Prolific Immigrant

In The Hands of God from Mustafa Davis on Vimeo.

At a time when y’all are preppin’ to throw down some cash in the name of Baby Jesus (♥ + peace be upon him), please consider extending your definition of family to include those whom you have never met, like Leford Kamoto. If you donate over the coming near three days, via the The Big Give, they will double your donation.

Also, please remember that while you spend many a night feasting this coming month, there remains a famine in East Africa. For those of you in Canada, you may donate through:
Oxfam
Human Concern International
or
CARE

Peace and love to you and yours.

Wow. WOW. Iraq Vet, Sargeant Shamar Thomas, faces down Officers from the NYPD and tells them straight up: “There is no honour in hurting unarmed civilians.”

I hope that he softened some NYPD hearts, because this movement is also in their benefit. They are among the 99% and this movement is for them as much as it is for every other American citizen.

*My apologies for being a little absent of late; I have been spending most of my time on learning about the #OccupyEVERYTHING movement and so not much in the mood for writing anything else. I promise to write something new soon…forgive the slowness until then.

Thank you.
Love you.

When my matrilineal grandmother – teeta – died, found in her night table drawer was the most important photograph she’d carried with her throughout her life.

Teeta came from what remains one of the oldest and richest families in Jerusalem. My great grandfather was a man I never met, but about whom I still hear many great stories, both in terms of his incredible business mind and generosity to his children and community.

Apart from owning much of the farmland in Jerusalem, my great grandfather also owned much of the downtown core where the family home still stands, now a famous hotel, along with 56 shops remaining, both of which are on the same street as that of The Church of The Holy Sepulchre. Weekends and summers were spent in Ashkelon, once known by its Arabic name: Al Majdal, where teeta swam every morning in the pool surrounded by their orange groves, and rode every evening as she was a trained equestrian.

My great grandfather was a very pious man and when he died, he wanted to make certain the following two things happened: (1) That his children worked hard to ensure their own children were well taken care of; and, (2) That the community would benefit from his riches. For these reasons, his will indicated that for the duration of the lives of his children, they would receive the rental fees from the shops in the Old City, as well as any money generated by their farm lands. When the last of his children die, all of this money was to be funneled directly into the social welfare system for the needy (specifically: for orphans).

Although he spoiled his children, there was a limit to that grace and he taught them well that obligation and responsibility began with one’s family, and spread to the community.

It was a lone and particular photograph of teeta and Saa’da – meaning ‘happiness’ – which was found in her night table after her death. Saa’da, an Arabian horse, was gifted to my grandmother by her father.

A black and white picture of my 12 year old teeta with blond hair, fair skin and hazel eyes. She wore a white dress, white socks and white shoes to match the white horse, perfectly groomed they both stood. Saa’da was sideways facing, looking at my grandmother, who was staring directly into the camera, filled with mischief, happiness, pride, and a million secrets ready to burst out of her as soon as the picture was taken. The energy of her leapt out of the photograph, and one couldn’t help laugh – not just smile, but actually laugh – when they saw the beauty of her youth, which is in so many ways, one of the purest of art forms gifted us by God.

When I was younger, I didn’t much pay attention to the relationship between teeta and seedo until the summer she had to go to the hospital. Seedo hardly ate, hardly slept, would spend his entire day next to her in the hospital – and when she came home, I remember standing at the top of the stairs as he held her hand and gently and patiently walked up with her, half-way stopping and bending his head to kiss her hand and tell her that the house had been filled with darkness in her absence. After 50 years of marriage and seven children, they still liked one another.

When teeta died, seedo stopped living, and died shortly thereafter.

As deeply as teeta loved her life with seedo and her children, she would occasionally tell me about Saa’da, and about the freedom of riding her. There were no rules for her while she was with Saa’da, neither obligation, nor consequence in the endless hours she’d spent with her.

Teeta had very strong opinions and was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted something; anything she pursued, she did it with justice and not a shred of selfishness. She ran her house with equal amounts of iron and love and her children and husband worshiped her for this. Being the first grandchild, I always remained a novelty and had access to secrets and stories the others didn’t.

She was a free spirit, teeta, this being so obvious in that photograph with Saa’da. This spirit was dulled and fragmented by the hardship of war and occupation, that wouldn’t allow her to visit her childhood home in Ashkelon from 1948 – 1967. All of the land we still own, but the farmland is no longer workable as when Israel became, they placed a ban on the watering of farmland and so my family’s orange groves died, except for the few trees that stood beside the swimming pool. These same trees still stand today, but the orange groves never rejuvenated.

Access to water, when manipulated accordingly, is more deadly than a bullet.

