A brutal childhood under a violent father forges young Darius into a skilled fighter, setting the stage for a life shaped by hardship, survival, and a search for meaning.

* * *

Author’s Preface

I woke up recently with the idea for this story in my head, and immediately sat down and began to write. Maybe it was a dream I had, I don’t know. I’ve never been short of ideas, alhamdulillah. I have more ideas than I know what to do with.

If you’re a long-time reader of mine, you’ve noticed that my early novels focused heavily on action and international intrigue. Later stories, such as Day of the Dogs, The Things He Would Say, and the most recently completed Moonshot, were more about family dynamics. All That Is In The Heavens is, of course, straight-up sci-fi. I do plan to return to that, by the way.

I like changing things up. I’m not one of those writers who churns out dozens of novels based on a single formula. Maybe I should be, since some of those authors make a lot of money. Speaking of which, I met Danielle Steele once at a charity auction at Fort Mason in San Francisco, and bought her old antique typewriter. Another time, I made a delivery to her mansion, which occupies an entire block in Pacific Heights. There’s someone who took a formula and alchemized it into pure gold.

But no, I prefer to push myself and explore new fictional territory. This next story is a first. I hesitate to call it a fable. It is based in the real world, and rooted in the culture and historical circumstances of 1700’s rural China, featuring a Hui Muslim family. The Hui are an East Asian ethno-religious group that is predominantly Muslim. Today, the official Chinese census says there are 10 million of them. They are not segregated, but live intermixed with Han Chinese, and their practice of Islam tends to be low-key.

I did a lot of research to keep the story historically accurate. However, I never name China as such.

The narrator’s tone is brutally honest yet distant, as if narrating these events from a time many years removed. As such, it is not extremely detailed. That’s why I almost call it a fable.

It won’t be a full novel. Maybe 20,000 words, of which 10,000 are already written. Eight to ten chapters. I hope you enjoy it. – Wael Abdelgawad, Author

* * *

Father and Son

When my father, whose name was Yong Lee, wasn’t in prison, he taught me to fight and to steal. He was a small man and a drunkard, and he treated my sweet mother badly. I despised him. When Mother died of a breathing disease, all I could think was that instead of taking me with her into the realm of silence, she had left me behind. I was seven years old. I remember that I cried for many days, and struck my father, blaming him for Mother’s death. He was a violent man, yet, when I hit him he did not react.

Someone had taught my father to fight very well – not street brawling, but a fighting style that he called Five Animals, that consisted of rapid, fluid movements, deep stances, dramatic leaps and kicks, and the use of the spear and sword.

The sword was curved, single-edged, and about as long as my young arm. My father called it a dao. He had long since sold his genuine dao to buy wine, but he’d made two replicas out of hardwood, and a pair of spears as well. We owned a small rice paddy that had gone to seed, and was a rat-filled nest of weeds and mud. My father would take me out to the paddy and run me through dao and spear forms, and then we would fight. He was not gentle, and by the end of the session I was always bleeding and bruised.

Failed Defiance

One time, I defied him, throwing down the dao and screaming that I hated him and would not do it anymore. He seized my shirt with both hands and put his face very close to mine. His breath reeked of wine. “This is the only thing of worth I have to give you, Darius,” he said. “You will take it, or I will kill you, then kill myself.”

I believed him, and I never refused to train after that.

Once, when we went into town to steal, the Mayor approached us. He looked me up and down – my ragged clothes, split lip, cut cheek, and a gash on my arm – and told my father plainly that if he did not treat me better, they would take me away and send me to live with my aunt. This was the first time I knew that I had an aunt.

My father raged that the Mayor could not do that. The Mayor cowered, for everyone knew my father’s fighting prowess, but to his credit, he held his ground and said that he would do it anyway. After that, my father treated me a little better, for though he still forced me to train, he did so less violently.

My father stole food from local vendors, cheated at card games, and picked pockets. He excelled at these things, and on the rare occasions he was caught, the locals would decline to press charges, for they knew my father’s temper and abilities.

In the town there was a temple with a great statue, and the people went there to pray, meditate, and leave offerings. My father scoffed at this, saying these people were brainless idiots, and he would sooner stab himself in the eye than waste his time and money on a hunk of bronze that could not see, speak, nor even defend itself. “The only one to worship is Allah,” he said, but when I asked him about the meaning of this word, and who was Allah, and where was his temple, my father fell mute.

Wake Up Hungry, Sleep Hungry

My father was not foolish enough to steal from nobles, but some traveling nobles dressed plainly so that you did not know their status, and every now and then, my father would be caught stealing from such a one; or from a traveling businessman or functionary. These people had no fear of him and always pressed charges, whereupon my father would be whipped and sent to prison.

Whenever this happened, I was left to fend for myself. After seeing my father whipped, I was not brave enough to pick pockets, so I confined myself to going out at night and stealing corn, potatoes, and tomatoes from local farms. The amounts I stole were so small that either no one noticed or they pretended not to, for they feared my father even in his absence. When I was younger, I had sometimes helped my mother cook, and I knew enough to boil the vegetables, which I ate plain with a bit of salt.

