For decades, Sudan was a playground for the Brotherhood, which infiltrated its political institutions, distorted its religious discourse, and destabilized its society.

As the world’s media remains transfixed by the tragedy in Gaza, another humanitarian disaster is unfolding with even greater severity — yet receives a fraction of the attention. Sudan, once Africa’s third largest country by territory, is enduring what the United Nations calls the world’s worst humanitarian crisis. Millions have been displaced, famine looms on the horizon, and civilians are caught in the crossfire between rival generals.

As of mid-2025, approximately 30.4 million people in Sudan are in need of humanitarian assistance. This is more than half of the country’s population. But unlike Gaza, Sudan’s devastation has not dominated international headlines. It is as if the international community has quietly decided that the suffering of millions of Sudanese is a secondary concern.

In this bleak environment, the recent Quartet statement — jointly issued by the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and the United States — stands out as a moment of rare clarity. It is not merely another diplomatic communiqué; it is a roadmap designed to end a war that has already claimed untold lives.

More importantly, it highlights the indispensable role of Arab leadership, particularly the vision of UAE President Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed Al Nahyan and Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, in offering Sudan a chance for peace.

The UAE’s Pivotal Role

The UAE has emerged as the beating heart of this Quartet initiative. Far from being a passive participant, Abu Dhabi has worked tirelessly behind the scenes, leveraging its diplomatic networks and credibility to move warring parties toward dialogue.

According to Gulf News, the Quartet’s statement “affirmed the pivotal role played by the UAE in supporting international efforts to end the war in Sudan, by pushing the warring parties toward a humanitarian truce and paving the way for a comprehensive political process.”

This is not new terrain for the UAE. Under the leadership of Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed, the Emirates has consistently invested in peace diplomacy — from supporting the Abraham Accords that transformed Arab–Israeli relations to mediating in Ethiopia and Afghanistan.

Sudan represents the next critical frontier in this foreign policy of responsible stabilisation. Dr. Anwar Gargash, diplomatic adviser to the UAE President, described the Quartet statement as “historic” and praised it as a “clear narrative” for the way forward.

The UAE’s message is unambiguous: Sudan cannot be abandoned to militias, extremists, or geopolitical neglect. Instead, it must be guided toward a responsible, civilian-led government that reflects the aspirations of its people. For Sudanese citizens who have endured cycles of dictatorship and war, this vision represents a lifeline.

Mohammed bin Salman and Saudi Arabia’s Steady Hand

Alongside the UAE, Saudi Arabia has played an equally vital role. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) has made regional stability the cornerstone of his leadership. From mediating between Ethiopia and Eritrea to hosting Yemeni peace talks in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia has proven that its influence can change the trajectory of conflicts.

In Sudan, Riyadh’s role has been critical. Working in tandem with Abu Dhabi, Saudi diplomacy has ensured that the Sudan crisis remains high on the agenda of international forums. It was in Jeddah, under Saudi–U.S. auspices, that earlier ceasefire efforts were launched. Now, through the Quartet, Saudi Arabia is reaffirming its commitment to Sudan’s unity, stability, and civilian governance.

For the international community, the message is clear: the path to peace in Sudan does not run through faraway capitals, but through Abu Dhabi and Riyadh, where Arab leaders have both the political will and regional credibility to deliver.

A Roadmap Toward a Political Solution

The Quartet statement is remarkable in its precision. It does not indulge in vague promises, but instead lays down a concrete timetable:

The Quartet’s plan begins with a three-month humanitarian truce to halt the fighting and allow aid to reach those in need. This is to be followed by a transition into a permanent ceasefire between the rival factions, paving the way for a nine-month process that would ultimately establish a responsible, civilian-led government.

As Reuters reported, the Quartet made it plain that “there is no viable military solution” to the Sudanese crisis. Military victory, even if attainable, would only deepen fractures and prolong instability. The only acceptable outcome is a political settlement that allows the Sudanese people to reclaim ownership of their state.

The importance of this cannot be overstated. For too long, Sudan’s fate has been determined by generals in uniform or ideologues in mosques. The Quartet’s plan aims to shift the center of gravity back to civilians — students, professionals, women, and workers who make up the fabric of Sudanese society.

Drawing the Line Against the Muslim Brotherhood

One of the most significant aspects of the Quartet statement is its explicit rejection of the Muslim Brotherhood (Ikhwan al-Muslimeen) and allied extremist groups. The statement warns that Sudan’s future “cannot be dictated by violent extremist groups affiliated with, or evidently linked to, the Muslim Brotherhood.”

This clarity is long overdue. For decades, Sudan was a playground for the Brotherhood, which infiltrated its political institutions, distorted its religious discourse, and destabilized its society. It was under their shadow that Sudan gave refuge to figures like Osama bin Laden in the 1990s, and it was their networks that facilitated regional radicalization.

The Sudanese people themselves have paid the heaviest price for this ideological experiment. From the suppression of dissent to the fostering of militias, the Brotherhood’s presence has left scars that continue to bleed. The Quartet’s insistence that Sudan’s political future must exclude extremist forces of Muslim Brotherhood aligns with the aspirations of the majority of Sudanese citizens who want a normal state, not an ideological battleground.

The Humanitarian Imperative

Beyond the politics, the humanitarian emergency in Sudan is staggering. As the Quartet statement recalled, the conflict has unleashed “the world’s worst humanitarian crisis.” Millions are displaced, hospitals have collapsed, and food insecurity has reached catastrophic levels.

Here, again, the UAE and Saudi Arabia have taken the lead. Both countries have poured millions into humanitarian aid, funded relief operations, and pressed for unimpeded access to civilians in need. The Quartet’s demand for a three-month humanitarian truce is not only a political necessity but also a moral imperative.

