They say the devil wears Prada, but Fascism, dear reader, wears a three-piece suit, a courtroom grin, and an American flag pin. Gone are the days of goose-stepping and stiff-armed salutes. Today’s tyranny walks softly, whispers sweet nothings about liberty, and brandishes a copy of the Constitution like a holy relic — while quietly setting fire to the humanity it claims to protect.
Imagine this: a group of white-hooded phantoms — the Ku Klux Klan — murders over 5000 Black souls across the ages, lynching them like strange fruit on Southern trees, haunting the American night with flames and terror. Their crimes are not hidden. They are recorded, filed, footnoted. Yet these ghosts are granted parade permits. They march. They chant. They smile for the cameras under the velvet umbrella of “free speech.”
Now twist the lens. A brown-skinned man mutters a few words the State dislikes — and poof! he vanishes. A mother is dragged from her child and deported before dawn. A student tweets a slogan, and suddenly finds himself on a no-fly list. No evidence. No trial. Just the heavy breath of suspicion and the cold click of a government pen.
Welcome to the masquerade. Welcome to the upside-down kingdom where wolves wear robes, murderers hold microphones, and the sacred gospel of democracy is recited only in the mother tongue of privilege.
And yet — we are told this is freedom. We are told this is justice. Orwell rolls in his grave, Kafka smokes a cigarette in the corner, and the Pharaoh of old sends his regards.
But Islam — that ancient, often-misunderstood force — throws down the gauntlet of divine justice. “O ye who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, even against yourselves…” it says, with the thunder of a sky splitting open. Not just poetic words, but a divine command: impartial, inconvenient, and fearlessly true.
No legal gymnastics. No courtroom sorcery. Justice that doesn’t flinch.
Meanwhile, the modern West, armed with its twin spears of media and money, lectures the world about tyranny — while hiding its own pet demons in the basement. It accuses others of fanaticism, while nursing its own racism with warm milk and bedtime stories.
“A time will come,” the Prophet warned, “when the liar will be believed and the truthful denied.” That time, my friends, is not coming. It’s already booked a penthouse suite.
So what now? Do we weep? Surrender? Write sad songs? No. We bare our teeth — not in hatred, but in fierce love for the human spirit. We write. We speak. We march. We hold the line. We refuse to play dead while the orchestra of oppression tunes its strings.
Because truth — ah, that stubborn thing — does not perish. It waits. It simmers. And then, like all revolutions worth their salt, it erupts. Masks fall. Curtains tear. And the great lie gasps in the face of the one thing it cannot withstand: light.
So shine. Even if your voice trembles, shine. Even if they call you a traitor, a fool, or a threat — shine. Because that, in the end, is how the story flips. That is how the masquerade ends.
And God, the Final Witness, watches still.
Radio VOIB 