Emir Balat, 18, and Ibrahim Kayumi, 19, both from the Philadelphia area, entered their pleas during a brief court appearance following their arrest over an alleged March 7 incident targeting an anti-Islam demonstration outside Gracie Mansion, according to court filings and statements from federal prosecutors.

Authorities allege the two men traveled from Pennsylvania to New York with the intent to carry out an attack on the protest, which was organized by activist Jake Lang, a critic of Mayor Zohran Mamdani.

Prosecutors said the defendants deployed two improvised explosive devices containing triacetone triperoxide (TATP) and shrapnel, but the devices failed to detonate.No injuries were reported, and law enforcement officers detained the suspects shortly after the attempted attack.

The mayor and his wife were not present at the residence at the time, officials said.According to a federal complaint, investigators recovered dashcam footage from the suspects’ vehicle in which they allegedly discussed plans to kill as many as 60 people in an effort to “start terror.”

Prosecutors also said the defendants told police they were motivated by the Daesh group.Balat’s legal counsel declined to comment following the hearing, while attorneys representing Kayumi did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

The case highlights ongoing concerns among U.S. authorities over self-radicalized individuals and the use of easily assembled explosive materials such as TATP, which has been used in several past attacks due to its relative accessibility despite its volatility.

The defendants are scheduled to return to court on June 16.

A British woman convicted on terrorism-related charges after traveling to Syria has described her trajectory from personal vulnerability and radicalisation to imprisonment and eventual reintegration into society, offering a detailed account of the personal, legal and social consequences of her actions.

The woman, identified as Shakil, said her early life was marked by instability, including regular visits to her father in prison. She described a determination during adolescence to pursue a different path, excelling academically and enrolling at university to study psychology.

However, at age 20, she entered into a relationship that she said quickly became controlling. Within a year, she had married and left her studies.Shakil stated that the relationship resulted in social isolation and restricted communication, including periods during which she did not have access to a phone.

She distanced herself from family members, citing fear of disclosing her circumstances. During this period, she became involved with individuals who facilitated her travel to Syria via Turkey. She later told authorities that she concealed the truth from her family out of concern that she would lose access to her child.

Following her return, Shakil was released on bail and allowed limited contact with her son. She described this period as the most difficult phase of her life, marked by severe emotional distress and close monitoring by family members concerned about her safety.

After several months, she was formally charged with joining the Islamic State group and encouraging acts of terrorism, based on digital communications and social media activity during her time in Syria.In court proceedings, prosecutors presented messages in which Shakil expressed support for extremist causes and encouraged others to join her.

One message indicated a desire to die as a martyr. Additional evidence included photographs recovered from her phone, among them an image of her young child holding an assault rifle. Shakil denied the charges, arguing that she had not formally joined the group and that her actions were influenced by coercion and surveillance within Syria.

The presiding judge rejected her account, citing inconsistencies in her statements and the nature of the evidence. The court emphasized the risks posed to her child, including exposure to extremist ideology. Shakil was found guilty on both counts and sentenced to six years in prison.

Her case unfolded against the broader backdrop of the territorial defeat of Islamic State, marked by the fall of Baghouz in March 2019. Around the same time, another British national, Shamima Begum, re-emerged in a refugee camp.

Begum had left the United Kingdom as a minor and later became the subject of international attention when her citizenship was revoked by the British government on national security grounds. Authorities argued that she was eligible for citizenship elsewhere through her family, a claim that has been contested in ongoing legal proceedings.

Shakil drew a distinction between her own case and that of Begum, while acknowledging similarities in their circumstances. She expressed the view that Begum had been groomed as a minor, but argued that differences in their experiences, including the duration of time spent in Syria, shaped their respective outcomes.

Following her conviction, Shakil served approximately half of her sentence, including time spent on remand, before being released under strict probation conditions. These included geographic restrictions, limits on contact with family members, electronic monitoring, and a curfew.

Despite these constraints, she secured employment in multiple roles, including cleaning, hospitality and administrative work, often holding more than one job simultaneously.After completing her probationary period in 2021, Shakil began to speak publicly about her experiences.

She participated in a documentary and media appearances aimed at raising awareness about online grooming and radicalisation. She described her actions as the result of vulnerability and manipulation, while acknowledging public skepticism regarding such claims.

