Greetings of peace, love, and justice ~ السلام عليكم
I assume you're here for the tour? Great! Before we begin, here is a bit of background on Hauntology. The concept of Hauntology comes from French philosopher Jacques Derrida and suggests that lost or 'dead’ futures can haunt the present. He was specifically referring to the promises of Marxism in Europe and how, following the fall of the Soviet Union, those ''lost futures' influenced current and historical discourse.
This idea of lost futures is something that probably many of us have encountered at some point in our lives, in ways big and small. It means, in essence, how people imagined the future vs. how things turned out. We'll come back to this at the end of this tour.
I often extend this personal tour as a pre-or post-dinner activity for anyone I am hosting or hanging out with in San Francisco, whether new visitors or long-time residents. As an Arab-Muslim who grew up living in the dregs of the city, I love having this tour in my pocket and hearing the oohs and aahs that come from their eyes being opened to how much of the city's architecture is drenched in rich Islamic history. I hope you enjoy it and make it to the end!
First stop; The Ferry building
American architect A. Page Brown designed this famous clock tower in 1892. One of his main design inspirations was the 12th-century Giralda bell tower in Seville, Spain. The Giralda was initially built as the minaret for the great mosque of Seville in Al-Andalus, Islamic Spain, during the reign of the Almohad dynasty. The work on the minaret was shared in continuation by Sevillian architect Ahmad Ibn Baso, Maghrebi Berber architect 'Ali Al-Ghumari, and Sicilian architect Abu Layth Al-Siqili. Truly, a monument to rich cross-cultures in Islam. In my opinion, Al-Andalus was one of the highest points of Islamic history, society, and culture, welcoming great philosophers, writers, builders, and scientists across lands.
Seville was known for its rich agricultural production, partly because of my ancestors from Yemeni tribes who started an agricultural revolution in Spain and Sicily. Home to one of the oldest terrace-farming systems in the world and ancient yet sophisticated irrigation technology, Yemen is the birthplace of Arab agriculture. She was known as Al-Yaman al-Khaḍrā': 'the Verdant Yemen' because of how fertile her lands were.
A large migration of Yemeni tribes came to Spain, and two in particular made Seville their home: Banu Hajjaj and Banu Khaldun. Ibn Khaldun, the father of sociology and economics, was from the Banu Khaldun tribe. Ishbiliyah, as it was called after the Islamic conquest, was a place where there was a peaceful coexistence of Muslims, Jews, and Christians while the sciences and arts flourished. Students from across Europe and the Muslim world came to study and learn. It was a place where the East and West blended, not the clash of civilizations some would later depict. In 1248, during the Reconquista, Seville fell to the Castilians, and the Grand Mosque was converted into a cathedral, and the Renaissance-style top was added. In 1278 the Spanish Inquisition was established and systematically wiped out the Jewish and Muslim populations. Modern estimates suggest that at least 150,000 were prosecuted and one of the world's largest forced migrations followed.
Hills Plaza
By the mid-1800s, San Francisco had become America's most crucial coffee port. The area around the Ferry Building was home to over two dozen coffee companies, such as Folgers, and was called 'the coffee district.' One of the most innovative coffee companies then was Hills Bros. Coffee. Founded by brothers Ruben and Austin Hills after they arrived in the city in 1873, they were the first to vacuum seal and sell canned coffee. They hired a local designer who came up with their logo of an Arab man, introduced as 'the taster.' The designer paid homage to coffee's Arab roots, where coffee cultivation began in my home province of Ibb, Yemen. The man this statue could be depicting is possibly Shaykh Ali ibn Umar Al-Shadhili, coffee's Yemeni patron saint.
There is a well-known considerable debate on coffee's exact land of origin. Is it Ethiopia or Yemen? I'm probably the only Yemeni who believes coffee began in Ethiopia (sorry to any Yemeni readers!). However, coffee commercialization began at the Yemeni port of Mokha. It was in Yemen where the art of coffee roasting and brewing was invented and where the first cup was poured. In its heyday, Mokha was a thriving and bustling city full of life, and over 50,000 kilos of coffee were exported to the world. When coffee came to Europe, it overthrew alcohol as the drink of choice and, in many ways, fueled the Enlightenment period and, later, the Industrial Revolution. European colonialists began illegally smuggling coffee seedlings from Yemen, which they planted in their colonies. Following this, Yemen lost its place as a global coffee power.
In 1992, sculptor Spero Anargyros made the bronze statue in Hills Bros. Plaza. I only discovered it ten years ago through a friend's text message for me to check out "a statue of a Yemeni man drinking coffee" in our city, believing it would mean something to me, and indeed, so began my ancestral coffee journey.
