The Blood of the Scholar and the Pyramid That Cannot Fall

🩸 A Crime That Should Have Shaken the World

On the 10th of the holy month of Ramadan, one of the greatest maraji of the Shia heritage was murdered — slain alongside his grandchildren, his daughters, his sons-in-law, his entire family, while fasting and preparing for the next day.

Whether you follow him or not, whether you share his vision or not, you cannot deny that he was a deeply influential figure in the history of Islam. The full implications of his killing have not yet been understood. It is not normal for us to hear of a marja — a source of emulation with arguably the second-most-followed body of followers — being slain in cold blood. This is not something small.

The man we are speaking about tonight is still not buried properly. And you do not need to be one of his muqallidīn to recognise that a crime against humanity was committed. If it were anyone's home that lost a daughter, a granddaughter, a son-in-law, children, a daughter-in-law, and a barely-surviving son, there would be an uproar. But because it is the blood of a marja, it may not be deemed the most "newsworthy" thing. And yet millions of people broke down. This was not only a leader; he was a source of inspiration.

You can differ on jurisprudential rulings — that is normal and has always been so. History shows us scholars who prayed the janāza over one another despite differing on theory. That itself proves the point: I do not need to agree with you one hundred percent to grieve that what I witnessed on the 10th of Ramadan was a tragedy against humanity.

Even non-Muslims found it outrageous. On the Tucker Carlson podcast, James Webb said plainly: "This is tantamount to slaying the Pope with his grandchildren during Lent — a source of emulation, killed with his grandchildren in the holiest part of the Christian year. And you expect them not to be outraged?"

⚖️ Why This Concerns Every One of Us

This concerns every single one of us. Because if it is not your marja, it is your fellow believer's. And if it is not today's, it is tomorrow's. Every scholar — even from outside our school — has issued statements of condemnation, because this is unprecedented.

A number of questions arose:

• What are the implications of a marja being martyred? We know what happens when a marja passes away. But what about one who is killed?
• Can I follow him now? Many asked: if a marja passes away, those already following him on taqlīd may continue, but a new follower cannot newly choose a deceased marja. Yet what of one killed in the path of Islam — when the Qur'an tells us not to consider those slain in the way of Allah as dead, but as living? Theologically, is such a person still "alive" in a way that changes this?
• Is this the new norm — or the beginning of something bigger and scarier? One day it is one scholar; tomorrow they parade a list of scholars with crosses drawn on their faces on some propaganda channel. The shift has happened only in the last few decades. This is why many of our scholars who were once a voice against oppression no longer appear publicly — the last time their whereabouts were known, they were immediately targeted.

🪦 A New Norm: Scholars Slain in Cold Blood

This was not the way of the past. Look at the history of recent decades:

• In 1999, one of the maraji was assassinated in cold blood by the Ba'athist regime — killed in his car with his two sons.
• The year before, two more were killed. One was a scholar shot in cold blood in front of his home. The memoirs record that he was walking back from the masjid; right before he reached his door, someone called out behind him, and as he turned, they shot him. His wife, out of shyness and fear, could not even open the door to look upon her husband. Her crying continued until believers came at night and lifted his body, which had lain on the ground for hours. He was the father-in-law of one closely connected to the marja of today — and he was martyred only months later.
• The second was killed two months after, in similar fashion — in his car, with his son-in-law and his little granddaughter.

These are among the most heinous crimes: "I will kill you, and I do not care what stands in my way — whether a baby, a child, or an innocent." That is precisely why we revive Karbala every year: nothing is comparable to it.

Before the Ba'athist era, even further back, there were the great scholars — one whose encyclopedia of Islamic law you cannot graduate without studying, who was imprisoned and beheaded; and his successor, likewise beheaded. But across the long line of maraji before that, none were subjected to martyrdom. That shift has changed in our times. We have woken up to a new "norm" where the blood of a believer, or of 180 schoolgirls, or of a marja, is treated as normal to be spilled. It is not.

🕯 Who Is a Shahīd? Two Understandings

The first thing we must understand is the term shahīd — martyr. You hear it constantly on the news now, and you will hear it more, as long as the modern-day Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam remains active. The word has been stretched out of proportion: someone dies in a car crash and is called a shahīd; someone falls from a building and is called a shahīd. Not so simply.