I was very thin, and my clothes were so tattered they were nearly falling off. I was lonely, but I did not despair. My days of crying myself to sleep were long past, and I knew my father would return. I did not know how far away the prison was, but I did not feel that my father was far away. His presence was commanding and inescapable, even in his absence. In addition, I was long since used to waking hungry and sleeping hungry. To me, it was a normal state of existence, and in fac,t I could not imagine what it might be like to have companionship and a belly full of food.

Hiding

Three times, the Mayor and a few others came to the house looking for me, but each time I hid. I barred the door with a chair, doused the candle, and crawled beneath the straw mattress, which was silly because if they managed to enter they would see my form anyway. I held my breath and watched the movement of shadows beneath the door as the men stood outside calling, “Darius Lee!” But they did not enter, for they knew better than to enter the house of Yong Lee without permission, even in his absence. Eventually, they went away.

I did not know if they wanted to punish me for stealing, or to send me to live with my aunt. I did not want to be sent away. Though I hated my father, I also loved him and missed him. I cannot explain this except to say that he was all I knew, and I felt a strange loyalty to him. He had spent countless hours teaching me Five Animals style, and though he was brutal, it was personal and intense. In his twisted way he cared about me and perhaps even loved me, though he had never expressed such a thing, and I had only ever heard that word – love – from my mother.

There was an enemy invading our lands from the south. It was said that they came on great ships, and wore armor of a kind our weapons could not penetrate. Wherever they went, they massacred our people and burned our homes. They were said to be tall and ivory-skinned, and fought with long, straight swords. I had never seen such a person, and could not imagine why they wanted our hardscrabble rice and corn fields. But every time I went into town to beg for a little money to buy salt, I saw more and more refugees either passing through or living in shacks on the outskirts of town.

There were posters in the shop windows. I knew how to read and write, as my dear mother had taught me. The posters said that anyone who volunteered to fight the invaders would be paid five gold pieces upon inscription, and one gold piece a month. The minimum age was fifteen, however, and at that time I was only eleven.

Return

My father came home from prison. He’d always been a strong and hard man, yet he returned from prison with new scars, and a terrible rage in his eyes. I thought he might take his anger out on me, in training, but when he saw my condition – I was so thin that my cheeks were hollow and my ribs protruded – he squatted down, covered his face, and wept. I had never seen my father crying, and did not know what to do. Torn between comforting him – how would I do that exactly? – and walking away to preserve his dignity, I sat down in front of him and said nothing. He suddenly seized me. I tensed up, ready to fight or flee, but he only embraced me and whispered, “I am sorry.” At this, I did flee, for it confused and saddened me more than all the beatings.

My father had quit drinking. He was not an affectionate man, and he still stole from time to time – but our training, though still exhausting, was no longer bloody. Furthermore, he began working the land. He would wake me up at dawn, and we would labor and sweat, clearing weeds, planting peanuts, and fertilizing. My father worked feverishly, as hard as any horse or donkey, and I understood that this was his way of pouring out of himself the terrible anger that – like a horse carrying a millstone – he had carried home from prison.

When the first peanut crop came in, he took me into town, where we sold the crop to a merchant. Then he took me to an eatery, where we sat at a table like normal citizens. My father ordered a huge quantity of food, and we gorged ourselves on rice, beef, green beans, sesame buns, bean cake, broccoli, and egg noodles. I had never even tasted some of these things.

When we could eat no more, my stomach felt like it would burst. I felt sleepy and content for the first time in many years. “So,” I thought. “This is what it’s like to be full.” I felt something I could not identify, which I later came to understand was contentment, and it frightened me because I knew it could not and would not last.

Infestation and Enlistment

My fear was premonitory. An infestation of rats destroyed our crop, and we were left destitute. My father stomped through the field, hacking at the rats with a plow and screaming foul words. He seemed not angry but despairing, and this shocked me, as I had never imagined my father this way.

The next day, he went into town by himself. I was afraid he had gone to drink and would return to beat me as in the past, but no. When he returned, he wore a scabbard hanging from his hip. He sat me down and handed me a small purse. I looked inside and saw five gold pieces, shining like the sunrise. “I have enlisted to fight the invaders,” he told me. “With this money you can buy traps and poison to kill the rats, then plant a new crop. You know how to raise the crop, how to harvest, and where to sell it. You will be fine. I will send my salary home to you.”

Then he removed the scabbard from his hip and drew a shining steel dao with a razor-sharp edge and a pommel wrapped in green cord. He re-sheathed it and handed it to me with both hands. “I bought this for you,” he said. “Never let anyone take what is yours.”

I begged my father not to go. I debased myself, throwing myself on the ground, crying and clutching his legs. But he left.

Robbers

I killed the rats and planted the crop. I lived simply, never wanting to let anyone know of the gold I had. The dao remained with me at all times, on my back when I worked in the fields, and by my side as I slept. At times, I took it out and practiced. It was lighter than the wooden version I had trained with, and was very sharp. Once, I cut my own thigh by accident. The cut became infected, and I passed two days in a fever, thrashing on the little straw-stuffed mattress, until I got up and dragged myself to the medicine man in the village. He cleaned my wound and slathered it with something sweet-smelling, and I paid in gold, receiving some silver and copper coins in return.

