House of Leaves

Thoughts on End Sexual Harassment Day

2011-06-20T12:30:00.003+02:00

I have wanted to write about sexual harassment, again, for the last few months. I've wanted to write because I'm a woman in Cairo, so it's on my mind anyway, and because friends of mine were recently targeted by a mob of men, and I myself had an incident in which I felt physically threatened for the first time (by civilians, I mean. Thank you amn dawla circa 2006). This could simply be coincidence, or the absence of the traitorous police force encouraging a free-for-all attitude. All the more reason to speak out and fight against harassment.

But Egypt has been pushing against itself, as some fight for legitimate political demands while others demonstrate for their basic economic and social rights while those in power consistently disappoint the nation, proving only that change is still a necessary but distant goal, and that the struggle for it will be long and slow. With so much happening in the country on so many fronts, the issue of harassment – one which has been discussed, studied, and publicized so much in the past – just did not seem to need as much attention.

How wrong of me. The fact is that sexual harassment is a social disease that is linked to numerous other problems in the country. Here are just a couple:

The police: The corrupt and brutal police force which has humiliated and terrorized citizens for decades is complicit in sexual harassment - not only do policemen themselves often harass women (and men), but the fact that victims cannot refer to the police for protection or to search for justice in cases of assault without being blamed for the incident, or worse, is an outrage.

Education and social services: If the majority of Egyptian men had the chance to feel fulfillment or respect (reflected in their own eyes and the eyes of others) based on accomplishments other than street smarts and seya3a, perhaps harassing women would not be such a favorite pastime. But where are young men supposed to get any sense of self-worth when they have no chances for a decent education or dignified employment?

(Of course, men in BMWs who own at least the physical symbols of success also harass women.)

If, after years of a long and frustrating struggle to reform the country, we succeeded in improving education and the justice system, perhaps sexual harassment would organically decrease to become an occasional occurrence which women could report. But why wait? Through the revolution and ongoing protests, people became educated and engaged in politics like never before - because they had something at stake, because they saw that engagement could work. Perhaps the same can happen with the issue of harassment.

Start simply. Men need to understand that harassment is wrong, and women need to know that they shouldn't put up with it. And everyone needs to take responsibility - when you witness harassment and say or do nothing, you are condoning that behavior. You are accepting it as a normal part of the society around you.

We've heard the stories and read the studies. We know it is rampant, we know it is linked to ingrained ideas about sex, gender, and public space. It's time to act, in every way we can.

#EndSH

Battles

2011-02-09T18:24:00.003+02:00

At a an intersection near Tahrir square, a man selling Egyptian flags sang out “Shaga3 masr! Shaga3 masr!” (Support Egypt!) The cab driver I was with cracked a joke about whether we were going to a football stadium, and I started thinking about symbols.

In the weeks that have passed, the flag and the national anthem have been held up by both the agents of Mubarak's government, be they laughable state media channels or baltageyya, and the millions of people demanding change.

I have a problem with nationalism and its symbols. National identity, like religion, can be a force for cooperation and positivity; it can also be an easy justification for violence and intolerance and a tool for manipulating the masses for the benefit of the few.

Rarely have I felt as ashamed of people around me as when thousands of Egyptians obeyed orders or took money to attack peaceful protesters with fists, rocks, glass, and fire. Or when people started harassing and attacking foreigners and accusing them of being spies or agents, so easily abandoning human decency, and in some cases neighbourly ties, in favor of xenophobic state-sponsored lies. Or when people began questioning each others Egyptian-ness based on political views, accents, hairstyles, or clothing.

But rarely have humans moved and surprised me as much, nor have I seen such a condensed current of that unnamable, uplifting spark that has been one of the few sources of hope I've clung to while treading through Cairo for the last years. (Amnesiac does a great job of describing this.) When I saw thunderous waves of thousands of people descending upon Tahrir time and time again, after violence and lies and intimidation. When I stood on the corniche and watched, with my mouth literally agape, as protesters used sheer determination to push security forces back across Kasr el Nil Bridge on that Friday that everything changed, picking up tear gas canisters and throwing them into the Nile, leaving clouds of toxic smoke sitting on the water like it was unsure where to go. When I heard people had formed a human shield to protect the Egyptian Museum from looting. When I saw people protecting each other on the streets, sharing their homes and their food and their cars. When I heard hope and enthusiasm in the voices of relatives and friends, talking about Egypt with marvel.

And so it seems to me that is more than a fight over a throne or a parliament, a flag or a word. It's a fight over the spirit of a population which has always had the courage, wit and endurance so many foreign correspondents are commenting on as they walk around Tahrir these days. It's a fight to shake off a power structure which has done nothing but steal, suffocate and humiliate. It's a fight between the bad, and the potential and the hope for good.

As a dear relative said, “Whatever happens with politics, things will never go back to how they were. Finally there is hope, finally people know that there can be something different, that they have to demand it, never to let go of the truth that they deserve it.”

Looking forward

2011-02-06T11:26:00.001+02:00

The last 12 days have been incredible ones for Egypt. The massive, nationwide protests broke down people’s fear of the authorities and security forces in a country which has used intimidation and violence to silence its population for decades. The protests also invalidated international stereotypes and internalized inferiority complexes that Egyptians have about ourselves – that political apathy and cynicism are overwhelming, and the long-held conventional wisdom that Egyptians will not rise up except when food security is threatened, a la 1977.

The battle between the anti-government movement and the regime for public opinion, for the support of the majority of Egyptians who have not protested but have been holed up at home in front of the television for over a week, began the second the first “the people want to bring down the regime” was chanted. The president’s emotionally appealing first speech, the nationwide withdrawal of the police and security forces, the over-hyped news of looting, the interruption of normal life by an unnecessarily early military curfew (3 PM), the freezing of all banking transactions – these moves were all engineered to instill a deep craving for physical and financial security. The state media – where most Egyptians get their news – has gone a long way towards making the regime seem reasonable in its concessions, open to dialogue with opposition, and eager to resume normal operations for the country. The truth is that the regime has held the population hostage – cutting off cash, transportation, and communication – while making the population think it is the protesters who are kidnapping them.

The protesters’ strategy begins and ends with the act of protesting in itself. The overwhelming turnout of people in Cairo and other cities for demonstrations offered proof that the call had been heard, that people were ready to join in. News networks are reporting that last Friday’s protest in Cairo was the biggest yet. The movement has not wanted to politicize by promoting a particular opposition group or platform, opting instead to focus on one goal with a strong resonating power – that the regime step down. Most activists felt there was no need for a political plan, for an alternative to be offered when and if Mubarak steps aside. They were not aiming to put a certain person or party in power, simply to remove the current President.

This is no longer sufficient. As the population grows more tired of the hiatus to normal life and state media continues its barrage of lies and distortions, public opinion is clearly shifting away from the protesters. People feel that they have no plan and nothing to offer, while the government does. With the country’s army, bureaucracy, media, and financial institutions in its pockets, the regime itself – Mubarak or no Mubarak – appears to be going nowhere. Heads, including those of the much loathed Habib el Adli and the uber corrupt Ahmed Ezz – seem to be flying, but they are being replaced by nearby allies and confidants, stooges of the same system.

If Mubarak steps aside, it will be seen as the ultimate political concession on behalf of this regime and people will want to give the government time to implement the reforms it has promised. And we will have achieved little politically other than guaranteeing ourselves another septuagenarian, military leader – Omar Suleiman - and the continuation of the exact same power structures we have under Mubarak. If he does not step aside, we will have helped the government get one step closer to a succession plan which works in its favor, affording Suleiman eight months as Vice President and giving the US plenty of time to accept and see the advantages of the new reality before he is “elected” in September.

The protesters must come up with a political plan – something they can offer the people, a voice and a platform to represent them in the media. This is an enormous challenge for several reasons. First, it is always difficult to get people to agree on details once a movement has already started and grown – there are more diverging interests, less common ground; emotions are amplified and there is more at stake. Secondly, there is a significant amount of distrust within the core supporters and organizers of these protests towards opposition figures and politicians, most of whom did not lend their support to the demonstrations until after they surprised the world with their power. This eliminates the possibility of relying on already established organizational structures, weak as they may be; the movement will have to build something completely new.

Thirdly and, in my view, most importantly, the energy and the type of strategic thinking required to create a political plan runs almost directly opposite to the single-mindedness and incredible tenacity that protesters have had to adopt in order to continue the demonstrations, holding on to Tahrir square night after night, many of them fighting off the regime’s thugs at the front lines. People in the square are tired and they can only focus on one thing - the survival of the protests.
The protests’ focus narrowed onto the removal of Mubarak specifically after his first speech, in which he announced a new government would be formed. For over a week now, the banners, slogans, and chants of the protesters have targeted Mubarak personally.

I fear that, without a political alternative on the table and without public opinion on their side, protesters who will continue to demand the downfall of the regime after Mubarak (hypothetically) steps aside will be seen as unreasonable and selfishly disregarding the suffering of the majority; more than that, they may fail to bring out the numbers and support they need in order to continue.

In a sea I thought I'd never love

2010-08-15T20:06:00.003+02:00

Trying not to swallow salty water while feeling the skin on my face dry up against the sun and the shock of cold currents about my kicking legs is the best I've felt about this physical world in a long time.

There was also something about sitting on a deck, something you can tell was made by hands rather than concrete mixers, watching the bay and even though I could still see the highway that could take me back to the sweltering, brutal capital in just over two hours, it was everything to know I didn't have to worry about it, I could leave it where it is, leave all of its judgments and its demonstrations of fatigue and cruelty and the looming mess of my own life, just for a few short days.

Love of country

2009-11-24T10:48:00.002+02:00

I feel the need to comment about the escalating hysteria over the Egypt-Algeria football/soccer matches (and let's not get all riled up about whether to call it soccer or football. It's a game. Who fucking cares). There is no convincing evidence of the mass violence which hundreds of Egyptians returned from Sudan wailing about. Moreover, no one in the media, politics, or on goddamn Facebook seems in the slightest bit concerned about this, as they're too busy sending petitions to FIFA asking to kick Algeria out, or posting videos of Egyptians peeing on the Algerian flag. That this makes us seem like an 80-million person group of sore losers seems not to bother anyone.

Advertisers are making millions, and politicians are seizing the opportunity to distract and rile people up about something absolutely inconsequential to their actual well-being. Yesterday, Gamal Mubarak said on national TV:

“They should know that they have made a big mistake against a big country and so will suffer the aftermath of Egypt’s anger, not just that of the state, but of society as a whole.”

Mubarak said that Egypt’s government and its various institutions, whether or not they are sports-related, including culture, media and civil society, have already begun coordinating a joint response which will go beyond a mere expression of anger.

- from the Daily News Egypt.

How about a joint response to help the millions of sexually exploited, drug-addicted street children? How about some effort, any effort, to control the nightmare of Cairo traffic, which keeps people fuming in cars and on public buses for hours longer than they need to be? How about urban zoning? Getting the country away from the number 1 spot when it comes to the world's largest wheat importers? Air pollution? Getting clean water to the millions who don't have it?

But then, why should the government put in any effort on these fronts? When have protesters or rioters closed off entire neighborhoods, or the media talked obsessively, or the entire country raised a voice against an actual political or social injustice?

It's almost like we don't mind being played. Weeks before the first match in Cairo, nationalistic songs had overtaken the radio, they were even being blasted at metro stations. The government and giant corporations made this match the focal point of a national campaign to rouse people about an appropriate, non-NDP-threatening subject, one that would, of course, make them a lot of money.

We loved it. Ate it up. Hung our flags out the window, in many cases for the first time, and suddenly Egypt became something to talk about lovingly, over the Vodafone network, of course. In between songs by Shadia football players on radio shows talked about how they did it all for the fans, to make the sha3b, el sha3b el ghalban, happy. We clapped for them, called them heroes, pharaohs, saviors. When they wanted us to be happy, excited, supportive, we were. And then, when they wanted us to be angry, outraged about acts which we have no evidence of, demanding disqualification of the opposite team, forgetting our daily humiliations, we were.

Bravo, Egypt.