More importantly was that teeta’s own brother was murdered by the IDF in Khan Younis, after the nationalization of the Suez Canal. Awakened and pulled from his bed, alongside all of the men in the neighborhood, my great uncle and teeta’s brother in law were among the first to be lined up against a wall and shot dead because they were young Palestinian men and that made them a danger; pre-emptive strike the essence to the actions of the State of Israel.

Later, she would have to endure the imprisonment of her husband for nine months, as he was deemed a political threat. Worse still was that her youngest boy would be taken to jail for being a part of a protest and while in jail, beaten so badly that he walked out a man with epilepsy. Today, he would tell you that he is blessed to have walked out at all. These memories are the fabric of my mother’s family; my family.

The smile on teeta’s face as a young woman always told a story far removed from the pictures themselves and the surroundings within. Eternally, there was something happening behind her eyes, always standing out from the rest of the men and women in the pictures. Even though it was until the day she passed that she had a strange mix of innocence and naughtiness, pride and humbleness, the young woman who once pulled you out of your reality and into her photograph was lost after 1948.

It’s only as an adult that I understand the seduction of Saa’da. It is innocence in a distilled form, and freedom in the greatest sense. Not as entirely real as teeta or any of us ever imagine it to be, but when captured in a photograph, the feelings and representations are encapsulated, frozen and melancholy. Where we often lack perfection in every day, we find it in the stories we tell and the pictures we hold tightly.

It was no surprise to her children when they found a photo of Saa’da but none of themselves, as Saa’da was teeta’s lament for freedom in all of its varied forms.

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Originally published: 07/11/13.

Find my latest political blip here.

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Find out here at my latest contribution to rabble.

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My first boyfriend was Libyan.  Here we are at Jabal al-Akhdar (Green Mountain) picnicking with our families.  Ever arguing over his fetish for jogging pants and how he soiled himself publically, we were doomed. 
 

 
See, my family is Palestinian though I was born in Libya and raised between there and London before mum and dad scooped me up and brought me to Canada at the age of four when I began stealing Their jobs and bedding Their men. 
 
Islam has taught me: My blood is Palestinian and it is by grace alone that it has not yet been spilled because of this root.
 
Canada is my home and it’s her culture inside of which I am most comfortable and satiated.  While in Canberra last month, I walked to our embassy’s front doors and noted the etching of maple leaves throughout the stone.  To a girl who is a strong advocate for global citizenship, I found slightly alarming my deeply emotional response to these etchings; to the point of nearly crying, I was swelled with pride and sunstroke, overjoyed to find myself at the front doors of…my home. 
 
Islam has taught me: My blood is Canadian and it is by grace alone that I am not a creepy conservative.
 
Though this is where my heart lives, there remains a strong mix of both Middle Eastern and North African cultural references to which I am rooted and with which I identify.  More importantly, however, is the resonance of Islam within my world as it is this Faith within which I have chosen to find my own sense of worth and integrity.
 
Islam echos within me: Your blood is Muslim and it is by grace alone that you have not yet suffered at the hands of ignorance.
 
In the last few months, I have been reading the news with an unimaginable and uncontrollable sense of loss.  I have been reading all reports of torture in Tunis, Egypt, Bahrain, Yemen, and Syria while the “Muslim” leaders responsible invoked the name of my beloved Allah when addressing the masses.  
 
Islam has taught me: My blood is Tunisian, Egyptian, Bahraini, Yemeni, and Syrian and it is by grace alone that I have not suffered at the hands of such false prophets.
 
Moments ago, I watched the complete footage of Iman al-Obeidi being violently handled and threatened while trying to communicate to journalists how she was raped by 15 of Qaddafi’s men.  Her face is covered in scratches and she is — rightfully so — in a state of extreme emotional pain.  The Qaddafi regime labelled her a psychotic, a prostitute, and / or a drunk, none of which have stuck.
 
I watch the video to bear witness, because it is the only thing I have to offer Iman al-Obeidi.  In knowing her story, she is no longer isolated. 
 
Islam has taught me: My blood is Libyan and it is by grace alone that it has not yet been spilled because of this root.
 
I watch as a woman in hijab is the first to yell at Iman, and is also the first to physically grab her later in the video.  A second woman, also in hijab is who throws a cover over Iman’s face in an attempt to silence her.  I can’t help but wonder why God’s mercy and compassion have not made their way through the veils of these women and into their hearts.
 
Libyan men join the struggle and shove Iman outside and into a waiting car.  She doesn’t know to where she is being taken and I hadn’t realised that I was crying or holding my breath until my requirement for oxygen kicked in and a million thoughts flooded my head, the most searing of all Allah?  SOS.

What do you know? I’m twittering – and I have been meaning to avow the following, as a nod to the lovely Ms. Ginger Snaps: Twitter is a quick and exceptional way for / to share information, most especially in terms of politics / human rights / attempted internets blacking-out.

