YAHYA SINWAR: THE HARDCORE TERRORIST WHO DOESN’T HIDE BEHIND A VEIL, UNLIKE METTE FREDERIKSEN
DANISH VERSION METTE FREDERIKSEN KALDER DRÆBTE HAMAS-LEDER HARDCORE JOURNALIST
Yahya Sinwar—a man the world knows as a “hardcore terrorist”—stood in plain sight, refusing to retreat, while Mette Frederiksen hides behind her political veil. It’s almost laughable how she demands transparency from Hamas, yet chooses the comfort of selective outrage and silence when it comes to the suffering of Palestinians.
For over a year, we’ve seen Frederiksen condemn Sinwar without acknowledging the deeper context of his resistance. And now, as Yahya Sinwar stands firmly with his people in Gaza, we have to ask—where is your veil now, Mette Frederiksen?
I WAS SHOCKED TO DISCOVER THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF YAHYA SINWAR
After hearing Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen label Yahya Sinwar as a “hardcore terrorist,” I was utterly shocked. How could she, without hesitation, reduce his life’s struggle to such a simplistic label? The contrast between her words and what I’ve learned from Yahya Sinwar’s will is devastating.
A REFLECTION ON YAHYA SINWAR’S WILL AND MY OWN STRUGGLE
The tragic events of October 7th, 2023 left me grappling with an unbearable weight, not just because of the violence but because of the way it exposed the world’s double standards. Watching the ongoing suffering in Palestine, I could no longer stay silent. Yahya Sinwar’s legacy, his will, and his lifelong fight for freedom resonate deeply with me.
Being a openminded Muslim and a foreigner in a society ruled by white supremacy, I know all too well the sting of being treated as an outsider. Frederik Vad, with his public declarations that foreigners will never truly belong, only magnifies the sense of rejection. Like Yahya Sinwar, I’ve fought for recognition, for the right to be seen as an equal human being. His story isn’t just about Palestine—it’s about all of us who fight against the oppressive systems that marginalize us.
THE WILL OF YAHYA SINWAR: A LEGACY OF RESISTANCE
Yahya Sinwar, born in the Khan Younis refugee camp in 1962, lived a life of struggle and defiance. His will, discovered after his death, reflects a spirit of resistance that shaped his entire existence. In one of the most powerful lines, he wrote:
“I am Yahya, the son of a refugee who turned exile into a temporary homeland, and turned a dream into an eternal battle.”
When I read these words, I felt them deeply. I, too, have been displaced—not from my homeland but from society itself. Mette Frederiksen speaks of Sinwar as a criminal, yet his will speaks of a man who, like me, understood what it means to be cast aside, to be told you don’t belong.
THE SHOCKING CONTRAST: SINWAR’S RESILIENCE VS. METTE FREDERIKSEN’S RHETORIC
Sinwar’s will reveals a man shaped by oppression, someone who fought against the systematic erasure of his people. In contrast, Mette Frederiksen remains silent on the suffering of the Palestinians, yet loud in her condemnation of Hamas. How can she claim the moral high ground when her words reflect only one side of the story?
As a young man, Yahya Sinwar was molded by the harsh reality of occupation. He wasn’t born into violence; he was forced into it by a system that left him and his people no other choice. His will reads:
“My will to you: do not fear prisons, for they are just part of our long journey toward freedom.”
This hit me hard. I’ve faced my own “prisons”—societal expectations, racial bias, rejection based on who I am. His words remind me that these prisons, both literal and figurative, don’t define us. They’re just part of the journey we must endure.
WHO IS YAHYA SINWAR? MORE THAN JUST A TERRORIST
For Mette Frederiksen, Yahya Sinwar is a terrorist. But for me—and for many Palestinians—he’s so much more. He’s a symbol of resilience, someone who took the pain of rejection and turned it into strength. He understood that justice wouldn’t come without a fight. In his will, he left us with this lesson:
“Do not wait for fairness, but be the fairness.”
These words have stayed with me. In a world where people like Frederik Vad and Mette Frederiksen tell us we’ll never belong, I refuse to wait for their approval. Like Yahya Sinwar, I will create my own path, fighting for my place in a world that constantly tries to push me out.
YAHYA SINWAR’S FINAL WILL: A CALL TO ACTION
Reading Yahya Sinwar’s will, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. His parting words weren’t just meant for his people—they were meant for anyone who has ever felt marginalized or oppressed. He wrote:
“If I fall, do not fall with me, but carry the banner that never falls and make my blood a bridge for a generation that rises from our ashes stronger.”
