Chama Mechtaly is a Moroccan-American artist, activist, and policy advisor whose work sits at the intersection of cultural preservation, deradicalisation, and Middle Eastern diplomacy.

Born in Casablanca in 1992 to a Muslim mother and a Jewish father of Amazigh heritage, she draws on her complex identity to promote dialogue and coexistence between Muslim and Jewish communities throughout North Africa and the Gulf.

She recently organised the first-ever Abraham Accords Deradicalisation Summit, where she contributed to shaping cultural frameworks for regional integration in the wake of normalisation agreements.

In today’s conversation, we discuss her recent Quillette essay examining Qatar’s ideological reach into Western institutions, the suppression of critical voices, and the broader ambitions of Islamist movements on the global stage.

Qatar’s Weaponised Mediation: Bankrolling Hamas as Broker

Doha can change when it is forced to, and it must be forced to choose moderation.

QuilletteChama Mechtaly

Drawing from her lived experience across Morocco, the Gulf, and the United States, Chama reflects on how Islamist actors have appropriated the language of democracy to undermine liberal values from within. What emerges is a sobering analysis of the soft power networks quietly reshaping our political and cultural institutions—and the steep cost of looking the other way.

We also explore how culture is weaponised, how the West has failed to confront these forces, and what a path toward genuine peace and pluralism in the Middle East might look like.

Transcript

Zoë Booth: I’ve been very inspired by your work and your advocacy online. And of course, you’ve written a fantastic essay for Quillette, which—without blowing your ego too much, everyone is singing your praises. The whole team is very excited about it, and we’ve had such good feedback. The analytics are off the charts—lots of people are reading it, lots of people are sharing it. And I can see why. It’s a fascinating essay about a small but very influential country that not many people know much about—but you do. It’s called Qatar. Or Qatar, as you pronounce it.

Could you tell us a little bit about what prompted your essay?

Chama Mechtaly: Thank you for having me. This is an essay that really came out of a lot of frustration for me. As readers will learn, I had been really trying to hold Qatar accountable for its massive role in October 7th and in the environment of extremism and polarisation that is tearing the West apart—tearing friends, communities, and families apart.

It really started for me on October 8th. I had spent close to seven years in the Gulf. I understood the differences between the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, and Oman. It was incredibly frustrating that when I brought up Qatar—across policy spaces, media spaces, activism spaces—starting from October 8th, no one knew what I was talking about.

I had spent a long time trying to get articles and news pieces about Qatar published, but the reaction was always the same. People would either ignore me, or say that someone else was writing a more “palatable” piece—something less problematic, less likely to upset whomever Qatari foundation, organisation, or individual might be funding part of their work. Or I would just get complete radio silence.

CM: So I became increasingly frustrated with the level and pervasiveness of censorship—specifically in the West. I grew up in Morocco, in Casablanca, and I understand what it’s like to have Islamists strip away civil liberties—freedom of speech, freedom for artists, freedom for journalists.

I was extremely frustrated to see that same level of censorship now showing up in the West—where people like myself, who have been activists down to our bones since childhood, had once looked to for refuge. The West—Europe, the United States—was the beacon. It was the hope. These were the civilisations that stood for liberty, for free expression, for freedom of thought.

That’s where the piece came from.

ZB: Mmm. Yes. And in the piece—which I highly recommend everyone read—you go into some specific details about just how powerful Qatar is in the US, in particular. I’ve got some stats here from your essay.

So: about $9.1 million injected into think tanks between 2019 and 2023; $6.25 billion into US universities since 2001; $18 million on registered PR agencies in one year. That includes press on the Hill, op-eds, think pieces, and so on. And $14.8 million into the Brookings Doha Center.

Now, we don’t have Brookings in Australia. Is it centre-right? Centre-left? What would you say?

CM: I would say centre-left on domestic issues and centre-right on foreign policy.

ZB: And it’s a huge, influential think tank, right?

CM: Absolutely. Very trustworthy—especially ten or fifteen years ago. It was the main gateway for policymakers in DC into the Middle East. Hugely influential. It really shaped America’s foreign policy in the region, particularly during the Obama years.

ZB: And in the essay, you explain that after so much radio silence and censorship, a journalist friend in DC—someone in the know—told you directly: it’s because all our institutions have ties with Qatar. So we have to watch what we say.

