hushpoint

Egypt Journal: Children in the Siwa Oasis

2010-02-01T23:53:00.000-08:00

Ragheb, Mousa, Moustafa, Rabiah

Ragheb and Mousa

The Screaming Game

Moustafa

Ragheb in Sunglasses

These four kids, all from the same family, ran up on me when I was at the base of Siwa Mountain (the old Berber fortress in the heart of Siwa. Siwans descended from Algerian Berbers generations ago, and have retained much of their culture in this desert oasis. In fact, Siwi, not Arabic, is their first language.) We played around for awhile, and I let them take a bunch of pictures with my camera. Though most of the pictures were blurred, they had a ton of fun pointing and shooting, and learning how to use the viewfinder. They also loved to see their own images light up on the LCD sreen.

At one point they started playing what I've called "The Screaming Game," which was literally just that. They all started screaming, but couldn't contain their laughter for long. It's a fitting game for Siwa and Egypt as a whole, actually. For, even though life is tough for the vast majority of the people here, their ability to smile, and to embrace one another is quite remarkable.

Egypt Journal: The Siwa Oasis

2010-01-31T00:41:00.000-08:00

Siwa Sunset

Siwa Oasis Salt Lake at Sunrise

Siwa Mountain: An Old Berber Fortress

Transportation

True Love

Egypt Journal: The Great Sand Sea, or There's Something About Nothing

2010-01-31T00:24:00.000-08:00

1.31.10

Sea Shells on the Desert Floor (80 million years old)

Tracks

A Grain of Sand

Spine

Rolling Dunes

Egypt Journal: The Great Sand Sea & The White Desert

2010-01-29T02:42:00.000-08:00

1.27.10

The desert is a paradox. It dwarfs us in an expanse of sand, under the endless sky. Makes us feel so small, disconnected and insignificant. But we must remember that even a minute grain of sand came from a stone, which broke from a boulder, which fell from a mighty mountain.

And we, too, come from something much larger than our own individual selves.

Since I've been here in Egypt, this lesson has been made so clear to me, time and again. Bedouins in the Sinai mountains, Alexandrian car mechanics, Siwan safari guides and Cairo football fans, all have pulled me into the fold. I like to think that their kindness comes from reflecting on the cycles of life. We are born into this human body; we grow old, together, and pass on, leaving behind a little of ourselves in everyone we've come across. We are monuments to our own shared past, and what we leave behind is dependent on the zest with which we have lived, the people we have shared with.

We are living history.

Here in the White Desert I'm thinking of my Amma, and June Jordan. They, as much as any others, inform my thoughts and feelings. Inspire my actions and interactions. Though they have withered away physically, both from breast cancer, their legacies are tangible.

The extent to which my life will be meaningful depends upon my own abilities to share what they have passed on to me. Namely, that alone I am small, indeed, but the deeper I connect to the People of this Human Body, the greater Life can be.

L'Humdil'Allah.

Cairo Journal: Crossings

2010-01-25T02:01:00.000-08:00

1.24.09

I love the anarchy of Cairo. In so many ways the people here, despite living under a true life dictatorship, are freer than we are in the states. I say this because there is an imperative here for one to make their one way, and an understanding that everyone else is trying to do the same. This creates an atmosphere of tolerance for behaviors that, in the US, are sources of major frustration.

Crossing the street, for example, is much more than a Pythagoran attempt to get from Point A to Point B. It's a statement of purpose, a declaration of intent that everyone around respects. People generally don't wait for traffic signals--whether on foot or behind the wheel--instead they wade out into the waters, letting one car pass, stepping in front of another which will gently swerve to the right or left, pushing the flow of traffic with it. The lanes are merely suggestions. They represent orderliness, regulation. Control.

But people are not meant to be controlled. We are not meant to have our lives contained within four walls--the apartment, the elevator, the cubicle--where we avert our eyes from our neighbors'.

That old Greek mathematician may have been correct, that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but here one learns that there are other things to consider beyond physical distance. In a place like this, where human interaction is a form of currency, weaving amongst the human tide opens the path for new, uncontrollable possibilities. For, we must see one another, work with one another, and trust one another to act in ways that are mutually beneficial.

It's a recognition that your journey is as important as mine, and I see you making your way.

And we're both going to make it. Insha'allah.

Cairo and Calculus

2010-01-21T08:23:00.000-08:00

1.21.10

"Infinity doesn't interest me
not altogether
anymore"

If you love the People they have the opportunity to love you back. It's a simple sort of calculus. The kind of human mathematics that eschews the infinite abstraction of numbers for the reality of you standing in front of me. And face to face we exchange our human resources that can carry us into a beautiful, and just, future.

And perhaps the governments that have allied to wall us out of Palestine, and wall Palestinians in, know this quite clearly. Perhaps they understand that the economy of human resources, of direct exchange between people, each to each, nullifies their power. Maybe that's why Dictator Mubarak's wife "offered" to allow our material aid through, but kept our selves out. We were the largest solidarity delegation in human history--1400 people from 43 countries. There's no way to account for the returns on a mission of this size and nature. No way to predict, or control its possible outcomes. And in systems built upon tightly orchestrated actions and reactions, our unlimited potential is terrifying.

Though these governments succeeded in blocking our entry, their victory can only be seen as a temporary one. Here in Cairo we have been able to open cracks in their walls. We are too creative, too persistent, too many, and too real to be perpetually denied.

We will keep pushing, and keep organizing. We will keep teaching, and keep photographing. Writing and singing. Our skills and desires are infinite. And this interests me a great deal!

Poem on a New Year's Eve
~June Jordan

Infinity doesn't interest me

not altogether
anymore

I crawl and kneel and grub about
I beg and listen for

what can go away
(as easily as love)

or perish
like the children
running
hard on oneway streets/infinity
doesn't interest me

not anymore

not even
repetition your/my/eye-
lid or the colorings of sunrise
or all the sky excitement
added up

is not enough

to satisfy this lusting admiration that I feel
for
your brown arm before it
moves

MOVES
CHANGES UP

the temporary sacred
tales ago
first bikeride round the house
when you first saw a squat
opossum
carry babies on her back

opossum up
in the persimmon tree
you reeling toward
that natural
first
absurdity
with so much wonder still
it shakes your voice

the temporary is the sacred
takes me out

and even the stars and even the snow and even
the rain
do not amount to much unless these things submit to some disturbance
some derangement such
as when I yield myself/belonging
to your unmistaken
body

and let the powerful lock up the canyon/mountain
peaks the
hidden rivers/waterfalls the
deepdown minerals/the coalfields/goldfields
diamond mines close by the whoring ore
hot
at the center of the earth

spinning fast as numbers
I cannot imagine

let the world blot
obliterate remove so-
called
magnificence
so-called
almighty/fathomless and everlasting
treasures/
wealth
(whatever that may be)

it is this time
that matters

it is this history
I care about

the one we make together
awkward
inconsistent
as a lame cat on the loose
or quick as kids freed by the bell
or else as strictly
once
as only life must mean
a once upon a time

I have rejected propaganda teaching me
about the beautiful
the truly rare

(supposedly
the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore
supposedly
the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore
is beautiful
for instance)
but
the truly rare can stay out there

I have rejected that
abstraction that enormity
unless I see a dog walk on the beach/
a bird seize sandflies
or yourself
approach me
laughing out a sound to spoil
the pretty picture
make an uncontrolled
heartbeating memory
instead

I read the papers preaching on
that oil and oxygen
that redwoods and the evergreens
that trees the waters and the atmosphere
compile a final listing of the world in
short supply

but all alive and all the lives
persist perpetual
in jeopardy
persist
as scarce as every one of us
as difficult to find
or keep
as irreplaceable
as frail
as every one of us

and
as I watch your arm/your
brown arm
just before it moves

I know

all things are dear
that disappear

all things are dear
that disappear

Gaza Freedom March Day #4: Polishing a Turd

2009-12-29T17:55:00.000-08:00

Susan Mubarak, Dictator's wife, has graciously agreed to send 100 people, w/ supplies, from our group of 1400.The delegation will be under her auspices.

Code Pink/Free Gaza March has formally agreed to this "generous offer."

Their thinking, one supposes, for this process was not transparent, is that the aid that people brought (there are individuals here who have raised upwards of $15,000 in aid by themselves) will theoretically reach the stranded Palestinian people. This delivery, from the grassroots, should not be dismissed as symbolic. It is essential that this material aid land in the hands of the intended people. If it doesn't, it would have to be considered an act of piracy. We have seen President Obama deal, rather decisively, with pirates from Africa before. Though something tells me that, if anything, Obama is on the side of the pirates this time.

In addition to the aid getting across the border, 100 people from 20-30 countries accompanying around 50,000 Palestinians on their march from Rafah (in the south) to Erez Military Outpost in the north, is extremely important. The possibilities change with the presence of such an international contingent. The probability of violence from the Occupying Israeli Settler Armies diminishes (though doesn't disappear). The significance of this reduction cannot be understated.

Again, these two points should be seriously considered. But I can't help consider a few others, as well.

At 9:08pm I got a text that reads:

"100 ppl going to gaza wed. Need delegates from these countries now: belgium s. africa, netherlands, turkey, swiss, nz, slovenia, bulgaria, cameroon, indo, mex, romania, bosnia, spain, australia"

It so happens that I've become good friends with the Turkish/Bulgarian/Romanian delegation. So, I sent their names and phone number to the organizers. I got back reply:

"Turkey cant go because theyre not letting people from the middle east in"

*Blink*Blink*

What's that you say? There's an ethnic component to this "Chosen 100?" Is this how far we've fallen, to except a blatantly racist determination against "people from the middle east," who we all have come to support? Why would anyone, ever, agree to that?

It turns out that, some delegations are answering that question by denouncing the entire ordeal.

The South African delegation has categorically refused to offer a single delegate. "This is a sellout," one of the union workers told me. They know something of dealing with dictatorships and apartheid. There is so much to say here, but I haven't the time. I'll just reiterate that the products of the South African anti-apartheid Revolution are insulted by this "offer," and have flatly refused to participate. (There are, as far as I can tell, no South Africans in leadership positions in FGM.)

The French delegation of appx 300, also, have refused, out of hand.

The Italian delegation will not provide a delegate.

The call was to "Break the Siege of Gaza," and the majority of people who have come to attempt that feel that Ms Mubarak's "gift" is racist, elitist, and just plain stinks. For, it's aim is not to break the siege, but to mask the stench of this fetid dictator.

But everyone knows, you can't polish a turd.

Gaza Freedom March Day #3: No Clue By Which to Judge

2009-12-28T15:57:00.000-08:00

12.28.09

"She woke at midnight. She always woke up then without having to rely on an alarm clock. A wish that had taken root in her awoke her with great accuracy. For a few moments she was not sure she was awake. Images from her dreams and perceptions mixed together in her mind. She was troubled by anxiety before opening her eyes, afraid sleep had deceived here. Shaking her head gently, she gazed at the total darkness of the room. There was no clue by which to judge the time."
~Naguib Mahfouz. Egyptian Writer, the first Arab to receive Nobel Prize for Literature.

Today in Cairo everything happened. And nothing. Depending on your viewpoint, by which I mean the point from where you viewed this day's events.

Many of you, no doubt,have seen few if any images, read few if any stories, have heard of few if any of the people who defied Egyptian public assembly laws in an attempt to secure the delivery of humanitarian aid to Palesinians in Gaza. Over 300 French citizens have created a tent city outside of their embassy. A multinational group of approximately 300 (my best eyeball, maybe a little high) people from 43 countries demonstrated outside of the United Nations while Walden Bello negotiated with the UNDP Resident Coordinator (James Rawley). The among the request/demands Bello was making were:

1. Coordinate the delivery of aid from Cairo to UNRWA in Gaza.
2. Mediate between Egypt, Hamas and the other powers for the delivery of this aid to the Palestinians in Gaza.
3. Ensure that the full delegation accompany the material aid to Gaza.

A consensus decision was made by representatives of (some of the) delegations present to stay outside the UN until the request/demands were met. This decision was scuttled when said request/demands were not met, and instead Rawley suggested that we go to our own embassies and pressure them, as the UN has no power in this matter.

Indeed, there is a concentration of power that is overwhelming. How else can a nation of 70 million people be ruled and subdued at the whim of one man for nearly 30 years? I mean, just think about it, Egypt has been in an official state of emergency since 1981, and they have not had an actual election in longer. Egypt is a police state. It is nearly impossible to organize people here, and that's one of the points, isn't it?

We have to prepare ourselves for the possibility that the tons and tons and tons of humanitarian aid, secured by people you know, may never be delivered to Palestinians. The criminal siege of Gaza may not be broken by what may be the largest grassroots solidarity mission in the history of human be-ing.

If we fail the Palestinians, who make living happen in the largest open-air prison in the world, they will continue bear the brunt of morally bankrupt governments and their policies, and our inability to strategically confront/negotiate these blackwaters.

In short, we are stalled, but we have not lost. The next few days may bring new developments, and each of you can play a role--for we are 1300 here, but literally millions back at home.

Sally Struthers Moment: You can call your local representatives and apprise them of the situation. You can tell them that all the aid, and all the delegates should be allowed to enter Gaza, with haste. You can call your Senators with the same message. You can call the Egyptian embassy in your city. Or call and/or fax the US embassy in Cairo: Telephone: (20-2) 2797 3300 Fax: (20-2) 2797 3200

Free Gaza March Day #2: Pressure Cooking

2009-12-26T08:43:00.000-08:00

12.26.09

The Egyptian Government, such as it is, has taken the following steps to deny the Palestinians of Gaza the much needed aid that we in the Free Gaza March have promised to deliver.

*Recind permission for the Viva Palestinia Convoy to enter Egypt by crossing the Gulf of Aqaba.
Aqaba is only four hours from Gaza. Instead of allowing passage through this port, Egypt wants the convoy (of over 250 vehicles loaded with medicines, school supplies and other aid) to either turn over the aid to an Israeli charity organization, to be delivered by this phantom organization, or ferry all the materials around the peninsula, through the Suez Canal, and up to Al Arish.

"But convoy members told Al Jazeera that travelling through the Suez was not a viable option, as passengers are not allowed to go with cargo ships and that the port of El-Arish is too shallow to take the size of ship needed to transport the aid."

Did I mention that they're only four hours away from their destination?

*Rescind all permits for Free Gaza March meetings.
Egypt has been in an official state of emergency since 1981, for the entire Mubarak dictatorship. The UN High Commission for Human Rights says,

"The state of emergency, in force continuously since 1981, was renewed in May, pending the introduction of a new anti-terrorism law that was expected to equip the authorities permanently with emergency-style powers similar to those which currently facilitate serious human rights violations."

Therefore, any meeting of six or more people is treated as a conference and requires special permits, which of course are never given.

*Publicly declare that any demonstrations will be dealt with with the full force of the law.

Again, the UNHCR:

Article 54 of the constitution guarantees citizens the right to hold public meetings, processions, and gatherings "within the limits of the law." However, permission from the Ministry of the Interior is required and generally denied. Public gatherings that do occur draw large deployments of riot police.

*Privately threaten to terminate the licenses of the bus company that FGM chartered.
The company has been paid a sizeable deposit, though is willing to drive us only if the Dictator gives the OK. Even then, one wonders what the repercussions will be for the owner/operators of this company.

*Privately threaten the church that has allowed FGM to use its space for meetings with reprisals.
I guess this can be counted under two human rights violations: freedom of religion as well as freedom of assembly.

At any rate, that's what we are up against here, as we make our best efforts at standing with the Palestinian population caged in Gaza. Tomorrow the French delegation here is taking matters to their embassy, and many of us will go along with them in support. On Monday, depending on if things progress on diplomatic fronts, we will step up our tactics. I don't want to give anything away, so stay tuned for more information.

In the meantime, you can call your Representatives and Senators to encourage them to support the humanitarian aid mission to Gaza. Stress that it is, in fact, humanitarian aid. Egypt is claiming that this is a "political aid" mission. Whatever that is supposed to mean. They are using it to say that we are trying to support Hamas politically.

Personally, I don't care which Palestinians get the medicine. I don't care which Palestinians get the school supplies. It's a massive crisis that is being enforced by governments around the world. We want the people to have some basic supplies, as is their Human Right.

Gaza Freedom March: Welcome to Egypt

2009-12-25T09:30:00.000-08:00

12.25.09

I just received this email from one of the organizers of the Gaza Freedom March. I'll just paste it here, without comment.

At 8:30pm tonight, December 24, 2009, the Egyptian Foreign Minister said on Egyptian TV Channel 2, that neither the Gaza Freedom March nor persons accompanying the Viva Palestina convoy would be allowed to enter Gaza.

The Foreign Minister’s comments confirmed statements made to Ann Wright and Tighe Barry of the Gaza Freedom March steering committee during their meeting this afternoon with the Egyptian Ministry of Foreign Affairs Director of the Office of Palestinian Affairs Hisham Seif-Eldin and officer Ahmed Azzam.

Barry and Wright went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to discuss the December 20 disapproval of the entry into Gaza by the Gaza Freedom March.

Mr. Sief-Eldin said that Egyptian embassies in Europe and North America had received a large number emails and phone calls since the announcement of the disapproval. He was visibly upset by what he described as the “tone” of some of the emails received and forwarded to him by Egyptian embassies in Europe and North America and said that emails contained threats to Egyptian interests by tourist boycotts and personal attacks and derogatory language toward staff members.
He said the position of the security and intelligence services of Egypt in disapproving transiting the Rafah border crossing had “hardened.”

Sief-Eldin said that the permit we had requested to hold an orientation meeting on December 27 at 7pm at the Holy Family complex was cancelled and that the permit for a press conference at the Pyramisa Hotel on December 27 would not be approved.

At the meeting we presented a written request to hold a conference on Gaza for delegates only on December 28 and 29 either at the American University Cairo or at hotel. Mr. Azzad said the Foreign Ministry would forward the request to the security agency but did not believe it would be acted on in a timely manner. The conference would be considered a “political” conference and would have to be approved by the Office of the Prime Minister.

Sief-Eldin in the strongest terms said security services would not permit gatherings with signs or banners.

He said that no group would be permitted to travel to al Arish or Rafah.
He said we should tell the 1360 delegates to “not come to Egypt” unless they were going to do only tourist things.

He said that in a change from yesterday, the Viva Palestina convoy has not heeded the Government of Egypt’s decision on where the convoy should enter Egypt and none of their delegates will be allow to enter Gaza, but the vehicles will enter eventually through a checkpoint in Israel.
We asked again why the Government of Egypt did not make its refusal decision early in the five months process that the Gaza Freedom March has been coordinating with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a decision that would have notified delegates not to spend thousands of dollars on airfare to get to Egypt. Seif-Eldin responded that the government makes its decision on its own time schedule, not on the time schedule of others.

He ended by saying that in Egypt, things are not done in the same manner as in the United States or Europe. The security services will not permit demonstrations or protests and will deal with them quickly.

Beirut Journal: Memories (For Hass Mroue)

2009-12-24T12:34:00.000-08:00

12.24.09

Beirut is the city of scars. Everywhere in that city there are reminders of pain, of the vicious attempts at destroying ways of life. The walls of homes are full of bullet holes. The homes, themselves, full of people who are trying not to remember how these scars got there.

Fighting against memory is different than trying to forget.

New hotels for Gulf and Western businessmen, luxury automobiles and plastic surgery are the manifestations of this attempt at amnesia. The Beirutis are moving forward, into some sort of new day, literally altering their personal and civic landscapes. The former militia leaders now lead the country. European suits and neckties have replaced berets and bandoleros. They are the beneficiaries of the terrible war. Their interests are vested in their people stifling their pain.

I think this is dangerous. I think that the people will need, at some point, to have their say.

I'm thinking of Haas Mroue. The brilliant, and forgotten poet. His book "Beirut Seizures" survived one printing, and now lays buried beneath the bones of thousands of men and women and children killed in his city. The poems he carved on those pages were an attempt to reconcile a terrible past, and to move into a sanctified future. He realized that the surpression of memory is perilous.

He returned to the city of his birth a couple years ago, at 41. His heart attacked him, and now he's gone.

He was a friend to me. He taught me about Fairuz and Rumi. About the beauty of song and poetry. He is the reason I went to Beirut, in fact. I wanted to discover this place that he struggled to come to terms with.

What was it that stopped his heart? Perhaps the scars were too much to bear. Maybe he never could get past his memory. Perhaps it was isolation. With so many of his people fighting against the sharing of history, maybe he felt that his homeland was no longer for him. Maybe the war never ended for him. For, I think it did kill him.