There are two understandings of the word, both acceptable, but only one is the true shahāda of the traditions — the shahāda of those slain in the way of Allah.

The shahīd is a degree the Prophet ﷺ said is reserved only for Allah's greatest. On the Day of Judgement it will be called out: "Where are the martyrs?" — and they enter first. There is a room in Paradise reserved only for them, and the leader of that room is Imam Husayn (ع) himself; he is among them in Jannah. And whoever loves the deeds of a people will be raised with them — so how about not merely loving the deed, but doing it?

1. The fiqhī / legal shahāda. The genuine shahīd who dies in the way of Allah does so only by following the order of the Imam of his time — or whoever the Imam appointed as his representative. When he meets Allah, he says: "I died following Your Prophet, following Your Imam's word." He dies upon the obedience of the Imam of his time. As an example: when a representative was dispatched to administer law, some who followed his teaching died in the process — not because he himself was the Imam, but because he was the representative of the Imam.

What are the implications? Consider a funeral here — the steps are intricate: there must be ghusl, there must be kafan (shrouding), there must be ṣalāt al-mayyit and the recitation upon burial, the body turned to face the qibla. The true shahīd receives none of this. Is that a dishonour? No. He is buried with his blood and with the armour he was wearing on the day. The Prophet ﷺ told the Muslims to bury the few who fell where they fell. You may move them, but it is better to leave them where they died — let that place become a sign. One hadith explains why: they will be resurrected in exactly that state, and they will testify before Allah as to who was responsible — appearing with their blood, their clothing, their armour, and their sword. This is a status not everyone reaches.

2. The social shahāda. This is anyone who did not resist the injustice of society and died trying — or who died in a state of innocence and hardship. The hadith tell us these too are shuhadā', but not of the same rank as those who fall in the way of Allah. A mother who dies in childbirth dies a shahīda; one who dies being burnt; one crushed by a collapsing wall; one who drowns; one taking their children to school and dies in an accident — they died doing good, they died spreading good.

And there is the path between the two: you see injustice or abuse and you move to stop it, and on your way something happens and you die — you die a shahīd. It depends on the state in which you die. "Then isn't this an easy cheat code," one might ask, "let them strike me so I die in the process?" First: you cannot fool Allah — there are no loopholes, you cannot trick God. Second: you don't even need to find yourself in such a predicament, because the hadith says:

مَنْ مَاتَ عَلَى حُبِّ آلِ مُحَمَّدٍ مَاتَ شَهِيدًا
Man māta ʿalā ḥubbi āli Muḥammadin māta shahīdā
Whoever dies upon the love of the family of Muhammad dies a martyr.

So let the last moment of your life be you testifying — and dying upon their love. Did you love them as you passed on? Then it is granted automatically.

🕊 What It Means to Be "Alive in the Way of Allah"

People keep speaking of "dying in the way of God." What does it even mean? It can carry several meanings, but there is one common thread tied to life. The root of the word relates to seeing and perceiving — and you cannot see or perceive unless you are living. From this:

• A person is called a shahīd because he saw his obligation and went to fulfil it, and died in the process. He witnessed his duty.
• Allah grants him the opportunity to see his place in Jannah in this world, just before he dies. And as a mercy, Allah does not allow the shahīd to feel the pain of death. They may appear to have suffered — and footage of such moments breaks our hearts. The speaker said he had not slept since 180 schoolgirls were blown up in a single instant; one mother said, "I bade him farewell, my beloved son. I said: do your homework, pay attention, I'll see you soon. He never returned. I still go to the classroom hoping to find him there." That moment looks unbearable to us — but to the shahīd, Allah takes the soul moments before the killing, as a blessing. One narration says they become so enraptured by the sight of their home in Jannah that they feel no pain at all.

He drew a Qur'anic image to illustrate distraction: the women invited by the wife of the Egyptian noble, when Nabī Yūsuf (ع) was brought before them — so absorbed in gazing at him that, while peeling fruit with knives, they cut their own hands without noticing. When a person is that distracted, they do not feel even something severe. So it can be that the shahīd sees their place in Jannah and is so captivated that they leave this dunya in comfort. That is one opinion.

