🚨 I can’t stay quiet this Ramadan. Too much is being lied about.

Gaza, Iran, the Epstein files—too much is being hidden. I’m returning to reporting, starting today.

As-Salaam-Alaikum and good afternoon from New Jersey.

Ramadan was supposed to be simple for me this year.

I planned to dedicate the entire month to worship, to quiet, and to raising funds for families and orphans in Gaza. I wanted my heart to be focused, my spirit to be clean, my days to be built around faith and service—feeding people, keeping children safe, getting trucks in, keeping promises.

But the world isn’t letting us have “simple.”

And I need to be honest with you about why I’m changing course starting today.

There is a level of deception happening right now—about Gaza, about Iran, about the Epstein files, about the widening corruption and violence shaping this era—that is not just “media bias” or “a different perspective.” It’s a coordinated refusal to tell the truth, especially in the United States and in places where U.S. and Israeli power sets the boundaries of what is permitted to be said out loud.

And I’m not saying that as a cute line. I’m saying it as someone who has watched with my own eyes how reality gets edited into propaganda.

I’m saying it as someone who has seen the way mainstream coverage can treat the slaughter of civilians like weather. The way it can describe apartheid and occupation as “complicated,” while it treats Palestinian grief like an inconvenience. The way it can frame the killing of children as “clashes,” while it never asks the basic moral questions that any decent person should ask.

And I’m saying it because I’ve learned the hard way: if we don’t insist on the truth, the truth gets buried. Not with a shovel. With silence. With omission. With a thousand small lies told softly enough that they feel like “objectivity.”

So here’s what I’m going to do.

Starting today, I’m coming back full force with my writing.

I’m going to report. I’m going to investigate. I’m going to name names. I’m going to connect dots. I’m going to take the stories you’re being fed and show you what’s behind them—because if we don’t understand what’s happening in front of us, we cannot protect ourselves, we cannot protect the vulnerable, and we cannot demand accountability from anybody.

And I need you to understand something about me: most writers and journalists are writers first, and then they do humanitarian work on the side.

I’m the opposite.

I am a humanitarian who writes.

The work is what drives me. The change. The impact. The way a family eats because we showed up. The way an orphan sleeps safer because we refused to forget them. The way dignity can be restored, even in small doses, when the world is trying to strip it away.

So while I’m coming back with my writing, I’m also not stepping away from Gaza. I can’t. I won’t.

We still have families to feed nightly. We still have orphans to sponsor and protect. We still have trucks to fund and supplies to move. We still have promises to keep.

And yes—Ramadan remains the center of my heart in all of this. I’m still fasting. I’m still praying. I’m still trying to keep my intentions clean and my focus on Allah. But part of faith is refusing to be naive about evil. Part of worship is refusing to let lies rule the earth unchallenged.

This is one of those moments where silence is not piety.

Silence is surrender.

So let me set expectations clearly:

You are going to hear from me more, not less.

Some days you’ll get reporting. Some days you’ll get fundraising. Some days you’ll get both—because the world is demanding both. Because people are hungry and the truth is under attack at the same time.

If you don’t want to donate, I still want you here. Read. Learn. Share. Stay grounded. Don’t let propaganda make you numb. Don’t let the flood of headlines make you forget that every “update” is a human life somewhere.

And if you can donate, please do. Because the same systems that distort the truth are the systems that starve the vulnerable, and we are trying to interrupt that cycle with real help.

I’m grateful you’re here. I mean that.

Ramadan is a month where we train our souls to choose the right thing—even when it’s hard. Even when it costs us comfort. Even when it means we cannot look away.

Starting today, I’m choosing the right thing the only way I know how: by telling the truth and feeding the people who need us.

Love and appreciate each of you.
Your friend and brother,
Shaun