Do We Need to Universalize Our Husayni Gatherings?

Every year in Muharram, we return to the story of Karbala and the sacrifice of Imam Hussain (p). For some, this repetition raises a natural question: why revisit a tragedy that is already well known, deeply emotional, and firmly embedded in our communal memory?

The answer lies in the function of remembrance itself. Religious communities do not preserve memory simply to recount history; they preserve memory to shape identity, refine conscience, and sustain moral vision across generations. Families pass down stories to cultivate belonging. Nations commemorate foundational events to reaffirm collective values. Likewise, faith communities preserve sacred memory as a means of forming the human being.

This is why Karbala is not merely remembered, but continually retold. As the Quran reminds us: “There is certainly a lesson in their stories for those of understanding” (12:111). And again: “Remind, for indeed the reminder benefits the believers” (51:55).

The repetition of Karbala, therefore, is not redundant, but rather intentional moral formation. It functions in at least two ways:

First, it supports what can be described as ‘spiritual and ethical conditioning’. Repeated engagement with the story of Karbala—its grief, its values, its moral clarity—shapes the inner life of the believer. Over time, values such as justice, sacrifice, patience, courage, and devotion to God are not only understood, but internalized and enacted.

Second, it functions through the preservation of truth and moral memory. The tragedy of Karbala was not only a historical event; it was also a deliberate and structural attempt to silence a dissident and righteous voice. Yet despite political suppression and attempts at erasure, the memory of Imam Hussain (p) endured for over fourteen centuries. The repeated retelling of Karbala is therefore also an act of safeguarding moral truth: ensuring that injustice is not forgotten, and that conscience is not replaced by convenience.

From this perspective, the majlis is not merely a cultural gathering or an emotional ritual. At its core, it possesses a clear objective (maqṣad): to preserve the message of Karbala, cultivate love for the Ahl al-Bayt (pbut), and produce individuals and communities who embody the ethical vision for which Imam Hussain (p) sacrificed everything.

It is precisely here that a contemporary question emerges.

If the objective (maqṣad) of Karbala is moral transformation, and the majlis is among the primary means through which that transformation is cultivated, then how should this institution function in a world that has changed dramatically since 61 AH?

Globalization, migration, and digital media have transformed how religious communities are encountered and understood. A majlis is no longer experienced only by those physically present in the room. It is livestreamed, recorded, clipped, and shared across the world. For many people—Muslim and non-Muslim alike—the majlis has become their primary encounter with Shia Islam.

This shift does not change the essence of the majlis or our ritual gatherings, but it does expand its responsibility.

The Objectives of the Majlis as a Standard of Evaluation

Once the objective (maqṣad) is clearly understood, it becomes the criterion through which our forms of remembrance should be evaluated. The question is no longer simply whether a practice is traditional or contemporary, emotional or intellectual, inherited or innovative. Rather, the more fundamental question becomes:

Does this practice effectively communicate the message of Karbala and contribute to its intended moral transformation in today’s context?

This framework is particularly relevant when considering public expressions of Muharram, especially Husayni processions (juloos).

Historically, these processions functioned primarily as communal acts of remembrance among believers. Today, however, many take place through city streets, in front of government buildings, civic institutions, and public landmarks. In these settings, the audience is no longer only the Shia community itself, but the wider public—many of whom have little or no familiarity with Shia Islam or the story of Karbala.

This shift raises an important question. If the maqṣad of the procession is to proclaim the message of Imam Hussain (p), how effectively is that message being communicated to those who witness it?

The legal permission granted by civic authorities enables such gatherings to take place, but the civic framework within which a procession occurs should not be confused with its religious purpose. The objective of the street procession [juloos] is not simply to exercise the right to assemble, nor merely to occupy public space. Its purpose is to make the values of Karbala—justice, human dignity, sacrifice, and resistance to oppression—visible and intelligible within society.

For this reason, success cannot be measured solely by attendance or visibility. Rather, it should also be measured by understanding. If observers leave with a clearer appreciation of who Imam Hussain (p) was and what he stood for, then the procession has fulfilled an important part of its purpose. If, however, they leave uncertain about its meaning, then sincere reflection becomes necessary.

These are some things we should consider as organizers and participants in Husayni processions:

1. Visual Language: Flags, banners, slogans, attire, aesthetics, etc.

These symbols often carry deep significance for members of the community. Yet when processions take place before audiences unfamiliar with Shia devotional culture, those same symbols inevitably communicate messages beyond the community itself.

This invites an important question: do the symbols we carry consistently direct attention toward the message of Karbala? 

If certain images, inscriptions, or displays bear little obvious relationship to Islam, the Ahl al-Bayt (pbut), or the uprising of Imam Hussain (p), it is worth asking whether they assist the observer in understanding the purpose of the gathering or whether they inadvertently distract from it. 

When we consider whether these symbols are accessible to the layperson, we must take into account barriers to understanding. For example, public displays such as horses on a busy city street or an ornately decorated baby cradle or tall flags towering over a Muharram procession are grand displays that are exclusive and uninviting to particular communities. They create a peculiar view of Shia Islam for onlookers, and accomplish little in the way of amplifying Imam Hussain’s (p) message or demonstrate the values that endure from the battle of Karbala. In fact, these run the risk of confusing someone rather than informing or inspiring them. 