That night, two men broke into my house seeking the gold. They were young, rough-looking men who wore no masks, and were armed only with knives. I was still unsteady on my feet. Nevertheless, I drew my dao. The men laughed. “A boy with a shiny toy,” one said. “That will soon be mine.” He lunged at me with a knife. I parried it easily with the dao, and in a single smooth motion, thrust the sword into his throat. The other, shocked, took a step back. When I went after him, he threw the knife at me. I dodged it, then leaped forward and slashed him across the belly. Clutching his hands to his belly, he turned and stumbled away, and I let him go.

Evil Banners

The floor of the house was no more than baked earth, and was now stained heavily with blood. I went out to fetch a bucket of water from our small well, to clean the floor, and saw a blood trail from the second man leading into the peanut field. I found his dead body in the field, his hands still clutching his belly as his entrails hung out like evil banners, and a portent of bad things to come.

Leaving the man in the field for the moment, I scrubbed the floors inside. Seeing in my mind the point of the sword entering the man’s throat, remembering the slight resistance as it penetrated, I vomited, then cleaned that up as well.

Then I dug a deep hole in the field and buried both men. This took two days of labor, as I had to use a pickaxe to get through a layer of limestone and shale. When it was done, I collapsed into bed and slept for three days and nights, waking only to drink water. When I recovered, my leg wound had healed. No one ever came to ask about the dead robbers.

New Songs

I continued to practice with the dao. I cycled through all the moves my father had taught me, then improvised. If movement were a song, then I broke the words apart and put them back together in random ways, creating new songs that sometimes made no sense, and other times struck my own soul like gongs, leaving it shivering. I cut myself a few more times, but not seriously, until there came a point where that was no longer a concern. The dao was part of me. I would no more cut myself with it than I would poke myself in the eye, or punch myself in the stomach.

My father had taught me to count the days from planting, and harvest the peanuts at 130 days. The crop came in full and heavy, and I sold it for a good price. While I was in town, I went to see the Mayor. My father had said he would send my salary, but it had not arrived.

* * *

 

Come back next week for Part 2 – Alone

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:

Zaid Karim, Private Investigator, Part 1 – Temptation

No, My Son | A Short Story

 

The post Far Away [Part 1] – Five Animals appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Last weekend I saw a set of pictures on Instagram with the lead picture containing the headline “The Ten Most Dangerous Logical Fallacies”. The author, Sahil Bloom (author of a book called The Five Types of Wealth), does not explain why they are more dangerous than any other; these are just ten of the best-known or perhaps most common. They include ad hominem, straw man, appeal to authority, false dilemmas, hasty generalisations and the “fallacy fallacy”, i.e. thinking you’ve disproved someone’s argument because you’ve identified a fallacy. He also includes the “sunk cost fallacy”, continuing to expend money or effort on something because of the money or effort already expended, when “smart people” cut their losses; this is a major reason why scam victims continue to engage at their own loss after they start to suspect that they are being scammed, but it’s not relevant to the context in which the other fallacies listed are commonly used. However, the fallacy I want to discuss is “tu quoque” (“and you too”), also known as the “appeal to hypocrisy”, because it is often invoked in contexts in which the argument is in fact quite valid.

Tu quoque is illustrated by a man holding a bottle of beer, telling another man “you are not morally correct because you smoke”. The other man starts to reply “but …”. It’s a trivial example that illustrates how the fallacy works, but it also illustrates why it can sometimes be used validly. Smoking is something people often get addicted to when they are young, because their friends do it and they do it to fit in; tobacco smoke also smells bad to anyone not used to it and both the plant and the smoke contain chemicals which cause a number of diseases, mostly but not exclusively to the smoker. Many smokers nowadays do things to mitigate the effects to others, such as only smoking outside (it is banned in enclosed public spaces in the UK nowadays). Alcohol can also be harmful: it makes people drunk after a glass or two, often too drunk to drive safely, and affects their behaviour, making them uninhibited or violent. Western society considers a moderate drinker to be more “morally correct” than a smoker, but a hard drinker (including someone who might be found drinking at work, as that picture suggests) more of a danger. Someone applying for a sensitive job, such as a teacher, who was a smoker who only smoked outdoors would stand a better chance than a problem drinker, even though the drinker didn’t smell of smoke. (If drinking at all is a sin in your religion, as it is in mine, someone who is known to drink will be excluded from consideration altogether, and may be ostracised.)

And this last point illustrates why this line of argument often is no fallacy. It is a fallacy in a pure, academic moral exercise, but the world is not like that. In the real world, the accuser’s flaws might well be relevant. In an election campaign, for example, a candidate might be making loud criticisms of his opponent’s character but be just as guilty of some of them himself, or of others, and this would directly affect his competence or suitability for the job, so it is entirely valid for the opponent or his supporters to point it out. It might not make the thing he is accused of right, but if the accuser is worse, it might not make him a worse candidate. If a country is gearing up for war, criticisms of their enemy might include that he rigs elections, is corrupt, or is repressive and has people summarily executed or tortured, and the fact that other countries do the same does not make any of those things right either, but if some of those countries are our allies and we are not making any threats towards them, it clearly shows that human rights are not the reason for the war. Whether the war is justified or not, the debate needs to be had, and to be had honestly.