Another opinion: they have never truly died. We are Muslims — last we checked, death is not an end. Death is where one journey stops and another begins; we move on; the next life is real. And being truly alive means they are doubly living. The verse explains it:

وَلَا تَحْسَبَنَّ الَّذِينَ قُتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتًا ۚ بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ
Wa-lā taḥsabanna alladhīna qutilū fī sabīli-llāhi amwātā; bal aḥyā'un ʿinda rabbihim yurzaqūn
And do not think of those who are killed in the way of Allah as dead. Rather, they are alive, with their Lord, being given provision. (Āl ʿImrān 3:169)

What makes them living? One of the names of Allah is al-Ḥayy — the Living, the fully and absolutely alive. If someone is with their Lord, the source of complete and absolute ḥayāt, that person never dies. How can I die when I am plugged into ultimate, absolute life, constantly receiving it from its source?

And the verse ends with "being given provision." In our context we hear "provision" and think of money — but Allah says there is more. The dead cannot take money, nor do they care for it. The shahīd, being alive, receives true sustenance. One opinion holds that part of this provision is that the shahīd is allowed to see this dunya and their family after they have left it. One of the greatest longings of anyone who leaves their family even for a day or two is news of their loved ones — now imagine leaving for eternity. The greatest gift becomes: "O Allah, I don't want a palace, I don't want rivers of milk and honey — just let me know my children are okay. Just give me news of my family." Think of billionaires who have everything yet are tormented by family troubles; they would trade it all for peace of mind. True provision is being given the ability to see one's family well.

⚖️ Living for Allah vs. Giving Your Life for Allah

What is the difference between someone who gave their life for Allah and someone who lived their life for Allah? There is a vast difference.

"O Allah, I could have lived longer. But there was a greater purpose. If by dying I can give You one thing — if by dying I can bring You pleasure — then I will give You that. It may mean I leave soon. It may mean I go through difficult times. But it is worth it if it brings You satisfaction."

This is captured in the famous verse ascribed to Imam Husayn (ع):

فَإِنْ كَانَ دِينُ مُحَمَّدٍ لَمْ يَسْتَقِمْ إِلَّا بِقَتْلِي فَيَا سُيُوفُ خُذِينِي
Fa-in kāna dīnu Muḥammadin lam yastaqim illā bi-qatlī, fa-yā suyūfu khudhīnī
If the religion of Muhammad cannot stand except by my being killed — then, O swords, take me.

That is more valuable to him than his own nafs. Do you know what Imam Husayn could have done? One thing: recognise the legitimacy of Yazīd. Do you know what our maraji could have done? Recognise the legitimacy of the hegemonic, barbaric, power-hungry elites — and suddenly it would all stop.

🏔 The Pyramid That Cannot Be Toppled

The oppressors said: "Why do they never capitulate? We have struggled with them, choked them — what is happening? Let us kill their head, go after the top of the pyramid." The logic is: strike the leader and everything beneath collapses.

And they are right — about everyone else. When Hitler killed himself, the Nazi party dismantled. When Mussolini fell, his regime collapsed. When Alexander the Great died, his vast kingdom from Macedonia to Afghanistan was divided among his rulers. When the head dies, everything is dismantled. That has been the norm.

"So why does it not work with us?" Because they made a deadly mistake. None of our maraji were ever at the top of the pyramid. There was always someone above them. We have an Imam, and the Imam protects this house.

He drew the parallel to Abraha and the Kaʿba. When Abraha came to demolish Mecca, ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib approached him with a single request. Abraha assumed he had come to beg, to capitulate, to recognise his legitimacy — "one recognition, just one, and we would spare you all this." Instead, with the greatest insult, ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib said: "My camels and sheep — give those back to me." Abraha was stunned: "I thought you would care about your Kaʿba!" He replied: "No — you misunderstood. I am not at the helm; I am not the tip of the pyramid. It is not the Kaʿba's protector — destroy it, have fun. God will protect His house. I am only the lord of these camels and sheep."

لِلْبَيْتِ رَبٌّ يَحْمِيهِ
Lil-bayti rabbun yaḥmīh
The House has a Lord who will protect it.

"If I had made myself the lord, then yes — killing me dismantles everything. But there is Someone above me." This is why it works against Alexander and the Nazis and these riffraff, but never against us: above our maraji there is always One more. The day they go after Him and see Him succumb to their whims — then we can talk about why striking the top dismantles everything.