The impact of a symbol which transcends time and culture such as this one has the potential to move people in ways that others may not. This does not mean we cannot or should not carry any traditional symbols alluding to Karbala, only that we should think more intentionally about the kinds of symbols that we give more weight or feature more prominently in our processions.  

2. Expressions of Mourning: Latmiyyah, Zinjeel, Zanjeer

A similar reflection applies to public expressions of mourning. 

The practices of zinjeel or zanjeer, though they have become tradition in many spaces, may be divisive even in our own communities, within our own center’s walls. Within the Shia community, the practice of latmiyyah carries profound spiritual, emotional, and devotional significance. Outside that context, however, many observers lack the theological framework through which these acts are understood. Where explanation is absent, the outward form may become the dominant impression, while the ethical vision of Karbala remains obscured.

Consider the impact of these practices in public spaces: If a passerby stops for a minute to observe a Muharram procession, what are they seeing? 

For many, this may be their only or most direct encounter with Shia Islam, and unfortunately,  a violent image is one that endures. Scenes of blood, or chains, or self-harm may trigger fear or aversion in onlookers. Such snapshots alienate those outside of our tradition, do not honor the objectives of our remembrance of Karbala, and fail to paint the Shia community in a positive light.

This does not necessarily mean we should abandon all inherited expressions of devotion. Rather, it calls for greater intentionality in how public rituals are accompanied by education, explanation, and meaningful engagement. The objective is not simply that Shia Muslims be seen, but that Imam Hussain (p) be understood.

3. Community Engagement: Educational materials, spokespeople, community service efforts

As leaders and active members of our Shi’a communities, we should continually ask how our processions and public gatherings can more fully embody the legacy of Imam Hussain (p). How can these gatherings become opportunities not only for remembrance, but also for education, outreach, and meaningful engagement with the wider community? How can they foster relationships with our neighbors and serve as a bridge between the message of Karbala and those encountering it for the first time?

At the same time, while we gather in such large numbers, we should ask how our collective resources, time, and energy can be directed toward serving those in need. The remembrance of Karbala is not only intended to transform the hearts of those who participate in it, but also to inspire tangible acts of justice, compassion, and service. In doing so, we externalize the lessons of the Ahl al-Bayt (pbut), allowing the values of justice, dignity, equity, and truth to move beyond our gatherings and find expression in the societies in which we live.

Representation and Responsibility within our Centres

The same reflection extends beyond public processions to the internal life of our Islamic centres.

Many communities have established replica shrines (ḍarīḥ) of the Imams of the Ahl al-Bayt (pbut) within their centres. For many believers, these replicas evoke deep love for the Ahl al-Bayt, strengthen emotional attachment, and serve as reminders of the sacred shrines. Visitors often approach them with reverence, recite salutations before them, and seek blessings through the remembrance they inspire.

At the same time, this practice also raises important educational questions. A replica is ultimately a symbolic representation rather than the shrine itself. If this distinction is not clearly taught, future generations may inherit the practice while gradually losing sight of its theological meaning. What begins as a symbol intended to direct hearts toward the Imams may eventually become a practice whose purpose is itself misunderstood.

This is especially significant for younger Muslims, converts, and those encountering Shia Islam for the first time. In an age shaped by questions of reason, authenticity, and understanding, devotional practices that are not accompanied by thoughtful explanation can become sources of confusion rather than conviction. The challenge, therefore, is not the existence of symbolic spaces of remembrance, but ensuring that the symbolism consistently points beyond itself to the realities it was intended to represent.

Without intentional framing, devotional forms risk becoming ritualized without comprehension. With education, however, those same forms become living connections to faith, history, and identity. Preserving tradition therefore requires more than preserving practice; it requires preserving meaning.

Returning to the Purpose

A well-known narration from Imam al-Sadiq (p) provides a profound ethical orientation:

“Be a beauty for us, not a blemish upon us. Make us beloved to the people, and do not make us hateful to them. Bring to us every form of affection, and ward off from us every evil.” (Wasā’il al-Shīʿa, by al-Ḥurr al-ʿĀmilī, Vol. 8, p. 400.)

This narration does not call for abandoning identity or diminishing devotion. Rather, it invites believers to reflect on how their faith is represented in the world and how their love for the Ahl al-Bayt (pbut) is translated into public presence, communal conduct, and collective expression.

Ultimately, universalizing the majlis does not mean changing its essence, nor does it mean diluting Shia identity in pursuit of broader acceptance. It means returning more consciously to the objectives (maqāṣid) for which the majlis exists.

If Karbala is preserved through remembrance so that it transforms hearts, then every form through which it is remembered should continue to serve that transformation.

In a globalized world, this requires clarity, intentionality, and the willingness to ask difficult but necessary questions. Our processions, our public symbolism, our devotional spaces, and our communal institutions should all be evaluated through a single standard: do they continue to fulfill the objective for which Imam Hussain (p) rose?

Such reflection should not be mistaken for criticism of tradition. On the contrary, it is an expression of fidelity to it. To examine whether our forms of remembrance continue to serve their intended purpose is not to weaken the majlis, but to strengthen it.

The responsibility, then, is not simply to preserve remembrance. It is to ensure that remembrance continues to fulfill its divine purpose, allowing every generation—and every society in which we live—to encounter the timeless message of Karbala with clarity, understanding, and conviction, so that we may all be changed for the better