In other contexts, “tu quoque” fails as an argument. When someone is apprehended for a crime, it is no defence to argue that someone else has done the same, or worse, and is not being prosecuted. Sometimes this is fair, sometimes not; if the offence is drug possession, and the person arrested was arrested as a result of a racially-motivated stop and search while people with another skin colour use the same drugs freely, that is obviously unjust and racist, but if the offence is something that causes great harm, like rape, the unfairness is of no importance; taking one rapist off the streets is vital, even if it is in no way preferable to taking off two. It has sometimes been used as a defence in war crimes trials, where officials from the defeated power are tried at the behest of victors who have perpetrated other crimes in other wars, or in their colonial empires, but invariably rejected because the crimes in question were heinous and they were arrested when their attempt to seize their neighbours’ countries failed.

The same set of pictures includes a slide on the “appeal to authority” fallacy and this, too, sometimes has valid uses: 

The person uses an expert’s opinion as proof, without any supporting evidence. Experts can inform your thinking, but they generally shouldn’t replace it. People often hide behind credentials when logic runs out.

The problem here is that expert opinion is all that the average person has to go on when talking about things that are beyond their expertise. The average person might assume that one summer is the direct result of man-climate change, or that a cold winter disproves it; they often do not even know what constitutes ‘evidence’ and what is irrelevant. The fact is that the majority of the world’s climate scientists are of the opinion that man-made climate change, caused by burning too much fossil fuel too quickly while destroying the rainforests for logging and farming, is real; to state that is not a fallacy because the authority is real. What is a fallacy is when people cite dissenting studies to explain away a scientific consensus that is inconvenient to them, because it would require them to change their behaviour or might affect their business or other personal circumstances. They will often say “this scientist says …” or “this expert says …” without considering that he is the wrong type of scientist or expert, and is at variance with sometimes an overwhelming majority of qualified scholarly opinion.

In short, there are sometimes good reasons to use arguments that, in an academic context, are fallacies. Sometimes the character of one’s opponent is relevant, sometimes it matters that the accuser is just as guilty as the accused, sometimes it matters that the ‘offending’ behaviour is normal (though sometimes it does not), and sometimes we need to rely on experts rather than our own perceptions; even when the argument is not valid in itself, it does open a window on another injustice. We use arguments not for their own sake, but to advance a cause or to prevent harm being done. The world is not an academic exercise in moral philosophy, and we cannot and should not always behave as if it is.

Image source: Sahil Bloom, via Instagram.

At least three children have died of hypothermia due to Israel’s continued refusal to allow in necessary shelters and materials.

For most families, “returning home” means pitching tents beside the ruins of their houses.

Annual awards ceremony brings in big money from Murdoch-owned media.

Gaza’s fishing sector, once a crucial source of livelihoods, is operating at just 7.3 percent of its pre-genocide capacity.

Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib’s Gaza genocide resolution stirs ire of AIPAC.

How Ahmed al-Ahmed’s selfless intervention at Bondi Beach exposed the lie of stereotypes and showed the highest expression of Islamic faith in action.

Going Out For Coffee

On the evening of Sunday, December 14, Bondi Beach was crowded in the way only a summer Sunday allows. Thousands of people filled the promenade and shoreline, lingering at the end of the weekend. Among them were hundreds gathered for Chanukah by the Sea, a public celebration marking the beginning of the eight-day Hanukkah festival, held in a small park just off the beachfront.

Ahmed al-Ahmed was there for a far more ordinary reason. He had gone to Bondi with a friend for coffee. A simple plan. An unremarkable outing. Ahmed was not attending the celebration, not looking for spectacle, and certainly not expecting violence.

Ahmed is 43 years old, a Syrian immigrant from the town of Idlib, who arrived in Australia in 2006. Over nearly two decades, he built a life through patience and work. He became an Australian citizen, opened and ran a small convenience and tobacco store, married, and became the father of two young daughters, aged three and six. His parents, long separated from him by war and displacement, had only recently been able to reunite with him in Sydney.

Shots Across The Sand

Shortly after 6:45 pm, the ordinary rhythm of Bondi Beach shattered.

Witnesses reported that two gunmen opened fire from an elevated footbridge leading toward the beach. Shots echoed across the sand. Video footage later showed people in swimwear sprinting for cover, scattering across open ground with nowhere to hide. Panic spread instantly. Parents grabbed children. Strangers dropped flat. The attack continued for several minutes before police were able to intervene.

Ahmed and his friend arrived to scenes of chaos.

Speaking to Australia’s ABC, Ahmed’s father, Mohamed Fateh al-Ahmed, said his son was shocked by what he saw when they reached the area. Armed men firing into crowds. People lying on the ground. Blood visible on the pavement.

“Their lives were in danger,” his father said. “He noticed one of the armed men at a distance.”

According to the family, Ahmed saw people lying wounded on the ground, some bleeding heavily. At that point, calculation gave way to instinct, and perhaps to training as well, as reports say that Ahmed had been a policeman in his native Syria.

“When he saw people laying on the ground and the blood everywhere,” his father said, “immediately his conscience and his soul compelled him to pounce on one of the terrorists and rid him of his weapon.”

Making A Move

A screenshot shows Ahmed Al-Ahmed wrestling with one of the shooters.

At some point during the attack, Ahmed began sneaking up on one of the gunmen. Reports say that the attacker had momentarily exhausted his ammunition, but I have watched the video several times and there was no indication of that. Rather, it appears that Ahmed crept up between two parked cars, and – as the shooter was still actively firing – charged him from the side.

