On the walk south, the author confronts memory, loss and the reality of an irreparable break with the past.

Masjid leadership in the U.S. often have sincere intentions to do what is best for their community. However, when faced with the choice between funding an expansion or investing in human resources, leadership frequently falls into what I call the Expansion Trap. This trade-off usually centers around accommodating the larger crowds that gather for Jumu‘ah, Taraweeh, and Eid prayers. Though these decisions are made with good intentions, they often lead to empty prayer halls, overworked staff, and the mismanagement of funds. To understand why this often occurs, we must first delve into the inner workings of the decision.  

The Drive for Expansion

At first glance, expansion feels like the most natural choice. A mosque’s primary purpose is to provide space for worship, so what better use of funds could there be than to welcome more believers in prayer? Additionally, expansion projects are highly visible and celebrated within the community. They serve as a symbol of “progress,” reflecting how success is often measured culturally by physical growth. While the outcome is tangible and exciting, it often comes with hidden, long-term consequences that weaken the very mission the masjid was built to serve.

The Question of Compensation

There is also the idea that those who work for the mosque should remain humble and not expect substantial income from mosque funds. Instead, people are encouraged to work for free for the sake of Allah ﷻ. After all, what deed is better than one done sincerely for the sake of Allah ﷻ? 

The Core Dilemma

This raises the question: to what extent does that justify fundraising for expansion, especially when the rows of the mosque remain empty during the five daily prayers? Furthermore, how can volunteers dedicate themselves solely to serving the mosque if doing so creates a financial deficit in providing for their families? 

Masjid Expansions: Counting the Costs

“Years go by collecting funds, sometimes from frustrated congregants, while the mosque remains empty.” [PC: Bayu Prayuda (unsplash)]

Let us first consider the reality of expanding the mosque to accommodate more worshippers during Jumu‘ah and the nights of Ramadan. Expanding the mosque leads to more overhead expenses for the mosque on a monthly basis. At the same time, the mosque is left empty for 25 out of the 30 days of the month. When a seasoned Mufti and Imam was asked about this disparity, he advised that our priority should be strengthening the community within the mosque by reviving a genuine concern (fikr) for the effort of da‘wah and practicing it in depth. This is not to say that accommodation and expansion should not be considered, or that they are not relevant or important. Rather, the argument is about where to place expansion on our priority list. If a mosque were to procure $250,000 over the year, how should that money be spent—or, in this case, in what cause should it be spent primarily?

Choosing to pursue an expansion project comes with significant trade-offs—massive budgets, long fundraising periods, and increased overhead expenses—making it one of the most common bottlenecks and financial pitfalls that mosques face, all while the daily rows of the mosque remain underutilized. You can’t meaningfully expand with just $200k. If expansion is pursued, it often means going all in—and suddenly the fundraising budget jumps from $250k to $2.5 million. Years go by collecting funds, sometimes from frustrated congregants, while the mosque remains empty.

The mosque’s primary focus often becomes raising and allocating funds for expansion, while everything else takes a backseat. One example is a mosque that raised over $2 million in a single week, yet allocated only about $70k for all its youth expenses for the entire year—including compensation for the youth director and the full cost of programming. That’s a mere 3.5%. These same mosques often voice concern about empowering the youth, yet their actions continue to fall short.

In reality, the mosque sets itself on a financially unfeasible path, always playing catch-up, and often bearing an unfinished look for years due to ongoing construction. If you feel like I’m describing your mosque, you’re not alone—many mosques in the West follow this approach. But if we truly want to be effective with our resources, we must ask: Is it practical? And is it justified?

Investing in People, Not Just Places

An Imam, meanwhile, is expected to manage and lead the community, while not sponsored for a single management training seminar that would equip him with the skills to do so. For active and dedicated members, the message becomes clear: the mission has more to do with what appears in the sight of the public than with what truly impacts the public.

Examples like these are not just common, but in fact represent the better end of what we are dealing with as a society. Focusing primarily on expansion may seem like an exciting vision for the mosque’s future, but the trade-offs carry severe long-term consequences. 

Allah ﷻ says:

‘The mosques of Allah are only to be maintained by those who believe in Allah and the Last Day, establish prayer, give zakah, and fear none but Allah. It is they who are expected to be rightly guided.’ [Surah at-Tawbah;9:18]

In other words, the true maintenance of a mosque depends on the quality of the Believers behind it—those who fear Allah and strive to carry out what is most beneficial for the community. 

This brings us to the real priority: human resources. There are two areas we must rethink—how we fundraise for human resources, and how we compensate them fairly. While funds are being raised, dedicated members, employees, and workers of the mosque often remain underpaid—or worse, not paid at all. The notion that expecting compensation for work done for the mosque is shameful (‘aib) is unjustly imposed. The proper balance is this: those serving the mosque should not make extraordinary demands for compensation, while those in charge must provide sufficient funding to support them in their livelihood.

The word sufficient is key here, because too often mosque boards live comfortably—even lavishly—while imposing a so-called “sufficient” lifestyle on their dedicated employees, leaving them barely above the poverty line, if not worse. Furthermore, those in charge often fail to invest in training and resources for the very Imams and staff who serve the community, since funding is reserved almost exclusively for expansion projects. And so we come full circle: the mosque’s facilities are expected to advance, while its dedicated members are left behind.

This is not to say that no work should be done solely for the sake of Allah ﷻ. Volunteering keeps us grounded and sincere—but it is best suited for those already financially independent, like a congregant with a stable career who offers his time after work to clean the mosque or organize programs purely for Allah’s ﷻ sake.

“While funds are being raised, dedicated members, employees, and workers of the mosque often remain underpaid—or worse, not paid at all.” [PC:Masjid MABA (unsplash)]

Dedicated employees, however, should not be expected to give their all while being underpaid. Our salaf often maintained a side income for stability, and that same wisdom holds true today. Providing Imams and staff with a fair salary—while allowing them space to earn modestly on the side—is both healthier and more effective for the mosque and its mission. That same member can now choose to go above and beyond their specified hours by volunteering for the mosque—not as part of their salary, but purely for the advancement of the mosque itself.

Truth be told, everyone who is part of the mosque carries a genuine and noble intention to contribute to the larger mission of da‘wah. Rare is the case where someone gets involved with the mosque for personal gain—because in reality, there isn’t much personal gain to begin with. In this sense, it is a pleasure and an honor to witness the hard work, the blood, sweat, and tears of mosque board members, Imams, and dedicated community members at large. We are all in it ultimately for the pleasure of Allah ﷻ.

A Warning for the Future

However, that same zeal and passion for doing good can sometimes blind us to the real consequences we may be incurring for our community. If mosques continue to expand without first strengthening their core members, it is only a matter of time before they follow the path of many churches—where congregants come only once a week. Over time, that presence dwindles until the mosque becomes nothing more than a place to visit, like a museum, eventually abandoned and sold off, just as many churches have been in our own time. What is most alarming is that some of this pattern is already beginning to creep into our mosques.