Efforts to establish a charitable initiative focused on educating young people about extremism did not materialize, which she attributed in part to a lack of public trust. She continued to receive negative reactions online but indicated that such responses did not significantly affect her.

In the years following her release, Shakil reported gradual improvements in her personal circumstances. Contact with her son was eventually restored, and she described rebuilding relationships with family and establishing a stable social network. By 2024, she indicated that she had reached a level of stability that had previously seemed unattainable.

More recently, she has used social media platforms to engage with audiences on topics including relationships, self-esteem and personal development. While she does not regularly discuss her past, she views her current lifestyle and public presence as part of a broader effort to demonstrate the possibility of rehabilitation.

Shakil remains subject to long-term monitoring requirements and continues to report regularly to law enforcement authorities, a condition that will remain in place until 2034. She stated that she accepts these measures as part of the consequences of her actions.

Her account reflects the intersection of personal vulnerability, extremist recruitment, legal accountability and reintegration challenges, illustrating the long-term implications of involvement in conflict zones and proscribed organisations.

Concerns over the influence of extremist ideologies on young people have grown in recent years, with researchers and practitioners pointing to a mix of social, psychological and digital factors that shape vulnerability.

Interviews with counsellors, educators and former at-risk individuals suggest that exposure often begins in subtle ways, long before any overt signs of radicalisation emerge.A youth counsellor working with vulnerable adolescents in northern India, who requested anonymity due to the sensitivity of the subject, said that feelings of isolation frequently act as an entry point.

“Most of the young people I meet are not looking for conflict,” the counsellor said. “They are looking for identity, purpose and recognition. Extremist narratives often package these in a very appealing way.”According to the counsellor, online platforms play a significant role in this early stage.

Content is often framed in simplified, emotionally charged language that resonates with personal grievances. “It doesn’t present itself as extremism at first,” the counsellor said. “It presents itself as truth, justice, or even empowerment.”

Educators and digital literacy experts say algorithm-driven platforms can amplify exposure by repeatedly surfacing similar content. A media studies researcher at a public university in Delhi noted that recommendation systems tend to reinforce engagement patterns.

“If a young person interacts with polarising or identity-driven content, the system feeds them more of it,” the researcher said. “Over time, this can create an echo chamber effect.”The researcher emphasised that this process is not limited to any one ideology or region. “The mechanism is structural rather than ideological,” they said.

“Different groups may use different narratives, but the underlying method of influence is remarkably similar.”Students interviewed for this article described encountering such content during routine social media use. One university student said that initially neutral discussions gradually shifted toward more rigid viewpoints. “At first it felt like learning something new,” the student said. “But over time, it became more about ‘us versus them’.”

Former participants in intervention programmes described how emotional factors often intersect with exposure to extremist messaging. A 22-year-old participant in a community outreach initiative said that during a period of personal uncertainty, online communities provided a sense of belonging.

“It felt like people understood me,” he said. “They had clear answers when everything else felt confusing.”He added that the shift toward more extreme viewpoints was gradual. “You don’t realise when your thinking starts changing,” he said. “It happens step by step.”Intervention specialists say that early engagement is critical.

A programme coordinator working with youth groups said that family members, teachers and peers often notice behavioural changes before individuals recognise them themselves. These may include withdrawal from social circles, increased rigidity in opinions, or heightened emotional responses to specific issues.

“The challenge is not to confront aggressively, but to create space for dialogue,” the coordinator said. “Young people respond better when they feel heard rather than judged.”

Experts consistently emphasise the importance of education and open communication in building resilience against extremist influence. Digital literacy programmes, which teach young people to critically evaluate online information, are increasingly seen as essential tools.

A school principal in Srinagar said that structured discussions in classrooms have helped students navigate sensitive topics. “We encourage questions rather than shutting them down,” the principal said. “When students feel safe to express doubts, they are less likely to seek answers in unverified spaces.”Community initiatives also play a role.

Local organisations working with youth have introduced mentorship programmes and extracurricular activities aimed at fostering a sense of inclusion. According to organisers, providing constructive outlets for energy and ambition can reduce susceptibility to harmful narratives.Mental health professionals highlight the need to address underlying emotional factors.

“Extremist messaging often exploits feelings of anger, injustice or alienation,” said a clinical psychologist based in Mumbai. “If those feelings are acknowledged and managed in healthy ways, the appeal of such narratives diminishes.”At the policy level, governments and institutions have focused on balancing security measures with preventive approaches.