And you went on Newsmax, I believe, to talk about Qatar—and you haven’t been invited back since. That coincided with Qatar injecting a lot of money into Newsmax.

CM: Yes. So again, I had been trying to raise awareness. My goal was to get people to put pressure on Qatar—because I knew they held the keys to stopping the war.

I’ve dedicated my life to building bridges between Muslims and Jews, Arabs and Israelis. I’ve really tried to lay the groundwork for sustainable peace in the region. I've made a lot of sacrifices to stand my ground. So when October 7th happened, it threatened a lot—obviously lives, but also this progress.

It happened, in part, to derail or stop the process of normalisation and regional integration—the Abraham Accords, and this framework of what I call “new belonging” in the Middle East.

For me, it was essential to point the attention towards Qatar and say: If we truly want to stop human suffering, we need to put pressure where it counts. This issue has become so emotionally charged—so divisive. And if we want to move beyond this emotional chaos and polarisation, we need to do that.

And every attempt at applying that pressure was obstructed.

Right after my Newsmax interview in early November 2023, I started reaching out to organisations—including the Hostage Families Forum—to find out if there were any planned demonstrations or rallies in front of the Qatari embassy or consulate. Something that would send a clear message about where pressure needs to be applied.

Over and over again, something would start to form—and then it would get cancelled at the last minute.

That reminded me of a pattern, which I didn’t even explore in the essay. A few years ago, I was scheduled to give a TED Talk in Marrakesh. Now, the TED Foundation has massive support from the Qatar Foundation, which is directly overseen by the Al-Thani royal family.

For this TED Talk, I was contacted by a small educational NGO based in Lebanon that aims to cultivate curiosity and intellectual thought in the Middle East. I was happy to support those ideals. They asked me to give a talk in Marrakesh—on the themes I know best: diversity, inclusion, and belonging.

As someone who has been a progressive all my life, those are my core areas.

But after I arrived in Marrakesh, I was told at the last minute that I could no longer give the talk. I’m certain that someone in the Qatari side of the organisation had learned that I’m a Zionist, that I support Israel, that I’m an activist for the Abraham Accords and for reconciliation between Muslims and Jews.

And they decided I was not the right person to speak at a university campus and address young people.

That’s when I knew they were actively working to derail and prevent progress—particularly conflict transformation in the region.

They’re competing with another project in the Middle East, one led by the UAE, Bahrain, and Saudi Arabia, that focuses on de-radicalisation—especially cultural and social de-radicalisation—and moving the region beyond grievance narratives and ideological stagnation.

ZB: And really setting the Middle East up for what you call the next chapter of civilisational strength in the area.

CM: Exactly.

ZB: So why do you think Qatar is so against that? What do they have to lose from liberalisation and from the UAE, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia going down this path?

CM: They stand to lose a lot—and I go into those details in the article. I hope people will bear with me and give it their attention, because I think it’s really important to understand where Qatar is coming from.

It didn’t begin as an ideological project—it was a pragmatic one. Qatar invested in this entire architecture around the Muslim Brotherhood and its extremist ideology because they had analysts—from Brookings, from RAND, and from other institutions—who projected what the future power landscape across the Middle East and North Africa would look like.

This was in the late 1990s and early 2000s. They projected that by 2010–2011, the region would mostly be ruled by Islamists.

And lo and behold, what happened? The Arab Spring.

The Islamists had been working for decades to prepare the ground—to create conditions in which they could take over almost overnight. And that’s what they did. We saw the rapid ascent of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt with Morsi, and in Tunisia with the Ennahda party. Even earlier than that, the Houthis in Yemen effectively took the entire country hostage.

So Qatar made the right prediction, to be honest. It was very strategic—and that’s what allowed them to gain so much influence over the region.

At the same time, they invested in media—Al Jazeera, of course, but not just Al Jazeera. This is why countries like the UAE, Bahrain, and Egypt actually banned Al Jazeera during the Arab Spring. Because it was fanning the flames of Islamist takeover.

ZB: Please do explain that further—how exactly do they operate?

CM: They are invested in eroding trust—between people and institutions, people and legacy media. Then they go after trust in the economy, in governments or monarchies’ ability to provide opportunities for upward mobility, or socioeconomic transcendence.

They do this by engineering economic boycotts. It starts with: “Israel is committing genocide, so we must boycott Israel.” And then: “We must also boycott any country that does business with Israel.” So we target the United States.