These words are not just a call to arms; they are a call to resilience. They remind me that no matter how much Mette Frederiksen and the rest of the world try to frame resistance as terrorism, we must carry on. Whether the battle is for Palestine or for acceptance in a world ruled by white supremacy, we must continue to fight.
THE TRUTH BEHIND THE VEIL: A HARSH REALITY
As I reflect on Yahya Sinwar’s legacy, the stark contrast between his courage and Mette Frederiksen’s rhetoric couldn’t be more glaring. Sinwar, stripped of any political veil, stood beside his people, refusing to give in. Yet, Frederiksen continues to hide behind political convenience, branding anyone who resists as a hardcore terrorist.
No matter how many labels they throw at us, we will continue to stand, refusing to be silenced. Like Sinwar said, “Do not wait for fairness, but be the fairness.” This is my fight. This is our fight.
Testament (Yahya Sinwar) Full version
Testament (Yahya Sinwar)
As I write these words, I recall every moment of my life, from my childhood in the alleys, to the long years in prison, to every drop of blood spilled on the soil of this land.
I was born in the Khan Younis refugee camp in 1962 during a time when Palestine was a torn memory and forgotten maps on the tables of politicians. I am the man whose life was woven between fire and ashes and I realised early on that life under occupation means nothing but a permanent prison. From my earliest days I knew that life in this land is not ordinary and that whoever was born here must carry in their heart an unbreakable weapon, understanding that the road to freedom is long. My will to you starts here from that child who threw the first stone at the occupier, who learned that stones are the first words we speak in the face of a world that stands silent before our wounds.
I learned in the streets of Gaza that a person is not measured by the years of their life, but by what they give to their homeland. And so my life was: prisons and battles, pain, and hope. I entered prison for the first time in 1988 and was sentenced to life but I never knew fear. In those dark cells I saw in every wall a window to a distant horizon and in every bar a light that illuminated the path to freedom. In prison I learned that patience is not just a virtue but a weapon, a bitter weapon, like drinking the sea drop by drop.
My will to you: do not fear prisons for they are just part of our long journey toward freedom. Prison taught me that freedom is not just a stolen right but a concept born from pain and shaped by patience. When I was released in the “Wafa Al-Ahrar” prisoner exchange deal in 2011 I did not emerge the same. I emerged stronger, with a greater belief that what we’re doing is not just a passing struggle but our destiny; one that we carry until the last drop of our blood.
My will is for you to remain steadfast, clinging to your dignity and to the dream that never dies. The enemy wants us to abandon resistance, to turn our cause into endless negotiations, but I say to you: “Do not negotiate over what is rightfully yours”. They fear your steadfastness more than your weapons. Resistance is not just a weapon we carry but it is our love for Palestine in every breath we take, it is our will to remain despite the siege and aggression.
My will is for you to remain loyal to the blood of the martyrs, to those who have left us this thorn filled path. They paved the road to freedom with their blood, so do not waste those sacrifices in the calculations of politicians or the games of diplomacy. We are here to continue what the first generation began and we will not stray from this path no matter the cost. Gaza was and will remain the capital of steadfastness, the heart of Palestine that does not stop beating even if the world closes in around us.
When I took over the leadership of Hamas in Gaza in 2017 it was not just a transfer of power, but a continuation of the resistance that began with stones and continued with the rifles. Everyday I felt the pain of my people under the siege and I knew that every step we take toward freedom comes at a price, but I tell you “The cost of surrender is much greater”. So hold on to the land as firmly as roots cling to the soil, for no wind can uproot a people who have chosen to live.
In the Al Aqsa flood battle I was not the leader of a group or movement, but the voice of every Palestinian dreaming of liberation. I was driven by my belief that resistance is not just an option but a duty. I wanted this battle to be a new chapter in the book of Palestinian struggle where the factions unite and everyone stands in the same trench against an enemy that never distinguishes between a child and an elder, or between stone and a tree. The Alqsa flood was a battle of spirit before it was a battle of bodies, and of will before it was a battle of weapons. What I leave behind is not a personal legacy, but a collective one for every Palestinian who dreamed with freedom, for every mother who carried her son as a martyr on her shoulder, for every father who wept bitterly for his daughter who was killed by a treacherous bullet.
