A broken world on the eve of Christmas: Where is Christ's message in the West?

The irony is stark, Western nations, born from Enlightenment ideals intertwined with Christian ethics, now export a version of "faith" that is weaponized for a powerful oppressor.

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article can be found on Substack.

As the world hurtles toward Christmas Day 2025, over 2.3 billion Christians prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ—a figure whose teachings of peace, compassion, mercy, and justice have shaped civilizations for two millennia. Yet, in this season of supposed goodwill, the actions—or inactions—of leaders in the world’s Western predominantly Christian nations reveal a profound hypocrisy. The Western alliance, led by countries like the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Germany, and France, claims a heritage rooted in Christian values. But their policies and silences in the face of atrocity tell a different story—one of moral abdication that mocks the very ethos of the faith they profess.

Consider the land where Jesus Christ was born, preached, and died—the Holy Land, now a cauldron of genocide and suffering in Gaza and the broader Palestinian territories at the hands of Israeli oppressors, one that has been this way for decades. Here, amid the rubble of what was once Bethlehem’s neighbour, heinous crimes unfold daily—indiscriminate bombings, forced displacements, ethnic cleansing and a humanitarian catastrophe that the International Court of Justice has labelled as plausibly genocidal, and that the United Nations has labelled as undoubtedly genocidal.

Christians and Muslims alike—brothers and sisters in humanity—are caught in this vise of violence, their lives extinguished or upended in ways that echo the ancient laments of the prophets. Palestinian Christians, a dwindling community, and one on the brink of extinction in Gaza, tracing their roots to the time of Christ, face existential threats, their churches destroyed and their faithful scattered. Muslims, too, endure unimaginable horrors, from starvation sieges to the targeting of hospitals and school, and the destruction of anything that could sustain human life.

And what of the West’s response? These self-proclaimed beacons of Christian democracy arm the genocidal Israeli perpetrators—the US vetoes UN resolutions calling for ceasefires, and nations like the UK and Germany offer platitudes about “self-defence” while ignoring the disproportionate carnage. The US, under both Republican and Democratic administrations that routinely invoke God in speeches, provides billions in military aid to Israel, enabling the very genocidal acts that ravage the birthplace of Christianity. Canada, the UK, Germany, and France follow suit, condemning and suppressing domestic anti-Genocide protests, labelling criticism of Israel as antisemitism, and turning a blind eye to war crimes documented by human rights organizations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch. In all of this where is the Sermon on the Mount? Christ’s call proclaiming “blessed are the peacemakers” rings hollow when Western leaders prioritize geopolitical alliances over halting a slaughter that has claimed over 75,000 Palestinian lives, with more than a third of them children.

This isn’t a mere policy failure, it’s a betrayal of Christ’s core teachings. Jesus preached love for enemies, turning the other cheek, and caring for the least among us—the poor, the oppressed, the stranger. He flipped tables in the temple against exploitation and hypocrisy. Yet, Western leaders, many of whom publicly identify as Christians—think of US presidents quoting scripture or European prime ministers attending Christmas services—embody none of this. They champion “Judeo-Christian values” as a cloak of indemnity while preparing for endless wars, and doing nothing about growing economic inequality, and environmental catastrophe, all while allowing atrocities in the Holy Land to continue unabated.

Germany’s “Staatsräson“ policy ties its identity to Israel’s security, but at what cost to Palestinians, Christian or Muslim? France’s laïcité policy masks its oppression of Muslims seeking justice for Palestinians and its complicity in the horrors Israel is committing. The UK’s historical role in decades of oppression, subjugation and brutalization of Palestinians, beginning with the Balfour Declaration and continuing through its decades of unequivocal support for Israel, is a stain that will never wash away. And Canada, with its multicultural veneer and claims of being a defender of international human rights, joins in blocking international accountability for Israel by opposing the genocide case brought by South Africa against Israel at the International court of Justice.