That does not mean it doesn't hurt. It hurts badly. It was heavy. It was painful. And when some of our youth treat it lightly — "it's whatever" — do you understand the kind of blood we have lost, the new norm that has been opened that never existed before in our history? But here is what gives us motivation, solitude, and the will to persist: if this happens to you, and you lose your grandchildren, your children, your women, your men, your companions — everything — it is okay. Because there was a man 1,400 years ago who, when he lost everything, still refused to recognise the legitimacy of that dirty man.

🪶 Husayn at the Court: A Man Like Me Never Gives Allegiance to a Man Like Him

What is Yazīd, after all? Genocide-enabling — he does not care if children are killed. A man of partying, of drinking, of every corruption. These are harsh terms, terms that from anyone's mouth would be reproached — but when an Imam says them, they become the right terms.

The governor in Medina summoned Imam Husayn to court, hesitant about him, and said:

يَا حُسَيْنُ، إِنَّ يَزِيدَ قَدْ دَعَاكَ إِلَى الْبَيْعَةِ
Yā Ḥusayn, inna Yazīda qad daʿāka ilā al-bayʿa
O Husayn, Yazīd has called you to give your allegiance.

Imam Husayn answered something fascinating: "You have gathered me in a secret night meeting. This is no moment for allegiance. Call me tomorrow." He was saying: I have a response to give, but I want everyone to witness it. If I answer Yazīd here, only you and Marwān — that riffraff — will see it. Who cares? No — tomorrow, in public.

As Imam Husayn left into the night, Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam said to the governor: "If you let him leave now, he will not come back tomorrow." The governor replied: "You do not know this man. When he says something, he fulfils it." — There are people today who, when they say something, may or may not fulfil it. Even with your enemy, fulfil your word. "Trust me, if he says he is coming, he is coming tomorrow." Marwān pressed: "But the problem is — if you do not get his allegiance tomorrow, then you must kill him." Because Husayn's allegiance is the critical one: if he does not recognise Yazīd's legitimacy, no one's recognition matters; everyone's allegiance becomes nonsensical. "If he will not approve, he is better off dead." And all he had to do was capitulate — "Yeah, okay, I agree, end of story." But that is not the way of Ahl al-Bayt: we would rather give our own selves than give in to the scum of the earth.

The next day, in public, before the gathered aristocrats Imam Husayn had insisted upon, he rose and reminded them: We are the family of the Holy Prophet; revelation came down in our house; Allah opened the doors of mercy for you people through us. Then he turned to Yazīd's character, and the next words were critical: he is a corrupt man. What makes him corrupt? Imam Husayn listed it — a killer of sanctified souls, a man of vice and womanising, as distant from God as one could be. And then he reached the decisive crime:

Yazīd publicises his sins.

Imam Husayn said: I despise him because he flaunts his sin openly. Sometimes a person sins — but do not broadcast it, do not share it online, do not let others see; you are better than that. "We gave too much for this heritage," he warned, "such that now someone says 'I am of the believers' and then violates Allah's laws openly with nasty music, sharing it online, following people far from Islam." A sin is between you and Allah — keep it there. The Imam hated Yazīd precisely because he publicised his sin. Then came the line that speaks to us today — the line that shows why we are killed in cold blood, and why, though it wounds us, it makes us proud:

وَمِثْلِي لَا يُبَايِعُ مِثْلَهُ
Wa-mithlī lā yubāyiʿu mithlah
And a man like me never gives allegiance to a man like him.

Then Imam Husayn cast his garment aside and walked out. At that point Marwān looked at the governor and said: "You have to kill him now." The governor wrote to Yazīd: "His head, or his hand?" Yazīd refused the hand — "then it is his head."

✊ Be Team Shīʿa — Lift Your Own

This is the lesson for us. Strive to reach a point where you can say: "I could have bent, I could have submitted, I could have given up — but I chose to stay firm on the path of truth." It takes only one recognition, one call of "I accept you for who you are, I legitimise you." But that is them — that is not you.

When the world was in shambles and burning, when other Muslims were busy building high-rises, when the so-called lovers of truth and humanitarianism vanished, there has always been only one group that has to keep saving the day, keep coming back, keep saying "never" — because to recognise the oppressor is to embrace him.

