that way when a respected Medinan elder stood up in the
mosque in public support of the Iraqis’ demands, and
Othman’s response was to order him thrown out—so
violently that four of his ribs were broken.
If Aisha had been outraged before, she was now
incensed. That the guilty should go free and the innocent
be beaten? No curtains or veils could stop her. Covering
her face in public did not mean muʀing her voice, not
even—particularly not—in the mosque. The following
Friday she stood up at the morning prayers, brandishing
a sandal that had belonged to Muhammad. “See how
this, the Prophet’s own sandal, has not yet even fallen
apart?” she shouted at Othman in that high, piercing
voice of hers. “This is how quickly you have forgotten
the sunna, his practice!”
How could Othman have underestimated her? But
then whoever would have thought that a mere sandal
could be used so eʃectively? As the whole mosque
erupted in condemnation of the Caliph, people took oʃ
their own sandals and brandished them in Aisha’s
support. A new propaganda tool had made its ɹrst
powerful impression, one not lost on all the caliphs and
shahs and sultans of centuries to come, who would
produce inordinate numbers of ornately displayed relics
of the Prophet—sandals, shirts, teeth, nail clippings, hair
—to bolster their authority.
Othman was left with no option but to agree to