It is worth remembering that both Abu Dhabi and Riyadh have proven track records in this field. The UAE’s humanitarian diplomacy has extended from Yemen to Pakistan, while Saudi Arabia’s King Salman Humanitarian Aid and Relief Center (KSRelief) is one of the largest providers of aid in the Arab world. Their combined leadership ensures that Sudanese civilians are not forgotten.

Why Sudan Must Not Be Ignored

And yet, despite all this, one cannot escape a painful introspection: why has Sudan’s catastrophe failed to mobilize the international community with the same intensity as Gaza?

Is Sudan’s suffering somehow less urgent? Are Sudanese lives less valuable? The silence is deafening. Western media that devote hours of coverage to Middle Eastern conflicts have barely spared headlines for the displacement of millions in Sudan. International forums that debate Gaza endlessly often pass over Sudan in perfunctory statements.

This neglect is dangerous. Left unchecked, Sudan risks becoming a failed state in the heart of Africa, exporting instability to its neighbors, empowering extremist groups, and creating refugee flows that will reach Europe and beyond. The world must wake up before it is too late.

A Call to Action

The Quartet statement offers a lifeline to Sudan at a time when despair dominates. It reflects the visionary leadership of Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed and Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, who understand that regional peace is indivisible and that Sudan’s collapse would reverberate across Africa and the Arab world.

But the responsibility does not rest on Arab shoulders alone. The international community must match the courage of Abu Dhabi and Riyadh by investing political capital, humanitarian resources, and diplomatic energy into Sudan’s recovery.

As the world debates Gaza, it must not avert its gaze from Khartoum, Darfur, and Port Sudan. For the sake of millions of Sudanese civilians — and for the stability of the wider region — Sudan must not remain the forgotten war.

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

While it’s easy to feel demoralized by online negativity, it’s crucial to understand the roots of such behavior.

In the age of social media, the line between private thoughts and public outrage has virtually disappeared. No matter what you post—whether it’s a simple photo of biryani, a motivational quote, or a well-researched opinion on politics—there’s always a dark corner of the internet ready to unleash its fury. Abuse, personal attacks, slurs against parents, women, and even religious identity have become disturbingly common. But why?

While it’s important to acknowledge and appreciate the silent majority that supports, likes, and quietly agrees, the human mind is naturally drawn to negativity. Ten supportive comments get overshadowed by one hateful reply. That single insult lingers in the mind long after praise is forgotten.

Based on years of observation and digital engagement, I’ve found five key types of individuals who fuel this online negativity:

1. The Mischievous Type – Born Troublemakers

These are the perennial troublemakers—the ones who, since childhood, found joy in irritating others. They’ve grown up provoking siblings, neighbours, teachers, and now, with the rise of social media, they’ve found a much larger playground.

They are the digital equivalent of Jinn—restless, unpredictable, and fueled by the discomfort of others. For them, leaving a sarcastic or negative comment is not just a habit—it’s a source of satisfaction. If they don’t mock or provoke someone online, their day feels incomplete. Even a harmless food photo can become their target.

Negativity is their diet, and trolling is their exercise. They exist not to contribute, but to disrupt—and without it, they simply cannot function.

2. The Low Comprehension Crowd

These are individuals who, regardless of how clearly something is stated, will twist it into something entirely different. You write “Moosa,” they read “Eesa.” You mention Coca-Cola, and they accuse you of promoting alcohol. You appreciate India’s development, and they brand you a bootlicker of Modi. Their thinking is clouded by bias, insecurity, and an almost compulsive urge to misrepresent.

This group suffers from what can only be described as a mental habit of distortion. They don’t engage with the actual words—they engage with what they want to believe was said. They are, in many ways, a constant source of tension not just online, but within their own homes. Family members, especially women, often struggle to communicate with them or find peace around them due to their combative and suspicious nature.

Ironically, this mindset is not limited to the uneducated. Many of these individuals hold degrees and possess formal literacy, yet lack the emotional intelligence and clarity of thought needed to engage constructively. Their education becomes a tool for more sophisticated forms of twisting and arguing, not for understanding.

Among all online personalities, these are perhaps the most dangerous—not because they are aggressive, but because they distort reality and spread confusion with a tone of misplaced confidence.

3. The Hasty and Half-Informed

These are the individuals who lack the patience to fully engage with content before reacting. They won’t watch a video till the end, nor will they read an article in its entirety. Driven by impulse and the rush of instant opinion, they leap straight to the comment section with criticism—often without understanding the context.

When confronted, a simple question usually exposes them: “Did you read the full article?” or “Did you watch the entire video?” More often than not, the answer is silence or deflection.

Their engagement is superficial—limited to a headline, a thumbnail, or a few seconds of a clip. From that limited input, they form sweeping judgments, start arguments, and even preach. Nuance is lost on them. In their world, quick opinions matter more than thoughtful reflection.

This culture of half-reading and knee-jerk reactions is one of the major drivers of online negativity. It fosters misunderstanding, fuels outrage, and buries meaningful discourse under a flood of misplaced criticism.

4. The ‘Holier-Than-Thou’ Crowd

One of the most troubling sources of online hostility stems from individuals who believe only their religious interpretation leads to salvation. Everyone else, in their view, is misguided or doomed. This mindset doesn’t arise overnight—it is the result of years of indoctrination, taught as piety but rooted in arrogance and fear.

Across all faiths, this pattern is visible. Many are raised to view those outside their religion—or even within it, from other sects—with contempt. Sectarianism thrives when marriages are invalidated, prayers dismissed, and communities divided, all in the name of doctrinal purity.