The irony is stark, these nations, born from Enlightenment ideals intertwined with Christian ethics, now export a version of “faith” that is weaponized for a powerful oppressor. They decry religious persecution elsewhere—say, in China or Iran—yet fund it in the cradle of Christianity, the land were Christ lived and spread his message. If he returned today, would he recognize these leaders as his followers? Or would he see Pharisees, more concerned with rituals and alliances than with justice and mercy? More likely the latter.

The world feels irreparably broken, fractured by endless conflicts, climate crises, and a erosion of shared humanity. It’s easy to despair, to see only the darkness enveloping places like Gaza, Ukraine, or our own divided societies.

What can or should we do about how seemingly broken the world is? Can we really do anything to fix it when our efforts are so small when compared to the enormity of the task at hand? History and our experiences teach us that what is broken can be mended with time, tenacity and the collective will of people who desire a world better than one we have.

However, in so doing we must remember to do it with humanity and love that is generous, deliberate and unconditional. The truth is the world we see around us, that seems to be falling into darkness, is actually waiting for the light that’s in all of us to shine forth and begin to heal peoples, societies, environments, and the soul of our world.

© 2025 The View From Here. © 2025 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

Reflections on Christmas in a fractured world

Empathy, a cornerstone of the Christmas story—where a "king" is born in poverty to uplift the marginalized—has been supplanted by apathy and self-interest. 

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article can be found on Substack.

As the twinkling lights adorn our streets and the carols echo through frost-kissed air, Christmas arrives once more like a gentle snowfall, blanketing the world in promises of peace on Earth and goodwill toward all. In its purest essence, this season commemorates the birth of a child in a humble manger—a symbol of humility, compassion, and the radical idea that love can upend empires and heal divisions. It’s a time when we’re called to pause, to extend kindness to strangers, and to envision a world where swords are beaten into ploughshares.

Yet, in the glow of our holiday hearths, one can’t help but wonder: What does this ancient message truly mean in our hyper-connected, hyper-divided, hyper-capitalist era? Amid the festive cheer, Christmas serves as a stark mirror, reflecting not just our joys but the profound dissonances of the society we’ve built and in which we live.

Consider the irony woven into the fabric of this season. Christmas carols speak of silent nights and holy nights, invoking a tranquility that feels increasingly elusive. For eleven months of the year, the world churns with discord—violent conflicts rage unchecked, political vitriol poisons societal discourse, and empathy seems a scarce commodity. Then, as December dawns, a collective mass amnesia sets in. We exchange pleasantries with people we ignore for most of the year, donate to food banks we forget by February, and preach unity while scrolling past headlines of suffering. If the figure at the heart of Christmas—a teacher who championed the poor, challenged the powerful, and preached forgiveness—were to walk among us today, what verdict might he render on our progress? Would he recognize the “goodwill” in a society where kindness is rationed, confined to Hallmark cards and holiday parties, rather than a year-round ethic?

Those of us who came of age in the latter half of the 20th century remember a different cadence to history. From the early 1970s through the late 1990s, despite the Cold War, regional conflicts, and the shadow of nuclear annihilation hanging like the sword of Damocles over us, there was an undercurrent of optimism. The civil rights movements had borne fruit, environmental awakenings like Earth Day promised stewardship of our planet, and the fall of the Berlin Wall heralded an end to the Cold War as millions behind the “Iron Curtain” experienced freedom and democracy for the first time.

We dreamed of a future where technology bridged gaps and improved lives, the economy lifted all boats, and global cooperation tamed existential threats. But the turn of the millennium brought a seismic shift. The horror of the terrorist attacks in the US on September 11, 2001, didn’t just scar a city skyline, they planted seeds of fear that have blossomed into today’s thorny vines of extremism. What began as a response to terrorism morphed into endless wars, surveillance states, and a resurgence of authoritarian impulses that echo the dark preludes of the 1930s.

