Our society constantly promotes role models for masculinity, from

Hear the words of Deeyah Khan, warrior of truth and seeker of peace, who declared: “Our society constantly promotes role models for masculinity, from superheroes to politicians, where the concept of being a ‘man’ is based in their ability to be tough, dominant—and even violent when required.” These words shine like a torch into the heart of culture, exposing the illusions that bind men in chains of false strength. For Khan reminds us that the image of manhood we worship is not drawn from the depths of virtue, but from the theater of conquest, power, and force.

The meaning is fierce and unyielding. Masculinity has long been painted in the colors of dominance—heroes who crush enemies, rulers who impose their will, warriors who wield violence as proof of their worth. From childhood, boys are told to silence tears, to harden their hearts, to equate gentleness with weakness. Thus society builds idols of steel, and calls them men. Yet what is truly revealed is not strength but fragility, not power but fear—the fear of appearing less than the role prescribed.

The ancients too bore witness to this myth. In Sparta, boys were trained from infancy to be warriors. To show pain was shameful, to show compassion unmanly. Their masculinity was forged in the furnace of toughness and violence, until all other virtues were scorned. Yet when Sparta faced decline, it was not because its warriors grew soft, but because its society lacked balance—it knew how to fight, but not how to build, to nurture, to imagine. Thus history warns us: a culture that worships only the violent man plants the seeds of its own ruin.

Consider the tale of Muhammad Ali. He was revered for his fists, for his dominance in the ring. But his greatest act of masculinity was not his violence, but his refusal to fight in a war he deemed unjust. He stood against power, lost his titles, endured exile, yet declared: “I have no quarrel with them.” In that moment, Ali showed the world that true manhood is not blind dominance, but courage to stand for principle. He was strong, yes—but strong in spirit, in conviction, in the gentleness of refusing to kill.

Deeyah Khan’s words also echo in our modern world of screens and spectacle. The superheroes children idolize often win not by wisdom but by force. The politicians most admired are those who roar, dominate debates, and display aggression. Rarely are boys taught that tenderness, patience, or humility can also be heroic. The society that shapes them declares instead: “Be hard, be dominant, be violent when needed.” And so, generation after generation, the cycle repeats, and men remain trapped in the armor of a role they did not choose.

The lesson is clear: manhood must be freed from the prison of violence. Strength is not cruelty, but self-mastery. Courage is not domination, but the willingness to protect and uplift. Greatness is not toughness alone, but the balance of heart and mind, power and compassion. If society continues to promote false role models, we must create new ones—men who embody gentleness without shame, wisdom without arrogance, love without fear.

What, then, must we do? Teach boys that tears are not weakness but honesty. Show them that masculinity is not diminished by kindness, but magnified by it. Uplift stories of men who lead through service, who protect without oppressing, who are strong not in their fists, but in their capacity for empathy and justice. And let men themselves dare to shed the mask, to stand unashamed in their humanity, not confined by a role, but expanded by truth.

Thus remember: the true test of masculinity is not how fiercely one can dominate, but how deeply one can love, how courageously one can choose peace over violence. Deeyah Khan’s words call us to remake the image of the man—not as warrior alone, but as whole human, a pillar of compassion as well as strength. And when society learns to honor this vision, the chains of falsehood will break, and both men and women will rise freer, stronger, and more complete.