This is a satirical and allegorical opinion piece. “Mufti Abdul Rahim” is used here as a symbolic character, not as a statement of proven allegations against any specific real person.
The character begins as a scholar, becomes an adviser, then a court insider, and finally a seal that can be placed on almost any decision of power. For the poor, religion is simple and immediate; for officials, ministers and rulers, everything suddenly becomes “complex”, “sensitive” or “a matter on which scholars differ”.
That is the central satire: knowledge ceases to function as moral scrutiny and becomes a service. The cleric sees the poor man’s beard, the woman’s clothes, the young person’s phone and the shopkeeper’s small mistake instantly. But when power bends the law, the response becomes: “The matter is not so simple.”
The dead tyrants are easy to condemn because they no longer control invitations, access or patronage. The difficult test is the living powerful person. Questioning him is labelled disorder; opposing him is called division; supporting him becomes “national interest”.
The same pattern repeats with the public. The poor are told to be patient. The oppressed are promised reward. Young people are told they are naïve. Ministers are offered prayers for steadfastness. Patience flows downward; blessings flow upward.
When asked why law was broken, the answer becomes unity. When asked where money went, the answer becomes personal thrift. When asked why injustice happened, the answer becomes moral decline among youth. The satire lies in answering every question except the one that was asked.
The deeper danger is the moment when self-interest is renamed prudence, fear is renamed wisdom and silence is renamed piety. A soldier can frighten the body. A court cleric can discipline the conscience. The soldier needs a weapon; the cleric may need only a microphone.
And so the prayer ends: “God, grant us the ability to recognise truth as truth.” Everyone says amen. And truth, perhaps standing outside the hall, wonders: everyone recognised me — they simply did not want to pay the price of standing with me.