The following two poems are from "Beirut Seizures."

"Alien Anger"
I am a human being.
Nothing human is alien to me.
~Terrence

Soldiers stop my car
pull me out
they wear long coats
and gas masks.
"You're an alien,"
they tell me
and kick my genitals.
It starts to rain
water on thick coats
splattering like boiling rice pudding.
I'm doubled over
at the checkpoint of aliens
where third world people
line up for white chocolate
filled with orange liquer
and arsenic.
Where do you come from?
I don't answer.
I wheeze
and they kick my genitals.
It starts to snow
tiny white flakes.
My lips are fire
where were you born
they ask me
I don't know
on a mountaintop
in space
under water
anywhere but here
where I'm a minority.

Sometimes I want to throw my face
away.
Listen closely
I don't want to be buried
burn me
burn me above the tree line
where the air is thin
and the lightning strikes
maybe I'll be reborn
somewhere in the midwest
a tractor-riding, corn-growing
blond farmer kid
who never halts
at the checkpoint of aliens.

"Voyeur"
Have you gone mad? Please
Do not write about these things
~Adonis

I need to write about
how a stray bullet chooses a neck, a temple
and buries itself in gut
how a mother waits in the dark
for her son--fifty pieces in a sack
delivered to her doorstep
how toes curl unto themselves
and skin hardens and turns coarse
like burned sugar
how teeth seem brighter on burned skin
a Kolynos moment missed
how the hair is lumpy and glued with blood
how eyes without lashes seem surprised
one hundred forty four thousand and counting.
I need to write about these things
because I need to forget.

Beirut Journal Day #44: Chronicles of a Refugee

2009-12-23T03:27:00.000-08:00

12.23.09
Part Five

Issa returned to Lebanon in 2006, just weeks before the Israelis invaded. We chuckled about the seeming causality between her arrivals in Beirut and the onset of war. This time, the war would last 34 days, and would ravage Beirut again. During such extreme violence, the violated tend to band together. And in Beirut, Issa worked with many others to set up a sort of informal support and networking area in Saniyeh Gardens. The Gardens soon became a hub for Lebanese (for, everyone was Lebanese this time). "The news channels even started announcing for people come to Saniyeh," she said, still in slight disbelief.

I read her reaction as a sort of acknowledgement of the fundamental desire in people to create sanctuary, in communion with others. There's a look that people get when they reflect on their own witness of absolute humanity in times of barbarity. Staring out over the ferocious Mediterranean, Issa had this look.

It reminds me of the Bertolt Brecht lines about singing in the dark times.

While working in this new, human, Gardens, Adam Shapiro told her of a group of Palestinians forced to live in a literal no-man's-land between the Iraq-Syria border. Palestinian refugees in Iraq (a little over 30,000), have apparently enjoyed decent treatment in Iraq for years, a fact that has cause considerable resentment of the Shia minority, who have endured rotten living conditions under the Baathists. The US invasion effectively wiped out any protection that these refugees had, and Iraqi militias started targeting them.

Palestinian refugees that fled Iraq report arbitrary arrests, disappearances and torture. Sometimes they would be picked up by uniformed Iraqi secret service, other times people in civilian clothing would just knock down their doors and kidnap them. Those kidnapped would be found dead, thrown away on the streets after being tortured with electric drills, many times their limbs amputated. Those not murdered were held for ransom, forcing their families to sell all they owned to get them out. Armed men hand-delivered death threats to several Palestinians in Baghdad, setting off widespread panic among the Palestinian population. (Rafeef Ziadah, ZNet)

Many of these people fled to the Syrian border, only to be denied entry. Beyond that, Iraq refused to allow them to come back, and terminated their legal status. They literally had nowhere to go.

Issa, along with Shapiro, set out for this netherworld once the Israelis were done trying to destroy Lebanon. They began working on a plan to resettle these nonpeople. The plan looked something like this: Issa knows a guy in Chile who knows a lawyer whose uncle is a judge who plays backgammon with the person in charge of immigration. In this way, Issa and Shapiro were able to get Chile to accept about 150 Palestinians. They then thought about people in other countries who know people who know people. They made phone calls and sent emails hoping to see if some small spark would catch flame.

Each to each.

As of now, a number of countries followed Chile's precedent, though we're not out of the desert yet. This long and furious networking process is the foundation for "Chronicles." While working to resettle a relatively small group of refugees, Issa, Shapiro and Anseel Mansour decided to create this film. And they wanted to push the possibilities of the medium, to not simply make something to view passively, but to be used as an organizing tool.

I'm so heartened by their work. The depth of vision they display is instructive. Their dogged efforts to build relationships from the ground up, quite literally, is a model of true solidarity. A solidarity not concerned with rhetoric, or doctrine, but with the person next to me, next to you, and on and on.

It is my profound honor to share this story with you all. I hope I have done it justice.

**You can find "Chronicles of a Refugee" at http://palestineonlinestore.com

Beirut Journal Day #43: Chronicles of a Refugee Parts 3 & 4

2009-12-22T03:05:00.000-08:00

12.22.09
Part Three

Perla Issa steps out of the subway in lower Manhattan. She looks up. The towers try to scrape the sky but fall, hopelessly, short. People scatter while glass rains down from the heavens. A rush of dust and asbestos coats the living and the dead alike. Everywhere the people are rushing, mostly away from this planned disaster, seeking sanctuary. Others run into the fires. She anchors herself to a tree. She refuses to run.

Perla Issa goes to work.

Part Four: Palestine

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business
~TS Eliot, "East Coker".

Around the time the towers came down, Perla Issa learned that her father was Palestinian. She was 23, living in New York and consulting for Chase Manhattan. "I knew the word Haifa," she reminisced on the times it was spoken, always in hushed tones, during her childhood. Palestine was a secret, buried deep in an old family chest. The decision to conceal this part of the family history was deliberate, though not malicious.

In a city that has been racked with sectarian violence, this choice was quite practical. It also reflected a level of privilege that Issa now interrogates. Not everyone has the possibility to pick an identity, and in Beirut, thousands upon thousands have been killed because of a fierce adherence to particular identities. In addition to physical violence aimed at "others," there is the structural violence of poverty. These structures impose themselves in every sector of society. So, a strong school system for the privileged classes is directly related to a dysfunctional schools for the oppressed.

"My parents raised me Lebanese....they taught me that hard work and determination lead to success. I believe that. So, what I have today is the result of hard work....and discrimination."

In Lebanon being "Lebanese" is quite different than being "Palestinian." A nuance that is not lost on Issa.

On September 12, 2001, in New York, though, any and all subtleties of ethnic Arab identities had been incinerated. The US government turned the collective back of its citizens to the open-armed support from the rest of the world, and white America was isolating the new "Others." The Arabs. Issa's co-workers talked about bombing "the Arabs," and "Islamic fundamentalism," and "killing the terrorists."

"They were saying these things....and I was saying back 'You're talking about me. You're talking about my home."

Issa was studying her history. A new, and strong sense of identity was taking shape in her. In many ways, 911 made plain the importance of identity. The choices that her parents were no longer available to her. Nor were they relevant. The US was about to embark on a war agains Arab peoples that, they said, has no definitive end. No longer was sanctuary guaranteed to an Arab person, no matter how privileged she may be.

She broke away from the corporate world and determined that she would go to Palestine. No longer anchored to that Manhattan tree, Issa set her sights on the International Solidarity Movement's (ISM) 2004 campaign.

"Robert Fisk's second chapter [in Pity the Nation] is 'Palestine.' I read the names of places that have always meant fear...I got to thinking that this British man knows [my homeland] better than me."

Her parents were not happy about her decision. Having spent their lives creating safety for their daughter, they were stunned that she would leave such a comfortable life as an engineer in New York to go "there," to Palestine. Beyond that, 2003 was a deadly year for international solidarity workers in Palestine. Between March and April of that year, Israeli soldiers killed Rachel Corrie and Tom Hurndal, and shot Brian Avery in the face, permanently disfiguring him.

"My parents were comfortable, and didn't need me to care for them. I could change and be the only one who had to be responsible for these changes." Issa has a remarkable depth to her insights, and complete lack of pretension.

In Palestine she would see the so-called facts on the ground. The ISM works to create new connections between peoples from disparate places. These connections are not easy to quantify, and their results are not exactly measurable. Nonetheless the work has meaning. The links that people forge create new possibilities for action. New avenues for exploration. The fruits of that labor may never be seen by the workers, something that can lead to frustration. Indeed, the progression towards justice is terribly slow.

"I still don't know what makes a difference," she says, looking out the window at the angry Mediterranean Sea. She is someone who is trying.

And for us, indeed, there is only the trying.

**Get your copy of "Chronicles of a Refugee" at Palestine Online Store.

Beirut Journal Day #42: Chronicles of a Refugee, Part Two

2009-12-21T02:41:00.000-08:00

12.21.09
Part Two

“Children and birds suffer most in war
Children and birds are always running away”
~From "Migration," by Haas Mroue

Perla Issa was born in 1978, in Beirut, during the infancy of the Lebanese Civil War.

For many of us in the US, war is something that happens in faraway places. With faraway people. Most often, if we do choose to think about war, we think of its machinations. We think of bombs, of jets, of tanks. We think of causes and solutions. The people, then, become to us problems to be solved, if they exist at all.

War for us is, I think, the greatest of all abstractions.

When people, when we, become abstractions, humanity is in peril. We are not objects. We are meant to animate life. Among our many purposes, we are meant to build and expand on connections between each other. How I live, and where, is not so far away from you, actually.

And so, Perla made her life here, in Beirut, as normal as anyone else's life. Unlike Haas Mroue's children and birds, she stayed. She grew, she played, she studied. She had big shoes to fill, and the determination to do so.

The expectations she would live up to came from her grandmother, who left Haifa in 1948, in the "Nakba," or "day of catastrophe." With an eight year old son (Perla's father), she made her way to Beirut.

"She refused to go to a camp," Perla says. An act of incredible foresight, considering the laws that Lebanon would eventually pass against the Palestinians of the camps. She scraped by, selling textiles. There was pressure to send her young son to work, which she adamantly resisted. She enrolled him in a French school, and when she couldn't afford the tuition any longer, "She went to the offices of the school and told them that, if they kicked my father out, she'd stand outside their gates everyday" and raise hell.

This was a battle the school must've known they couldn't win. So, they kept Perla's father enrolled. And after that fight he excelled in his studies, eventually earning scholarships that would carry him through his entire academic career. He earned a degree in engineering, and thus paved Perla's future path.

So, with this family history as her foundation, Perla advanced through primary school in Beirut, and in 1990, with the war ending, she moved to Canada and finished high school there.

In New York City, where I teach, I have met countless kids with similar stories. It's a sort of immigrant matriarchy that is beautifully insistent. Hopeful in the absolute sense of the word.

For, children and birds leave the nest so that they may return one day. From the hopes of grandmothers, action springs eternal.

Get "Chronicles of a Refugee" at the Palestine Online Store.

Beirut Journal Days #40-41: Chronicles of a Refugee--An Interview In 6 Parts

2009-12-20T12:38:00.000-08:00

Part One

I sat down with Perla Issa to discuss her recent six-part film "Chronicles of a Refugee," which documents the living history of Palestinians in diaspora. She, along with Aseel Mansour and Adam Shapiro, travelled the globe (over 15 countries) to interview hundreds of Palestinian Refugees, hoping to "create a debate," she says, among Palestinians. This hope is unique to the documentary film world, actually. While there have been many films made about "the Palestinian issue" for western audiences, few, if any films about/for/by Palestinians, have been made. The significance of this approach cannot be understated. Instead of being objects in history, this film, in its approach, claims space for Palestinians to be the subject of their own hopeful liberation.

"[We started making this film with] the concept that we can have a film for ourselves. That we can educate ourselves. That we can speak to ourselves." This film, then, acts as a bridge for Palestinians to walk across. To one another. Each to each.

And this stepping into a new community, through "Chronicles," is not accidental.

"The idea was to create six parts, so that the film could become a sort of meeting point." If, for example, a family or community center shows one part per week, over the next month and a half a group may well spring up from these screenings. They may well engage in debate, in strategy discussions. From these discussions, these new groups can carry the work forward in ways that are specific to the needs of their own unique regional situations.

"So many Palestinians don't know each other," she explains. Though millions have had quite similar experiences, their shared travails have been forcibly isolated. Isolation, in extreme, is a torture tactic designed to break the will of the tortured. In the case of Palestinians, the dilution of the population has served a similar purpose. Spread to the ends of the earth, the geography of The Occupation prevents them from organizing in strategic ways. Indeed, it prevents them from strategizing at all.

Listening to Ms. Issa, I couldn't help but to think of June Jordan. Her entire concept for Poetry for the People, and poetry in general, is so closely related to this film. Poetry for her was the creation of "space where people can disagree, but stay in the same room." This desire is foundational. The stones from which our shared home is built upon. Thanks to the Gods for Perla Issa, and her unrelenting efforts to strengthen this foundation.

You can find, and buy, the film at: palestineonlinestore.com

Beirut Journal Day #39: Nighttime Skies from Far Off Places

2009-12-17T09:56:00.000-08:00

a surge
from the sea
splits the stones
and suppresses
silence while street lights
needle the night
in the distance
a barge brings
its cargo closer
to some far off border

this is not a metaphor
i have wandered far
from those whom i love

Beirut Journal Day #38: Street Art

2009-12-17T03:34:00.000-08:00

12.16.09
Nuff Said

Basquiat Crown on Crow

Terror

Moby

Pour M.

I'm quite stunned, in a positive way, at the multifoliate (one of my favorite June Jordan terms) art adorning the walls around this city. Beirut has such a strong security culture that I can't imagine how these artists are able to post their bills without heavy interference. They are either really speedy, or the centurions just don't care.

Whatever the case, the artists are hard at work here, L'Humdillah.

The piece here that strikes me deepest is the last one, the poem. I don't speak French, so I have no idea what it says, but the fact that "C." scrawled this poem for "M." is touching. A tender reminder that, in places where the threat of war, rather, the reality of war is imminent, people still strive to connect to one another. People claim public space to link their lives to each other.

The poem becomes part and parcel of the architecture of this landscape.

It reminds me of when I was last in Palestine. I told a friend I was interested in meeting some poets. "People don't have time for poetry," she scoffed. Of course, she was not correct. For, I did find poets, I even found the remnants of a poem in a giant crater left by an Israeli airstrike in Nablus. It appears that one of the workers, perhaps on a break, was reading the poetic recounting of one of the Prophet's trips to Mecca. I kept the shredded fragments of the poem, brought them back & puzzled them together.

I take that poem, and this French one, as signs of communal health. As shining examples of the beautiful possibilities of human Be-ing.

"C." wherever, and whomever, you are, I hope things are working themselves out for you.

Beirut Journal Day #37: Borders

2009-12-15T07:49:00.000-08:00

12.15.09
Marivan is north of Baghdad, on the Iran-Iraq border.

Conflict as noun and verb.

Noun: Iran and the US have a conflict regarding the three US hikers arrested in the Iranian town of Marivan.
Verb: My own thoughts about this situation conflict with each other.

If you haven't heard about the three UC-Berkeley graduates who have been held in Iranian prison since July, and who are about to be tried for espionage, I'll do my best to run down the situation.

Sarah Shourb, Shane Bauer (no relation to Jack Bauer), and Josh Fattal took a vacation from their teaching and study duties in Damascus in July to hike in the Iraqi Kurdistan mountains. They ended up, one way or another, crossing an invisible border into Iran. They've been in prison since July 31. Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadenijad has asked the judiciary to treat this case with extreme leniency (though exactly what leniency means is unclear, for, the maximum penalty in espionage is death). Hillary Clinton, in a bewildering statement, is claiming that

"We consider this a totally unfounded charge. There is no basis for it... They were out hiking and unfortunately, apparently, allegedly walked across an unmarked boundary."

Ms. Clinton's bumbling here could have very negative implications for the three. I mean, "unfounded charge?" "Allegedly"? Is she implying that the Iranian border guards have kidnapped these three? Imagine if three Iranians, who'd been to volatile countries recently, were picked up by INS on the US/Canada border?

Or, you don't even have to imagine this one, what of all the people who languish in INS detention facilities, for years, without trial?

Of course Iran's Foreign Minister, Manoucher Mottaki has a response:

Interrogation of the three Americans who have illegally entered Iran with suspicious aims is ongoing....They will be put on trial by the judiciary and rulings will be made."

There you have it. The Iranians have a sovereign right to secure their borders, do they not? Especially a border with a hostile population, the Kurds, not to mention US occupied Iraq. And they will, apparently, exercise their sovereignty in this case.

But there's something else about it. Something that really troubles me, especially in light of the work I'm about to engage in.

I've met Sarah Shourd. She was in LA in 2000, organizing people to demand that the Democrats stand up for the interests of regular people. We had just shut down the WTO in Seattle, and viewed the Dems as a part of the ruling elite. They have not proven us wrong. As Al Gore capitulated to capital, the people who voted for him were left out in the cold.

At any rate, Sarah was there, in LA. Working. Believing that regular folks have power. And believing in the right to use their power for justice.

Eventually she became a teacher, in Syria. She worked with Iraqis who fled the occupation. She worked with Syrians, and they are Syrians, from Israeli Occupied Golan.

By all accounts, Sarah Shourd is a righteous person. If Hillary Clinton, silent on matters of international justice for so long, is her best hope, I feel for Sarah.

I hope the matter is treated with the most extreme leniency, because people like Sarah are doing good work.

You can read about the three hikers at: freethehikers.org

Beirut Journal Day #36: National Priorities

2009-12-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

12.14.09

So, President Suleiman (or Sleiman, depending on one's comfort with Lebanon's Arab identity &/or national priorities) is meeting with our own totally ineffectual intellectual, President Obama. Number one on the agenda, which is sure to be short, is military assistance. Also, we are told in the papers here, Suleiman will "bring up the Palestinian issue." The connection between the two is being misrepresented in a subtle way. For, the impression that one gets from it all is that Lebanon needs military assistance to protect itself from its aggressive neighbors, most notably Israel. By extension, then, one assumes that the Lebanese president's "bringing up" of the so called Palestinian issue is benign, at worst. For, Israel considers the Palestinians their enemy, do they not?

A little recent history:

In 2007 the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF) fought a decisive war against the Palestinians of the Nahr El-Bared Refugee Camp in northern Lebanon. The camp was laid waste. Literally flattened by bulldozers.

The 15 weeks of fighting left more than 400 persons dead, among them 170 soldiers and 54 civilians, while the core of Nahr al-Bared was completely destroyed, and the adjacent area partly ruined.

It's worth noting that this war began less than a year after Israel's failed, and criminal, invasion. Though Israel claimed to be responding to Hezballah actions, Palestinians are always a part of the framework of Israeli military affairs. Indeed, whenever Lebanese talk about Israel invasions, the phrase "Paletinians started the war," is sure to be mentioned, as if by rote. The ritual scapegoating of the stateless Palestinians in Lebanon has had horrific consequences.

For, just after Israel's "operation" (the term leaves me ill), the LAF enclosed Nahr El-Bared. The refugees there were forced to show ID upon entry, and nearly all economic activity ceased there. By collectively punishing the refugees, they could show that they were serious about controlling "terrorists." Of course, the situation was bound to explode--this is Lebanon, after all.

If only the LAF fought so "fiercely" against the invaders.

Alas, the weak will always be the targets. So, after 15 weeks of destruction, Nahr El-Bared lay flat. War makers "softened" homes with the bullet, then turned them into rubble with the bulldozer. Much the same as Jenin in 2002. Or East Jerusalem today.

So, what's all this got to do with Suleiman's quest for military assistance? Lebanon's military money is directly connected to their "control" of muslims. Let the good people of the Washington Institute explain:

Lebanon is the second largest per capita recipient of U.S. military assistance after Israel. While Washington continues to back Beirut (the administration has requested $60 million in military assistance for Lebanon for 2009), Hizballah's recent political gains and lingering questions about the future disposition of the Lebanese government will likely prevent the administration from expanding either the quantity or quality of the military requests...
...The LAF demonstrated a great deal of commitment in Nahr el-Bared. Not only did the army follow government orders to enter the camp in the face of Hizballah threats -- Secretary-General Hassan Nasrallah described entry into the camp as a "red line" -- the LAF persevered throughout a three-month campaign and sustained heavy losses. Regrettably, however, the LAF's performance in the camp was a high point.

