UK government seeks parliamentary approval to ban direct action protest group.

Deadly ambush whips up dissent against “pointless” war.

Correspondents frequently ignored Palestinian deaths in Gaza in days after Israeli military’s attack on Iran.

Maersk quietly divests from illegal Israeli settlements.

Tehran still faces enormous dangers from determined enemies, but proved its resilience.

Brussels continues to fund Ahava, a firm with strong links to the illegal occupation of the West Bank.

We received the evacuation notice in Khan Younis on 12 June, but we could not find a car to get out of the city until the next day.

How can Iran counter a US-Israeli assault aimed at its destruction?

Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

“Be bold, be brave enough to be your true self.” – Queen Latifah

A Foolish Indulgence

Bandar dropped the bucket of popcorn. The greasy kernels spilled all over his lap and onto the floor. He cursed and tried to rise, dumping the liquorice onto the floor as well, but the armed man seized his shoulder and pulled him back down. He shot a glance over his shoulder to his bodyguard, who began to stand, until the scarred man flicked open a knife and put the point to Bandar’s throat.

“Tell him to sit and relax,” the man whispered. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

Bandar waved to the bodyguard to sit, and the hulk did so reluctantly.

“I asked if you know who I am.”

Sweat broke out on Bandar’s forehead. He closed his eyes. “You are the Palestinian detective. I don’t remember your name.”

“Zaid Karim. Why did you send men to kidnap Deek Saghir?”

“I don’t know what you are talking a-”

Zaid jammed the gun harder into Bandar’s ribs, making him grunt in pain, and snarled, “Listen, dope king -”

Bandar was outraged enough to momentarily forget his fear. “I don’t sell dope! Who told you that? Liquor and smokes, that’s my game.” In fact the Sinaloa cartel had tried to pressure him to use his network of shops as fronts for dope peddling, but he had refused, even when they threatened his life. So how dare this upstart accuse him of being a drug dealer?

“Whatever. I’m not in the mood for games. Answer my question.”

“He stole a car from my son.”

“That’s crap. I know Deek Saghir, he’s not a thief.”

“So my son is a liar?”

“You tell me. Is your son trustworthy?”

Bandar looked around. A few people were looking their way, annoyed that they were talking in the theater. But it was still just the previews, and in the darkness no one could see what was happening. Bandar was acutely aware of the gun against his ribs and the knife at his throat. He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life. He saw now that these Saturday movie nights were a foolish indulgence. Pain surged in his stomach, and he pressed a hand to it. Yet in the midst of it all, he sighed, for he had to admit that his son Shujaa was not trustworthy at all, and had most likely lied to him. And because of that, three of his men were dead, most likely killed by the maniac beside him.

A Name Spoken In Whispers

In spite of his fear, and his realization that Shujaa had played him, he put on a show of bravado and said, “I have more men where those came from.”

“And I have a lifelong friend who would do anything for me.”

“What friend?”

“Badger.”

Bandar’s blood went as cold as ice. This was a name he’d heard spoken in whispers, the way one spoke the name of a demon. Badger was an independent killer who robbed and murdered drug dealers. It was said he had wiped out entire gangs, and was utterly remorseless. The number of men he’d killed could not be counted.

“That’s right,” Zaid said, reading Bandar’s reaction. “I’ll pit my Badger against your thugs any day. And if it comes to that, we won’t stop with your men. We’ll put you down too.”

“What is it you want, Zaid?” Bandar said finally.

“Don’t come near Deek Saghir again. I swear to you, if you harm him again or even look in his direction, I will return, and it won’t be to talk, and you won’t see me coming.”

“Done.”

Zaid jammed the gun harder into Bandar’s ribs. “And return the car. Leave it in the parking lot at Masjid Madinah, with the keys in it. Within one hour.”

Grimacing in pain, Bandar nodded. Shujaa would catch fire for this. It was back to Yemen for the little punk.

A theater employee approached, wearing black pants and a red vest, and shining a dim flashlight their way. “Hey. What’s going on here?”

