Views /Opinion

The right to worship: Curating ‘Inclusive’ Islamic spaces

Discussions around disability inclusion often center on healthcare, education, and social forums. However, as a Muslim parent to two children with disabilities and residing in an Islamic country, I often wonder when these conversations will gravitate towards religious spaces that are so integral to our daily lives.

Having exited the Holy Month of Ramadan and entered Autism Awareness Month—or more fittingly, Autism “Acceptance” Month—in April in Qatar offers a timely opportunity to spotlight these overlooked gaps. These include the religious inclusion of neurodivergent children—that is, children whose brains are wired somewhat differently, resulting in broader variations in sensory processing, behaviors, and cognition than their “neurotypical” peers. Since neurodivergence is an extremely broad spectrum and includes children with autism like my younger son, my particular focus here is on those with intellectual differences as they face very specific barriers. That said, the spirit of this piece, while generic, applies across all age groups, disabilities, and even faith systems.

Through my children’s disability experiences, I constantly reflect on my own internalized biases—particularly towards individuals with intellectual differences. If I, as a parent, have struggled with assumptions about what my child can or cannot understand, then it is no surprise that society both generates and reinforces these stigmas. I recall going to my then-8-year-old daughter’s room, who has a genetic condition that affects both her physiology and cognition. She was mumbling softly beneath her blanket, while wringing her hands as she typically does whenever she is in deep concentration. I asked her, in an almost teasing manner, “Soha, who are you talking to in there?” She replied: “I’m talking to Allah.” Her answer immediately humbled me. It forcefully reminded me that I was in no position to judge to what extent she can actually grasp the concept of Allah. So then, what right does society have to judge the limitations of our children and determine their “fit” to access religious spaces and spiritual development opportunities?

Programs are significantly limited for children with different needs to learn more about Islam and the notion of the Divine—to whichever degree possible. Families struggle to find tutors who are trained to teach children with disabilities how to recite and connect with the Quran or faith more broadly. It is a challenge to find communities that are welcoming of children with disabilities who self-regulate through behaviors like pacing, stimming, or humming—and this exclusion only gets worse as the child grows into adulthood. How many parents keep their children at home—not because they are incapable of learning or participating in faith—but because they are hesitant to face the judgment of gatekeepers who prefer a “neat”, “uniform” congregation over dealing with the “inconvenience” associated with differences?

Raising children with disabilities is an intense journey, compounded by the broader challenges of parenthood. Parents are often overwhelmed with hundreds of hours in therapies, clinical support, and resource-hunting. Some families can face varying time lags before accepting their own children’s disabilities; and when religious access proves challenging, it becomes only too easy for many parents to relegate it to a secondary priority. Furthermore, with a majority of children with disabilities out of school or enrolled in non-academic rehabilitation centers, they often cannot access even the most basic religious education. Ironically, while social systems remain exclusionary, society often has no hesitation in blaming families for the perceived religious illiteracy of their children.

So what is needed to create more inclusive Islamic spaces? Here are just some preliminary thoughts—or dare I say, a starter to a wish list.

First, deepening family and community understanding can catalyze much-needed inclusion efforts. Comprehensive needs assessments of our neurodivergent community can shed light on context-specific barriers to their spiritual development. Religious leaders, mosque administrators, and support staff require training to understand disability needs, meaningfully engage with disabled community members, and offer adapted services. It is important to also have scholars trained in both Islamic knowledge and compassionate engagement who can offer jurisprudential guidance that addresses the lived realities of people with disabilities and their families.

Second, accessible religious education is essential. Both families and communities must acknowledge that children with intellectual differences have an equal right to developing their religious identities. Religious instructors and Islamic studies teachers—in both schools and ideally within centers—can learn how to modify curricula, pursue continuous professional development, and adopt creative, inclusive pedagogies. Instructors need to be able to develop warm, supportive relationships with their students so that their faith becomes a source of acceptance, comfort, and dignity.

Third, faith-based community dialogues can help challenge ableist attitudes and uproot deeply entrenched social stigmas. Religious leaders can lead critical conversations around disability in Islam and incorporate neurodiversity-affirming language within their lectures. Religious counseling, too, can support both parents adjusting to a diagnosis and emerging challenges as well as individuals with disabilities who are navigating their own spiritual paths.

Community acceptance and advocacy for children with disabilities are powerful forces to shatter the vicious cycle of compounding exclusion. Religious spaces can become sites where positive and empowering narratives about disability emerge. This is not to dismiss that disability does not come with its inherent challenges, or that disability journeys are only rife with pain and exclusion—there are immense joys and blessings too. We also need to acknowledge the heroic efforts of individuals who strive to make religion accessible as well as those individuals with disabilities who have flourished in their connection to Islam.

However, the core message is this: the doors to faith must never be closed, and it is our collective responsibility to keep them propped wide open. Spiritual spaces, above all, should offer belonging, dignity, and connection to all community members—including children with disabilities.

This piece has been submitted by HBKU’s Communications Directorate on behalf of its author. The thoughts and views expressed are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect an official University stance.