So, military aid is being tied directly to Lebanon's commitment, or willingness at least, to fight against "Islamists*," be they Palestinian or Hezballah. For, to the Islamophobes running our country, a muslim is a muslim. The deader the better.

And since the US is committed to maintaining Israeli superiority in the region, and since Hezballah is responsible for doing what no other Lebanese faction has ever been able to do--repel Israel--we're left to assume that any new weaponry will be directed at the Stateless Ones.

*Do not let the conflation of Palestinian Refugees and Hezballah pass you by. First of all, Hezballah is Shia, Palestinians are, for the most part, Sunni. This difference is of major significance. Secondly, Hezballah is based in the south of the country, while Nahr El-Bared is near the northern border, which is to say that they had nothing to do with militant activity in that camp. The Party of God defines itself as an Islamic nationalist defense/resistance movement. In short, though Hezballah is vocally supportive of Palestinians, they are actively silent (for example, they did not respond militarily to Israel's maniacal hellfire over Gaza.)

Beirut Journal Day #35: Walls

2009-12-13T03:53:00.000-08:00

12.12.09

The US Army Corps of Engineers has designed a special, "impenetrable" wall for Egypt to install along the border with Gaza. I know we all remember the bang-up job the Corps did in New Orleans. Apparently, some of the same technology used to shield New Orleans from hurricanes was used in this design. The wall will be about 10km long, and will reach about 18m into the earth. The effect, of course, is to further cut the Palestinians in Gaza off from the rest of the world.

One wonders, naturally, why Egypt, an Arab-nationalist republic, punishes its Arab neighbors from Palestine, so harshly. A quick paragraph from the US State Department helps us understand:
The U.S. has a large [$1.3bn p/yr] assistance program in Egypt and provides funding for a variety of programs in addition to some cash transfers....To support the Middle East peace process through regional economic integration, the United States permits products to be imported from Egypt without tariffs if they have been produced in Qualified Industrial Zones and 11.7% of the inputs of these products originate from Israel.

Wait...nearly 12% of Egyptian imports to the US come from Israel!? How cynical is that? The US, Egypt and Israel have a tidy economic reltationship. Israel funnels goods (likely produce that's grown in the Occupied Jordan River Valley) through Egypt, under the guise of "regional economic integration," while at the same time enforces a total blockade of goods and services to Palestinians. A blockade that it, under international law, an act of war. And, let's not forget that the justification for the blockade is the election (carried out under seige) of Hamas to a majority in a non-functioning Palestinian "government."

It must be noted that Hosni Mubarak has, until 2005, secured his position by having himself nominated by parliament, then confirmed without opposition in a referendum. He's only been opposed once in 28 years, and the one candidate to oppose him (Dr. Ayman Nour) has since
been sentenced to five years hard labor, essentially for contesting the process. Mubarak is the longest serving Egyptian ruler since Muhammad Ali Pasha, who died in 1849.

Lovely.

But, as Baalbek shows, walls can only stand for so long.

Beirut Journal Day #34: To Be in Beirut

2009-12-12T02:43:00.000-08:00

12.11.09

Last night my Arabic teacher enlightened, and delighted me.

"There's no 'to be' verb in Arabic," she explained. No wonder June Jordan loved Arab poetry so much! An illustration:

I am not
writing
I write
I am not
fighting
I fight
I am not loving
I love

Action becomes
the state of Be-ing
perpetual action
defines
the one who
engages

it is not raining:
the sky
rains
*
"Language carries the conscience of a People," June taught us. This statement created the foundation for us in Poetry for the People. We always sought to expand the possibilities of our own language, often by studying the poetry from numerous "others."

We also abolished "to be" verbs, in order to write with the urgency of insurrection. With the urgency of forbidden lovers. This new immediacy, for so many of us in P4P launched us into direct actions to realize the promise(s) of our shared nation. Direct actions to bring to fruition the constitutional declaration that power lies in Our hands. The hands of the People.

Indeed, this immediacy of language and action drove me to Palestine in 2001-2002. And reeled me back to these lands presently.

L'Humdillah.

Beirut Journal Day #33: Ozymandias

2009-12-10T15:41:00.000-08:00

12.10.09
Ozymandias
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

--
I went to Baalbek today, the site of 2nd & 3rd Century Roman ruins. They were built by the enslaved, of course. Approximately 100,000 forced laborers over a 200 year span, erecting monuments to rulers who hated them. These ruins are, I think, something to note for the American Empire. Eventually our monuments will crumble.

It is definitely beautiful there. We traveled over the Chouf Mountains and into the Bekaa Valley, into a Hezballah stronghold. It was evident that the Party (Hezb) of God (Allah) is engaged in some important social work in the region. For, once the banners on the street changed from Amal (the "other" Shia party) to Hezballah, the conditions of the road did as well. Smooth sailing on a newly paved road for miles is quite a feat here. Not dissimilar from Brooklyn, actually. I mean, imagine if a political party delivered on a promise to completely repair & maintain Atlantic Avenue! They'd have my vote, for sure!

The facts are that this party is legitimate. Rather, Legitimate. Capital L. They have seats in the government, but don't control it. The don't have any more power, officially, than any other group, and are in the minority/opposition coalition, actually. This coalition does not have "veto power" as some US congresspeople are claiming. In fact, the government as a whole has agreed that Hezballah's arms are legitimate and necessary for the nation's defense. In effect, the government has nationalized Hezballah's arms. Most people here, whether they support Hezballah or not, recognize that without them Israel would still be occupying the south, trying to control the water supply. Lebanon gets the most annual rainfall of any country in the region, and thus has a natural, geographic advantage over other countries. Hezballah ensures that this advantage can be developed to benefit the people of Lebanon.

I just mean to shed a little light on this much-maligned political party. They are not evil. I don't agree with some of their policies, for sure. I am not keen on theocracy. But I do support local resources benefiting the people of the land. And I do support a party from the poor, who supports the poor. And the Shia of Lebanon are poor. But they are not THE poorest in Lebanon, anymore. They have, in the last few years, climbed out of dire, or absolute, poverty, and now most live just above the World Bank line of $4 per day. Whereas the predominantly Christian north, equally forsaken by previous administrations, has been on a downward spiral and are now the most impoverished people in the country. In short, Hezballah is moving people in a positive direction, towards economic self-sufficiency, in the name of God.

LHumdillah.
-----
Lily

James

Self Portrait

Self Portrait #2

Beirut Journal Day #32: Still Life

2009-12-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

12.9.09
Banksy?

Che Went Thataway

Ana Peru

Girl With No Arm

Pinko

Self Portrait

Dome

Dome #2

Martyrs Square

Party Girl

Beirut Journal Day #31: Shooting Gallery

2009-12-08T15:50:00.000-08:00

12.8.09
Entrance

Holy

The Light

Stairway
Door
I stumbled upon this shooting gallery the other day. I'm talking about heroine, not guns. The building, in shambles, looked like some tragic beauty, a casualty of one war or another. Vacant buildings are common in Beirut, though there are usually people, or police, posted up all around, so I don't normally step into them. This one, though, has clearly been forsaken.

As I approached the entrance, a strong smell overtook me. I don't know how, or why, exactly, but the smell of human feces is distinct. I stepped, carefully, through the weeds & crossed the threshold. The floor was littered with toilet paper, cigarettes, plastic water bottles, aluminum cans and hypodermic needles. There were a few cans still overturned, the residue of cooked narcotic visible.

Drug use in Lebanon is a major social taboo. The government tends to deal with it in two ways: harsh mandatory sentences, on the one hand, and pretending it doesn't exist on the other. According to Menahra (Middle East & North Africa Harm Reduction Network)

Drug use, or even possession of a drug, is a legal offence whose sentence is 3 months to 1 year of prison
 Drug users have the right for voluntary detoxification, but relapse is not allowed
 Police treatment at arrest is inappropriate
 Only approved treatment is detoxification, no substitution treatment is available, methadone is illegal

One of the major fears is that the HIV rate will climb. A few reports have come out recently to this affect, and they all mention that the main difficulty is that the laws are proving to be prohibitive not to drug use, but to treatment and tracking of infections. Users live and use in secret, and fear punishment, so they don't seek treatment. In addition, needle sharing is common.

 64.7% have ever borrowed a syringe
 59.6% borrowed a syringe within the month prior to the interview
 76% are sexually active:
• 32.9% have had a commercial sex partner in the past month
• 24.7% had male-male sex
• 39.3% reported consistent use of condoms with commercial sex partners and 5.8% with regular sex partner
 High level of awareness of HIV/AIDS modes of transmission and methods of prevention

There is a growing call for a harm reduction approach to drug use here, and hopefully it will be heeded. For, the last thing this country needs is another unwinnable war.

Beirut Journal Day #30: Solution

2009-12-07T14:09:00.000-08:00

12.6.09

Toward a One State Solution
~for Valerie

From the other side
of the world I turn
the lights off
fall into a state
of sleep
& dig deep through dreams seeking
to taste
that space b/w your neck
& shoulder
to feel your knees
around mine
like jasmine winding up a trellis
your soft breath stretches
across oceans across
this night
my light
is off from the other side
of this world
i sleep
with you
my love.
-----
Gemmayze Door

Gemmayze Corridor

I'm really fascinated by the doors here. Something about them has captured my attention. I think through these two I can best explain why.

The first, "Gemmayze Door," is an ornate door, the colors of which highlight the architecture of the building it will allow a visitor into. In this case, though, it's closed. No entry will be granted. Despite this exclusion, it's beautiful. You want to look at it. You want to walk through it. It is, ironically, inviting.

The second, "Gemmayze Corridor," is a glimpse through an opened door. Unlike the other picture, it is not inviting. You don't want to see what's on the other side, unless you are willing to take a risk.

In some small way, i think, maybe these two doors serve as metaphors for this city.

(Gemmayze is a neighborhood of East Beirut.)

Beirut Journal Day #29: The Chouf

2009-12-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

12.6.09

Kentucky Fried Chouf: A Haiku

Fires ignite night skies
singed cedars keep secrets from
Old Colonel Sanders

I went to the Chouf Mountains last night, and spent the day up there today. It's one of Lebanon's shining attractions, with the largest Cedar reserve, Beiteddine Castle and some stunning views down the valley. Beirut to the west, Damascus over the ridge to the east.

The Chouf district stretches in a crescent from the Saida, on the coast south of Beirut to the northeast. It's known to be the most diverse, & harmonious of Lebanon's districts. After the wars, and in particular The War of the Mountains, it seems that people have put their differences aside, and now unite against foreign intervention, specifically from Syria and Israel.

Of all the groups up in the mountains, the Druze stand out the most. Member of Parliament Walid Jumblatt, son of Kemal who was assassinated by the Syrians in the 80's, is the head of the Progressive Socialist Party, and the Druze leader. He's a pretty interesting person. He renamed Beit Eddine Castle (built in the late 18th Century by Emir Bashir, an Ottoman ruler)to "The Palace of the People." On Sundays, if he's in his home, the people line up around the block to bring him petitions--domestic disputes and service-related things, presumably--and he tries to solve their problems.

But, after the beauty of the mountains, and the persistence of the cedars, the thing that stands out to me the most is the Kentucky Fried Chicken. That monument to good ole Dixieland fried food. KFC, investor in private prisons. Testament to the arrival of a community to the global community.

I actually got really depressed seeing it. Then angry. This is what the People get after 15 years of war. This, multinational fried chicken chain store, is the real point of war.

Niketown in Ho Chi Minh City.

Starbucks in every corner of the globe.

As Kevin Young asks, in his poem "Negative,"

is this what we've wanted
and waited for

No, it's not.

But, it's what we get.

From Beirut.

Trevor

Beirut Journal Day #28: Images

2009-12-05T06:48:00.000-08:00

=======
Armenian Cultural Museum

Nearly all of the artifacts inside the museum were carried from Turkey to Syria, and then to Lebanon, either by foot or by boat, during the Ottoman Genocide of Armenian Christians. This genocide, as the little white chapel, full of bones, reminds us, "was the first genocide of the 20th century." A fact, it is a fact, of critical import. The excerpt below is from a solid article by Robert Fisk, you can click his name at the end of the quote to read the whole thing. He explains why US Presidents refuse to recognize this genocide, under pressure from Turkey (where the US has airbases, and Israel, who want to monopolize the Holocaust Industry.).

Starting on 24 April 1915, Enver Pasha's Turkish army and militias rounded up almost the entire Armenian community, massacred hundreds of thousands of men and sent vast death marches of women and children into the deserts of Anatolia and what is now northern Syria. Expert historians, including Israel's own top genocide academic, insist that the shooting-pits, the organised throat-cutting, the mass rapes and kidnappings – even the use of primitive suffocation chambers – all constituted a systematic genocide.
~Robert Fisk

-----
Nightime Scenes

-----
The Last Days of Sunshine

Beirut Journal Day #27: Love & War

2009-12-04T13:13:00.000-08:00

12.409

Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
~Hafiz

I came across this poem today, & found it instructive, in light of my relationship (is it right to call it a relationship?) with Mariame.
*****
A Moment

The couple huddles
in the corner
o the cafe
hair
shoulders scarves slip
from necks
a knot of elbows & knees
ankles angle around each other
anchor these two
to this instant if the bomb
shoots shrapnel
stilletoes
shredding the flesh
at least
the young lovers
shared this
moment.

(I've been grappling to understand the insistence on forgetting here. The people seem to live hard, for today. I get it in the abstract, like, from America ot makes sense, but here, in this city of scars, it seems discordant. I think writing poem is the best way for me to work some the questions out.)
*****

The rain
does not relent
I reel back my memory
of my Ramallah winter watching
tracers zip
across the nighttime horizon
low
stay low we crawled away
from windows
couched into a corner cut
the lights
& waited for our eyes to adjust
to the naked night
we uncorked
a bottle of red wine
blood shed for believers
we toasted
to remember
to live
for the dead

Beirut Journal Day #26: That Which You Fear the Most Could Meet You Half Way

2009-12-03T14:16:00.000-08:00

12.3.09

Mariame idles
outside the Bliss St. Tobacconist
a yellow Labmorghini
double parks the driver
dressed to the 9's
hair coiffed
bullet proof under a shield of product
that holds everything down
that keeps everything in its place
A burgundy Mercedes taxi
fender-bent
sputters by
smoke seeps from
her nose she inhales
exhaust.
-----

Beirut Journal Day #25: For Mariame

2009-12-02T15:47:00.000-08:00

She floats under
oceans of fabric
on Rue Bliss
grips a cigarette
like a crucifix
to combat the onset
of winter
she lives
here but is not from
here she seeks
refuge but is not
a refugee she drags deep
and exhales her last
hope
a halo of smoke
crowns her head
-----
I can't help but to think that I have failed. I shut my door, more than once, on this woman who said she had nowhere else to go. I ask myself what June would've done? What would she think of my (in)action.

Was this an opportunity for true human kindness, for solidarity with a solitary, and vulnerable woman? Or a time for skepticism, to protect my own self-interest? Of course, I made my choices.

I'd be lying if I said that I don't feel ashamed. Also, I'd be lying if I said I'd do the opposite if she shows up tonight. Indeed, I would not offer to share my space with her.

It's funny how shame, or guilt, exist in the same space as certainty of action.

As this day draws to a close, these things are clear: I am not good. I am not clean. I have done shameful things, things that are in direct conflict with values that I profess to hold dear. And I'll do more things that I will not be proud of.

At the same time, I have been a part of things that give me a deep sense of gratitude and pride. I have tried and succeeded, at times, to do something capital "G" Good. And I am not done there either.

This whole experience is definitely serving to keep me humble, and humility is a Good and necessary force when engaging in the type of work that I'm trying to do.

I think Arundhati Roy sums up the contradictions beautifully below:

Once you've seen certain things, you can't unsee them, and saying nothing is as political an act as speaking out. There is no innocence. That I'm sure about....I'm not a completely blameless person campaigning for the good of mankind. But from that un-pristine position, is it better to say nothing or to say something?

L*ve.

Trevor

Beirut Journal Day #24: Mariame (Part III)

2009-12-01T08:51:00.000-08:00

12.1.09

...And the anger of the LORD was kindled against them; and He departed
And when the cloud was removed from over the Tent, behold, Miriam was leprous, as white as snow...
...And the LORD said unto Moses: 'If her father had but spit in her face, should she not hide in shame seven days? let her be shut up without the camp seven days, and after that she shall be brought in again.'
And Miriam was shut up without the camp seven days...
The Book of Numbers 10:12-14

Voices rebound off the stone walls in the hallway outside my room. Even if I understood Arabic I'd have no way to decipher the conversation. Words colliding, ricocheting, echoing. It's an argument. It has a music.

The words themselves are unimportant.

I understand Mariame's voice. She is outside my door.

It is 12.30 AM.

I am not well. Though I went into the bathroom because it was the only safe source of light that I could hide under, a devil has crawled inside me. I don't know if I'll leave this room tonight. Neither is sleep assured.

This is a cruel symmetry.

There is a knock at my door. There is no way that I can, or will answer it. I think that's what they're arguing about. She must have glided in on the wind, past their always open door, for, I'm sure they've told her that she is not welcome anymore, unless she is going to pay.

"Hhalas!" Enough! One of the landlords of this haunted house thunders. That word I understand.

I hear a shuffle of feet. Then the jingle of keys. The room nextdoor is being opened.

I am being sick in the toilet.

Mariame, I hope your Richard arrives soon.

Beirut Journal Day #23: Mariame (Part II)

2009-11-30T11:05:00.000-08:00

11.30.09

She appears and disappears, only to reappear again. I see her leaning into a taxi, elbows on the window frame, in conversation with the driver. I see her on Bliss Street, sitting on that mauve suitcase, cigarette trembling between her knobby knuckles. A few days may pass, but she is omnipresent.

I see her.

Last night she called me with, she said, good news. Her husband, Richard, is here in Lebanon. She needs a place to stay until Tuesday, when he will come for her.

-Why doesn't he get you now? Why don't you stay at his hotel?
"The Maronites make trouble for me. They tell me he's not there. I use his secret name, he has two, I use both. They make so much troubles for me."
-Ahh. The Maronites.
"Can you help me?" This is her way of asking if she can stay in my apartment. It's not the first time she's asked. It's not the first time I'll say no.
-Uhh...sorry...I'm not at home. I won't be home for awhile.

This is technically the truth.

"For two days you will be gone."
-Uhh...yeah. Sorry. If he calls I'll leave a note or something.

What have I been thrown into? Why does this woman, Mariame, keep haunting me? Surely I am not the only person she can turn to. She *lives* here! She speaks Arabic! And French! And English! Surely, she can enlist others to support her?

Unless she's mad. It certainly seems like she has some delusions. That, or this is the world's *worst* Bad Plan to swindle an Amreekan tourist out of some money that anyone, anywhere has ever dreamed up. It really is a terrible plan.

Maybe I'm being tested? Lebanon? Beirut, are you testing me? The land where Jesus turned water into wine, are you trying to see how many times I'll deny an old woman seeking refuge?

Of all the possibilities above, the probability that she is ill and needs support from a professional seems most likely.

I turn off the main light in my apartment and retire to the bathroom. I shut the door, turn on the light and read on the floor. It's the only way I can have light without being detected.

I know she's coming.

Beirut Journal Day #22: Mariame (Part I)

2009-11-29T07:50:00.000-08:00

11.29.09
(The events below are true. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent. Nobody's innocent.)

I'm being haunted. It's the first time I'm mentioning it to you all because I did not think it would last this long.

I thought she would leave & not return.
But she comes back. Always she comes back.

It started, this haunting, a couple days after I moved in to the little apartment in the Hamra section of Beirut. I moved in on Wednesday, November 11. I'll leave the superstitious connection to you all.

There she was, standing in the vestibule, wearing a long off-white knitted sweater that hung well below her waist, and a black skirt that reached the floor. She looked like she had no limbs under such an armament of fabric. She was small, with big green eyes, and long, greying blonde hair.

She just stood, dead still, all alone in an aura of smoke.

Marhaba, I mumbled, still uncomfortable with greeting people in Arabic.

She tilted her head to the side and started speaking French, but soon switched to English when she realized that my French is worse than my Arabic. She wanted to know what I was doing in Beirut.

She told me that she hated Lebanon, the Lebanese. She told me that "I just want to return to my country," but that her husband had her passport and she had no idea where he was. She leaned in, searched the area with her big eyes for anyone who might overhear her.

"I'm from Tel Aviv."

Nice to meet you, I thought.

I listened to her story, nodding, smiling, expressing concern at all the right times. What started as a polite and simple greeting had become a 10 minute monologue.I excused myself, saying I had to go study. Her eyes flickered, and she asked where I study. Oh, boy, look what I've dragged myself into, I was thinking. I managed to get away with a brief explanation, and a feigned sense of hurry. In reality I was just going to a cafe to do some reading and writing.

When I got to Tmarbouta, the cafe/library a couple blocks away, I realized that I had forgotten my pen. Cursed witch! I figured I'd just do some reading for awhile, then head back home to get my pen, and maybe some lunch in a couple hours.
*
As I neared my place, I could see her, from across the vacant lot, sitting on a mauve suitcase in the sun outside the entrance.

Smoking.

"Ahh, you finish studying?"
-No, just forgot something.

There must have been 15 cigarette butts at her feet.

"Ahh, ehhmmm, my husband will return after two days. Can I let him call you??
-Uhh...why me? Why doesn't he call you?

Of course, she has no phone.

-OK, sure, no problem. I'll write down my number...my pen is in the room.

Like she didn't already know where my pen was, being a phantasm, and all. She followed me down the hall, and unlocked the door to the room right next door. Of course. I retrieved my pen and wrote my number on a scrap of paper, then stepped out into the hall.

Smoke. More smoke. She was in her room holding up a Xeroxed image of a man in a dark blue suit, blue shirt, red tie. He looked official. This picture, full color, was at the top left of the page, beside it a note in English that started:

"Dearest Mariame"

"Thees my husband. He write a letter for me."
-Oh, very nice. That's really sweet. He wrote this?

The handwriting was shaky, with flourishes at the end of some letters.

"Ehhhhhh, no...I copy zees letter from him. He work for interior ministry. For zee department of zee energy."
-Oh. I see.

I didn't see.

"He have my passaport. I can't see him. He is anywhere. Maybe Virginia. Maybe Dubai. I Don't know."
-Uhh...well, maybe he'll call.
"Wil you call heem, ehhhhhh, now. Wheez your phone?"
-Sure.
"He have a number. A secret number. He is very important man."
-Right. What was that number?
"Secret number."
-Right. What is it now?

I punched in the secret number she gave me, and got that familiar three-tone greeting that lets a caller know that a number is faulty. Fascinating! The disconnected number tone is universal! I have to say that I was not surprised to get this automaton on the other end, for the number Mariame gave me had only five digits. Five secret digits.

-Uhh...it didn't connect. Here, listen.
"But...I don't know. Zaht is his secret number!"
-Uhh...maybe email him? Give him my number. When he calls, I'll get you.
"Yes, but, he usually call after 12 in the night."
-Fine, no worries. When he calls, I'll get you, OK? I have to be going. See you later.
"I just want to go to my country!"

She was trying to be convincing. Trying to push tears out of her big green eyes. The display was hollow to me. I don't know. I feel like I am open to hearing people's stories, even when I know I'm being put on. I'll let them talk, talk, talk for as long as they need to. Tell me of their hardships. Tell me of their daughter in South Carolina, the need to drum up another $18 for a bus ticket to reunite with the little girl who means the world. I've faithfully listened to more of these stories than I can remember. I've given my share of rumpled one dollar bills to people who, after such elaborate stories, sell me the same one a week later.

Something about Mariame reminded me of these story weavers.

I can listen, but I can't be asked to give much more than that, right?

Right.

Beirut Journal Day #21: "Beirut, I Love You"

2009-11-28T08:28:00.000-08:00

11.28.09

I started reading this book today, after hearing about it from some fellow travelers here. It's just the tincture to heal the wound that is being so far away from the one's who've given me so much. Normally the holidays don't do much for me; they don't affect how I feel one way or another. But this late November night, when I know my family and friends are home sharing a meal and spending time with each other, the absence is tangible.

I'm here in Beirut.

NYC is over 5000 miles away. I am not friendless, but the warmest people here are not my friends. The christian shop owner, a hundred yards from my apartment, always treats me like a welcome guest.

"HABIBI!" He booms, in a voice that belies his diminutive frame, his frail walk with the aid of a cane. I asked him today what he felt of the government's recent statement, accepting Hezbollah's arms ("Hezbollah is Lebanon, and Lebanon is Hezbollah," one of the cabinet ministers said).

He said, with a wave of his leathery hand, "He can talk as much as he wants." And then the thunder of laughter.

It reminds me of the "political" conversations I used to try to have with my Amma and Umpa. Short, direct, they cut through it all and just make it plain:

"He can talk as much as he wants,"

Meaning, "I've had this shop, in West Beirut, for 37 years."
Meaning, "I'm a Lebanese fighter, too."
Meaning, "That'll be 2000 Lebanese Livres, please."

I left the shop, still by myself, but somehow buoyed by the exchange.

And suddenly, I found myself wrapping my arms around [Beirut] wanting to give everyone a big hug. I had made a connection to the city and did not feel alone anymore. It is amazing how it changes your perspective on everything.
*Beirut, I Love You. Page 36.

Indeed. Humdillallah.

-----
To Write in a Foreign City

I squeeze rose water
on the bleached pages
& wring blue ink
I tattoo my tongue
needle my lips
a language
i'm learning
leaks from this ball-pointed
pen
and bubbles on the end
like Arabic coffee
it stains my teeth
erodes enamel

in dim light
i squint
a cat licks tin cans
on the sidewalk.
-----

The web of wires
heavy with rainwater
drops a tendril to the alley
below
it sparks & slithers

This is not a metaphor

A young boy cuts the corner
late
to his lessons

This story ends here.
-----
On Writing (4 Val)

I can write
a book but it wouldn't stop
a war I could write
a poem but it wouldn't halt
a bullet or bring you any
closer

Beirut Journal Day #20: Important People

2009-11-27T09:12:00.000-08:00

11.27.09

It is Eid Al-Adha today, a muslim holiday that fits nicely into the US 'Thanksgiving' tradition (in practice, not in historical context). It's a day where families come together, some slaughter a goat, eat, share in each other's company, and pray. I went for a walk this morning and the mosque near my place had to bring numerous mats out onto the sidewalk to accomodate all the people!

I spent the day alone, mostly, reading & thinking. Most of my thoughts ended with me feeling so thankful for the people i have in my life. People who have brought me so much joy; people who have taught me how to love. I couldn't be here without you all. And though I am here by myself, I am definitely not alone.

Now, apoem!

Choice*
by Abd al-Aziz al-Maqilih

Between grief on my knees & death on my feet
I choose death:
b/w a safe silence & a voice that's bloodied
I choose the voice:
b/w a slap & a bullet
I choose the bullet:
b/w the sword & the whip
I choose the sword:
This is my destiny & my glory
this is the longing of man.

Once God was love, a plentiful cloud,
daylight at night,
a song extended
over the hills of grief,
a heaven that washed with green rain
the furrows of the earth.
Where did the ship of God go? Where the song of man's rebellion?

Now God is ashes, silence,
a terror in the executioners' hands,
an earth swelling w/ oil,
a field where rosaries and turbans grow.

B/w God the song of revolution
& the god coming from Hollywood
on tapes, in stacks of dollar bills:
I choose God the song, I choose God the revolution.

Love was a springtime for all seasons,
a lovely girl whose supple feet
rested on the sea, whose palms
touche the sun.
Her braids spread over the green hills of poetry,
she had bread for her lovers,
the wine of luscious dreams wa on her lips.

Now love's tree has grown old,
love's eyes are dull,
the leaves of poetry have been torched,
all seasons are winter,
love has become banknotes & the hearts of men
have turned to ice.

Between love the deal & love the poetry:
I choose love, I choose poetry.

*Abd al-Aziz al-Maqalih is a Yemeni poet. Considering the recent Saudi assault on Yemen, I thought it appropriate to share this poem.

Beirut Journal Day #19: Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T10:50:00.000-08:00

11.26.09

Cariahnna, one of my students from Harlem Village Academy, emailed me yesterday and asked if I was going to be lonely this Thankstaking...er...giving.

"I can't even imagine being away from my family on thanksgiving," she said.

She got me thinking, and I'm so very thankful for that!

To My Mother
by Mahmoud Darwish

I yearn for my mother's bread,
My mother's coffee,
My mother's touch,
And childhood grows inside me
Day upon breast of day
And I love my life because,
If I died,
I'd feel shame for my mother's tears.

Take me, if one day I return,
As a veil for your lashes
And cover my bones with grass
Baptised in the purity of your heel
And fasten my bonds
With a lock of hair,
With a thread that trails in the train of your dress.
Maybe I would become a god,
A god I'd become,
If I touched the depths of your heart.

Put me, if I return,
As fuel in your cooking stove,
As a clothes-line on your rooftop,
For I have lost resolve
Without your daily prayer.
I have grown decrepit: Give me back the stars of childhood
That I may join
The young birds
On the return route
To the nest of your waiting.
*

(To all of you, whom I love so dearly (too many to mention, I'll be home soon.)

Beirut Journal Day #18: Bourj Al-Barajneh

2009-11-25T11:38:00.000-08:00

11.25.09

I stepped through the doors of the Fraternity Association for Social and Education Work (FASEW), the community center at Mukhayim Bourj Al-Barajneh that I'm going to volunteer for. "Keefkon! Keefkon! (How is everyone! How is everyone!)" I boomed. Winces, and sideways glances. It was 11:30. Naptime.

Whoops. I was just excited to see people who I recognized, & to be able to use one of my new greetings!

*Kanye shrug*

I climbed the stairs (where I'd be out of range of the little ones) to meet with Ghassan Hassoun, one of the coordinators of the center. He schooled me on the history of the center, its present and its future, in the context of refugee services in Lebanon.

"UNRWA (United Nations Relief & Works Agency) is the main organization for refugees," he explained. But they only provide the most basic of services.In fact, they were established after this camp. So, FASEW came about to provide some relief for the youth in the camp.

"We are not affiliated with any party or faction," he said. A fact that can complicate matters for them. As much of the aid to NGO working with Palestinians have had their funding frozen based on their political positions. (For example, if an organization supports President Mahmoud Abbas' criticism of the US for backtracking on the Israeli settlement issue, they may find that their funds have dried up). "But, most NGO work in Palestine, and not here in Lebanon," so FASEW climbs a steep hill in search of funds.

"We want to buy a bus. This way we can do two things: We can bring children to the center for preschool, because there are many mothers who don't want to walk through the camp. We can also take our young people to other camps. Last year we held some sports matches with other camps, but we had to rent the buses, and many families could not afford to pay."

After spending some time walking through the camp I can fully understand why a mother (for it is the mothers who care for the young here) would want to keep their young off of the streets. The camp wasn't exactly a planned community. There was no R. Buckminster Fuller considering the best use of this ONE square kilometer for 20,000 refugees. There was no infrastructure planned--no electricity, water, plumbing--for the first wave, in 1948, then the next wave in 1968, let alone the natural population growth. UNRWA does not provide these services, either.

Over the past 60 years, the residents have made piecemeal changes, as individuals rather than communally, to bring their own abode water and electricity. Since they can't spread out, they build up. Literally just plastering a cinderblock structure on top of the first or second floor of the family home. The electrical "grid" is more like a spider web of live wires overhead.

It's an apt metaphor for the political situation that Palestinian refugees are in, actually. Often times these wires are shaken loose, and it slithers and sparks on the ground, which is always wet because the water system is similarly rigged.

Less than a month ago a 12 year old boy was electrocuted to death by one of these wires. And he's just the most recent one, for it happens often.

Not to get too far off on a political rant, but this is one of the many unreported, uncounted costs of the Israeli Occupation of Palestine. Innocent people, denied human rights, die because of criminal governmental policies.

So Ghassan is trying to find the money for a bus. He thinks he needs $40,000. But, that's not his top priority. "Right now we can't start our most important program," he continues. "The cornerstone of our organization is the High School Dropout Intervention Program," and it's on hold until they can drum up the money to pay the staff, who are also residents of the camp. $300 per month, incidentally. To provide educational services to teenagers who, understandably see no future in the camp, in Lebanon, in the world that is worth going to school for.

High school youth are an increasingly vulnerable population. I've mentioned before that Lebanon has a complex of laws designed to "Preserve the Lebanese aspects" of Lebanon. These laws all target Palestinians, barring them from any type of professional work. So, it's easy to see why a teenager would see little point in finishing high school (at the UNRWA school). These youth who drop out are targeted by fundamentalist groups, who give them classes in secret, presumably educating them on the finer points of martyrdom. It makes perfect sense, to me. If my future is in Paradise, why in hell would I continue to toil on the sewage soaked streets, as a Refugee?

These are the fruits of enforced poverty.

These are the consequences that the vulnerable bear when the powerful are not held to account.

Ghassan is trying to save these kids. Literally. He's trying to bring the people who he was born with into a new day, every day.

But even the success stories of the organization come with strings.

"Some of our graduates get college scholarship money from Bahrain...but they have to pay it back," he chuckles. Blessings & curses. How are they supposed to pay it back, if they are legally prevented from professional employment in Lebanon?

This is the other aspect of the Israeli Occupation that is insidious beyond words.

It's worse than brain drain, because this is meant to break a People. If a Palestinian refugees gains acceptance into a university, and performs at university, then what? In order to work in their field they must leave Lebanon. They may not be permitted to return, either. And why would a person wish to, anyway? Why, after a successful university career, return to 3rd class, non-citizen status?

All of this is the backdrop for my next four weeks here in Lebanon. I'll work with the gracious people at the center. I'll do what I can, day by day, to support the good work that they have engaged in. The task is monumental, and I am but one person. My finger is in the dam.

Beirut Journal Day #17: Alec Collett

2009-11-24T10:42:00.000-08:00

11.24.09
I leafed through the Daily Star today, eager to begin my new project of studying Lebanon's main english language newspaper's coverage of Palestinians. I am curious as to how, with the new government pledging a "spirit of unity," and "the abolition of sectarianism," Palestinians will be treated. For, the so-called new government here is made up largely of an old boy network of former militia leaders who have been united at one point or another, in their disdain for the 400,000-plus Palestinian Refugees still living here. In addition to that, they've all had their their guns trained on one another, and have presided over the literal slaughter of each other's men, women and children.

None of the Star's reporting on this new government ever mentions Palestinians, a fact that I find curious, and am not exactly sure what to make of it. They frequently explain how two former mortal enemies met for the first time since the war, but what of the invisible people? The Palestinians? I am just going to scan the paper to see how and when they do talk of these shadows, who comprise 10% of the people living in this little country.

I came across an article that stole my focus though. DNA tests confirm Bekaa body belongs to missing UK journalist Alec Collett . 25 years after he was abducted, his remains have been identified. It's a bitter reminder, to use a hopelessly bland cliche, of how this place was torn to shreds by many of the current governors. In Pity the Nation Robert Fisk describes how, during those days, they posted a list on the AP wall of journalists who were kidnapped. It started with one. Soon it was five feet long. His close friend, Terry Anderson, was held for seven years by Islamic Jihad, and later released in a swap of Shia hostages in Israel's notorious Khiam prison.

Then on 25 March, a British writer was kidnapped. Alec Collett was 64, a freelanc working with the United Nations, writing about Palestinian refugees....Collett possessed two passports, one for Lebanon, another marked with an entry stamp to Israel. He had been writing about the occupied Gaza Strip and had been to Israel. At the Amal [one of the Shia militias] checkpoint, he had shown the gunmen the wrong passport.
....Collett's death was announced next. A video film was released to Reuters in Beirut showing a corpse twisting on the gallows. It was dressed in Alec Collett's clothes.

Fisk also explains that this kidnapping, by the Abu Nidal's anti-Arafat faction which was indeed a terrorist operation with no political direction, was possibly responding to the Reagan Administration's bombing of Libya. Some families of hostages were trying to raise money to pay the captors, but "Libyan agents in Beirut raised more money" to buy hostages, assumedly to have them executed.

He would be 90 years old.

So many questions drive through my head as I think about him. About Beirut. About Gaza. Both places are radically changed since the early 80's, for sure. Beirut for the better (however temporarily) and Gaza for the extreme worse. I have no need to fear meeting Mr. Collett's fate, no need at all, to be sure. But I feel some sort of kinship to him. Some bond with this man, who when he went to do good work was just 10 years older than my mother is today. It takes a really dedicated, committed and open-hearted person to walk into Beirut in the middle of a barbaric war to write about the most vulnerable people in the country.

I can only hope that when I am 64 I have the same dedication, the same love and trust in my heart as Alec Collett.

May he, now finally, inshallah, rest peacefully.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2009/nov/23/alec-collett-remains-found-lebanon

Beirut Journal Day #16: Bourj Al-Barajneh

2009-11-23T11:15:00.000-08:00

I shoulder the oven
over broken streets
that seep saltwater
& sewage
past the souk
to the Youth Center
where we enter into
the Biblical task
of turning
some scant ingredients
into a meal
large enough to nourish
a turning
a point
in time when
Peoples
make
then break
bread together
then Dabkeh*
to a new song
for the first time
---
"Tayyib, Yallah!"
she thunders
& i punch
& pound my palms
deep into the bowl that
holds our future
meal
Lahma bin ajeen
Lamb-stuffed pastry
she'll roast in that makeshift oven
under an undying flame
then hand them out
still sizzling
each to each
guests first.

*Dabkeh is a traditional Palestinian dance form, where everyone holds hands or links arms in a circular formation, then perform they synchronized steps. The youth of today have transformed to fit modern music.

Beirut Journal Day #15: Bourj Al-Barajneh

2009-11-22T06:09:00.000-08:00

11.21.09

It's the day before Lebanese Independence Day, and I have just returned from Mukhayim Bourj Al-Barajneh ("Moo-hkay-yim"). There's definitely no small amount of bitterness to this irony: the Lebanese celebrate their independence from France,while Palestinians here are still living in hovel conditions.

Much has been written about Palestinian refugees. The ones who make their lives in the Bourj Al-Barajneh camp are from Acre, and the descendants of the original wave of flight in 1948. There are still a few of the originals who shuffle the streets. They fled Acre, at the demand of the invading European soldiers (who would become Israelis). They were told that if they stayed, they would be killed. They were told that they would be able to return. So, they packed up some of their belongings, whatever they could carry, and any important documents (like deeds to their property), locked their doors and sought out a safe place to take shelter until the war passed.

They were not fighting the invaders. They were fleeing a war. These original refugees were protecting their families and themselves.

It's the cruel irony of the entire discussion of Palestinian refugees. They did not want to fight! They did what most reasonable people would do when confronted with a live-or-die ultimatum.

They chose to live.

And now, these refugees and their (three generations of) descendants are subjected to what can only be described as truly barbaric treatment. If you've seen District 9, you have an idea of what I'm trying to describe.

It takes a callousness that I can't comprehend to treat human beings the way the Lebanese treat these Palestinian refugees. Penning them into cinder block hovels and, after all the young men have been rounded up and disappeared, massacring the rest of the women and children with knives the way the Christian Phalange did in 1982, with the Israeli army providing them cover.

"Softening up" Bourj Al-Barajneh from air and with tanks, then literally sealing the gates and starving people to death. These are things that are not within reason. They don't fit within my framework of understanding.

Aren't these the people who fled fighting? Don't you think that they are the best people to negotiate with? The ones who demonstrated a desire for peace and only peace?

That simple desire, through decades of torture and unspeakable horror, has become a fierce demand for freedom and the right to return.

I wonder how long,how much abuse I would endure before I would take me to take up arms with my brother, my cousins, my father?

Mistreatment breeds rebellion. History bears this out, and the Israelis, of all the people on this planet, understand that.

I don't mean to be making an apologia for Palestinians. I recognize that they, through their poor leadership, ineffectual organizing and now internecine fighting, that they share responsibility for their history. Certainly for their future. I am not trying to turn them into "Noble Savages," or anything of the like.

They have not acquitted themselves well here in Lebanon. They have made more mistakes than I have time to mention here.

But the mistake of the Refugee has different consequences than the "unintended consequence" of the superpower. The Refugee will feel the toll of both, actually. For, the superpower makes a mistake and bombs a school. The superpower moves on. The refugee makes a "mistake" and he is a murderous Other. A "plotter." The superpower sells an F-16 fighter jet to another superpower, and that jet drops a bomb on a furniture factory, killing numerous workers and destroying the livelihood of hundreds of others. The refugee defends his bantustan with a rifle from World War II, and he's a terrorist.

Though history in Lebanon is a chronology of mistakes, who am I to criticize?

I have never been stateless.
I have never pulled my daughter's hands from her mouth to prevent her from ingesting the sewage that seeps through the streets that she plays on.
I have never had to hold a meeting in secret, for fear of my life.
I have never had to fight for my faith against those who despise that faith.
I am not a refugee.

