Are the West’s Concerns Real?
Living Under Sharia in Saudi Arabia: A Three-Year Journey in Learning
In the aughts, my brother Dale McAdam taught in Saudi Arabia for three years—two years on contract, one-year extension—under Sharia Law, a system that felt like stepping back centuries. “You keep your mouth shut,” he said, especially about religion. Public life was tightly controlled. At a bank, he was scolded for pointing his feet at someone—a local insult. During Ramadan, in Bahrain, he ducked into a doorway to smoke, only to hear: “No eating, drinking, or smoking in public during daylight.”
The religious police, or mutawa, kept watch. In short thobes—ending a foot above the ankles—they roamed in trios, carrying 4-foot bamboo sticks. Dale saw them discipline people for talking to unrelated women. “They’re serious about those welts,” he said, enforcing strict moral codes. As a Westerner, he was mostly left alone but stayed cautious. “You’re always aware.”
Gender rules were rigid. Women couldn’t drive then (allowed since 2018), and men couldn’t speak to unrelated women in public. At a Safeway, Dale recognized his Beirut dentist’s assistant—fully covered, only her eyes visible—but couldn’t say hello, fearing the mutawa. The call to prayer—dawn, 10 a.m., noon, 3 p.m., sunset—paused daily life. “It’s like another era,” he said.
Alcohol was banned, but hypocrisy crept in. Stores sold wine-making supplies—grape juice, yeast, fermentation gear—and Saudis drank in private. “A lot,” Dale noted. Wealthy Saudis crossed the 25km causeway to Bahrain—Saudi’s “Las Vegas”—to “whore it up” for the weekend, sidestepping the mutawa. Public piety, private freedom.
As a Westerner, it was a strange world. Arriving to teach, Dale was lost among “big guys” in identical thobes, struggling to find his contact. The mutawa’s short thobes and mustaches marked them as enforcers of a system that felt toughest on women.
Western Worries: Unpacking Sharia Threats in Canada and Beyond
In Canada and the U.S., some fringe Islamist voices—like those tied to Hizb ut-Tahrir—stir concern with claims: “We’re outbreeding you, and Sharia will rule in 20 years.” At 70, I’m not worried, just observing. These boasts, heard in 2023–2025 Toronto protests and echoed on X, aim to unsettle, recalling Dale’s Saudi stories of mutawa control. But they don’t hold up.
Muslims are 4.9% of Canada’s population (1.78 million, 2021 census), projected to reach 8–10% by 2045. Higher birth rates and immigration play a role, but a majority is nowhere near. Most Canadian Muslims—83%, per a 2016 Environics survey—prioritize Canadian law over Sharia, viewing it as personal guidance, not state policy. In the U.S., similar fears fuel “Sharia ban” laws in states like Oklahoma, but Muslims (1% of the population) pose no legal threat. Canada’s Charter of Rights (1982) and the U.S. Constitution block religious law outright.
Some radicals promote practices like consanguineous marriage, allowed under certain Sharia interpretations, which can raise health concerns like genetic disorders in some communities. These clash with Western health norms, adding to cultural tensions. Yet, even Islamic nations like Saudi Arabia are reforming—women drive, mutawa powers are reduced—showing Sharia’s strictest forms are easing. The extremists’ vision is loud but outdated, with no path in Canada or the U.S. This isn’t Riyadh—it’s home.
By: Chip McAdam and his brother Dale McAdam, Canadian brothers sharing a confab on global issues, with research assistance from Grok, created by xAI.