My final will is that you always remember that resistance is not in vain, nor is it just a bullet fired; but a life lived with honor and dignity. Prison and siege have taught me that the battle is long and the road is hard, but I also learned that people who refuse to surrender create miracles with their own hands. Do not expect the world to be fair to you, for I have lived and witnessed how the world remain silent in the face of our pain. Do not wait for fairness, but be the fairness. Carry the dream of Palestine in your heart and make every wound a weapon and every tear a source of hope.
This is my will: do not lay down your weapons, do not throw away stones, do not forget your martyrs and do not compromise on a dream that is rightfully yours.
We are here to stay in our land, in our hearts and in the future of our children.
I entrust you with Palestine, the land I loved until death and the dream I carried on my shoulders like a mountain that never bends.
If I fall, do not fall with me, but carry the banner that never falls and make my blood a bridge for a generation that rises from our ashes stronger.
Do not forget that the homeland is not just a story to be told, but a reality to be lived, and with every martyr born from this land a thousand more resistance fighters are born.
If the flood returns and I am not among you, know that I was the first drop in the waves of freedom and I lived to see you continue the journey.
Be a thorn in their throat, a flood that knows no retreat, and do not rest until the world acknowledges that we are the rightful owners, and that we are not just numbers in the news.
Yahya Sinwar, born October 29th, 1962
died as a martyr October 16th, 2024
May you rest in peace. Power to the resistance. Save Gaza and free Palestine
YAHYA SINWAR YOUNG: A LIFE OF PAIN, RESILIENCE, AND RESISTANCE
As I reflect on the life of Yahya Sinwar, I can’t help but feel a deep connection to his story. He wasn’t just a figure of resistance; he was a human being who grew up under circumstances so harsh that they shaped him into the leader he became. Born in Khan Younis in 1962, Yahya Sinwar young didn’t have the luxury of a carefree childhood. He was raised in a world where survival was the only option, and from a young age, he knew that his life would be defined by the struggle against occupation.
WHO WAS YAHYA SINWAR YOUNG?
I imagine Yahya Sinwar young, living in a refugee camp, surrounded by the constant reminder of loss and devastation. As a child, he saw his homeland taken from him. His playgrounds were the war-torn streets of Gaza, his lullabies were the sounds of bombings and destruction. Yahya Sinwar, like so many young Palestinians, didn’t have the chance to experience a normal childhood. His life was a battle from the moment he was born.
For me, reading about the way Yahya Sinwar young grew up resonates deeply. Growing up in a place where you’re constantly reminded that you don’t belong, that you’re unwanted—that’s a feeling I understand all too well. It’s a pain that stays with you, shaping every decision, every action.
WHERE IS YAHYA SINWAR NOW? A LEADER BORN FROM PAIN
Yahya Sinwar was shaped by his surroundings. He saw the violence and oppression his people faced daily, and it turned him into the man who would later lead Hamas. But before all that, he was just a young boy living in a refugee camp, trying to understand why his people were being punished for existing. I see so much of his struggle in my own experiences—constantly fighting against systems that are built to keep us down, to silence us.
YAHYA SINWAR YOUNG AND THE PAINFUL ROAD TO RESISTANCE
As a young man, Sinwar knew that his path would not be easy. He understood that the world would never be fair to him or his people. He learned that to survive, you must resist. His pain, his oppression, turned into resilience. I feel that deeply—when the world constantly tells you that you don’t belong, you learn to fight back, not because you want to, but because you have no other choice.
Yahya Sinwar young became a symbol of that fight. His life was not just about resistance—it was about refusing to let the world define him by his pain. I see myself in that. His story is one of finding power in vulnerability, of turning oppression into strength.
WHO IS YAHYA SINWAR NOW? A LEGACY BUILT FROM STRUGGLE
Yahya Sinwar young was a boy forced to grow up too quickly. But the strength he gained from his experiences made him the leader he is today. His story is not just about resistance but about the human spirit’s ability to endure despite everything. I see that same resilience in myself, in everyone who fights against systems of oppression.
His journey from a young boy in Khan Younis to the leader of a movement is a reminder that pain can fuel change. As I reflect on his life, I am reminded that we all have the power to turn our struggles into something greater. Yahya Sinwar’s life is proof that even in the darkest moments, there is always hope.