Zaid Karim stood and walked out, leaving Bandar with popcorn in his lap and a sheen of sweat covering his entire body.

Queen Latifah

Once again, Deek dreamed that he was in the desert of southern Iraq, seeking the elusive cache of silver from the kingdom of Ur. He expected to encounter Shaykha Rabiah again, and a part of him dreaded her rapier-like judgment – but no -this time it was Queen Latifah, the famous actress and rapper, sitting casually in the shade of the ruined wall of an ancient caravanserai. She wore a flowing green robe and a green scarf that draped her head and chest, and was eating mac n’ cheese from a small pot. Deek could smell the cheddar tang, and it made his mouth water.

“What’s up, Deek?” Latifah said.

“Isn’t it a bit hot for mac n’ cheese?”

“Not for me. This is Vermont white cheddar, baby. I would kill for this. Check this out. If you tell me a secret, I’ll tell you one.”

There was something wholesome and real about Latifah that made you trust her. A trickle of sweat ran down Deek’s face, and he wiped it with a dusty sleeve.

“I’m looking for a hidden treasure,” he said. “It’s somewhere near here. It’s priceless.”

Latifah laughed. “If it’s priceless, how would you spend it?”

Deek frowned. “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it? Well, I promised you a secret too. Here it is: I’ll never say no to mac n’ cheese, even at two in the morning.”

Deek scoffed. “I already knew that. I’ve known you since we were kids, remember?”

Latifah looked astonished. “I remember that now!” The wind kicked up a swirl of ochre dust, and Latifah covered the pot with her scarf. “My old friend Deek. Let me give you some advice. Be bold, be brave enough to be your true self.”

“This is my true self. I am determined to be rich. It’s my destiny.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, you might be rich, who can say? But I think your true self is the man who loves his wife, and thinks she’s an angel, and loves his daughters, and wants to make them happy. I should know. We’ve known each other since we were kids, remember?”

“I was thinking of changing my first name to Asad.”

“Lion! It suits you. There’s power inside you, dormant. If you unleash it you could change the world.”

“You speak Arabic?”

“I do here.”

It’s Over

Deek awoke to the smell of candle smoke and the sound of cats meowing at the back door. The sky through the window was black, but the room was lit by five votive candles on the floor. From the kitchen came the soft murmur of the Quran being recited. He climbed out of bed, picked up a candle, and found Zaid Karim in the kitchen, seated at the candle-lit table, listening to the Quran on his phone and eating a sandwich that -judging from the powerful fishy smell- contained sardines.

“No wonder the cats are meowing, with that stench. Have you fed them?”

Zaid laughed. “You settled right in, it seems.”

“What is this place?”

“I told you in the note.”

“The Namer’s house.”

“Yes. She’s a Miwok medicine woman. Her real name is too difficult for most people to pronounce. She means everything to the people around here.”

“She’s a miracle worker. Look at me.” Deek held his arms out wide. “They beat me half to death, and I feel almost recovered. And I’m thinking more clearly. She could market this potion and get rich.”

“She’s happy with who she is.”

Deek shrugged. He felt like he was back in one of his recent dreams, with Shaykhah Rabiah asking him, Who are you? Or Queen Latifah telling him to be his true self.

“I don’t even know where we are, man,” Deek commented. “This doesn’t look like Fresno.”

“It’s definitely Fresno. East Belmont.”

Deek raised his eyebrows. East Belmont was the worst part of Fresno. No sane person went there, especially at night.

“I thought East Belmont was a no-man’s-land.”

“Hey, watch it. My office is in East Belmont, not four blocks from here. It’s a poor neighborhood with working-class people, that’s all.”

“So what’s next? How long do I have to stay here?”

“You don’t. It’s over. You won’t be bothered again. And I got your car back, it’s parked out front.” He reached into a pocket, then held up the keys and jiggled them.

“Really?” Deek snatched the keys and went outside to his car. There it was in the narrow driveway, as beautiful as ever. A minute later, he came back in and held something up triumphantly. “Bag of wavy chips, right under the seat where I left it!”

Zaid rolled his eyes. “I’m so glad I rescued you and recovered your car, so you could have your potato chips.”

