There comes a time in the life of a movement when it must cease admiring its own slogans and begin accounting for its actual outcomes. That time is now. That movement is ours. We have diagnosed the balderdash. We have marched, protested, written, and convened. We have quoted verses, cited traditions, and glorified sacrifices. Now, the hour of reckoning demands action. Not symbolic action, not theatrical action, but the sober, strategic, and sacrificial action of building. And not just building structures or institutions, but building a just society founded on divine consciousness, ethical responsibility, and civic excellence.
Consider this: countries such as Denmark (5.9 million), Finland (5.6 million), Singapore (5.9 million), Iceland (370,000), Malta (530,000), San Marino (34,000), Andorra (80,000), Liechtenstein (40,000), and Slovenia (2.1 million) are all doing exceptionally well in terms of education, governance, healthcare, and economic development. None of them has a population even close to the conservative estimate of ten million members of the Islamic Movement in Nigeria. If we as a movement cannot harness the human, spiritual, and material potential of ten million members, many of whom are educated, skilled, and resourceful, how then do we expect to manage a nation of over 200 million? If we cannot organise ourselves, build institutions, and deliver measurable change within our own structure, what then is our moral or operational basis for speaking of national transformation?
In the divine ledger of justice, there exists no currency more equitably distributed than time. Time; cold, impartial, and blindingly fair—is the one resource that no king can hoard, no pauper can lack, no scholar can manipulate, and no fool can extend. In a world where wealth is inherited, connections forged through privilege, and opportunities often fenced by gatekeepers, time stands alone as the blazing manifestation of God's fairness. Not even the richest man on earth has ever been blessed with a 25-hour day. Not even the most enlightened ever negotiated a bonus month. Time is the strictest, yet fairest judge. It humbles all and favours none.
The measure of a human being’s worth is not what he dreams but what he does with his time. Imam Ali (AS), the Commander of the Faithful, said: “A man’s worth is in what he excels at.” Excellence is simply time well managed; routine, discipline, reflection, improvement, and action repeated until greatness is achieved. Every scholar who rose to illuminate ignorance, every reformer who shook empires, every entrepreneur who moved markets, they all operated under the same 365 days, 12 months, 24 hours, 60 minutes, and 60 seconds that we squander in debates about who should be more visible or who must be recognised at the next event. The reason we are not where they are is not fate. It is failure. The failure to manage the most precious asset given to us all with perfect equality.
Ayatollah Muhammad Baqir al-Sadr argued that the gravest oppression is not political but existential. The systematic misuse of human potential. The one who sits on talent without contribution is an accomplice in the betrayal of his own soul. The misuse of time is the highest betrayal of purpose. No one needs to be told anymore that this movement has talents. Engineers, doctors, IT professionals, tailors, scholars, farmers, thinkers, artisans. We have them all. What we lack is not capacity. What we lack is a culture of productivity, a strategy for deployment, and a theological commitment to time as the trust of Allah.
Peter Drucker, the modern sage of management, warned, “Until we can manage time, we can manage nothing else.” He understood that time is not just a line in a planner but a mirror of a person’s priorities. If you want to understand a man, don’t listen to what he says. Study how he spends his time. Our language is full of motion. Activism, forums, platforms, working groups, advisory councils. But these are not movement. They are motion without purpose. And in Orwell’s eyes, motion without movement was the most efficient form of institutional decay.
Our gatherings are long, our prayers frequent, our debates fiery. Yet our clinics are few, our schools are inadequate, our youth unemployed, our streets dirty, our cooperatives underutilised. Are we not ashamed that ten million members have not produced a single world-class university? That our collective power has not built a single self-sustaining industrial estate? That our forums boast intellectuals who live on freebees, while the likes of Jack Ma, who grew up in hardship, build global platforms with no clerical titles or spiritual slogans?
The brutal answer is this: we are caught in the prison of busyness. Busyness is the illusion of activity. It is the addiction to being seen as active rather than actually transforming reality. It is vanity masquerading as duty. We are not in the business of activism; we are in the theatre of busyness. And that theatre must now be shut down.