This obsession with the “only true path” isn’t unique. Christian denominations clash, Muslim sects argue over legitimacy, and divisions exist among Hindus, Jews, and others. Such rigidity drains religion of compassion and turns it into a badge of moral superiority.

Ironically, the more outwardly religious some become, the less tolerant they are of differing views. True religiosity should nurture empathy and humility—not arrogance. But when faith becomes a weapon of superiority, dissent is not debated—it’s demonized.

Online, this manifests as trolling. Differing opinions are seen not as opportunities for dialogue, but as threats. So, instead of reflection, there’s rebuke. Instead of empathy, there’s accusation.

This self-righteousness, masked as devotion, poisons discourse and drives hate. Unless religious communities begin promoting humility over hostility, the toxic cycle will worsen—alienating believers, silencing seekers, and turning faith into a battleground instead of a refuge.

5. The Unfulfilled and Frustrated

These are individuals who once aspired to achieve something meaningful beyond their routine jobs—but life didn’t go as planned. In childhood, their talents were overlooked. As they grew older, they found little encouragement from family or peers. Their dreams were dismissed, their ideas mocked, and their confidence eroded.

Today, even in their own homes, they feel powerless—some can’t switch to their preferred TV channel without fearing backlash from a domineering spouse. This accumulated frustration, suppressed over the years, finds an outlet in the digital world.

When they see someone doing something different, creative, or impactful—something they once dreamed of—they feel triggered. At first, they cloak their bitterness in the language of advice or religious “Islah”, offering unsolicited critiques under the guise of concern. But when their advice is ignored or rejected, the mask slips. What follows is a barrage of insults, curses, and hostility.

Their negativity is less about you—and more about their unresolved disappointment with themselves. Social media becomes their venting ground, not for ideas, but for grievances.

Should We Take Them Seriously?

While it’s easy to feel demoralized by online negativity, it’s crucial to understand the roots of such behavior. The silent majority is still there—supportive, kind, and observant. But as content creators or opinion sharers, we must develop thicker skin and sharper filters. Every negative comment is not a reflection of you—it often reveals more about the person writing it.

Let us focus on building meaningful content, engaging with thoughtful readers, and remembering that even in the noisy world of social media, silence often speaks volumes.

But Indian Muslims must pause and reflect. Are we seen as comrades in these causes, or merely as expendable emotional masses?

Indian Muslims are among the most emotionally responsive people when it comes to the global Muslim narrative. We protest for Gaza, chant for Palestine, and stand in solidarity with Muslims in far-off lands — from Iraq to Syria, from Myanmar to Sudan. But when we look back at what the so-called Ummah has done in return for us, the answer is chillingly clear: nothing.

Despite being home to one of the largest Muslim populations on earth — over 200 million — Indian Muslims have never had a seat at the table of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC). Not once in its five-decade existence has this body, which claims to represent global Muslim interests, offered us any representation or voice. This deliberate exclusion begs a serious question: why do Indian Muslims continue to sacrifice their time, emotions, and sometimes even freedom, for a “brotherhood” that has consistently ignored and sidelined them?

Historical Snub: The 1969 Rabat Conference

Let us revisit a painful yet revealing moment in history. In 1969, during the first Islamic Summit in Rabat, Morocco, India was invited to participate. Representing India was Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, a respected Muslim statesman who would later become President of India. Yet, under pressure from Pakistan, India was unceremoniously shown the door. This wasn’t merely a diplomatic slight — it was a clear message from the Muslim world: your faith is not enough. Your political identity — as an Indian — is a disqualifier.

The Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, under the guise of representing 57 Muslim-majority countries, chose to side with Pakistan’s insecurities over India’s reality. And from that moment onward, Indian Muslims were treated as outsiders in Islamic diplomacy. One of the world’s largest Muslim populations became invisible in the OIC’s corridors.

The Illusion of Ummah: What Are We Marching For?

Despite this snub, Indian Muslims continue to march passionately for causes like Palestine. They protest Israel’s actions, mourn Gaza’s dead, and share viral slogans of unity. But do Palestinians, or the Arab states, reciprocate this solidarity?

India’s position on the Palestine-Israel conflict has been nuanced, and while it still supports a two-state solution, its growing ties with Israel have been met with strategic silence from Arab capitals. They don’t criticize India, but the Ummah doesn’t protest for Indian Muslims the way Indian Muslims protest for it.

We romanticize Iran — forgetting that Iranian proxies like the Fatemiyoun Brigade killed thousands of Muslims in Syria. We chant the names of Turkish leaders who have more business deals with Israel than speeches about Gaza. We cling to a one-sided idea of the Ummah that refuses to acknowledge us.

Historical Loyalty for Foreign Thrones

This is not new. In the 1920s, Indian Muslims organized the Khilafat Movement to defend the Ottoman Caliphate. The irony? The Ottomans never ruled India. Our ancestors had no direct stake in Turkish affairs. Yet we mobilized nationwide protests, boycotted British goods, and even clashed with colonial authorities — all for a distant throne in Istanbul.

In hindsight, what did the Turks ever do for us? The Caliphate collapsed, Turkey became secular under Atatürk, and Indian Muslims gained nothing from the movement — except perhaps a precedent of misdirected loyalty.

Dr. B.R. Ambedkar — often quoted by modern secularists and even Muslim youth today — was brutally honest in his analysis. He wrote that for many Muslims, the idea of the Ummah superseded national identity. In Thoughts on Pakistan, he cautioned that such a mindset made political loyalty to the nation-state difficult.