Deek snagged a few chips and popped them into his mouth, then grimaced. The chips tasted overly salty, greasy, and disgusting. He dropped the bag on the table.

“They don’t even taste good,” he complained. “What did this Namer woman do to me?” On impulse, he took a tomato out of the basket and took a bite. The tangy, acidic flavor flooded his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life. He groaned out loud. “This is incredible!”

Zaid nodded. “Her medicines are tailored to the person. Whatever she gave you is exactly what you need at the moment.”

Brutal and Hard

Deek’s face grew serious. “You have no idea how grateful I am. You truly saved my life. When you leaped into the van wearing your hat, I knew I was safe.” For a moment, he choked up and could not continue. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Do you want a million dollars? Download a crypto wallet, and I will send you a million dollars in crypto right now.”

Zaid held up a palm. “I did this as a family favor, not for money. But if you’re determined to pay me, my rate is seven hundred dollars a day plus expenses. I’ve put in two days on this, so with expenses, call it fifteen hundred.”

Deek stared. The man was saying no to a million dollars? A bitter thought came to him, though the bitterness was distant somehow, not acidic and fiery as it would normally be for him.

“You don’t believe,” Deek said, “that I really have that much money, do you?”

“Oh, I believe it. I always believed in you, remember?”

Deek nodded, letting the shadow of bitterness go. “Yes, I remember. You told me to go the distance.”

“Did I?”

“You said, ‘Life is waves, peaks, and troughs. Prove you can persist, show that you can go the distance, and you will succeed, inshaAllah.’”

Zaid smiled. “MashaAllah. Yes, you’re a highly intelligent and determined man. I believe you one hundred percent. It’s just that…” The detective rubbed his face with one hand. “What I did was brutal and hard. It was necessary, but such things are not easy on the heart, Deek. If I were to take so much money for it, I would feel dirty.”

Deek didn’t know how to feel about that. It almost seemed like Zaid was saying that his money was dirty. That wounded his pride, and in any other circumstance might have angered him to a degree that he would have held a grudge. But considering what Zaid had done for him, he decided to let it go.

The New Generation

“What do I do now?”

Zaid shrugged. “Whatever you want. If you’re asking me, I say go back to your family.”

“You sound like Queen Latifah.”

Zaid frowned. “Is she that elderly sister at Masjid Madinah?”

“No, Queen Latifah the rapper. She told me to be bold and brave enough to be my true self, and she says my true self is a man who loves his family.”

“You know Queen Latifah the rapper?”

“Sort of.” He snapped his fingers. He had forgotten about the messages from his family. “Feed the cats for me, will you? I have to do something.”

Zaid laughed again, but picked up the bag of cat food and a candle and headed out back. Deek retrieved his phone and settled into a chair.

He read the messages from his daughters first. They always texted. Youth of their generation considered voice calls and even voicemails old-fashioned, rude, and even aggressive.

It seemed to Deek that a lot of the new generation’s ideas came down to the avoidance of reality. The reality of the professional workplace, which required people to show up on time, dress appropriately, and write in complete sentences with proper grammar. The reality of honest communication, which must be face-to-face, not TikTok and YouTube-based. Even the reality of the male and female gender, which was what it was, not what people imagined it to be.

This was something that Deek liked about Islam, though he was by no means a good example of a Muslim. Islam was a religion created by Allah for human beings as they truly were, in all their glory, brilliance, love, misery, and self-degradation. Everything from the prohibitions of intoxicants and gambling -two of the most socially destructive sins ever invented- to the worship practices of salat, Hajj, and fasting in Ramadan, which were all powerful communal spiritual experiences, not to mention physically transformative.

Even Islamic economics: zakat -which was a tax on long-term capital holdings rather than income-, and the prohibition of charging interest. Taken together, these were brilliant strategies to prevent the exploitation of the poor and stop the accumulation of vast wealth in the hands of a few people, while maintaining the free market. It was amazing stuff, providing real solutions for real people.