I will allow for complexities in the life of a refugee, in the context of any discussion around political failings.

Hell, in the US our political organizations can't even get legislation passed that the majority of the country wants! How can I legitimately criticize the failures of anyone else? Simply put, I don't have a leg to stand on!

So, call me an apologist if you will. Say that I ignore historical acts and historical facts.

Say what you will.

Today the people of Mukhayim Bourj Al-Barajneh taught me how to make Arabic coffee. They taught me how to prepare lahm bi ajeen. They taught me a Dabkeh.

One young woman in a pink lace hijab and white Dr. Martin boots laden with buckles and zippers shed tears when we left.

Labiba, my guide for the day, was patient with me and my broken Arabic.

Mohamed opened the home of his grandmother,and showed us the key to the home she fled.

This was not a political ploy. It was not a charade.

It was the genuine open-armed welcome that Palestinians , in particular Palestinian Refugees, have always offered to me.

If you don't believe me. If you're skeptical, good! "Fadl!" You're welcome to come see for yourself!

Beirut Journal Day #14: Looking Forward

2009-11-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

Days like today always leave me a little unhinged. Without any major objective, I spent my time preparing for tomorrow. My madrassa has organized a trip to Mukhayim Bourj al-Barajneh (Mukhayim means camp, Bourj al-Baranjeh is a place in southwest Beirut). It’s a Palestinian Refugee Camp, established in 1948 by the Swedish Red Cross. Now, services, to the extent that they exist, are administered by the United Nations Relief Works Association (UNRWA). Some facts:

1. Roughly 20,000 people inhabit this camp.
2. It has been attacked numerous times, by numerous different groups. Chief among these groups, Lebanese Shia militias.
3. In the 1980’s, during the Israeli onslaught that led to internal war in Lebanon, there was mass starvation in this camp.
4. The camp is one square kilometer.
5. Through a series of laws and decrees passed by the Lebanese Government over the years, Palestinian refugees are prohibited from, among many other things:

a. Owning property/land
b. Repairing property
c. Passing on property as inheritance for future generations
d. Employment in nearly every sector of Lebanese society.
e. The freedom of movement throughout Lebanon.

Lebanon’s treatment of these stateless, country-less Palestinians is criminal.
Lebanon’s treatment of these stateless, country-less Palestinians is complicated.

My madrassa, located right next to Phalange headquarters (I’ve written about the Phalange on other occasions), has organized this trip as a sort of cultural exchange. It feels very strange to say that I’m looking forward to it. But I am

Looking forward.

As we all should be.

Resources:
UNRWA http://www.un.org/unrwa/refugees/lebanon/barajneh.html
Beirut Indymedia http://beirut.indymedia.org/ar/2004/01/898.shtml

Beirut Journal Day #13: Beirut Graffiti

2009-11-19T12:58:00.000-08:00

"I Don't Wanna Die"

"Red S"

"Fish"

"Big Up"

"Wings"

Most of these pieces can be found across the street from the Beirut Art Center, a pretty fantastic place. I walked there today (it's in East Beirut) to check out their exhibit called "America." The exhibit was fair. It showed different slices of the US through a bunch of different mediums, mostly by American artists.

My favorite was Kara Walker's haunting, disturbing shadow puppet film. It was a bout an enslaved woman whose master freed her. She became emamoured with her new power, & nasty things happened.

Beirut Graffiti

2009-11-19T12:28:00.000-08:00

Black Horse, Yellow Wall

"Core"

"Ghas"

"Suovival of the Phatest" (sic)

"Graffiti" (No, really, that's what it says!)

Beirut Journal Day #12: Alphabet

2009-11-18T13:10:00.000-08:00

November 18, 2009

I woke up with Walid Farhoud, my new Arabic Immersion instructor from iTunes, droning on in my earbuds:

“Wahad…One.”
“Tnain…Two.”
“Tlateh…Three.”

Learning by osmosis. They say that babies absorb language, even while in the womb. Well, I’m an Arabic infant, so here’s to it.

In addition to the spoken word, I’m learning to read and write. It’s challenging, for sure. Also, it’s an extremely artistic way of expressing oneself. As June Jordan always said, “language carries the consciousness of a People.” Such a beautifully written language must have an equally beautiful conscience upholding it.

I don’t mean to simplify people, or to reduce this place to an elementary understanding. I’m just saying that my country, the US, is sending young boys and girls (even forcing a single mother to foster her child!) to bomb, and shoot, and torture, and rape Peoples who speak this language. I mean, “we” know so little about the people, the diverse people who populate the middle east and central Asia. We can’t even read their writing! Perhaps learning the language would help to solve problems, or at least provide a frame of reference for mutual understanding. Perhaps.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each person’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

Old Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a smart poet. Notice that he says, “If we could read” the history, not simply, or passively “hear.” To be literate requires commitment. It requires dedication. Desire. Even love. If only our so-called leaders had this type of love in their hearts.

So, while bombs have fallen, and may well fall again here in Beirut, I let my pen bleed letters in this new tongue. I want these letters that I write to be absolutely perfect. I want them to look like I have taken my time to inscribe them with that original type of love that language has grown from. The love of connecting to other human beings.

A final word to all my students at Harlem Village Academy: Leadership, on the importance of penmanship. The way you write reflects so much. The way that you shape our shared language on a blank page carries with it a new meaning, for a new day. Let your words be flowers. Let them bloom on your pages. Let them reflect, in their shape, in the care that you put into them, your history—the history of your people. Let them be a key to your blooming future.

For, some day, someone may leaf through your writing, in search of a new understanding of your life and times.

Ahumdill Allah!

My Walk to School

2009-11-17T13:01:00.000-08:00

So, here it is...my walk to my Arabic Madrassa. It takes about 15 minutes. In that time, I see more than I could imagine in any other place. I'll let the images stand for themselves, for the most part.

Al-Hamra: The neighborhood of West Beirut in which I live. West Beirut was the home to the PLO during the 70's, until they were expelled in '82. East Beirut, during that time, was primarily a Christian area, sympathetic to Israel & the West. To get to my school, I walk from West Beirut, to the East.

Self Portrait

Broom Outside My Door

Fruit Stand

Fruit Stand

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:55:00.000-08:00

Church

Man on Scaffold

Stairs

Jounblat Section. It's pretty easy to transliterate Arabic numbers. Try it!

Glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:48:00.000-08:00

Worker

Rue John F Kennedy

White Gate on Rue JFK

Building with Blue Shutters

Detail in White

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:41:00.000-08:00

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:33:00.000-08:00

As you see, there are some stunning homes on Rue JFK. The following pictures are taken literally across the street from this home.

Rue Omar Daouk

George Carlin once said something like, "I love to see a weed sprouting through a crack in the sidewalk. So fucking heroic." Also, Tupac wrote a book entitled "The Rose that Bloomed through Concrete." The same spirit is in this weed.

Holes in a Wall

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:25:00.000-08:00

The Beautiful House

The Holiday Inn

Bullet Holes & Rust

Purple Flower

The Mediterranean Again

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

Minet Al Hosn, w/ Rusted Bullet Hole

Marigolds

Green Line Real Estate: The Green Line is the line that divided Muslim West Beirut from Christian East Beirut. I don't think there's a more cynical way to profit off of the wars that the people in Beirut have endured than to build new hotels & offices on the bones of the dead.

Arches

Cloud as Claw Over a New Building

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T11:45:00.000-08:00

Al-Amari Masjid

Ruins

Place Du Martyrs

Place de Etoile

BCBG Max Azaria

On the Way to School

2009-11-17T11:38:00.000-08:00

Glitz & Glamour

Beit al-Kataeb: House of the Phalange. This is Amine Gemayel, grandson of Bashir Gemayel. The Phalange are a Maronite Christian Militia, whose ideology is based on Italian Fascism. They are responsible for the massacre of unarmed Palestinian Refugees in Sabra & Chatila Camps, just days after the PLO, as well as the International Peacekeeping force left Beirut in 1982. They are still armed and hold seats in Lebanon's Parliament.This is Robert Fisk's description of Chatila, the morning after the massacre:

...there were women lying in houses with their skirts torn up to their waists and their legs wide apart, children with their throats cut, rows of young men shot in the back after being lined up at an execution wall. There were babies--blackened babies because they had been slaughtered more than 24 hours earlier and their small bodies were already in a state of decomposition--tossed into rubbish heaps alongside discarded US army ration tins, Israeli army medical equipment and empty bottles of whiskey.

So, when Israel and the US talk about terrorists, about Hezballah, about Iran, I think of the Phalange.

Saifi Institute for Arabic Language

You, too

Beirut Journal Day #10: 'A night. A man. A city."

2009-11-16T16:29:00.000-08:00

November 16, 2009

The other night I set out to shoot some pictures on the Corniche. It was after midnight, and I figured that’d be the best time to get a solid feel for this place, sans tourists or students. My endeavors earned me stern warnings from a young hooligan, and a proposition to “do some things” from one of the young cruisers. And there it is: Beirut in a nutshell. Separate invitations to violence & love (well, sex, at any rate); two ends of the spectrum, on the same street.

Two hours later, & over 200 pictures shot, I stumbled through my apartment door. I’m going to use the pictures to create a photopoem in tribute to my friend, the late Haas Mroue. His heart attacked him, here in Beirut, two years ago, and this city is without its kindest native son.
He wrote a book a number of years ago called “Beirut Seizures.” If you can find it, you deserve a medal. It’s a collection of poems about the 15 year “civil” war here. A war that he lived through. The title of this journal entry comes from one of the poems within it.

The project will look something like this: a series of pictures of this place, with poems (his, mine, possibly June’s) incorporated somehow. Along with music. I’m thinking a slideshow, as well as actual photos, enlarged & framed.
Anyone I talk to asks me what I’m doing here, or why I came in the first place. I never have a clear answer for them. Mostly because I figured that I’d find my purpose here, here.
And now I have. Here’s a few that may or may not make the cut for this project:

Beirut
At night
Heels scuff corrugated streets
Lovers
And killers
Fall into each other
There can be no other

Beirut
The only city in the world
*
Shebab (young men) link limbs
A chain across the Corniche
And they dance in line
Laughter thunders from their mouths
I can’t tell their religion
One of them shuffles up to me
‘you should go
There’s going to be a problem’

They are not drunk
They have stopped their dance
But are still chained
Together

Beirut.
*
I navigate alleyways
And sidestreets end up
On Rue Bliss
Where young men angle
Porsches up to the sidewalk
They belt their girlfriends
Trophies
Into passenger seats
They slather ketchup
On hot dogs
And vomit Mc Donald’s into gutters

Up the street a 20 year old
Soldier
Sits on a flimsy white patio chair
His machine gun slung across
Quadriceps
He drags on
A Gauloises cigarette

When one war ends another
Breaks.

Beirut in Pictures

2009-11-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

Pigeon Rock w/ Pink Horizon

Pigeon Rock

Restaurant on the Precipice

Hamra Apartment

Soldier in the Distance

Beirut in Pictures

2009-11-15T06:38:00.000-08:00

Bullet Riddled Apartment in West Beirut

Red Window Shutters

My Apartment Building

Yellow Lambo

Beirut in Pictures

2009-11-15T06:13:00.000-08:00

Al-Omari Mosque

Beirut Moon

Red Door

Balcony on the Building Without Windows

Drinking Water, Our Lady of Lebanon

Beirut Journal Day #8: Working

2009-11-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

Rain fell last night. I woke to the pitter-pat against the flat concrete outside my window, smiled, fell into sleep again.

Until the jackhammer and the hydraulic drill shook the walls. The construction workers get started early here. According to the UN Development Programme, construction workers and agricultural workers comprise the bulk of the Lebanese* who live below the so-called poverty line.

$4.00 per day. Or less.

28% of Lebanese citizens work for this pittance, according to the report. It would cost each person here about $120 per year to pull everyone up above this artificial line. That’s it. Extremely do-able. Especially in light of the IMF (International Monetary Fund) recognition that this country somehow managed to grow during the “global financial crisis.”

None of the news articles focusing on the prospects for the Lebanese economy make any mention of this report. Neither do they mention the poor or the workers. Only the glorious benefits of privatizing the telecommunications and electricity sectors, currently run (into the ground) by the government. (The Lebanese pay some of the highest mobile phone rates in the region, and endure daily blackouts that can last hours.)

But thousands of men are laying the foundations for a gazillion new hotels, right now. Hard working people.

$4 per day. $120 per year.

I find it so very interesting that, though the lives of nations are based on their daily toil, the builders and the farmers who struggle the most to make a living. The literally kill themselves to make Life possible for others.

The Sorrow of Violets
~Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati (Iraqi poet. He wrote this poem in Beirut in 1964)

The millions who work hard do not dream of the death of a butterfly
And the sorrows of violets
Or of a sail glowing
Under the green moonlight on a summer night
Or the love affairs of one madly in love with a phantom
The millions who work hard
Are naked
Torn
The millions who make a boat for the dreamer
The millions who make a handkerchief for an enamored one
The millions who cry
Sing
Suffer
In the corners of the earth, in a steel factory or a mine:
They chew the sun disc to escape an inevitable death
They laugh from the bottom of their hearts
They laugh
They are enamored
Not like on madly in love with a phantom
Under the green moonlight on a summer night
The millions who cry
Sing
Suffer
Under the night sun dream of a morsel.

*The report made literally no mention of Palestinian Refugees living in Lebanon.

A Man in a Suit

2009-11-14T03:22:00.000-08:00

"New clothes are pleasing to my people.
A gracious appearance is all they love."
~Hafiz Ibrahim

An old man
Sips black cappuccino
He sports a brown business suit
Gold watch glistens
His grey tie sprouts red & blue flowers
From thin
White tendrils
He thumbs burnt orange "worry beads"
In his right hand

His right hand trembles

Behind him a lightpole leans
riddled with bullets.

Pictures from the Corniche in Beirut

2009-11-14T02:50:00.000-08:00

Pigeon Rocks

Soldier Leaning. No Photo Zone.

Barbed Sunset

Beirut Journal Day #7: Ebb & Flow; Palestinian Animals

2009-11-13T14:10:00.000-08:00

Today was like the tide: ebb and flow. Forward. Back. Absence. Retreat.

The sea may weather and erode the cliff, but the cliff still stands.

I had my first Arabic lesson. Though I learned a lot, I am sure that solid instruction in a second language should not feature the teacher speaking more than the student. At any rate, I am now able to order food in a restaurant, or at least tell people that “I want [this or that], thank you.” Quite a step forward!

Countless people have told me how difficult Arabic is to learn, but I’m dubious. I mean, any language is challenging to speak, let alone apprehend, but in order to get by, I think I can manage a base level of understanding, though I also completely understand that I have a long way yet to travel. Knowing how to string together sentences is one thing, but comprehending what others are saying is entirely something else. So, I’m thankful to my instructor that I’ve picked up some, and confident that there’s more to come.

For a concrete example, I ordered my dinner tonight:

“Fadl, wahadah labnah sandwiche, kamaan whahada Almaza, shukran.”

“Please, one sour yogurt sandwich, also one Almaza (The Lebanese beer), thank you.”

Now, if the waiter had asked me if I wanted to order an appetizer, well, I would’ve been in the woods, nodding and smiling while he just stared in wait for me to say what appetizer, exactly, I would prefer.

It’s really strange, not to say disempowering, to be without a language in common with the people who surround you. It’s isolating. I spend the vast majority of my time in my own head. In fact, I probably say 100 words a day. (To all my students: I know you find this completely beyond belief. But it’s true! Now you know: learn another language, and speak it in class, and I’ll have nothing to say!)

This lack of a common language means that I rely on gestures, moreso than verbs.
But June Jordan taught me that Language carries the consciousness of a People. And beyond that, the verbs—the action words—in any language drive meaning home. So, for me, a Neaderthal gesticulation really does nothing to gain me entry into this place and these people.

I must learn The language they speak.

And to this task, this necessity, I commit myself.

II. Sunset As Metaphor

During one of my study breaks today I took a walk up the Corniche to Pigeon Rock, so I could watch the sunset. Quite beautiful, for sure. It drove home just how infrequently I watch the sun fall beyond any horizon, anymore.

The beginning of November is the time of my Amma’s birth. She passed on seven years ago.
The setting sun speaks to me.
The setting sun keeps me from forgetting.

III. Daily Star

The Lebanese newspaper is called the Daily Star (dailystar.com.lb). I read it every day to keep abreast of regional events. There’s very little reporting on US news, a fact that I find…pertinent. There’s really no reason for the Lebanese to report on US issues, unless they directly pertain to the domestic concerns here. This means I get to skip all the racist coverage of Fort Hood, the healthcare fallout and the utter gutlessness of the Obama administration.

Il-Hamdil-allah!
Thanks be to God!

At any rate, there were some things that did catch my eye. I mean, Peter Murphy dissed David Bowie for not showing up to a concert here! Now that’s news you can use!
Also, there were two scant sidebar paragraphs, under the title: “Judge Calls for Death Penalty for Israeli Spies.” The editors conveniently left out that it’s a Military judge, who wants these four men prosecuted in military court.) Talk about complicated! The death penalty for espionage! The US has quite a history with such cases. The Rosenburgs are the obvious touchstone, though “we” also had good ole McCarthy to put any dissenters he wanted on trial for just the same charge (Jackie Robinson testified against Paul Robeson in HUAC hearings).

At any rate, four Lebanese (not Israeli) citizens have been charged with “cooperating and communicating with Israeli spies.” One of these men, captured in London, is alleged to have had explosives and weapons in his apartment.

Crazy, right?

This same judge has also called for the *exact same penalty* for five Palestinian Refugees. These stateless humans have been charged with “terrorist activities” and “observing the Lebanese Army” near the Ain al-Hilweh camp, near the city of Sidon.
It takes one word to describe Lebanon’s approach to Palestinian Refugees:

Animals.

That’s how they are treated. Worse, actually. I mean, at least animals have some small measure of freedom. (Here in Beirut, feral cats roam the streets with impunity.) But according to the UNRWA chief, in one of her final speeches, Palestinian Refugees
“…do not enjoy legal status and have little access to medical, education and social services. The refugees are subjected to sever restrictions of movement, forbidden from owning or repairing property and are barred from all but the most menial professions.” (www.dailystar.com.lb)

Lebanon’s (mis)treatment of these stateless Palestinians is unique, in fact. Syria, Jordan, Iraq, even Israel haven’t gone to such lengths to dehumanize these people. People, let us not forget, who are the sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters of those who fled a war, with the understanding (based on international law, and common sense) that they’d be allowed to return to their homes.

There are over 400,000 Palestinians, in 12 camps, in Lebanon alone. If these people were counted, or treated as equal, they would comprise about 10% of the population of this nation.

Ten percent.

Unable to own property. Or repair property. Or be counted as citizens. Or count anything but their godforsaken days left on this earth. But they do dream. They do live. They are not invisible, and can not be invisibilised. (For a tender, honest exploration, see the film “To Each, His Palestine.”)

So, what needs to be put to death is Lebanon’s criminal subjugation of these living human beings, and Israel’s relentless hatred of democracy. Spare the nine so-called spies/terrorists.

Bring a new understanding to fruition.

The Lottery Ticket Salesman

2009-11-12T13:55:00.000-08:00

An old man slings
A black satchel over
His shoulder
In his hands
A fan of Lebanese Lottery tickets

I do not want to play
I do not wish
to gamble
In a language I don’t understand

He sets one ticket
Nevertheless
On my table
Opens all his 10 weathered fingers
To show me the cost
My camera catches
His eye
So I buy a ticket
& shoot
His picture

It’s a deal

He does not smile

I pray my numbers
Hit.

Beirut Journal Day #6: Spawning

2009-11-12T13:53:00.000-08:00

I went for a run this morning along the Corniche (“corniche” means “street on a cliff.” The Corniche here is similar to a boardwalk, along the Mediterranean Sea). Overcast, but beautiful. Something about it all reminded me of my home—Seattle—in summer. Could be all the men fishing.

My father has started fishing in the river near his home. Right now, in the Pacific Northwest, it’s the end of the salmon spawning season, so there are innumerable salmon obeying the law of their nature, and returning to the site of their birth.
I wonder if it’s the same for us.

I am here, in Beirut. Half a world away from my home. Taking it all in; growing; becoming something new.

It’s not a question if I will return home. Of course I will. There are too many people whom I love and who have nurtured me not to. And when I do, most assuredly I’ll be changed. Older, sure, yet new because this world, made up of, and made by each and every person in it, renews me daily.