Analysts note that enforcement alone is insufficient without parallel investment in education, employment opportunities and community engagement.The accounts gathered in these interviews indicate that while the pathways into extremism are complex, they are not inevitable.

Practitioners underline that timely intervention, supportive environments and access to credible information can significantly alter outcomes for young people navigating identity and belonging in an increasingly digital world.

Deoband’s embrace of the Taliban foreign minister is dangerous — but also offers an opening.

Amir Khan Muttaqi, Foreign Minister of the Taliban-led government in Afghanistan and a senior figure in its political and ideological leadership, has recently completed a six-day visit to India — an episode loaded with meaning.

From his informal ban on female journalists, to the cancellation of his Agra leg, and his carefully choreographed stop at the Vivekananda Foundation. Yet, it is his visit to Dar ul Uloom Deoband, the theological heart of South Asian Deobandi Islam, that has invited sharpest scrutiny.

For years, Indian Muslims — particularly those aligned with the Deobandi school — have tried to draw a distinction between “their Islam,” described as democratic and egalitarian, and the Taliban’s brutal, patriarchal regime. Muttaqi’s pilgrimage to his ideological fountainhead has challenged that narrative.

When the Taliban’s foreign minister visits Deoband, and the seminary receives him with honor, it becomes almost impossible to sustain the claim that the Taliban are merely “misguided” Muslims. Why, then, should men who have subjugated women and silenced dissent be treated as heroes?

What emerges instead is a chilling recognition: the Taliban are not a deviation from Deobandi Islam according to the seminary, but one of its most literal political manifestations.

The confusion within India’s religiously-inclined Muslim intelligentsia over how to respond to this visit is telling — and repetitive. Some rush to rationalize it as “cultural diplomacy” or a gesture of goodwill in the national interest, strangely bringing the Muslim right and the Hindu right onto the same page.

Others recoil in discomfort but stop short of open criticism. Deoband’s endorsement of Muttaqi symbolically affirms the very doctrines that have justified gender apartheid, banned girls from education, and institutionalized moral policing across Afghanistan.

This moment is not merely about Afghanistan; it reflects a moral crisis within Indian muslims as well — a refusal to confront its own regressive solidarities under the pretext of religious kinship. The spectacle of Deoband greeting Muttaqi with reverence reveals the unbroken theological thread linking the 19th seminary to the taliban led theocratic governance.

Deoband’s embrace of the Taliban foreign minister is dangerous — but also offers an opening. If the Taliban truly draw their ideological legitimacy from Deoband, then Deoband carries a moral responsibility: to humanize that ideology, to insist that justice and compassion, not repression, define Islam.

The seminary has a proud history of standing against colonial injustice and for India’s freedom. Can it now stand for Afghan women denied education, or men imprisoned for thought?

If Dar ul Uloom Deoband wishes to remain relevant in a plural democracy, it must decide where it stands — with democracy, gender justice, and education, or with those who burn books, bury dissent, and blind the future of half their population.

Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The movement to ban the Awami League was hardly an isolated event; rather, it traced its origins to the student unrest that erupted in July 2024. Initial grievances focused on education policy, persistent corruption, and the burdens of economic hardship, but the agitation rapidly escalated into violence. 

The coalition of dissent widened as Islamist organizations and right-wing groups joined the mobilization, their rhetoric coalescing with that of newly formed student parties, National Citizen’s Party. The public discourse became saturated with serious allegations: both the Awami League and its student affiliate, the Chhatra League, faced blame for violent reprisals and the deaths of hundreds during the previous year’s protests. Over time, the demonstrators’ demands intensified. Calls emerged for the party to be designated a terrorist organization and for its leadership to be prosecuted before the International Crimes Tribunal.

This pressure culminated in a significant government response. Chief Advisor Muhammad Yunus declared the party banned under the Anti-Terrorism Act, pledging that the prohibition would remain until all charges had been legally examined. While many protesters celebrated this outcome, the broader atmosphere in Dhaka remained charged with anxiety and uncertainty. The Awami League, a party whose history is deeply intertwined with the founding of Bangladesh in 1971, now found itself the subject of condemnation and legal scrutiny by the very populace it once liberated from Pakistan. 