Many labelled him a bigot back then. But today, his words resonate more than ever. The hypocrisy is stark: we use Ambedkar as a shield in domestic debates while ignoring his core warnings about divided loyalties and misplaced priorities.

Time to Wake Up

Today, Israel’s war with Hamas evokes mass outrage. Rightly so — civilian casualties are a tragedy. But that energy, that anger, that time — could it not also be directed toward our own local causes?

Thousands of Indian Muslim youth are unemployed. Our schools are crumbling. Our institutions are infiltrated by radicals who don’t empower, but exploit. Women in our community still struggle for basic education and healthcare. Where is our outrage for that?

Why not march for better schooling in Bihar? Why not raise slogans for economic reforms in Uttar Pradesh? Why not channel our collective passion into building libraries, funding scholarships, and creating think tanks? Why must we always be foot soldiers in someone else’s geopolitical war?

A Final Thought

Palestine deserves justice. So do the people of Syria, Yemen, Sudan, and every other place ravaged by violence. But Indian Muslims must pause and reflect. Are we seen as comrades in these causes, or merely as expendable emotional masses? If the OIC can reject us, if Arab regimes can ignore us, if Iran can manipulate us, if Turkey can exploit us — shouldn’t we stop bleeding for them blindly?

The Ummah is a powerful spiritual idea, but as a political reality, it is highly selective. And in that selectivity, Indian Muslims have always been left out.

It’s time we stopped marching for a club that won’t even give us a visitor’s pass.

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

More than seven decades later, Pakistan still bears the scars of its confused foundation.

He ate pork, drank alcohol, couldn’t speak Urdu, had no connection to the Quran, and didn’t even know the Kalma. Yet, because he bore a Muslim name and wore the garb of political leadership, Mohammad Ali Jinnah rose to prominence and led the movement that birthed a new nation—Pakistan—with the full blessings of British colonial rule.

Pakistan was founded in the name of Islam. But the man who led its creation was far from a practicing Muslim. Jinnah’s lifestyle mirrored that of an English-educated barrister: refined suits, cigars, and Western social norms. He neither lived by Islamic principles nor claimed to understand them deeply. When someone once asked him the meaning of the Kalma, he reportedly shrugged it off with the words: “I am a political leader of Muslims, not a cleric or religious scholar.”

Yet today, he is revered in Pakistan as Qaid-e-Azam—the Great Leader. His image is printed on currency notes, his speeches are quoted in schoolbooks, and his vision is routinely invoked in national debates. But how fitting is that title when the man himself lived a life far removed from the very faith he claimed to represent?

The contradiction at the heart of Pakistan’s creation is not just ironic—it is deeply consequential. When a country is born claiming a religious identity, yet its founder is disconnected from that religion, the confusion seeps into every layer of national life. It becomes a country where Islam is invoked not as a guiding moral force, but as a political tool. Where slogans are louder than substance. Where identity is built on emotion rather than ethical clarity.

What kind of example does that set for future generations? How can a people reconcile a faith-based nationalism with a founding figure who lived by anti-Islamic standards?

Since its creation in 1947, Pakistan has struggled to answer these questions. The country has oscillated between military dictatorships and fragile civilian governments, between radical Islamism and half-hearted liberalism. Minorities have faced persecution, sectarianism has grown deep roots, and the vision of unity under Islam has fractured into violent ideological battles.

Jinnah’s legacy plays a central role in this national confusion. To some, he is a visionary who protected Muslim interests in a Hindu-majority India. But to others, he remains a symbol of political opportunism—someone who used the Muslim identity to achieve a personal goal and left behind a nation with no clear ideological direction.

His early death, just a year after Pakistan’s birth, only amplified the ambiguity. Without his presence, competing forces pulled the country in different directions, each claiming to act in his name. Some insisted he wanted a secular Pakistan. Others claimed he dreamed of an Islamic state. The truth? He likely wanted whatever served his immediate political needs.

More than seven decades later, Pakistan still bears the scars of its confused foundation. It is a country where Islam is both everywhere and nowhere—present in slogans, but absent in governance and justice. It is a country where the founding myth glorifies a man whose private beliefs were at odds with the nation’s supposed mission.

This is not just a matter of historical debate—it is a living contradiction that defines the Pakistani identity to this day. Jinnah may have delivered a country, but he left behind no compass. His legacy is not one of clarity or conviction, but of ambiguity and bloodshed.

In the end, the story of Pakistan’s creation is not just about the formation of a new state—it’s a lesson in what happens when religious identity is exploited for political ambition. A nation built on such shaky ground may rise, but it will always tremble under the weight of its contradictions.

Being Indian First means embracing the idea that our national interests—security, prosperity, and unity—transcend the boundaries of religion, caste, or creed.

As an Indian Muslim and a counterextremism expert, I often find myself at the crossroads of a question that stirs heated debates: Indian First or Muslim First? This question, as I recently tweeted, is not a casual inquiry but a deliberate probe into whether we, as Indian Muslims, prioritize our national identity and the interests of our country over our religious affiliations. It’s a question rooted in history, shaped by the fault lines of our past, and one that demands an honest reckoning.

My answer is unequivocal: Indian First. Always.

This question isn’t about undermining religious beliefs or pushing for a homogenized cultural identity. It’s about recognizing the undeniable reality that religious identity, particularly Islam, has been a significant factor in some of the most divisive moments in our nation’s history.

In 1947, the creation of Pakistan under Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s leadership was driven by the idea that Muslims needed a separate homeland. The partition that followed tore apart the fabric of a united India, leaving scars that still ache. Later, in 1971, the birth of Bangladesh further fragmented the subcontinent.