He charged the attacker unarmed, and wrestled with him for control of the rifle. The shooter fell to the ground, leaving Ahmed in control of the weapon. Again, reports say that during the struggle, Ahmed was shot several times in the shoulder, but I do not see that in the video. Rather, it appears that he was unharmed during the struggle, which leads me to believe that he was then shot by the other attacker, who was still firing from atop a bridge nearby. But this is speculation.

In any case he was shot in the hand and four to five times in the shoulder, with some of the bullets still lodged inside his body, according to his parents. He was rushed to hospital and underwent emergency surgery.

In the hours that followed, family members described the toll the injuries had taken. Jozay, a cousin of Ahmed, said that he was recovering from his first surgery and had two more operations still to come. “He took a lot of medication, he can’t speak well,” Jozay said after leaving the hospital on Monday evening.

Couldn’t Bear To See People Dying

Another cousin, Mustafa al-Asaad, told the Al Araby television network that Ahmed’s intervention was not driven by anger or impulse, but by something deeper.

“When he saw people dying and their families being shot, he couldn’t bear to see people dying,” Mustafa said.

“It was a humanitarian act, more than anything else. It was a matter of conscience. He’s very proud that he saved even one life.”

Mustafa recalled Ahmed explaining the moment in simple terms.

“When he saw this scene, people dying of gunfire, he told me, ‘I couldn’t bear this. God gave me strength. I believe I’m going to stop this person killing people.’”

The attack ended. Many lives were lost, but – without a doubt – many lives were also saved by Ahmed’s heroic actions.

What Would You Do?

It’s easy to call someone a hero after the fact. It is much harder to grasp what such a moment actually demands. Which raises a question that should unsettle us.

What would you do in that situation? What would I do?

I am a trained martial artist. I have spent years in classes gaming out scenarios exactly like this. How to tackle an active shooter, how to control the weapon, how to disable the shooter and create distance. But class training is one thing. Seeing it happen in real life, with the noise of the shots, the screams, the chaos, is something else altogether. I like to believe I would act courageously. I like to believe training and moral conviction would carry me forward. But only Allah knows.

Because this is the reality: if the shooter had spotted Ahmed’s approach – if he’d caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye – and turned – Ahmed would be dead. He’d be shot dead in the parking lot, leaving his two young daughters without a father. And he undoubtedly knew that. Think about that.

None of us truly knows what choice we will make until we are confronted, face to face, with that level of evil. Training, faith and strength of character all help. But certainty only arrives when fear, instinct, and conscience collide in real time.

Ahmed al-Ahmed does not have to imagine.

When asked about his actions, he expressed no regret. He did not speak of bravery or heroism. I cannot speak to his specific religious convictions, as the reports do not mention this. He might be a Sunni, Shiah or Alawi. He might be practicing or not. But he bears the name of our beloved Prophet (s), and he gave the credit for his actions – as any believer would – to Allah, saying that God granted him courage.

Ahmed’s father emphasized that his son’s decision was not shaped by identity or affiliation.

“When he did what he did, he wasn’t thinking about the background of the people he’s saving, the people dying in the street,” Mohamed Fateh al-Ahmed said. “He doesn’t discriminate between one nationality and another. Especially here in Australia, there’s no difference between one citizen and another.”

A Grim Irony

There is, however, a grim irony that cannot be ignored.

Authorities later confirmed that the attackers were also Muslim immigrants. This fact, widely reported, inevitably stirred anxiety within Muslim communities already accustomed to collective suspicion.

The man that Ahmed wrested with and disarmed was named Sajid Akram. He was 50 years old, originally from Pakistan.

Here, on the same beach, in the same violent moment, stood two radically different representations of what it means to invoke Islam.

On one side, a profound betrayal of faith. A reduction of religion to grievance, rage, and indiscriminate murder. On the other, the apex of faithful action, a man who ran toward gunfire to protect strangers, including members of another religious community, without hesitation and without calculation.

Have we, in recent memory, seen a clearer reminder that no group is monolithic? That no religion, race, or nation can be reduced to its worst representatives? That Islam can be invoked as a pretext for horror, or lived as a shield for others?

Whoever Saves One Life

Chris Mims, New South Wales premier, visits with Ahmed Al-Ahmed.

In the days that followed, public gratitude poured in. Political leaders visited Ahmed in hospital. Fundraisers raised extraordinary sums (over a million dollars, it is said) to support his recovery and his family. Officials credited his intervention with saving lives.

For Muslims, the value of a life saved is not dependent on that person’s faith, character, nationality or identity, for Allah tells us in the Quran:

“Whoever saves one life, it is as if he has saved the lives of all humankind.” (Quran 5:32)

This is especially true when you save a stranger. By saving the life of someone you don’t know, you have symbolically saved the life of anyone and everyone. Ahmed Al-Ahmed, therefore, saved my life and yours, as well as that of everyone else in the world.

Let’s Choose Our Own Heroes

This is an age when Western entertainment culture is relentless in shaping our imagination of heroism, trying to force its own imprint onto our brains. The hero is a mythical Norse god wielding lightning, a billionaire playboy in an iron suit, a Superman wrapped in red, white, and blue. These figures are entertaining, but they are not moral templates.

