream TV. Contrast this with the way most Muslims are represented on television -nearly always appearing in contexts related to extremism or terrorism.” 

For Muslims, the call to prayer is a time of critical reflection, and a means to get spiritually closer to God. It happens five times a day, although Channel 4 will only be showing the morning prayer (also be available online) delivered by the muezzin (in this case Hassen Rasool).  

There are estimated to be at least 2.8 million Muslims who will be benefiting from Channel 4’s decision. During Ramadan, Muslims across the UK will be waking up very early in the morning in anticipation of the morning call to prayer before fasting starts. I have always been accustomed to listening to my daily call for prayer via the usual Muslim digital TV channels, such as the Islam Channel, or on my mobile phone.  

However, it will be a refreshing treat to listen to the call for prayer via a mainstream British media channel for the first time. Of course there will be those who argue Channel 4 is doing this as a publicity stunt, in order to increase audiences and cause controversy. But I tend to agree with Ralph Lee, who told the Radio Times: “It’s easy for non-Muslims to see Islam through a superficial prism of what is forbidden, and Ramadan through the physical hardship of fasting and control.”

I think this is where Channel 4 will really help. Too often there is a misinformation regarding Ramadan and a media bias that places Muslims and Islam in the same context as acts of terrorism. For once, a mainstream British media channel will allow the wider public to see a true reflection of Islam and make up their minds in an informed manner. 

It’s in response to the kind of reporting by newspapers like the Daily Mail, and the Sun that has resulted in Channel 4 taking the decision they have. Historically, the call to prayer has always had an emotional and spiritual meaning for Muslims because it was initially delivered by a person, Bilal, who was an Abyssinian slave and considered to be an "outsider" in society at the time of the Prophet Muhammad.  

Let’s hope Channel 4's decision to broadcast the call to prayer and wider Ramadan programmes gives the British people a real taste of the beauty of Islam, which is so often blurred by negative media reporting.

A Muslim prays. Photograph: Getty Images

Imran Awan is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the Centre for Applied Criminology at Birmingham City University.  You can follow him on Twitter @ImranELSS.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism