Kuwait does not act merely in words, but in deeds.

A burning question: If we asked 10 Kuwaitis, “Do you love Kuwait?” all 10 would say, “I’d die for it.” But if we asked them, “What did you do for it today?” most would fall silent. Where is the problem? We were taught from childhood that the homeland is precious. But we were never taught how to prove that value. Patriotism for us has become synonymous with a science exam on Eid day, a Snapchat photo, and singing national songs in the car. We forgot that the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) wept when bidding farewell to Mecca, saying, “How sweet you are, O city… If it were not for my people, I would not have left.” He loved it because he lived for it and suffered for it. Do we love Kuwait? Fine. Your love is shown when you see an employee throwing paper on the ground and you tell him, “It’s shameful.” Your love is shown when your children break a toy at school, you pay for it from your own pocket, fix it, and tell them, “This belongs to everyone.” Your love is shown when you plant a sapling in front of your house under the scorching heat, water it, and ensure that in ten years your children will find shade under it. The homeland is not just oil and salaries. The homeland is a clean street, a diligent student, an engineer who builds, and a doctor who treats. Each of us is an ambassador for Kuwait through our behavior. “What is the practical solution?” 1. At home: Mother and father are the first ministry. Teach your children that “public property” means “my property and yours.” Whoever breaks a chair in the complex is like breaking a chair in his own home. 2. At work: Perfect your work as if you are building your own house. The doctor who treats with conscience, the teacher who explains from the heart—these people love Kuwait more than a thousand poems. 3. On the street: If you see something wrong, don’t film and share it. Advise. If you see trash, pick it up. One hand cannot clap, but ten hands can build a nation. “The bottom line”: Kuwait does not want tears during crises. Kuwait wants sweat every day. It does not want haircuts only on February 25. It wants actions 365 days a year. O Kuwaiti, do not let your love for her be mere pretty words. Make it an action that will allow your children, thirty years from now, to say, “My father taught me how to love my home.” May God protect Kuwait and its righteous children.