Today, that once-unimaginable world stares back at us, unrecognizable and unforgiving. In the United States, the most powerful nation on Earth, democratic institutions—forged through generations of struggle—are besieged and being dismantled by forces that prioritize power and control over democracy and principle, eroding hard-won advances in equality, justice, human rights and environmentalism.

In Canada, we have a leader in Mark Carney elected as a Liberal on progressive promises and a commitment to push back against Donald Trump’s economic and political aggression, governing with a conservatism that blurs ideological lines. Across the aisle from him in Parliament the leader of the Official Opposition—Pierre Poilievre—pines to remake Canada in the mold of America’s most conservative of Republican states, where individual freedoms are suppressed, corporate interests are elevated, and cultural wars are used to advance regressive policies. This isn’t the enlightened era Boomers, Gen Xers, or Millennials envisioned growing up. It’s a landscape where fascism’s spectre looms not as a ghost but as a living threat, fuelled by rising right wing extremism, disinformation, division, and a yearning to make things “great” again.

At the core of this malaise lies a profound inversion of values. Empathy, a cornerstone of the Christmas story—where a “king” is born in poverty to uplift the marginalized—has been supplanted by apathy and self-interest. We inhabit a realm where accountability doesn’t exist for the rich and powerful, where petty offenders languish in prisons while titans of industry evade justice for crimes that span continents and affect millions.

Corporations ravage ecosystems in pursuit of quarterly profits, turning forests into wastelands and oceans into plastic graveyards, all while political leaders dither amid the flames of a climate catastrophe that has gotten worse by the year. The planet warms, droughts, floods and fire storms rage, and thousands of species vanish, yet the response is often a shrug, a denial, or a greenwashed press release. How is it that we have normalized this?

The top ten wealthiest individuals in the world hoard wealth like a dragon hoards gold, and that wealth eclipses the GDP of 147 of the least wealthy nations combined, yet they dodge taxes that could fund schools, hospitals and sustainable futures and eradicate poverty. The rest of us foot the bill, watching as inequality grows and festers like a gaping wound, and wonder how the obscenity of a single man having more wealth than could be enjoyed in a hundred lifetimes is allowed to exist.

Worse still is the moral contortion evident in global affairs. On our screens, we witness atrocities unfold in real time—a genocide that echoes the horrors of World War Two, with civilians caught in crossfires of indifference. In Gaza, for more than 800 days, Palestinians have faced horrors that we thought had been left behind in World War Two, with people being slaughtered daily, even during the season of peace and goodwill for three consecutive years, while those with the leverage to intervene opt for silence, political platitudes or complicity. Truth-tellers who decry environmental ruin, economic exploitation, or systemic oppression are marginalized, censored, or worse, by elites who guard their wealth and power. This is a world turned upside down, where humanity’s better angels are drowned out by the clamour of greed and grievance.

We scroll through a daily deluge of ugliness—poverty amid plenty, division amid diversity—and yet, where are the mass mobilizations of people to storm the political barricades? Why aren’t people flooding the streets, demanding a reckoning with these injustices? The future we once hoped for has curdled like sour milk into a dystopia, and we should grieve for the children inheriting this legacy—a planet scarred by our shortsightedness, societies slowly fracturing from our failures.

Yet even in this bleak tableau Christmas whispers a counter-narrative, one that refuses to surrender to despair. The season’s enduring message isn’t mere nostalgia, it’s a clarion call to reclaim what we’ve lost. Peace on Earth isn’t a passive wish—it’s an active pursuit, demanding we extend goodwill beyond December’s borders. Imagine if we harnessed the fleeting kindness of the holidays as a catalyst for lasting change. What if the energy we muster for Christmas family gatherings was extended year-round to the homeless in our streets, the single parent working two jobs to just get by, or the generosity of gift-giving fuelled campaigns against inequality?