And here is the most beautiful thing. As much as we love our maraji, we would never have a single one of them were it not for the institutions they graduated from — these symbols of Allah, our scholarly heritage. Without them we would have perished; some would have capitulated. We were this close to losing everything from our scholarly heritage. This close.

But calling yourself a believer does not mean you must embrace 100% of another man's worldview, or adopt every new-age trend. Be whatever you choose — but have something firm in your life. If you will not be a committed Muslim, then at least be a free human being: free meaning not a slave to the systems out there.

Even non-Muslims are waking up. People once on the far fringe are now asking: "What did we just do? We supported a group that kills 180 girls in school. Is that who I am?" Meanwhile some of our own wake up and say, "I never liked that scholar, that marja never matched my opinion" — when you cannot even write your own name in Arabic, yet you speak about marjaʿiyya.

He pressed the point with an image: in the World Cup, people support their team even when it fails — "they made us proud anyway." So for once in your life, support team Shīʿa. That does not mean you must agree with every fellow believer's worldview or methodology. But that is your community. If you are not team Shīʿa — what are you? There is no "team half-Shīʿa." You are either team Shīʿa, or you are on the side of the bloodthirsty, child-trafficking, genocide-enabling, godless elites who are killing Shīʿa. Look at who is killing whom — it gives you a clear indication of who holds the truth.

To be team Shīʿa means: when you see one of your own fall, lift them up — even if you don't like them, even if you'd never set foot in their Husseiniyya, even if they commemorate differently. Those are still your brothers and sisters. You are better than turning away. You support your sports teams when they fail; your fellow believer should make you prouder — at the very moment when the easy, humiliating choice is "the majority are going after us, let me just join the majority." Never.

📿 Two Houses That Are Really One

Do not let anyone — young, old, or someone who merely looks like they know — tell you these are two different houses, two rival traditions. They are one. The two greatest figures the speaker mentioned both graduated from the same world of learning. The very science that some young men fear today is the one many of our greatest maraji came from. It is all the same heritage. Let us not divide our people; we are all on one team, we stick together, and we unite.

This is why the Imam said that on the Day of Judgement, Allah will gather all of mankind on one plain and bring out the scales. Many things will be weighed that Day — your intentions, all of it. And among the things weighed will be:

مِدَادُ الْعُلَمَاءِ وَدِمَاءُ الشُّهَدَاءِ
Midādu al-ʿulamā'i wa-dimā'u al-shuhadā'
The ink of the scholars and the blood of the martyrs.

And mankind will notice that the ink of the scholar tips the scale heavier than the blood of the martyr. Why? Because the shahīd would not have been a shahīd were it not for the scholar — were it not for him saying "rise," "now is the time," "you have my permission." So consider, then: what happens when the scholar himself becomes the martyr? How heavy is that scale? How heavy is that mīzān?

🌙 They Are Alive, and the System Moves On

It is wrong to say — and the speaker wished to put an end to it — that because the marja dies a shahīd, and because the Qur'an calls such people alive, one may therefore continue performing taqlīd to him as though nothing changed. That cannot happen. They are alive, they are witnessing, they are with their Lord — but Allah's system moves on. Allah carries this forward. This is not the end. It will not be the end of us.

Because when they think they have struck the top of our pyramid and that everyone beneath collapses — they are mistaken. Our leaders have a Leader above them. They follow His guidelines. And do not be surprised — wallah, this is said with confidence — our maraji themselves, in many instances, await the order of the Hidden Imam (عج) before making any critical decision.

The speaker recalled Mīrzā al-Shīrāzī and the Tobacco Revolution of the 1870s. His student, Muhammad Husayn, asked permission to speak to him outside the bounds of student and teacher, then said: "Do you not fear God?" — "Why?" — "You know the fatwa you must write. The British hegemony has monopolised the businesses of Persia, especially tobacco. If you issue a fatwa making it forbidden to support them — making smoking ḥarām — you will give the Shīʿa economic relief. Why do you not do it? Do you not fear God?" The Sayyid replied: "This is such a critical fatwa, it is not something I can simply write. I await the hand of the Imam to grasp mine as I write it — so I know this is something Allah accepts." A few days later he emerged from his room holding the statement: "I have written it." This is not far-fetched, for the maraji come after — and they take their place from above.