Metro

2009-02-19T10:19:00.004+02:00

The metro ride downtown was great. It was empty enough that I was actually able to take a seat next to an old man who smelled like sugar cookies. Across the aisle from me a woman, covered in beige apparel from the top of her head to her feet, sat quietly crying. A man whose frame was smaller than hers sat next to her, lightly jabbing her with his shoulder and speaking to her, clearly trying to cheer her up. She didn't speak, just kept her eyes on various parts of the car's ceiling, I suppose so as not to meet the gaze of curious watching strangers. She eventually mustered up a weak quarter-smile, but you could tell it was mostly for the sake of her companion.

Two hours later I'm waiting for the train to leave downtown and take me back home. As the platform gets more and crowded I notice how small the proportion of women is. We all get on the train, I am holding on to the bar near one of the doors. Two young men get on the car and stand between me and the door, so I am sort of facing them. They talk to each other, clearly good friends. It takes a few minutes before they engage in that most maddeningly irritating sleazeball habit of talking to each other about me. It's a tactic I've often wondered about - I think its appeal must be that they can refute any accusations by me with "7ad kallimik?".

I keep my eyes focused on a window, and turn away from them slightly. I am halfway home. My eyes quickly survey the rest of the car - it is mostly men, I see some women at the other end. Of course, they are all veiled. I use my coat, which I am not wearing due to the stuffiness underground, to cover my chest, though my sweater is quite loose anyway. I hold it the way one would hold it if it were wrapped around a child, and I wonder if the illusion of motherhood could somehow offer added protection. Most of the men look straight ahead of them or are sleeping, but there are enough of them who have steadily stared at me for long enough that I feel like I must turn into some kind of statue. I draw my legs closer together as I stand, bring my arms as close to my body as possible, and concentrate on not accidentally making eye contact with anyone, or, god forbid, thinking of anything that might make me smile.

I would like to reach into my bag for my ipod but I am afraid that the movement would only attract more attention. So I stand there, fixed in place, thinking of stone. Eventually the car empties significantly. I shift positions a little bit, and catch sight of a man leering at me, chewing something in his mouth, sitting with his legs spread open, leaning forward, taking up space with his body. I think of the way he sits and I also think of how I have been quietly trying to disappear, to be invisible and still and small, and I am suddenly furious. A cold kind of anger, which is all the more unpleasant and deadly, because hot anger, it can just come to the surface, you can let it erupt, and in doing so, let it go. Cold anger, on the other hand, has nowhere to go, and you must carry it around, never quite sure exactly how it is affecting the rest of you.

Words

2009-01-26T11:13:00.005+02:00

It occurs to me that perhaps one way to resist the Israeli monopoly on victimhood in English-language media might be to reclaim the word "holocaust". According to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, a holocaust is "a thorough destruction involving extensive loss of life especially through fire" (since the Greek origin of the word meant "burnt whole").

The dictionary lists another meaning of holocaust: "the mass slaughter European civilians and especially Jews by the Nazis during WWII", which is what the word has been used to refer to throughout my experience with the english language. That horrific piece of modern history which should not and cannot be forgotten, but which Israel seems to have bastardized into an excuse to unleash fire and cruelty onto its non-Jewish, non-lobby-organized, non-smooth-speaking victims.

So I think the word should be taken back. Bombing the crap out of a giant refugee camp isn't a war. It's a holocaust.

2009-01-13T10:11:00.005+02:00

Too tired for coherent sentences on Ghaza. I've been waking up right before the dawn prayers, against my will, for the last few days. I hear the cacophony of the prayer calls, starting seconds apart from each other, some voices beautiful, others whiney. I wonder if anyone is calling out for prayer from a minerat in Ghaza. The only mention of mosques I've heard is of them being blown up. Do prayer calls continue in times like this?

A few minutes after the singing has quieted, I hear the sound of the gardener's hose outside, trying to bring our yard to life. I think of uprooted land, turned on top of itself, trees blown up, the loss of livelihood and beauty and the right to both. Of land, eaten up with greed, evil, myopic greed, self-righteous greed, god-given greed. Taken, stolen, renamed.

I hear the sound of an airplane, which is uncommon in our neighborhood and I wonder what the deal is. It occurs to me that this isn't the first time the sound has triggered fear in me, an irrational idea that Cairo has suddenly joined the list of other cities, those which are no worse but are just less fortunate than it, existing on a part of the map that is either more or less important to all the wrong people. Beirut, Baghdad, Ghaza City. Ancient, reconstructed, invisible, forgotten. Part of a region that can't get its shit together, because above its grounds it is so old, so crowded, and underneath it is cursed with a poisonous gift. Because it is where texts were written and nations imagined on cocktail napkins and god reinvented time and time, and time, again.

And I remember that I happen to be in a country that is bordered by two genocides, one to the south, the other to the east. One might as well just walk into the Mediterranean and be done with it all, be washed over by water that saw its own ancient battles but at least the ships on both sides had weapons, at least back then there was no New York Times or CNN to take the lives of thousands people, PEOPLE, REMEMBER, which have been transformed into narratives of terror and loss and unspeakable indignities, and lie about and reduce and insult and exploit them for their own greed, their own tunnel vision for millions of people in the "free world" to swallow and digest and produce shit out the other end about "self-defense" and = that most harmful of words of this century - "terrorism".

Over 30% of the casualties so far are children. 292 children. 292 pairs of eyes (but what would they see?). Feet (but where would they run to?). Hands (but what would they do? what would they make? what would they touch?). 292 mouths emitting aborted laughter, sentences, cries, garbled syllables on their way to learning to speak. And it's disgusting, that if, before they were silenced forever by phosphorus bombs and 18-year-old recruits, those mouths had said "mom" and "dad" instead of "mama" and "baba" and "3ammo" and "teita" (or is it "sitto"?) and "ma sha allah", more people with bigger bank accounts and Security Council vetoes and industrialization and government offices would be outraged, would talk about it, would see it. Disgusting that I have to point that out.

And so on.

Inertia

2008-12-25T11:04:00.003+02:00

“Hello, I’m Slightly Tipsy, nice to meet you,” my friend said to the girl who had just appeared. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Oh THANK you! So are you, I’m One of the Ones Who Come Off as Slightly Vacuous Though I Might Not Be That Way At All, nice to meet you too.”

The next morning, I replayed this interaction over and over in my head. Somehow it seemed that the dialogue would make for a great set of opening lines for a short story. There was something about the harmlessness of my friend’s unusually forthcoming and personal compliment to a stranger, in the intimate setting of a Christmas party, juxtaposed with an odd sort of objectification. Would a man ever compliment another man, a stranger, about his looks? Or even his attire? His car, perhaps. Or his weapons.

But a story about what? Gender stuff? How the very parts of culture that encourage women to obsess about their own appearance and that of other women are the same parts that allow women the luxury of this sort of frankness?

Over the past few years I have repeatedly found myself sitting in a car or doing mindless chores while playing a line I had heard, or a line I had thought of, over and over, twisting it about in my head. I formulate a set of possible characters to speak them, or think them, or act them out (one of them always resembles me). I think up their families, their histories, the various chips they would carry on their shoulders, the ways in which they could be oblivious to other characters’ perceptions of them. But then I can never choose one, and so it has been several years since I have actually allowed my mind to unfold those stories, to sit and carefully, painstakingly, consider the choices made by my words for them, about them. It would require much more than time.

In which the news reads like a dystopian fantasy story

2008-12-14T11:46:00.005+02:00

Society's obsession with what people are doing in their bedrooms never fails to amaze me. We've had thousands of years to come to terms with the fact that people are turned on by different things, and that they will continue to do those things no matter how energetically society tries to police them. I do not understand why people give a damn, frankly. As long as someone's sexual acts are consensual and private, why should it matter to anyone else? Why must society force us all to fit into one heterosexual, chaste until marriage, monogomous version of the story? Have we not learned that repression of sexuality often leads to violence, depravity, and the sort of behavior that is generally more likely to ruin lives and break apart families?

Apparently not. This article in the Daily News Egypt is interesting because it starts out discussing couples that are suffering due to the fact that the husband is a homosexual who got married only to save face socially. And yet the bulk of the article is spent discussing homosexuality from exactly the same perspective which caused these couples so much grief in the first place: that homosexuality is a disease, and one that should be treated.

There is mention of erectile implants to assist men in being able to have sex with women, as well as this gem from a Dr. Abdulla "a gynecologist and the Ministry of Justice’s Medical Consultant for Sexual Disorders":

"While Abdulla underlines the futility of psychotherapy in the majority of such cases, he commends the results of behavioral therapy which consists of reversing the patients’ sexual obsessions through conditioning to trigger orgasm through pornography in the presence of a woman."

For the sake of caution, I do think it is possible that the writer was trying to be neutral and simply "report" the attitudes and practices surrounding the problem. However, I think it would have been responsible to find a quote from someone from a human rights group posing a different question: What if we stopped criminalizing homosexuality?

It would have added a bit of dynamism to the article. Instead we are left with the same old panicky "WHAT DO WE DO ABOUT THE GAYS?" answered horrifically with: "stick implants in their penises and force them to watch heterosexual porn". Yeah, that'll fix it.

A different kind of Grinch

2008-12-03T10:26:00.002+02:00

Call me a heathen or a party-pooper but I truly dislike Cairo during Eid El Adha. Every year I am overcome with increasing levels of dread as the Eid approaches. It is not only the insane traffic, nor the viruses with which pilgrims return from the Hajj that result in office and school-wide illnesses. It is also, most palpably and irritatingly, the unbelievable lack of sanitation and consideration that comes along with people slaughtering sheep or cows for sacrifice on the streets and in the courtyards of buildings. It's called a butcher. There are many, many places you can go to where they will slaughter the animal for you, and package the meat in whatever increments you request for distribution. There are even places that distribute the meat for you.

What bothers me even more about this is the element of showing off that is involved. Neighbours apparently get competitive about the size or even number of animals they buy for slaughter each year.

I really don't see why we all have to be watching out for pools of blood, overwhelmed with the smell of sheep, goat, and cow poop, and deal with further crowding of already jam-packed streets due to the presence of giant herds of animals. Not to mention the times when we are lucky enough to hear animal screams as they are being slaughtered nearby first thing in the morning.

No, I don't find it cultural, or interesting, or a beautiful demonstration of a faith. It's obnoxious and messy.

Again, to clarify, I do not take issue with the Eid itself or the slaughtering and distribution of meat. It is the way in which it is executed in this city which bothers me.

Now I will go figure out how to steal candy from children.

And I haven't even had my coffee

2008-11-22T11:09:00.004+02:00

We are staying with my husband's younger sisters for a couple of weeks as their parents and grandfather are out of town. The 12-year-old just picked up the newspaper, started reading a local news story, and promptly asked me what "sodomizing" means. I am just waiting for the earth to crack open so I can disappear, or at least be given a great way to divert the conversation.

Hello, Direction? It would be nice to catch up.

2008-11-13T14:29:00.002+02:00

I have decided to stop ignoring the nagging thought, and probable fact, that I need to go back to school if I want to do anything significantly professional with my life. I do not have unique entrepreneurial skills and I'm not a creative artist. Therefore I need fancy degrees to legitimize me. Also, my brain seems to be atrophying. After much pondering, I've decided to do what teachers have been telling me to do since the 7th grade and try to go to law school. (Yes, it's disturbing that someone thought I had the potential for mechanical study and verbal acrobatics at such a young age). I enjoyed the International Law classes I took as an undergraduate more than most others, though I do understand that they are not a good representation of the real thing. I am aware that I will most likely have to endure years surrounded by competitiveness of testicular proportions, as well as general misery and probable student poverty. I was expecting these to be my law school veteran friend's first few words of caution when I told her about my decision. What I got instead was:

LS Vet: anyway this is exciting! think of the tons of condescending advice i'll be in a position to give

me: it will be awesome for you

Hazardous snacks

2008-11-02T12:38:00.002+02:00

From an email I just sent out:

"I have two burns, one on each hand, from making popcorn while drunk at Obnoxiously Tall's party on thursday. They should be a reminder to be responsible and not approach flames while intoxicated, but instead every time I look at them I crave popcorn. Is that sick?"