A Unique Protest to ban

The demonstration against the Awami League rapidly escalated into a deeply unsettling display of extremist fervour. Islamist groups, including those reported to have connections with organizations such as Al Qaida, became highly visible among the protesters. Notably, Mufti Jashimuddin Rahmani—a cleric widely recognized for his radical ideology—publicly brandished the flag of Islam, a symbol that, after years of association with violent acts, now carries significant and troubling connotations.

Representatives from Hizb ut-Tahrir, Hefazat-e-Islam, and associates of Rahmani with criminal convictions gathered, their collective presence casting an unmistakable pall over the city’s atmosphere. The demonstration fragmented with Jamaat E Islami and Islami Chatra Shibir; both groups chanted slogans like, “No Awami League in the land of Nizami, no Awami League in the land of Golam Azam,” referencing individuals convicted of war crimes in 1971 as if they were figures worthy of admiration and they owned Bengal. Another segment of the crowd escalated the rhetoric further, openly issuing death threats: “Catch and slaughter Awami League one by one.”

The environment became saturated with hostility—a manifestation not of peaceful political dissent, but of incitement to violence. At this point, the gathering ceased to resemble a lawful protest; rather, it devolved into a perilous spectacle in which the boundaries between legitimate calls for justice and extremist violence were dangerously obscured, seemingly fuelled by both state endorsement and radical zeal.

The Controversial Ban

The international community observed the unfolding events with marked concern. Human rights organizations, like Human Rights Watch characterized the ban on the Awami League as arbitrary, raising questions regarding the government’s intentions—was this a pursuit of justice, or an attempt to suppress dissent? The United Nations previously expressed alarm over banning what it described as diminishing civil liberties, while India openly voiced apprehension on democratic future as a response to the ban. 

The government justified its actions under the pretext of national security. Yet, this raised a crucial issue: who defines the parameters of security when the opposition is excluded from participation? Many questioned the legitimacy of a democracy that outlaws its oldest political party. The ban’s reach extended beyond politicians—it affected students, women, and entire communities. Such measures prompted debate over whether this constituted justice or amounted to collective punishment.

Tensions escalated throughout Dhaka; the disappearance of protestors and the retreat of supporters into clandestinity reflected the climate of fear and uncertainty. While some framed the crackdown as a necessary purge, most observers interpreted it as symptomatic of broader societal anxiety.

International actors, including foreign governments and NGOs, called for transparency, adherence to legal norms, and meaningful reforms. The interim government promised stability, yet the cost of such “order” remained ambiguous and contested.

This situation provokes reflection: Is this the outcome for which Bangladesh’s founders struggled in 1971, or does it represent a cyclical return to past traumas under new guises? When national symbols are suppressed and political expression is stifled, what remains of democratic governance?

Critics drew a distinction between punishing an organization and addressing criminal behaviour, underscoring the dangers of conflating the two. The world now watches closely, questioning who ultimately benefits from the absence of opposition, and who might be targeted next.

What’s next for Awami League?

The recent ban is undeniably severe, and the authorities’ response has been rigorous, even unyielding. Yet, as reported by Voice of America, public sentiment does not overwhelmingly align with the ban. Notably, in district bar elections, lawyers affiliated with the Awami League performed unexpectedly well. However, in many districts the interim Government forced them not to participate. Online surveys continue to indicate that the party retains substantial support, frequently leading in popularity. So, is this a conclusion, or merely another episode in a protracted political journey?

Historically, the party has confronted similar obstacles. After 1975, the Awami League operated clandestinely but ultimately re-emerged, playing a pivotal role in the 1990 movement for democracy. At present, many of its leaders are in hiding; their residences have been ransacked and their financial assets frozen. Some face threats of violence, torture, and live under persistent fear. Nevertheless, history offers important lessons. The Awami League was conceived in resistance, matured in secrecy, and spearheaded the independence war of 1971. The critical question is whether such resilience can be summoned once again.

Arguably, this period represents one of the most formidable challenges the party has faced. Growing anti-incumbency sentiment and the ban itself are compelling the organization to reassess its strategy and reconnect with foundational principles. This moment calls for a renewed study of Mujib’s legacy, the pre-independence struggle, and the dynamics of political survival. Operating covertly, the party must reorganize, adapt, and remain patient heading for a Non-violent cultural revolution. 