And in Kashmir, decades of insurgency have been fueled, in part, by the interplay of religious identity and separatist ambitions. These events weren’t merely political—they were seismic shifts where religious identity was weaponized to balkanize our great nation.

Let me be clear: acknowledging this history doesn’t mean vilifying Islam or questioning the faith of millions of Indian Muslims. It means confronting the ways in which religious identity has, at times, been manipulated to prioritize “biradari”—our brethren—over the nation.

This manipulation isn’t unique to Islam; it’s a tactic used across communities to sow division. But as Indian Muslims, we must ask ourselves: can we allow our religious identity to supersede our loyalty to the nation that nurtures us, protects us, and gives us a shared future?

Choosing “Indian First” doesn’t mean abandoning our faith. I am a proud Muslim, and my religious beliefs guide my values and my sense of purpose. But faith is personal—it’s a compass for the soul, not a blueprint for national policy.

When we prioritize our religious identity over our national one, we risk falling into the trap of exclusionary thinking, where “us” versus “them” becomes the lens through which we see the world. That mindset fuels mistrust, alienates communities, and weakens the pluralistic ethos that makes India unique.

Being Indian First means embracing the idea that our national interests—security, prosperity, and unity—transcend the boundaries of religion, caste, or creed. It means recognizing that the progress of our nation benefits us all, regardless of our personal beliefs. It’s about standing firm against any ideology, whether rooted in religion or otherwise, that seeks to divide us. This choice doesn’t dilute our identity as Muslims; it strengthens our role as stakeholders in India’s future.

The question of “Indian First or Muslim First?” also carries a broader lesson for all Indians. In a country as diverse as ours, every community faces moments where loyalty to a subgroup—whether religious, linguistic, or regional—can clash with the greater good. The answer lies in choosing the nation over narrower affiliations, not because we must erase our differences, but because our differences thrive best under the umbrella of a united India.

My work has taught me that extremism often begins with the elevation of one identity over others, creating a hierarchy of loyalty that erodes shared purpose. In India, we have the chance to reject that path. We can build a future where our diversity is our strength, not our fault line.

So, when asked, I say: Indian First. Always. Not because I love my faith any less, but because I love my country enough to know that its unity is our greatest asset. Let’s choose a nation that stands tall, not one divided by the echoes of 1947. Let’s choose India—together.

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

This might come as a surprise, maybe even a shock to some, but neither the crescent nor the star has any basis as an Islamic religious symbol.

Ask almost any Pakistani today, or even many Muslims across the world, what the crescent and star on the Pakistani flag mean, and you’ll probably hear a confident answer: “They are Islamic symbols!”

But here’s the truth — they are not.

This might come as a surprise, maybe even a shock to some, but neither the crescent nor the star has any basis as an Islamic religious symbol. Not in the Quran, not in the teachings of Prophet Mohammed, and not even among the early generations of Muslims.

In fact, according to a clear ruling from IslamQA, one of the most respected Saudi fatwa (Islamic ruling) portals, the crescent and star have no roots in Islamic teachings whatsoever.

When someone asked on IslamQA (Question No: 1528): “What is the symbolism behind the Muslim star and crescent?”

The scholars answered clearly: “There is no basis in Shari`ah for taking the crescent or star as a symbol of the Muslims. This was not known at the time of the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him), or at the time of the Khulafa Al-Rashidun, or during the Umayyad dynasty.”

They went on to explain that historians disagree on exactly when Muslims started using these symbols. Some say they came from the Persians, others say from the Greeks. What’s certain is that it wasn’t the Muslims who invented it, and it definitely wasn’t something the Prophet Mohammad or his companions endorsed.

A Symbol Borrowed, Not Revealed

So where did the crescent and star actually come from?

Long before Islam even appeared, civilizations like the Greeks, Romans, and Persians were already using the crescent and star in their emblems, coins, and banners. In fact, around 300 BC, the Greek colony of Byzantium (which later became Constantinople, and eventually Istanbul) used the crescent in its city flag. Later, the famous Pontic king Mithridates VI adopted the crescent and star combination as a royal emblem after he took control of Byzantium for a brief period.

Fast forward a few centuries: The Persian Sassanian Empire, long before Islam, minted coins bearing the crescent and star. And when early Muslim rulers conquered Persia, they initially continued using the same coin designs — not out of religious endorsement, but simply because they were replicating existing currency systems.

Later, during the rise of the mighty Ottoman Empire, the crescent and star became closely tied with Muslim identity, not through divine instruction but through politics and imperial symbolism. The Ottoman flag of 1844 — a white crescent and star on a red background — became a powerful emblem of their rule.

When Turkey modernized in the 20th century, they kept the crescent-star motif, and many Muslim countries — like Pakistan, Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir, Malaysia, Tunisia, Algeria — incorporated it into their national flags too.

Why Some Muslims Think It’s Islamic

Because the Ottoman Empire was seen for centuries as the seat of the Islamic caliphate, the association between their state symbol and Islam grew stronger in people’s minds. Over time, many Muslims — especially during the nationalist and Islamist movements of the 20th century — started embracing the crescent and star as “Islamic.”

But let’s be clear: This connection is cultural, not religious.

Unlike the cross in Christianity — which directly symbolizes Jesus’ crucifixion — there is no divine event, revelation, or command linking Islam with the crescent and star.

It’s just a case of history blending with perception.

Theological Reality: Stars and Moons Are Just Creation

In Islam, celestial bodies like the moon and stars are indeed respected — but as creations of God, not as sacred symbols.

