Tag: bible

  • The Cult of Control: Rethinking Islam

    I want to be clear: I am not writing this as a person who hates faith. I’m spiritual, not a believer in organised religion, but I deeply respect those who find meaning and comfort in it. Still, when religion, Islam in particular; becomes the tool through which women’s voices are silenced and their lives controlled, then I have no choice but to confront it. I didn’t come here to dismantle anyone’s faith, I came to question the systems that have used that faith to justify inequality. And to do that, I have to go through Islam itself.

    Most Muslims are taught from childhood that the Quran was revealed by God, delivered through the angel Jibreel to Prophet Muhammad, and preserved word for word without human interference. It is the foundation of faith, the source of law, and the unquestionable truth. To doubt it is to risk not only your faith but also your place in your family, your community, and even your safety. Yet here I am, daring to ask the questions most would silence before they even reach their own lips.

    While most Muslims believe the Quran is divine, I believe it was written by a man, or at the very least, shaped by human hands, politics, and culture. And that man, Muhammad, made sure that in every possible aspect of life, the benefits tilted toward himself and other muslim men. The Quran, rather than being a universal book of justice, has functioned as a handbook for patriarchy, cementing women’s obedience as sacred duty and muslim men’s dominance as divine order. Call it what it is: not revelation, but construction. Not divine freedom, but a cult… A very successful one.

    Think about it. Muhammad is the only “prophet” who comes without miracles. Jesus healed the sick, raised the dead, and defied nature. Moses split the sea. Noah survived the flood. Ibrahim destroyed idols and stood against kings. Even Adam, the first human, stands with Eve as the first partnership of creation. But Muhammad? His “miracle” is a book….? a book that conveniently grants him ultimate authority, endless privilege, and a license to structure society around his own desires. Is that prophecy, or is it celebrity influence in 7th-century Arabia? Was he a prophet, or was he an ordinary man who mastered persuasion, charisma, and control? Sounds like a celebrity to me.. It is like Tom Cruise’s scientology.

    And here’s something else I want to argue: let’s say Islam really does exist as a divine truth, well, even then, Muslims themselves believe that the real Messiah is Jesus, or ‘Issa’ in Arabic. He is the one who will return to save humanity from evil, from the Dajjal, the Antichrist. It’s Jesus, not Muhammad, who comes back to defeat the darkness and restore justice. So why are we even wasting our time putting our faith in what came after him?? If Jesus is the one destined to return and save us, why are we investing so much of our belief system into a man who came 600 years later, claiming authority through a book alone? Why build an entire religion on top of what even Islam says Jesus will ultimately complete?

    And let us speak of his marriages; forty-four women, by some accounts, including children. This is not piety; this is power, and in modern day, it is not ok. And no, “times were different” is not an excuse. Jesus did not marry children. Noah did not. Ibrahim did not. Adam had Eve, not Eve and Zainab and Aisha and Hafsa and Mariam and a rotating door of women whose presence just happened to consolidate alliances, wealth, and authority. If this was God’s plan, then why does it look so much like the blueprint of male power, repeated across history under the name of religion?

    When I peel back the layers of faith, culture, and the endless repetition of “Islam honours women,” what I see is a system designed for Muslim men, by Muslim men. The Quran tells us women are obedient. That men are guardians. That inheritance is unequal. That testimony is worth half. That men may have multiple wives, while women may never have the same freedom. That divorce rests in men’s hands. That modesty, honour, and chastity are the burden of women, while men move freely. All of this dressed in the language of holiness, as if obedience to men were obedience to God.

    And what has this created? A society where most Arab men sit comfortably on a throne of inherited privilege, claiming their power comes from heaven itself. A society where most Arab women are told that submission is sacred, silence is virtuous, and questioning is sin. A society where generation after generation is brainwashed to believe that inequality is divine order.

    But I ask: if this book were truly divine, would it tilt so clearly in one direction? Would it place half of humanity beneath the other? Would God, who created both man and woman, decide that one is always entitled and the other always obedient? Or is this the hand of man, writing himself into God’s role, ensuring that his word becomes law, and that women remain chained to his authority forever?

    As a woman born into Islam, I refuse to accept that my worth is half. I refuse to accept that God would honour me only through obedience to Muslim men. I refuse to accept that inequality is sacred. If faith is meant to be justice, then where is the justice in a book that elevates one gender over another? Where is the mercy in marriages that treat women as property? Where is the honor in silencing half the world’s voices?

    Some Muslims are afraid to ask these questions. But I believe asking them is the first step toward freedom. If Mohammad was a prophet, then let his message withstand scrutiny. If the Quran is divine, then let it prove itself without hiding behind fear and punishment. And if it cannot, then let us be brave enough to name what it truly is: a system of control, built by Muslim men, for Muslim men, disguised as the word of God.