On the flip side, imagine a mosque that, though not grand or extravagant, is filled to 20–30% of its capacity on a daily basis. Congregants return regularly for weekly programs that foster brotherhood and sisterhood, making the mosque a true hub of community life. It becomes a safe haven—a place where people are guided by a motivated Imam who nurtures their spirituality, supported by a well-organized team of volunteers providing meaningful Islamic programming for brothers and sisters of all ages.

Solutions: Building Stronger Mosques

To create sustainable mosques, we can:

• Prioritize Human Resources: Allocate the largest share of funds to staff such as Imams, youth directors, and secretaries before considering major construction projects.
• Provide Professional Development: Invest in leadership and management training for Imams and staff so they can lead effectively.
• Fair Compensation: Ensure mosque employees and the Imam receive fair, livable salaries that allow them to focus on serving the community without financial strain. Their standard of living should reflect the average lifestyle of the community they serve.
• Balance Between Paid and Volunteer Work: Encourage volunteers who are financially stable to contribute their time, while ensuring dedicated employees are paid for their roles.
• Measured Expansion: Only expand when daily attendance and programming consistently exceed current capacity.
• Transparent Budgeting: Clearly communicate how funds are allocated so the community understands and supports the priorities.

The Path Forward: People Over Blueprints

Each of us in a community has a role to play, and each role must be supported differently. If we make human resources the primary focus of mosque funding—particularly Imams, secretaries, youth directors, and others—we can empower these individuals, ignite their spirituality, and shape the mosque into a second home not only for its dedicated members but for the wider community. With strong and effective members in place, a larger congregation will naturally follow, along with more successful and impactful programming for the mosque.

The future of the Muslim Ummah in the West depends on how we strategize our priorities within our sacred spaces. Every year, either a new mosque opens or an existing one announces plans to expand. Alḥamdulillāh, the financial and economic standing of our communities has improved—especially with the emergence of second- and third-generation Muslims. It took us decades to reach this point. Now that we are here, we must tread carefully and strategically. It is vital that we invest in human resources, provide flexibility for our most dedicated members—such as Imams—and focus on developing Believers, not just blueprints. 

May Allah ﷻ accept the efforts of everyone striving in the path of da‘wah, forgive them and their families, and unite us all together in His Eternal Gardens.

 

Related:

– What Is An Imam Worth? A Living Wage At Least.

– Selecting Members For Masjid Boards: Ideal Muslim Leadership

The post The Expansion Trap: Why Mosques Are Struggling Despite Fundraising appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

East London Mosque received hateful emails after event for men, boys, and under-12 girls only – but organisers say women’s race was undersubscribed

A female leader at a British mosque accused of excluding women from a charity run has said women in the community have a voice and do not “need saving” by critics who lack an understanding of Muslim values.

East London Mosque, in Tower Hamlets, found itself at the centre of a media firestorm and received dozens of hate mail messages after staging the Muslim Charity Run, open to “men, boys of all ages and girls under 12”. The communities secretary, Steve Reed, later said he was “horrified”.

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The author and her relatives took a long hard road south just before the latest ceasefire was announced.

Helena Cobban on the ceasefire. A history of prisoner exchanges. Trump admits to outsize influence of pro-Israel donors. One-state solution and more.

Deek reconnects with Lubna, hires a young accountant, and shares a lunch with Marco that results in a stunning surprise.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13| Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25

* * *

“All praise is due to Allah, Lord of the Worlds.” – Surat Al-Fatihah

An Invitation

He was on his way to the hotel when Lubna called to report that she’d filed the non-profit paperwork for the school and was scouting candidates for the board and teaching staff.

“Beautiful,” Deek said. “MashaAllah. We are going to build something amazing, inshaAllah.”

He heard the smile in Lubna’s voice. “I think you’re right. Have you found a location for the school?”

“No, but I met an exceptional real estate agent. I think she’ll be able to find what we need. Listen, you’re in charge of hiring teachers, and I wouldn’t infringe on that. I just want to ask if you’d consider Marco as the science teacher.”

“Your friend Marco? The one who can never keep a job?”

“Marco Feliciano Colón Tirado, yes.”

Lubna giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It sounds funny when you say it fast like that. Deek, we’re trying to run a real school here, not some scheme to do favors for our friends.”

“Hey. Marco has multiple science degrees, including in biology, physics, chemistry and I don’t know what else. He’s a genius. Could you at least review his resume and interview him? Then make whatever decision you feel is right. You have the final word.”

She sighed. “Fine. Tell your vagabond genius to contact me. And hey, big brother.”

Deek turned into the hotel driveway and parked the car. “Yeah?”

“You could come by and visit sometime. Anytime, really.”

Deek shut off the car, suddenly conscious of his breathing. He felt strangely moved. Lubna had never invited him to her home, except occasionally in Ramadan or on Eid, and those invitations had become fewer and fewer in between, because they never ended well.

Yet now it seemed she had forgiven him for a lifetime of meanness and verbal abuse. Or at least she was on the path to forgiving him. And she’d done it faster than he had any right to expect. There was no doubt which of them was the better person. It was Lubna, hands down.

“I could?”

“Yes… Hammo misses you.”

He restrained himself from laughing. “Did he say that?”

“You could come for dinner tonight. And bring Rania and the girls.”

“That’s problematic. But definitely soon, inshaAllah.”

A Terrible Miracle

After he hung up the call, he saw that Rania had finally sent a one-word reply to Deek’s question – of yesterday, for goodness sakes – about whether she had been at Jum’ah. Her reply consisted of one word: “No.”

So she’d read his mind again, mirroring what he’d heard from the Imam: Allah will take care of me. He put his head in his hand, thinking. He and Rania were connected in ways he did not understand. It was more than a marriage.

What had Imam Saleh said? This world is not sustained by wealth, but by Allah’s mercy. Whoever clings to Him, Allah provides in ways they never imagined.

Deek believed this. He’d seen it many times. He’d told the man at the gym how he and his family had fled Iraq in the middle of the night, and now he found himself thinking of the event that forced their flight. It was a terrible yet wondrous miracle that had happened to his father. This event, more than anything, had shaped his father’s personality and steered the course of his life. Lubna had been very small when it happened, and the truth had been kept from her. Deek wondered if she deserved to know.

He rubbed his cheeks vigorously with both hands. He didn’t want to think about these things. He had a lot to do.

Upstairs in his hotel room he made wudu’, changed into jeans and the old t-shirt he’d left home with, and prayed. Then he called Zakariyya Abdul-Ghani, the young accountant Imam Saleh had told him about. Zakariyya, who sounded young, said he could see Deek next week.

“I don’t usually work on weekends,” the accountant pointed out.

Deek explained that his business was urgent, and insisted on a meeting that very day, and the young man agreed, though he didn’t sound excited about it.