A non-violent cultural revolution, at its core, does not emerge through slogans or public altercations. Instead, it finds its genesis in artistic expression—music, poetry, and the collective act of remembering. Such change germinates in intimate gatherings, within the retelling of stories about figures like Mujib and the struggles of founding leaders, and in the songs that once served as a unifying force for the nation.

Both the young and the elderly revisit historical narratives, not for the sake of lamentation, but to derive lessons about resistance that is devoid of animosity. Art, within this context, evolves into a vehicle for protest, while protest, conversely, assumes the qualities of art. This form of revolution proliferates in educational spaces, in casual conversations at tea stalls, and within the quiet but resolute refusal to embrace violence. Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The Awami League has demonstrated a remarkable capacity for cultural and political resurgence in the past. Whether it can transform present adversity into renewed opportunity is a new challenge. Ultimately, as has so often been the case in Bangladesh, the outcome will be difficult, but the grand return is far from over. 

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Home Secretary Yvette Cooper revoked his travel permission after The Telegraph revealed his upcoming tour of London, Manchester, and Birmingham, titled “Waking the Dead – Returning from the Darkness.” The Home Office concluded his presence was “not conducive to the public good,” citing concerns over public safety and social cohesion.

“Sheikh Farooq will not be permitted to enter the UK,” a Home Office spokesperson confirmed. “Our priority remains maintaining the safety and security of the UK and our communities. We have robust safeguards in place to prevent entry of individuals who seek to sow hatred and division.”

Airlines have reportedly been instructed not to allow Sheikh Farooq to board flights to the UK.

Preacher Under Fire for Comments on Slavery and Women

Sheikh Farooq, who is based in San Diego and affiliated with the One Message Foundation, stirred widespread condemnation after a video surfaced in which he claimed that sexual relations with female slaves captured in war were permissible under Islamic law.

Explaining his view in the video, he said: “Those taken under war as captives… you’re now going to support and keep in your house… they are like a wife… if Allah made it halal, then it’s not sinning, that is not adultery.”

His comments have drawn sharp criticism from human rights advocates, secular organizations, and Muslim community leaders alike.

Fiyaz Mughal, founder of Faith Matters, condemned the preacher’s statements as “abhorrent,” adding, “Saying that sex with slaves is permissible sends a barbaric message to people. We’ve seen what groups like ISIS did to Yazidi women. Such views should not find a platform in the UK.”

Stephen Evans, chief executive of the National Secular Society, said: “Any charity hosting a speaker who condones sexual slavery should have its charitable status seriously reviewed. Promoting misogyny undermines public benefit and social harmony.”

Robert Jenrick, Shadow Justice Secretary, had earlier called on the government to prevent the preacher’s entry. “This man should never step foot on UK soil. His visa must be revoked immediately,” he stated. “Islamists spreading hate and sowing division are not welcome here.”

Sheikh Farooq previously toured parts of the UK last month, delivering lectures that also raised concerns. He has made remarks predicting the Islamization of Europe, the US, and Russia, saying, “The future is ours… every nightmare of a Muslim Europe will come true.” He urged Muslims to “never apologize” or “compromise” their faith.

In another appearance in Leicester, he made comments perceived as anti-Semitic, adding to the backlash.

Sheikh Farooq was set to appear alongside Ustadh Imran ibn Mansur, a social media figure who brands himself a Muslim entrepreneur. Mr. Mansur has shared videos advising Muslim women to create anonymous online content and has made controversial statements about women wearing perfume, calling them “fornicatresses.”

The UK government’s move reflects a broader effort to counter extremist ideologies, particularly those that incite hatred or undermine democratic values. The decision signals zero tolerance for individuals espousing regressive or inflammatory views, regardless of religious affiliation.

The ban underscores Britain’s commitment to ensuring that religious discourse does not become a platform for misogyny, antisemitism, or hate speech cloaked in theological justifications.

While the discussion was initially intended to focus on another topic, Patel chose to address the question head-on. “It’s a sensitive subject,” he acknowledged, “but I want to frankly put forward my view. Because of recent events and the buzz on social media, this discussion has become necessary.”

Patel’s response was not politically driven, but deeply rooted in Islamic ethics and Sharia principles. His critique centered not on the people of Pakistan, but on what he described as a dangerous contradiction: the open and tolerated presence of armed terror groups within the country’s borders.

“Think for yourself — Pakistan is a country where terror groups openly exist,” he said. “It may not be officially legal, but their existence is not hidden.”