And today, for example, I saw a piece by AJ+—they have a journalist called Dima Khatib.

ZB: I looked into her after you mentioned her—wow, that’s a rabbit hole. Thank you for bringing her to my attention. She’s pretty terrifying.

CM: Yes, and here’s the interesting part. We know Ireland has been very vocal in its pro-Palestinianism—and I say Palestinianism, to quote Einat Wilf, because it’s not actually about being pro-Palestinian. It’s dismissive and damaging to Palestinians.

So, AJ+ brings up Ireland as an example and says: Ireland is pro-Palestinian, but it hasn’t boycotted Israel in terms of its military and defence relationship, or its ties to Israel’s health-tech industry.

So they try to create economic unrest. More turmoil. More social dissatisfaction. That’s how they push people into the streets to protest—and then demand different governments.

And who’s been on the ground building grassroots movements, specifically in communities that feel neglected or disenfranchised? They have.

That’s how they tip the balance of power—because they’ve spent decades building relationships in these communities. That’s the strategic, pragmatic part.

Now, post-blockade in 2017, Saudi Arabia tried to pressure Qatar into divesting from the Muslim Brotherhood and cutting ties with the Islamic Republic.

But it wasn’t working. And this was at the height of Arab Spring-related instability. So, overnight, Saudi Arabia and the UAE imposed a blockade on Qatar—by air, land, and sea.

This marked a turning point. And in the article, I explain how Qatar’s posture changed—moving from a pragmatic approach to an ideological one.

They built a museum that became known as the “Victory Museum.” It tells a story of Qatari nationalism, of resilience—how they flew in hundreds of cows overnight to provide fresh milk for their population.

Because the reality is, nothing grows in Qatar. They can’t feed their own population.

So when Saudi and the UAE imposed the blockade, Qatar had to find a way to rebrand itself—not as another Gulf state, but as the Gulf state that defied the odds.

ZB: So again, more of this victim mentality—that the world is out to get us, but we are strong... Wow. There’s so much to unpack.

I actually met a Jewish Israeli guy who lives in Qatar. He can’t tell people he’s Israeli, obviously, for safety reasons, so he uses a different passport to live there.

He told me stories about what it’s like to live there. It’s fascinating.

He said it’s becoming more and more regressive. A few years ago, for example, there was a government decree to remove all Israeli flags from libraries. So any book that had an Israeli flag had to be removed.

They also banned images of the pride flag—any rainbow symbols—and even images of pigs or pork. I found that fascinating.

He said it actually made it harder for parents to teach their kids not to eat pork, because how do you tell a child not to eat something if you can’t show them what it is?

CM: And also, no Sesame Street. No Peppa Pig.

ZB: Yeah. Fascinating country.

And when you talk about nationalism—I’ve always struggled to differentiate the Gulf nations. To many Westerners, they seem so similar.

You know, unlike Iran, which has this rich and distinct history—Zoroastrians, Babylon, Persian empires—what makes Qatar Qatar? What makes it different from the others?

CM: That’s a great question.

I think, in general, the Arab world has a crisis of identity—a real crisis of self.

And projecting all of that onto Israel and the Jews becomes very easy.

There was no effort to truly craft sovereign national identities in most of these states—because sovereign states themselves are a recent invention.

Modern Israel emerged from the same 20th-century struggle for sovereignty—against British, French, or Italian colonialism.

CM: But interestingly, instead of turning inwards and telling authentic stories about who they are, Arab states embraced pan-Arabism—perhaps the most toxic ideology before pan-Islamism took hold.

Pan-Arabism created this illusion of unity—this idea of a singular Arab identity. But it was necessary because they had no other way to construct narratives of development or transcendence—especially when Israel, a regional neighbour, stood as a stark contrast.

Israel is a miraculous country. Holocaust survivors, and Jews expelled from Middle Eastern and North African countries, rolled up their sleeves and built a functioning, democratic state. That was incredibly difficult.

But instead of saying, “We can do that too,” the Arab world projected all of its insecurity, failure, and inauthenticity onto Israel and the Jews.

ZB: Incredible.

CM: So, when we talk about differentiating the Gulf countries, it’s important to note that pan-Arabism did a lot of damage in flattening those differences.

Now, the two competing projects in the region—the Abraham Accords and what I would call the Qatar-Islamist-Muslim Brotherhood axis—offer two very different paths forward.