  • Polygamy: Lust Disguised as Devotion

    I was born and raised Muslim.
    I know the prayers whispered before sleep,
    the rhythm of fasting,
    the rules that pressed against my skin like a second layer of clothing.
    But knowing does not mean obeying without question.
    Faith is not silence.
    Devotion is not surrender of thought.
    And I will not pretend that every verse, every practice, is sacred simply because most Arab men, and even women, defend it.

    Polygamy.
    That word is dressed in holiness, wrapped in God’s name, and paraded as if it were a gift.
    But beneath the veil, it is nothing more than a system upheld by most Arab men,
    to serve most Arab men,
    to gratify their penis while women are told to bow and call it divine.

    They speak with pride of the Prophet’s many wives
    forty-four, maybe MORE, who fucking knows… some heartbreakingly young.
    They boast.
    They defend.
    They glorify.
    And when unease rises, they soothe themselves with excuses:
    It was a different time. It was for the protection of women. It was political.
    But peel away the layers and the truth is simple:
    it was about power, raw lust, and domination.

    And here is the question that burns:
    If Islam claims to complete what came before,
    to follow the thread of Christianity and Judaism,
    then why did none of the previous prophets, Noah, Abraham, Moses, or even Jesus, practice this, even though they lived in far harsher, more brutal times?
    If this faith was truly about progression,
    why cling to a practice that reduces women to vessels and is defended and glorified by most Arab men, even if they themselves never practice it?
    The answer is not divine.
    It is human.
    It is most Arab men.
    It is lust, RAW lust, disguised as law.

    Religion became the mask.
    Desire was the driver.
    And women were the price.

    Even today the echo is loud.
    Most Arab men defend polygamy,
    they glorify it,
    they excuse it
    the belief that their penis, their urges, are too mighty to restrain,
    too holy to deny.
    So the system bends,
    always bending to accommodate most Arab men,
    while most women break under its weight, brainwashed to think it’s a man’s God-given right.

    This is not faith.
    This is not holy.
    This is patriarchy stitched into scripture,
    asking us to bow to desire and call it God.

    I was born and raised Muslim.
    I know its rules,
    its demands,
    its silences.
    But I will not accept everything placed in my hands as sacred.
    To question is not betrayal.
    To refuse is not sin.
    And until we name polygamy for what it is
    a system defended by most Arab men to feed their lust while masking domination as devotion
    women will keep paying the price for most Arab men’s pride.

  • Behind the Veil: Freedom and Control

    أَعْطِنِي حُرِّيَّتِي أطلق يَدَيَّ

    We, Arab women, are told that certain coverings, whether draped over our heads, wrapped around our bodies, or stitched silently into our thoughts, are our protection, our honour, our virtue. We’re taught they are “the best way,” the path of respect, faith, and dignity. But often, that “choice” was never ours. It was handed down like an heirloom no one dares to refuse, from fathers, brothers, grandfathers — and in many households, mothers became the keepers of these rules, expected to guard and enforce them.

    Growing up in the Middle East, I noticed that some Arabs equate ‘openness’ with staying out late, drinking alcohol, or flaunting luxury, the iPhones, the cars, the botox. Freedom, they suggest, is measured by visibility and display. But in my observation, freedom is not in these symbols. Behind all these signs of “openness,” many women remain caged, tethered by invisible strings to boundaries we didn’t choose, boundaries that shape every step we take.

    The headscarf is only one kind of veil. Others are harder to see: the rules whispered in our homes, the limits we feel in our bones, the judgment that trails us even when no one is watching. Whether we remove the cloth or keep it on, the weight of expectation clings to us.

    True openness is not the hour we leave the house or the brand of shoes we wear. It is the ability to decide for ourselves, to move, speak, dress, and live without being pulled back to a cage we never built. It is the courage to interrogate every rule, every expectation, every inherited “must” and “cannot.”

    The hardest truth? Some boundaries in the Middle East were created by men, enforced by tradition, and passed down through the very women who were once bound by them, mothers, aunts, grandmothers, who believe they are protecting us. Protection becomes control when obedience is the price.

    Breaking free is not just about what we take off. It is about what we unlearn. It is a rebellion of thought, a claiming of our own voices, a quiet revolution in the mind. It is naming the cage, loosening the strings, and knowing, with unshakable certainty, that our lives, our bodies, our choices, and our voices are ours alone.

    And when we speak this aloud, when we lift not just the veil on our heads, but the veil on our minds, the walls begin to crack. And in that first breath of air, we understand freedom not as society defines it, but as we feel it deep in our own skin.