Justin

I want to start with Justin.

He died about two weeks ago. We spent two years working side by side, fighting to free Gaza. And then - days after he passed - the ceasefire happened. A breakthrough. A moment of hope. He should have seen it. He would’ve cried with joy. He cried easily, actually - especially around children. You could see it on his face: the love he carried, the depth of it. Kids felt safe with him. They adored him. And he adored them right back.

His love was deep. Too deep, maybe. And I think it killed him.

Each day we woke up with pain in our chest. Many times we only could understand each other because of our exact roles as TikTok live hosts for families in Gaza.

But Justin was a good man. And this wasn’t just my loss. The world lost something real when he left.

What made this harder was that two weeks before Justin died - Papa Mufti died.

He was my father figure. I met him on TikTok. He went by “Mufti,” and he found me when I was still an atheist wandering in the dark. He pulled me into the light - into Islam - and stayed with me every step of the way. He taught me, raised me, disciplined me, and loved me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

When he died, I thought I’d fall off the path. I was scared I’d drift again.

But something unexpected happened: I got stronger. More rooted. More determined. I decided I’d keep going - for them. Everything we said we’d build together - the unity groups, the activism, the vision - we’re still building it. I’ll honor them both with action.

Their dreams didn’t die with them. They live in me now.

Gaza has a ceasefire. But Gaza isn’t free. Palestine isn’t free.

Until Everybody is Free Nobody is Free