This is a question that Muslims themselves must confront honestly and internally, rather than deflecting scrutiny by labelling all inquiry as Islamophobia.

Once again, terror has struck Australia’s Jewish community. In the aftermath, a familiar argument has surfaced in the media: that only a handful of individuals, three people out of hundreds of millions of Muslims worldwide, carried out this act of extreme violence, and that the wider Muslim community has nothing to do with it. This assertion is repeatedly offered as a moral and religious defense and, on the surface, appears valid.

However, what is conveniently overlooked is that celebrations and open approval of this massacre are visible across sections of the Muslim world, particularly on social media and in private conversations. Alongside this, there has also been what can only be described as cosmetic condemnation and performative solidarity, expressed through slogans such as “Islam is against violence” and “Islam condemns this.”

In this process, the victims cease to be those who lost their lives. Instead, Islam, the religion itself is positioned as the primary victim, and the public energy shifts toward defending the religion rather than mourning the dead.

This raises a more uncomfortable but necessary question. Why does this phenomenon recur? Why does violence against Jewish civilians provoke not only silence but, in some quarters, open approval? Unless this question is confronted honestly, beyond politically correct language and defensive posturing, the cycle of denial, hypocrisy, and repetition will continue, costing more lives and deepening hatred across communities.

In the aftermath of this horrific attack on civilians, another familiar narrative has been foregrounded. Considerable emphasis has been placed on the fact that a Muslim saved people during the attack and that another Muslim stood up against the Islamist terrorists. The issue, however, is not whether a Muslim acted humanely in the face of inhuman violence. That is an expectation of any human being.

The more fundamental question is why the first individual was driven to carry out the attack in the first place. Until this question is addressed honestly, there is little meaning in celebrating the second act of resistance against jihadist violence. Acts of courage during terror attacks deserve recognition, but they cannot substitute for a serious examination of the ideological and religious conditioning that produces such violence. Without confronting these roots, such narratives risk becoming distractions rather than pathways to solutions.

Each time such an attack occurs, a familiar defence is invoked: that this is not true Islam, that this is not the Islam followed by the vast majority of Muslims. While this may be factually correct, it leaves a deeper and more unsettling question unanswered.

Why are these acts of terror repeatedly carried out in the name of Islam? This is a question that Muslims themselves must confront honestly and internally, rather than deflecting scrutiny by labelling all inquiry as Islamophobia. Genuine introspection is not an attack on faith. It is a necessary condition for preventing its distortion into an instrument of violence.

Until this question is faced squarely, moral disclaimers will continue to ring hollow and fail to address the root of the problem.

Arfa Khanum Sherwani, described the Bondi Beach attack as Islamist terrorist violence targeting a peaceful gathering. In response, she was subjected to sharp criticism from sections of the Muslim intelligentsia. She was accused of liberal hypocrisy, of playing into the hands of the West, and of immaturity, among other charges.

This reaction is revealing. It shows how even naming and condemning violence carried out in the name of Islam provokes hostility rather than introspection. The focus shifts away from the crime itself and toward discrediting the individual who dares to call it out.

If thirteen or fifteen people are killed in the name of any ideology, that ideology must be subjected to scrutiny. The problem lies not with those who identify and condemn ideological violence, but with the refusal to examine the ideas that legitimize it. The instinct to silence criticism rather than engage with it reflects a deeper discomfort with accountability.

Many argue that such attacks are a consequence of the war in Gaza and Israel’s military actions. However, this particular attack targeted Jews in Australia, was carried out by a man of Pakistani origin, and occurred on Australian soil. It had no direct connection to the conflict in Gaza.

Until recently, some of our left-liberal circles argued that the attack of 7 October was justified, claiming it was inevitable because seventy-five years of history lay behind it. Even if one were to accept the relevance of historical context, a basic question remains unanswered. What had Jews celebrating Hanukkah in Australia done to people living far away in Pakistan to provoke such violence?

Yet the attack exposes something more troubling. The Gaza conflict is increasingly being conflated and weaponised to justify hostility toward Jewish communities across the world. Political anger over a distant war is redirected into hatred against civilians who have no role in that conflict.

This is deeply concerning. Slogans such as “from the river to the sea” can easily be stripped of political context and transformed into rhetoric that legitimises indiscriminate violence. What begins as a political position risks mutating into a justification for collective punishment and terror.

This slippage between protest and violence must be recognized and confronted before it becomes normalized, and the texts that give moral justification to Muslims to carry out such attacks such as Sahih Bukhari’s Hadees in which Prophet Mohammed reported to have said that ‘The Hour will not be established until you fight with the Jews, and the stone behind which a Jew will be hiding will say. “O Muslim! There is a Jew hiding behind me, so kill him.”