Playing it safe

2008-11-02T10:49:00.004+02:00

It is saddening that this American election, which is supposed to be partially about breaking barriers and overcoming old prejudices, has seen both campaigns decisively turn their backs on Arab Americans. The media has also exhibited stunning cowardice by not daring to criticize the rhetoric being used (Woman at rally: “I can’t trust Obama. I have read about him and he’s not, he’s not... he’s an Arab,” McCain took back the microphone and said “No, ma’am. He’s a decent family-man citizen.”). It wasn't until a figure like Powell said something that any of the writers, bloggers, or news presenters bothered to ask "So what if he is?".

It may have been politically necessary, but the fact that the Obama campaign did not themselves say something, did not point to the fact that equality and tolerance mean nothing if they are not applied to everyone, is still shameful.

This article discusses Arab Americans in the context of political participation and organization.

As pointed out in the article, Arab Americans constitute such a small percentage of the electorate that it is easy to see why candidates would not want to reach out and risk a public image nightmare. But the point is that they are still citizens, and the demonization of "the Arab" extends beyond local politics. It affects the way Americans see Arab countries, Islam (often incorrectly associated), and foreign policy. And it's just plain hate-mongering that needs to be dealt with. This hasn't happened yet; even the discussions following Powell's statements seemed like hasty nods of the head accompanied by "Why yes, er, yes of course". Sort of like this host's reaction to Ben Affleck's point here.

As the world watches with tired eyes

2008-10-19T12:19:00.006+02:00

I find an Obama presidency to be exciting and even necessary. He cannot save America or the world from the deep-rooted crises that have wasted millions of lives and trillions of dollars. No one can. Furthermore, I don't believe that an Obama presidency can fundamentally change or improve this region. America's policies in the Middle East are based on antiquated Cold War approaches and a bafflingly unrelenting commitment to support Israel in all of its adventures, even when it is blatantly not in America's interest to do so. Obama's proclivity to nuance, justice, and change will be consistently sidelined by these monoliths.

While he wants to withdraw from Iraq, he will be leaving that oldest of countries broken and violent. No amount of financial aid or apologizing will heal the massive wounds that have been created, wounds which instantly started bleeding into neighboring countries which were already struggling with stability.

So then why do I give a crap? I suppose it is a matter of wanting to minimize the damage. No American administration has been "fair" to the Middle East. However, they have not all been as blind or as massively injurious as the Republican one of the last eight years. While Obama will be restrained and even handicapped by America's foreign policy pillars, I believe he will use diplomacy to the fullest effect possible. I do not believe he will push for elections in Palestine and then blockade the democratically elected party. I do not believe he will ignore consistently illegal Israeli settlement activity, nor that he will turn a blind eye to the seige of Gaza which leaves over one and a half million people literally imprisoned, with no access to electricity, medicine, trade, or the hope to make an income. I do not believe he will condone a horrifically illegal and unjustified war against Lebanon, one in which civilians were repeatedly targeted, with each incident of the loss of numerous innocent lives followed by - if anything - a barbaric statement foreshadowing worse things to come or a shamefully unapologetic explanation of technical failure from one of Israel's politicians. I do not think he will use his military and intelligence services to trick the public into a war and then proceed to manage it in the most incompetent ways possible.

I believe the American justice system and its civil rights are teetering on the verge of a very dark spiral. If it is not stopped, this spiral will necessarily end with no hope of the return of habeus corpus, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, and the condoning of the use of torture through a combination of secrecy and the use of language which intentionally obscures and sanitizes (terms like "extreme interrogation techniques" are a good example). I believe Obama's grounding in constitutional law and his worldview would allow Americans the privilege of seeing balanced, not crazy-right-wingers appointed to the Court.

I am basing these hopes of mine on a couple of things. I first fell for Obama during and after reading his book, "Dreams form my Father". Aside from being eloquently written, I found it to be an illustration of an admirable character possessing a fierce intelligence, a capacity for self-critcism, and a balanced perspective. Moreover, I believe he has run his presidential campaign with superior skill and talent.

This excerpt is from a piece written by the editors of The New Yorker and recently published. It seems to be a final push, an appeal to voters to go with Obama. It's a shame that the many compelling points made in that article may be unnecessary for the almost exclusively liberal Democratic readership of that magazine. I like the articulation nonetheless.

" But Obama’s first book is valuable in the way that it reveals his fundamental attitudes of mind and spirit. “Dreams from My Father” is an illuminating memoir not only in the substance of Obama’s own peculiarly American story but also in the qualities he brings to the telling: a formidable intelligence, emotional empathy, self-reflection, balance, and a remarkable ability to see life and the world through the eyes of people very different from himself. In common with nearly all other senators and governors of his generation, Obama does not count military service as part of his biography. But his life has been full of tests—personal, spiritual, racial, political—that bear on his preparation for great responsibility.

It is perfectly legitimate to call attention, as McCain has done, to Obama’s lack of conventional national and international policymaking experience. We, too, wish he had more of it. But office-holding is not the only kind of experience relevant to the task of leading a wildly variegated nation. Obama’s immersion in diverse human environments (Hawaii’s racial rainbow, Chicago’s racial cauldron, countercultural New York, middle-class Kansas, predominantly Muslim Indonesia), his years of organizing among the poor, his taste of corporate law and his grounding in public-interest and constitutional law—these, too, are experiences. And his books show that he has wrung from them every drop of insight and breadth of perspective they contained.

The exhaustingly, sometimes infuriatingly long campaign of 2008 (and 2007) has had at least one virtue: it has demonstrated that Obama’s intelligence and steady temperament are not just figments of the writer’s craft. He has made mistakes, to be sure. (His failure to accept McCain’s imaginative proposal for a series of unmediated joint appearances was among them.) But, on the whole, his campaign has been marked by patience, planning, discipline, organization, technological proficiency, and strategic astuteness. Obama has often looked two or three moves ahead, relatively impervious to the permanent hysteria of the hourly news cycle and the cable-news shouters. And when crisis has struck, as it did when the divisive antics of his ex-pastor threatened to bring down his campaign, he has proved equal to the moment, rescuing himself with a speech that not only drew the poison but also demonstrated a profound respect for the electorate. Although his opponents have tried to attack him as a man of “mere” words, Obama has returned eloquence to its essential place in American politics. The choice between experience and eloquence is a false one––something that Lincoln, out of office after a single term in Congress, proved in his own campaign of political and national renewal. Obama’s “mere” speeches on everything from the economy and foreign affairs to race have been at the center of his campaign and its success; if he wins, his eloquence will be central to his ability to govern."

Go here for the full article. I'll be crossing my fingers and hoping that America does not scare itself out of something so promising.

Because I feel like writing and don't feel like working

2008-10-16T11:04:00.005+02:00

When my friend and ride to work is unavialable for whatever reason, I usually end up getting a ride with my boss. This is what happened this morning, as I'm fairly certain that the office is slowly killing us both.

Anyway, as the boss and I were driving along, we spotted a 2-door black BMW, one of those new things that I can never remember the model of, but suffice it to say that it was unbelievably sleek and sexy. We started discussing its merits and draw-backs, and my boss seemed to express some serious interest in the car. I responded with "If I was a 25-year-old single guy, that's the car I would want." And then, during the silence which followed, I remembered that he is twice divorced, with an adolescent son, and is far past 25. Coming off as a condescending smart-ass without meaning to? Check.

I should be forgiven though. Other than the horrendous head cold which makes most of my thoughts fuzzy, I have also been experiencing the late stages of the nightmare which is moving into your own apartment in Egypt. Never have I spent so much time waiting for workers who frequently just wouldn't show up at all. Never have I used such dirty language in reference to professional engineers who also happen to be my father's age (one of the few attitudes I've absorbed from traditional culture and family is to consistently respect older people. I cringe when young fools like myself think the fact that they're wearing a suit or expensive jeans makes it ok for them to talk down to someone their parents' or grandparents' age who happens to be less well off than them.) Never, ever, have I sweeped up such endless and massive piles of dust.

All that said, I'm happy to finally be moved, the neighbourhood is lovely and I'm quickly falling for our apartment (which I had grown to almost resent during the disasterous year which we spent trying to finish it up). The stress is just making me a little less, er, filtered. Will have to find a way to redeem self to boss.

Talking

2008-09-17T10:56:00.003+02:00

Sometimes I get so sick of entrenched terms/structures of certain debates that I think I say stupid shit just to break away from them. I just think that the accepted outlines for arguments on certain topics actually limit them and force them to be circular. And those accepted outlines are almost always based on a stereotype or preconcieved notion. Take, for example, the debate about the "war on terror". I think almost every conversation I have had about this ends up with people talking about whether or not Islam is a violent religion. This blocks out other issues, such as: whether it is correct that "terrorism" can only be carried out by non-state actors (what up, Israel!), whether those that carry out terroristic acts truly have a sound religious base for them that is accepted by either the majority of Muslims or credible religious authorities, and, most importantly: it ignores the political motivations of "Islamic jihadists". It oversees the reality that in most cases, Islam is used as a shroud for self-assurance, and a way to motivate fighters and frame their actions in terms of glory and nobility. Hmm, sounds a little bit like patriotism.

Anyhow, I usually lose interest and end up mumbling something about how all religions are multi-vocal, with forgiving, tolerant, and peaceful trends, as well as violent and self-righteous trends and how it is up to the people and their religious leaders in various socio-political contexts to choose which trends to emphasize. But every once in while, looking for new avenues of conversation, i'll react to a topic by spouting out the first new thought that comes to my mind, like the other day during a conversation about the growing influence of China in Africa and how it is building up entire countries' infrastructures (of course, with the goal of syphoning everything out of said countries with maximum efficiency). Instead of going on about neo-colonialism and Africa experiencing it from the East this time, I said some crap like hey, at least they're getting some business and infrastucture but without being kidnapped and branded and shipped off to become slaves on someone else's land.

And that, my friends is as far as I've gotten in trying to reframe the terms of important political conversations: defeatingly accepting the lesser evil as a "good thing".

Om el Donya

2008-08-13T18:09:00.003+03:00

It seems that the creeping approach of Ramadan has caused my boss to wake up from the lull of managerial office routine in a frenzied panic, and to throw buttloads of work into my lap. One of these suddenly remembered tasks sent me on a ten-day trip to various parts of Upper Egypt and Fayoum. We are talking about working with farming communities in the heart of the s3eed here. In August. Never have I so frequently lamented my female-ness. Not even while living in Saudi Arabia; at least there one has the option of leading a double life - publicly, a life that is indistinguishible from its repressed surroundings, and privately, one that mirrors western conceptions of leisure.

The trip was educational both professionally and in the way it opened my eyes to how culturally removed Cairo and Alexandria are from the rest of the country. Cairo is so crowded and overwhelming that one often forgets that its residents, and its commuters, are in fact a minority of the larger Egyptian population. I'm among those who complain about the enforced social conservatism of Cairo, and, like most, I usually attribute it to religion. I had forgotten all about straight up traditionalism. I guess that's easy to do in an enormous, mostly Muslim city setting. The following is an email I sent to some friends mid-way through the trip, pointing out various things I had learned about the s3eed by that point :

- It is rude for women to chew gum.

- It is rude for women to cross their legs in public. It is not, however, in any way notable if a man sits with his hands cupping his balls for about 15 minutes, or picks his nose continuously (really, really picking. Like exploratory digging.)

- If you are not veiled, do not be surprised if a development "professional" asks you if "you guys are fasting these days."

- There is a kabab store in Fayoum called "Kalbaz". I look forward to seeking it out tomorrow almost as much as I look forward to having a beer and wearing a (gasp!) half-sleeved t shirt on saturday.

I did indeed make it to Kalbaz, and it proved to be the cheesy, brightly colored, lard-smelling, flourescently lit place I had imagined. Other highlights of the trip included:

- Walking through a village and hearing about how they had to enlarge the police presence after a case of taar (revenge killings) left 3 people dead a few months ago.

- Driving through Fayoum (the actual town, not the touristic "oasis" by the lake) on Thursday night and seeing at least two dozen pick-up trucks absolutely overflowing with wedding guests.

- Quickly realizing that unless you specify otherwise, any cup of tea that is given to you will be unbelievably sweet, and dark to the point where it looks thick. It makes Lipton seem like some sort of baby-faced pre-pubescant whose voice hasn't yet cracked.