Ah-hamdillallah.

November 12, 2009

Beirut Journal Day #5: Stranger No More

2009-11-11T13:48:00.000-08:00

For thousands of years people have been coming to Lebanon. They have come to consume and cavort; to convert and conquer. The Lebanese, in turn, have sought out on their own explorations, & they send word, and considerable sums of money, back home. The Daily Star reported on Tuesday November 10 that remittances have topped $7 billion per year (I’ll touch on this in a separate article in the coming days). This is all just to say that strangers are not strange here.

As a small case in point, I met up with Bilal Elamine yesterday. Bilal is a cofounder of LeftTurn Magazine (www.leftturn.org) and the co-owner of Tmarbouta Café here in the Al Hamra area of West Beirut. As we sat down, a friend of his, Mahmoud came in. Animated is the best, yet entirely insufficient way to describe this Palestinian puppeteer. We talked for quite some time, had some Lebanese wine, until Mahmoud had to step out to meet a friend of a friend, whom he’d never seen before, but was going to help find an apartment in Al Hamra.

“How do you know someone you’ve never seen before? What should I look for? What should I tell her? How should I describe myself?” he laughed.

He bounded out, & returned in what seemed to be an instant, with his mark: a young Palestinian-Italian woman who works for the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). The four of us talked for a minute, had some more wine, and then Bilal and Mahmoud hit the phones to find each of their new immigrants suitable homes.

“Listen, come here for a drink, meet her. You’ll like her…just don’t rent the room!” Mahmoud thundered through the phone to a friend of his who has a room to rent. And just as he finished this conversation, a young man came & whispered something in his ear.

“Aiwa! Tayeb!” (Yes! Okay!)

“Listen, Trevol, “ (it’s hard for native Arabic speakers to pronounce my name, “there is a place. It’s just down the road. Come, we’ll go!”

15 minutes later I had an apartment.

Just. Like. That.

I can’t imagine this happening in New York. What with the reference checks, the proof of employment, the obscenely high rents. On top of that, if a person doesn’t speak English & needs a translator to be able to speak to the landlord? In New York? Fat chance. We have set up a million obstacles to reasonable accommodation in the US. The aim is to make that paper. The effect, obviously, is to price the poor out of existence.
At any rate, I now have a place of my own. A stranger no more.

November 11, 2009

Beirut Journal Day #4: Metaphors for Mosquitoes, or A Sleepless Night in the Middle East

2009-11-11T01:13:00.000-08:00

I. Bush Doctrine

I’m on a mission. Firm in my resolve to find a living situation that I can endure. After last night, I realize that a mash-up Bush Doctrine/Marshall Plan may have to be implemented in my search. For, I was bombarded all night long by Kamikaze-Suicide-Bomber mosquitoes. I’m sure they have weapons of mass destruction somewhere, ready to be unleashed. They do not respond to my diplomatic entreaties. They are, quite simply, hellbent on vamping every last ounce of blood out of me.

Get ready, Beirut, you’re either with me or against me!

II. Desert Storm

A vast desert stretches out as far as the eye can see. Pristine, beautiful. On the horizon, oil derricks, plunging and pulling in their timeless manner. This oil is the envy of the world. It’s guardian must take precautions and be careful not to upset those who covet this treasure, lest they make war.

Oh, there will be war.

From down below, if you have a keen eye, you just may catch a glimpse of an enemy drone, probing from high above, looking for the perfect place to strike. Just when you think you see it, it’s gone, like magic! And while you were looking, another one or two stealthy enemy fighters have dive-bombed some other not to distant region. They have spiked the surface, plunged in and are extracting the oil, this lifeblood. And a swarm is coming. They can be heard, but not seen.

The *armed* forces are overwhelmed. They are ill equipped to handle such a concerted onslaught. It looks like guerilla warfare will be the most effective way to fight. They may not be able to kill all of the invaders, or even force them out, but they can draw the enemies in, one at a time, little by little, give them a small taste, then…THWAK!
Yes, there will be blood.

And when you realize that the blood of the invader has come from the invaded, there’s only one option. Get up, get out, move something. This war must be stopped!

November 10, 2009

Beirut Journal: Day #3--One Day, One Struggle

2009-11-09T14:20:00.000-08:00

I have spent the better part of my morning at Café Younes, just off Hamra Street. It’s a lively establishment, where many internationals and counter culturists congregate. They play some pretty bad American music—I heard Bon Jovi, Sting, even Cutting Crew—but brew some stellar coffee. There’s a poster on the wall entitled “One Day, One Struggle,” which immediately draws me in. Apparently today is day of action launching “An International Campaign for Sexual and Reproductive Rights.” The Women’s Rights Club, together with the Health Sciences Expertise Club of the American University in Beirut is hosting a panel discussion. I haven’t been to one of those in quite awhile, for good reason—I can’t stomach the hostile takeover of the discussion by sectarians during the Q & A! Before I open my Lonely Planet to find something else to do, I notice a “Tweet” from @allaboutrace advertising this same campaign. Well, then, I know I have to go!
*
I arrive at the campus early, which is easy to do in the Middle East. Nothing starts on time. When I walk in to the West Hall on campus, there are about 20 people there, nearly all women, speaking a mix of Arabic and English. It feels good to hear English, I have to admit. Even though I am not a part of their conversations, I can still participate, however passively. I realize just how auditory I am. I really love to hear people speaking, to get a brief glimpse into their worlds. I’m not talking about evesdropping, or gossip; I find the word on the street very informative, and here I can’t engage it at all. It’s easy to feel mute. Muted. So, again, it’s comforting to hear familiar words, though I’m definitely curious as to what language this forum will take place in. I hope, for purely personal reasons, that it will be in English, but I don’t necessarily expect it to.

The crowd is reminiscent of my Berkeley days: shabby-headed dudes in baggy jeans, young women in ill-fitting tank tops, and piercings galore. I understand fully the irony of describing how people dress at the Women’s Rights Club. I lapse into the physical descriptions not to focus on young feminist fashion in Beirut, but to locate myself in a familiar setting. I only mean to say that these people look like college students! Plus, I am early, bored & have to write about something, right?

At any rate, I’ve always appreciated the strident vitality of college activists. The ardent belief in a particular cause, and the ability to transmit that belief with passion is very attractive to me. The University provides a sort of sanctuary for many young people to explore their own voices, to attempt to relate their experiences with a wider audience than they may have ever had, whether casually (like in a dorm) or formally. The University is not without its contradictions, to be sure, but it has nurtured many a fine young revolutionaries.

I am so thankful that I am here, at this university tonight, to hear what these young folks have to say.
*
As it turns out, the panel discussion was in English. A fact that was called into question by one young woman. “We are in Lebanon, why are we speaking in English?” I must say that she was right on, especially considering the fact that two of the panelists were not comfortable in this medium. Numerous times they struggled to search for words, and were even visibly upset at times. English was a strange choice, and it must have been considered, especially because most of the people there were at least bilingual. So it goes.

I found the panel to be moderately informative. The panelists attempted to cover sexual rights, sexual expression and gender identity in four different areas: global politics, personal pleasure, the Lebanese health care system and the Lebanese sectarian system. The latter two being the most clearly thought out and relevant to the audience.

"Scale Up"

Dr. Faisal Elhaq, a gynecologist, spoke quite eloquently of the effectiveness of what he called a “scale up” approach—another way of saying grassroots organizing. He said that they are making progress in Beirut by infusing “sexual rights into whatever service we provide.” He went on to explain that a certain religious leader (he did not say whom) made one phone call in 1997, which effectively quashed what was then a very good sex education curriculum. For the past 10 years he has been organizing his community of gynecologists , and has “been able to institute a new curriculum.” It’s his hope that this curriculum, combined with other direct health services like condom distribution, will help to reduce the number of sexual infections in Beirut and beyond. And he challenged everyone to put in work to directly address sexual rights and sexual health, in everything they do. He closed by asking, “Why fight against the wind? Scale up, and over time you can achieve results.”

“Our only aim is to protect our bodies”

Ms. Hibba, a writer and anthropologist, then spoke about how the Lebanese sectarian system serves as a tool of oppression against sexual minorities. To better grasp what follows, here’s a brief overview of this complex political system: There are 128 seats in parliament. Half are allocated to Christian politicians, half to Muslims. They get further subdivided based on what type of Christianity or Islam is practiced in a certain region, but the important thing to note is that the Lebanese system is a religious system that is essentially socially conservative.

Here, this conservatism is evidenced through Law 534 (a holdover from the French colonial period) which “criminalizes any relation that ‘goes against the laws of nature.” 534 is similar to the sodomy laws in the US, though they reach much further, and are enforced much more regularly. Furthermore, the “laws of nature” are mutable, and are continually being altered by the different religious parties.

“The Lebanese system gives religious groups political control, so the religious groups control our sexual rights.” she explained. And what’s more, Lebanon is in a seemingly constant state of war. And in times of war individual freedoms get rolled back, if not eliminated altogether. So, in a place like Lebanon, women and sexual minorities are under constant attack—they must deal with internal war, external invasions and internal sexual violence all the time. It never stops. The people who are affected first, last, and for the absolute worst, are women and sexual minorities.

By the end of the discussion three things were clear:

1) The oppression of women and sexual minorities is a global problem, with global ramifications,
2) The number one priority is to develop power for women and sexual minorities.,
3) Though global, Lebanon has a unique set of circumstances to contend with.

So, let’s get to work!

Beirut Journal: Day #2

2009-11-08T14:10:00.000-08:00

Today was much less eventful than yesterday, but fascinating nonetheless. I left the hotel in the early afternoon & headed toward the sea. For me the rush & crash of waves has always given me some solace, perspective; unruly waters have always made me feel a little less alone. And being here, a foreigner who doesn’t speak the mother tongue, it’s really easy to live inside my own headspace. I think it’s called “culture shock,” & I want to avoid it at all costs, so finding some familiarity in this quite complicated & alien place is an absolute necessity.

On the way I came across a graffiti wall, which also gave me some comfort.

The corniche is only about 10 minutes away. When I got there I saw a mural of “King Pele” and the Nejmeh Football Club. As I was getting my camera focused, an older man putted up on a little scooter. He pointed at the mural and said, “That’s me.” The second from the right, on the bottom row. He said he played for the team for 13 years. We had a good laugh at his full head of hair then, as compared to now, shook hands & parted.

I continued down the corniche, buoyed by that encounter, & by all the people out. There were kids roller skating, swimming in the Mediterranean; people smoking sheesha, drinking coffee, and fishing. All in all, folks were enjoying this sunny Sunday afternoon.

Then a German fellow, Ky, asked me to take his picture, which I happily did. We struck up a conversation through which I learned:

1)He just finished his Ph. D in electrical engineering, and has been traveling for nine weeks.
2)He’s been to Russia, Azerbaijan, Japan, Korea, Syria & has just arrived in Lebanon.
3)He feels that Lebanon “hasn’t got anything interesting about it.”

“Really?” I gave him a sideways glance. “What would make it interesting to you?”
“Well, in Damascus I really enjoyed the souks. Yeah, it was dirtier, but, I don’t know. It somehow felt more interesting. It’s just so, washed here.”

It’s true that Beirut, the part that we were in, is pristine. Snazzy fitness clubs, five-star hotels, Porsche dealerships, Jimmy Choo shoes. Even a Starbucks. It’s a bit like being in newly gentrified areas of Seattle, actually. We continued walking & talking & came across some bombed out hotels. They were riddled with bullet-holes, literally in ruins, and right next to the Hard Rock Café. I wondered if my new German friend thought this was interesting.

I also got busy confronting my own ideas and ideals about development. Under “normal” circumstances I absolutely loathe so-called high-end development. High end business development does not have much to offer to working, and poor, people. About 30% of all Lebanese are living below the poverty line, and 8% of those people are considered extremely poor, according to the International Poverty Center (http://www.undp-povertycentre.org/pub/IPCCountryStudy13.pdf). Though many of the people of Lebanon are not starving, many of them are not doing all that well, and a Porsche, or a Lamborghini (which we saw) is but a pipe dream.

On the other hand, there are war-torn hotels, inhabitable. There’s a People who are trying to emerge out of three decades of wars and invasions. I don’t know what it means to be a 35 year old Lebanese. It must be a relief, if surreal, to take your kids swimming in the Mediterranean, especially if you had to dodge bullets to cross the street when you were their age.

I find that interesting.

I find my German friend’s myopia sad. Edward Said would find it disgusting. It’s that facet of Orientalism that relegates Peoples to some preconceived idea of who they are, or worse: who they should be.

The Lebanese of Beirut, evidentially, are not the open-air market people of Damascus. They are who they are. They exist in a context shaped by entirely different forces. To ignore their particular context, while dismissing them as uninteresting, is, well, foul. I mean, I don’t believe that the Hard Rock Café, or Starbucks or Jimmy Fucken Choo is going to do much to lift the Lebanese economy or the quality of life of the Lebanese people.

But 30 years of war sure didn’t either. And if I have to choose one over the other, well…

Upcoming articles:

Tomorrow there is supposed to be a big announcement that the government has finally formed, after six months of political infighting. I'll try to find out what some folks think about it.

…On Tuesday I’ll meet with Bilal Elamine, one of the founders of LeftTurn Magazine. I’ll talk to him about this, and see what he has to say about the internal movements for people-centered development.

Intifada Poems

2009-10-07T18:17:00.000-07:00

It's hard to write haiku 4 Palestine

b/c you must go
sofarsofast then slingshot
poems like cold stones

I say what I can
but Palestine needs
bread & land more than my poems

*

slingshot rocks rail walls
bricks & bullets rain down sharp
26 more dead

*

water sucked from stones
slingshots versus tank grenades
blood seeps down brick walls

w/ this blood we draw borders
through Jerusalem, Jenin

Gaza Strip bare ribs
kids inhale bullets like air
homes collapse like lungs

forgive us our trespasses
give us this day our day's bread

Ahmad's Bullet

2009-10-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

I struggle to write
you down
Ahmad
I struggle to fit
your knuckles & how
you brushed them over
my adam's apple
after fastening your bullet
necklace around my neck

I peel back
pages of notes
poems scrawled in the heated
moment barely
legible the bare details buried
b/w all my words
& all this war

I struggle
to find that exact place
you touched me
that epicenter
sending aftershock
waves through my body
how can we
men
love one another
from where we breathe?
our tongues stretched
taut
snapping back & away
from each other

how can we men
love each other
when bullets & broken stones
are the only flying things in the sky?
how can I wear
your bullet
when I can't throw stones
next to you?

Pardon the Interruption

2009-09-14T18:54:00.000-07:00

It has been a week of unceremonious interruptions. Joe Wilson, a Republican Senator from South Carolina, shouts "Liar" during *ahem* President Obama's speech. Kanye West jumps up on stage, feeling that Beyonce, the current queen of pop, was (Taylor) Swiftboated. West has been publicly threatened; below is a fair representation of the hatred that people are expressing toward the entertainer. In addition, West was apparently escorted out by security, and his performance was canceled.

I don't really care about West, Swift or Beyonce. They make pop art: super. We need art. But they don't really speak to me, or to the issues that I think artists should be speaking to. But, what I do find interesting is that, what West said is true: Beyonce made one of the best videos of all time, and by extension she deserves the award. I mean, how many different youtube "Single Ladies" versions are there?!

But, at the VMA, decorum reigns over truth.

If only the same values were in place during Obama's health care address to Congress. Joe Wilson, among numerous other elected officials, tried to shout down the elected President of the United States! And nary a response! It was a Presidential Address!

Wilson was not slinging words off the cuff. It was not a misguided spontaneous outburst. It would be foolish to regard Wilson's actions as anything less than calculated.

When we get our jobs in our organization, the first thing you do is you sit down with some of Saul Alinsky’s books, Rules for Radicals. And we read that book and we study that book, and everything that we've been trying to do here comes straight out of those pages.

Those are the words of Adam Brandon, from Dick Armey's "non profit" Freedom Works. They have been organizing the recent "tea parties" and public disruptions, using Alinsky as a guide. Now, many on the left have dismissed these demonstrators as lunatic. The demonstrators may-well be. But they are besides the point. The point being the demonstrations. They have forced a debate, when there should be none. Though they have rejected initiatives, without offering anything, they have garnered public space. They have captured airtime on major networks. And they have elected officials shouting down the President on their behalf.

This is not something
to dismiss this is
not something to debate
This is something to fight

So we will not debate the lunatic who dares dispute the validity, the value of Black and Third World and/or any other human life. Our lives are not debatable....We will continue to struggle for our survival and for the freedom of our children who will survive us by every means we choose to use.

~June Jordan, "On the Occasion of a Clear and Present Danger at Yale (1975)"

There is no logical response to state violence. There is no logical response to state sanctioned hate, so-called "free speech." The only avenue we have is the fight. They disrupt public debate and the state police don't escort them out, then we do. They hold a tea party/hate rally in our town, and the state police don't escort them out, then we do. We have already been brutalized and imprisoned. We have had our families turn against us. This fight is not fair. They get headlines, & we get tazed.

But, to end with another June Jordan interrogation:

Will you assume responsibility for your life, in these many, urgent ways, will you assume responsibility for your life, and my life, and our lives, the lives that are now, and that have always been, endangered and attacked by our enemies operating under deliberately asinine slogans....With all my heart, I hope so.

Standing at the edge, there's nothing to fear because the world is not flat.

2009-09-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

(image from Eddie Colla)

My teachers taught me how & when to fight.
And there's no time like the present.
My teachers also taught me how, & when, to love.
And there's no time like the present.
My teachers also taught me to love the fight.
And I do.
And I do.
And I do.

What follows has nothing to do with Van Jones. Nor is it about Barack Obama. I'm not concerned with The One Who Shall Not Be Mentioned.

What follows is about Us. The We. The People. The constituents of this global union who, having been pushed to the edges for so long, are finally there, and together. And we know that the world is not flat, and that this edge is no edge at all, but a gleaming center. A homebase.

We are strong, in love with each other. In our love for each other.

What follows has nothing to do with Van Jones, Barack Obama or any of those outsiders. What follows is about Us.

I witnessed two friends get married this Labor Day weekend. 'B,' a bio-woman baker. 'J,' a tranny electrician. They were "straight married," which is to say that 'J' has successfully completed all the "official" paperwork to have his gender-identity reflect what he has always known. And now, the State will recognize their relationship. A relationship that, without this "official" paperwork the State is openly hostile to.

But this is not about the outsiders. The State and its rules and regulations.

I learned a lot about marriage this weekend. About the convulsive vitality of family. Out here, at homebase, we have been choosing Family. Constantly expanding it outside of the bounds/bonds of blood relations. Always seeking to create new bonds, & strengthen those that already exist.

We need to know who will fight with us, when the time to fight comes.

We need to know who will love with us when the darkness falls. When someone is carted off to prison, or beaten in the street, or beaten in the home.

We need to know that We do not need to apologize for who We are.

We are building who We are.

We, actually, elected a president--a person who we hoped in, with, and for. Most of us understand the mechanics of this corrupt political system. We know limitations, we have been brutalized for pushing its boundaries. Nonetheless, millions of people engaged in serious work, with fervent hope and the best of intentions.

We wanted him to be one of Us.

But he is not. The ouster of Van Jones makes that apparent. Forget about what Jones said or did. Forget about that "Truther" nonsense. Forget about the so-called "political climate" we are supposedly in. This is not about Van Jones. By not standing up for his own decision, and a good decision at that, he shows us exactly where he stands.

He does not stand with Us.

And, after eight years of the Bush doctrine, we're ready to apply some of that same logic, ourselves.

And we know how to fight.

"and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life"

~June Jordan

Ted Kennedy Never Meant Sh*t to Me

2009-08-31T18:20:00.000-07:00

There. I said it.

Also, I don’t care if you do…no, really, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you one way or another. His life & death, when it’s all boiled down, is actually rather insignificant, if you think about it the way I do.

Let me explain, at least, before you decide to hate me.

For me, it’s about the cold calculus of human suffering; human *being*

Ted Kennedy lived to be 77 years old. He embraced/battled alchoholism & clogged arteries. So, he outlived the “average” American, despite a decidedly unhealthy lifestyle. (Maybe that’s why he proclaimed “Healthcare Reform” as the fight of his life.)

Also, Kennedy is/was *rich*. I don’t mean, like, he had a lot of money that he worked hard for. I mean, he was landed gentry rich.