Back to Al-Andalus
This majestic building sticking out at 650 Geary Street was built in 1917 and named the Islam Temple, yet it was never a mosque or Islamic center. It was made to be a Shriner's Temple. The Shriners were a Freemasons lodge that adopted a Middle Eastern theme, with their first temple in New York City being named Mecca Temple. It was the work of Shriner architect Thomas Paterson Ross.
Ross describes it as an adaptation of the Moorish castle, the Alhambra, in Granada, Spain, complete with terracotta tiles, arches, geometrical moldings, and a dome. The Alhambra was started in 1238 by Muhammad I Ibn al-Ahmar, the first Nasrid emir and founder of the Emirate of Granada, the last Muslim state of Al-Andalus. The Nasrids were descendants of the well-known Yemeni tribe Banu Khazraj, who left Yemen after the Ma'reb dam collapse. In January 1492, Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand took the city. Christopher Colombus was amongst the crowds when Abu Abdallah Muhammad XII, the last Nasirid ruler, handed over the city. It was forgotten for three centuries until after the defeat of Napoleon I. The first rediscovers were European intellectuals and later American and European Romantic travelers. The most famous was Washington Irvin, who in 1832 wrote "Tales of the Alhambra" and brought back broad international interest. The Alcazar is now a theater, art gallery, and parking garage.
Last stop
Built-in 1926, the Alhambra Theater was one of the first Bay Area movie theaters. It was designed by Miller & Pfluegar in the Moorish revival style to resemble a Moorish castle, paying homage to the beauty of Al-Andalus. The illuminated dome is one of the critical features of the theater. The intention was to conjure the feeling of a romantic, faraway place, as was a common feature of theaters designed during this period. The theater has gone through upgrades, downgrades, closures, and reopenings. It is now a crunch gym and, in my opinion, the most beautiful gym in the world. Its grandeur remains, albeit a far cry from its glory days. It's an impactful landmark and symbol of the city's history, like the Alhambra of Andalusia.
One of my favorite names for SF is "Baghdad by the Bay," the title of a book of essays by Herb Caen. It is a nickname he used for the city because of the similar cosmopolitan cultural diversity he believed it shares with the medieval city of Baghdad, Iraq. Yet another golden thread from the Arab world.
An American Muslim Haunting
Islamic civilization is massive. And responsible for innumerable contributions to humanity. Algebra, astronomy, the preservation of Greek philosophy, the scientific method, Coffee, the list can go on and on. And this reality was well-known and celebrated by Westerners of earlier generations.
When observing these landmarks in San Francisco, we're reminded of a period in the history of America and much of the West when the Arab/Muslim world was seen as exotic, even romantic. Famous historians like George Bernard Shaw and Thomas Carlyle held highly favorable views toward Islam and the Prophet Muhammad, as did many of the United States' founding fathers. Many American cities are named after famous middle eastern ones. Erected in 1920, sitting above the Supreme Court chamber, are a series of statues and image carvings of the great lawgivers throughout history. Among those is a marble image of Prophet Muhammad. These are just a few of what amount to hundreds, if not thousands, of examples of not just positive but esteemed and reverent views held by Americans and Westerners in general toward Islam and Muslims.
American Muslims are often well aware of these historical facts. We find ourselves using them in conversations with co-workers and classmates. This very impulse sent me on my journey in coffee when I found that tall bronze statue of an Arabian man drinking coffee in San Francisco more than a decade ago. But it also creates in us a kind of retroactive hauntological paradigm. We imagine the futures that could have been conceived had we been there when we and our religion were seen as intellectual, spiritual, creative, enlightening, and profound. Because somewhere along the line, starting in the 1970s and percolating until its boiling point in September 2001, we came to be seen as very different.
In, what amounts to, the historical blink of an eye, we went from being viewed with curiosity to contempt, from interest to interrogation. And we began to use history to defend ourselves, whether it was Cat Stevens' conversion or Thomas Jefferson's Qur'an. Even now, more than twenty years removed from that horrific event, we find very little difference in how we're viewed. America and the West have—for the most part, across the political spectrum—settled on a narrative about us, our values, and our humanity that they're comfortable with. And they can't even think about thinking about us any differently.
These buildings and monuments make me think of how we have become so disconnected from our history and the spaces we inhabit, whether because they present a version of history that doesn't fit neatly into our narrow worldview like the Andalusian buildings in San Francisco. Or because they fill us with guilt, in the case of a gentrified neighborhood. Those uncomfortable feelings can be set aside, but no matter how much is removed, remodeled, and redeveloped, those people, those histories, and those lost futures are still there. These sites echoed the stories of my ancestors, which showed me the path to my future. And I'm sure if you take the time to look close enough, you'll find something similar where you live.
We've reached the end of our tour now, and it's been an honor to spend time with you. Until next time, stay caffeinated, my friends.
Thank you for sharing this amazing history.