Long overdue

2008-05-25T11:52:00.007+03:00

It's 9 AM and I am walking to a main street so I can hail what will probably be a rickety cab blaring loud music that will drop me off, very late, at work. It's exceptionally bright this morning and so I'm squinting, cursing myself for having not yet replaced my sunglasses, whose final moments came unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago when they fell into a toilet at a restaurant ( I do not care what anyone says, no amount of anti-bacterial cleaning will make it ok for me to put them back on my face). I am wearing my loose (ie comfortable) jeans and a button-down shirt that my mother-in-law bought for me, and flip-flops, which I donned in a split-second decision geared both by impulsivity and the thought that my boss would not be in the office today.

As I pass a 3arabeyet foul attracting a modest swarm of people, I see a girl, 11 years old or so, also walking down the street towards me. She's wearing long pink cotton shorts, way past her knees, and a matching pink t-shirt. She is tall and skinny, clearly living through that pre-pubescent growth spurt that many young girls experience, when they suddenly get very tall but their hips are still boyish and their chests are still flat. It's still a few months before things will start to suddenly get soft, and weird, and she'll have to start wearing extra undergarments and deal with roundness and pimples and hundreds of questions, some of which I'm sure are already in her head. I think to myself that this could be my younger sister, who also walks with a silent air of self-conciousness, doing a good job of looking straight ahead of her and blocking out the rest of the street. She's carrying a plastic bag, and I wonder what errand she's been sent on, and why she's not in school this morning. As we get closer I see she too is squinting in the brightness, and her eyes have a puffiness that indicate she hasn't been awake for long.

We pass each other, and as I round the corner I'm thinking I should spend more time with my little sister, before the teenage years settle in with their unbudging weight, making her more defensive, more frantically preoccupied, less interested in family. I see the main street now, it's at the next intersection and I mentally groan as two empty cabs whiz by, I'm too far away to hail them, even with the incredibly useful "TAX! TAX!" yell which I have now mastered. A blue Hyandai Matrix, which always seems like a family car to me, is driving up the street I am on and stops on the left. I move to walk around it, and I hear "Saba7 el kheir. Saba7 el kheir." This is not the morning for this. Sure enough, I look to my left and see a man my father's age, sitting alone in the driver's seat. He is looking at me with beady eyes, and repeats the greeting which he apparently uses when he is soliciting prostitutes.

I yell at him, "Eih el 2araf dah!" in a voice harsh and angry and filled with disgust. And then I walk the few remaining steps to the main street and get into a cab. Sitting here now, blogging in my unsupervised office, it occurs to me that my rage was instantaneous, that only a few moments after I'd sat down in the taxi I was thinking of other things. It was not always this way. Up until recently, when drivers would slow down and try to get me to get into their cars because they thought I was a whore, it would weigh on me for hours, altering my mood palpably. The three times that different drivers flashed me their penis, which they were jacking off while looking at me, I was sick to my stomach, the way you are when you consume food or drink items that do things they aren't supposed to. The time I was waiting for the CTA to get to campus, when a driver drove up and down the street 13 times (I counted), in order to pull up in front of me and verbally harass me, I tried to walk up and down the steet to dodge him, standing on the sidewalk as far away from the actual street as possible. It didn't work.

All of these experiences pissed me off and stressed me out and made me unsure myself. They made me question whether I would ever belong here, and whether I even wanted to.

Despite all of the advances pertaining to women's place in society, despite the thousands of Egyptian women who are doctors and professors and engineers and mothers and farmers and diplomats and writers and protestors, women still have no place in the street. "El share3", when mentioned in relation to women, carries dangerous and dirty connotations. Some say women can have a place there, provided that they dress "appropriately", meaning that they cover up bits of themselves that people have decided to sexualize, that they alter who they are in order to help men control themselves (that this line of thinking humiliates men by assuming they are pigs with no self-control seems to escape everyone). Others tell me that there is room for women "like me" (educated, from "good families", with money) in the street, provided I am in my own private car. Women "like me" should not be walking around by themselves and using cabs or the underground. This makes me think of my friend who was sitting in her car, stuck in traffic, when a pedestrian stuck both his hands through her window and grabbed her breasts. At 2 PM, in downtown Cairo.

Harassment happens everywhere. I've been catcalled and leered at in New York, Alexandria, Istanbul, Abu Dhabi and San Francisco. But there is something about the pervasiveness of it here, the fact that it happens every day, to shocking degrees, and to all women, that we sometimes feel like we can't away from it, can't get a break, that indicates to me that there is a sickness more advanced in this society plaguing the relationship between men and women. The years here may have made my skin tougher, but they have not made me any less saddened.

From the monkey desk

2008-05-08T10:14:00.002+03:00

So Eureka tagged me with this a long, long time ago. She was kind enough to announce that I only had to indulge if I really wanted to. I was planning on taking that caveat, but you see I have had absolutely nothing to do at work for the past 6 working days. The internet has lost its allure. The news is no longer gripping. Blogs are no longer funny. My eyelids have stopped staying open without requiring a massive amount of willpower. I had to find something to do.

10 random things about me (I know all four of you readers are maddeningly curious):

1- I am a giant wuss when it comes to physical pain. The threat of something that will hurt, even at the doctor's office, can bring about some of my most dramatic moments, complete with complaints of feeling faint and irregular breathing.

2- I am an excellent baker. I used to bake almost every weekend in high school. I liked how much it would pick my friends up when I gave them some cookies or a delicious piece of cake.

3- I have to try really hard not to be judgemental towards people who don't read.

4- I hate shopping malls. They make me cranky and tired.

5- I like old people a lot. I do not, however, look forward to getting old myself. A good friend of mine disagrees with me; she eagerly awaits a period during which she can let herself and her efforts at self-maintenance "go". But so many of the things I enjoy in life are a direct result of my youth. I fear the day when the death of friends is seen as "natural" and when my mobility is limited by body aches.

6- One of my biggest regrets so far is not learning to play a musical instrument. My school had decent strings and band programs; however, they were to be chosen as electives from a pool of classes, which included Islamic Studies. My parents insisted I study Islam as part of their desire that I not be completely ignorant of my own culture as a result of my growing up abroad. While I am grateful to have that knowledge, it still surprises me how frequently I am seized with sadness about my musical illiteracy.

7- I seriously think chocolate is one of mankind's best discoveries/innovations. And the darker the better, although milk chocolate has its place in my world.

8- I am amazingly unaware of how short I am. Until I see myself in mirror next to other people, or stand unprecedentedly close to them. My self-image is definitely disorted in this area.

9- I believe back-stabbing is the worst thing people can do to each other (excluding violence and all that).

10- I often doubt that any place in the world can be as overwhelming as Egypt. In the good and the bad ways.

Crossing the Cab

2008-02-10T15:23:00.000+02:00

Disclaimer: in no way is this post meant to bash religious phrases or those who use them. I am describing my personal feelings on this aspect of the language, I have no gripe with your beliefs, so don't have any with mine.

I used to be so conscientious about how I spoke, the expressions I did and didn't use in Egypt. The constant sycophancy of Egyptian 3ammiya was not irritating in and of itself, but rather the vagueness and lack of accuracy which it infused into conversation was troublesome. Plus, the most commonly repeated phrases all reference Islam, but what about the Copts? So I boycotted the use of all god-references in everyday speech and commercial transactions, in an attempt not only to placate my very out of place secular leanings, but also, I hoped that somehow I would be sparing the occasionally unknown-to-me Christian what must at least be a surge of mild irritation they experience when they are greeted with "al salamo 3alaykom". (The phrase itself, "peace be upon you", is quite beautiful. But every time I hear it, I remember something about a point system wherein you are granted a certain number of blessings based on how completely you used the greeting..."al salamo 3alykom" bringing in less points than "al salamo 3alaykom wa ra7met allah". The fact that the greeting has gotten mangled up in people's obsession with the details of religion pisses me off. It shouldn't be about points, dudes.)

Anyhow, somewhere along the line the years of inhaled smog and deafening noise pollution wore down on my stamina for such lofty principled-ness, and I noticed a couple of weeks ago that I was muttering "insha allah" occasionally (though NEVER in response to a question regarding whether something had happened in the past. I said I lost stamina, not logic). The other day I got into a cab and as I was dragging the door shut I said "al salamo 3aleko" only to look up and see a dashboard absolutely covered in Christian paraphernalia. Pictures of the Virgin Mary, Christ, and various priests dangled from every dangly-able part of the car.

It was like 2 religions talking so loudly at, not to, each other. One with a carelessness and self-assurance that only comes with having such a majority stake in culture. And the other responding with a desperate plea for attention, for space, for recognition, even in its own Christian-owned car.

The driver responded with "wa 3alaikom el salam", but only after a significant moment of paused silence. I wondered what thoughts went through his head during that pause and whether they included an angry stream of curses.

Unsanitary

2008-01-23T15:57:00.000+02:00

On may way to the office this morning, I popped into the pharmacy across the street for tampons or pads. The guy working in there looked around for a bit, and then told me they were out. Of both. In any brand.

After my head exploded, he said "I can have someone get some and take them to your office across the street."

Thing is, I have never been in there before. The only reason this guy recognizes me and knows where I work is because he is, apparently, spending more time watching people and probably talking with other shopkeepers and members of the surrounding community about them, than he is doing his job. Maybe that explains why he hasn't insured a steady supply of what must be one of the most highly demanded category of items at any pharmacy.

The levels of curiosity and interest people take in each other's lives here is unbelievable. Lots of people find it charming; they think of it as a warm collectiveness that nicely contrasts the often harsh loneliness and isolation of individualism in the west. But the problem is it doesn't stop at support networks, or active socializing. It often carries on to incessant gossiping (about strangers), co-dependancy reaching the point of people being unable to do anything except in packs, and a total lack of understanding or respect of any individual dissent or lack of conformity. The group, the mainstream, the ma3roof is overbearing and the source of all.

Does this mean everyone really does hold identical values and lifestyles? Of course not. It just means people keep all of their taboo business behind very closed doors. Which is fine. What's not cool is doing that so that they can be allowed to frown and tssk tssk at those who are more open, with the rest of them.

Drizzle

2008-01-22T13:08:00.001+02:00

It is not right for it to be so dark and rainy. It doesn't suit Cairo's tones of brown, and it ups the already high levels of adventure that come with trying to walk on a street or (for the especially brave) on a sidewalk.

I always hope rainfall will be cleansing somehow, that the colors of the city will come back brighter, fresher, more vibrant, the way that you feel after you take a shower at the end of a particularly draining afternoon in an effort to be of a presentable disposition for the evening. Sometimes it works. Not for Cairo though. The wetness just stirs up foul smells that had previously been thankfully dried up.

I shouldn't complain. At least I have shoes on my feet.

Here and There

2007-11-26T10:44:00.000+02:00

Years ago some American friends of mine rented a car and spent a weekend driving around the delta. I, in my quest to see parts of Egypt that don't have internet or hotels or Metro supermarkets, joined them. We went to Zaqaziq, Ismailya, and a bunch of other places. I could write a lot about those trips, about entire villages with not a single paved road but plenty of satellite dishes. About how the number of security personnel in al Fayoum is exaggeratedly conspicuous even for Egypt. About how at some point we were driving through a tiny alley with overflowing sewage, surrounded by painful signs of an even more painful poverty at the same time that our cassette brought us Louis Armstrong singing "What a wonderful world" in a voice which manages to be both happy and sad at the same time. Unfortunately what concerns me here is not any of that, but the ahwa.

On Friday around prayer time we were exhausted. We'd been on the road for more than five hours, and everyone wanted to be out of the car and have some coffee, juice, anything. We had been wandering through a market in a village (I can't remember which one) and we spotted a coffee shop. Just your regular ahwa. It was fairly empty given the time of day, and so we decided to brave it despite my presence in the group (I was not only the only Egyptian but also the only female). I knew my entering this space transgressed a boundary, one which is far more established and unquestioned than curious friendliness towards strangers. It was my second year in Egypt, and I knew enough about these boundaries to be infuriated and too little to be pragmatic. Some less self-conscious and more self-righteous part of me decided that I was just going to deal with the discomfort, and that I wasn't going to let my gender restrict my experience or that of my companions.