Still A Team

There were two texts from Sanya, his elder daughter. “What’s up, Dad? Hearing strange things from Mom. Everything alright? Let me know.” And, “Just checking in.”

That was typical Sanaya. She found emotional expression embarrassing. It was always straight to business with her. She used brevity like a shield against the world.

He replied: “All is well. Mom and I are just having a fight like we do. Not a big deal.”

Amira’s messages were more anxious and poignant:

“Baba, I don’t know what’s going on, but come home and work it out. We’re a family. I walk in your shoes and you walk in mine.”

This made Deek sad, or at least he thought it did, for the sadness was distant, not painful. Amira’s words came from an old blues song, “Walk a Mile in My Shoes,” and was something he always used to say to the girls when they were young. “Nobody knows what it’s like to walk in your shoes except your own family. I walk in yours every day, and you walk in mine.”

Amira’s next message read, “This is a mid-life crisis, isn’t it? Mama says you apparently made a lot of money, that’s a barakah, right? The new car is fly. But Mama is upset, and I don’t like that. You better get back to me today or I will hunt you down.”

That made Deek laugh. There were a few more messages like that. But the last message cut through the strange anti-emotional armor that surrounded him and pierced his heart: “Don’t leave me, Baba. We’re supposed to be a team!”

He stood and took a deep breath. He’d always imagined that if he hit it big in crypto, all their lives would change. And he still believed that. But he’d thought it would happen for all of them together. Things had spun out of control very quickly, and he found himself in a place he didn’t recognize, literally, in a life he could not have predicted.

He wrote to Amira and explained about the crypto windfall and how it would better all their lives, inshaAllah. He ended with, “We’ll never stop walking in each other’s shoes, I promise. We’re still a team. I love you.”

Mixed Message

He sat and braced himself. Time for Rania’s voicemail:

“As-salamu alaykum habibi. First, I want you to know that I have requested a transfer to a different department at the hospital, so I won’t be working with Dr. Townsend anymore, and I’m not having lunch with him anymore either.”

Deek supposed that was good news, and it was a significant gesture on her part, as he knew she loved the intensive care department. But hearing her talk about her “work husband” again – even if she hadn’t used that phrase – set Deek on edge. A thought occurred to him. He’d vowed to drug the man who was flirting with Rania, and drown him in the river. It was a matter of honor. The man was trying to seduce a married woman – a married Muslim, Arab woman. Deek was going to seriously consider the viability of killing the man. But later, not right now. He didn’t feel the requisite rage at the moment.

“Come home,” Rania continued, “and let’s talk things out. I don’t even know where you are. You can’t just disappear. Zaid told me that you’re okay, but that’s all. I don’t know what to believe about this crypto stuff. If you really made so much money that’s amazing mashaAllah, but you’ve been at it a long time, and suddenly you have a new car and there’s $100K in our account. It seems weird.”

Deek stopped the message. There was more, but the fact that she still didn’t believe him made his nostrils flare. She was the one who had been deceiving him, not the other way around. He had never lied to her about anything in their lives, except for little things like how many sodas he’d drunk that day or how many cookies he’d eaten, or if the pimple on her chin was noticeable. He didn’t need this hassle.

He went looking for Zaid, and found the man on the back patio, praying as the cats lounged about him.

Deek winced from the guilt that surged in his chest. He himself had not prayed a single salat since Jumu’ah. What kind of Muslim was he? Allah had blessed him with all this wealth, the culmination of years of hard work, and he had not put his head to the ground to show his gratitude.

***

[Part 10 will be published next week 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

The Covenant: A Short Story

 

The post Moonshot [Part 9] – A Religion For Real Life appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A member of Islamic State opened fire on Sunday inside Mar Elias Church in the east of Damascus before blowing himself up, killing at least 22 people and injuring 63 others, Syria’s interior ministry said. Eyewitnesses inside the church reported a second gunman who did not blow himself up, but also shot at the 150 or so worshippers present. The attack on Sunday night was the first major IS operation and the first suicide bombing in Syria since former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad was toppled in December and replaced by an Islamist-led government

