In the darkness of suffocating crises, where metals are tested and positions are bought and sold, there is always a rare class that works in the shadows; men who melt silently, making great sacrifices to preserve the fabric of society and protect its security and stability, fleeing the spotlight like the plague, and pouring their sweat and comfort for free. But once the positions subside, the clouds of adversity clear, and tranquility returns to councils and assemblies, strange and bewildering social theater begins, a theater where the real heroes exit the stage with their usual dignity, to be stormed noisily by those who have mastered the art of waiting behind closed curtains and hunting the precious in stagnant waters.

These are the 'opportunity snipers' and status pretenders who possess a unique sixth sense, not for sacrifice, but for knowing the precise timing for public appearance. They emerge suddenly from their hiding places at the moment when the sweat of the toilers dries up and the chapters of hardship end, to take center stage and pluck ripe fruits for which they planted not a single seedling. We are facing an accelerating phenomenon of 'traders in illusory titles,' a segment of humanity that desperately seeks social elevation, resounding designations, and honorary positions far exceeding the size of their actions and real history. They exploit the climate of prosperity and peace to present themselves as legitimate guardians and emergent symbols, competing with morbid passion for the forefront of councils, attributing the arduous feats of reform and development to their empty selves. The glaring psychological and behavioral paradox of these seekers of artificial prestige lies in that sharp split between the mask and the real face. If you searched their historical records carefully, you would not find a single mentionable stance in resolving a stubborn tribal, family, or community conflict, nor would the collective memory record a single sincere 'fazza' in a time of hardship, financial distress, or moral difficulty. Their entire presence is summed up in an 'expensive bisht' worn at major events, hollow formalities, and cloying sycophancy that relies on displaying deceptive appearances, blowing on mirages, and taking photos in the front rows. In contrast, the truly great men and sincere ones retreat into their seclusion, disdaining to engage in this false clamor, leaving the arena to symbols made of fragile paper.

But the real tragedy here does not stop at stealing the limelight and platforms, but in the poisons that this phenomenon injects into the consciousness of new generations. When young people see these opportunists topping the records of praise and prestige without the slightest effort, a distorted concept takes root in their minds: that elevation and status are attained by trading on the efforts of others, media marketing, and displaying appearances, not by giving, sacrifice, and adherence to authentic positions that stem from the depth of character. And amid all this noise, this presence remains as fragile as a spider's web. Time does not wrong anyone, and it is always capable of sifting faces and sorting metals. Hard positions do not accept forgery, and people with their pure instinct can clearly distinguish between one who is authentic in his actions and purity of his inner self, and one who claims prestige with a title empty of credibility. The borrowed masks fall at the first real test and decisive trial, the illusory titles vanish, and only the names of the sincere and faithful remain, engraved in ink of light in the conscience of the land and authentic history.