Deek made himself a sandwich with sourdough bread, albacore tuna, mustard and provolone cheese. He ate it quickly while surveying the financial markets on his computer, then opened the backpack with the cash, stuffed a few packets into his pockets, and headed out to meet Zakariyya.

Beneath the Flight Path

The accountant’s office was on the second floor of a low-rise building near the airport, its stucco walls sun-faded and the sign out front half missing. Inside, the narrow waiting area smelled faintly of printer toner and cardamom tea.

The young man himself rose from behind a desk when Deek entered. He was thin to the point of fragility, mahogany-skinned, a neatly trimmed beard, and large brown eyes that reminded Deek of a deer taking its first hesitant steps through the woods. His suit fit him awkwardly, as if it had been bought with ambition rather than cash.

“Mr. Saghir?” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Zakariyya. Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

Deek sat. “No, but thank you. Are you Pakistani?”

“My family are Indian Muslims from Bihar state. But I was born in Los Angeles.” The boy’s voice was so soft Deek had to lean forward in his chair to hear. He couldn’t help noticing the accountant’s youth—he looked barely out of college—but when Zakariyya began talking about finances, the uncertainty fell away. His voice became steady, deliberate, precise.

“You said by email that you need help handling medical disbursements,” Zakariyya said. “That’s simple enough. We can open a dedicated account in your name, with me as an authorized manager but not a signer. You’ll transfer funds into it as needed, and I’ll process payments directly to hospitals or doctors once you approve the invoices. Everything will be logged and reconciled monthly. You’ll have full visibility online.”

Deek nodded, impressed despite himself. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

A faint smile touched the young man’s lips. “Masjid Madinah is one of my clients. I handle their payroll and donations. I also do work for a few small medical practices, so I’m familiar with billing systems. I can have you set up by the middle of next week.”

“I need it set up by Monday morning.”

Zakariyya sat back in his chair and smiled uncertainly. “I have other clients. I have to be fair to them.”

At that moment a roaring sound began overhead. It increased in volume until the windows rattled in their frames. It was the loudest sound Deek had heard in a long time, and it flashed him back to his youth in Baghdad, and the occasional explosions that had rocked the city. When the sound passed, he realized to his shame that he had come off the chair and dropped to one knee. He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his knees.

Zakariyya cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. We’re beneath the airport flight path. How about if I bring you that tea now?”

Deek nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

A Pop Quiz

While Zakariyya was gone, Deek steadied himself. He was deeply embarrassed. He looked around the small office. A tall bookshelf was crammed with books on financial management and accounting, but there were also books on history and philosophy. On the top shelf there were two different translations of the Quran, and one in Arabic only. Zakariyya’s diplomas and certifications hung on the wall behind him and Deek saw to his surprise that the young man had a B.A. in Economics, a B.S. in Computer Science and an M.S. in Accounting.

Zakariyya returned with the tea. The fragrance of cardamom filled the small office.

The teacup was hot in Deek’s hand. “You have a master’s degree? How old are you?”

Zakariyya smiled. “I’m twenty seven. I look younger.”

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about cryptocurrency?”

The accountant nodded. “I did a minor in blockchain technology. The course had just been introduced. I’ve tried to stay up to date on the development of decentralized finance, layer 1s and 2s, NFTs, stablecoins, tokenized assets and so on. But I’m not an expert.”

Again Deek was impressed. Not many people outside the crypto world could have named those technologies. “Have you heard of a family office?”

Zakariyya blinked. “I feel like I’m back in school getting a pop quiz. Yes, of course. It’s the structure high-net-worth families use to manage everything in-house. Why do you ask?”

Deek sipped his tea. “Just wondering. It’s something I heard about. Listen, I’m going to give it to you straight.”

“Okay.”

Setting the teacup down, Deek pulled a banded wad of cash out of his pocket and set it on the desk in front of Zakariyya. “If you and I are going to work together, I need you to prioritize my business. Hire someone to help with the other clients if you need to, but I want you personally handling my business. That – “ he pointed to the stack of cash – “is ten thousand dollars. That’s not an advance. It’s an incentive for taking me on as a client. This – “ He pulled another stack of $10,000 out of his pocket and set it beside the first – “is an advance. I’m telling you what my needs are. If you do well with this medical disbursement, I could have more work for you. But I must be first priority, and I will pay for that privilege. If you don’t feel comfortable with this, that’s fine. I can find someone else.”

Zakariyya’s eyes had widened slightly. He nodded slowly. “I understand. Yes, okay. I’ll have it set up for you by Monday morning.”

“MashaAllah,” Deek said. “Excellent.”

They discussed a few details—security protocols, recordkeeping, how large transfers should be handled—then another plane thundered overhead. The window rattled again, and this time Deek resisted the urge to duck.

Child to Adult

Over the next few days, Deek stayed busy, partly to distract himself from his own thoughts. His mind kept wandering inexplicably to the tragedies that had befallen his family, and other families they had known, in Iraq. As well, he found himself haunted by the dream he’d had of the planet Rust. Was this a side effect of the Namer’s potion, that his dreams took on increased clarity and weight, and persisted like the bitter aftertaste of black coffee? It was as if he’d left some part of himself stranded among those giants, forever separated from his family by the vast, black gulf of space.

He made a number of calls and held a few meetings to arrange the surprise he had in mind for brother Faraz.

* * *

Zakariyya did indeed have the medical payments operation up and running by Monday morning, and Deek – not wanting to hear more of Dr. Rana’s effusive praise – emailed Dr. Rana to inform him.

* * *

Dr. Zuhair, the rich and handsome Egyptian engineer who was the board president at Masjid Umar, called him.

“I mentioned your offer to the board,” he said. “They feel I was hasty in rejecting it. They wish to accept your offer of a one million dollar donation. You will be granted a seat on the board, and Dr. Ajeeb will be fired, as you stipulated.”

Deek was shocked. “You told me that was impossible, that it was a violation of your integrity.”

“I still feel that way. But I was outvoted.”

“Well… I don’t want that anymore. I will donate a quarter million for now, but I don’t want a seat on the board, as I have enough on my plate already. And I don’t want you to fire Dr. Ajeeb. In fact I insist that you do not. That was a petty and vindictive demand on my part.”

“SubhanAllah. I am speechless. It’s as if you have grown from child to adult in two weeks.”

The condescending remark irritated Deek, but he let it pass. “My accountant, Zakariyya Abdul-Ghani, will arrange a cashier’s check or wire transfer, and will need a receipt for tax purposes. I’ll have him contact you.”

* * *

Public Enemy

He managed to convince Amira to have lunch with him. She was reserved, not her usual quirky, affectionate self. She wore a t-shirt that said, “FIGHT THE POWER.” Beneath it was a logo featuring a black and red flag, and a red rose.

Pointing to it, Deek said, “I didn’t know any young people still listened to Public Enemy.”

“Public who? This is a Rose City Antifa shirt.”

“A what?”

Amira laughed – the first time she’d done so during their meeting that day – and Deek smiled.

