Laiba Laraib
We wake up to notifications. We scroll before we pray. We know what is happening in Gaza, in Kashmir, in the flooded villages of Sindh before we even finish our morning tea. We see the faces. We read the headlines. We feel the anger. And then… we swipe away.
This is the great tragedy of our time. Not the violence itself but our reaction to it.
As a psychologist, I see it every day. We are drowning in information, yet starving for action. Our empathy is triggered, but it is shallow. We share a post, we change our profile picture, and we feel we have done our part. But have we?
Our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said: “Whoever among you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand, if he cannot, then with his tongue, if he cannot, then with his heart and that is the weakest of faith.”
Today, we have stopped at the heart. We feel. We grieve. But we do not speak. We do not act.
This is not the Islam I know. Islam is not a faith of passive sorrow. It is a faith of righteous action. When the Prophet (PBUH) saw injustice, he did not tweet about it,He stood against it, even when it cost him everything.
And yet, here we are. We have the most powerful tool in human history in our hands, our phones and we use it to watch pain, not to stop it.
What can we do? Not everything. But something.
Speak, even if your voice shakes. Give, even if it is small. Show up, even if no one is watching. Kindness is its own revolution.
But hear this, and hear it deeply:
One day, when we stand before Allah alone, with no phone, no Wi-Fi, no followers, We will not be asked how many posts we shared. We will not be asked how many tears we cried in private. We will be asked about the life we lived, the injustice we confronted, and the hands we held when the world looked away.
The Prophet (PBUH) warned us: “If you see a wrongdoing and you do not change it, Allah will soon send a punishment that will cover you all.”
Our silence is not safety. It is complicity. Every scroll is a choice. Every share is a stance. Every prayer for the oppressed must be followed by a step for the oppressed.
So I ask you not as a writer, but as a sister, as a Muslim, as a human being:
Will you be remembered as the one who watched? Or the one who walked?
The choice is yours. The clock is ticking. And the world is waiting not for your likes, but for your love, turned into action.
Let us not be the generation that saw injustice and scrolled past it.
Let us be the generation that Allah looks upon and says:
“They did not abandon their brothers.”
