Every word is reinterpreted in the light of sudden loss,
and every policy once thought mistaken now seems the
only right course of action. Political life is haunted by
the sense of what might have been, of an ideal world
that might have existed if only the assassination had
never taken place. So it is today, and so it was in
seventh-century Kufa. The same sword stroke that erased
Ali’s life also erased all doubts about him. If they had
diminished him in life, in death the Iraqis would raise
him up as the ultimate authority, almost on a par with
Muhammad himself.
The poisoned sword had been wielded by a
Rejectionist, but as the Kufans reeled in shock, their
sense of outrage was fueled by the conviction that
Muawiya had somehow been behind it. Ali had been
right all along, they said, and called for nothing less than
what they had so stolidly refused before: all-out war on
Muawiya.
They surged to the mosque to declare allegiance to
Ali’s scholarly elder son, Hasan, and demanded that he
lead them against Syria. But even as passions ran high
all around him, Hasan remained a realist. He accepted
the Kufans’ allegiance out of a sense of duty but clearly
considered it more a burden than an honor. War was
pointless, he knew, for the Syrian army was far better
trained and equipped than the fractious Iraqi one. And
besides, just the thought of a continuing civil war ɹlled
him with loathing.