History teaches us that progress isn’t linear, it’s forged in moments of collective awakening. The same generations that marched for civil rights and environmental protections can inspire today’s youth to rise against fascism’s tide, to hold leaders accountable for catering to corporate elites, and to innovate solutions for a warming world.

In the manger’s shadow, there’s hope in humility—the recognition that no empire is eternal, no injustice invincible. We’ve seen glimmers in grassroots movements amplifying voices against genocide, youth-led strikes demanding climate action, and communities bridging divides through dialogue. The rich might hoard wealth but they can’t monopolize compassion or activism.

As we “deck the halls” this year, let Christmas be more than ritual, let it be revolution. By embodying its spirit daily throughout the year—choosing empathy over enmity, accountability over apathy—we can weave a new tapestry for tomorrow. The world may seem uglier now, but in the quiet miracle of a single act of kindness lies the seed of redemption. This season, we should do more than celebrate the light, we should become it. Let’s illuminate a path toward the peace we’ve long desired but most of us have seldom pursued. In that pursuit, perhaps we’ll find the just and peaceful world we always imagined—not perfect, but progressing, one hopeful step at a time.

© 2025 The View From Here. © 2025 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

Christmas in Gaza doesn’t mean peace or goodwill, only genocide with Canadian complicity

Refusal of Canada's leaders to condemn Israel, or aggressively prosecute Canadians for genocide, betrays the very essence of Christian ethics—love thy neighbour, defend the oppressed.

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article can be found on Substack.

As Canadian families, including our political leaders, gather around festively decorated trees to celebrate the Christmas season with their children and grandchildren, exchanging gifts and sharing meals in warmth and security, a profound and tragic disparity unfolds half a world away in the Holy Land. In Gaza, a mere 75 kilometres from Bethlehem—the birthplace of Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace—there is no semblance of holiday joy, no “peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” Instead, the historic Christian communities of Gaza teeter on the brink of extinction, ravaged by Israel’s ongoing genocide against Palestinians. Imagine the anguish of families huddled in bombed-out churches, their prayers drowned out by the whine of Israel drones and the thunder of artillery near the very sites where Christ once walked, turned into testaments of despair. 

For Palestinian Christians in Gaza and the West Bank, the Christmas season doesn’t bring celebration, but a soul-crushing despair, as relentless violence, displacement, and deprivation strip away any reason to rejoice, leaving behind only echoes of shattered lives and a faith under assault. This Christmas, like the two before it since October 2023, serves as a grim reminder that the message of hope embodied in Christ’s birth has been utterly eclipsed by unimaginable human cruelty in the very land where it originated.  

The suffering in Gaza is not abstract, it is a visceral, heart-wrenching nightmare that pierces the soul. Palestinian children and their families endure repeated bombings, sniper attacks, weaponized starvation through deliberate blockades of humanitarian aid, lack of sanitation, and inadequate shelter—all orchestrated by the Israeli government. Picture innocent toddlers, their tiny emaciated bodies shivering in the cold December temperatures, eyes wide with terror as explosions light up the night sky, their cries blending with the wails of grieving mothers. This has persisted for over 26 months, turning what should be a time of reflection and renewal into an endless cycle of agony. As we approach Christmas 2025, the supposed ceasefire declared on October 10 has proven illusory, violated by Israel more than 730 times through airstrikes, artillery shelling, sniper fire, and demolitions.

These breaches have claimed at least 394 Palestinian lives and injured 1,075 others, predominantly women and children, according to the Gaza media office. United Nations experts have documented at least 393 violations by late November, resulting in 339 deaths, including more than 70 children. Beyond the direct violence, Israel has systematically obstructed humanitarian aid, defying the ceasefire’s provisions and exacerbating misery through hunger, disease, and exposure to the elements—acts that scream of deliberate cruelty, designed to break the spirit of an entire people.