“Miri, honey,” he said. “Could you ask your mom to please call me?”

The laughter disappeared. Amira lapsed into silence, and on that somber note Deek drove her home and dropped her off. As he stopped in front of the house, he saw that the side gate and fence had been removed, and a variety of construction equipment was parked in the driveway. From the rear of the house, he thought he could hear the sounds of hammering, and the buzz of a wood saw.

“What’s going on? What is all this?”

Amira opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then shrugged and said, “Mom’s doing some work.” With that she exited the car and strolled into the house.

The Park Lunch

Marco called him out of the blue on Wednesday. “Lunch is on me,” he said, in that tone that dared Deek to argue.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, man. I got a spot.”

Deek drove to the rough end of town where Marco lived, parking a few doors down from a corner store with a faded sign that read Al-Quds Market. The owner, an elderly Palestinian in a gray kufi, waved from behind the counter. The place didn’t sell liquor—unique in this part of Fresno—and for that reason, it was a minor miracle of survival. Its shelves were stacked with pastries, candy bars, canned beans, and a glass deli case full of foil-wrapped meals that looked like they’d been made that morning in someone’s kitchen.

“Pick what you want,” Marco said, opening the deli case. “It’s all good.”

Deek glanced over the options: lasagna, chicken and rice, something that looked like grape leaves, and several containers of what appeared to be macaroni with tuna and mayonnaise.

“Two of those,” Marco told the old man, slapping a few crumpled bills on the counter. A few minutes later they left with the food and a couple of bottled teas.

They walked two blocks to a small park wedged between a laundromat and an auto repair yard. The grass was patchy, the benches scarred with initials and half-burned by cigarettes. A pair of homeless men slept under the shade of a fig tree, and a thin woman paced near the trash cans, mumbling to herself.

They sat on a bench with peeling paint. The park smelled of marijuana smoke and urine. Oblivious, Marco popped open his container and started eating. “Best five dollar meal in Fresno,” he said through a mouthful.

Deek smiled. The mac n’ tuna was actually quite good, with chopped black olives and a flavor of spicy mustard. Every now and then he glanced around the park, watching a shirtless man argue with a trash can, and his hand drifted absently to the knife sheath at his hip.

No Walking Away

“I’ve been doing a lot of gigs,” Marco said finally. “The new trumpet sounds like joy with butter on top.”

“That’s great, man.” The news made Deek genuinely happy. “I’ve been busy too. I’m founding an Islamic school.”

Marco looked up, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I think you’d be a good candidate for science teacher. Lubna’s the hiring manager. You want to put together a resume and call her?”

Marco stopped chewing. “Deek, don’t do that. I don’t need charity.”

Deek exhaled noisily, exasperated. “How is it charity? If anything you’re overqualified. And I have a feeling you’d be good with the kids.”

“It might be fun to be a teacher,” Marco mused. “When would it start?”

“Next school year. But if you take the job, you’d have to commit. No half measures. No walking away.”

Marco stared at the ground for a moment, fork idle in his hand. “Let me think about it.”

Deek nodded, watching a plane drift high above, glinting in the sunlight. “That’s all I ask.”

They finished the meal in companionable silence, the noise of the street rising around them — traffic, a distant siren, the crackle of a wrapper caught in the wind.

A Surprise

When the meal was finished, Marco said, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Okay. Is it my birthday and someone didn’t tell me?”

Marco sat up straight, cleared his throat, then began to recite in nearly perfect Arabic:

Aoothoo billahi min ash-shaytan ir-rajeem,
Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Raheem,
Alhamdulillahi rabbil-aalameen…

He went on to recite all of Surat Al-Fatihah, the opening chapter of the Quran. His voice was strong and melodic, hypnotizing in fact, and although his accent wasn’t perfect – he couldn’t quite get the “dha” in “dhaalleen” – it was very good.

When he was done, Deek shot his fists into the air and said, “Allahu Akbar! That was amazing.”

“You’ve been saying you wanted to hear me recite the Quran.”

“It was fantastic. But… why now?”

In response, Marco recited the shahadah, the Islamic testimony of faith. Again, his Arabic was nearly perfect. As he did so, Deek felt goosebumps break out on his arms.

“So… you’re Muslim now?”

Marco smiled. “Obviously.”

Deek leaped up, grabbed Marco around the waist and lifted him off the bench and into the air. Marco laughed and demanded to be put down.

Deek set his friend on his feet. “Why now?” he repeated. “I’ve known you all your life. You’ve always been someone who knows everything but believes in nothing.”

“You’re wrong. I believe in you. I saw what you were like when you were poor, and I’ve seen what you’re like now that you’re rich, and I’ve realized that whatever life throws at you, you just get better. Part of that is because you’re an extraordinary human being, but I think part of it is the guidance of your faith. And I want that. I need it. Badly.”

Tears came to Deek’s eyes. Damn Namer’s potion. He sat heavily on the bench and covered his face with his hands. From the auto repair shop, he heard the sharp, stuttering “rat-tat-tat-tat… whirrrrr—clack” of an impact wrench removing the lug nuts from someone’s tires. A breeze gusted, and the leaves of the fig tree beside him rustled. A homeless man asked for change, and Deek looked up to see Marco give the man a dollar. The sun was bright overhead, but not hot. It was all beautiful.

***

Come back next week for Part 27 inshaAllah

 

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Day Of The Dogs, Part 1 – Tiny Ripples Of Hope

Searching for Signs of Spring: A Short Story

 

The post Moonshot [Part 26] – Beneath The Flight Path appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Palestinian liberation movement will soon confront new media landscape.

I grew up in Kabul and Karachi. In both, I learned the value of the quiet rituals observed while no one is watching

When I was leaving London for Melbourne, my eldest sister-in-law told her kids not to forget the “tradition” – to throw a bowl of water behind me as I stepped out the door. Just a small splash on the ground, a gesture older than borders. “La har azaab po aman se,” she whispered in Pashto under her breath – may all hardship stay away from you. The little ones giggled and waved their goodbyes as they spilled the water, somewhere between shy and amused.

My mother used to do this too, back in Afghanistan. Every time I left for a journey, especially international ones, she’d quietly follow me to the gate with a bowl of water, whispering prayers I couldn’t always hear. But this moment, between two western cities, with children growing up in a world so far from where that habit began, felt different. It was softer. Bittersweet. Like watching an old song being hummed in a new language.

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If signed into law, the bill proposed by far-right party would follow other European countries in banning face veils

Portugal’s parliament has approved a bill banning face veils worn for “gender or religious” reasons in public, in a move seen as targeting Muslim women who wear face coverings.

The measure was proposed by the far-right Chega party and would prohibit coverings such as burqas (a full-body garment that covers a woman from head to foot) and niqabs (the full-face Islamic veil with space around the eyes) from being worn in most public places. Face veils would still be allowed in airplanes, diplomatic premises and places of worship.

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Social media platforms train users to treat witnessing the genocide as the endpoint; we must unlearn that habit.