• Islamic State suicide bombing in Damascus church kills 22 and injures 63

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Louise Casey

Last week Louise Casey’s report (PDF) on the long-running issue of grooming gangs, a system of criminality in which young girls are ‘groomed’ through younger boyfriends, plied with alcohol and free food and then trapped so they could be raped by sometimes numerous older men, was published, recommending a national inquiry as the type of gang has appeared in many towns and cities across the UK over several decades. Her report also recommended that mandatory reporting of suspected child abuse by certain professionals be made law and that taxis be regulated strictly locally, with a loophole that allows a taxi driver to be licensed by one authority and then operate in another to be closed, but also that the law on rape be amended such that any sexual activity between an adult and anyone between ages 13 and 15 be classified as rape rather than merely “sexual activity with a minor” (currently that law only applies when the younger party is younger than 13), which I think is a bad idea, but the government announced on Monday evening that they would be making these specific changes to the law demanded in the report. The report notes that the ethnicity of both victims and perpetrators are not reported in a large number of cases, meaning that we cannot tell how many perpetrators are in fact Pakistanis (or other mostly Muslim ethnicities such as Kurds) and how many not. We have seen demands for the deportation to Pakistan of the perpetrators, and even of a mass deportation of British Pakistanis. It seems a lot of people have made up their mind that the problem is simply Pakistanis, or even Muslims, and nothing that comes out of this review will satisfy them if it does not confirm their beliefs.

Who is a Pakistani?

The independent (elected as Reform) MP Rupert Lowe has demanded that perpetrators be deported and that Pakistan could be threatened through the aid he believes they receive from the UK to accept the deportees. The phrase “Pakistani ethnicity” keeps being repeated as if it were the most significant factor. The truth is that Pakistan has six major ethnicities (Sindhi, Muhajir, Punjabi, Kashmiri, Pashtun and Baluch) and many smaller ones; the people involved in the gangs could be from any of those, or more than one, but they all have different languages and cultures although they are bound by Islam. More importantly, not every British ‘Pakistani’ actually has any right to Pakistani nationality anymore; there have been two or three generations born here and the younger generation may have no nationality except British. In the case of the actual immigrants, many had been born in British India and thus were not Pakistani for very long and have an unbroken chain of British nationality going back some 300 years. Pakistan is quite within its rights not to take ‘back’ people whose grandparents left the country in the 1960s, who were born in England and went astray in England. This does not mean we should not deport people who are not citizens who commit serious crimes, let alone people who came here on criminal business, but a British citizen is no less British for having committed a crime and this was not a plot hatched in Mirpur or Karachi. Without that principle, citizenship becomes a glorified visa.

The former Clacton UKIP MP Douglas Carswell, now extolling the virtues of the state of Mississippi on YouTube, has posted a call for a mass deportation. That is a ludicrous, unjustified, racist demand; the majority of British Pakistanis are not criminals and some contribute positively to our community. We also should not fall into the trap of assuming that any interracial relationship between a white working-class girl and a Pakistani is a grooming/rape case in the making. Most Pakistanis are normal people, not gangsters, much as most Italians are not mafiosi.

What is and isn’t rape?

I often finding myself explaining to people why the media commonly report on people “having sex” or “sexual relationships” with people under the age of 16 or even 18 which is the age of consent in much of the US. “That’s rape,” they say; “why don’t they call it rape?”. The answer is that until now, the UK reserves the term rape for, well, rape: forcing someone to have sex against their will, or having sex with them when they do not know what is going on because of unconsciousness, being too drunk, or being too cognitively impaired to be able to understand being asked their consent. The law distinguishes between sex which is not legally valid and the total lack of consent, or no attempt to seek it, or the lack of consent being the whole point. The exception is when the younger party is 12 years old or younger: then, it is classed as rape and is a strict liability offence, i.e. defences such as believing they were over 16 do not apply (presumably because a 12-year-old cannot reasonably be confused with a 16-year-old, and will usually be too young to have any desire for sex anyway). This law was only introduced in 2003; until then, rape always meant rape.