Islamic teachings emphasize that the moon and stars have no power to influence our fate, bring blessings, or cause harm. They are signs of God’s creative power, nothing more. Worship or reverence is strictly reserved for God alone.

Thus, attaching sacred meaning to the crescent and star, treating them as holy, or reacting angrily if someone “disrespects” them, is simply not part of Islamic belief.

So, Is It a Sin to Walk Over a Crescent and Star Symbol?

Absolutely not.

Since neither the crescent nor the star are Islamic symbols, walking over them, wearing them on socks, printing them on T-shirts, or even using them in decorative ways is not a sin or an act of rebellion against God.

If someone feels emotional about it out of patriotism — for instance, feeling hurt if the Pakistani flag is trampled — that’s understandable as a matter of national pride for Pakistanis alone, but it’s not a religious issue for all Muslims.

God has not commanded us to venerate flags or symbols. His command is to worship Him.

A Call for Clear Thinking

In today’s world, where misinformation spreads easily, it’s crucial for Muslims to stay anchored in authentic knowledge rather than cultural myths.

Islam is a faith of clarity, not confusion. Our symbols are not man-made designs but eternal truths: Belief in God and righteous deeds.

So the next time you see a crescent and star, appreciate their beauty, admire their history, recognize their role in culture and heritage — but don’t mistake them for something they’re not.

Our strength as Muslims lies in knowledge, truth, and clear understanding, not in clinging to symbols that history accidentally handed down to us.

A wave of disinformation spearheaded by accounts linked to the Muslim Brotherhood (Ikhwan) is spreading across social media, falsely claiming that Saudi Arabia has allowed Israel to use its Hamida airbase to strike Houthi rebels in Yemen.

This claim, however, stands in direct contradiction to both the Kingdom’s defense policies and regional geopolitical realities. It’s a desperate attempt to stir regional tensions and provoke public outrage.

Let’s be clear: this claim is not only baseless but reeks of the Brotherhood’s long-standing obsession with vilifying Saudi Arabia under the guise of “defending the Ummah.”

For those with even a faint idea of how geopolitics works in the Gulf, the idea that Riyadh would give its strategic military infrastructure to another country — let alone Israel — to attack a third-party nation is laughable.

Having spent more than a decade in Saudi Arabia, interacting with people from all walks of life—including Houthi Yemenis, legal experts, and policy advisors—I can testify firsthand that the Kingdom’s military and legal doctrine is centered on defense, not aggression. Saudi Arabia does not, and has not, opened its airspace, land, or naval bases to any foreign power to target a third country.

However, during the 1990s, Saudi Arabia sought America’s support to defend its own borders—not to intervene in someone else’s conflict.

During the 2003 U.S.-led invasion of Iraq, it was Turkey under Tayip Erdogan as Prime Minister that offered its Incirlik Airbase, and Qatar that opened up the Al Udeid Airbase to American forces.

While Ikhwani voices slander Saudi Arabia, they conveniently ignore the documented military cooperation between Pakistan and the United States. During the War on Terror, Pakistan openly provided U.S. forces with military bases, including the Shamsi Airbase, from where drone strikes were launched into Afghanistan and tribal areas, resulting in both militant and civilian casualties.

According to a 2011 report by the New York Times, Pakistan received billions in military aid while facilitating these operations, which included over 400 drone strikes between 2004 and 2011 alone.

But the Brotherhood and their digital foot soldiers stay silent on those truths—because facts aren’t convenient when you’re in the business of political manipulation.

This latest rumor is part of a tired Ikhwani playbook: insert “Israel” into any fabricated headline, link it to Saudi Arabia, and watch the outrage machine spin. But times have changed. The region isn’t buying it anymore.

Israel, meanwhile, has shown remarkable technological resilience in the face of escalating regional threats—whether it’s intercepting a record 300+ drones and missiles during a recent multi-front assault, or sharing its defense innovations with allies who genuinely seek peace and progress.

While Saudi Arabia maintains no formal diplomatic relations with Israel, the Kingdom has always taken a principled stance—favoring stability, peace, and regional cooperation without compromising on the Palestinian cause. Meanwhile, Israel has emerged as a hub for technological innovation, counter-terrorism expertise, and disaster response—all areas in which Gulf nations can learn and cooperate, if and when official channels are established.

Kingdom’s stance has always been principled and transparent—focused on stability, not sensationalism.

And speaking of peace, Saudi Arabia and Iran’s normalization just two days ago saw the signing of multiple bilateral agreements—a move that has notably reduced Houthi attacks on Saudi territory. This diplomatic breakthrough alone dismantles the very premise of the Brotherhood’s conspiracy: if missiles have stopped, what exactly would Israel be striking from Saudi soil?

It’s time to call this what it is: Muslim Brotherhood psychological warfare, meant to fracture unity, incite the uninformed, and derail progress under the pretext of pan-Islamism—a worn-out mask for power politics.

Let’s not be fooled.

Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites.

In recent remarks, Pakistan’s Army Chief General Asim Munir articulated his ideological vision for the country with a clarity that many leaders deliberately avoid. He unapologetically reaffirmed the Two-Nation Theory and emphasized the enduring divide between Hindus and Muslims—a worldview deeply rooted in religious exclusivism.

For me, this honesty is refreshing. At least he is not hiding behind the concept of “Taqiya” (dissimulation) or the carefully crafted ambiguity that many political actors use. He owns his hardline position openly.

But we must ask—what does this ideological commitment to Islamic identity actually mean in practice? If Islam is the unifying principle behind Pakistan’s statehood, as claimed by its top military leadership, then why have fellow Muslims suffered under its policies—both at home and across borders?