Israeli court extends arbitrary detention of Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya, who was abducted from Kamal Adwan Hospital in December 2024.

It was the 27th day of Ramadan. After Fajr, it felt like any other day — ordinary, quiet — until the evening, when everything changed.

We hear about the passing of brothers and sisters in Islam, but losing someone close to you is different; most people aren’t prepared for it. That day replays in my mind, minute by minute. Twenty minutes before maghrib, I ran into my mother’s room, trying to wake her. My wife began CPR until help arrived, and we rushed to the hospital. I stood on the other side of the words we hear in movies: “We tried everything we could, but unfortunately, your mother has passed away.” I collapsed like a child, and in that moment, I accepted that my life would never be the same.

The Silence After the Burial

The first few days after my mother’s passing moved quickly. From the ghusl, the janazah, the burial, the steady stream of family and community who surrounded us with prayers, food, and support. In many ways, those early days carried me on autopilot. The structure of our faith and the presence of loved ones softened the initial blow. But then comes the question: what happens next?

“The stillness of a chair, the absence of a voice, the memories that return uninvited, sharp and vivid. That silence speaks volumes, but only to those who live inside it. No one else can truly feel that particular pain, because it belongs uniquely to you.” [PC: Silvestri Matteo (unsplash)]

Over the following week or two, people continued to check in: friends, relatives, colleagues, and even people we haven’t spoken to in years. They called, they visited, and they brought meals. Their kindness meant more than words could capture. Yet, slowly, life began to call them back to their routines. People moved on, and the days got colder. What they couldn’t see and what no one can truly enter into is the quietness of the home after everyone leaves. The silence that echoes through rooms once filled with laughter or simple conversation. The emptiness of a chair, the absence of a voice, the memories that return uninvited, sharp and vivid. That silence speaks volumes, but only to those who live inside it. No one else can truly feel that particular pain, because it belongs uniquely to you.

In those moments, a realization sets in: nothing can really prepare us for loss. No book, no story, no imagined scenario. Grief strips away our illusions of control and reminds us how fragile we are. We are vulnerable, we are temporary, and we are completely dependent. In that raw state, one truth becomes undeniable — Allah is in control of everything. He is Al-Ḥayy (The Ever-Living), while we are travelers destined to return to Him.

Learning the Phrase “Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn”

We grow up hearing the phrase: Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn. “Indeed, to Allah we belong, and to Him we shall return.” It is said almost automatically when we hear of someone’s passing or any kind of hardship. But what does it really mean?

The Prophet ﷺ taught us that when a calamity strikes and a believer says these words sincerely along with the duʿāʾ, “Allāhumma ajirnī fī muṣībatī, wa akhlif lī khayran minhā” — Allah promises to reward that person and to replace their loss with something better. [Sahih Muslim]

On paper, it is easy to read. But when the loss is someone so close: a parent, a sibling, a spouse, or a child, the words carry a weight that shakes your very being. This isn’t just “a calamity.” This is someone you saw every day, shared meals with, traveled with, laughed with, and someone who knew you almost as well as you know yourself. Suddenly they’re gone. The phone calls that once came so naturally now go unanswered. The little routines that felt permanent are no longer possible. And the question creeps in: Where did they go?

The truth is, they were never truly ours to begin with. They belonged to Allah . He is the One Who gave them life, sustained them, and protected them. We were simply entrusted with their presence for a time. Like a borrowed pen at school, which you use for a while, but eventually it must be returned to its rightful owner. The difference is, this “pen” was your whole world, your comfort, your love. And yet, even they must return to the One Who created them.

This realization is painful, but it is also freeing. Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn becomes more than words. It becomes a lens through which we see the reality of life, loss, and our ultimate return. We have returned the loved one to their rightful owner, and Allah is the best of caretakers.

What Should We Expect?

• Time doesn’t heal all wounds. People often say, “time heals everything,” but that isn’t true. Time allows you to accept reality, but it does not erase the wound. Nothing truly heals except recognizing the essence of life — that this world is temporary and the real life is the eternal one. Your loved one is not lost; they are simply ahead of you on the journey, and you will follow when Allah wills.

• You will feel lonely. Loneliness can feel heavy, but it can also be a gift. The Prophet ﷺ himself would retreat to Mount Ḥirāʾ in solitude before revelation. Use your moments of loneliness to turn back to Allah , to speak to Him , and to find strength in His Company. Going on hikes, walks, and looking at the creation of Allah while talking to Allah will help this feeling.

• Your heart will feel uneasy. Grief doesn’t move in a straight line. There will be days that feel normal, and then suddenly the weight returns. In those moments, hold fast to the promise of Allah: “Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest” [Surah Ar-Ra’ad; 13:28]. Fill those pauses with dhikr, with prayer, with the Qur’an — and you will find the unease gently softened.

• You will cry. Tears will come — and they should. Crying is not a weakness. It is mercy. The Prophet ﷺ himself cried at the loss of his loved ones. When his son Ibrāhīm passed away, tears flowed from his eyes. When asked about it, he said: “The eyes shed tears and the heart grieves, but we do not say except that which pleases our Lord.” [Bukhārī and Muslim] Let your tears flow, and let them turn into duʿāʾ for the one you have lost.

What Shouldn’t We Expect?

• Don’t expect the pain to vanish. Grief doesn’t disappear one day. It softens, it changes shape, but it never fully leaves. The absence of someone you loved will always be felt, and that’s a sign of the bond Allah placed between you.

• Don’t expect others to fully understand. Family, friends, and community may offer comfort, but they can never truly feel your exact loss. Each grief is unique. Expecting others to “get it” in the same way you do will only deepen the hurt. Instead, lean on Allah , the One who knows what is in every heart. This is your test and may not be theirs.

• Don’t expect the world to pause. For you, life has changed forever. For others, it continues as normal. People will move on, routines will resume, and calls will slow. This is natural. It doesn’t mean your loved one is forgotten, but it means you must carry their memory in your own way. Don’t have high expectations even from your closest friends and family.

• Don’t expect faith to erase sadness. Sometimes we imagine that strong faith means we shouldn’t feel broken. “I pray so I should be strong”. Yaʿqūb wept until his eyes turned white from sorrow over Yūsuf . Our faith isn’t as strong as Yaʿqūb , but even at that level, we learn that strong faith doesn’t remove sadness; it gives you the strength to carry it with patience and hope.

How Do We Prepare for Grief?

There is no manual for grief, no checklist that makes the pain easy to manage. But there are steps we can take to prepare our hearts and our families for the reality of loss.