The same instinct of restraint appears in the killers' own councils. When Marwān instigated, "Why do you not go and kill Husayn now?" the governor answered: "I cannot — al-Husayn is not someone I can kill like any other person." Marwān lived to sabotage: every time peace or progress was near, this third-party agitator appeared to wreck it — "No, no, I will sabotage; I will not allow peace to be sustained; I will kill and prevent it from proceeding." It is narrated that even before Marwān was born — while still in his father's loins — the Prophet ﷺ cursed him; and at the Battle of the Camel, Marwān shot arrows in every direction, loving corruption and tyranny. This is why fitna is described as worse than killing: killing stops a life, but fitna stops progress — it prevents good from proceeding.

🌙 Farewells in the Night — Husayn at the Grave of His Grandfather

With the bounty on his head, Imam Husayn understood it was time to leave Medina. Before setting out, he went to bid farewell to members of his family. He told his brother Muhammad: "You have to stay. If all the men of Banū Hāshim die, then we will be no more — some of you must remain." He told Umm al-Banīn — "O my mother, my father's wife — stay behind." He told several of his own siblings they could stay. He told Zaynab's husband to stay behind. And he said: "I am taking only a few with me."

He saw that they had already begun a propaganda campaign — "al-Husayn has abandoned the religion of his grandfather; al-Husayn has left this faith; if Husayn leaves, then there is no faith left."

He gathered the few of his family and prepared to set off from Medina to Hajj in Mecca. He went first to bid farewell to his father's loyal wife, still calling her "mother." He entrusted her with one thing: "Watch after my daughter." Her name was Fāṭima — too young, small, and sick, for whom travel would not be easy. "Stay and watch after her, if it is not too much of a burden." Then he went to a surviving wife of the Prophet ﷺ, an upright lover of the family, and said: "O mother of the believers and wife of the Holy Messenger, I bid you farewell." One after another he took his leave — until only one farewell remained.

That last farewell was to his grandfather. Husayn loved Medina, and it was never easy to leave it. In the middle of the night, in the disguise of darkness, he approached the grave of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ and began to say:

اللَّهُمَّ هَذَا قَبْرُ نَبِيِّكَ مُحَمَّدٍ، وَأَنَا ابْنُ بِنْتِ نَبِيِّكَ
Allāhumma hādhā qabru nabiyyika Muḥammad, wa-anā ibnu binti nabiyyik
O Allah, this is the grave of Your Prophet, and I am the son of the daughter of Your Prophet.

He continued: "O Allah, You are aware of what has now befallen me. Indeed, I love doing good and I hate the evil that happens. O Allah, send Your blessings upon Muhammad and the family of Muhammad, and I ask You, by the right of this grave, to ensure that whatever happens to me on my journey is within Your satisfaction."

Knowing this would be the last time he ever saw the grave of his grandfather, Imam Husayn lingered, speaking to the Messenger. Then, sooner than later, he fell into a short sleep beside the grave of the Prophet ﷺ.

The hadith tells us that Imam Husayn saw in his dream the beloved Messenger of God extending his hands toward him. Husayn said: "You know very well what has befallen me and my family, and what will happen to the rest of us if we proceed. O Allah, take me with You. This world has turned against me. I no longer desire to remain."

And the Messenger replied: "My son, Husayn — this is not your time to return to me. You will meet me again soon. But first you must go to the land known as Karbala. You must complete that step before you enter the abode where I will see you, Husayn. Before we meet, your tents will be set on fire. O my son, before I see you, your women will be taken captive. My beloved Husayn — it is as though I see you drenched in your own blood. Husayn — it is as though I see you with your head placed upon the spear. It is only a few moments, and we will be reunited."

The arc of the lecture closes where every majlis returns: a man who could have ended all his suffering with a single word of allegiance, and chose instead the swords. The blood of the marja in Ramadan and the blood of Husayn in Muharram are read in one breath — because the same principle runs through both. Strike the head of any movement on earth and it collapses; strike ours and it does not, because above every scholar there is an Imam, and above every Imam there is the Lord of the House. They wished to dismantle us by killing our greatest. But you cannot topple a pyramid whose apex is in the hands of Allah. "And a man like me never gives allegiance to a man like him."