WHY THE DOUBLE STANDARDS, METTE FREDERIKSEN? TIME TO CONFRONT THE TRUTH ABOUT YAHYA SINWAR
October 7th, 2023, is etched in our memories as a day of great significance. It’s been a year filled with trauma, emotional devastation, and a polarized world that grows more divided by the day. Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen, your loud condemnation of Yahya Sinwar and Hamas is well-documented, yet your silence on the human tragedy endured by the Palestinians speaks volumes.
Since May 15th, I have repeatedly asked for transparency from your office, but to no avail. I last reached out on September 23rd, and still, no response. Is this how a leader who claims to stand for justice and fairness operates? You choose to focus on labelling Yahya Sinwar as a hardcore terrorist, yet where is your voice when it comes to the innocent Palestinians suffering from occupation?
SINWAR: THE “HARDCORE TERRORIST” OR A SYMBOL OF RESISTANCE?
It’s easy to call Yahya Sinwar a terrorist. He’s been framed as the mastermind behind Hamas’s resistance, leading operations that some view as a direct threat to global peace. But, where is the discussion about why someone like Sinwar even exists? Growing up in a Khan Younis refugee camp, his life has been shaped by the violence and oppression surrounding him. While you stand silent on these realities, you only perpetuate the one-sided narrative that brands him a “hardcore terrorist.”
Your portrayal of Sinwar focuses on his violent actions, but isn’t there more to this story? How about addressing the root causes of the conflict? Or are you only willing to speak up when it fits a narrative of Western supremacy?
THE WESTERN NARRATIVE: SELECTIVE OUTRAGE AND DOUBLE STANDARDS
It’s impossible to ignore the glaring double standards in your rhetoric. You call for Hamas to remove their veil of secrecy and accountability, but where is your outcry for the Palestinians trapped in this ongoing conflict? Yahya Sinwar, a figure shaped by decades of violence, is branded as a symbol of terrorism. Yet, how can you remain silent when Palestinian children are killed, homes are destroyed, and Gaza is reduced to rubble?
This selective outrage — where Sinwar is vilified without addressing the Israeli occupation — reflects a deeply biased narrative. Western powers, including Denmark, have always been quick to point fingers at resistance leaders while conveniently ignoring the oppression that fuels their rise.
CHALLENGE ME, DON’T BLOCK ME: TIME FOR TRANSPARENCY
You blocked me on social media, Prime Minister, a move that only highlights your refusal to engage with genuine criticism. Why hide from tough conversations? You label Sinwar a terrorist while avoiding the inconvenient truth about the Palestinian struggle. Your silence only serves to dehumanize the oppressed.
This is not just about Hamas or Sinwar; this is about your refusal to speak on behalf of those trapped in an imperialist system, crushed by capitalism and white supremacy. Your selective condemnation reeks of hypocrisy.
LET’S HAVE A REAL CONVERSATION ABOUT PALESTINE AND SINWAR
I challenge you to a public debate — let’s strip away the half-truths and face the reality. No more hiding behind a Western narrative that conveniently frames resistance as terrorism. Let’s talk about why people like Yahya Sinwar are driven to resist, why they refuse to lay down arms, and why your silence on the Palestinian cause is deafening.
You asked for transparency, Mette Frederiksen. Now it’s time to show it. It’s time for you to confront the real issues at hand. If you’re truly committed to justice, then speak for the oppressed, not just for the powerful.
FINAL CONCLUSION: WHEN THE VEIL FALLS, WHO IS THE REAL TERRORIST?
Now that Yahya Sinwar has unveiled his face, standing not in some distant luxury, but in the heart of the resistance, the truth has become clear. He was there, not hidden in tunnels, but right beside his people, bearing the weight of their struggles. He didn’t flee to safety, nor did he hide behind politics or diplomacy. Yahya Sinwar, the so-called “hardcore terrorist,” stood firm, while the rest of the world continues to hide behind veils of lies and hypocrisy.
So I ask you, Mette Frederiksen, where is your veil now? You accuse him of being a coward, but Yahya Sinwar faced the fight head-on, just as we all do. No matter how much we resist, no matter how much we fight for our rights, we will always be branded as “hardcore terrorists”. That’s the reality—any resistance to the status quo, any stand for freedom, will always be painted with the brush of terror by those who refuse to see their own oppression.
But if being a “hardcore terrorist” means standing up for what’s right, refusing to bow to occupation, and carrying the fight for justice in our hearts—then so be it. We will wear that label with pride, because we know that the real crime is remaining silent in the face of oppression.