Here are a few reflections that may help:

• Study the stories of the Prophets and Companions. Allah tells us: “Indeed, in their stories there is a lesson for those of understanding.” [Surah Yusuf; 12:111] We spend so much energy teaching ourselves and our children how to live in comfort and “succeed” in this world, but the greatest people who ever lived, the Prophets and Companions, endured the greatest struggles. Their trials drew them closer to Allah and became timeless examples for us. While we don’t ask to be tested, when we are, their lives remind us how to respond with patience, resilience, and trust in Allah .
• Teach your children who Allah is. The Prophet ﷺ said: “Be mindful of Allah, and He will protect you. Be mindful of Allah, and you will find Him before you… If you ask, ask of Allah; and if you seek help, seek help from Allah.” [Tirmidhī] From a young age, connect your children’s hearts to Allah through love. Let them know that even if the world is against them, they are never alone if Allah is with them. When a loved one leaves, they have returned to Allah . They may no longer be here, but Allah is always with you.
• Visit the graveyard often. The Prophet ﷺ said: “I had forbidden you to visit the graves, but now you may visit them, for indeed they remind you of the Hereafter.” [Muslim] Going only after a loved one passes can feel overwhelming, almost unbearable. But making it a habit beforehand softens the heart and normalizes the reality of death. The graveyard is not an end, but a resting place until the day that truly matters.
• Speak about the Hereafter openly. Allah says: “And this worldly life is nothing but diversion and amusement. And indeed, the home of the Hereafter — that is the [eternal] life, if only they knew.” [Surah Al-‘Ankabut; 29:64] Too often, we focus only on worldly success while neglecting to talk about the akhirah. Make it normal in your home to speak about the deeds that prepare us for eternal life. Let these conversations shape your family’s mindset and priorities. In the world that we live in, these conversations only come when reality strikes.
• Leave a legacy of good deeds. The Prophet ﷺ said: “When a person dies, his deeds come to an end except for three: ongoing charity, beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for him.” [Muslim] Show your children the good you do for your parents and grandparents. When your time comes, they will continue that chain of goodness. This is a mercy from Allah that it benefits the one who has passed and comforts the loved ones left behind, knowing their duʿāʾ still reaches their family member in the grave, and will help them in their most difficult times.
• Seek support from others. Grief can feel isolating, but Islam encourages leaning on community. The Prophet ﷺ said: “The example of the believers in their mutual love, mercy, and compassion is that of one body: when any part of it suffers, the whole body responds with wakefulness and fever.” [Bukhārī and Muslim] Reach out to trusted family, friends, or teachers when the burden feels heavy. Sharing your feelings is not a weakness; it’s part of healing, and it allows others to fulfill their duty of compassion toward you.

Grief is something we do not talk about often enough. Having faith is something we should be so thankful for. We are able to completely rely upon Allah , and with Him we are able to continue to live this life. Today we grieve, and tomorrow people might grieve for us. We ask Allah to forgive us for our shortcomings and allow the pain that we go through inside as a means of preparing to meet Him. May Allah allow us to be united with our loved ones in Paradise. Ameen.

 

Related:

– Death The Greatest Teacher: Three Life-Lessons From The Child I Lost

– Sharing Grief: A 10 Point Primer On Condolence

The post Unheard, Unspoken: The Secret Side Of Grief appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Presidential contender subjected to smears for views on foreign policy.

When it’s Muslims doing it.

This past week there’s been a big brouhaha in the British media about a mosque in east London which put on a fun-run in a local park as a fundraiser, but made it men-only (girls under 12 excepted). A government minister (Steve Reed) put out a condemnation and was reported to have consulted the Equalities and Human Rights Commission to ascertain whether the event in Victoria Park, Hackney, which was the East London Mosque’s twelfth annual charity run, was legal. Matthew Goodwin, an academic whose Twitter feed and Substack are nowadays a conveyor belt of Faragist propaganda, proclaimed “this is Britain, not Afghanistan” and posted a “what is to be done” article on his paid Substack, calling for us to follow Italy’s lead and ban the ‘burqa’ and niqaab with large fines for any women caught wearing it. (He doesn’t propose criminalising Muslim men’s dress, of course; bigots always target women.) He then posted a quote of his original tweet, citing a Policy Exchange survey which found that “40% of Muslims in Britain support gender-segregated education, while 44% think schools should be able to insist on girls wearing the hijab or niqab”.

Except … single-sex sporting events are the norm, as are single-sex schools, especially secondary schools.

Almost all sports exist with men’s and women’s categories. It would not be fair to women to expect them to compete with men; indeed, there has been a vocal campaign by women to ensure trans women are excluded from the female category because they have some of the same advantages as men. (There are some exceptions; there is a mixed doubles tournament in tennis, and the wheelchair sport variously known as murderball, quad rugby and wheelchair rugby is mixed.) It is also not compulsory to even have men’s and women’s categories at major events; there are many national cycling tours for men, for example, such as the Tour de France and Giro D’Italia, which have only a shorter event for women, none of which meets the criteria for a Grand Tour at present and do not run every year. Many of the ‘classic’ cycle races also have no female event. It is common for women’s games to be paid much less than men’s, or for women’s games to be amateur or semi-professional, while male players receive anyone else’s idea of a year’s pay in a week. The only difference here is that the organisers excluded women because they believed their participation was inappropriate, not for the usual reasons that they just had never bothered to put a women’s event on or because the women’s game gets less sponsorship. But the end result was the same.

As for the preference for single-sex schools, almost every British local authority has at least one single-sex school and it is common for such schools (especially Catholic schools) to retain old-fashioned uniforms, requiring skirts of a particular design for girls for example. Many parents prefer them, arguing that during adolescence, it is a distraction to have both sexes in a school together; they particularly prefer them for girls, arguing that boys monopolise teachers’ time and attention at girls’ expense and that girls are relied on to moderate boys’ behaviour. The requirement for hijab for girls at a Muslim faith school is in keeping with the practice in other schools, which are allowed to have uniforms which are different for boys and girls. In some private schools, antiquated uniforms are retained; at state schools, there is a requirement that it not be financially burdensome, although many schools (particularly academies) do require expensive bespoke uniform items. The requirement of hijab for women and girls beyond puberty is well established in Islamic law and is thus the norm among practising Muslim women in the UK, so it is to be expected that a school run along Muslim principles, by a Muslim organisation for the betterment of the Muslim community should require Islamic dress. (None, from what I can tell, actually require niqaab; many do not even allow it.)

So, a sporting event that was men-only, and Muslims prefer single-sex secondary schools. These are all normal, or actually preferred by many people in this country, Muslims and others. It seems a “British value” ceases to be one when Muslims place emphasis on it.

Image: Muhamad Rifqi Fawzi, via Pexels.

Once close partners against the U.S. occupation, Pakistan and Afghanistan’s Taliban government now trade accusations of betrayal, revealing deeper crises of mistrust, militarism, and faith across the Muslim world’s most volatile border.

October 2025

 

Strained Relations Four Years After Taliban Takeover

Four years after a Taliban conquest of Afghanistan widely welcomed in Pakistan, relations between the two neighbors have struck a low as each accuses the other of supporting its insurgency, reaching a nadir this week with skirmishes on the border.

