Commercialization Threatens the Spiritual Heart of Hajj
By Anime Abdullah
Sep/Oct 2024
Did you hear about the seismic tremor of faith that shook the sands of Makkah as the tide of pilgrims across the world converged upon the Ka‘ba in June 2024?
The scorching sun, exceeding 122°F (50°C) from June 14-19, was overshadowed by millions of Muslims thrumming in unison and demonstrating submission to God, humility, and unity — Islam’s true essence. The death of over 1,300 from heatstroke and dehydration, and the heat-related illnesses of thousands more (Aya Batrawy, www.npr.org, June 23) couldn’t deter them. The Saudi host’s inadequate accommodations, transportation, or even drinking water (Zahra Fatima and BBC World Service, www.bbc.com, June 22) couldn’t prevent them from responding to Islam’s call. Only a minuscule 8% received the needed care (Magdy Samaan, www.cnn.com, June 25), which confirms these pilgrims’ unwavering faith.
However, beneath their radiant display of peace were those who exploited them. Given that the pilgrims aren’t too vocal about such things, every year the unscrupulous prioritize profit over piety. This has gradually eroded the hajj’s sanctity, with creeping commercialization peaking this year, albeit ambivalently portrayed.
Unregistered Pilgrims: An Obvious Outcome of Nusuk Frustration
Shirking responsibility, Saudi authorities sweepingly attributed 80% of the hajj fatalities to “unregistered” pilgrims (Vivian Nereim and Emad Mekay, New York Times, June 24), who didn’t register via the problematical Nusuk — a centralized web platform (https://hajj.nusuk.sa/) launched in 2021 by the Saudi Ministry of Hajj and Umrah.
However, Western pilgrims still had to handle visas, hotels, air tickets, and evident troubleshooting through Nusuk, all without human assistance. This tedious and overwhelming digital odyssey also increased prices (ranging from $13,000 to $20,000 per head), required deposits months in advance (even before packages were available), and provided no guarantee of completion. If this registration process fails at any step, even due to Nusuk’s fault, a 1.5% refund fee and a 45-day waiting period apply. Moreover, Nusuk’s proffered autonomy unintentionally hinders the hajj spirit — the connection forged through shared experiences.
These are merely the procedural problems of the current 11-step registration process; technical issues aside. Logins work only when the system wills. Picking a package is more like pulling teeth. Verification delays or e-wallet dilemmas are not user-friendly, and the payment option is an act of faith itself. The demands on time, tolerance, and tech-savviness, along with the paramount uncertainty, are enough to make a saint swear or, in this case, seek alternative routes.
Promising “alternative” streamlined processes, dozens of hajj agencies rushed to rescue this year’s pilgrims. They undercut the Nusuk prices, but dangled the carrot of tourist or business visas (legality? Shhh, don’t mention it!).
Many of these agencies have provided affordable and reliable services for decades, and their promised convenience was very tempting. They guaranteed no pesky registration, verification woes, package or flight selection hassles, and, most importantly, no “pre-paying months in advance without any certainty” nonsense. Who wouldn’t jump at that oasis?
Over 325,000 unregistered pilgrims were expelled (Adil Faouzi, www.moroccoworldnews.com, June 10), and other thousands, if not a million, pilgrims continued without registering with Nusuk. Many, including myself, succumbed to the illusion, not knowing those promises were a desert mirage shimmering with cool water.
The unresolved Nusuk issues and the substantial number of unregistered pilgrims underscore the prevalent frustration and escalating demand for reliable alternatives. The proliferation of alternative agencies, further misled by the insiders within the Hajj ministry, is a direct consequence that I witnessed firsthand.
Extent of Suffering and Uncertainty of Unregistered Pilgrims
The anticipation of a trouble-free hajj quickly turned into a chilling fear of human trafficking as I was put on a backroad to Makkah and forced to cross the desert corridor on foot. Promises of a streamlined experience were replaced by constant anxiety and uncertainty. Many pilgrims couldn’t even make it to Makkah and returned home (Christian Peña, www.yahoo.com, July 1).
Upon reaching Makkah, I clutched my Nusuk permit, the golden registration ticket. Unaware of its illegitimacy, I eagerly prepared for Mina. Lacking legitimate permission, my U.S.-based agency merged with a South Asian hajj group, whose tent was already overcrowded. So, we huddled outside under the blistering sun, desperately seeking the shade that wasn’t there. To my surprise, a security guard spotted me, informing me that my Nusuk permit was useless. Expelled from the tent, I wandered around Mina like a lost soul in a spiritual Disneyland.