What it does require is a responsible, contextual explanation of such texts—how they emerged in specific historical circumstances, how classical scholars understood their limits, and why they cannot be mechanically or morally applied to contemporary civilian life.

Islamic history itself offers clear counterpoints to extremist readings. Jewish–Muslim collaboration was not an anomaly but a lived reality: the Jewish physician who served Sultan Salahuddin Ayyubi, or the Jewish neighbour of the great scholar Abdullah bin Mubarak, are reminders that coexistence, trust, and shared civic life were integral to Muslim societies. These realities stand in direct contradiction to modern attempts to universalise selective texts into timeless mandates of violence.

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.

Speaking at the Convention for Overseas Pakistanis in Islamabad—with Prime Minister Shahbaz Sharif in attendance—General Munir declared that Pakistan was created on the basis of “every possible difference” between the two religious communities.

“Our religion is different. Our customs are different. Our traditions are different. Our thoughts are different. Our ambitions are different,” Munir said, invoking the ideological foundation laid by Muhammad Ali Jinnah in the 1940s. “You must tell this to your children so that they never forget the story of Pakistan.”

But this “story” is not just about differences—it’s a carefully preserved narrative used by Pakistan’s military establishment to maintain a stranglehold on power, distract the public from economic failures, and perpetuate enmity with India. It is a story that has long come at the cost of regional peace, minority rights, and Pakistan’s own internal harmony.

Munir’s speech, delivered with a religious tone befitting his reputation as a “Hafiz-e-Quran”, did little to hide the Army’s obsession with defining Pakistan solely through what it is not—India. His remarks reflected the establishment’s enduring dependence on the ideological rhetoric of 1947, a time when the wounds of Partition were still fresh, and the world had not yet seen the consequences of such rigid identity politics.

A Doctrine Past Its Expiry Date

The Two-Nation Theory has not aged well. If anything, it collapsed under its own contradictions in 1971, when Bangladesh—originally East Pakistan—broke away in a bloody war that exposed the myth of religious unity. Despite sharing the same religion, East Pakistanis rejected the economic and political dominance of West Pakistan, shattering the illusion that Islam alone could form a cohesive national identity.

And yet, here we are in 2025, with the head of Pakistan’s most powerful institution lecturing overseas citizens to hold tight to that expired ideology. What purpose does this serve, other than reinforcing xenophobia, hostility, and a warped sense of nationalism rooted in exclusion and antagonism?

Critics across the globe have not held back. Indian strategic expert Aditya Raj Kaul accused Munir of “exposing his hate for Hindus and India,” while prominent Pakistani journalist Taha Siddiqui called the remarks an attempt to “brainwash youth” with dangerous falsehoods.

Assam Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma called the speech a reminder of the stark ideological divide between the two nations, urging India to stop harboring illusions about reconciliation with its western neighbor.

The Real Jugular: The Army’s Grip on Pakistan

Munir’s speech also touched on Pakistan’s usual talking points—Kashmir and Balochistan. His threat-laced comments about Baloch rebels further illustrated how the military sees dissent as terrorism, rather than a call for justice. Kashmir, once again called Pakistan’s “jugular vein,” is less a heartfelt issue and more a strategic tool—one that sustains the military’s budget, influence, and unchallenged supremacy in Pakistan’s political life.

As Delhi-based journalist Rishi Suri rightly pointed out, Kashmir has become more of a “business model” for Pakistan’s generals than a national cause. Strategic analyst Sonam Mahajan summed it up bluntly, “Kashmir is Pakistan’s jugular vein, which explains why Pakistan has been in the ICU for 78 years, sustained only by IMF oxygen and jihadist morphine.”

An Unyielding Establishment in a Changing World

The tragedy of General Munir’s speech is that it wasn’t surprising. It’s the same tired script the Pakistan Army has relied on for decades—where religion is used to unify, enemies are used to justify military supremacy, and history is rewritten to prevent progress.

Pakistan’s establishment had a choice. It could have embraced a narrative of peace, coexistence, and modern statehood. Instead, it chose to double down on identity politics rooted in fear and historical grievances.

By clinging to an outdated and divisive ideology, General Asim Munir and the Pakistan military aren’t just looking backward—they’re actively obstructing the possibility of a forward-looking, inclusive, and stable Pakistan.

And perhaps that is by design. Because in a truly democratic and progressive Pakistan, the Army might no longer be the most powerful voice in the room.