Taliban soldiers

Where the Taliban emirate accused Pakistan of supporting a Daesh underground, Pakistan’s military-led coalition regime has accused Afghanistan of supporting insurgents, including a namesake insurgency in northwest Pakistan’s Pashtun borderland. The more pressing insurgency in Pakistan stems neither from Afghan malfeasance, as Islamabad claims, nor is it an entirely domestic affair, as Kabul counters.

Buried among the rhetoric, blame-trading, and saber-rattling are several inconvenient truths that neither regime nor its cheerleaders seems inclined to acknowledge, but which are critical to factor into any solution.

Contrasting Claims and Misrepresentations

Pakistani accusers rightly note that insurgent leaders Nur-Wali Asim of the Mahsud clan and Gul Bahadur of the Wazir clan have received refuge in Afghanistan, and that attacks picked up pace since the Taliban return to Kabul in 2021. Afghan rejoinders rightly point out that the roots of Pakistan’s crisis are domestic and largely self-inflicted: a consistently militaristic policy in the borderland has failed for years regardless of insurgent leaders’ whereabouts, while none of Afghanistan’s other neighbors have faced such a problem despite their own insurgents’ “refuge” in the emirate.

The most extreme claims on either side resort to obfuscation. On one hand are exaggerated Taliban claims of Pakistani complicity in the American occupation of Afghanistan, which ignore the greater role of other states —especially Pakistan’s archrival India, a cheerleader of the occupation right to and beyond its end— and the respite that successive Pakistani regimes gave despite considerable American irritation. On the other hand are nationalistic claims, especially loud among supporters of the Pakistani military, that claim primordial Afghan hatred, conspiracy, and ingratitude.

Historical Ironies and Shifting Allegiances

The latter claim contributed to an atmosphere where thousands of Afghans have been callously and humiliatingly uprooted from decades-long refuge. Ironically, this claim is itself a misdirected rejoinder to longstanding claims by the preceding, American-installed government of Afghanistan, which claimed in ethnicized terms that the Taliban were merely a cat’s paw of scheming “Punjabi” Pakistanis. By painting opponents as Pakistani puppets, the Afghan regimes of 2001–21 disingenuously portrayed their own utter dependency on a foreign invasion as a sort of nationalist virtue against their neighbor’s meddling.

The claim that Pakistan’s insurgency has accelerated since 2021 misses the point that for much of the prior fifteen years, its deceleration had been assisted through Taliban mediation, which persuaded many such militants to help fight the United States in Afghanistan rather than fight the Pakistani government. This stance was particularly emphasized by the Haqqanis, who have had a decades-long policy of support for Pakistan as far afield as Kashmir.

Nor was it an exclusively Taliban stance: in 2004–05, Pakistani corps commander Safdar Hussain, who led the first campaigns in northwest Pakistan against Wazir and Mahsud insurgents, urged them to abandon revolt against Islamabad and focus on jihad against the Americans. An unamused United States repeatedly attacked deals between the military and the insurgents; for example, Sirajuddin Haqqani mediated at Miranshah between Bahadur and the military in 2006, only for American airstrikes to sabotage the agreement.

The Rise of New Militants

Qari Saifullah Akhtar

This prompted a number of Pakistani militants to disavow the Pakistani regime and take up arms. Many were longstanding fighters who felt betrayed by the state that had once backed them, and ignored the pleas of such scholars as the Usmani brothers, Muftis Taqi and Rafi, to stand down.

One such militant was Saifullah Akhtar, whom Rafi had known in the 1980s and complimented in a subsequent 1990s book that also saluted the Taliban movement; his newfound hostility to a regime within whose military he had significant contacts was particularly dangerous, yet he was eventually persuaded to leave Pakistan and fight alongside the Taliban in Afghanistan, where he was killed.

A Balancing Act Between Foes and Allies

The modus vivendi that the Taliban adopted was to maintain ties with both sides of the Pakistan war, the army and the insurgency, in a manner similar to how the Pakistani military kept links with both sides of the Afghan war, the United States and the Taliban. Rejecting insurgency against Pakistan, on numerous occasions, Taliban mediation redirected Pakistani insurgents against the United States.

A number of secondary Taliban commanders did sympathize with the Pakistani insurgency against a state they saw as having betrayed them: a sentiment that no doubt retains currency in the rank-and-file. But this was always an informal minority: Sirajuddin, whose uncles Khalilur-Rahman Ahmad and Ibrahim Umari played a key role in coordination with Pakistani officers, also urged such Pakistani counterparts as Bahadur to focus their attention on the Americans in Afghanistan.

This preceded a major turning point in 2014, during a major campaign by the Pakistani army, yet this success relied in part on also internecine disputes among the insurgents after the elimination of a series of leaders.

A major factor was the emergence of Daesh, to which large parts of the insurgency defected. Although it opposed both rival governments in Islamabad and Kabul, Daesh’s principal target was the Taliban, whom it accused of inauthenticity and—ironically given today’s circumstances—servitude to Pakistan. The conflict with Daesh forced the Taliban to draw closer to Pakistani insurgents, such as Bahadur and Mahsud preacher Nur-Wali Asim, as a counterweight.

Reform Efforts Under Imran Khan

Imran Khan

A major factor in draining the insurgency was the major attempts at reform made by Imran Khan’s Insaf Party, which assumed Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa’s provincial government. Khan had drawn support in large part from his opposition to the American “war on terror” and Pakistani acquiescence therein: by all accounts, the Insaf government in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa was a major improvement, and retains major support in the province to this day.

It also tried to incorporate the historically autonomous, but increasingly militarized, Waziristan borderland under its control, which Nur-Wali opposed as this approach promised to solve many of the grievances on which he drew.

Nur-Wali’s Hardline Stance

Though Nur-Wali reorganized the insurgency and, to an extent, its conduct, he refused to negotiate, painting his fight as part of a historical Mahsud resistance against British colonialism and a Pakistani state seen as its American-backed heir. In fact, the Mahsuds who fiercely fought Britain had largely supported Pakistan right up to the 2004 incursion in Waziristan—a product not of primordial Pakistani illegitimacy but rather involvement in the much more recent American war on terror. This stance was far harsher than that of the Taliban and even affiliated insurgents like Bahadur, and has precluded meaningful negotiations.

Insurgencies and Unneighborly Behavior

The Pakistani claim that the Taliban’s return to power in 2021 coincided with a sharp uptick in attacks within Pakistan ignores the fact that the previous decade’s decline owed in part to repeated Taliban mediation on Islamabad’s behalf. On the other hand, as I pointed out at the time, Taliban wariness of Daesh meant that they cultivated ties with Pakistani insurgents: famously, upon capturing Kabul, they executed Daesh leader Ziaul-Haq Zia but released the Pakistani insurgent leader Faqir Mohammad.

Yet this was not an inherently anti-Pakistan move: Faqir had been imprisoned by the previous Afghan regime precisely because he was seen as more amenable to negotiations with Islamabad, and Sirajuddin Haqqani, now Taliban interior minister, immediately held negotiations between Imran’s Pakistani government, including the military represented by spymaster Faiz Hameed, and militants like Bahadur.