From a Sharia perspective, Patel reminded listeners that such realities are alarming. Islamic scholars across the world have issued fatwas—legal verdicts—categorically opposing the existence of independent armed militias operating outside the state’s control. “Even if what these groups do is set aside for a moment,” he said, “their very existence is a problem.”

Zaid Patel emphasized that such groups, while claiming to operate in the name of Islam, have in fact brought grave damage to the image of the religion globally. “These groups carry out violence, including attacks on civilians, and claim it as jihad. But their actions have no basis in the Quran or the Sunnah,” he noted.

In a powerful and emotional moment, Patel turned the spotlight on the consequences faced by Indian Muslims.

“We Indian Muslims suffer because of this exported extremism. The extremism increasing in India also has roots in this external influence,” he said.

According to Patel, these groups have not only harmed Muslims in Pakistan but have also created ripple effects across the region. Their activities have given fuel to anti-Muslim narratives, sowing suspicion and hostility toward peace-loving Muslims, especially in India.

“Have you ever seen a terror group condemn an attack, saying it was wrong?” Patel asked. “Instead, even if they didn’t do it, they behave as if they want credit for it. That’s the dangerous mentality that is spreading in public spaces.”

This dual failure—both moral and political—has led to what he calls “a double policy.” On paper, Pakistan adheres to international treaties and obligations. But in practice, these groups operate with shocking impunity. “There’s ample proof that they operate with legal and logistical freedom,” Patel said. “When the whole world knows about them, how can we pretend otherwise?”

His message was particularly resonant for Indian Muslims, who often find themselves caught in the crossfire—both metaphorically and socially. “We bear the consequences both internally and externally,” he lamented. “Terrorism is being used as a proxy war in the name of Islam, and all of us suffer because of it.”

Ending his statement with clarity and compassion, Zaid Patel reiterated that Islam offers no room for such armed militancy. “A Muslim country should not allow independent armed groups to exist. There is no justification for it in the Quran or Hadith. Their actions harm Islam and Muslims worldwide.”

In an age of noise and half-truths, Patel’s forthright response stood out—not just for its honesty, but for its deep concern for the well-being of Indian Muslims and the sanctity of Islamic teachings. It was less a political answer and more a moral plea: for accountability, for clarity, and above all, for peace.

In a video message widely shared on social media, Shaykh Rahmani raised the critical question: “What is the Islamic status of the neighboring country, Pakistan? And given the current situation there, can it truly be said that an Islamic government or Islamic system is functioning?”

He argued that both India and Pakistan operate under similar democratic structures and that Pakistan’s creation in 1947 was driven more by political ambition than by Islamic principles. “Pakistan was not founded on Islamic ideals,” he said. “Those behind the partition were primarily motivated by worldly interests — positions, power, and authority.”

Shaykh Rahmani referenced the position of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, a key figure in India’s independence movement and an influential Islamic thinker, who had strongly opposed the partition of British India.

“Maulana Azad clearly stated that India was our homeland — where we were born and where we would die. That vision remains significant even today,” Rahmani noted, adding that for many Indian Muslims, India continues to be a safer and more stable environment than Pakistan.

Highlighting the deteriorating security situation in Pakistan, he expressed concern over the prevalence of extremist violence.

“We are witnessing a troubling frequency of murders — of children, women, the elderly, and religious scholars. The ideology behind many of these acts is similar to that of the historical Kharijites — a radical sect known for their extremism and violence,” he stated.

Shaykh Rahmani also condemned the use of religious institutions in Pakistan for political purposes. “Mosques and madrasas, which should be centers of learning and spiritual guidance, are being used as shields and platforms for political demands. This is not the way of the Muslim Ummah — it is the path of the Kharijites.”

Calling for a more informed and principled approach, he cautioned Muslims around the world not to be swayed by emotional or romanticized views of Pakistan. “Some may think Pakistan is beneficial for Islam or for Muslims. But history tells us otherwise — scholars have been assassinated, and sacred institutions misused.”

He concluded with a prayer: “Such policies can never be classified as Islamic. They mirror the practices of the Kharijites. May God protect us from all forms of evil and chaos.”

Shaykh Rahmani’s remarks are expected to stir conversation among Muslim communities across South Asia and beyond, especially as debates continue about statehood, religious authority, and the role of faith in governance.