Michael Porter reminds us that strategy is not merely deciding what to do, but more importantly, deciding what not to do. A movement of this size must now make hard choices. Not everyone needs to speak. Not every forum needs to meet. Not every talented youth needs to wait. Let us stop glorifying process over purpose. Let us cut the bureaucracy of praise and return to the business of service. We need a comprehensive audit of how we spend our hours, not just our funds.
Adam Smith spoke of the invisible hand that guides markets to efficient outcomes. But we are not a market. We are a trust. A trust established under divine gaze. The Prophet left us not a throne but a model. That model was one of discipline, vision, and execution. Imam Ali’s administration is still studied today—not because it was noisy, but because it was just. He wrote letters to governors that we now quote, but those letters were not mere literature. They were instruments of governance, backed by practical implementation. Today we quote them without replicating their results. We adore their memory but ignore their method. We celebrate their character but avoid their calendar.
Let us begin again. Let us stop being impressed with ourselves and start becoming useful. The Resource Forum must evolve from being a think-tank into a task-force. It must shift from intellectual leisure to strategic labour. We must map our talents. Build a skills database of every member. Who is trained in solar power? Who knows how to code? Who has access to land? Who can teach? Who can organise logistics? Who can design business models? And who among them is willing to serve anonymously?
Let us not wait for concensus. The poor are not waiting. The children in our slums are not waiting. The orphans, the widows, the drug addicts, the dropouts, the disillusioned, they are all living proof that our movement’s current model of engagement is insufficient. If it were sufficient, the problems would be fewer, not more.
Each local branch must adopt one sector and one village or town. Adopt a school. Fix its toilet. Teach its students. Organise its mothers. Sponsor its orphans. Audit its finances. Clean its streets. Let every action be measurable. Let every success be replicable. Let every unit be a pilot project. Enough of the theories. Let us create case studies.
Montesquieu argued that a republic is sustained by virtue, law, and balance of power. To these we must add time discipline. Without it, virtue becomes mere speech, law becomes ceremony, and balance turns into stalemate. Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative demands that we act only on that which we can will to become universal law. Can we honestly say that our movement’s current time habits are worthy of replication? If not, then we are morally obligated to change them. Not tomorrow. Today. Not later. Now!
Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I add: the unexamined calendar is not worth keeping. Every activist must now look at their week and ask: What did I build? What did I teach? Who did I heal? Whose burden did I lighten? Whose darkness did I illuminate? If the answer is zero, then you are not in the business of activism. You are part of the problem the movement grapples with. You are merely performing its ritual. And ritual without reality is a lie.
We must now challenge ourselves to become living testimonies of what we preach. Let every member be a walking example of civic responsibility, of punctuality, of humility, of cleanliness, of generosity, of excellence. Let our homes be models of order. Let our businesses be free of deceit. Let our youth be trained to code, to farm, to teach, to lead. Let our women rise to establish enterprises, cooperatives, and schools. Let our retirees serve as mentors. Let our sheikhs stop waiting to be invited and begin initiating.
And above all, let us master the discipline of time. Let every child in our system grow up knowing that to waste an hour is to mock the gift of Allah. That an idle life is not spiritual. It is sinful. That work done in silence is worth more than speech delivered with applause. That the true hero is not the one who is most praised but the one who is least idle.
We have been spectators long enough. It is time to build. Let every moment count. Let our graves bear witness that we did not waste the gift of time. Let us stop being heroes in our imagination and start becoming servants in our communities. Let us compete not in being known, but in being useful. Let the world see us and say, “Here comes someone from that movement. Things will now be done properly.”
To achieve this and set the ball rolling, let us imbibe this as a strategy for service excellence and delivery: whatever happens, we must resist the temptation to be angry with anyone, blame anyone, or give excuses. Less we forget. Those good in giving excuses are seldom good in anything else. Progress is not built on grudges but on grit. By doing so, we will be on the path to separate the boys from the men, the dreamers from the builders, the forever wannabees from the true doers, the brothers from the brabuzas.
The clock is ticking. And God is watching.