This calculated inhumanity was exacerbated in early December when Storm Byron battered Gaza, killing at least 14 people, including vulnerable children who succumbed to hypothermia and flooding amid inadequate shelter. Among the heartbreaking victims were eight-month-old Rahaf Abujazar, whose family tent flooded in Khan Younis; 33-day old infant Taim al-Khawaja in Shati camp; and a two-week-old Muhammed Abu Al-Khair who perished after heavy rains inundated his family’s makeshift home. How can one not weep at the thought of a newborn, barely entered into the world, freezing to death because blankets and tents are banned? Israel’s prohibition of essential winter items like tents, blankets, and building materials has weaponized the winter cold against Gaza’s population, who have already endured more than 800 days of genocide. United Nations officials report that Israel has rejected over 100 aid coordination requests since October, allowing fewer than 200 aid trucks daily—well below the agreed minimum of 600. This is not mere negligence. It is a deliberate strategy to increase suffering, to make every moment a struggle, every day a testament to survival against overwhelming odds.

The toll of this genocide is staggering, a mountain of grief that defies comprehension. Euromed Human Rights Monitor, the only independent organization still providing casualty figures for Gaza, places the death toll at over 75,000 Palestinians since October 2023, but experts suggest the true number is far higher when accounting for indirect deaths from starvation, disease, and lack of medical care. Professor Yaakov Garb of Ben Gurion University estimates the total dead could exceed 377,000, including those “disappeared” and presumed dead. Australian academics Richard Hil and Gideon Polya, in their detailed study, push the figure even higher, to over 680,000 dead, factoring in excess mortality from imposed deprivation.

These are not just statistics. They represent shattered families and destroyed hopes and dreams. They represent mothers burying their children, fathers carrying lifeless bodies through rubble, and orphans wandering aimlessly in a landscape of destruction. In Gaza, the ancient Christian community, once a vibrant part of Palestinian life, has been decimated, with churches gutted, congregants displaced or killed, and their presence all but erased by Israel’s policies of ethnic cleansing and apartheid. The survivors, fewer than 500 now from an already dwindling population, cling to their faith amid ruins, their Christmas hymns choked by sobs of loss.

Meanwhile, in the West Bank, Palestinian Christians face an escalating deluge of terror that threatens to wash away 2000 years of heritage. Land seizures, settler violence, and restrictions on movement prevent pilgrimages to sacred sites like Bethlehem, turning the journey to the Church of the Nativity—where tradition holds Christ was born—into a gauntlet of humiliation and danger. Since October 2023, Jewish settler attacks have surged to unprecedented levels, with over 150 incidents documented during the 2025 olive harvest season alone, the highest in recent years. Extremist Israeli settlers, often armed and emboldened by government inaction and backed by the Israeli military have torched olive groves, vandalized homes, and assaulted villagers with impunity, displacing entire communities and instilling a pervasive fear that chokes daily life.

In July 2025, a wave of violence reached the Christian village of Taybeh, where settlers attacked residents, destroying property and leaving families traumatized, their sense of security shattered like broken shattered glass. Just recently, a new settlement near Bethlehem was announced, further encroaching on Christian lands and accelerating the erosion of Palestinian presence in the area. As one Palestinian mayor noted, these actions exploit global distractions to hasten annexation, while UN reports highlight more frequent home demolitions, property seizures, and arrests of innocent Palestinians that compound the suffering. For Palestinian Christians, Christmas is not a time of peace but a painful vigil, their churches standing as fragile bastions pushing back against a tide of Zionist hate, their prayers laced with pleas for survival in a land governed by an ideology hostile to their existence.

Yet, as Canadian leaders like Prime Minister Mark Carney bask in the glow of holiday lights with their loved ones, they appear to give scant thought to this misery. They will sing carols of “Joy to the world” while ignoring the cries of Palestinian children buried under rubble or starving in tents. One has to ask how their hearts remain unmoved by such profound human tragedy? This wilful blindness is particularly galling for those who profess the Christian faith, including Carney himself, who has positioned himself as a leader guided by ethical principles. But what of the Sunday School lessons on Christ’s teachings? The Sermon on the Mount, with its calls to bless the peacemakers, the merciful, and the persecuted? The parable of the Good Samaritan, urging compassion across divides? These seem forgotten in the corridors of power in Ottawa and across the country, replaced by political expediency that betrays the core of faith and supports an evil unseen since the Holocaust.