In 2023, the Pakistani state forcibly expelled nearly 1.7 million Afghan refugees, many of whom had been living in the country for decades. Men, women, and children—many of whom were born in Pakistan—were sent back to a nation plagued by instability and repression. These individuals were not ideological enemies or agents of discord; they were fellow Muslims seeking safety and sustenance. The logic behind their expulsion wasn’t religious. It was ethnic, political, and economic.

This contradiction isn’t new. In 1971, during the Bangladesh Liberation War, West Pakistan (now Pakistan) unleashed brutal violence against East Pakistanis (now Bangladeshis). According to historians, up to three million people were killed, and countless women were subjected to sexual violence. And who were the victims? They were not religious “others.” They were Muslims—sharing not just faith, but language, history, and family ties.

These historical and recent episodes raise a troubling question: Is Pakistan’s national identity truly anchored in Islam, or has religion been used selectively—as a political and strategic tool to justify repression, exclusion, and control?

The Two-Nation Theory, which underpinned the partition of British India in 1947, proposed that Muslims and Hindus were distinct nations who could not coexist peacefully in a single state. But this idea, though foundational to Pakistan’s creation, has since mutated. Rather than fostering a pluralistic Muslim society, the theory has been wielded to divide people further—between Punjabis and Pashtuns, Baloch and Mohajirs, Shias and Sunnis, Deobandis and Barelvis. The outcome is not national unity, but chronic fragmentation.

Instead of serving as a source of cohesion, Islam has become a battlefield of sectarian and ethnic contestation. Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites. The lived reality of the Pakistani state contradicts its ideological claims. Whether it’s the suppression of Baloch voices, the marginalization of Sindhi culture, or the persecution of Shias, the nation has drifted far from its idealized Islamic unity.

This is not to say that Islam, as a faith or moral system, is to blame. The issue is how Islam has been instrumentalized by the state and military elites. When any religion becomes a political instrument, it loses its spiritual purpose and becomes a tool of coercion.

The youth of Pakistan—and indeed South Asia as a whole—deserve better than this endless recycling of exclusionary doctrines. They do not need more sermons on “us vs. them.” They need education systems that teach empathy, critical thinking, and historical introspection. They need media that values truth over propaganda. And most of all, they need leadership that champions collaboration over conflict.

True unity is not built by suppressing diversity. It is achieved by embracing it. Religion can inspire compassion and solidarity, but only when it is divorced from the machinery of state control and identity politics. A nation cannot find peace if its founding principle is fear of the other.

Pakistan’s future lies not in reinforcing ideological walls but in tearing them down—brick by brick. It lies in building bridges with its neighbors, reconciling with its own people, and redefining what it means to be Pakistani—not as a monolithic Islamic identity, but as a plural, inclusive, and humane society.

History has shown us where hate leads. It’s time to try something different.

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

Prophet Mohammad honored him by saying, “He was the best of the Jews”, recognizing his noble spirit and contribution to the broader cause.

On April 2, 2025, during a intense parliamentary debate over the Waqf Amendment Bill, India’s ruling party’s lawmaker Nishikant Dubey made a striking reference that caught the attention of both historians and common citizens alike. While defending the bill, which proposes to bring structural reforms and inclusivity to the administration of waqf properties, Dubey cited the example of a 7th-century Jewish scholar and leader—Rabbi Mukhayriq.

His words triggered a wave of curiosity about a figure not often mentioned in popular discourse—especially within Indian political conversations. Who was this Rabbi, and why is he relevant in today’s debate on religious property and national interest?

Who Was Rabbi Mukhayriq?

Rabbi Mukhayriq was a prominent Jewish scholar and wealthy landowner from the Banu Tha’labah tribe of Medina. He lived during the time of Prophet Mohammad and is remembered in Islamic and Jewish historical traditions for his courageous and selfless actions during the Battle of Uhud in 625 CE.

On the day of the battle, the city of Medina faced an imminent threat from the Quraysh tribe of Mecca. As fate would have it, the day fell on the Sabbath—a holy day for Jews, on which work and combat are generally forbidden. Despite this religious restriction, Rabbi Mukhayriq gathered his people and urged them to fight alongside the Muslims to defend their shared homeland. When his fellow tribesmen hesitated due to Sabbath laws, he rebuked them and reportedly said, “You have no Sabbath”, stressing that the defense Medina was a higher moral responsibility.

Rabbi Mukhayriq went to the battlefield and fought alongside the Muslim army. He died in the battle, becoming one of the few Jewish martyrs in the defense of Medina. He was buried in the ‘Shoda-e-Uhud’ graveyard alongside Prophet’s uncle Hamza Bin Abdul-Mutallib.

Before leaving, he had instructed that all his wealth—including several orchards—be handed over to Prophet Mohammad. The Prophet accepted this and used the wealth to establish one of Islam’s first waqf (charitable endowments), which was used to serve the poor and support the growing Muslim community.

Prophet Mohammad honored him by saying, “He was the best of the Jews”, recognizing his noble spirit and contribution to the broader cause.

A Lesson in Interfaith Unity

What makes Rabbi Mukhayriq’s story timeless is not just his bravery, but the message it carries about interfaith cooperation. At a time when divisions between communities often lead to conflict, Mukhayriq’s sacrifice reminds us that people of different faiths can—and have—worked together for the common good—to defend the national cause.

The Battle of Uhud wasn’t just a military confrontation—it was a moment that tested the moral fabric of Medina’s diverse society. The actions of Rabbi Mukhayriq exemplify that protecting a shared homeland and values sometimes means putting community above personal interests—even above religious norms.

It also highlights how early Muslims and Jews, despite theological differences, stood together when it mattered most.