We sat down at a table outside, a few feet above street-level (more like dirt-road level). Prayer had just ended, and as groups of men and boys walked down the road back to their homes they simply pointed and stared. I tried to imagine they were more shocked by my friend's blond hair than they were by my presence in this space which traditionally belongs to men. Maybe they were, I don't know. There was none of the raucousness and tarya2a that one would expect if such a situation were occurring in Cairo. What I do know is that the people working at the coffee shop could not look me in the eye. When I spoke to them, they pretended not to hear me. It didn't matter that I was the human being in this group who was best able to communicate with them. I was a girl. Someone else who did not speak their language had to order my tea for me.

Right and wrong bend and shift quite easily for concepts which imply such assuredness (discrimination and equality have a tendency to disappear all together). Was it wrong of me to enter an establishment that does not formally exclude people of my gender, but is effectively forbidden to them? Was it right of the staff to disregard my existence? Was it wrong for us, in our quest to see a part of the country in which we were alien, to disregard established social codes? Yes, probably.

Cairo, being the consumerist, swarming, more outward-looking place that it is, has a much different way of dealing with boundaries. They are less absolute, changing along lines of class, nationality, ethnicity, and language. They are more easily camouflaged. There are more and more ahawy in Cairo which are frequented by women, to the chagrin of many. What differentiates those places from the Le Cafes whose mixed clientele receive not a double-blink? It's not that they don't have printed menus or bills or bottled water. It's that, culturally, the ahwa is mapped out as a space for men. For women to start going there is unrespectable, abnormal, and dishonorable (in short, 3eib).

A few cafes have popped up in Cairo which are open to women only. So it would seem that people of both sexes are now able to choose whether or not to interact with (or even see) the opposite gender when hanging out outside the home. It's no one's calling to predict what effect, if any, this will have on society. We will have to wait and see how further segregation, in a place where women's presence on the street is tolerated at best, changes things.

**Originally published in Campus magazine.

Musings

2007-10-05T11:15:00.001+02:00

(I wrote this a few weeks ago and have been meaning to post it. Unfortunately my internet connection is an archaic dial-up for the time being, which makes me significantly less active.)

I went to the pub after work today. It's the first bar I visited in Egypt, a long time ago. In fact the first bar I visited in my life. For a couple of years I found a certain smart humor in telling people about how I (my 17-year-old self) was startled to find myself consuming alcohol from labeled bottles, bottles served to me by a staff, how it was a strikingly different experience than buying alcohol in a plastic water bottle, alcohol which tasted harsh and ugly, and drinking it with friends in parking lots and parks.

I got to the bar a good while before the friend I was meeting there. It was quiet, there were only a couple of other tables occupied by people who were sharing whiskey and conversation. I thought about all the people whose conversation I’d sought out in this place. One in particular; a friend with whom I have spent more time conversing than I have with anyone else in Cairo, with whom I think I’ve talked about more things and more nothings than anyone I can remember. We used to wonder a lot together. About people, mostly, and why they seemed the way they did, why they talked or didn’t, how they laughed or didn’t, why they made love the way they did. I haven’t spoken to her in over a year.

I wondered if I looked any different to the staff who had seen me walk in a good six years ago. I wondered if I seemed less curious and more self-aware. Less keen and more worn (like the shirt I have with the hole in the armpit that’s small and hidden, but just one indication of why I should stop wearing it).

They were playing classical music, some Beethoven at some point. And I felt like writing. About the place, the bar, the black guy with his back to me who was having a glass of wine alone, how when I light cigarettes in bars I always think of the movies (although no decent silver-screen woman would be lighting her own cigarette in a bar), about how amusing it is to sit and think about the different people I’ve sat down with at this very table, some lovers, some friends, some inconsequential (as much as a person’s interaction with another can be), how few of them are a part of my life now (if any). I wanted to write about the cigarette smoke and how it can look like a dance, even though that’s been written about already in every way possible, about feeling a woman at the next table turn her head and look at me for a while, about the music.

Sunday Pain

2007-07-29T12:04:00.000+03:00

I have mixed feelings about my new job. I share an office with four females who don't really get along brilliantly. And one of them plays terrible music all day long. There are some redeeming factors though. I am basically getting paid to read and write, which is unassailably cool. And last week, when the electricity was cut off for nearly two hours and we had descended into the hell that is Cairo heat, everyone ended up rolling around on the cool ceramic floors, and various entertaining bits of conversation occurred, such as:

Co-worker: "Do you think we can get booze delivered here?"
Me: "Yes, but what if X (the big huge boss) walks in?"
Co-worker: "Oh, he won't mind as long as we've ordered something for him as well"

Co-worker 2: "Who wants to smoke a j?"

"If we're gonna hang out in the heat, why don't we just go to hurreya?"

As you can see, the theme seems to be escapism through substance (ab)use.

Vent, anyone?

2007-06-11T00:22:00.000+03:00

I used to find the show "Bridezilla" (does that still air?) alarming though amusing, but I could never muster up any mild sympathy for the women portrayed. I understand stress, and meltdowns, but the continuous levels of high drama and bitchiness most of these women displayed instead made me understand why any guy would run in the other direction. Shit, I would.

I expected that despite (or maybe because of) my farcical attempts at remaining cool-headed and collected throughout the preparation process, planning my own wedding would make me develop some sort of empathy for such scary behavior on the part of brides-to-be. It hasn't. All it has done is illustrate the various ways in which society demands that women freak the fuck out about their wedding. Really.

Rational explanations for various traditions are non-existent. I was expecting to hear some enlightening anecdotes regarding the origins of certain customs, but, alas, it seems my sociological curiosity is misplaced. Arguing that I did not wish to wear any sort of veil or anything that could possibly float around my head, my mother, the PhD, flipped her highly educated shit. And now I am convinced that, truly, all of her years of struggle and sacrifice were aimed at the solitary purpose of one day seeing me donning a veil on my wedding day. Not looking like some random guest in a white dress. Which is, on most days, what I would rather be on that particular day. Because the only real sad part about all this is not the unnecessary strain, but the fact that so much insanity and the patterns which result in it being carried by one woman results in her being unable, with any kind of clarity, to reflect, process, turn over, digest, or really celebrate the huge change which is about to hit her life.

Thoughts on Bussy

2007-05-18T11:05:00.000+03:00

I saw the Bussy play earlier last week, at the Howard theatre (the little black box in which all amateur - and thus most of the controversial - performances seem to be held). This was the second annual installment of the Bussy play, which is basically a collection of true stories submitted to the project and given life by different performers of varying levels of theatrical background.

The thing I really like about this kind of amateur theater, especially performances comprised mostly of monologues, is that the relationship between the actor and the character they are performing is different than it is in more professional acts. In "real" theater, the actor is supposed to shed all of his or her personal mannerisms; the way they hold themselves and the way that they speak is all supposed to dissolve once onstage and be replaced by those idiosyncrasies particular to the character. There is a huge focus on inventing ways to speak, to gesticulate, to walk, and to stand that are specifically suited to each character. Not so in amateur plays, or at least not to the same degree. If a girl is playing the role of an aggressive character, she will most likely be standing, speaking, and using her hands in the manner that she would if she herself were being aggressive in real life. My point is that this trait makes amateur plays seem more personal somehow. There is not the exaggeration of drama, and everything seems more down to earth.

As for Bussy itself, a lot women have complained that it was too whiny, that some of the pieces where substantively anti-feminist (this accusation was specifically directed at the piece in which a woman is basically begging for a man to hold her). I've thought about this a lot. I've recalled all of the feminist theory I've read, from Betty Friedan to Islamic feminism. I had come to the conclusion years ago that there is a plethora of ways in which to be "feminist", but the common denominator is about allowing women to choose. To choose how to live, where to work, what to study, whether to have kids, who to worship, how and if to marry. And if Bussy gave the stage to a piece submitted by a woman who has chosen to beg to be held by a man, then that is actually a feminist strategy. Because, whether we like it or not (which doesn't matter anyway), many women, given the choice, want to stay home, or to be dependant on a guy, or other choices which may seem to be the anti-thesis of the mainstream feminism of independence and "liberation". Allowing women a space in which to voice themselves has to be inclusive of all women, and not just those who fit a certain profile. It may not make for good theater, but I think performing those pieces in which women seemed "weaker" or "whinier" was probably the ethical thing to do.

Hello again, Internet

2007-04-12T22:57:00.000+02:00

Here's what i've learned about life since the last post:

1- Don't travel to North America in March without boots. Because snow, apparently, is wet.

2- Don't buy an unfinished apartment 2 months before your wedding.

3- Don't think that time, books, or experience will in any way enable you to have a clue as to what kind of career you want.

4- Don't quit smoking.

5- Don't hold your cell phone while standing near the rail of a boat. Even if you are sober, and the boat is docked.

6- Mothers really are crazy.

7- Don't trust those people. You know the ones i'm talking about.

8- Stay in touch with the ones you miss.

9- Beer is not, in fact, good for an upset stomach.

Nine pillars of wisdom.

Falsehood

2007-01-05T11:03:00.000+02:00

"Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult" - George Eliot

Someone once told me that I carry myself like a professional liar. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but given the fact that this person was my boyfriend at the time, it wasn't really a compliment. I was hoping to be likened to something more along the lines of a ballet dancer. Or a diplomat.

I do, however, lie a lot. To my parents, that is. Like so many others, adolescence taught me that there are things which my parents view with such fundamental disapproval that they will never be able to accept them. Such as drinking. Or pre-marital intimacy. Now everyone in the entire world hides things from their parents. But what I am talking about is not just a few lies here and there, but the existence of an entire life which is hidden from them, as if occurring in another dimension. Places, activities, people that they never know about. Once, when I was 18 or maybe 19, I was so tired of this incoherence that I sat down at the dining room table and told my mother almost everything I had been keeping from her, things I would have never thought would come out of my mouth in her presence. What ensued were months of painful fighting, of two entire worldviews (mine incomplete and young, hers set in some of its ways, both self-righteous) pushing against each other with all their might. There were scenes that Hollywood movies are made of, complete with yelling and the occasional intervention of the aloof but all-authoritative patriarch.

Years later, I cannot say my experiment with brutal honesty was either positive or negative. I have gone back to my quiet lying. Except now, as I am planning my wedding and my marriage, it all strikes me as stupid and sad. I ran into another girl who is also getting married soon, and she is planning two entirely separate receptions, one for family, one for friends. This is not uncommon in Egypt nowadays. The fact that so many people have such an essential and influential gap between them and their parents that they cannot integrate them into the most celebratory event of their lives cannot be positive. This means there is an entire generation of liars running around the city. The term "liar" is no longer even percieved as the harsh insult that it used to be, or that it is in other societies. It is no longer even used, as the entire city quietly decieves itself, people putting on facades for each other, gently protecting interests and extracting extra money. From the cab driver and the man in the shop to the businessman and the Minister. Lying, corruption, bribery.

I used to worry that my lying to my parents would spill over to every other aspect of my life. That I would slowly become this deceitful and secretive person incapable of maintaining relationships with any degree of geniuneness. This has led to my insistence upon constant honesty in all other parts of my life, as if, somehow, it will all balance out.

Most of my friends in similar situations of leading double lives do not give it much thought. It's the way it is: parents won't accept certain things, so you lie about them. Easy. Painless. But I think thoughtlessness about the matter is dangerous. Lying becomes a effective, legitimate tool to be used throughout one's life. Perhaps for some, this is not a problem. It is for me. And while the comparison to a professional liar did not ring true at the time, nor does it now, it seems like some sort of ghoulish projection of my worst self-image.

List

2006-12-16T16:48:00.000+02:00

Not sure what moved me to do this. Maybe it's the tri-faith holiday season creeping in, and that in our ugly, intolerant world, the commonalities and differences on the lists would be comforting. Maybe it's the end of the year, and that thinking about these things can only be good whether you've had a great year or an awful one. Maybe I'm just bored of writing my paper. In any case.

Things that make me happy (in no particular order):

Skirts
Open bars
Switching from shoes to flip-flops in the spring
Long distance phone calls from long-held friends
Baking
Sublime, especially when i haven't heard or thought about them in a long time
My boyfriend
The fact that he's soon to be my fiance
Traveling
Hearing my little sister master a piece of music that she's been struggling with for weeks.
Dark chocolate
My friends
Midgets
Waking up without a hangover when i thoroughly deserve to have one
The middle bits of really, really good books
Half-price movie showings
Illustrations of the fact that, while awkward and embarrassing in all the ways in which only your family can be, my family is rather cool
Good notebooks
Feeling like I've finally gotten something, anything, right
Realizing that nightmares were nightmares and so no, I did not really sell national secrets.

