If Western journalists are truly sincere in their commitment to truth and justice, they can organize a freedom flotilla—en masse—and enter Gaza. Just as global media once mobilized in solidarity for causes like Charlie Hebdo, the same courage and collective action can be summoned to bear witness to the unfolding genocide. Cameras, pens, and voices should not be silenced at borders. If truth matters, it must be pursued—even when it’s inconvenient, even when it’s forbidden.
When Illusionists Rebrand Fadwa Wazwaz’s Voice as Their Own—A Case Study in Erasure and Ethical Failure
Hope is From God
When Allah took everything from the Prophet Muhammad upon him peace and blessings, his wealth, his family, his social standing, God gave him prayer, not deception.
Not a stage.
Not morality theatre.
As a quote often (though inaccurately) attributed to Socrates says: “When the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the loser.”
Whether or not he said it, the truth behind it remains: slander is the weapon of those who fear truth more than they fear being wrong.
As I said, I look for loss. I look for people standing alone.
We didn’t witness faith, hope from God; we witnessed slander.
We witnessed a moral theatre.
So if, when you lose the argument, you resort to deception every single time, what does that say about your faith? What does it reveal about what you truly rely on?
Tawakkul?
Not what you say on stage for applause, not what you say after, corrected, but when you lost the argument, what was squeezed out of you every single time?
Not what you claim. Not what you post. But what your own actions and words have exposed.
Because reliance on kade, sinful cunning games, is not reliance on Allah. It’s not hope from Allah. It’s not having a good opinion of Allah. I have never met a liar who had a good opinion of Allah.
It’s reliance on manipulation. It’s reliance on ego.
And manipulation is the language of those who fear truth more than they fear God.
My review of your theatre or play, is a mirror.
Know yourself.
Have I ever promoted myself at the cost of someone else’s dignity?
Is my moral stance grounded in sincerity to God or self-importance?
Do I emulate the Prophet’s, upon him peace and blessings, humility, or merely quote him while abandoning his ethics?
When I teach, do I center Allah—or myself?
Do I expose others’ flaws while masking my own?
Do I truly believe my students may be closer to God than I am?
Am I willing to sit with my own faults as I ask others to examine theirs?
Am I the one saying “don’t dwell on your problems,” while hosting a global tour dwelling on Unspoken Wounds—focused solely on those same problems?
Displacement is not merely the movement of people; it is the unraveling of stories, homes, memories, and dignity. In today’s political landscape, it involves more than just borders, it raises the question of permission. Who is allowed to exist?