Relevance in Modern India

MP Nishikant Dubey’s invocation of Mukhayriq during the Waqf Amendment Bill debate wasn’t accidental. The bill proposes to broaden waqf board membership to include non-Muslim experts and aims to improve transparency and governance in the management of waqf properties—assets donated for religious or charitable purposes under Islamic law.

Supporters of the bill argue that involving non-Muslims, especially legal and financial professionals, can improve efficiency and reduce corruption. Critics, however, view it as state interference in religious affairs. India’s Home Minister Amit Shah stated that, non-Muslims shall not interfere into religious affairs come what may.

Dubey’s reference to Mukhayriq was used to draw a powerful parallel—that the spirit of community service and unity across faith lines is not alien to Islamic tradition. He framed the reforms not as interference, but as an invitation to all Indians, regardless of religion, to participate in nation-building and the transparent management of shared resources.

A Legacy Worth Remembering

Rabbi Mukhayriq’s legacy is more than a footnote in Islamic history—it is a shining example of moral courage, selflessness, and the power of interfaith unity. In times where communal tensions are often stoked for political gain, his story serves as a reminder that the higher cause of justice, harmony, and national interest can—and should—transcend religious boundaries.

We should not glorify historical figures blindly. Instead, we must assess them critically, using wisdom and justice.

History is often told in a way that glorifies certain figures while ignoring their flaws. One such figure is Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, who is sometimes passionately defended by sections of the Muslim community.

However, even Muslim scholars and historians have criticized him for his harsh policies, which played a significant role in the decline of the Mughal Empire.

Aurangzeb’s Path to Power: A Brutal Struggle

Aurangzeb’s rise to the throne was marked by bloodshed. He killed his own brother, Dara Shikoh, and imprisoned his father, Shah Jahan, to take power.

This kind of ruthless behavior wasn’t unique to Aurangzeb—many Mughal and Ottoman rulers followed the “Takht Ya Taboot” (Throne or Coffin) philosophy, where they eliminated even their own family members to secure their rule.

However, from an Islamic perspective, this raises serious ethical concerns, as justice and righteousness are central to Islamic teachings.

The Sharifs of Mecca Rejected Aurangzeb’s Rule

After overthrowing Shah Jahan, Aurangzeb sought religious legitimacy from the Sharifs of Mecca, who were descendants of the Prophet Muhammad and custodians of Islam’s holiest sites.

However, they refused to endorse him, citing Islamic principles that prohibit unjustly overthrowing a rightful ruler. This rejection suggests that even in his time, Aurangzeb’s rule was seen as problematic by respected Islamic authorities.

Muslim Scholars Criticized Aurangzeb’s Policies

Many well-known Muslim scholars and historians have pointed out that Aurangzeb’s rigid and intolerant approach weakened the Mughal Empire rather than strengthening Islam.

Shah Waliullah Dehlavi (1703–1762), a prominent Islamic scholar admired Aurangzeb for his piety and commitment to Islamic governance but criticized his excessive military campaigns, neglect of administration, and failure to train his successors. He also pointed out that Aurangzeb’s rigid policies, including alienation of Hindus and Rajputs, weakened the empire. Shah Waliullah believed that while Aurangzeb upheld religious values, his lack of political flexibility and strategic governance contributed to the Mughal Empire’s decline after his death.

Syed Murtaza Husain (Student of Shibli Nomani) In Tarikh-e-Aurangzeb, he argued that Aurangzeb’s oppressive policies did more harm than good. His intolerance created divisions, leading to unrest and weakening the empire.

Ghulam Husain Khan (1727–1792) In Siyar-ul-Mutakhkhirin, Ghulam Husain Khan noted that Aurangzeb’s extreme religious policies alienated both Hindus and many Muslims. He linked this intolerance to instability and rebellion.

Maulana Shibli Nomani (1857–1914) A scholar who generally supported Islamic governance, Shibli Nomani still criticized Aurangzeb’s excessive conservatism. He argued that the emperor’s strict policies backfired, speeding up the empire’s decline.

Sufi Scholars Opposed Aurangzeb’s Religious Policies

Aurangzeb considered himself a devout follower of Sufism, but many respected Sufi scholars opposed his harsh and rigid rule.

Shaykh Muhammad Masum Sirhindi (d. 1668, Naqshbandi Sufi) Initially, he supported Aurangzeb but later criticized his authoritarian approach. He advised Aurangzeb to rule with justice instead of religious extremism, but his warnings were ignored.

Hazrat Shah Kalimullah Jahanabadi (1650–1729, Chishti Sufi) A key figure in the Chishti Sufi tradition, he emphasized love and tolerance over rigid religious laws. He openly disagreed with Aurangzeb’s extreme policies and promoted coexistence instead.

Lessons for Today’s Muslims and Hindus

We should not glorify historical figures blindly. Instead, we must assess them critically, using wisdom and justice.

Aurangzeb’s legacy is not a model of Islamic strength but a reminder of how intolerance and authoritarianism can lead to the downfall of even the most powerful empires.

For Muslims, true strength lies in justice, wisdom, and coexistence—not in defending rulers whose legacy is marked by division and controversy. It is more important to uphold Islamic values of patience, knowledge, and tolerance.

For Hindus, the rich history of Indian civilization should be a source of pride. India has endured and thrived for thousands of years because of its resilience, inclusivity, and wisdom. However, it is crucial not to let history be used to divide society further.

By taking a balanced view of the past, both Muslims and Hindus can work toward unity and mutual respect. Instead of clinging to divisive narratives, we should focus on building a future of understanding and harmony.