Why Superman's struggle resonates with Muslim world

James Gunn's new Superman film may have been written years ago, but its emotional punch has landed squarely in the midst of one of the most horrific humanitarian crises of our time — Gaza.

Audiences around the world are walking out of cinemas convinced that this is not just another superhero movie. For many — especially in the Global South and across the Muslim world — it feels like a stealth parable for Palestine. A traumatised outsider watches his homeland being destroyed by foreign invaders. He is told to remain neutral, to assimilate, to bury his grief. But he cannot. Not when his own people are being erased.

Whether or not this allegory was intentional misses the point. Stories have power precisely because they transcend their creators' intentions. They hold up a mirror to the world — even when the storytellers don't mean to.

Some may ask: why should people in Pakistan or elsewhere in the Muslim world waste their time with Hollywood? Isn't it all just propaganda wrapped in CGI?

Not always.

Superman has always been more than a cape and laser eyes. He was created in the 1930s by two Jewish teens — Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster — as a protest against fascism. He was their immigrant refugee, their Moses, their golem. Over the decades, he's become a stand-in for every group pushed to the margins — Black Americans during the Civil Rights era, undocumented youth, even Muslims after 9/11.

And now, for many, he's become a silent witness to the genocide in Gaza.

Hollywood is rarely innocent. It has been complicit in war propaganda, anti-Muslim stereotyping and the normalisation of occupation. From American Sniper to Homeland, the industry has often painted Muslims as either villains or victims — never heroes.

But cracks are showing.

A new generation of writers, directors and actors — many of them people of colour, some even Palestinian — are reshaping the narrative. Some do it openly. Others subtly. Some slip messages past the censors. Others know that simply showing Arab or Muslim dignity on screen is a radical act in itself.

That's what makes Superman so striking right now. It doesn't mention Gaza. But viewers see it anyway. They see Rafah in the smoldering ruins of Krypton. They see Palestinian youth in Clark's search for justice. They hear the silence of the world in the scenes where no one comes to help.

This is what good art does — it reveals the truth, even in fiction.

Some have warned that even engaging with this film plays into the "trap" of soft propaganda — that it manipulates us into sympathising with imperialism disguised as heroism.

That concern is not unfounded. Hollywood often co-opts resistance narratives, dilutes them and sells them back to us as digestible entertainment. One day it's Gaza, the next it's Gotham. The pain gets repackaged.

But total disengagement is not the answer either.

Our youth are watching. They're talking about Gaza through the language of popular culture — memes, movie clips, video essays. If we cede that space entirely, we leave them to interpret it alone. Or worse, we let others do it for them.

We don't need to worship Superman. But we can use him.

We can remind people that even fictional heroes have to choose sides - and that silence is also a choice.

The true test isn't whether the next Superman movie names Gaza. It's whether the world wakes up to the reality Gaza is living.

In Pakistan, we've long known the power of cultural storytelling — of poets like Faiz Ahmed Faiz, of films that spoke truth to martial law, of satire that punctured hypocrisy. Today's frontline is global, and our tools must be too.

So yes, let's talk about Superman.

Let's talk about every whisper of resistance that makes it past the filters.

Let's talk until no one can pretend they didn't hear.