We’re at a fork in the road.

The Abraham Accords began what I call a de-Arabisation of the conflict. That process, in turn, started to unravel the myth of Arab identity itself—the identity politics that so many in the region had clung to for decades.

Once you move past that, people begin looking inward and realising: there’s no such thing as a monolithic “Arab.” But there is such a thing as Bedouin culture, for instance.

And that opens up all sorts of bridges to Israel. Israel has a thriving Bedouin community—both in the Negev in the south and in the north. Bedouins serve in the IDF and have done so for decades.

There are so many ways to build connection. But what blocks that is the Islamist ideology—whether it’s through the Muslim Brotherhood, the Islamic Republic, or Qatari media like Al Jazeera.

That ideology actively limits people’s imagination. It restricts how they relate to one another.

But to summarise: yes, there are major differences between the Gulf countries. And those differences have become more pronounced over the past few decades.

I think one of the early signs of that came in Kuwait.

Kuwait was once seen as a champion of ideals that Qatar now pretends to uphold—diversity, inclusion, openness.

When Kuwait welcomed the Palestinian Authority, it was very invested in that ideology. For a time, Kuwait was seen across the Gulf as the most liberal, the most Westernised, the most open society.

But then came the betrayal. The Palestinians aligned with Saddam Hussein, which led to the invasion of Kuwait and the Gulf War.

That war was devastating. It was the first major conflict in the region—and Kuwait never really recovered.

And my prediction is this: because Qatar has invested so heavily in Palestinianism and in its alliance with Hamas, I think it’s heading towards the same trajectory as Kuwait—towards irrelevance.

There’s so much more political history behind each of these countries. I would love to write separate articles on all of them.

There’s a lot to unpack about how Saudi Arabia formed as a modern nation-state—and what set it apart from the UAE, which is really a federation of Emirates under Abu Dhabi’s leadership.

ZB: Mmm.

CM: Now, part of Qatar’s insecurity, I think, stems from the fact that it was meant to be just another Emirate within the UAE. But at the last minute, Qatar pulled out of that project.

So socially, when you live in the Gulf and interact with Khaleejis—that is, people from the Gulf states, all of whom fall under the Gulf Cooperation Council—you notice a particular dynamic.

ZB: Sorry—Khaleejis?

CM: Yes, Khaleejis. It’s the term for Gulf nationals—people from any of the Gulf states.

And historically, because of the GCC, there was always this idea of brotherhood between the Gulf nations.

But Qatar has always been the enfant terrible. That’s how I describe it in the article.

They’re the ones who, at the last minute, do something that sets them apart—and often betrays that brotherhood.

Now, something I didn’t discuss in the essay—but would be fascinating to explore—is the specific relationship between Saudi Arabia and Qatar.

After the blockade in 2017, there was eventually a shift—particularly after COVID. There were simply too many regional crises to manage.

So the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia made a visit to Qatar. It was a sort of reconciliation tour that included other Gulf countries too.

And he said something very telling: “We want to develop our country toward Vision 2030, and we want to make sure we don’t leave any of our brothers behind.”

That was significant.

It was a signal to Qatar: we want to turn the page. We want to move away from strong-arming and towards cooperation.

Because they realised that pressure didn’t work. It only made Qatar more radical.

And this shift happened after many failures—such as the war in Yemen.

Saudi Arabia also realised that, post-Trump, the US was pulling away from the security pact. They couldn’t rely on the West anymore.

There were Houthi attacks on the UAE—and the US barely responded.

So now, the Gulf states understand they need to resolve their internal issues differently.

In future articles, I hope to explore these intra-Gulf dynamics more deeply. Because it’s crucial that Western readers begin to understand:

Who are the moderating actors in the region—and who is doing the exact opposite?

We lump them all together in the West.

Look at London. Half of it, or more, is owned by the Qataris. That explains a lot about the rapid turn towards radicalisation and extremism—not just in protests, not just in violence, but inside political institutions.

Even speeches in the House of Lords.

ZB: Members of Parliament, mayors... Could you say more about Qatar’s influence in London? I wasn’t that aware of it.

CM: That’s probably another article to write.

Qatar has a multi-pronged investment strategy. They have a lot of wealth—and they’ve discovered they can use it to pressure politicians.

Last year, King Charles received the Qatari royal family and praised them publicly. He gave them a very privileged position.

This mirrors what the Trump administration did in the US.