David Blunkett boasted that one of his achievements in the last Labour government was the introduction of “statutory rape”. It wasn’t, though. In countries where statutory rape exists in the law, it’s a separate offence from rape. It’s a different name for what we call sexual activity with a minor. Yvette Cooper, the same politician now planning to classify a group as ‘terrorists’ for throwing paint at an aircraft suspected of being used for the Gaza genocide, plans to enshrine a lie into law: that there is no difference between having sex with a willing 15-year-old and raping them. The former may be inappropriate and the adult should know better, and the teenager may be left broken-hearted and feeling used, and there’s a good reason why it is illegal, but it’s not rape. This change in the law will result in an absurd situation: a charge of rape where the victim is an adult will leave no doubt that the victim was forced, while the same term when the victim is an adolescent could mean that no force needed to be used as the ‘victim’ was willing, and an actual rape victim who had been that age at the time might find herself having to explain that fact. Casey (who gets the law wrong in her report: sex with an under-13 is not merely illegal, but is charged as rape on a strict liability basis) claims that the ‘ambiguity’ in the law had resulted in charges being dropped because it appears that the girls had consented, but there was no need for charges to be dropped as sex with a minor is still a crime; it is just not called rape. Some of the cases of charges being dropped or cases collapsing would have been the result of this pattern of offending being new to the legal system; as it becomes better understood, prosecutors know to look for signs of grooming and of grooming gang activity.

Casey calls for protections to be put in place to avoid criminalising consensual relationships between teenagers; in my experience, public attitudes (and the attitudes of feminists in particular) have been getting harsher towards boys in recent years. I have heard feminists online call a relationship between a 17-year-old boy and a 15-year-old girl creepy and inappropriate, when this age gap could be as little as a year and half in reality and the two could be only a year apart at school, and insisting that a 15-year-old boy had ‘raped’ a 13-year-old girl because she was 13; his age was irrelevant to them and when I pointed it out, I was called a “rape apologist”. There will be pressure to make any such window as narrow as possible. Such a window should be enshrined in law rather than mere practice; the latter could be overruled if a girl’s family is wealthy or powerful and a boy’s isn’t, for example.

Grooming and racism

There is no doubt that racism has been boosted by the issue of these gangs and also influences the debate. There are people who have been railing against “mass immigration” for some years, and have jumped on this particular issue to prove that “these people” have a culture which is incompatible with “British culture”. The gangs are assumed to be made up of ‘immigrants’ when in fact British Pakistanis go back, as a large community, to the 1950s; when the three young girls were stabbed in Stockport last year, racists jumped on rumours that the attacker was a Muslim, and started a riot. There is an assumption that the rest of the Muslim community knows who is involved and turns a blind eye; in fact, the groomers often operate away from the eyes of the rest of the Muslim community (in the case of Rochdale, for example, much of the activity went on in the predominantly white Heywood area). It is quite different from the culture of sexual abuse in the churches which was known of in the recent past; the abusers are not pillars of the community but low-skilled workers such as kebab shop owners and workers and taxi drivers. Since this behaviour is contrary to Islam on numerous grounds (the supply of alcohol and drugs, coming between girls and their families, the deception involved in giving ‘gifts’ to justify later abuse, sex outside marriage, let alone rape), it should be no surprise that the perpetrators are in a lot of cases not particularly observant. The problem is a particular class of criminals, not a “problem with Islam” or Muslims in general.

Grooming gangs are far from Britain’s only example of a culture of violent misogyny. Young boys freely access pornography on their mobile phones that give the impression that women enjoy being raped, and lap up the drivel of Andrew Tate and other popular misogynists. Social services and police (the latter of which has been notorious for harbouring rapists and domestic abusers in its ranks) turned a blind eye for decades, calling the victims child prostitutes and sometimes criminalising them instead of pursuing the abusers. Yet when a particular group of offenders appear to be mostly Muslims, the default response is that their ethnicity or religion — how they are “different from us” — is the problem rather than that this is how misogyny has manifested itself among the less scrupulous of them. There have in fact been a number of gangs convicted of sexual abuse and other forms of organised modern slavery whose members are not Pakistanis or Muslims, and the same people always shouting about Muslim grooming gangs say nothing when the gang members are white. It’s a bit less complicated when you can’t say their culture is not ours or is not compatible with ours, but if you are only angry when the perpetrators are not white and the victims are, that is a good indication that you are a racist.