"Ted Kennedy’s father, Joseph P. Kennedy, was a savvy investor his whole life. Income from the various trust funds, real estate investments, and oil and gas leases he set up from the 1920s through the 1940s still yield income. He made most of his money, however, by purchasing retail giant Merchandise Mart in Chicago in 1945 for $12.5 million. Since then, it’s raked in hundreds of millions in revenue for the family. In 1998, the Kennedy clan decided to sell Merchandise Mart….Ted Kennedy received about $75 million….

Tax returns have yielded some insight into family funds as well. In the 1980s, Ted Kennedy’s income was shown to be about $500,000 a year. In 2007, his net worth was estimated to be as high as $163 million, based on campaign records." (slate.com/id/2226420/)

Most of My Heroes Don’t Appear On No Stamps
The life & death of some aristocrat are of little interest to me, especially since cancer took my Amma about 6 years ago. We could barely afford to cremate her (as per her wishes) & now have to store her ashes in an old cookie jar.

She worked her whole life to make life bearable for her kids & grandkids. She had an amazing ability to stretch a meal of corned beef & cabbage, & to adapt to a changing American landscape. I’ll never forget the way that she explained Transgender Identity to my Umpa. Something so far from her life experiences, from her upbringing in Dutch Harbor, Alaska in the 1930’s, yet so full of love & genuine compassion, if not true understanding, it makes me want to weep while I write this. She is not remembered by anyone who didn’t know her personally, yet her compassion was transcendent.

& I Can’t Tell You Who In the Hell Set Things Up Like This

It took the NY Times over 3 days to publish an obituary of June Jordan. If I were to create a short list of American Heroes & Warriors, she’d be on it. Her contributions to this American life are numerous & immeasurable, and she was officially forgotten before she was taken from us.

She was the first African American Woman to publish a book of political essays. The first. She made true friend of official enemies: going to Nicaragua, to Beirut, to Palestine. For this, these acts of solidarity and compassion, the NY Times refused to publish anything written by her.

There was some bitter irony to Barack Obama pilfering one of her signature lines “We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For” while he was on the campaign trail. Though Obama popularized it as a line, June lived it as a mantra. Or better yet, a declaration of war against anyone who was against the proliferation of human life.

And yet, who knows of her? Who will light an eternal flame to this Soldier?

Finally, the issue of Katrina and the lives of the vulnerable. Kennedy’s funeral fell on the 4th anniversary of Katrina’s touchdown. The destruction of Black life in New Orleans as a result of official government policy is well-documented fact. In so many ways, Katrina was the funeral for New Orleans as we have known it. Through no fault of their own, the aged, the poor, the marginalized people of this historic city were whitewashed out of the present. They now live, if they survived, in Houston, Atlanta, Alabama, Mississipi. They now live, if they survived, as aliens in a strange land. A land that has never wanted them. They live as the true embodiment of the American Spirit.

So, instead of mourning the $163 milliondollar aristocrat, in my own small way, I’m celebrating the lives of the people who have made my life what it is today.

MollyLou Cameron. Always.

June Jordan. Always

The People of New Orleans. Always.

I Moved to Tumblr!

2009-07-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

check me out at hushpoint.tumblr.com

Tucson

2009-04-15T17:56:00.001-07:00

I'm in Tucson w/ my Umpa for spring break. It's undoubtedly my
favorite week of the year--we just kick back, watch baseball & drink
whisky. Canadian Club & water, FYI--first round at 2 in the afternoon--
& the ice bet'not melt!

If you've never been to this dusty strip mall of a town, check out the
picture below. Also, the call letters for the ABC & CBS affiliates
here are K-OLD & K-GUN, respectively. Need I say more?!

Inauguration

2009-01-19T14:56:00.000-08:00

People, my people. It's been about a month-&-a-half since I put anything down here. Truth be told, I haven't been able to get anything out.

it's hard to write about Palsestine

b/c you must go
sofarsofast then slingshot
poems like cold stones

i say what i can
but palestine needs
bread & land more than my poems

The (literally) absolute destruction of Gaza burns in my own heart. It makes me ill. To some, it's the same old story, not worth their concern. Indeed, these crimes against humanity have gone on long enough. Such awesome military power also forces me to impotence.

At any rate, what's there to say that hasn't already been said?

If you click on the Eat The State! link and scroll down, you can find an archive of some of the articles that I wrote in '01 & '02. To be completely honest, and with humility, I think that they're among the best articles by foreigners about "The Conflict." Since I am a person first, I told the stories from people's perspective. Check them out, if you will.

And with that:

Moving Towards Home
--June Jordan

'Where is Abu Fadi,' she wailed.
'Who will bring me my loved one?' (The New York Times, 9/20/82)

I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the red dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs
Nor do I wish to speak about the nightlong screams that reached
the observation posts where soldiers lounged about
Nor do I wish to speak about the woman who shoved her baby
into the stranger's hands before she was led away
Nor do I wish to speak about the father whose sons were shot
through the head while they slit his own throat before the eyes
of his wife
Nor do I wish to speak about the army that lit continuous flares
into the darkness so that the others could see
the backs of their victims lined against the wall
Nor do I wish to speak about the piles up bodies and
the stench
that will not float
Nor do I wish to speak about the nurse again and
again raped
before they murdered her on the hospital floor
Nor do I wish to speak about the rattling bullets that
did not
halt on that keening trajectory
Nor do I wish to speak about the pounding on the doors and
the breaking of windows and the hauling of families into the world of the dead
I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the
red dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs
because I do not wish to speak about unspeakable events
that must follow from those who dare
"to purify" a people
those who dare
"to exterminate" a people
those who dare
to describe human beings as "beasts with two legs"
those who dare
"to mop up"
"to tighten the noose"
"to step up military pressure"
"to ring around" civilian streets with tanks
those who dare
to close the universities
to abolish the press
to kill the elected representatives
of the people who refuse to be purified
those are the ones from whom we must redeem
the words of our beginning

because I need to speak about home
I need to speak about living room
where the land is not bullied and beaten to
a tombstone
I need to speak about living room
where the talk will take place in my language
I need to speak about living room
where my children will grow without horror
I need to speak about living room where the men
of my family between the ages of six and sixty-five
are not
marched into a roundup that leads to the grave
I need to talk about living room
where I can sit without grief without wailing aloud
for my loved ones
where I must not ask where is Abu Fadi
because he will be there beside me
I need to talk about living room
because I need to talk about home

I was born a Black woman
and now
I am become a Palestinian
against the relentless laughter of evil
there is less and less living room
and where are my loved ones?

It is time to make our way home.

T.W.I.N. #7: Beat 'em, or Sue 'em.

2008-12-07T19:09:00.000-08:00

So much has happened around the world over the last seven days. I wish I had more time to devote to it all. I apologize for the abbreviated coverage of Greece, Iraq, Mecca and the rest of the world...so it goes. I really wanted to revisit the Mumbai/Pakistan story that I wrote about last week, but that will have to wait. At any rate, though this week's review may seem bleak, do not despair! It's full of People Power!!!

300

In Greece the people have taken over their streets in the wake of the murder of a 16 year old boy by the police. What if we reacted like this when the cops killed one of ours? (Timothy Stansbury, anyone?) In related news, closer to home--actually 2 subway stops from my Brooklyn apartment) at least one cop has been indicted by a grand jury for sodomizing a 24 year old tattoo artist at the station. The beasts who walk the beat chased Michael Mineo to the station because they thought he was smoking a joint--a misdemeanor offense--though it's unclear if any charges have brought against Mineo.

The New York Times says:

The police say the assertion is not supported by civilian witnesses.

But a grand jury and the Brooklyn district attorney are investigating what happened to Mr. Mineo at a Brooklyn subway station, and additional witnesses have surfaced. Investigators say that medical records support Mr. Mineo’s assertion that he suffered internal injuries, and a transit officer has come forward to say that he saw a colleague jab a baton into Mr. Mineo’s buttocks.

June Jordan says:

POEM ABOUT POLICE VIOLENCE

Tell me something
what you think would happen if
everytime they kill a black boy
then we kill a cop
everytime they kill a black man
then we kill a cop

you think the accident rate would lower
subsequently?

sometimes the feeling like amaze me baby
comes back to my mouth and I am quiet
like Olympian pools from the running the
mountainous snows under the sun

sometimes thinking about the 12th House of the Cosmos
or the way your ear ensnares the tip
of my tongue or signs that I have never seen
like DANGER WOMEN WORKING

I lose consciousness of ugly bestial rabid
and repetitive affront when they tell me
18 cops in order to subdue one man
18 strangled him to death in the ensuing scuffle (don't
you idolize the diction of the powerful: subdue and
scuffle my oh my) and that the murder
that the killing of Arthur Miller on a Brooklyn
street was just a "justifiable accident" again
(again)

People been having accidents all over the globe
so long like that I reckon that the only
suitable insurance is a gun
I'm saying war is not to understand or rerun
war is to be fought and won

sometimes the feeling like amaze me baby
blots it out/the bestial but
not too often

tell me something
what you think would happen if
everytime they kill a black boy
then we kill a cop
everytime they kill a black man
then we kill a cop

you think the accident rate would lower
subsequently?

BECAUSE TOO MUCH IS NEVER ENOUGH

Five Blackwater mercenaries have been indicted for massacring 17 unarmed Iraqis in September of 2007. Of course, contractors in Iraq operate outside of all laws until January 2009.

Halliburton has also been sued for poisoning its workers in Iraq. This is only the latest for Dickhead Chaingang's company. They were also recently sued for human trafficking:

According to the lawsuit filed in Los Angeles, the Nepalese workers were recruited in 2004 in their home country by KBR and its Jordanian contractors, Daoud & Partners, to work as kitchen staff in a luxury hotel in Amman. Once they reached the Jordanian capital, however, their passports were taken from them and they were sent to Iraq. While travelling in an unprotected convoy, the Nepalis were kidnapped and later executed.

"It doesn't appear that any of them knew they were going to Iraq," said Matthew Handley, a lawyer representing the only survivor and the families of those who were killed. "A few were told they were going to work at an American camp...They thought they were going to work in America."

MECCA: Peace, Forgiveness, Justice

The Hajj is extraordinary, which makes this Palestinian story all the more heartbreaking.

T.W.I.N. #6: Mumbai, Gujarat, Pakistan

2008-11-30T14:24:00.000-08:00

TANQUERAY

If you're going to listen to anyone talk about Pakistan and India, Tariq Ali is the one. The round-the-clock coverage of the Mumbai hostage crisis was essentially hollow. I had MSNBC on for nearly all of Thankstaking Day, and they talked about nothing but Mumbai. Unfortunately they provided scant context and history, let alone analysis of the attacks. And forget about any discussion of root causes--I didn't hear "Gujarat" mentioned once. In 2002 over 1000 people, mostly Muslims, were massacred by Hindus (in retaliation for a Muslim massacre of 58 Hindus on a train). As if the deaths aren't awful enough, the slaughter was apparently carried out with encouragement from the right wing Hindu nationalist state government, which takes the whole affair from "communal violence" to a pogrom. According to Ashutosh Varshney, associate associate professor of political science at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor and director of its Center for South Asian Studies,

Reports in almost all major newspapers of India, with the exception of the vernacular press in Gujarat, show that at least in March, if not April, the state not only made no attempt to stop the killings, but also condoned them.6 That the government “officially encouraged” anti-Muslim violence—something often believed—cannot be conclusively proved on the basis of the evidence provided by newspaper reports, though later research may well prove that. What is unquestionable is that the state condoned revenge killings.

In no way am I trying to condone the Deccan Mujahideen's actions--they stand out as examples of just how awful we, as humans, can be. I do, though, think there is a lot more to it than "Muslim fundamentalism/extremism/terrorism." I mean, the media here, and the state of India, are pushing the idea that terrorism is endemic to Islam. Just listen to the coverage! The rush to connect these 19 year old boys to Pakistan was incredibly swift. Why?

Well, this view of Muslims has a practical, geopolitical function, namely military action against the people of Pakistan. Which brings us to the Tariq Ali video at opening of this post. It doesn't look good, folks. The fearsome military power (both state and private) that will be shifted from Iraq to Pakistan and Afghanistan will not be good for any of us. It's terrorism, too, afterall.

T.W.I.N. #5: Homage; Barack & The Rest of Us; Sports Roundup

2008-11-16T19:05:00.000-08:00

HOMAGE TO MAMA AFRIKA: MIRIAM MAKEBA

In the midst of the (inter)national excitement at our election of Barack Obama, one of the great leaders of The People has passed. To Miriam Makeba, all praises due. She is one of the true revolutionaries of the last century, fighting with body, soul and song. She and June Jordan share so much...I wonder if they ever met.

In thinking of the connections between these two women, it's appropriate to use the "Soweto Blues" video, which starts off with the banning of languages. June was passionate about language, and organized in Oakland to get Black English recognized and taught in schools. Well before that, she wrote "Nobody Mean More to Me Than You' and The Future Life of Willie Jordan'" in which she laid out the foundations for the language. Her "Poem for South African Women" also rings loudly when I consider the connections between her and Makeba, as well as the prospects for a just future:

POEM FOR SOUTH AFRICAN WOMEN

Our own shadows disappear as the feet of thousands
by the tens of thousands pound the fallow land
into new dust that
rising like a marvelous pollen will be
fertile
even as the first woman whispering
imagination to the trees around her made
for righteous fruit
from such deliberate defense of life
as no other still
will claim inferior to any other safety
in the world

The whispers too they
intimate to the inmost ear of every spirit
now aroused they
carousing in ferocious affirmation
of all peaceable and loving amplitude
sound a certainly unbounded heat
from a baptismal smoke where yes
there will be fire

And the babies cease alarm as mothers
raising arms
and heart high as the stars so far unseen
nevertheless hurl into the universe
a moving force
irreversible as light years
traveling to the open eye

And who will join this standing up
and the ones who stood without sweet company
will sing and sing
back into the mountains and
if necessary
even under the sea:

we are the ones we have been waiting for.

from Passion: New Poems, 1977-80, by June Jordan
copyright 1980 June Jordan
reprinted with permission of the June M. Jordan Literary Estate Trust

OBAMA & THE REST OF US

Obama lifted the last line of that poem, without attribution, in one of his speeches. I guess it's a tribute to the beauty of the poem that a line can embed itself in the vernacular, but I'm still a little upset that she wasn't credited. This all leads me into some thoughts about the administration he'll be appointing. Last week I mentioned the Rahm Emmanuel represents a clear move away from us, the People, and our interests. And tonight on 60 minutes our President-elect said that he'd be appointing at least one Republican to the cabinet. Again, a shift away from us, though not terribly surprising.

As it turns out, some other folks have been putting in some thought on this, too. Check out the articles below, one from Naomi Klein, and the other from the Black Agenda Report.

NAOMI KLEIN: FIRST THINGS FIRST
Naomi Klein argues that the most important thing to do is to stop the corporate thugs from taking our taxes while rewriting the laws to pay themselves off:

It’s not too late to halt the robbery in progress, but it cannot wait until inauguration. Several great initiatives to shift the nature of the bailout are already underway, including bailoutmainstreet.com. I added my name to the “Call to Action: Time for a 21st Century Green America” and invite you to do the same.

Stopping the bailout profiteers is about more than money. It is about democracy. Specifically, it is about whether Americans will be able to afford the change they have just voted for so conclusively.

BLACK AGENDA REPORT: HOLDING THE OBAMA ADMINISTRATION ACCOUNTABLE
Bruce Dixon explains why Rahm Emmanuel is poisonous, and why OUR antidote is the Employee Free Choice Act.

MORE HOPE?
Representative John Conyers has promised to pursue impeachment hearings against Bush. Check it out!

SPORTS NEWS ROUNDUP
Thank gawd for E:60, ESPN's international sports documentary series. The most recent segment is about a soccer academy in Ghana (another shout out to Mama Afrika, who was married to Kwame Ture and lived there, I believe). Hungry for a Better Life documents how so many young kids use sports as a last vestige of hope. For good or ill, here it is.

So, there you have it friends! Thanks for all your feedback!

T.W.I.N. #4: Natural Selection; A Series of Unfortunate Events; Sports

2008-11-09T20:24:00.000-08:00

In all my time working with youth I've never experienced young people truly believing that their leader(s) believe in them. Tuesday that changed. Here's what I said to my students:

"Today is a big day! A new day! Today, this day, is different than any other day in our lives; different than any other day in our nation's history.

"We elected Barack Obama last night! (Hoots, hollers, jubilation)

"Yeah! WE did it! Our parents, our aunts and uncles did it! We, the People, did it! We said that we believe in this man, and we will allow him to lead us. Make no mistake, he didn't get to where he is without us--we put him there. That's right. We elected a leader we believe in (affirmations!). And for the first time in our lives, we have a leader who believes in us. Yes, yes, today is a new day!

"But just look around us. There's trash on our play field. Again. That dog crapped in front of our school entrance this morning. Again. Last night people were arrested and taken from their families. People will still be sleeping on the streets this night. Today is a new day, for sure. But our world hasn't changed over night.

"And it won't. You have to change it! And it's going to take hard work. Your job now is to come to school every day and work your butts off. Every day. You are where the change begins. We, the people elected Barack Obama last night because we believe that, with his leadership you can be all that you hope to be. You can change your world, starting right now.

"And you have to. In four years they're going to ask if people did better. If people got better. If the answer is no; if you didn't work your butts off and become great; if you don't succeed, then they will elect someone else. And there may never be another black president here. There may never be another leader who believes in you again. It's that serious! Your every day work here, in this school means just that much. So, let's get to it!

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
I do believe in what I said to my students. I do see the honest to goodness hope in their eyes. I do believe that the opportunity now to actually move forward (to the Left) is real. Now, Obama is the symbol of this opportunity, but make no mistake, we're going to have to fight him and his administration tooth and nail all the way. But at least we're ready to fight again!

On the upside, Obama is going to reverse some of Bush's anti-human executive orders, including the Global Gag Rule. This is huge, and as far as I'm concerned, fair reason to vote for a Democrat, no matter how terrible they will inevitably be.

As for those terrible things, here's some of what we'll have to contend with:

Rahm Emmanuel. This guy is a NAFTA supporter and generally a worker's nightmare. According to John Laesch:

As a senior member of the United States Congress, Rahm continued to support unfair trade agreements like NAFTA, cap-stoning his time in Congress by pushing hard to pass the largest piece of corporate welfare in American history, the $700 billion Wall Street bailout.

His involvement in the bailout makes sense, as he was also a Freddie Mac big-wig during a tidy little scandal where Freddie Mac

misreported profits by billions of dollars in order to deceive investors between the years 2000 and 2002.

That's the kind of change we could spare, if you know what I mean.

Oh yeah, did I mention that he introduced Obama to AIPAC.

SHOCK DOCTRINE NEWS
Royal Dutch Shell has been given a monopoly of Iraq's oil!

A secret document obtained by United Press International reveals a planned joint venture company between Royal Dutch Shell and the Iraqi Oil Ministry would give the company a 25-year monopoly on the gas industry of southern Iraq.

The ACLU has reported that the Bush administration is (again) blocking the release of photos that document the abuse of prisoners at Guantanamo.

SPORTS
Brandon Marshall of the Denver Broncos was prevented from paying tribute to Barack Obama after scoring a touchdown. Apparently he was about to pull a black and white glove from his uniform and put it on, as a symbol of progress with regards to racism. He says he got the idea from John Carlos and Tommy Smith.

Lebron James shared some boilerplate remarks about Obama. You'll have to excuse my cynicism when it comes to the "Witness" who refused to sign on to an open letter, written by Cleveland Cavaliers teammate Ira Newble, condemning China’s government for contributing to the genocide of people in the Darfur region of Sudan. Later for him.

Steve Young, on a brighter note, came out (ha!) against Prop 8 in California. He and his wife donated 50,000 to the campaign against the marriage equality ban.

T.W.I.N #3: Barack The Vote; The Stupid Economy;

2008-11-02T19:32:00.000-08:00

BARACK THE VOTE

So, according to fivethirtyeight.com (check out the side panel on the right) it's looking like Obama is going to walk away with this election. I mean, it's not over, but a 96% chance of victory is one that seems pretty clear. If you haven't checked out fivethirtyeight (so named b/c that's how many electoral votes there are in the nation), definitely do so. It was started by a baseball/moneyball guy, a stat-head who's got too much time on his hands. Thank Gawd for that! He basically weights all the state and national polls based on their historical accuracy and creates like 10,000 electoral scenarios a day to come up with a snapshot of the electorate. Today's 'results' are below:

NOTSOFAST

It's great to poll "likely" voters or registered voters or undecided voters or whomever, but what happens when that "likely" voter's vote is discarded? Or not picked up? Or blocked?