We already have heroes.

At the dawn of Islam, we have the sahabah. Hamzah ibn AbdulMuttalib at Badr. Nusaibah bint Kaab, Musab bin Umair and Talhah bin Ubaidullah at Uhud. Salman al-Farisi, Ali ibn Abi Talib, and Hudhaifah ibn al-Yaman at Khandaq. And any others. Men and women whose courage was inseparable from humility, restraint, and devotion to Allah and His Messenger.

In the modern age, we must choose our heroes as well. Not from movie screens or marketing campaigns, but from real human beings who act rightly when it costs them dearly.

Ahmed al-Ahmed is one such hero. No, I’m not comparing him to the sahabah. But we do not live in the time of the sahabah. We live in an age of runaway technology, overhwelming mass media, and widespread oppression and corruption. We must laud our heroes when they appear.

Ahmed is not a hero because he is flawless. Again, I know little about his personal relgious convictions. He is a hero because, in one decisive moment, he chose other poeople’s lives over his own safety, conscience over calculation, and mercy over self-preservation.

Sources

• • ABC News (Australia)
    Interviews with Ahmed al-Ahmed’s father Mohamed Fateh al-Ahmed regarding the events at Bondi Beach, Ahmed’s injuries, and his motivations.

  • News.com.au
    Reporting on Ahmed al-Ahmed’s background, injuries, surgeries, and public response following the Bondi Beach attack.

  • NSW Police Force Media Releases
    Official statements on the Bondi Beach public place shooting, timeline of events, and police intervention.

  • The Guardian (Australia)
    Coverage of the Bondi Beach attack, investigation details, and confirmation of the attackers’ identities.

  • SBS News (Australia)
    Reporting on Ahmed al-Ahmed’s medical condition, recovery, and statements attributed to family members.

  • Al Araby Television Network
    Interview with Ahmed’s cousin Mustafa al-Asaad describing Ahmed’s actions as a humanitarian act and a matter of conscience.

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The post Ahmed al-Ahmed and the Meaning of Courage appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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Laziness and lack of passion, combined with the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), will be the bane of our Ummah’s existence. Short-form media that constantly fires our synapses for that feel-good chemical, catering to limited attention spans, has taken over our lives. This has narrowed our chances of passing the ultimate test of the dunya.

In Islamic tradition, the Dajjal is described not only as a figure of physical trial, but as a master of deception, illusion, and confusion, someone who blurs the line between truth and falsehood until people no longer know what to trust. Whistleblowers are dismissed as conspiracy theorists, seemingly Islamic videos microdose incorrect information to slowly make people question their faith, and scholars are categorized as extremists. The Dajjal will not be as apparent as many of us are falsely led to think. With the onslaught of microtrends, mainstream fashion, popularized language, and made-up ideologies, deception is already infiltrating our minds, not through force, but through familiarity, convenience, and constant exposure.

How Deep Has This Deception Sunk In? 

It has become increasingly difficult to hold onto our faith in this day and age, as foretold to be a sign of the end of time. As narrated by Anas ibn Malik , the Prophet said:

“A time of patience will come to people in which adhering to one’s religion is like grasping a hot coal.” [Sunan al-Tirmidhī 2260, Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani]

With the world changing so rapidly, Islam can sometimes feel centuries behind in its practices. Determining what is halal and haram, and what is permissible in interactions, dealings, and research, can make Islam seem more rigid than it truly is. While endless information is available with a few clicks, the more advanced technology becomes, the less informed people seem to be. 

AI Videos and the Threat of Misinformation 

AI has been in development long before its public release. Now, with common citizens having access to powerful technologies, it is increasingly difficult to discern what is real. Globally, this poses threats to security, sincerity, and solidarity. Fake pictures and videos can deceive the untrained eye and spread misinformation rapidly. Recently, videos of sheikhs, muftis, and scholars have been scrutinized for questionable statements. Short clips of muftis giving fatwas without proper evidence have become popular among those who lack deep knowledge of Islamic Fiqh. Comments often show confusion and doubt, highlighting the need for proper understanding.

“Relying solely on what we see, instead of belief grounded in authentic teachings, contradicts Islamic principles.” [PC: Aerps.com (unsplash)]

 As AI improves, individuals are creating videos of prominent leaders and spreading them as if the scholars themselves produced them. Earlier this year, an AI-altered clip of Sheikh Dr Abdur Rahman Al-Sudais circulated widely, spreading biased misinformation. Even after being debunked, the confusion persisted, demonstrating how easily trust can be eroded. The General Presidency for Religious Affairs at the Two Holy Mosques released a statement confirming the clip was false, underscoring the scale of the problem. 

This illustrates a severe unity and media literacy problem within the Ummah. Many Muslims turn against one another online, often prioritizing personal validation over seeking truth. Relying solely on what we see, instead of belief grounded in authentic teachings, contradicts Islamic principles. Being knowledgeable in deen should not negate being competent in understanding the world around us. Proper understanding of religion requires awareness of modern technologies and media, as well as the tools to critically assess information. 

