Mohamed Hijab: a dictator’s moment of conception

Call it his art exam moment, call it his unanswered phone call moment, call it his my-wife-betrayed-me-by-committing-suicide moment, call it whatever moment sets a bully on the road to dictatorship,  it seems that moment has come for Mohamed Hijab.

These seminal moments in the making of dictators usually involve a shattering disappointment right when their supremacy and confidence are at their cockiest. In the case of Adolf Hitler, it was failing an entrance exam to an art school when, to him, his entry was a foregone conclusion — he was a brilliant artist; what could be more obvious? The rejection devastated him, and for the rest of his life, he worked on it, as they say.

Vladimir Putin, from his teenage years, thought of himself as the perfect KGB agent. Disappointingly, he was posted not to Washington DC, or London, to him a no-brainer, but to Dresden in the third rate German Democratic Republic (East Germany). All of that our comrade could endure. But when the Berlin Wall came down, the rooky KGB officer was at a loss for what was going on, let alone what to do. He called the Kremlin. The phone rang, and no one answered. There was no one there. Vladimir Putin felt truly alone, abandoned, let down in the most devastating way possible. That was the moment the Vladimir Putin we know today was conceived.

Mohamed Hijab would make his way to the Muslims in Leicester who, to his mind, clearly needed his leadership. There was a jihad war to be had there. The Hindus who had the affront to humiliate Muslims in a game of cricket on the other side of the world had to be put in their place in Leicester, and Hijab was there to show his brothers how it’s done.

Mohamed Hijab, clearly dictatorial material, swaggered across the street at the head of his black-uniformed Muslim gang to place himself right in front of a news crew. “You wanna speak to me.” It wasn’t a question. Of course they want to interview him. What else? “Who are you?” said the reporter. Hijab had to think fast. There’s someone on planet earth who doesn’t know who he is. He went for, “I’m a YouTuber,” rather than “I’m a community leader,” or “I’m a political philosopher.” The bemused reporter shook her head. A woman had just turned him down. Hijab brushed off the rejection, but his challenged sidekick tried to make things right for his boss by asking the reporter to be reasonable. She laughed in his face! The effect on Hijab would show later. For now, he had a speech to make.

We're seeing violence from the Hindutva in this country and that is inspired …by a fascistic ideology which is has its inspirations from the same place as Adolf Hitler had his inspirations. …Why is it the case that we see this level of extremism that isn't covered by the Western media in the same way as they would love to be able to cover Muslims doing oppression to others? We’re seeing silence, complete silence, on the issue of Hindutva radicalisation in and out of India. See, now it's even coming to the United Kingdom. So the first thing we need to understand—

The local Muslim crowd had heard enough. “We did not come here for this.” Hijab pressed on, trying to agitate the crowd against the “violent vegetarians,” as the local Muslims’ patience started running thin. “Put the mike down,” insisted some. Others tried to wrench it from him, but he would not let go of it. They tried to shut him up, but he resisted. Scuffles broke out between the local Muslims and Hijab’s gang, prompting the police to break them up. Hijab clearly struggled to restrain the gangster within him, lips tight, shoulders tense and eyes ready to pop out of his head with the anger behind them.

These people did not doubt Islam, they were not “weaklings and imbeciles,” yet Hijab and his gang was there to make sure the local Muslims’ unwillingness to fight Hindus on the streets of Leicester did not get in the way of Islam’s wider strategic objectives. He could not help castigating them for not fighting against the Hindus. To these Muslims, he was trouble. A white kafir woman rejecting him was one thing, but these were his brother, Muslims, whom he’d specially come all the way from London to save from Hindutva and they chased him away. How dare they not listen to him!

Only later did it emerge just how devastated Mohamed Hijab had been that day. Piers Morgan, a famous British TV interviewer, invited Hijab to appear on his programme, and he declined. Mohamed Hijab, showman par excellence, the prize within his grasp, declined to appear on national television. This means only one thing: a white female reporter publicly rejecting him to his face when he demanded to be interviewed, together with Muslims chasing him away within the hour, could well have constituted the moment Mohamed Hijab was set on the road to dictatorship. This man is extremely dangerous, and if he is not stopped, tragedy lies in wait.