Faith and Hate Cannot Converge

When I turned to poster pedagogy, the choice was not accidental. It came from a deeply personal place, shaped by years of living, observing, and questioning across different walks of life. Posters, in their simplicity, distill what is otherwise lost in lengthy arguments. They catch the eye, they pause the mind, and they leave behind an imprint that lingers. For me, they became the perfect medium to share a message that had crystallized through my own journey: faith and hate should never, and must never, converge.

My life has taken me through diverse experiences. At the Securities and Exchange Commission of Pakistan (SECP), I saw how the integrity of regulation rested not just on technical rules but on the moral choices of those entrusted with them. In the media, I witnessed how words could either sharpen divides or build understanding. In social work, I saw how communities could heal when compassion was present, and how quickly they fractured when it was not. And in education—the field closest to my heart—I realized how every lesson, every word, every gesture sows seeds that grow into either bridges or walls.

Across these domains, one thread remained constant: blind compliance often allows harm to take root, while awakened conscience has the power to resist it. My own path, from a phase of extremism to a place of tolerance, taught me this at a cost. Compliance had once meant silence in the face of prejudice, even acquiescence to division. But conscience, once awakened, became a light I could not ignore. It compelled me to speak, to act, and to teach differently.

The posters I designed were born of this realization. One showed two seeds side by side—one blossoming into a tree of faith, the other withering into thorns of hate. Another depicted children at their desks—some glowing with books of respect and love, others shadowed by prejudice and division. A third cast education as a mirror—reflecting either harmony or distortion depending on what we choose to instill. These images were not abstract art; they were reflections of lessons I had learned in institutions, in classrooms, and in life itself.

What they conveyed was simple yet profound: every space we inhabit—whether a boardroom, a newsroom, a community hall, or a classroom—is never neutral. Each one is shaping values, consciously or unconsciously. Each one is teaching. And the choice before us is always the same: do we allow hate to creep in and harden hearts, or do we nurture faith, compassion, and tolerance that can heal and sustain us?

I chose poster pedagogy because it allowed me to make this question visible, immediate, and human. A child could see it and understand. An adult could see it and be reminded. In both, the message remained clear: hate may divide, but faith has the power to unite.

Now that these posters have been published and shared, I hope they serve as small reminders of a truth that shaped me profoundly—that the real strength of education, regulation, media, or social service lies not in compliance with what is easiest, but in conscience that dares to choose what is right.

In a world where divisions are becoming entrenched, the need to affirm this truth has never been greater. Faith and hate cannot converge. Where one thrives, the other withers. It is up to us to choose which seed we water.

Muhammad Rabnawaz Awan is a teacher and writer whose journey from extremism to tolerance inspires his advocacy for conscience-driven education. He tweets at @ToleranceAdvocate and can be reached at awanrabnawaz@gmail.com.