In Islamic societies, politicians can manipulate almost

Host: The desert night was cool and solemn, the kind that seemed to breathe with its own quiet wisdom. In the distance, the faint hum of a call to prayer lingered like an echo from another century. The courtyard café was dimly lit, its walls made of soft adobe, the air rich with the scent of mint tea and burning cedar. Lanterns hung from wooden beams, their light flickering in gold patterns across the stone floor, as though ancient hands still wrote stories there.

At a small table beneath a fig tree, Jack and Jeeny sat facing each other. Between them, the night itself seemed to listen. On the table lay a worn book of essays by Fatema Mernissi, its corners frayed, its margins full of careful, reverent notes.

Jeeny read the quote aloud, her voice low and steady, carrying through the hush of the evening like a prayer:

“In Islamic societies, politicians can manipulate almost everything. But thus far, no fundamentalist leader has been able to convince his supporters to renounce Islam’s central virtue — the principle of strict equality between human beings, regardless of sex, race, or creed.” — Fatema Mernissi

Jack: (leaning back) That’s... unexpected. You don’t usually hear “Islam” and “equality” in the same sentence — not in the West, anyway.

Jeeny: (softly) That’s the problem, isn’t it? People confuse the noise of politics with the truth of faith. Mernissi understood that difference better than anyone.

Jack: (raising an eyebrow) You think faith and equality can really coexist?

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) They were born together. It’s people who turned them into rivals.

Host: The wind moved gently through the fig leaves, scattering the candle’s flame into trembling shapes. The shadows danced across their faces — Jeeny calm, luminous; Jack thoughtful, skeptical. Somewhere nearby, a small group of students debated quietly in Arabic, their voices rising and falling like verses.

Jack: (after a pause) She says “no fundamentalist leader has convinced people to renounce equality.” But hasn’t that already happened? Look around — every regime, every movement that claims divine authority eventually steps on someone’s neck.

Jeeny: (softly) Maybe they step, but they never silence. That’s her point. The idea of equality — true equality — is so deeply woven into the spiritual fabric that even the oppressors have to borrow its language to justify their oppression.

Jack: (with a wry smile) That’s poetic. Hypocritical too.

Jeeny: (nodding) Hypocrisy is the shadow of faith, Jack. Where there’s belief, there’s always someone trying to bend it.

Host: The candlelight wavered again, its glow catching the rim of Jeeny’s cup, illuminating the pale steam that rose from her tea like incense. The desert air was still, but the conversation between them moved like a tide — calm on the surface, turbulent underneath.

Jack: (slowly) So what’s she saying then? That the principle of equality can’t be destroyed, even if it’s ignored?

Jeeny: (quietly) Exactly. That deep down, people know the truth — even when they live under lies.

Jack: (leaning forward) You sound like you believe that’s enough.

Jeeny: (after a pause) It’s not enough. But it’s a beginning. Mernissi wasn’t naïve — she saw the violence, the misogyny, the manipulation. But she also saw that the antidote was already there, buried under centuries of fear.

Jack: (gruffly) You think religion can cure what religion caused?

Jeeny: (softly) I think truth can — and for billions, faith is truth.

Host: He looked at her across the table, his expression caught between challenge and admiration. The candle between them had burned low, its flame smaller now, but more intense — the kind of flame that refuses to die quietly.

Jack: (after a moment) You talk about Islam like it’s an ideal that’s been betrayed.

Jeeny: (quietly) Isn’t every faith an ideal that’s been betrayed? Christianity preached humility, then built empires. Buddhism taught detachment, then built hierarchies. Islam spoke of equality — and still, men used it to crown themselves gods.

Jack: (murmuring) Maybe humans can’t hold something that pure without breaking it.

Jeeny: (softly) Or maybe they keep breaking it because they still believe it can be repaired.

Host: The wind shifted again, brushing over the table, lifting a corner of the book. Jack reached to steady it, his fingers brushing against the pages marked with Jeeny’s small, careful handwriting. He read a few of her notes: “Faith as mirror.” “Equality as origin, not outcome.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) You’ve been living with this book a while.

Jeeny: (nodding) Mernissi taught me something about contradictions. That equality doesn’t have to come from rebellion against faith — sometimes, it’s faith itself that demands rebellion against power.

Jack: (quietly) That’s a dangerous idea.

Jeeny: (smiling) Only to those who profit from obedience.

Host: The moonlight cut across the courtyard now, silvering the walls, painting Jeeny’s face in quiet conviction. Jack looked down at the words again — “strict equality between human beings” — and thought about how easily history had learned to look away from them.

Jack: (softly) You think that kind of equality is still possible?

Jeeny: (gently) It’s not a question of possibility, Jack. It’s a question of remembrance.

Jack: (tilting his head) Remembrance?

Jeeny: (nodding) Yes. Of what faith was meant to be before men made it a weapon. Of what justice looked like before it needed a courtroom. Mernissi’s right — you can’t unteach people that they’re equal. You can bury it, distort it, but somewhere deep, they remember.

Host: The candle flickered once more, and then went out, leaving only the light of the moon, which seemed to shine brighter in its absence. For a moment, the silence between them felt holy — not empty, but filled with everything they hadn’t said.

Jack: (quietly) You really think memory is stronger than manipulation?

Jeeny: (softly) It has to be. Otherwise, every empire that ever claimed to speak for God would have erased us all.

Host: He smiled, just faintly — not out of joy, but in the way a skeptic smiles when confronted by faith that refuses to bend.

Jack: (after a pause) Maybe that’s what keeps people going. The belief that truth, somewhere under all the ruins, still breathes.

Jeeny: (smiling back) That’s what Mernissi believed. That truth isn’t fragile — only forgotten.

Host: The wind stirred again, carrying with it the faint smell of the desert — dry, vast, eternal. The fig leaves whispered overhead, and from a nearby mosque came the faintest echo of prayer — a melody of devotion and endurance.

As they rose to leave, Jeeny tucked the book under her arm, her hand brushing the inscription on its cover.

Jack: (softly) “Strict equality between human beings.”

Jeeny: (whispering) The truest verse ever written — no matter who says it.

Host: They stepped into the moonlight, their shadows long against the pale stone. Behind them, the candle’s smoke still curled upward — a thin ribbon of memory, rising toward the dark sky.

And in that quiet desert night, Fatema Mernissi’s words seemed to hum through the silence — not as doctrine, but as defiance:

That even in the most manipulated world, there remains a truth no ruler can rewrite —
the simple, eternal equality of every soul under the same vast sky.