Sticks, Stones, and Salman Rushdie

It’s not about silencing insult—it’s about mastering the self and embodying dignity through knowledge.

Salman Rushdie at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 2023 (credit: Elena Ternovaja)

Islam, at its core, invites vulnerability. The Qur’an does not silence its challengers—it calls them. It dares disbelievers to question, to test, to engage. Why? Because its backbone is knowledge. Islam holds that faith without knowledge is void. This conviction is what separated the earliest Muslims from the disbelievers when Islam first emerged in the Arabian Peninsula. What set them apart was not tribe, wealth, or emotion—it was ‘ilm, understanding. That is Islam’s most enduring power.

The world has always been ruled, transformed, and manipulated by those who possess knowledge. Knowledge builds civilizations. Knowledge topples them. And more dangerously, knowledge allows one to shape the emotions of others. In every sphere, religion, politics, economics; those who understand emotion use it to sway the masses. But the most dangerous decisions in history? They are the ones made not from knowledge but emotion: impulsive, fragile, self-justifying, and ego-driven. 

Any attack on your emotions is an attack on your dignity. And if you respond with uncontrolled emotion, you lose both. But if you stand your ground—with restraint, conviction, and humility—you win, and the perpetrator is humiliated. That response requires what few possess: deep knowledge, firm character, and radical humility.

So when someone spits in your face, disrespects you, violates what you hold sacred, what should you do? Match their energy and become a mirror of their behavior? If you do, you become the very thing you condemned. You have, in effect, condemned yourself. The harder path, the path Islam calls us to, is to respond intellectually, with knowledge and clarity, not rage.

This is where activism, when mixed with religion and devoid of understanding, becomes dangerous. True activism in Islam is molded by knowledge, governed by wisdom, and executed with dignity. The goal is not always to convert, it is to enlighten and achieve mutual understanding. That requires the hardest sacrifice of all: ego.

Salman Rushdie’s infamous portrayal of Islam in the Satanic Verses was not a scholarly critique. It was an emotional provocation masked as fiction. A cowardly act, hiding behind art to launch a baseless attack on a global religion. He is not a scholar; he is a provocateur. But the tragedy is not that he wrote what he wrote, the tragedy—or victory—is how we respond. Western governments have celebrated Rushdie under the banner of “free speech.” But does free speech have no limits? Is it not a dismissal of the dignity of believers when mockery of sacred faiths is normalized? When President Chodosh honors Rushdie’s “artistic courage,” he simultaneously invalidates the spiritual pain of those whose Prophet was maligned in Rushdie’s book. He has his rationale, perhaps. But it is a flawed one and this is the hard truth we all have to swallow.

President Chodosh’s decision to invite Rushdie as commencement speaker was, without a doubt, a flawed choice. It disrespects the emotional and spiritual dignity of Muslim students, whether he intends to or not. Any public attack on any religion transcends the bounds of free speech—it becomes, instead, a quiet dismissal of the sacred convictions of its followers, whether one is religious or not. But the real effects of this decision depend on how the Muslim community responds. Will they let Rushdie win and have emotional power over them? 

Let us also consider another chapter: the Iranian fatwa against Rushdie. It was issued in anger, cloaked in piety, but it was fundamentally a loss. Rushdie provoked exactly what he wanted; Impatient Muslims’ rage, ego, and retaliation. And unfortunately, he won the emotional war and some Muslims fell for it. Islam was never meant to be weaponized to satisfy personal pride. In his final sermon, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) emphasized the sanctity of life, property, and dignity—even when offended. To violate those principles in the name of defending Islam is to betray the very faith we claim to protect.

Those who support the fatwa, or who advocate for hostility in defense of Islam, misunderstand it. The Prophet endured ridicule, slander, and physical abuse, but never let it corrupt his judgment, kind words, or principles. He engaged his enemies, debated them, prayed for them. Islam spread not through rage, but through conviction, knowledge, and character.

So let me say this clearly: listening to Salman Rushdie will not harm a knowledgeable and humble Muslim. And if you find yourself offended by him, know that he has won and he has emotional power over you. The real test of faith is not in avoiding provocation, but in rising above it with dignity. The Prophet’s path is not of outrage. It is resilience. It is grace under fire. It is the slowness to anger, the sharpness in intellect, and the steadiness in principle.

I want to commend the MSA and the many Muslim students at CMC who have chosen the path of knowledge, dialogue, and principled dissent in responding to President Chodosh’s decision to invite and honor Salman Rushdie. This moment is not merely a grievance—it is a challenge to the Muslim faith and dignity. The question is: are we intending to win it, or to lose it even before May 17 ever arrives? CMC is watching. The world is watching—ready to either laugh at our outrage or congratulate our resolve and wisdom. The outcome will not be decided by Rushdie’s words, but by our character.

Rushdie will speak. The day will pass. But we will be remembered for our response. If we disengage with everyone who disrespects us, what kind of world do we live in? Dialogue would end. Progress would stall. Justice would die. And emotional manipulators would always win.

Someone must be the better person. Someone must take the harder path.

Islam says: that someone must be you.