Dalia Ziada

Muslim Brotherhood managed to gain political victory in parliament by playing on the religious piety of the poor and illiterate citizens in rural areas…

The Egyptian people are widely celebrating Egypt’s restoration of its regional status, after the recent successful mediation for ceasefire between Tel Aviv and Hamas, and President El-Sisi’s pledge to reconstruct Gaza. Meanwhile, the Egyptian state has been gearing up for an equally challenging mission, but on the domestic level. This mission is about renovating the rural areas and improving life conditions for citizens living in rural cities, which represent more than 80% of the inhabited Egyptian geographic area. This important project is expected to enhance Egypt’s overall political and economic structure. But, most importantly it will undermine the social and economic gaps, through which radicalism, religious extremism, and political Islamism has leaked into the Egyptian society.

Earlier this week, the Egyptian President Abdel-Fattah El-Sisi and the Prime Minister Mostafa Madbouly, discussed the workflow of the rural development project. El-Sisi directed the Prime Minister to “harness all of the country’s resources and spare no effort to render such a project a success”. The project targets a total of 4,584 villages, with an estimated budget of 700 billion Egyptian Pounds (about 45 billion US dollars), to be invested in upgrading the infrastructure of water, gas, and power supplies, in addition to building underground sewage networks and improving road services.

If you have ever visited Egypt, you know that there is a gap in economic and social development between urban and rural cities. The situation is even worse in distant and small villages in Upper Egypt, where citizens, for decades, have been suffering from poverty, illiteracy, and lack of basic governmental services.

Since the time of Muhammad Ali Pasha monarchy (1805 – 1953), most of the government-led social and economic development projects had been focused in the capital city, Cairo, and the Mediterranean coastal city, Alexandria. During this era, Cairo was labeled as the hub for arts and culture in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. European people used to flee their war- torn countries and migrate to live in the peace and glamour of Cairo and Alexandria.

In a shocking contrast to this, the Egyptians living in rural areas were declined their basic rights to live as equal citizens, with equal access to education and opportunities. They were mostly treated like slaves serving in the farms owned by the wealthy feudal lords, who were politically close to the monarchy. This huge gap between Cairo and the other rural governorates, in the regions of Delta and Upper Egypt, enabled the appearance of radical political Islamist organizations, such as the Muslim Brotherhood, which started its mission in the eastern city of Ismailia and slowly moved to other rural cities in the Delta until it became strong enough to challenge and threaten the lives of the ruling political elite in secular Cairo.

After, the Free Officers Revolution, in 1952, which ended the monarchy and established Egypt as an independent Arab republic, the situation of rural citizens changed a lot. The then President Gamal Abdel Nasser, with a communist mindset, built his legacy around empowering the poor citizens, especially the farmers living in rural areas. Actually, he took the farms of the feudal lords and gave it to the farmers who had been serving in them, under the monarchy.

Despite the euphoria this move created among the poor, at the beginning of his era, Nasser failed to provide the appropriate citizen education and infrastructure development that could have had empowered the farmers to benefit from their newly acquired farming wealth. As a result, many of those farmers sold their pieces of land for houses construction contractors, and then moved with the money to live in Cairo.

During Sadat and Mubarak era, which extended for about four decades, the rural cities became in a worse condition. Most of the governmental infrastructure and development projects focused on Cairo. Meanwhile, most of the farmers went on selling the farms given to them by Nasser and most of the youth in rural cities sought after illegal immigration to Europe via the Mediterranean. This created a huge and dangerous gap, through which radical Islamists intervened to radicalize the poor and illiterate citizens and recruit the youth suffering poverty, lack of education, and unemployment in villages far from the capital city.

In the 1990s, violent Islamist organizations, like Al-jamaa Al-Islamiya (The Islamic Group), established an empire of its own among the poor villages of Upper Egypt. Towards the end of Mubarak era, the Muslim Brotherhood managed to gain political victory in parliament by playing on the religious piety of the poor and illiterate citizens in rural areas, and also by providing them with basic health and food services that the government failed to provide, at that time.

In light of this history, El-Sisi’s national project for developing the infrastructure and citizen well-being in rural cities, derives its importance. The success of this massive project is expected to bring a lot of benefits to the economic well-being of Egypt, on the long-term. It will rebalance the demographic distribution between the urban and rural cities. Less people will desire to leave their rural cities and internally migrate to Cairo or internationally migrate to Europe, searching for better life conditions and work opportunities.

However, the most important, yet undeclared, outcome of this important national project is to fight against the religious extremists and terrorist organizations, who found a fertile soil for their radical ideology among the needs and despairs of the young people living in those less-developed and under-constructed rural villages. This simply means a more secure future for Egypt, if not for the whole Middle East and the Mediterranean regions.

Piece first published in Sada El Bilad.

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