Every once in a while

2006-12-02T00:39:00.000+02:00

Once a week, in the hours leading up to and until the completion of Friday prayers, the City breathes. Sidewalks are walkable, roads are drivable, and one's ears are not under assault. The idea of taking a walk does not seem so solidly insane and self-sacrificing. One can think about things they wish to get done, be it work or a change of life-strategy and it seems actually feasible. Possibility. Seems in such short supply these days.

Day

2006-09-07T01:12:00.000+03:00

Had a mini-freakout around 30 minutes before my first graduate class...the ineptness of the University when it comes to class scheduling is amazingly persistent. It's usually maneouverable as an undergraduate, when it always seems like you still have 45 semesters ahead of you to finish your requirements, and there are at least half a dozen classes you wouldn't mind taking in the meantime. But today it dawned on me that I will only have two more semesters in which to learn what I want to learn (at least within a guided classroom setting. Trust me, I am the biggest fan of self-education and exploration, in all ways anatomical or not). Anyway, things were sorted, and fears further dispelled by the sheer, unaffected awesomeness of the professor whose class I started today. I can't recall the last time I observed someone and so clearly thought: I wouldn't mind being more like you.

Class was followed by the inevitable consumption of alcohol at my favorite shitty but oh so cheap bar. Boyfriend and I got entagled in a screaming match over the academic credibility (or cite-ability) of wikepedia. I will not divulge the details, but let me say that at one point I screamed over the empty beer bottles littering the table between us : "ANYONE CAN WRITE THERE!! ANYONE!!!" Yes, the thrilling intellectual dimensions of my discussions...

Later I had the pleasure of consuming large amounts of much-craved sushi with four of my nearest and dearest. They all happen to be boys, and they usually treat me like I am one too. This for some reason brings me endless amounts of comfort. Night ended with me and W smoking sheesha at a cafe that also features Karaoke. I watched on the screen as someone scrolled through Pink Floyd...my attention was at this point diverted elsewhere. Next thing I know, the be-spectacled short Egyptian man at the table next to us was crooning into the mike :"Ooooh I need a dirty woman....ooooooooooh I need a dirty girl." The people who were sitting with him got up and moved to the next table. That may have been the best part of my day.

Question

2006-07-27T12:36:00.000+03:00

Went to a protest yesterday, the purpose of which I thought was to express solidarity with Lebanese and Palestinians under the current Israeli offensive. Mistake #1: the group of protestors, while it is hard to unify them as one entity, was on the whole more concerned with expressing solidarity with Lebanese and Palestinian resistance. This was not an anti-war protest. Pro-Nasrallah chants included prayers that he would hurt Tel Aviv. Making the value of human life conditional on the area in which it is located is, it seems, a world-wide phenomena.

I find this in itself to be interesting: Nasrallah's rising status as representative of Arab peoples. Hizb Allah's more localized, focused identity and role seems like it is being discarded for a more regionalized one. Its chances of success are probably much higher in the former; i.e. as a group concerned solely with Lebanon.

Mistake #2: I had forgotten that the protest was on this particular day, which resulted in my attire being completely unsuitable. Not only was I wearing flip flops, I was also in a skirt and carrying a laptop in my already heavy bag. This was bearable for the first 2 hours.

The worst part was realizing that the hundreds of riot police and state-sponsored thugs in civilian clothes had not only surrouned and sealed the protestors, but were incrementally narrowing in. At one point they charged forwards from both sides, so that they were squashing a number of us, pushing, shoving, people falling down, trying desparately to stay on one's feet as strange sweaty bodies pressed up against one, and other protestors who weren't doing so well were holding on and pleading for help...pretty unpleasant over all. I would have fared much better had I not had at least two of the so-called state thugs persistently grabbing and attempting to fondle me around the ass and crotch. This, had I not been consciously determined not to lose it, would have threatened to push me to outrage. The worst part was it being so crowded, so densely packed, that I only had a radius of at best a couple of feet within which to attempt to maneuver and bend my body so as to escape the groping...at one point they seemed to be confused as to whether or not to let out the females, and at a certain time a couple of the people next to me (who were starting to crack, the looks in the eyes had deteriorated from concern to alarm to panic) were actually let out through a narrow corridor created by the thugs. I momentarily considered leaving, although this was shot down first by uncetainty as to whether staying would be an exhibition of perseverence or merely stupidity, then the consideration was firmly tossed aside when a couple of the state thugs were attempting to pull me into the human corridor people were leaving from, copping many feels in the meantime. I also saw someone who was being led the same way involved in a struggle, and they were closing up the corridor...I managed to shake them and move a few feet away from them, back so that most of my bodily contact was not with depraved men but with people whose status as "civilians" was clear and unquestionable. Soon afterwards the pressure on the circle eased and the lines of security/thugs backed away to allow space for people to, oh, i don't know, stand.

All of this was made exponentially more difficult by mistake #2 (my attire). My feet obviously got fucked, and the weight of the laptop made attempting to balance myself in midst of the pushing and pressure quite a task. The thinness of my cotton skirt made the groping traumatic.

Anyway, pan out of my personal focus...About an hour later, the number of protestors had dropped sharply. They must have been letting people out gradually. They did launch another of their move-in-and-squeeze maneuvers...this time it wasn't as bad, nor nearly as prolonged, although a couple of times my hair was pulled painfully (someone later told me this wasn't by a deliberate hand, but that my ponytail had gotten caught in something/one...who knows, it was a bitch anyways). At this point confusion seemed to erupt amidst the riot soldiers and the command and the protestors...it seemed those in command were attempting to facilitate exits for protestors, but this was getting stalled by angry arguments with protestors and the policemen not getting, or not responding to, orders. At one point they were advancing and their commanding officer yelled at them to move back. Question #1: Is it normal for those in command to momentarily, even for a split of a brief second, lose control over their inferiors? Is this an unavoidable occurence in such organizations, or is it a sign of institutional confusion?

It happened a long time ago

2006-07-23T18:57:00.000+03:00

People lost their minds, that is. There is no way to write about this war fairly, to look at it from every angle, to express enough outrage, to denounce the violence strongly enough, to show enough pictures of broken children, to highlight the absurdity of an American foreign policy which results in the absence of American diplomats from a war zone almost TWO WEEKS after matters began escalating to threateningly regional proportions, REGIONAL in a region in which the US is militarly occupying a crumbling, bleeding country, a country which happens to share a border with what is or is soon to be seen as the world's newest menace, the REGION which is the locus of its self-proclaimed foreign interests. And, 12 days into the spiralling conflict, American diplomats have not yet arrived to the scene. Ms. Rice will be here later today, apparently. I am afraid of what she will say.

In a sudden (but not so surprising) illustration of a reversal of the roles which are stereotyped in the stereotype of the "Arab mind", it looks as if the US is no longer able to (forget restrain) but even ask Israel to restrain itself. Israel is calling all the shots. Determined to "cause Lebanon pain", immediately pointing to the Lebanese state as the responsible actor, what possible goal could Israel have in crippling Lebanon? In what way does its behavior up the chances that someone will step in to effectively disarm Hizb Allah after the bombing stops? After all, Israel's current strikes won't do it, and it looks like they're not trying very hard to hit Hizb Allah targets anyway. In fact, it seems like they are purposefully trying to kill people who are piled into cars to, oh, escape from a village after the IAF has dropped leaflets telling them to evacuate....etc. So who exactly is Israel hoping to get to sign on? An international force? Because that works SO well.

No, Israel is acting with impunity because it can. And it is a reminder of this, and of how the rest of the world will sit back and shake their heads, and how the media that informs American voters will always tell its side of the story. Its aimless campaign, will, however, have consequences. Nothing breeds terrorists like state terror.

As for Hizb Allah: yes, it was stupid of them. Very stupid. Way to screw up your position of privelege in Lebanon.

Oh, and I want someone TO PROVE TO ME that Hizb Allah gets its orders from Iran. Recieving shipments of arms, money, even personnel is one thing, and taking orders is another thing. This link, this idea that a direct chain of Hizb Allah command ends in Tehran, is being taken for granted around the world, particulalry, of course, in the US. Much like the link between Iraq and Al Qaeda was taken for granted. And look how that ended. Please, people in decision-making places, people who report, who analyze, who advise, please start asking for proof of the extent of this relationship.

Am distracted reading. Perhaps I will add more to this mess of a post later.

Quiet

2006-07-05T00:28:00.000+03:00

Then take me disappearing, through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, the haunted, frightened trees,
Out to the windy beach
Far past the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes to dance, beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus signs
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tommorrow.

- Bob Dylan

Recently listened to some Dylan after a long, long but unintentional abstention from real music listening...

I've always found music very evocative, or moving or whatever you want to call it...and I've recieved that from both the lyrics and the music itself. And when it comes to interesting, genuine, sharp and simply beautiful writing, dylan's has left permanent impressions on me. Listening to it the other day felt like getting a warm hug from an old, dear friend.

Summertime

2006-06-30T15:27:00.000+03:00

It's as if Cairo purges itself onto the steets once summer is here. Other places may get more relaxed, more touristy, less clothed...but Cairo remains the same, it just gets more intense.

People here don't alter their dress in proportionate reaction to temparature changes. It is almost july, and yet women are still dressed in skin-tight polyester, and I still occasionally catch sight of a light sweater.

There are some signs of the change of season...the earliest of these to manifest itself is always the sudden appearance of a line of cars parked on either side of both Kasr el Nil and 6th of October bridge. I always wonder (quite crabbily) why people don't just park their cars either downtown or in Zamalek, and just walk up to whichever bridge they have chosen. Really, it's not that incovenient. Why, why must they place inanimate objects in the way of the already insane bridge traffic?

And, of course, the sudden appearance of shabab everywhere. Whose sole purpose in life seems to be to ride in cars, or lean against them, and periodically scream "boobs!" at random women passing by. Yes, thank you, I had forgotten I had them.

Your building

2006-06-25T00:22:00.000+03:00

I read the book, "The Yacoubian Building", a few months or maybe a year ago, and saw the movie last night. I had liked the book, although I found it hard to empathize with the characters; something which this review helped elucidate. I imagine it's difficult not to like it; after all, it presents us with the consequences of all the different forms of repression which have come to be the gaurdians/prison wards of Cairiene society...and the author allows us to see those consequences as they are borne by both rich and poor. Gay men reverting to paying for sex, poor virgins reverting to getting paid for providing a soft waist for some fat old man to jerk off against (but above the blouse! Must, after all, protect one's honor!), talent and passion in all of its youth reverting to armed Islamism because it is the only channel through which it can scream against a system which has denied it its equal rights to life, young widows - still seeking male affection and partnership - reverting to leading muted lives as secret second wives... We are reminded of all the different ways in which life can be brutal, and sad...

And that's the message that has stuck with me: people always "reverting" to doing things. Because the original plan, desire, dream, goal, or even right just never really works out...So we settle for the next best thing, if we are lucky. If we have the kind of unluck which most Egyptians have, we end up doing what we had never imagined we could revert to...

Am I making excuses for the population? Does the shitty hand dealt to us by life (or the government, or religion, or patriarchy, or whatever) grant us license to redefine the rules of the game, even if that process involves immorality, at the very least?

Commenced

2006-06-18T12:41:00.001+03:00

A couple of days ago I was handed my undergraduate degree by the President of the university, whose face was frozen in a strained smile under a silly looking cap.

And so now my views on the world are supposed to change. Although I am going straight into a Master's program and therefore am not really straying outside the bounds of the academic safety zone (safety from what? life?), I have a suspicion that things on the other side are different. Graduate students actually manage to get administrators to make eye contact with them, and are not treated by professors as anonymous, transient customers but rather as actual human beings who are around for a reason. If that's what's about to get started, then cool.

Trail of morning thoughts

2006-06-11T10:07:00.000+03:00

Most (well, all) of my education has encouraged me to distance myself from nationalism. I have always deconstructed it, taken it apart into the symbols and the language used to evoke emotion, to create and highlight feelings of belonging to a group of people far too large to ever be understood with any accuracy. Even at times when I was moved by a song or a speech, I was very consciously aware of it, and immediately began to separate my mind from it. I saw nationalism as some kind of drug, one which suspended clear thought...more importantly, it seemed to me like those under its sway had been fooled by some larger strategist, some institution which had perfected the art of propaganda and manipulation....