The Rise of “Sheikh GPT” and AI Misguidance 

AI is increasingly being used as a resource for Islamic guidance. Columbia Journalism reported that AI models provided incorrect answers to more than 60 per cent of queries (Columbia Journalism, 2025). These systems can offer biased, speculative, or incorrect responses. Many people unfamiliar with scholars turn to conversational AI for religious advice, believing they are receiving reliable guidance. 

Religious questions, especially nuanced ones, require consultation with scholars, muftis, or sheikhs. Classical knowledge involves research, evidence, and context, often unavailable online. The preservation of Islamic knowledge was never casual or convenient. Scholars of hadith would travel for months, sometimes years, to verify a single narration, carefully examining chains of transmission, the character of narrators, and the consistency of reports. Imam al-Bukhari is reported to have memorized hundreds of thousands of narrations, accepting only a fraction after rigorous scrutiny, prayer, and verification. Knowledge was earned through discipline, sacrifice, and accountability, not instant answers or surface-level familiarity.

AI cannot replace the depth of human scholarship or the oral traditions through which Islam has historically been transmitted. Old manuscripts, parchments, and other sources of wisdom are not accessible to AI, which only draws from online content. While AI may provide answers to simple questions, it encourages habits of shallow engagement, diminishing the practice of active research and reflection. 

Digital Manipulation and Contextual Misuse 

Creators who are not knowledgeable about Islam often take ayahs, hadith, and practices out of context to produce viral content. These clips spread quickly, often with inflammatory captions, provoking outrage rather than informed discussion. A 2025 UNESCO report described AI-generated content as creating a “crisis of knowing,” making it difficult for users to distinguish authentic from fabricated material (UNESCO, 2025). 

This is particularly dangerous for religious content. AI-manipulated videos of respected scholars, like the case of Sheikh Dr Al-Sudais, demonstrate how quickly misinformation can erode trust. AI models are often seen as convenient conversationalists, but they lack accountability, depth, and the ability to interpret religious context, nuance, and jurisprudential principles. Overreliance on these tools fosters a “copy-paste” mentality and encourages superficial engagement with Islam. 

The Role of AI in Surveillance and Control 

The concept of AI itself is not inherently bad. AI has many legitimate applications in research, organization, and efficiency. However, with it increasingly used directly against Muslims, including in surveillance, data tracking, and social monitoring, we must approach it with caution. Reliance on AI can subtly condition compliance and make us more receptive to the tricks of the Dajjal. It is no longer merely a tool for convenience; it has become an instrument of influence and control that can weaken spiritual and communal resilience. 

Returning to Authentic Learning of Islam

“Deep engagement with the deen is essential to develop discernment, patience, and spiritual strength.” [PC: Ishan-Seefromthesky (unsplash)]

The solution begins with dedicating time to formal Islamic education or, at the very least, setting aside daily periods to study directly from scholars, classical books, and verified sources. Learning Islam cannot be outsourced to algorithms or unverified online creators. Deep engagement with the deen is essential to develop discernment, patience, and spiritual strength. This knowledge must be complemented by digital literacy so that we can critically assess the content we encounter online. 

Patience and discernment are essential. The Prophet ﷺ warned that a time would come when holding firmly to one’s religion would be like grasping a burning coal, a trial that demands endurance, clarity, and restraint (Jamiʿ al-Tirmidhi, no. 2260). Critical thinking, verification, and measured responses are necessary to avoid deception. Knowledge of both deen and dunya is crucial. Understanding Islamic teachings while being aware of modern communication methods, digital influence, and misinformation allows the Ummah to protect its faith and its community.

AI is not inherently evil, but when misused, it becomes a tool of confusion, division, and doubt. The responsibility falls on each of us to seek knowledge actively, question critically, and prioritize authenticity over convenience. The Dajjal may not appear in the form we expect. His influence may already be present, infiltrating minds subtly.

Yet the remedy remains steadfast: patience, authentic knowledge, and unwavering commitment to Islam. 

 

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The post AI And The Dajjal: Why We Need To Value Authentic Islamic Knowledge In An Age Of Convincing Deception appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Tanni Grey-Thompson testing out accessible rail travel in Liverpool

Currently in the UK, Parliament is debating a bill introduced by Kim Leadbeater, the sister of the assassinated Labour MP Jo Cox who was selected for the same seat after Cox’s successor was elected to a mayoralty, to legalise “assisted dying”, by which a doctor can administer or prescribe a lethal dose of a sedative to someone who has requested it because they are terminally ill and in intractable pain or have other chronically unpleasant symptoms. Currently, assisting a suicide is illegal, and while people who have assisted severely disabled relatives who cannot physically get hold of the necessary doses of whatever substance they intend to use are usually given suspended sentences (as with Kay Gilderdale in 2010), this still leaves them with a criminal record. This legislation goes further than simply decriminalising that act, but requires that a doctor be involved. With the House of Commons having waved the legislation through and refused a number of amendments intended to reduce the risk of unintended consequences, the bill has faced a lot of opposition in the House of Lords, an upper chamber nowadays mostly consisting of appointed “Life Peers”; there are also 26 Anglican bishops and archbishops (in the past, the house consisted mostly of hereditary peers, who were the holders of large historic estates — dukes, earls, viscounts, barons etc — who were overwhelmingly men, as well as a group of senior judges who are now part of the Supreme Court and no longer sit in the Lords). Some of the amendments proposed in the Lords are obviously unserious, and has led to a lot of chest-puffing in publications sympathetic to the bill, notably the New Statesman: who are the Lords to frustrate a bill that has been passed by the elected Commons? Don’t they know their place?

