Friends, colleagues, seekers of the good life! Lend me not only your ears but your hearts. *A book has been written. Not just any book, but an autobiography. The life story of the one we claim to follow.* The one whose image we inscribe upon our banners, whose words we chant in crowded halls, whose shadow we invoke when seeking credibility.
Yet I must ask: do we follow his example, or merely his echo?
Shall we walk together awhile and ask a few uncomfortable questions? Shall we, as Socrates might, proceed through the method of inquiry. Not to condemn, but to cleanse?
I am not here to flatter. Flattery is the enemy of virtue. *I am here to ask: if the life he lived were placed beside the lives we lead, would they recognise each other?*
If not, then who are we truly following, him, or our disguised *nafsul-ammarat* or *nafsul-lawwama*? Certainly not *nafsul-mutma’inna*.
Tell me, friends: who among us knows when he shall leave this world?
Every minute, a soul departs. *Every heartbeat is a silent countdown*. And yet, we live as though we have secured leaseholds on eternity. We walk with swagger. *We hold grudges like treasures*. We betray trust with the leisure of those who think they can always apologise tomorrow. As if tomorrow will ever come.
*But if death is a certainty, and its timing is unknown, should not every action be measured by urgency and mercy?*
The leader’s life, as narrated in his just launched autobiography, was a life of sacrifice. Not of self-service. He lived as one who knew that every day was a borrowed day, every opportunity a test of character.
He made peace where others sharpened swords. He forgave when vengeance was expected. He spoke truth even when silence would have been safer.
If we call ourselves his followers, we must ask: where is our urgency for goodness?
*Why do we, inheritors of his message, spend more time plotting each other’s downfall than building each other’s courage?*
If we truly understand the brevity of life, would we waste it on petty factions, empty boasts, and shallow vanities?
The leader’s autobiography does not portray a man who sat and waited for applause. He laboured. He served. He sacrificed. He risked misunderstanding and failure, but chose action over apathy.
*Friends, what is goodness if not an action?*
It is not a sentiment. It is not a performance. It is the daily labour of kindness, the constant crafting of justice, the humble tending of mercy.
*We say we follow him. Yet do we lift the fallen? Do we feed the hungry? Do we forgive the offensive? Or are we too busy guarding our reputations to spend it on the poor?*
*He wore humility as his robe. We prefer uniforms of prestige.*
*He sought the weak to strengthen them. We seek the feeble to exploit them.*
He steadied the feet of those society ignored. We parade among the privileged and call it service.
*If we will call ourselves followers, then we must do good, not simply intend it.*
*For intent without deed is a rusted sword. It promises protection but delivers disappointment.*
Truth, said the old sages, is the beginning of all virtue. And yet, how rare it is among us.
The leader in his autobiography was unwavering in truth. Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it cost him friends and privileges. Even when it isolates him.
He did not reshape truth to win favours. He did not edit truth to win accolade. He did not outsource truth to the highest bidder.
And what of us, his so-called heirs?
We bend truth to curry favour. We decorate half-truths to hide our cowardice. We market convenient narratives and suppress inconvenient facts.
*A follower of the leader must be a follower of truth. Not of personality cults, not of convenient fiction staged in a wonderland.*
So, let us ask again: when we speak, do our words mirror reality, or merely our ego?
*To serve truth is harder than to serve kings. But it is the only service that keeps a soul free.*
The leader's journey, if one reads it carefully, is a lesson against pride.
He did not lord his successes over others. He did not weaponize his experiences against the inexperienced. He remembered that today's victor is tomorrow's dust.
Yet among us, how easily pride creeps in!
We strut because of titles borrowed for a season. We boast because of victories we barely earned. We betray each other for crumbs of influence, forgetting that both the betrayer and the betrayed march toward the same grave.
What is betrayal, if not an announcement of one's weakness?
What is pride, if not an advertisement of one's folly?
To plot against a brother over the mundane, while the criminal enterprise of Zionism and their hunting dogs in our midst plot the conquest of the entire human race. Is this not the most pathetic of tragedies?
*Our leader builds bridges. We erect walls and dig graves.*
He taught resilience. We trade in resentment.
He called for solidarity. We prefer P-H-D: *Pull Him Down*
If we believe we are strong by crushing one another, then we are the poorest of fools, wearing some borrowed crowns atop some hollow skulls.
Leadership, in the life of our mentor, was never a stage for applause. It was a field for planting and watering, a battleground for service, a sanctuary for the weary.
He did not lead to be seen. He led because he could not bear to see injustice doing swagger.
He did not gather followers to inflate his ego. He gathered people to release their potential.
*And leadership, if it means anything at all, must mean sacrifice.*
*Not sacrifice demanded from others. Sacrifice chosen by oneself.*
If you are in leadership today, ask yourself: are you feeding your followers, or feeding off them? Are you protecting the weak, or preying upon them? Are you using power to build, or to boast?
True leadership must answer to history, to truth, and to God. Not merely to today's applause.
*The leader's life reminds us of the most terrifying truth: we do not have time.*
There are no guarantees of tomorrow. No aggreement promising a second chance. No "later" that we can bank on.
*While you sharpen knives against your brother, your own name could be next on death’s silent list.*
While you file guilty-as-charged verdict against a fellow team member over minor slights, your own heart could be filing its final beat.
*If death is the only certainty, how then should we live?*
Surely not with grudges clutched like sacred relics.
Surely not with betrayal written into our daily routines.
Surely not with selfish ambition replacing sacred duty.
Instead, let us make peace, even when pride resists and persists. Let us do good, even when cynicism mocks. Let us tell the truth, even when it costs us power, access, relevance and visibility. Let us be honest, even when it strips us of advantages and privileges.
*Imagine, for a moment, that the leader himself were to walk among us today.*
Would he recognize his teachings in our actions?
Would he see himself reflected in our private dealings, our secret and private conversations, our treatment of the weak?
Or would he feel hurt?
Friends, followers, fellow strugglers, there is still time to answer rightly.
The line moves forward. The queue shortens with every breath.
We cannot escape it. We cannot rejoin it once we leave.
So, while we wait, while we breathe, while the heart still stirs, let us not waste this precious sliver of existence pretending to be his followers.
Let us become them.
In deed.
In thought.
In sacrifice.
In truth.
Because anything less is a betrayal. Not only of him, but of our own fleeting humanity.
*Peace within. Purpose above. Patience in between.*
That is the way.
That is the inheritance.
That is the only legacy worth leaving.
