In the messiest soap opera ever scripted—commonly referred to as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict—heroes rarely emerge. Yet, enter Mohammad Masad, who’s done the unthinkable: swapping an AK-47 for a microphone, militancy for moderation. Quite the plot twist, no? If Spielberg ever tackled this particular quagmire (and yes, I’ve seen him at work), Masad would be front and centre—perhaps played by Daniel Day-Lewis for maximum intensity.
Masad is not your typical peacemaker. Once upon a very messed-up time, he was deeply entangled in militant violence against Israel. Today, he's fervently championing an idea that would make the UN's collective heads explode: calling for Israel to retake Gaza. Sounds shocking, right? But let's admit it—Masad isn’t exactly preaching rainbows and unicorns here; rather, he's confronting an ugly truth head-on, which the West—particularly media darling BBC—often pretends doesn't exist. (Seriously, BBC, your Gaza coverage lately feels like it's been guest-directed by Hamas’s PR department.)
Masad argues with a painful clarity that Gaza under Hamas is hellish—not only for Israelis dodging rockets but also for Palestinians trapped in an extremist-led cycle of poverty and propaganda. He's essentially suggesting a rewind button to Israeli control as a grimly necessary reset, because when your current leaders are enthusiastic about genocide, maybe it’s time for a change. Call me old-fashioned, but genocidal governance doesn’t exactly scream "sustainable model."
His transformation from militant to moderate wasn’t some Hollywood epiphany set to swelling violins; it was messy, painful, and disturbingly human. Growing up amid anti-Israel rhetoric so dense it could pass as wallpaper, Masad was your typical militant next door. But reality punched him squarely in the face: rampant corruption, extremist indoctrination, and ruthless oppression from his so-called heroes forced him to reconsider everything he'd been taught. If only more campus activists could experience such an enlightening slap. (But I digress; Iran’s already got that covered.)
What's truly compelling about Masad's story is how starkly it reveals the complexities lurking beneath monolithic narratives. It's the very complexity that my upcoming documentary, "Mother of Hate," attempts to untangle—showing how bigotry thrives on misinformation, historical revisionism, and systematic indoctrination. Masad’s journey echoes precisely this: the dangerous power of propaganda and the transformative potential when one encounters the raw, unvarnished truth. Trust me, as a Pole who once thought Maximilian Kolbe was the only significant figure of Auschwitz (spoiler alert: he wasn't), I understand propaganda’s ugly grip and the exhilarating liberation that truth offers.
Education, empathy, and exposure to uncomfortable realities—Masad swears by these as antidotes to extremism. Imagine that: a former militant prescribing dialogue and education. Radical, isn’t it? The British media, meanwhile, seems determined to misunderstand this completely, preferring to amplify "peaceful" chants like “From the River to the Sea” without pausing to acknowledge its sinister implications. (Come on, BBC, we both know you can do better—your royal charter is weeping.)
Sure, Masad’s advocacy for Israeli control of Gaza won’t win him popularity contests in coffee shops where virtue signaling is the currency du jour. But his perspective forces us to confront difficult questions—questions we've avoided by blaming everything conveniently on Israel. If we’re serious about peace, maybe it's time we listened to voices like Masad's, uncomfortable though they are. Otherwise, we're doomed to keep repeating the same murderous cycle, all while pretending we have no idea why.
Masad's tale is a potent reminder of the human capacity for radical change and growth, something desperately needed amidst today's "resistance" movements which increasingly resemble a cosplay of totalitarianism. As "Mother of Hate" illustrates, confronting our biases isn't just about politics; it's about reclaiming our humanity.
So let’s dispense with sugar-coated narratives and admit it plainly: Masad’s story is extraordinary precisely because it’s messy, uncomfortable, and brutally honest. Now, if only the rest of us could summon the courage to listen.