You would expect me to begin to write about how all this has changed, how I now see the importance of overwhelming passion for one's nation....no. I still think that our feelings towards our communities are far too easily manipulated. We are social, we want to be social...and we know this. Every political party, opposition group, and revolutionary has known this, and has attempted to use it to their advantage. Look at Egypt. Opposition groups use chants which hearken "glorious" revolutions (revolutions which were instituted in the public mind as "glorious" by the same regime against which today's chants are hurled). Names of Egyptians, songs, references to places and to events which are all too symbolic, evocative of some distant dream which we keep being told we are heading towards. That dream is there in the social studies books used in the public education sysytem, in the posters propagating the NDP's attempt at a new image, in every piece of public policy engineered by or for Egypt. And when that dream is evoked in the context of opposition, when we are confronted by it while simultaneosly presenting the failures and brutalities of our government, the result is all the more violently emotional.

Coherence? None.

2006-05-08T17:46:00.000+03:00

I told someone recently that I thought living in Cairo can help strengthen character -- that it is so freaking hard to get through the day, to do the stupid little things we all have to do. The daily stress is compounded by the awareness that the overall system is defunct, by the exposure to the physical evidence that there are millions in this city who have it so much worse, by the tension between wanting stability (just let tomorrow be no worse then today) as opposed to wanting change that we all know needs to happen.

The character building, according to me in my previously mentioned optimistic and wisdom-chasing mood, occurs when we try not to let it destroy us, not to take it out on other people, not to give up on loving the city.

But there are days when I am tired. And I look around, and everyone else seems tired. Not just in a need-more-sleep kind of way, but in a "my soul has been suffocated on the metro, run over by a bus, harrassed by a cop, defeated by the educational system, and generally pushed around" kind of way.

And sometimes, on those days, I take it out on people. And sometimes I just want to move away, to another unjust and screwed up country, but at least it'll be one where I can walk down a street without wanting to rip my hair out. It always passes though. Although the stretches are getting longer, and the anger is running deeper. I may have to take up yoga.

Patience

2006-05-07T17:33:00.000+03:00

I want to graduate NOW.

Times

2006-04-28T15:09:00.000+03:00

I heard the blasts in Dahab, in fact I even felt the largest one, and refused to immediately acknowledge them for what they were. Even when we heard the sirens a few minutes later. No, not here, not now, not when I wouldn't know where to run to be safe, not when I have friends wandering around the town, not when the death and the blood and the shock would be here, now, and not on a TV screen. Not when I am not ready to be anything but a coward. Bombs go off evey day.

We dealt with Dahab, with the priority that was given to foreigners to exit the town, with a government which was more concerned with the peace of mind of foreign tourists than the safety of its citizens. With the next wave of attacks in Egypt, with the lack of clear information about exactly what happened and where, with the ridiculous blame being placed on the same group of bedouins, with the reality that the truth will likely never be unearthed. Ras shaytan, Taba, Sharm el-Sheikh, how many fucking resorts do you need to see blown up on national hoidays before you start giving a shit. Where is the money which is being funneled into the security apparatus going? Where is it going when you cannot protect your cities, your people, when you can't run a simple or effective check at a checkpoint?

And then my friend. In jail. Or maybe at still at the police station. No one seems to know. Arrested in the early hours of that same day as the Dahab attacks for demanding independence of the judiciary. For demanding what is a fundamental base for a functioning state. They raided the vigil, beat up a judge amongst other people, and arrested a group of 15. Twenty something years into a state of emergency and you can't yet counter the instability which you have identified as the reason for the lifting of all normal rules of government. Bombs are being planted in the sinai and you are busy beating up judges in the capital. Cells are being formed and you are busy torturing people for countries which pay you to do their dirty work. Kos ommokom.

And I am afraid for him. I'll admit it. I am pissed off, angry about a lot of things which caused his arrest; but I am also afraid for him.

And then I return to cairo. I go to class and there are some security people around. Four hours later there are around 10,000. They are still beating up protestors. Sometimes they do it themselves, sometimes they inject civilians whom they have paid what might buy them a pack of American cigarettes to become state-sponsored criminals, to beat and provoke and aggravate. I am trying to find out simple facts: where exactly were the second round of attacks located? Where exactly are the arrested protestors being held? And all I get is contradictory information. One of the few consisitent pieces of information I run into is a statement by the president to the press, explaining his respect for the judiciary and the ultimate sanctity of its independence, and asserting that the problem is an internal one amongst the judges themselves. Nothing to do with his executive wing and the influence it exerts through the ministry of interior, which has created a prosecutor's office which dances to the beat set by state security offices.

In my on-line hunt for information, I watch the video of that first round of arrests. I watch it again as I write this. It looks like early morning. People are screaming as they drag them away. My chest hurts as I try to spot my friend. They take them. Just like that. Then they tear down the enormous Egyptian flag in front of which the protestors had been standing. Don't touch that. It is not yours. You have never understood, will never understand, what a nation means. You only know your own world, of orders, of favors, of the weak clinging to power that is not theirs. You are disgusting and filthy and you should not touch that. It is a symbol. It's a symbol for something which has, so far, only been realized in the minds of people. And they know that. But they want it. They hope for it. Some work for it - in, around, and outside your tyranny. Leave it be. It is not yours.

Five random thoughts

2006-04-16T23:48:00.000+02:00

On the attacks in the churches of Alexandria

1- I don't know what the "real picture" of discrimination against Copts in Egypt is. Although I've never seen it manifested beyond the everyday bigotry which is exemplified by comments dropped at the dinner table, or jokes cracked in coffee shops (on both sides), that's always been enough for me.

2- People say that claims of discrimination are "exaggerations" and foreign-inspired attempts at causing social strife. Where in the world has there ever been a minority which has not suffered discrimination? I could cite examples and give names of villages where wholesale massacres have occured, but I don't think I need to. Although I have every inclination to believe that Egypt is a place where rules and expectations are futile, I highly doubt we have managed to escape those most tenacious and dangerous human tendencies: to stereotype, and to hold firmly to a category of "others" against which we can reassure ourselves of our "sameness".

3- That (#2) really is all that is needed for ethnic or religious hatred to emerge. Just plant that seed: life will take care of the rest. Bad employment oppurtunities (those damn "whoevers" taking all our jobs), traffic (those "whoevers" can't drive), a child with a learning problem (those kinds of kids are just slower), etc etc.

4- If you really want to know whether a person or a society is truly tolerant, don't watch them during flammable times. Rather, observe how people behave when everything is fine and "everyone is getting along", when the issue is not in the spotlight.

5- I am actually quite upset by these events. Not only for the ugliness of the events themselves, but for the hideousness which they have brought to surface in people. I think every religion has the potential to be used for both good and evil; they are multi-vocal, with many trends to be drawn upon. And I am afraid that this happening will result in people drawing on dogma, self-righeousness, and exclusivity.

No means no?

2006-04-16T11:19:00.000+02:00

Why do all sex scenes in Egyptian movies (particulary pre-2000) start out as rape scenes?

It always starts with what can only be described as an attack on the female, then there are a few minutes during which she is resisting (usually pretty pathetically) and then - get this - she begins to enjoy the activity. The message: women do not realize that they enjoy sexual activity. Do not be discouraged by rejection.

This is something I've wondered about for years. I mean since I was a kid and had only some vague understanding of what sex was - but I did understand it was supposed to be consensual.

What came to my mind the other day was this: it's a matter of ownership. Women in the Arab world (and yes, I am about to grossly generalize) do not own their sexuality. It is owned by the family (wrapped up in notions of honor), by society, and eventually by their husbands. It is only after marriage when they have a chance of taking control of it - if they are lucky, if they are able to establish a connection with themselves and if their husbands understand that sex can be fun for women too.

And so, not being in control of their sexual selves, the women in the rape/sex scenes can be portrayed as fumbling, naiive, unaware of what they like and don't like and easily duped by first-time physical contact. Characters which need to be shown, even if by force, what sexual contact is and why they like it.

I realize that I am only talking about movies - but movies are more than entertainment. They are supposed to tell us something about who we are, how our societies function. So I think about the messages in there, and I can be found arguing that people should think critically about movies, TV, and advertisements because more often than not they can tell you a lot about how myths are propagated and how the status quo is maintained in the face of changing tastes and quickening paces. They used to use folk stories for this kind of thing.

Change of weather

2006-04-15T10:31:00.000+02:00

So I went ahead and got horribly sick over the exact week during which I could not afford to do so. Suffice to say the fever was high, my kidneys felt like they were either being stabbed or like someone was trying to rip them out of my back, and by the fourth day I was so bored of my walls that I started making up stories behind each of the pictures within my view.

One thing that surprised me was how nice a couple of my professors were about extending deadlines, etc. Especially this one dude who teaches my most challenging course and has a reputation that's enough to scare you away from ever thinking of enrolling in a class with him (Why am I taking the class with him and not with the other, much easier, much less-structured, and less good professor who teaches it? Some deluded part of me wanted to be challenged. Yes, I know, I'm an idiot) Anyway, he was really very nice, not just because he saved my ass by extending a deadline, but he also wrote to ask about me and shit. Surprising. The genius political economist who seems to be approaching giant academic stature actually has a heart.

Anyway, I'm mobile and of regular temperatures now, and I'm all happy to be alive and shit. Seriously. I think illness can put things into perspective -- I feel like I've been running on overload for several months. And I don't really want to do it anymore. I think I'll try to switch back to a less frenzied mode...we'll see.

Huh

2006-04-02T23:20:00.000+02:00

Woah.

Everything needs to slow the hell down for a minute. I have just turned 22 (yuck), which brings me one year closer to the time when I will actually have to decide how I will go about being useful to the world. I am apparently applying for a master's program in political science, which means that I will most probably be very poor for a while, turn into a depressed individual who can no longer appreciate fiction, and feels a manic need to be able to talk about any and all events that have anything to do with politics. Oh, the future. Whether or not it's bright, it seems to be right here.

I am writing my personal statement right now. "In approximately 500 words, please sell yourself. But make it sound academic and noble." Balls.

You knew it was coming

2006-03-16T16:30:00.000+02:00

A friend of mine just wrote a post bashing MUN. The thing is, I completely agree with most of his reasons: I find the mutually reinforced aggrandizement rather disturbing, the hypocrisy nauseating, and the patterns of personal favoritism strange. The thing is, I'm not very good at social politics, nor do I pay them much attention. As I've gotten older (I feel like you have to be 55 before you can use those words, but I can't think of replacements right now) I've come to realize how ubiquitous such behavior is -- this has not made me any more willing to pay it heed or to attempt to participate. In my mind, people should get and give credit where it is due; I seem to be fine living with the knowledge that this is often a far cry from reality.

I joined MUN very late in my college career. Even after joining, those negative aspects of the organzation which my friend so loathingly described continued to push me away. The process of deciding to apply as a secretariat was frought with doubts for the same reasons. I didn't know if I would be able to deal.

Now that it's over, this is what I've come to: you have a choice. MUN does not automatically transform all those who enter it into pretentious, snobby, back-stabbing pricks who care little for what the organization can offer to the people who are involved. The personalities of the few who are as such are not that powerful, nor are the personalities of the rest that weak. More importantly: there are larger, more immediate things which MUN stands for and offers. Forgive the soap-box upon which I will stand for a couple of lines, but I truly believe that it is, at the end of the day, about learning and applying yourself, and enabling others to do the same -- whether it is by engaging them in your role as a delegate, presenting them with and guiding them through substance as a secretarait, publishing something, etc etc etc (and the list really is that long). My point is that while there are those who chose to shift their attention away from that, there are others who have refused to do so. I have seen it, and have had the pleasure of working with both types of people.

Yes, pleasure is the right word. Because prior to this, I would have, on principle, refused to work with people who displayed such distasteful character traits. I would have stayed away from the organization as a whole simply for that reason. But, the truth is that I have myself experienced and understood the change that MUN is capable of bringing to people's lives. And I think it would be weak, sad, and shameful to allow a few pricks to keep away people who are talented. (I realize I just grouped myself with the "talented" who will not be kept away; normally I would edit the sentence to restore a semblance of humility to this post, but I'm on a roll and this is the 4th time I've tried to finish writing this).