Since October 2023, Canadian politicians have steadfastly supported Israel, refusing to unequivocally condemn its apartheid regime or the genocide commenced in the fall of 2023. Since then Canada has continued arms transfers, maintained diplomatic ties, and upheld economic relations without imposing any meaningful sanctions. This stance renders Canada complicit in violations of the “rules-based international order” that our leaders so often invoke. As a signatory to the Genocide Convention and supporter of UN resolutions, Canada is legally obligated to prevent and punish such atrocities. Instead, under both former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and now Carney, the government has dragged its feet, offering political platitudes while allowing military exports to flow, including through loopholes that route weapons via the US. This is not Christian mercy; it is moral abdication, a stain on the nation’s soul.

In fact, the behaviour of these “Christian” leaders mirrors the complicity of German Christians who stood silent during the Nazi genocide against Jews and others. Just as ordinary citizens and officials in 1930s and 1940s Germany claimed ignorance or powerlessness while trains carried victims to death camps, Canadian politicians today avert their eyes from Gaza’s horrors. They rightly condemn antisemitism but fail to recognize the parallels between the Nazi genocide and Israel’s systematic extermination of Palestinians. History will judge those who enabled genocide through inaction, and future generations will view Carney, Trudeau, the Liberal Party and the Pierre Poilievre Conservatives as enablers of unspeakable evil. Their refusal to unequivocally condemn Israel, impose a two-way arms embargo, apply sanctions akin to those on apartheid South Africa, or aggressively prosecute Israeli leaders for genocide, betrays the very essence of Christian ethics—love thy neighbour, defend the oppressed.

This lack of a moral compass extends to domestic enablers. Canadian supporters of Israel, including domestic Zionist organizations who claim to speak for all Jews, which through words and actions, have committed hate crimes by endorsing genocide, yet face no repercussions. Leaders like Carney have failed to decisively act against such incitement, allowing it to fester under the guise of free speech. Meanwhile, humanitarian groups in Canada—Doctors for Humanity, Humanity Auxilium, Independent Jewish Voices, Justice for All Canada to name a few—have lobbied Parliamentarians, held media conferences and issued scores of media statements urging Canada to comply with its obligations under international law. They have called for enforcing the Genocide Convention and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, halting arms sales, divesting public funds from Israeli-linked companies, arresting Canadian citizens who joined Israel’s military during the genocide, and advocating for UN-led humanitarian corridors. The calls to action by these organizations, grounded in morality and law, go unheeded, drowned out by the silence of power.

As a nation that claims to be a defender of human rights, Canada must confront its hypocrisy as Christmas looms. While families here unwrap presents, Palestinians in the Holy Land unwrap nothing but grief, their dreams crushed under the weight of occupation and the inhumanity of genocide. In committing its atrocities Israel has also silenced truth-tellers by killing over 270 Palestinian journalists since 2023 (more than all the major wars since World War One combined), and blocking Western media from entering Gaza to tell the truth untainted by Israeli propaganda. This censorship nsures the world sees only sanitized versions of the horror, further enabling complicity and allowing the cycle of suffering to continue unchecked.

In this season of supposed peace and goodwill, Canadian leaders must rediscover their moral bearings, or risk being remembered as those who turned away from the light. Anything less dishonours Christ’s birth and perpetuates injustice. Peace and goodwill demand action by ending complicity, imposing broad sanctions, and standing in defence of basic humanity. Only then can the Holy Land—and the world—glimpse true joy, healing the wounds of a people crying out for mercy.

© 2025 The View From Here. © 2025 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.