Why? Because Qatar has managed to infiltrate some of the biggest families, the biggest financial institutions, and the largest real estate projects in London.

They’re now majority stakeholders in some of the city’s most significant developments.

So it becomes very difficult to expect a climate of truth, transparency, and open discourse—when there’s so much money and influence being wielded behind the scenes.

And we have to call it what it is: corruption.

ZB: Yes. And if we could go deeper into that—because you mentioned Ireland before, and I really want to get to the root of what the end goal is here.

You said Qatar creates more social disruption and a lack of cohesion, so that local Irish or English people—or whoever they are, Londoners—begin to distrust their institutions, their governments, their mainstream media, and then they turn to something else.

Are you suggesting that they turn to Islamism?

CM: Yes, absolutely.

And it doesn’t always present itself as Islamism. It often shows up as socialism or leftist democratic movements. But the underlying mechanism is the same.

The reason you have many people from Iran, and across the Middle East and North Africa, speaking out against this is because we’ve seen it. We’ve lived it.

In my case, it wasn’t 1979 Iran—it was the Arab Spring.

At the very beginning of the Arab Spring, I was a university student at Brandeis University. It’s a culturally Jewish institution in the US, famous for its progressive values. Its motto is “Truth even unto its innermost parts.” Social justice is almost like the anthem of the campus.

And during my early days there, while the Arab Spring was just starting, a German citizen—a European—who was doing post-doctoral research in biotechnology approached me.

He was trying to recruit me into an Islamist organisation in Morocco.

That was shocking.

I had fought so hard to learn English, to get to university in Massachusetts, to attend a Jewish school, to connect with diverse Jewish communities—and here I was, being approached by someone attempting to recruit me to an Islamist movement.

That made me very sensitive to what was happening both in the Middle East and North Africa and in liberal, progressive spaces across the West.

So yes, this is the common thread. It’s the Red-Green Alliance. That’s the project they are pursuing.

They’ve built super PACs. They’ve created political tools, political campaigns, political leaders—everything required to change the face of Western civilisation as we know it, and as we’ve known it until recently.

ZB: Wow. I think a lot of Westerners really struggle to understand why anyone would want to completely change the face of another country.

Sure, the English did that through colonisation. The French did. But France today isn’t trying to reshape other nations.

So why? Maybe it’s a naïve question—but why do Islamists want to change the West so much?

Is it ideological? Do they genuinely believe a caliphate would make the world a better place? Is it about power? Do we threaten them? What is it?

CM: That’s such an important question.

Let me go back to that moment I mentioned earlier—when the man approached me at university. The way he framed it was:

“You’re a social justice warrior. You care about socioeconomic equality, liberal rights, giving poor people a chance. So you should be part of this movement.”

And he said, “Right now”—this was 2011, 2012—“we have people in every village, every city, every community, every mosque across the Middle East and North Africa, educating young people about what true social justice means.”

For them, this is ideological. It is religious. But it draws from the most extreme and fundamentalist interpretations of Islamic texts.

And, of course, those interpretations are the most sexist, the most repressive. But they don’t start there in the conversation.

First, they build a mass movement. Grassroots. Mobilised. Then, once they have enough political power—once they’re in parliament, in the House of Lords in the UK, or in the US Congress—then they begin to change laws and subvert democracy from within.

And here’s something I’ve been trying to make people understand—something I will die on this hill for: They’ve mastered the language of democracy. They speak it fluently. So fluently that the West has been duped.

The West believes these Islamists are the only hope for democratic transition in the Middle East and North Africa.

We saw this during the Obama years. There was so much belief in the Arab Spring—as though it were a democratic awakening.

But if you actually looked at the facts on the ground—if you spoke to people, instead of relying on soundbites from Al Jazeera—you would have seen that there was a power struggle taking place.

There were secularists who truly wanted more freedoms—not necessarily democracy in the Western sense, but more margin for free thought, more opportunity.

And they were opposed by Islamists, who were better organised, and who used religious texts to manipulate people emotionally.

Because tradition is so deeply rooted in the region, they were able to quote verses and invoke religious aspirations in order to sway political sentiment.

So yes—it is about building a global caliphate. It’s about globalising the intifada, globalising Islamist ideology.

It’s just hard for people who are invested in liberal values, who have lived in the West and been removed from these realities, to fully understand or feel confident speaking about this—because they’re afraid of being labelled racist or Islamophobic.

