The Contradictions of Western Ideals:

Growing up in Muslim societies, I often felt caught between two worlds: the traditional Islamic values we held sacred and the Western ideals we were taught to admire—but also fear. As I matured, I found myself increasingly drawn to Western concepts like liberal democracy, freedom of speech, secularism, and Enlightenment rationality. These ideals appeared to represent human dignity, progress, and justice. But over time, the contradictions behind them became impossible to ignore.

In my early intellectual journey, I even justified dark chapters of Western history—colonialism, slavery, eugenics, the atomic bomb—as painful but necessary steps toward "civilization." I believed in liberal democracy and the universality of human rights, defending them even as I watched wars like Iraq unfold on lies, and innocent people suffer under the banner of the "War on Terror." I kept asking myself: can ideals still be noble if they’re used to justify atrocities?

The conflict became personal when I experienced how Muslims like myself are often viewed in the West—not as equals, but as threats. In our own societies, terms like “Angrezon ke Ghulam” (slaves to the West) and “Kafir” (infidel) reflect deep mistrust. Yet many of us—myself included—clung to the label of "Progressive Muslim," trying to reconcile faith with modernity. But where was our Enlightenment? It seemed to have ended long ago, perhaps with the fall of Baghdad in 1258.

My struggle took form through debates with people like Azam Khan, an old classmate who later joined the Taliban. I called him an extremist to his face, but I couldn’t deny we were shaped by the same broken world. We both grew up in Pakistan, straddling a divide between religion and Western influence. In elite cities like Lahore, Western values are embraced; in neglected areas like Bannu and Bajaur, they are meaningless.

After moving to Lahore for higher education, I believed liberal democracy could solve Pakistan’s problems. But this illusion shattered after October 7th.

The violence that followed, and the justifications offered by Western democracies, left me speechless. Nations that claimed to uphold human rights were complicit in mass killings. And other Western powers stood by in support. I could no longer defend what I had once believed in so fiercely.

It led me to deeper questions: How did the world allow Hitler to rise? Why didn’t they stop the Holocaust? And today, as I witness the tragedy unfolding in Palestine, I see history repeating itself—silence in the face of horror, indifference to innocent suffering.

Now I’m left at a moral crossroads. Should I agree with Azam Khan that this isn’t about values but about power? Should I stop calling him an extremist and instead see him as someone defending his land—a freedom fighter in the eyes of his people?

Many Muslims face the same dilemma: once firm believers in the ideals of the West, we now feel betrayed. We were taught to believe in freedom, justice, and democracy—but today, these principles appear tainted, used selectively, and often wielded as tools of oppression.

The hypocrisy is glaring. Can the West still claim moral authority when its actions so often contradict its words? Or have these ideals become empty slogans—justifications for war, surveillance, and control?

The moral compass that once guided us now feels broken. And while we try to make sense of it all, we call upon the West not with hatred, but with disappointment—and a plea for clarity.

We once believed in your values. Do you still believe in them too? Or have they been sacrificed at the altar of geopolitical interests?