Post-Imran Escalation and Missteps

Whether this would have succeeded is unknown—certainly some militants continued to snipe away at Pakistan regardless and might have never reconciled—but the 2022 coup that ousted Imran, and quickly courted relations with an anti-Taliban United States, escalating not through targeting insurgent units in Pakistan but bombing across the Afghan border—the sort of unilateral action that was bound to raise Taliban hackles. The Pakistani military, led by Asim Munir, has made a point of theatrical escalation with Kabul—yet its initial focus was not the Pakistani insurgency, which gained ground over 2023, but crushing Imran’s still-influential party through major, occasionally bloody, suppression and electoral manipulation.

Deportations and Counterproductive Policy

The response toward the insurgency has similarly been unimpressive and counterproductive to its stated aims, particularly the mass deportation of Afghans that began in autumn 2023. This was a political decision that aimed to give the impression of vigilance by whipping up anti-Afghan sentiments; in its rivalry with the Insaf party, the military establishment and its many hangers-on have portrayed both Taliban and Afghans broadly as scheming confederates of Imran in a sort of fifth column. This provoked widespread hostility among affected communities in the borderland.

It was also practically counterproductive: the mass deportations of Afghans across the border logistically confounded the task that Pakistan demanded of the Taliban, to intercept Pakistani insurgents. This was further complicated by the fact that Daesh remained an underground threat, assassinating many Taliban officials, fighters, and leaders, including Sirajuddin’s uncle Khalilur-Rahman, governor-general Daud Muzamil, and corps commander Hamdullah Mukhlis. With their own challenges, the Taliban are hardly in a position to solve Pakistan’s largely self-inflicted woes.

Half-Hearted Cooperation and Growing Misgivings

This does not, however, remove the fact that Taliban cooperation has been at best half-hearted. In part, this stems from its reluctance to alienate non-Daesh militants, who have, in fact, flared up in indignation whenever the emirate has tried to relocate them away from the Pakistani border. In part, it stems from misgivings toward a confrontational Pakistani military bent on scapegoating Afghanistan for all internal challenges. It also stems from an insistence that the Pakistani insurgency is a primarily internal issue: after all, the Taliban also hosts opposition militants from other countries, none of which have caused anywhere near the amount of trouble as the Pakistani insurgents. To this extent, the argument made by both Khan and the Taliban that the Pakistani insurgency stems from internal Pakistani grievances holds truth.

Parallel Rejections and Border Tensions

Yet if the Pakistani military has been aggressive, Taliban denials ring irrelevant if not hollow. The indignation the emirate evinced when Islamabad flirted with exiled critics is hardly more than that in Pakistan when it sees the likes of Nur-Wali given deferential treatment in Afghanistan. The rejectionism that Nur-Wali directs toward Islamabad is similar to that which Daesh directs toward Kabul. No state, Pakistan or others, tolerates repeated cross-border raids of the type the Taliban are unwilling to interdict for reasons more of political expediency than principle.

Structural Causes and Continuing Violence

On the other hand, the emirate’s ability to control the border has been severely circumscribed by such clumsy and destructive policies as the mass deportations of Afghans. The Taliban spent over a decade, even while fighting a guerrilla war against the United States, mediating with the Pakistani insurgency on behalf of the same military that now scapegoats it.

The Pakistani war is not a product of Taliban inaction: even if the Taliban surrendered every Pakistani insurgent leader from Afghan territory, the twenty-year militarization, social upheaval, and political disputes that exacerbated the war remain. Some twenty senior insurgent leaders have been killed, almost on a yearly basis, since the Waziristan conflict broke out in the mid-2000s, and there is little reason to suppose that the capture or killing of Nur-Wali or Bahadur would make a long-term difference without addressing issues in an approach that the military of late has flatly shunned. Bombing Kabul in pursuit of Nur-Wali might give some short-term catharsis and a few bragging rights, but it only threatens to exacerbate mistrust without addressing these underlying issues.

When these obvious points are raised, however, a military increasingly intolerant of contradiction lashes out.

Forward Steps and Barriers

The solution is not as complicated as it might seem. Both Pakistan and Afghanistan’s insurgents stem from the same geographic stretch, the border highlands, which both states have long struggled to control. The simplest task is, in military terms, joint security collaboration against both Afghan and Pakistani insurgents, and in sociopolitical terms, an improved and more accountable governance. A sensible policy would see Afghanistan and Pakistan cooperate on this region rather than trade mostly spurious accusations and recriminations.

The barrier to such commonsense is the exponential mutual mistrust, related to the two neighbors’ addiction to alliances that have only ever escalated the problem—for Taliban with Pakistani insurgents who are airily whitewashed as “good Muslims” regardless of the number of Muslims their war victimizes; and for Pakistan’s military with a United States that it has shamelessly courted since 2022, partly pursuant to its feud with Imran, regardless of the sociopolitical costs it brings to the country.

It is easier to scapegoat a neighbor through selectively remembered or distorted history rather than introspect and apply to them the same standards sought in one’s own country: so much for Muslim neighbors in the “Islamic emirate” and the “Islamic nuclear power.”

Related:

On the Pakistan-India Dangerous Escalation

Afghanistan’s Experiment: Progress and Peril Under Taliban Rule

 

 

The post Allies In War, Enemies In Peace: The Unraveling Of Pakistan–Taliban Relations appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A monthly digest of key developments in Palestine showcasing powerful images by photojournalists.

American art historian and museum curator with a special focus on Iran and the Islamic world

For more than four decades, Sheila Canby, who has died aged 76 from complications of lung cancer, devoted her working life to Islamic art, and to the arts of Iran in particular.

She published extensively, created groundbreaking exhibitions – notably at the British Museum in London – and oversaw the installation of new galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

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PM hails Trump’s part in Middle East peace deal but says what matters now is implementation. This live blog is closed

Europe’s most senior human rights official has called on Shabana Mahmood to review UK protest laws after mass arrests over the ban on Palestine Action, Rajeev Syal reports.

The Commons authorities have confirmed that there will be two statements in the chamber after 12.30pm: first, Keir Starmer on the Middle East peace summit, and then Hilary Benn, the Northern Ireland secretary, on the Northern Ireland Troubles bill being published today.

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A knife attack at a student protest at the University of Edinburgh reveals much about institutional hypocrisy.

Event in Victoria Park organised by East London mosque and London Muslim Centre was open to ‘men, boys of all ages and girls under 12’

The communities secretary has said it was “absolutely unacceptable” for women to be excluded from taking part in a Muslim charity run in London.

The event on Sunday, in Victoria Park, Tower Hamlets, was advertised on the Muslim Charity Run website as an “inclusive 5km race” for “runners and supporters of all ages and abilities” – open to “men, boys of all ages and girls under 12”.

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