I’ve been called many things in my time working for the Muslim community in Sydney, but there is a recurring name that has stuck: “sell out”. Although often associated with musical acts that move from indie niche to mainstream success, abandoning their fans and values in the meantime, it has come to mean something slightly different to Muslims.

To Muslims, selling out refers to making a compromise on your beliefs and is often associated with engagement with power structures. On the surface, this logic is based on the idea that engagement with these structures, especially in the west, can never be genuine and can never be on Muslim terms.

It is upon this logic that Islamic State (Isis) has ordered its followers to kill three Sydney imams: the Grand Mufti of Australia, Dr Ibrahim Abu Mohammed; Sheikh Shady Alsuleiman; and Sheikh Ahmed Abdo. All three are known for their work in engaging different communities and working with government, policing agencies or with other faith groups.

By trying to excommunicate these sheikhs and essentially branding them as “sell outs”, Isis is seeking to justify its call to violence against them. The use of such inflammatory rhetoric, as a form of propaganda, is neither new nor exclusive to Isis, and has been used time and again by groups from across the political spectrum. However, it is vital to note that what lies beneath the rhetoric from all sides is an important point on engagement.

It’s important to state (although it has been said in a variety of ways, ad infinitum), that the violence of Isis is abhorrent and unacceptable. The best way to thumb our collective nose at their desire to be part of a discussion about faith and engagement would be to have that conversation without their input or presence.

The term “sell out” is used as a counter to a power imbalance, as a means of expressing distrust in the avenues for engagement between Muslim communities and state power structures. And it is here where the conversation must begin when discussing the reasons for branding such individuals in this way.

Engagement in and of itself must be underscored by a power balance between the participating parties. Without this balance, what will result is a skewed conversation, one that is almost theatre in the way it follows a pre-determined script. What is not to be spoken about is ignored, what is focused upon is the symbolism and platitudes that are used to maintain the status quo.

By taking part in these so-called conversations without the ability to frame the discussion or the ability to have it on our terms, Muslims become complicit in our own silence. Moreover, we are also complicit in the injustices eked out under that silence, having been unable to break the cycle of violence and enforced obliviousness.

The wounds and trauma of the Syrian civil war, the Iraq war, the invasion of Afghanistan, the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, the Israeli occupation of Palestine, the Lebanese civil war, and the current violence in Yemen – all of these conflicts are partly the result of the interference of western powers, both recent and long-standing. Colonisation continues to deeply affect communities, with the trauma lasting generations as the entire region seeks to reconcile its history with its present, and its people with the interests of foreign powers.

These scars, fresh or deep, are at the forefront of any conversation on power and politics, no matter the level or relevance. Conversations at all levels must be framed by these injustices, by a global, historical, political context that would seek to be guided by a need to recognise and right those injustices.

So, when the Muslim community is in conversation with government agencies or police, on any particular issue, whether it be criminality, socio-economic challenges, obstacles to education and so on, the coordinates of that conversation need to be reset.

Unfortunately, when discussing something apparently irrelevant to international politics or history, respectability politics plays a huge role, with nobody wanting to appear rude or inconsiderate. However, it is essential we shelve such considerations in the face of a growing need to reshape the way we think about engagement with government and police.

And it’s here where the notion of the sell out remerges, because without its global or historical context these conversations will continue to exclude and alienate any group or party seeking to have their scars recognised and healed.

Without it, genuine progress will be hampered by the notion of the sell out, both in conversations with institutions of power, and with a community continuously sidelined and dismissed.

At the end of the day, it’s not that I don’t want people to call me a sell out, it’s that I want to see the roots of that notion no longer dismissed as just a rhetorical tool used by fringe groups. There are genuine problems with the way we, as a community and as a nation, see engagement, and until we fix that, the issues we face will never be addressed.