And of course, there’s a history to those terms, and how they’ve been weaponised.

So I understand the progressive person who wants to do the right thing, who doesn’t want to participate in racism or discrimination.

But what I would ask of those people is: go to the Middle East.

And you don’t need to go to Gaza. Go anywhere. Go to the more stable or prosperous parts.

Have conversations with people. And they will expose to you the existence of these competing projects.

You’ll find that about 30–33 percent of the population are not ideologically motivated—they just want to feed their families and live in dignity.

Then there’s a very small elite—highly educated, secular, interested in a liberal lifestyle. They want to drink, they want a social life. But that’s a tiny minority today—because Islamists have systematically suppressed those people.

And then the remaining majority—close to fifty or sixty percent—are fully invested in Islamist ideology.

They truly want to see the return of the khilāfa, the caliphate—from the Mashriq to the Maghreb.

And they’ve been brainwashed. I think it’s okay to say that.

They’ve been led to believe that the only path to justice and equality after colonialism is through Islamism.

They’ve been programmed to think that there can be no decolonisation without stripping Jews of what they have—without destroying Israel and annihilating the Jewish people.

ZB: Mmm.

CM: Part of this is also psychological. It mirrors the failures of Arab and Muslim leadership across the region.

ZB: Yes. The success of Israel and the Jews feels like a humiliation, right?

CM: Exactly. Shame and humiliation are very powerful forces in the Arab world.

They’re used as tools of power and influence.

If we look at social dynamics within families, for instance: we can talk about honour killings, of course, but even in less extreme forms, you’ll see enormous pressure from older brothers, uncles, fathers—any authority figure—on anyone who dares to think differently.

There are immense social and political pressures against free thought.

And this is embedded in the education systems.

I went to public school in Morocco. I went through twelve years of Islamic education classes.

And the irony is that I would go from an Islamic education class to a philosophy class—boiling with questions.

I was often the only one asking those questions aloud.

And my peers would say, “You’re going to hell.” “How dare you question these things?”

It was an atmosphere of censorship, of policing one another’s thoughts.

So, of course, we don’t have many allies for liberal values or for Israel or even for moderation—because there’s been a decades-long project across the region to brainwash people and strip away their agency.

And here’s the Islamist trick: instead of allowing people the environment for critical thinking, they say, “You don’t have agency because of colonialism.”

“You don’t have agency because of the French, or the British, or the Jews, or the Americans.”

ZB: So—shifting the blame.

CM: Yes.

I grew up in Morocco. I was there when 9/11 happened. And I remember how people internalised it.

The narrative was: “Now there’s going to be anti-Muslim sentiment.” “There’s going to be war.” “The West doesn’t want us to develop.”

But who was committing the terrorist attacks in the heart of Casablanca?

It wasn’t the West. It was Islamists—blowing up hotels, Jewish community centres, cafés—any space that encouraged liberal thought.

These were the only places where people could drink, exchange ideas, live freely. And they were targeted.

ZB: It’s like Stockholm syndrome.

It’s very frightening—and I suppose that leads to my next question. There are two more topics I really want us to cover, and one is Trump. But before that, I want to ask more on this issue of Islam—specifically the distinction between your everyday Muslim and Islamism.

Because unfortunately, like many people, I’ve become jaded since October 7th.

I’ve always considered myself a liberal. I was very “woke” in my teenage years and early twenties. I volunteered a lot. I remember thinking: who needs the most support in Australia? And my answer was Muslims.

I thought: Muslim Australians are the most stigmatised, the most discriminated against. Islamophobia is a major issue.

So I dedicated hours every week to volunteering with newly arrived Syrian and Afghan refugees. And it was a deeply meaningful experience—I learned a lot.

But since October 7th, I’ve really changed my mind.

I’m feeling quite hopeless about whether Islam is compatible with the West.

I do believe that individual Muslims can contribute greatly to Western societies. But I fear what a growing population means. That sounds gross and xenophobic—I hate even saying it—but I don’t know how else to express these concerns.

CM: That’s a great question. And I really commend you for saying it aloud—because it captures what a lot of people are feeling but are afraid to articulate.

So here’s what I think:

It’s very difficult to reconcile Islam with Western civilisation, given the decades of extremism we’ve seen.

The Islamists in particular have championed the most fundamentalist interpretations of Islam—and they’ve pushed those interpretations relentlessly.

