Berlin's Taj Mahal and the Forgotten First Muslims
Tucked between quiet streets in Berlin's Wilmersdorf district is a century-old mosque built in the Indian Mughal style. It's not just a place of worship. It's a time capsule.
Long before the Turkish “guest workers” of the 1960s, long before headlines screamed about refugees and radicalization, Muslims arrived in Germany under drastically different circumstances. They were prisoners—dragged into Europe during World War I.
What followed was a century of prejudice, propaganda, migration, and survival. And yet, somehow, Germany's Muslims remained.
Propaganda Camps and Prayer Rugs: The WWI Experiment
During World War I, Germany allied with the Ottoman Empire. Soon, thousands of Muslim POWs—Indians fighting for the British, North Africans for the French, Tatars and Bashkirs from the Russian Empire—were brought to German soil.
They were housed in special “model” camps like Halbmondlager (Crescent Moon Camp), where Germany tried to woo them into joining their side. They built a wooden mosque. Published propaganda newspapers in Arabic, Urdu, and Tatar. Allowed halal meat. Friday prayers. Quranic study.
But the experiment largely failed. Few Muslims were swayed. Tales spread of harsh treatment and forced labor. Still, the presence of 50,000 Muslims during the war marked the first mass Muslim footprint in Germany.
The mosque closed in 1924. But the memory lingered.
Missionaries, Minarets, and Berlin's Golden Age of Openness
In the 1920s, the Lahore Ahmadiyya Movement brought a different kind of Islam to Berlin—not through conquest or coercion, but through scholarship.
Their mosque in Wilmersdorf wasn't just beautiful—it was a magnet for German intellectuals, seekers, and skeptics. Conversion was not expected, just conversation. Women fully participated. The minarets were only decorative. Out of respect for local sentiment, no call to prayer ever rang out.
One convert stood out: Hugo Marcus, a Jewish intellectual and openly gay man, found acceptance and spiritual purpose here. Until 1938, when the Nazis imprisoned him. The community secured his release. He fled to Switzerland.
For the Nazis, Marcus was still just a Jew. His conversion to Islam didn't matter.
The Nazi Era: Tolerated, Then Used
During the Third Reich, Muslims were not systematically targeted the way Jews, Roma, or dissidents were. The small Muslim communities were largely tolerated.
But they weren't spared from exploitation.
Nazi propaganda weaponized Islam—broadcasting Arabic-language radio shows filled with anti-Semitic incitement, recruiting Muslim SS divisions from the Balkans, the Caucasus, and Central Asia.
Some Muslims resisted from within. Others were simply trapped by geopolitics. And others, like many communities in Europe at the time, did what they had to do to survive.
From “Guest Workers” to Invisible Citizens
Fast forward to postwar West Germany. The economic miracle—needed hands.
Turkey sent them.
They came as workers, not immigrants. The agreement was clear: work, send money home, and leave.
But many stayed. Raised families. Prayed in converted garages. Sleep in train cars. They worked hard, but Islam became associated with the uneducated and poor.
A misunderstanding turned into a stereotype.
When the economy slumped in 1973, recruitment stopped. But by then, Germany's Muslim population was not going anywhere. They had roots.
And roots demand recognition.
Neither German Nor Turkish: A Generation Caught In-Between
Güner Balci, the daughter of Turkish guest workers, remembers being caught between two worlds.
At school, she wasn't “Muslim enough” for some classmates. They called her “German” like it was an insult. At home, she was expected to never forget she was Turkish.
She says what shaped her most wasn't her faith, but her social class . Not religion. Not ethnicity.
"Being open-minded is always a good way of getting to know new things and engaging with new people. But that applies to both sides."
Balci now helps other young people from migrant backgrounds navigate identity, belonging, and prejudice.
Modern Islamophobia: Old Fear, New Form
Today, over 5 million Muslims live in Germany. Most are Turkish-German. Others are refugees from Syria, Afghanistan, and beyond.
But the welcome has been uneven.
Since 2015, anti-Muslim sentiment has grown. A series of terrorist attacks only heightened suspicion. Mosques faced surveillance. Muslim organizations were criticized for being “too conservative” or “unrepresentative.” Meanwhile, everyday Muslims faced microaggressions and worse.
Many feel misrepresented. Labeled. Lumped together.
“Most Muslim communities don't really reflect who Muslims are,” says Balci. "They're too conservative, too out of touch. Most Muslims I know just want to live, work, and raise kids in peace."
Faith, Fracture, and the Quiet Work of Belonging
Despite everything—from prison camps to political scapegoating—Muslims in Germany have built lives, families, and faith communities.
They've organized youth groups. Open schools. Created German-language khutbahs. Some now lead interfaith dialogues and serve in politics.
Others choose a quieter path—just being good neighbors, colleagues, and citizens.
And yet, they remain under suspicion. Often required to prove—again and again—that they belong.
Maybe that's the real discrimination: not the loud hatred, but the quiet doubt.
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