The House of Lords is entitled to scrutinise bills and can introduce amendments. Those amendments can, however, be voted down in the Commons and, when the bill was introduced by the government and the governing party opposes the amendments, they usually are voted down. Peers are appointed specifically to have diversity of backgrounds and life experiences, and some — far more than in the Commons — are not party-political (known as cross-benchers). Until the early 20th century, the House of Lords was dominated by the actual lords, wealthy men who were mostly very conservative, and they would vote down vital legislation such as those intended to settle the situation in Ireland. Their power to veto a bill altogether ended with the 1911 Parliament Act; all they are able to do now is to delay a bill becoming law by a year (the Liberal government achieved this by threatening a “mass creation” of Liberal peers after the lords had rejected budgets and Irish Home Rule bills). Convention dictates that the lords do not obstruct bills which were part of a governing party’s manifesto; the Leadbeater bill is a private member’s bill, albeit one tacitly supported by the government. However, the attempt to filibuster this bill has led to disapproval from some peers, including Michael Howard, the former Tory leader, as noted in the New Statesman last week, and outright scorn from the magazine and some of its letter writers; one this week called the debate “the sixth-form debating games in the House of Quangocrats” (referring to heads of arms-length administrative bodies) and another calling it “self-indulgence and sabotage of the popular will” and calling for the House of Lords to be abolished.

Filibusters of private members’ bills (prolonging debate so that it runs out of time) is nothing new; the Tory government in the mid-1990s of which Michael Howard was a part used amendments, the same tactic currently being used in the Lords, to talk out an anti-discrimination bill for disabled people. Also relevant to this is the attitude fostered towards disabled people since the party came to power in 2010: the widespread perception, promoted in the Tory popular press, that many disabled people are ‘scroungers’ and are claiming benefits they do not need and should not really be entitled to; this has continued since Labour returned to power this year, with a recent media storm about people using Motability, a charity that arranges leases of adapted cars using the Personal Independence Payment (PIP), which replaced the Disability Living Allowance during the 2010-15 Tory/Liberal Democrat coalition government, to buy posh German cars at state expense (in fact, the lessee must pay out of pocket if they want a more expensive car), and that many of those using the service have no worse disability than anxiety (in fact, someone with only anxiety would not get the mobility allowance necessary, if indeed any PIP at all). In short, it has come to be widely accepted that disabled people’s dignity and independence is an indulgence not worth the taxpayer’s expense, a phenomenon widely seen across the western world in recent years. It costs a lot less to prescribe a lethal dose of sedative than it does to provide a suitable wheelchair or to adapt someone’s flat so that they can live independently or semi-independently, and in countries where medically assisted suicide has been legalised, there have been many documented cases of people refused surgery or assistance for independent living but offered the lethal dose. In Canada the acronym is MAiD (medical assistance in dying), an old-fashioned word for a personal assistant.

As far as this being the “popular will” is concerned, the mere fact of it being that does not mean it should become law; parliamentarians are expected to exercise their judgement while debating laws that could easily have major consequences for many people; that is the principle of representative rather than direct democracy. The “popular will” in the last ten years resulted in us leaving a major trading bloc with no replacement, giving up rights for our children that we had enjoyed for two generations, and may yet see us give up further invaluable rights by leaving the European Convention on Human Rights. In this case, however, we are talking about a campaign among the political class which has gained the upper hand in the House of Commons which simply refuses to listen to sound arguments, including from much of the medical profession, from the palliative care sector, from disability rights advocates including Tanni Grey-Thompson, one of the peers whose amendment is among those ridiculed in the New Statesman recently, that it will put people’s lives at risk who do not want to die, or who might change their mind in time; it dismisses such objections as irrational, religiously-based, and stuck in the past. This bill has been widely condemned as poorly-drafted and lacking in safeguards, and if MPs had done their jobs properly, the Lords would have had less reason to filibuster it.

And let’s not forget, some of these MPs secured election on the back of quite a small share of their constituents’ votes: in our system, a candidate does not need to win an outright majority, and rarely do; it is possible to win a seat on a vote percentage in the low 30s if one’s opponents are sufficiently divided, and a share in the 40s is very common. Opinion polls currently predict Reform winning the next election, with a large majority, on the basis of around 25-30% of the popular vote. To give an extreme example, the current Labour member for South West Norfolk, Terry Jermy, who voted in favour of the Leadbeater bill, secured only 26.7% of his constituents’ votes, a result made possible by the division of the Tory vote (the seat was formerly held by Liz Truss) between the Tories and Reform. Kevin McKenna, MP for Sittingbourne and Sheppey in north Kent, gained his seat off a 29.1% share for the same reason, and also voted in favour of this bill. The New Statesman’s columnists and correspondents are indignant because, having thought there were enough people in the Commons who agreed with them (along with enough of the “great and the good”, including a Dimbleby in a recent edition), found that the Lords preferred to defend lives rather than defer to the personal views of people elected on minorities of the popular vote. For once, it is not sufficient to be popular; it looks like one might have to be right to get one’s wishes into law.

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