There are Islamic philosophers and feminists who have attempted to reinterpret Islam in more reformist ways. But what happens to them? They’re killed. They’re hanged. They’re persecuted. Their books are banned and burned.

Now, what’s tragic for Muslims in the West is—

And I found it really interesting that you used the word care. You said you volunteered out of care.

Well, the most nefarious Islamist lobby group in America is actually called CAIR—Council on American–Islamic Relations. It’s an acronym.

But the name itself preys on that impulse: the desire to help, to protect, to empathise.

And what they do—what Islamists have done—is restrict who counts as a Muslim.

They control who gets to speak for Muslims, both in the West and in the East.

And if someone steps out of line? They’re boycotted. Silenced. Ostracised.

They’re punished—especially socially.

And that’s a particularly cruel form of punishment for people from Eastern backgrounds, where the idea of personal boundaries and individualism doesn’t really exist.

So for many Muslims, if they want to belong to a community, they either have to stay silent—or join the Islamist movement, promote it, preach it.

That’s the tragedy of what we’ve allowed to happen in the West.

And I’d be very happy to go into what allowed this in the first place.

There are patterns—and most of them didn’t come from bad intentions.

A lot of it was about lacking budget or capacity.

Let’s take France, for example.

France has a long and complicated postcolonial relationship with North African Muslims.

Then you add to that a government which, when it allocated resources, didn’t prioritise integration.

They didn’t invest in exposing Muslim communities to the very liberal values—liberté, égalité, fraternité—that are supposed to be France’s DNA.

ZB: Mmm.

CM: And that made it hard for Muslims to feel any sense of belonging to the French state.

Meanwhile, the Muslim Brotherhood saw this gap.

They stepped in. They built mosques. They created community centres.

They met not only the socioeconomic needs of the Muslim community in Europe—but also their cultural and spiritual needs.

So they offered a ready-made environment, shaped entirely around Islamist discourse.

That’s what happened in much of the West.

I’m in Brooklyn, New York now. And I know a lot of people here—people like you—who genuinely want to be helpful and empathetic.

But they feel a bit icky even naming these contradictions—because they don’t fully understand Islam theologically.

And unless you do understand Islam—not just the religion, but its political history, how it evolved into a political project, and how different Muslim cultures interpret it differently—it’s very hard to see where the red lines are.

I was fortunate to grow up in Morocco, which is somewhat different.

There was a constant negotiation there between Islamists and moderates—a balancing act between political and social forces.

And that was possible because Morocco has a constitutional monarchy.

I’ll give you an example: during the Arab Spring, the protests reached Morocco.

At first, they were secular—calls for more freedom.

But quickly, they were hijacked by Islamists.

In response, the King called for a constitutional reform. He summoned a committee that included atheist activists—and that’s huge, for a Muslim monarch who calls himself Commander of the Faithful.

The committee also included women, minorities, and Islamists. And they drafted a new constitution.

That constitution stated that Moroccan identity includes several components: an Arab component, an African component, a southern European component, and a Jewish component.

It was an incredibly pluralistic document.

ZB: Pluralistic—mmm.

CM: Exactly.

It created a kind of political and social vaccination.

It gave people the room to interpret the constitution in many different ways.

I was in Parliament myself at the time, and I hosted an event asking: what does it mean to recognise the Jewish component of our constitution?

Does it mean that Hebrew should be taught in public schools?

So that process of negotiation was really important—and it shows up in different ways across the Gulf too.

This is where I think I can bring a lot of value: as someone who spent a long time in the Gulf, I can help bridge that gap and show how de-radicalisation has already begun in some places—and how it might be scaled.

That’s what I’m focusing on now.

ZB: Well, you do incredible work. And it’s amazing to hear someone with such deep knowledge of the Middle East, Islam, and Judaism speak so clearly.

Thank you.

I know we’re short on time, but the last thing we really need to cover—because it’s so topical and so important—is Trump.

What’s going on with his rapprochement with the Qataris?

Please tell me he’s playing some kind of long game. Because I really don’t know what to make of it.

CM: Yes—I have some hope, but also some concerns.

My hope comes from the fact that Trump is very close with the Saudis and the Emiratis. He’s really tried—despite tremendous pressure—to maintain that relationship, to push the Abraham Accords forward, to call for their expansion, and to bring other countries into that framework.