Unfamiliar with Mina’s premises, I contacted my group leader. Bless his frantic heart, he offered dubious advice: avoid security, catch a bus in the middle of the night to Arafat, and pray for the best. Like a drowning man grasping at a straw, I did so, only to bounce among Arafah tents like a game of leapfrog with security. Exhausted, sunbaked, and barely coherent, I spent the Day of Arafat muttering supplications under the relentless, blazing sun.
As we prepared to leave for Muzdalifah at sunset, there was no transportation. After waiting six hours — until 2:00 a.m. — we landed on a purgatory bus ride, praying for divine intervention to reach Muzdalifah in time for the maghrib and isha prayers. Nothing happened. We barely made it to fajr and offered make-up prayers for maghrib and isha.
Already sleepless and drained for the past two days, we began the arduous trek to the Jamarat, a relentless 4-6 miles. Like a churning mass of humanity teetering on the edge of a stampede, the first round of stoning left me dehydrated, disheveled, and missing a sandal.
Yet the ordeal wasn’t over. No transportation awaited, forcing another 3-4 mile trek back to Makkah on foot. Although several Nusuk service centers were visible from Muzdalifa or Mina to Jamarat, none were found from Jamarat to Makkah; not even drinking water.
No official permit to return to Mina obliged me to find refuge in my hotel for the remaining stoning rituals. While Islam offers leniency in dire situations, my predicaments stemmed from the agency’s illegal acts, which fostered a false sense of security until the final minutes.
These are just tidbits, and such realities don’t belittle the hajj’s sanctity. However, the humiliation, deception, and constant betrayal forced a touch of dark humor into my experience. It serves as a cautionary tale for future pilgrims as well as a plea to hajj officials to acknowledge the pilgrims’ rising desperation.
The Unnoticed Shift toward Commercialization and Commodification
Beneath this year’s surface grief due to deaths and tragedies lingers a somber shadow in the Muslim collective memory, a gradual shift that’s transforming Islam’s spiritual cornerstone into a commercialized spectacle.
Historically, Makkah thrived as a commercial hub and pilgrims engaged in modest trade to offset their journey’s costs. But today, a starkly different narrative unfolds. The Saudi government and corporations have poured billions into erecting five-star hotels, opulent malls, and designer boutiques. In contrast, no significant visible efforts have been made to alleviate the pilgrims’ suffering in Arafah, Mina, Muzdalifa, or the Jamarat rituals — the pilgrimage’s most strenuous tenets — even for the Nusuk-registered ones. This tragic reality has slowly shifted the hajj’s focus from spiritual renewal to tourism, severing pilgrims’ deep-rooted connection to Islam and ceasing its spiritual essence.
Luxury and convenience, and the growing focus on opulent accommodations, carefully curated packages, and modern amenities, have overtaken spirituality. Even tawaf, traditionally a moment of communing with God, is now often overshadowed by the urge to capture and share the experience. This disturbing trend reduces hajj to a mere commodity and Makkah to a meticulously crafted commercial product.
The responsibility rests on the pilgrims, due to their growing consumer demands, and the Saudi government, whose recent prioritization of hajj as a revenue stream next to oil (Abbas Al Lawati, www.cnn.com, July 6) overshadows its spiritual dynamics.
Nusuk, an enabler of pilgrims’ convenience, has indeed benefited many of them. However, it shouldn’t be constricting pilgrims. Its always-late release (2-3 months before hajj) causes unnecessary uncertainty. For example, pilgrims must spend sleepless nights to secure their desired packages and flights. Precious pre-hajj soul-searching moments are sacrificed to addressing logistics and amenities. Moreover, it ultimately defies the pilgrimage’s essence: detaching oneself from earthly entanglements to invest in godly endeavors.
The hajj is not isolated from daily religion or rituals that may require such grand tourist exposure, like luxury hotels. Rather, it’s the culmination of one’s achieved spiritual maturity. Leaving worldly affairs behind, hajj is a chance to reflect on one’s shortcomings with a promise to purge them and restore the highest connection with God so that one can return home with a pure and resolute heart like a newly born person. Current socio-cultural settings challenge such an essence of pilgrimage.
However, hope is still there. This trend of commercialization is just a few decades old. Traditionally, pilgrims were welcomed as “Guests of Allah,” with no mandatory packages or labeled groups. Their hearts still beat with reverence and longing for the Divine, waiting to flourish, as was evident during this year’s hajj. We must not allow the passage of time to erase that spiritual pulse of pilgrimage. Let the administration, religious authorities, and travel agencies work with each other to preserve the sanctity of Hajj in the sands of Saudi Arabia to avoid tension or tremor, and foster unity, piety, and a transformative experience for all pilgrims, as it has been for centuries.
Anime Abdullah is a freelance writer.
Tell us what you thought by joining our Facebook community. You can also send comments and story pitches to [email protected]. Islamic Horizons does not publish unsolicited material.