Do you have the courage to speak beyond your keyboard?

On September 30, renowned photographer and activist Shahidul Alam boarded one of the ships in the Sumud Flotilla, setting sail from Italy toward Gaza in a bold attempt to break the Israel-imposed siege.

It was not a spur-of-the-moment act. It was, in every sense, consistent with Alam's lifelong commitment to confronting injustice -- whether in Bangladesh or abroad.

His departure coincided, by sheer chance, with the violence in Khagrachhari, where at least three people from the indigenous community died during protests over the alleged rape of a schoolgirl.

And yet, instead of focusing outrage where it belongs -- on the violence, and on the broken system -- sections of social media users turned their venom on Shahidul Alam.

Some accused him of "ignoring" Bangladesh's own struggles by sailing for Gaza. Others, in conspiratorial fashion, branded him an "Israeli agent".

The irony is staggering.

People who neither stood in solidarity with Khagrachhari's protesters nor lifted a finger for Palestine suddenly discovered their voices -- but only for slander.

Shahidul Alam does not need a certificate of patriotism from anyone, least of all from those who perform outrage only with their fingers. He has already paid the price of dissent in Bangladesh. He has been jailed, threatened, beaten, and vilified for documenting truths that those in power at the time wanted buried.

From photographing the 1989 democratic uprising to giving young Bangladeshi photographers a platform through Drik and Pathshala, Alam's career has been defined by putting his body and lens where danger lives.

When students took to the streets in 2018 demanding road safety, he spoke out and was dragged into custody, tortured, and held without bail. When journalists faced censorship, he was there on the front lines.

This is not a man who abandoned his country.

To pit Khagrachhari against Gaza is an act of profound dishonesty. Struggles for justice are not mutually exclusive. To care for Palestinians under siege does not mean one cares less for Bangladeshi women, students, or the indigenous community.

Keyboard warriors demand Alam's presence in Khagrachhari as though a single man's physical location could somehow absolve them of their own absence. Where were they when protesters clashed with police? Where were they when survivors of sexual violence sought justice? Where were they when Gaza's children were bombed into silence?

They were online, waiting to weaponise coincidence into accusation. What these critics reveal most is their own insecurity.

It is easier to tear down someone who acts than to admit one's own failure to act. Alam, by setting sail for Gaza, has risked his safety, his freedom. His critics, meanwhile, risk nothing but carpal tunnel.

The "Israeli agent" slur is particularly absurd -- not only because Alam is literally on a ship bound to defy Israel, but also because how words are thrown around by those who have no intention of backing them with substance.

At its core, this controversy is not about Shahidul Alam.

It is about how little respect we afford ourselves and one another. To ridicule a man who has consistently chosen solidarity over silence is to admit that we value cynicism more than courage.

It is to confess that our national instinct is not to stand with those who resist oppression, but to drag them down to our own level of inertia.

Bangladesh is no stranger to people who risk everything for the greater good. From 1971 to the July uprising, ordinary citizens have defied odds for freedom and justice.

Shahidul Alam belongs to this tradition. He may not be carrying a rifle, but he is carrying truth -- and truth is what authoritarians, whether in Dhaka or Tel Aviv, fear most.

The shame does not lie in Alam's voyage to Gaza. The shame lies in our own refusal to confront injustice unless it is convenient, fashionable, or safe. The shame lies in mocking the few who dare to step beyond the keyboard while we remain glued to ours.

You may disagree with Shahidul Alam. You may debate his politics, his methods, even his symbolism. But to smear him with accusations of betrayal or foreign allegiance is not even a debate, let alone anything substantial. It is cowardice from those too timid to act, content to hide behind their screens while shouting empty, weightless words.

And cowardice has never once changed the course of history.

The least we can do is stop dragging him down and start asking ourselves a harder question: when injustice calls, will we choose silence, meaningless slander from our keyboard, or will we, too, finally get the courage to set sail?