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Evening attack is first major atrocity by Islamist terror group in Syria since President al-Assad was deposed

A suicide bombing by Islamic State (IS) targeting a church in Damascus has killed 22 people and wounded 63, Syrian state media have said.

The attack on Sunday night was the first major IS operation and the first suicide bombing in Syria since former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad was toppled in December and replaced by an Islamist-led government.

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Gaza's patients still manage to smile.

My friend was working on his own training center when Israel killed him.

War of attrition could favor Tehran over Tel Aviv.

Pro-Israel pressure brought The Lancet to heel in 2014 with lasting consequences.

The tent where I taught has been reduced to ashes.

How occupation uses collaborators to sow chaos and death.

Even as it tightens its gruelling genocide of Palestine, Israel seized the opportunity to launch a long-awaited assault on Iran that began a shooting war between the two regional powers at the start of summer.

The attack, for which Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu-Mileikowsky and much of the Israeli establishment has lobbied for a quarter-century, interrupted stalled negotiations over the country’s nuclear programme, wiping out much of Iran’s military command before Tehran rallied with its own missile attacks on Israel. In the process, a West that has scarcely bothered to conceal its partiality for Tel Aviv has scrambled to cover for Israel’s escalation, giving Netanyahu-Mileikowsky a welcome respite from international attention over the Israeli-enforced starvation of Gaza.

Background

It is almost ten years to the month since the 2015 Geneva Accord between the United States and Iran, meant to limit and negotiate the terms of Iran’s usage of nuclear energy. Although Ali Khamenei’s regime has long officially disavowed nuclear armament, Israel and its cacophony of -largely but not exclusively neoconservative- cheerleaders in the United States have long insisted that Iran is on the threshold of nuclear armament and called for an invasion of Iran. This was one of the motivations behind the generation-long war on terror, one where Iran ironically helped the United States overthrow their mutual enemy, the Baath regime in Iraq, before fighting over the spoils in that unfortunate country.

Neoconservatives in the West, and countless Israeli politicians, including Netanyahu-Mileikowsky himself, have made no secret of their ambition to oust Khamenei’s “Islamic revolutionary” regime, and searched for one pretext after another to affect this. The fact that the United States shared several mutual enemies with Iran in the region -largely among Sunni Arab groups independent of the monarchies that Washington prefers as its vassals- helped delay the push, as did the heavy cost of the war on terror in terms of American wealth, life, and prestige.

Having unilaterally scrapped the 2015 Geneva Accord with Iran in his first term, Donald Trump promised to make another one of his much-vaunted deals as he entered his second term. While his sincerity in the course might be questioned, even the formality of talks was too much for an Israel then knee-deep in genocide, and at last starting to attract some criticism, however muted and meek, over its genocide of Palestine. Israel has repeatedly insisted, without even the pretence of a regard for factuality, that Iran was remote-controlling its various Palestinian opponents, and Netanyahu-Mileikowsky resorted to his decades-long argument that Tehran was days away from nuclear armament.

On a personal level, Netanyahu-Mileikowsky is ensnared in corruption allegations: this means that his next stop after dethronement might well be a prison, and gives him every incentive to continue a war that retains widespread support in an Israeli society shorn of any consequences of war. On a systemic level, as Israeli sentiment shows, lashing out at one neighbour or another is always welcome in Tel Aviv, especially given the embarrassment caused by crackdowns against activists who tried to draw attention to the Israeli starvation of Gaza. Given that Israel enjoys an essential carte blanche from Washington in the region, there was little to stop Netanyahu-Mileikowsky, perched at a comfortably safe distance in Greece, from escalating into a war against Iran before any deal could be made.