OK, so Oprah's voting tribulation is fairly innocuous, right? But check out this story from Georgia.

In a bold move this week, Georgia Secretary of State Karen Handel (R) announced she was sending letters to 4,770 registered voters that they may have to cast "challenge" ballots that won't be counted on election day.

In a striking announcement, she also declared that regular citizens could address the "problem" of non-citizen voting by contesting the citizenship of fellow voters at the polls -- forcing them to also cast challenged ballots that won't be included in election day tallies.

Cynthia McKinney knows a little bit about the voter disenfranchisement in Georgia. She had her congressional seat ripped from under her due to republican gerrymandering (the Republicans used some of the same tactics in Connecticut re: Ned Lamont and Joe Sleaziman). McKinney's now running for prez on the Green Party ticket. Though I think this move is a mistake at this point in time I do support her run. She's pushing the Democrats to the left, which must be done. And, if we believe in the accuracy of 538, the questions that we have to ask circle around how we can force the Dems, and Obama, to recognize us and meet our needs.

In some uplifting news, 109-year old Amanda Jones cast her ballot for Obama last week. She's the daughter of a slave. Seriously. No words...

THE STUPID ECONOMY

Exxon posted record 3rd quarter profits. Surprised?

Goldman Sachs bags up $12 billion of our money, and pays its execs $14 in bonuses! Seriously!

The Global Bailout = $5,000,000,000.

The Week in Review #2: Gas; Bombs; Zizou

2008-10-27T09:39:00.000-07:00

!DAME' GASOLINA!

Three countries that export gasoline (can you guess which ones?) have set up a "higher technical committee" to explore the possibilities of creating an OPEC for gas-exporters. Here's your hint for who these nations are:

According to the BBC article, the EU and US are pissed, for obvious reasons. But I think this could be a rather good thing. If nothing else, the electric cars that have been shredded in the desert could be reassembled!

MORE ON THE AXIS OF EVIL

A blogger for PBS has just written a story about how Google has blocked people in Iran and Syria from downloading Chrome, their new browser.
This news comes on the heels of an act of war against Syria by the US. Over the weekend the US bombed Syria, killing eight people, including four children, apparently. Don't you love double-standards!

I guess it's all about the bottom line for the Disaster Capitalists .

THE WORLD OF SPORTS

To cheer me up, I'm going to see Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.

This Week In the News

2008-10-19T15:22:00.000-07:00

I'm trying something which is, for me, a little new: This Week In News. The acronym is incidental. I read a fair amount of news, from the mainstream to the mundane; from the radical to the regular. I don't, however, have the time to focus my thoughts enough go in depth on any single topic. So, i figured I'd share some stories of interest and my thoughts about them. Here goes:

Fidel Drinks Your Milkshake

The BBC has reported that Cuba may have as much as 20 billion barrels of oil in its area of the Gulf of Mexico.

"If correct, Cuba's oil reserves would be almost the same as those of the US - 21bn barrels, according to the Oil & Gas Journal - and nearly twice the size of Mexico's - 11.7bn barrels."

If Cuba is able to develop this, the balance of power in the Western Hemisphere could significantly shift. Will an Obama administration engage Cuba diplomatically and end the retarded sanctions?!

Destroy Iraq, Then Skate

A venture capitalist from Colorado is planning a $500 million zoo and skate park project inside the "Green Zone."

'It's estimated that the country "will spend between $80 and $100 billion over the next four to five years rebuilding their economy," he says. "That's a tremendous entrepreneurial opportunity."'

According to the World Health Organization, upwards of 220,000 Iraqis have been killed in this conquest. John's Hopkins says it's over 600,000.

Often times people use the word "cynic" to describe me. Now, I won't get into it here--the difference between the Philosophy of Cynicism and the common usage--but to call Iraq a 'tremendous entrepreneurial opportunity' is sickening. You'll have to excuse my mistrust of this guy's motives.

I've been reading The Shock Doctrinelately, which deals with insane, anti-human "opportunities" like this skate park in Iraq. Whether it's war or tsunami or hurricanes, the destruction of a culture allows for others to pave their ways to some Orwellian utopia.

War is peace.

Schooling Disaster

On a related note, John McCain wants to replicate the "success" of New Orleans school "reform" nationwide. Since the government failures there in the preparations for, and aftermath of Katrina, the state of Louisiana has taken over 95 schools in New Orleans. They fired hundreds of veteran teachers, smashed the union (now there's no right for teachers to bargain collectively) and began the process of privatization by granting an enormous amount of school charters to private companies.

Nearly 70% of students in New Orleans are now educated in a variety of charter schools, with varying degrees of success/failure. According to this articlethere's no difference in achievement, two years into this "experiment", b/w public school students and charter school students. This is remarkable, to me, b/c charter schools are not bound by state funding restrictions, and can spend more money per student than public schools can. (Though not all charter schools do this, KIPP most certainly does.) Charters also have much more freedom to operate, which *should* ensure their success.

For example, a charter school likely starts up with only one grade, and adds a grade per year. They have the ability to set the tone for their schools with a small group of students, who can carry the mantle forward for years to come. The difference is huge.

Charter school advocates want to center the debate around "results", which is definitely compelling, but it over-simplifies things. There is a bigger picture, a picture that includes charters, for sure. But any notion that the way to "save" education is to essentially subsidize a private business takeover is completely ridiculous.

For the sake of full disclosure, I've worked in a charter school for the past two years, after 4 years of public school, and I do see benefit in them. I think that it is a mistake, a lack of imagination, for the Left to abandon them. But I do not pin my hopes for our educational future on them.

Israeli Terrorists Bomb Peace Now Activist & Professor

2008-09-26T13:44:00.001-07:00

Professor Zeev Sternhell on Friday said the bomb attack against him late Wednesday was a sign that settler violence was spilling over the Green Line into Israel proper.

read more | digg story

Rape, Pillage & Palin

2008-09-22T05:26:00.001-07:00

As it turns out, this policy (like Track) isn't one of Palin's babies. And Wasilla, Alaska isn't the only town that charges women for these forensic examinations. Palin did, however, support the policy. Maybe Alaskans can put some of that $1200 per year oil "stimulus" money to use here.

Israel PM Ehud Olmert Indicted, Shaul Mofaz Under Investigation for War Crimes

2008-09-10T18:29:00.001-07:00

Obama will not turn off this faucet

The Israeli Attorney General has been urged to launch a criminal investigation into whether Shaul Mofaz, a leading prime ministerial candidate, ordered "war crimes" to be committed when he was the military's chief of staff.

The corruption charges against Olmert are one thing--not terribly surprising, either. They highlight the instability and volatility of the Israeli political establishment. They've had so much turnover over the last 8 years, since the second Intifada started. Ehud Barak was forced out, Sharon the War Criminal took over, but his extreme right coalition failed and they had to realign. Then the "moderate" coalition took over, running on a hard right platform w/ regards to the Occupation. All-the-while Binyamin Netanyahu has been lying in the cut, waiting for the moment to re-emerge. Look out.

The War Crimes investigation are, to me, much more interesting (if not more significant). I figure it can play out in one of two ways: 1) the investigation will go nowhere and Mofaz will be shifted to a new post; or 2) Mofaz will take the fall to preserve, and even strengthen, the systems that are in place. If you watch The Wire, think Ervin Burrell.

read more | digg story

Obama, Israel and the Continuing Occupations

2008-09-07T16:17:00.000-07:00

Robert Fisk, a hero for real, wrote a lucid piece recently about Obama and the illegal occupation of Palestinian land by Israel. The piece also touches on The future of Iraq, which is bleak, to be sure.

The link to above is to Obama's recent speech to AIPAC (who I've talked about before--some of their members are on trial for passing US Security/War plans to Israel). They are the policy organ for Israel in the US, and every president, Republican and Democrat alike, takes direction from them.

The speech is about 36 minutes long, which is definitely too much for my stomach to handle, but if you have a little time, check out some of it.

I can't help but to wonder what the hell he means when he says: "we must mean what we say when we speak the words 'Never again.'"

The evidence abounds. It is happening. Again.

2008-08-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

amazing

Conventional: Watch and Discuss

2008-08-29T07:40:00.000-07:00

I watched Obama's acceptance speech the other night...in a bar (200 5th, in Brooklyn). The man has surely intrigued the people of the nation, if he hasn't captured our imaginations outright. I mean, I never thought that a sports bar would shut off the game (NCAA Football's opening day) for a political speech. But it happened! And although the substance of the speech itself was fairly standard, and doesn't approach Jesse Jackson's 1984 DNC address, I think that Obama did connect with people in some significant ways. Jackson set the bar for convention speeches, and it's troubling in the extreme how Obama has turned away from the Reverend(s).

It would be easy to dismiss his speech as boilerplate. It definitely stuck close to the formula. However, I think he did something extremely important--he identified w/ us, the People, in a real and true way. He has recognized that we, the people of this nation, are not "warriors"--we don't relate to being at war in the traditional sense. By that I mean, "war" for most of us is Vietnam. It's that dirty word, that morally repugnant aspect of our nation that we don't want to identify with.

And though we don't identify with war in the way that our parents and grandparents do, we do love our elders and understand that they have been through that hell. And that is strength! Check out what he says about this below:

The fundamentals we use to measure economic strength are whether we are living up to that fundamental promise that has made this country great - a promise that is the only reason I am standing here tonight.

Because in the faces of those young veterans who come back from Iraq and Afghanistan, I see my grandfather, who signed up after Pearl Harbor, marched in Patton's Army, and was rewarded by a grateful nation with the chance to go to college on the GI Bill.

In the face of that young student who sleeps just three hours before working the night shift, I think about my mom, who raised my sister and me on her own while she worked and earned her degree; who once turned to food stamps but was still able to send us to the best schools in the country with the help of student loans and scholarships.

When I listen to another worker tell me that his factory has shut down, I remember all those men and women on the South Side of Chicago who I stood by and fought for two decades ago after the local steel plant closed.

And when I hear a woman talk about the difficulties of starting her own business, I think about my grandmother, who worked her way up from the secretarial pool to middle-management, despite years of being passed over for promotions because she was a woman. She's the one who taught me about hard work. She's the one who put off buying a new car or a new dress for herself so that I could have a better life. She poured everything she had into me. And although she can no longer travel, I know that she's watching tonight, and that tonight is her night as well.

I don't know what kind of lives John McCain thinks that celebrities lead, but this has been mine. These are my heroes. Theirs are the stories that shaped me. And it is on their behalf that I intend to win this election and keep our promise alive as President of the United States.

Unfortunately, It's Not Paradise

2008-08-21T10:21:00.000-07:00

Mahmoud Darwish has passed on. And what, now?

Breaking Bread

2008-03-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

I Googled myself again (soooo goooood!) and came across this review in the Institute for Jerusalem Studies. It must've been written in the Winter/Spring of 2004-'05. Alain Epp Weaver reviews a number of books published over the last few years by international solidarity activists in Palestine. His review is incredibly important, as it's the only one that i've come across that treats our work as literature. Most of the commentary on the subject (genre?) is either dismissive or sycophantic. Weaver treats us as serious writers and activists, and raises some great questions along the way.

I also appreciate the way that he uses my work to frame his discussion for a couple reasons: 1) i feel like my work has sound political analysis; 2) i believe in the goals of this specific peace and justice work, and the connections between the work and the writing. Ultimately, it's about real people doing real things. It's not a "historical/religious conflict" as it is so often portrayed to be. The true religion is the actual, living communion of peoples.

I'm really glad that he picked up on that and raised the "is this some sort of secular eucharist?" question. Yes! For me it is. I try to convey that through my writings, and i'm glad that it came through, personally. On a bigger scale, i'm elated that he's centering his discussion in this context. It feels awesome, actually. I know it's a small thing, and that very few ever even read that publication (i had never heard of it), but whatever. I feel like, if that idea is out there, then my writing wasn't in vain, which is how i've been feeling for the last 6 years.

On a related note, i'd be remiss to leave out the story of how Peace Under Fire came to publish my work in the first place...the truth is that I don't know. I do know and respect a couple of the editors, but they never requested any work from me. Neither did they notify me that they my articles were being used. I only found out when I was in Bluestockings one day and came across the book on the shelf. Of course I was interested, so I flipped through it and, lo-and-behold, there's "My Mother's Son"! I was, and am, grateful that they used it, but slightly distressed that nary a word was ever said to me. I contacted Verso multiple times, by phone and email, and never got a reply. To this day, I don't know what to make of it all.

Searching Jenin is the other book that published my work, and for that I am eternally grateful. (Ilan Pappe reviewed it inCounterPunch). Ramzy Baroud has done a great service to human history with this book. I can't say enough about the book. It's a grenade.

AIPAC on Trial!

2008-03-06T06:20:00.001-08:00

Israeli kids writing messages on bombs during summer camp.

Click the picture for the NY Times article about the trial of AIPAC lobbyists on trial for passing US war plans (for Iran) to Israel. Elliot Abrams can be called as a witness, which should be enlightening. He has a long history of espionage, specifically Iran/Contras.

For related news, check out this story from Counterpunch in 1999 about the Anti-Defamation League's spying on u.s. citizens who supported the ANC in South Africa.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

2008-03-06T06:02:00.001-08:00

The Times Square Military Recruiting Station was bombed early this morning. Nobody was injured. Traffic was only temporarily interrupted.

read more | digg story

No Spring Rolls!? What'll Sharon Eat Now?

2008-02-29T06:14:00.001-08:00

Oh, yeah...Palestinan babies

Click on the picture to read this story from a couple weeks ago. One interesting thing about the article is that it says Israel was "seeking to plug a gap in the labour market during the first Palestinian uprising [so it] allowed in foreigners to work. But now it is trying to limit those numbers to create more jobs for Israelis." There is no mention, let alone questioning of the explicitly racist nature of this state. It is, truly, insane!

Beyond that, Israel's illegal occupation of Palestine is destroying its *own* economy. Its unemployment and poverty rates are as high as they've ever been (perplexing that a state founded on the strength of socialist ideals has unemployment at all), precisely because all of its resources--and plenty of ours--are funneled into the occupation. The only question I have is: Does the u.s. instruct, or learn from, Israel?

read more | digg story

Sympathize With Gaza!

2008-02-28T04:36:00.000-08:00

Read David Zirin's column about Muhammad Aboutreika's bold act in the African Nation's Cup. In my view Zirin rightly compares this act with Muhammad Ali's Vietnam protest. Although Aboutreika is not risking jail time, he is siding with The People, against both his government (Egypt was the first Arab nation to sign a peace treaty with Israel) and all other Arab regimes who cynically mouth support for Palestinians while profiting off of the continued subjugation of Palestinians.

DRY VICTORY?

Although neither Obama or Clinton will ever work to repeal NAFTA, the fact that the final nail in Hillary's coffin could be vague statements of support for the trade agreement, years ago, is a minor victory for us! Our true coalition of anarchists, labor, queers, commies etc has pushed the issue to the tipping point!

Guantanamo Panties!

2008-02-23T07:51:00.001-08:00

Click the pic to take an hilarious quiz on the War of Errors AND win these hot bikinis!

The day politics stopped working

2008-02-15T07:42:00.001-08:00

Well, I think the title is a little misleading. (To read the article that I'm responding to, click the "Day Politics Stopped" link after this post.) I mean, the machine didn't stop; it may have taken a smoke-break, but that was only to adapt and refine it's abilities to crush our collective will. We can't forget that The War, as it is now defined, hadn't yet begun. (Of course, this definition supposes that economic sanctions that only affect common people is not "war".) Our movements in the streets that day, all over the world (I was in NYC) would not affect that particular day. Nor would they stop or even slow this war. And although the author of this article rightfully criticizes us for not sustaining our movement (in the street), we have had some successes over the past years.

A number of local, state and national politicians have been voted out by, well, us based on their support for this slaughter. I won't run through them all here, but I will mention Joe Lieberman, who's own party has rejected him in the Connecticut state primaries. He ended up retaining his seat, but only because of Republican support. One can't help but to think that his days are numbered.

The Democrat presidential primaries, too, have come to be characterized by both Obama & Clinton's stance on Iraq. Clinton is slipping into irrelevance, as she just can't make up her mind about this war. We know she's made some money from it, though. Obama has learned from Kerry's moronic waffling, and is using organizing tactics similar to the ones "we" use for our own mobilizations. He's hitting the phones, the streets, the schools and the web and energizing the true base of the party.

Make no mistake, he and Clinton are fairly harmonious when it comes to policies, which is why Iraq is crucial in this primary (and will be even bigger against McCain if Obama wins the nomination).So, here in the u.s., our efforts have had some impact, though the war rages on. I fear however, that, like in Vietnam, the only thing that will end it is virulent resistance by the Iraqis.

Day Politics Stopped | digg story

Review: "June Jordan's Life and Letters" by Valerie Kinloch (Chapters 1-3)

2008-02-13T05:30:00.000-08:00

In reading Valerie Kinloch's sort of biography of June Jordan, June Jordan: Her Life and Letters, I get stuck in two thickets. The first is Kinloch's failure of political imagination. She approaches Jordan's life and work from the un-real world of The Academy, as opposed to the lived-in and living world of actual people. Over and over again Kinloch refers to the "alleged violence" in Jordan's early life, calling into question Jordan's own documented experiences. Kinloch has a peevishly liberal, and literal, understanding of violence, evidently. And even so, I'm bewildered as to how a young black woman who sleeps with a knife under her pillow, just in case her father comes for her in the middle of the night, warrents the appellation "alleged" violence. Even the most conservative defintion can't ignore that. It's a weapon! In the hands of a teen aged girl!

Kinloch provides scant evidence to refute any of Jordan's autobiographical work on the matter, which leaves me to question Kincloch's motive and position. This spurious scholarship belies a hopelessly elementary understanding of her "subject," the life and writings of Ms. Jordan.

Maybe my biggest problem is that Kinloch treats June as a subject. A cadaver to be studied. Her wooden prose (to borrow a term from Edward Said) certainly attests to this point. Her writing is dead. There is no passion for June--her life or her letters. Just dull recitations of information that is readily available from June's own work. Kinloch doesn't really come to any meaningful insights or reveal anything of value, which leaves me feeling terribly deflated. June's life was about the connections that words create between truly different peoples. Prose and poetry are not simply words on pages. June always stressed that all words--written, said, thought--must be connected to purposeful action. Kinloch has missed this ethic. She may get it conceptually, but in practice her writing is dead weight.

Review: Apex Hides The Hurt

2007-12-16T13:21:00.001-08:00

Before (during, after) making his name as a novelist, George Orwell/Eric Blair was a book critic. The interesting thing, though, is that the books weren't what he was really concerned with. Orwell spared much discussion of the artistry of the authors, or lack thereof, his ink. Instead he used the books as vehicles to expound on his own political world view.

He was not well liked.

Few critics are, i suppose.

Maybe that's because all a critic really ought to say is, "Read it" or "Don't". To be sure, i'll get to that. But first, a comparison, with a political point of view.

If you read David Markson's The Last Novel (which will be the last of his that i read, incidentally) you are treated (subjected?) to a litany of criticism of the critcizers. You gotta love circular logic, the favorite type of logic for those stuck in the Victim Mentality. Misunderstood, tortured artists. Zionists. I have little use for this type of self-absorption, and i despise the fact that nations can use the victimhood of ancestors to justify neocolonial bloodlust.

i don't want to make more of Markson's book than need be. Neither do i want take away from the true subject of this review: Colson Whitehead's Apex Hides The Hurt, though the comparisons between the two books are worth some thought. They're both about how a people name their own destiny, to borrow from June Jordan. Will you march forward in the manner of your former oppressors, with tanks, guns and the assorted paraphernalia of war, or will you struggle, and succeed, to create a new kind freedom?

"You call something by a name, you fix it in place. A thing, or a person, it didn't matter--the name you gave it allowed you to draw a bead, take aim, shoot. But there was a flip side of calling something by the name you gave it--and that was wanting to be called by the name you gave yourself. What is the name that will give me the dignity and respect that is my right? The key that will unlock the world.

"Before colored, slave. Before slave, free. And always somewhere, ni**er.

"What was next? In the great procession. Because things never remain still for long. What will we call ourselves next, he wondered. If he knew what was next, he'd know who he would be."

As far as Apex goes, you should, most definately, Read it.

Mtv Arabia

2007-11-18T16:56:00.000-08:00

Signs of the Apocalypse

gentrifying the arab street, Mtv Arabia will grab ahold of 190 million viewers
http://www.arabianbusiness.com/504180-the-revolution-will-be-televised