ZB: Just to clarify—did he start the Accords, or was it Kushner? Or did they start earlier?

CM: No. I actually have a very different reading of the Abraham Accords—one you don’t often hear in Western audiences.

I believe the Abraham Accords were mostly led by the moderating, de-radicalising countries themselves.

ZB: MBS, those guys?

CM: Exactly.

These leaders, especially post-Arab Spring, were determined to find new ways to de-radicalise their societies.

And Trump presented them with an opportunity. He wasn’t from the traditional political establishment. That meant he was more willing to listen to what they wanted—what their communities needed.

He responded well.

Now, similar efforts had been under way with Hillary Clinton and the Democrats—and with President Obama. But they failed miserably.

So instead of seeing the Accords as a Western-imposed process—some kind of neocolonial extension of Western influence—I see them as something organic, something rooted in local needs and interests.

And it wasn’t just a top-down initiative.

There were many different religious and ethnic groups who wanted a relationship with Israel—because they were facing horrific Islamist persecution themselves.

They saw Israel as a model of transcendence, of liberation from Islamist repression.

So to dismiss that would itself be a kind of colonial attitude—stripping agency from the majority of people in the region.

The pan-Arabist, Islamist political class is very loud—but it does not represent the majority.

That said, it’s complicated—because the Islamist and pan-Arabist intellectual frameworks are very pervasive.

Even people from minority groups—who should naturally see Israel as an ally—have often been brainwashed into thinking it’s the enemy.

That’s where Qatar has played a massive role, too.

But I do think Trump was the right person to carry the Abraham Accords forward and to institutionalise them within US policy.

That’s the hopeful side.

On the other hand, I worry about the people around Trump.

And I don’t just mean his political advisers—I’m talking about the more extreme Christian ultra-nationalists, who are not only antisemitic, but also loudly anti-Muslim.

ZB: Yes—the Marjorie Taylor Greenes, and I’m a bit out of the loop, but people like Tucker Carlson as well?

CM: Yes—Tucker Carlson, for example. And it’s been made public that he’s taken money from the Qataris too.

ZB: Do you think Trump is actually influenced by these people? Or is it just that they have huge audiences, and he needs to pay attention to them?

CM: I worry more about the next presidential cycle.

Whoever comes out of that will have to cater to this sentiment—which is growing fast.

I heard it during the last inauguration in Washington, D.C. It’s real.

And I’m not afraid to call it out.

Now, what Trump did—just to bring this full circle—is he offered the Qataris a deal.

He spoke the language they understand.

He said, “You’re worried about your survival? Your security? Fine. We’ll give you assurances. We’ll take your money. We’ll take the private jet.”

But at the same time, he pressured them to back off from being so militant—so deeply invested in the Muslim Brotherhood.

And we’re starting to see results.

I wrote a short piece about this on the day of the peace summit in Sharm El-Sheikh in Egypt.

It was clear how those dynamics were shifting.

For the first time, the Qataris publicly said that they hold Hamas responsible for breaking the ceasefire. That just came out a few days ago.

ZB: Wow—that’s a good step.

CM: It is.

We’re also seeing changes at Al Jazeera. They’ve started firing some of the most radical, problematic people within that institution.

So yes, there is hope.

That’s why the tagline of my article is that the Qataris must be pushed—strong-armed, especially by someone like Trump, who understands the language of deals.

They must be forced to divest from the Muslim Brotherhood.

Because without that, there’s no chance for peace in the Middle East.

There’s no chance for a safe, secure, integrated Israel in the region.

We must see a full divestment from this horrific ideology that has held the region—and now much of the world—hostage.

ZB: Wow.

Thank you. Thank you so much for your clarity on what Qatar is, what it’s doing, and the extent of its influence.

It’s deeply concerning—but also, as you said, there’s some hope.

I really hope you write more for Quillette. We all got so much out of your essay.

If people want to follow your work, where should they go?

CM: I’m most active on social media.

Instagram in particular—because that’s where I’ve seen the most extremism coming from my own generation.

So on Instagram, I’m @millennialmoor, and I’m on X.

And I’m also writing more on Substack now. It’s called Peace After October 7th.

Because I’m really interested in identifying and calling out the bad actors in the so-called peace movement—and exploring what real peace could look like going forward.

ZB: Beautiful. Well, thank you so much for your work—and for joining me.

CM: Thank you so much for having me.