Taha’s remarks come in the wake of deadly terror attacks in Jammu and Kashmir, where civilians, including children, were killed by militants reportedly backed by Pakistani extremist networks. India responded swiftly, targeting the militant infrastructure across the Line of Control, a move supported by many across the region as both proportionate and necessary.

“This isn’t aggression — it’s justice,” Taha continued, pointing out the hypocrisy of critics who remained silent during the initial bloodshed but have now taken issue with India’s right to defend itself.

Among the more troubling developments, however, is Pakistan’s reported targeting of civilian areas in cross-border shelling, which has resulted in casualties and displacement. Human rights groups have voiced concern over this escalation, calling it a violation of international norms.

What has further inflamed opinion, particularly in the UK and parts of Europe, is the reaction from certain Western lawmakers. “Why are some British MPs acting like they’re part of Pakistan’s PR team instead of serving their own country?” Taha asked pointedly, reflecting a sentiment shared by many Indian and international observers alike.

In a time when terrorism is increasingly transnational, the notion that democracies must remain passive in the face of violence is not only outdated but dangerous. Drawing a comparison to the October 7th Hamas attacks on Israel, Taha noted the eerie similarities: “Just like Israel, ambushed in its sleep by genocidal terrorists, India woke up to dead babies in Kashmir — murdered by extremists. And suddenly, the same voices that were silent during the massacre are now loud against the response.”

The political scientist didn’t mince words about the surge of Muslim Brotherhood-linked rhetoric in European media, where self-styled “experts” have emerged to criticize India while glossing over the root cause — terrorism.

“The truth is simple: don’t cry about the response when you applauded the attack. You started it, you don’t get to choose how it ends,” Taha asserted. He concluded his post with a deeply resonant quote: “When dharma is attacked, the warrior rises. And when the warrior rises, the war ends one way: victory.”

As the world grapples with the balance between justice and diplomacy, the Indian case forces a stark reconsideration: when a nation is attacked, is it not duty-bound to defend its citizens — swiftly, decisively, and without apology?

For many, Taha’s words have become more than a commentary — they are a call for moral clarity in a world too often clouded by selective outrage.

In a widely circulated video, Shaykh Rahmani warns the Muslim youth not to fall victim to what he calls a “foreign conspiracy” aimed at sowing religious confusion. Speaking in Urdu with restrained passion, he said, “The propaganda is coming from across the border — in English — camouflaged under Islamic scholarship to mislead Indian Muslims.”

Shaykh Rahmani’s comments come amid a social media campaign reportedly originating from Pakistan, which discourages Muslims in India from joining the armed forces, branding it un-Islamic.

“They could not establish Shariah in their own land,” he said, referring to Pakistan, “so now they are targeting Indian Muslims, creating doubt over something that has no basis in Islamic creed.”

The senior Salafi scholar made it clear that enlisting in the Indian Army is a personal and civic decision, not a theological dilemma. “This is not an issue of Islam versus Kufr. Joining the army does not turn one into a disbeliever,” he asserted. “It is about protecting the nation, just as any other country’s military defends its own borders.”

Shaykh Rahmani emphasized that the Indian Army is a national institution and not a religious one, and that its role should not be misrepresented through sectarian lenses. “There is a security matter between two countries — not between two faiths. Don’t confuse patriotism with blasphemy,” he cautioned.

This video has gained traction amid ongoing discussions about the role of Muslims in India’s armed forces. Many within the community serve with distinction in the military, and the government has repeatedly highlighted its secular credentials in national institutions.

However, voices that attempt to religiously polarize such national duties, whether domestic or foreign, raise concerns about the manipulation of faith for political or ideological gain.

Security analysts and interfaith scholars have also weighed in, warning that conflating national duty with religious betrayal is not only misleading but potentially destabilizing. “This narrative isn’t just misguided — it’s dangerous,” said one Delhi-based interfaith researcher. “It isolates Indian Muslims from civic responsibility and plays straight into divisive hands.”

The Abul Kalam Azad Islamic Awakening Centre, under Shaykh Rahmani’s leadership, has been vocal in countering extremism and religious misinterpretation, especially among urban Muslim youth. His recent statements are seen as part of a broader effort to reclaim religious narratives from geopolitical agendas.

As India navigates complex domestic and regional dynamics, scholars like Shaykh Rahmani are emerging as vital voices defending both Islamic integrity and national unity.