MUN still has the ablility to serve people, to teach them, and to make them think. And I am completely sure that every year there will be some who are too busy applauding themselves and each other for anyone's liking, or, more dangerously, for them to do their jobs properly. However, I am also sure that there will also be those who go in, learn, teach, work, give credit where it is due, and leave behind an example for the next wave of people to live up to and surpass.

Selfish

2006-03-01T22:26:00.000+02:00

People always leave, and there isn't much you can do to keep them.

I could write something thoughtful and supportive, and maybe even sweet...some sugary crap to disguise a tired reformulation of the idea that distance doesn't sever ties, or that lives do not grow irreconcilably apart. But anyone who's moved a couple of times in their lives will agree that such sentiments are, well, simply sentiments. The truth is that distance is very real; and when people leave you no longer influence, touch, or witness one another's lives with the same depth.

I realize I sound angry. Maybe I am. Maybe I'd thought I'd found some happy balance and I don't want it to be disturbed. But it's not about me, or how I feel, or how childish I'm being about it. Best friends have always moved away. I thought I'd grown accustomed to the good-byes and their aftermath...that time period during which you come face to face with the vacuum that is left behind. This one is harder somehow.

She's special...and she has no idea. That's what's heart-breaking.

When I started writing this I thought I would end up with some piece that would be sort of for sally. Apparently I was wrong. I still need to write something for myself, so that I can look behind me with some kind of clarity, so that I can understand my own life before commenting on the promises of someone else's. I hate that I'm so...limited.

For the meantime, I have to concentrate on not being overwhelmed BY HOW MUCH SHIT I HAVE TO DO. No, it's really not that bad. I just need to keep my head cool, get through this next week, and then I will proceed to tell the world to fuck off.

Olay

2006-02-10T21:40:00.000+02:00

The streets are exploding...as soon as Egypt scored the winning goal I ran to my balcony to watch as people poured out of coffee shops and onto the streets, waving flags and dancing around each other in circles, and the lit living room of every apartment within sight displayed people jumping up and down. It's like the city has come together in one big CHEER...there are drums being played, car horns being used to make music and firecrackers constantly going off. How can you not love sports tonight.

Whistle while you work

2006-01-27T22:06:00.001+02:00

Oh dear. After not posting anything for 2 weeks (vacation weeks!) - not because I was busy with life's thrills, but rather because I have been reading obsessively and there is nothing like reading to cripple any desire to write - I finally decide to break the dry-spell at the precise moment when I actually have work that needs to get done. No big deal, just preparing presentations for tomorrow's MUN session. The poor souls will have to listen to me talk about regional arrangements for almost an hour. As it is, the topic is usually met with aggressive skepticism, perhaps stemming from the disillusioning ineptness of the Arab League***.

The house is empty as the family is traveling for a couple of weeks. (I am smoking a cigarette! Right now! In my living room!) Before their departure, the two spheres of my life which I have so cautiously polarized (i.e. my family and my friends) came face to face, in my house, for dinner. And the earth did not crack open, my mother did not shit a brick and throw it at any of my friends, and trouble-making interactions which trigger such fantastical scenarios were generally absent.

I don't know why I've been so reluctant (the use of that word is such an understatement that it makes me a liar) to introduce these two facets of my life to each other. I guess maybe while growing up our behavior around family is so drastically different from our behavior around friends that the thought of dealing with both simultaneously promises little besides nervous loss of assuredness and massive social awkwardness. (Our is being used to refer to myself and those who were as lucky as I to have had their childhoods and teenage years agitated by cultural dualism. You're really blessed if the mixed messages and clashing value systems are never discussed within the family.)

Anyhow, all went well, and the dinner which my mom whipped up (like magic, or art, I swear to god) was delectable as always. After everyone left, I picked her brain for her insight into these characters with whom I spend so much time, and her feedback was as terrifyingly accurate as only a mother's can be.

Back to work.

***Brief pause during which I considered launching into a political discussion. Quickly decided against that. Simply not in the mood, and I think 4 years of political science have diminished my eagerness to discuss politics. They have also convinced me that while everyone has opinions, very few of them are interesting or remotely original, least of all my own. While we all have the right to voice our opinions, I am not particularly keen on hearing most. As for sharing my own, I've come to realise that one of the skills most vigrously developed while trampling around the social sciences is how to disguise your mostly uninspired thoughts as coherent, thoughtful, and even elegant formulations. In conclusion, I will spare myself and this blog from anything which has become so...worn.

Rides

2006-01-14T12:08:00.000+02:00

Alexandria is a city whose residents are almost all indigenous. At least that is what it feels like. It is not like Cairo, or Dubai, or New York - people do not move to Alexandria; rather, they return to it.

And so, every time I'm there, I think about what it might be like to have lived in the same place for most of one's life. To now and again pass by places where you used to play as a kid, or your old school, or the roads on which you first learned to drive. I think about what the town was like when my parents were growing up in it - my mother running around the beach, sneaking onto fishing boats and into elite yacht clubs, and my dad, mostly indoors, being educated in a language which he would never use as an adult. (Oh the remnants of colonialism.) How different, and how similar, childhood was then, in the fifties and sixties, when there were so few machines through which imagination was restricted, molded.

It's a pretty town. The corniche is long and the Mediterranean is moody. Leaving a coffee shop the other night, my cousin M and I spontaneously decided that, despite the freezing cold, we were going to take a horsedrawn carriage home. They mostly service tourists and unmarried couples desperate for privacy, but I had never ridden one and it seemed like the kind of thing you should do at least once. So we rode down the beach, taking occassional swigs of pineapple vodka from a flask which M has nonchalantly been carrying around. (I don't know if I should be concerned about this new habit of hers. I will think about that once I get past the satisfaction derived from the sheer cliche-ness of getting into the car after a stressful family dinner and asking her to pass the booze.)

I think a lot when I'm being transported. On the drive back to Cairo I thought about how demure Alexandria seems to be now, when thought about in the context of its mammoth history. I thought about how it used to be a place people moved to, how it was a center for Hellenism and I wondered how long it took for the town to feel so comfortably Egyptian. I thought about how it was once the greatest Jewish city in the world, and I wondered what relics remained, physical or not, of that culture, besides the creepy cemetary which can be seen from my late grandmother's balcony.

I particularly enjoyed listening to Madonna's Music album in the late afternoon during the drive back; the desert stretched out on both sides of the road, with an impressive frequency of farms and compounds, layed out in such a way that the greenery seems (is) contrived, defiant. The car was quiet for most of the ride, but it was a nice kind of quiet, the kind which you can only enjoy with certain people. I thought about that too, how sometimes it seems like everyone's life is transitioning all around me, how they're waiting for a change that they know is right around the corner.

Everybody's doing it

2006-01-09T14:10:00.000+02:00

I'm going to succumb to the pressure (admittedly exagerrated) not only from those around me but from the ENTIRE WORLD to sit down and acknowledge the things I have or have not learned, gained, achieved, loved, and failed at in 2005.

The thing that sucks about New Year's is that it's not one of those local or culturally insulated holdiays from which you can excuse yourself with statements like "I disagree with that tradition because it is unkind to sheep and sidewalks" (Happy Eid everyone) or "I don't believe in that god". The entire fucking world is celebrating New Year's, and I wonder if, secretly, everyone just wants to go to bed as if it were a normal night and not have to deal with the ridiculous expectation to have a smashing good time, let alone the pressure to reflect upon one's life.

Before I proceed, might I just note to myself that I actually did have a decent time this New Year's Eve. A happy fusion of vodka and wine kept the spirits dancing, and by midnight I did not care who was or was not showing up at J's party; anyone who meant anything to me and could be there was. (The misfortune here is that there are so few who fit under that category these days. This whole thing where people move away needs to stop. It is rare for me to like people. How dare you persue your life elsewhere?) I did not, proudly, get sick (complete luck) not did I have to ward off a strange lopsided man trying to kiss me at midnight for the simple reason that I have breasts and do not happen to be kissing anyone else at that precise moment. Which brings me to thinking about the hands-down most brilliant offering of the year 2005, which is the perfect start to this list:

1 - the entrance of my perfect-partner into my life. I will not get all mushy on the internet...
2 - a general reduction of cigarette consumption
3 - a belated and unexpected emergence from a longstanding boycott of on-campus activities, leading to my involvement in a Model UN which I care very much about, so much so that I actually (gasp!) applied myself and am now in a position of responsibility, which is thrilling but I am terrified of royally screwing up.
4 - my CV now includes a real job, other than that weird teaching thing I did in Saudi when I was 17. Also, I actually have a CV now.
5 - I eat more protein.
6 - Holy shit. I just realized I have not gotten drunk and thrown up all year. (Gotten drunk and not remembered the night/how I got home/who I yelled at has, however, occured at a healthy frequency)
7 - I think I have managed to get my mother to look at me and see something more than a colossal disappointment with an attitude problem.
8 - I pretty much do what I want regardless of how uncool/weird anyone thinks it is. Which, I think, is a good thing so long as I don't ditch people too much.
9 - I think I'm more honest.

That'll do for now. I guess now I should go think about the short-comings, of the year and myself.

Crazy

2006-01-06T07:42:00.000+02:00

For the past three days I have been powerfully, consumingly, and inexplicably sad. I have no reason for this. The most important aspects of my life (which, to me, are my family, friends, relationship, and the endpoint of my undergraduate career) are generally rosy, not to mention happy and stable. And yet I have been walking around feeling like I am dealing with some sort of tragic disaster, with that ball of pain that only comes when facing a harsh breaking point. Not to mention the confused sleeping patterns, the sudden tears, and the strong urge to drink - alone.

I have dealt with this in the past. It was never, at least in my admittedly occasionally selective memory, this overwhelming. Perhaps it is just the way I deal with emotions which has changed - I have, over the past few years, tried to allow myself to admit how I feel (seems simple, no? Try telling that to my 14-year-old furious-at-the-world-but-will-not-acknowledge-it self). Nonetheless, my main fear and concern at this point comes from family history; my father, you see, is manic depressive. It took them (the faceless assortment of international specialists) a couple of years to properly diagnose him and perscribe medication which keeps him out of his dark bedroom, with the curtains drawn; the room from which I would hear occasional screams or from which he would sometimes emerge, with a look in his eye indicating that he is trying hard to remember who he is and why he is breathing, and shuffle around the house, hunched over, a shadow of a human being. Family, career, friendships - all those things which I prioritized so confidently at the beginning of this post, fell firmly-but not irreversibly-to shit.

So, do I think I am manic depressive? Not really - but I do think I have to be aware of my predisposition to that ambiguous and crippilingly misunderstood area of illness: depression, bipolarity, all that good stuff.

For the meantime, however, I refuse to let such unsubstantiated kick-my-own-ass feelings continue for a second longer than they have to. And when I woke up an hour ago and my room was blue with the little bit of early morning light that got through the shutters, I made a big deal out of it. Because I like that early morning light. It is an everyday occurence, and maybe this is silly - but if I'm going to feel like crap for no reason then I will counter it with the small and mostly ignored occurences which happen to make me happy.

Marriage and Politics

2006-01-04T11:43:00.000+02:00

Just finished Suad Amiry's Sharon and My Mother-in-law. It's a memoir about life in Occupied Palestine; the way it is shaped, interrupted, and frozen for weeks or months on end by curfews, checkpoints, and other weapons of military occupation.

While I'm not particularly moved by the writing style or the author's voice, the information in and of itself is interesting, albeit completely tragically. It's hard enough to get educated, find a job, maintain a relationship or a marriage, care for your family, and be happy without having to worry about not being able to leave your house for days or having your door blown open or a tank parked in your garden.

The mother-in-law moved in with the couple due to the harshness of the circumstances. As one can imagine, this added numerous dimensions of stress to the long periods of house arrest.

I hate titles

2006-01-04T02:28:00.000+02:00

I really do. I can never title papers or anything I ever write for that matter.

When I sat down to do this, I was resigned to the fact that I would end up using the title of a song or a book...I guess I should be glad that I didn't end up using a movie title. As uninspired as I feel using other people's titles as my own, somehow referring to a book seems less awful (intellectual snobbery at its best).