Wipeout

Thus, Israel launched a series of airstrikes on Iran that quickly wiped out the Iranian military and praetorian command. These included lead negotiator and former defence minister, Ali Shamkhani; army commander Hossein Bagheri; praetorian military commander Hossein Salami; praetorian air force commander Amir Hajizadeh; and military commander Gholam-Ali Rashid. Also reported killed was Esmail Ghani, who leads the praetorians’ external operations, though his death remains unclear; subsequently, additional leading commanders Mehdi Rabbani and Gholam-Reza Mehrabi were also reported killed. It was a stunning blow to Iran’s military leadership; these were not simply generals but battle-hardened officers who had cut their teeth in the 1980s Gulf war with Iraq and subsequently dominated Iranian military adventurism in the region from Pakistan to Yemen.

A man walks past a billboard displaying images of top Iranian commanders and scientists killed in Israeli strikes early Friday, in Tehran, Iran, Friday, June 13, 2025. (AP Photo/Vahid Salemi)

That was, however, not the end of the Israeli aggression: aiming to oust Ali Khamenei and Massoud Pezeshkian’s government entirely, Israel continued to hammer away at Tehran with indiscriminate airstrikes, which have killed many Iranian civilians. The attack bore similarities to the 2003 American invasion of Iraq -another misadventure encouraged by Israel in general and Netanyahu-Mileikowsky in person- where the attackers mercilessly bombarded the same people they claimed to liberate. The Iranian equivalent of Ahmad Chalabi -the Americans’ would-be vassal in Iraq right until it was discovered that he was cozy not only with Israel, but also with Iran, and thus discarded- is the exiled claimant of the hated Pahlavi dynasty, Reza Pahlavi, whose father was ousted in the 1979 Iranian revolution when he was just a teenager. Reza has since lived a comfortable exile abroad, reportedly having never worked a day in his life, but the echo chamber of Iranian monarchists, who yearn for the return of one of the Middle East’s most brutal, elitist, and tyrannical monarchies, gives Israel a handy client on which to lean.

A “Splendid Little War”? Unlikely

Unlike previous Israeli provocations -as in spring 2024– Iran was not slow or cautious in responding; though its air-defence has been exposed as alarmingly inadequate, it does possess a considerable missile arsenal, which has in turn been launched at Tel Aviv and sent the cossetted denizens of Israel’s capital scuttling to underground bomb shelters. Despite the clear aggression of the Israeli assault, which drew widespread condemnation even from regional states otherwise wary of Tehran, however, the calculus of pro-Israeli Western elites, whereby an Israeli inconvenience is more noteworthy than the deaths of thousands of Muslims, means that European leaders such as Keir Starmer and Emmanuel Macron have interrupted their hesitant criticisms of the Israeli genocide to issue full-throated solidarity with Israel. Tel Aviv also attacked Yemen, claiming to have killed Houthi military commander Muhammad Amri.

Though the Israeli military cannot function without American protection and support, Tel Aviv is clearly angling for a full-blown American involvement in the campaign. Given that a considerable proportion of Trump’s more isolationist followers balk at foreign adventurism, but that a considerable proportion also share the American elite’s unfettered enthusiasm for Israel, this puts the United States in an interesting position. There are already reports of American warships heading in the direction of Iran, though whether they will actively partake in the Israeli assault or simply guard their own key sites is unclear. As yet, Iran has not resorted to closing the important straits in the Persian Gulf, perhaps fearing that this would give the United States a pretext to attack. On the other hand, the presence of thousands of Americans in Israel also means that Iran will have to tread with care to avoid an American assault.

If Trump’s past actions -in Afghanistan (2017), Syria (2025), and Yemen (2025) among others- are any indication, it is likely that he will give Israel a window of unchecked leeway but, if Iran rides out the storm, instead decide that it is no longer worth his while and return to talks. What is certain is that despite Trump’s words, the so-called “war on terror”-a pretext for attacking Muslim countries throughout the region, invariably with Israeli incitement- is still alive and kicking. If Gaza marks the most genocidal phase, Iran might mark a turning point.

-by Ibrahim Moiz for MuslimMatters

 

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As US intervention looms, Iran launches most devastating counterstrike since start of war.