Since the beginning of the Aksâ Flood, I have delivered at least 346 speeches across various provinces in Turkey, under different institutions and online platforms. These discussions have covered a range of topics, including the significance of Jerusalem and the Al-Aqsa Mosque for Muslims, the history of Palestine, the processes of Zionist occupation, the phases of resistance against occupation, the situation of the Muslim world, and pivotal moments in Middle Eastern history. Naturally, as these
Since the beginning of the Aksâ Flood, I have delivered at least 346 speeches across various provinces in Turkey, under different institutions and online platforms. These discussions have covered a range of topics, including the significance of Jerusalem and the Al-Aqsa Mosque for Muslims, the history of Palestine, the processes of Zionist occupation, the phases of resistance against occupation, the situation of the Muslim world, and pivotal moments in Middle Eastern history. Naturally, as these conversations progressed, they often turned into mutual exchanges of concerns.
During the Q&A sessions, I often found myself addressing a particular question in detail: "Will we always just talk?" Given the current violence, was it really beneficial to sit in halls or in front of screens and talk? Moreover, much of what we discussed were things we already knew; wouldn't the conversation itself become a waste of time? Was there any outcome from our discussions, or were we just amusing ourselves to feel like we had done something?
While it may seem that talking from the outside appears to be a comfortable waste of time, I have come to recognize an important truth over the past year: Despite our sincere conversations, our tears, and the tenderness of our hearts, we still have significant gaps in our knowledge on even the most fundamental issues. Many things we think we know are like butterflies fluttering in our minds, disconnected from one another. When you add political polemics, internal political disputes, social media misinformation, and various biases into the mix, you can hear even the most conscious individuals saying things like, "What do we care about the Arabs' issues?" or "They sold their land; they deserve what they get."
Sometimes, I have given talks to housewives, reminding them that they might have thought in the past that they had no direct connection to the issues concerning the Islamic world. However, even while busy at home, discussions brought home by their children can lead to these topics appearing right on their kitchen counters. In today’s world, we are not just discussing issues relevant to academics, journalists, politicians, or opinion leaders; everyone is inevitably drawn into the hot debates of the agenda.
Therefore, we must talk about our issues, address them properly, lay a solid foundation, and if it's weak or incorrectly established, we should correct it. Talking is essential. The problem arises when we "only" talk. If we talk without taking any action, we risk turning criticism into a habit.
Personally, I do not see it as productive to always discuss the Islamic world through pain and drama, to blame others or lament the enemy's ruthlessness. We already know these things from experience. True productive discussions should include solutions and a feasible roadmap. We are tired of constant reminders of tragedy, political polemics, and our "miserable" state in front of the enemy. After listening or turning off the screen, we need a realistic discourse that will mobilize us, help us move forward, renew our hopes, and empower us to keep going.
In every talk, I always bring the conversation to the point of "So, what should we do?" I emphasize that we have three fundamental responsibilities: 1) Understand events in all their dimensions and depth, 2) No matter where we stand, continually ask, "What is my role here?" 3) Whatever we do, do it in the best and highest quality possible. I believe we can expand these three responsibilities from our immediate circles to the larger issues within the Islamic world.
When I sat down at the computer, I intended to write about what the Aksâ Flood has taught us and how far we have come in a year. However, words and sentences quickly lined up, leading to a different piece altogether. We can discuss what we learned from the Flood this Saturday, God willing.