Note: I am almost entirely tweet-twirp-tweet-tweeting politics related stuffs.

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From friend Mazen Chouaib, who recently wrote…

“The challenge now in Egypt is to see how far these diverse groups can sustain the civil protest and present a counter offer that allays the fear of some regarding total chaos while at the same time advancing the legitimate movement for reform and a new governance model for the country.

Yemen is also ruled by a similar military structure. The difference is that the President has developed a governance system that elevated the role of the tribal leaders to the national level. The President turned the clock back on Yemen by re-establishing the tribal political order when he had the opportunity to move the country towards a democratic, party based system. Yemen is a wonderful country with great potential, but the President has failed in galvanizing the population to elevate the country out of poverty to achieve their potential. Corruption and the refusal to impose rule of law is impacting every aspect of life in Yemen.

The majority of Yemen’s population lives in extreme poverty, while his circle has benefited from the now disappearing oil wealth. President Ali Abdullah Saleh has lost the trust of the population and the political parties that coalesced with him two years ago to prolong the Parliamentary session and “stave off” the economic crisis. Their trust was betrayed by his lobbying to appoint his son, and prior to the latest events, his party’s efforts to change the constitution to make him president for life rather than engaging in true dialogue to deal with the problems of the country and to build the new governance model he promised.

Demonstrations in Yemen have been ongoing over the past couple of years. They are now much more emboldened by the events in Tunisia and Egypt. The difference is that the Government cannot resort to using violence with the protesters because the prevalence of arms in Yemen is a deterrent. As well, the army and the police are divided over tribal lines, which would make it more difficult to attack the protesters. There are too many challenges in Yemen which have been exacerbated by the President and his policies; economic challenges, the Southern secessionist movement, the debilitating tribal conflicts, the Al Qaeda emergence, and most importantly the total collapse of rule of law outside of Sanaa are all the result of bad policies and a corrupt political order.

Jordan’s social and economic system combines factors found in Egypt, Yemen and Tunisia. Jordanian political parties and civil society, including the Muslim Brotherhood, have all agreed and yielded to the rule of the Hashemites. There is no wavering of this unless the tribes agree that the King is no longer trusted, something that cannot be conceived of at this point in time. The Hashemites under current King Abdullah understand the balance of power, but there remains a governance problem. The country is managed from the Palace, governments and the parliaments are frequently disbanded and blamed for all the economic and political problems in the country before the population has the chance to experience the outcome of their policies.

Jordan has a thriving civil society, unions and freedom to assemble and associate. However there are also redlines. Today, these redlines are being challenged further by regular protests which are no longer seen as caused by “Palestinian” Jordanians; there are true blooded Jordanians from the large tribes and families protesting. The King responded to the protesters by meeting with them, listening to their concerns and finally making changes that were expected to appease the protesters.

However, the appointment of Prime Minister Bakhit is perceived by the political parties as a slap in the face. Mr. Bakhit is not a popular figure, he brought the much hated elections law that civil society considers undemocratic and in favour of the largest tribes. His appointment should be seen as more than that; it is an indication that the hard line political elite including the strong military and security institution in Jordan is winning the debate. This marked a hardening of positions, not a compromise. This is exactly what Arab regimes have been doing for the last 30 years – appearing to compromise while not really taking the substantive changes required. Will the Prime Minister return with policies of appeasement or will he start rounding up the leadership of the protests? Unlike in Egypt, this is easy to do in Jordan and Yemen because the protests are managed by political parties and civil society organisations.

The events in the Middle East should be seen as a generational change. They are seismic in a stagnated political order, with serious implications to the region and the West. The youth of the region, the political parties, the human rights activists and all those disenchanted by the status quo have coalesced to throw off the old regime in favour of a new one. The challenge will be for the West to be on the side of the people; these protesters are looking for the same governance model that we are enjoying in the West (law, order and good government), a betrayal of that will turn another generation of well-educated and western trained activists into enemies.”

Mazen Chouaib is an Ottawa based Middle East Affairs specialist. He is working with Canadian and international organizations in democratic development and good governance in the Middle East and North Africa. He has worked in Jordan, Yemen and Egypt and writes regularly on matters of Canadian policy in the Middle East and on Arab and Muslim affairs in Canada and internationally.

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You should.
His free booklet was used to instruct the Egyptian pro-democracy demonstrators.

Please meet and read about him here.

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Alf alf alf alf mabrook!!
BRAVO!!
You are beyond a shadow of any doubt: Amazing.

Thank you for being so righteous and brave – refusing to bring violence, but only responding when forced to – in your representation of the ‘Arab’ Street.

One small step for Egypt, one large step for the Arabic world…?

Here’s hoping and praying.

P.S. Seize Mubarak’s billions and use that money to pay for your revolution.

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