MARGINALIA: Mt. Kabalukan Not Just Watching, But Listening

MAKATI CITY (MindaNews / 1 May) — In our community in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region, certain slogans rise and fall like tides—repeating themselves in critical political moments, like background chants to our unfolding public story. One of them, increasingly familiar across Facebook captions, TikTok reels, and YouTube videos, especially during moments of political reshuffling and electoral frenzy, is the solemn line:

“We hear and we obey” (sami‘na wa ata‘na).

It sounded during the 2022 presidential elections. It resurfaced earlier this year during the second extension of the Bangsamoro Transition Authority (BTA), at the moment the Interim Chief Minister was replaced by the President. Now, as the nation inches toward the 2025 midterm elections, the same slogan is finding traction again—shared with reverence by some, met with unease by others.

On the surface, it projects loyalty. Stability. Order.

But beneath that surface lies a troubling question: To whom is this obedience rendered? And why?

Tracing the Sacred Root

The phrase “We hear and we obey” (سَمِعْنَا وَأَطَعْنَا) is not just a catchy line—it is a direct quotation from the Qur’an. In Surah al-Baqarah 2:285, we read:

“The Messenger has believed in what was revealed to him from his Lord, and so have the believers. Each one believes in Allah, His angels, His books, and His messengers. [They say,] ‘We hear and we obey. [Grant us] Your forgiveness, our Lord. To You is the return.’”

In this sacred context, obedience is rendered to Allah—whose commands are just, whose knowledge is absolute, and whose mercy is boundless. The believer’s response is not robotic, but trusting and deliberate. They hear the Divine command and submit willingly—not to power, but to truth.

Signifying an unwavering commitment to Allah’s guidance as delivered through Prophet Muhammad (s), the phrase is connected to accepting divine judgment without hesitation or dispute as we thus read in Surah al-Nur 24:51:

“The only response of the [true] believers, when they are called to Allah and His Messenger to judge between them, is that they say, ‘We hear and we obey.’ And it is they who will succeed.”

This obedience is unconditional only because the One who is obeyed is infallible.

The Slippery Shift

But what happens when this sacred phrase is lifted from the Qur’an and placed at the feet of temporal rulers? When it is chanted not in mosques or during moments of spiritual recommitment, but at rallies, in defense of decisions made behind closed doors, in the justification of political maneuvers, or in rationalizing an electoral campaigning spree?

The phrase is transformed. Its meaning is lost in translation—not linguistically, but morally. Obedience, in this case, becomes uncritical loyalty. And the slogan becomes a shield against scrutiny—a tool of sacralized politics.

But Islam has never called for blind obedience to leaders. On the contrary, it has set a very clear criterion, right from the moment Abu Bakr ibn Quhafah addressed the early Muslim community after the Prophet’s demise.

Obey Me… So Long As

Abu Bakr stood before the grieving ummah and declared something radical—radical then, and perhaps even more radical now:

“O people, I have been appointed over you, though I am not the best among you. If I do well, then help me; and if I act wrongly, then correct me. Truthfulness is synonymous with fulfilling the trust, and lying is equivalent to treachery” (Ibn Kathir, Al-Bidayah wa’l-Nihayah, vol. 6, pp. 305–306).

This statement, rooted in the caliphate’s theory of non-appointment, established the conditionality of obedience to human leaders. Authority is not sacred. It is a trust, not a throne.

Here lies the gap between “We hear and we obey” as Qur’anic submission to Divine command, and as political slogan in service of fallible actors.

From Hearing to Listening

Let us turn briefly to Arabic linguistics.

In Arabic, there is a difference between sami‘a (سَمِعَ) and istama‘a (ٱسْتَمَعَ). The first means “to hear”—it is passive. The second means “to listen attentively”—it is active, deliberate, thoughtful.

The Qur’an honors those who listen with discernment:

“So, give good tidings to My servants who listen to the word and follow the best of it”
(Surah al-Zumar 39:17–18).

So, when slogans urge us to “hear and obey” without reflection, without even listening, something is profoundly lost.

The path from hearing to obedience must pass through understanding.

Mt. Kabalukan Speaks Again

In March 2022, as the nation stood on the edge of an electoral cliff, I wrote about Mt. Kabalukan:

“Kabalukan is a silent, yet vigilant, watchtower. Will this national exercise eventually bring to the Palace the sitting lady successor, or catapult into power the son of the dictator who brought nightmare to the people as depicted in Bapa Tangkli Benito’s ‘Tudtulan sa Kinambakwit’ (Story of Internal Displacement and Evacuation)?” (https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1EDSLzpJXF)

That was a time of waiting—of watching the fate of the country unfold like clouds over that quiet mountain.

Now, Kabalukan is no longer just watching. It is listening.

Its winds carry the cautious voices of a people once silenced, now discerning. Its slopes recall the weight of internal displacement, of martial nightmares, of promises broken and trust betrayed.

Its sons and daughters are no longer passive hearers, but listeners—of history, of memory, of principle.

The Danger of Sanctified Slogans

There is a pattern in history. When societies lose the ability to question authority, they often replace moral responsibility with ritual slogans. When sacred phrases are stripped of their context and co-opted by power, they serve not faith, but fear.

Obedience becomes the price of survival. Silence becomes virtue.

But Islam never asked us to be silent in the face of injustice or corruption. The Noble Messenger (s) himself declared:

“The best jihad is speaking a word of truth before a tyrant ruler” (Musnad Ahmad ibn Hanbal, vol. 3, p. 19; Sunan Abi Dawud, hadith 4344; Jami‘ al-Tirmidhi, hadith 2174; Sunan al-Nasa’i, hadith 4209).

A Call for Discernment

As the midterm elections loom, and as the temperature of political discourse rises once more, the challenge before us is not to hear louder—but to listendeeper.

To listen, not just to campaign jingles, but to the cries of those still waiting for justice.

To listen, not just to the slogans of the powerful, but to the silences of the displaced, the betrayed, the forgotten.

To listen, as Kabalukan listens—not with blind acceptance, but with circumspect clarity.

Reclaiming Sacred Obedience

“We hear and we obey” is a beautiful phrase—in the right context.

Let us keep it where it belongs: in our response to Divine guidance, to justice, to truth.

Not as a blanket slogan for men and movements.

Let us reclaim the inaugural criterion as our ethical compass: “Obey me so long as I am right. Disobey me when I am wrong.”

That is how we honor both faith and freedom.

And as Mt. Kabalukan stands firm, listening and remembering, may we too become watchtowers of conscience, ever attentive—not just to noise, but to truth that must be heard, obeyed, and lived.

[MindaViews is the opinion section of MindaNews. Mansoor L. Limba, PhD in International Relations and Shari‘ah Counselor-at-Law (SCL), is a publisher-writer, university professor, blogger, chess trainer, and translator (from Persian into English and Filipino) with tens of written and translation works to his credit on such subjects as international politics, history, political philosophy, intra-faith and interfaith relations, cultural heritage, Islamic finance, jurisprudence (fiqh), theology (‘ilm al-kalam), Qur’anic sciences and exegesis (tafsir), hadith, ethics, and mysticism. He can be reached at mlimba@diplomats.com, and his books can be purchased at www.elzistyle.com and www.amazon.com/author/mansoorlimba.]