Abbazia

2011-05-06T15:40:00.000-07:00

'Architecture depends - on what? On people, time, politics, ethics, mess: the real world. Architecture, Jeremy Till argues with conviction in this engaging, sometimes pugnacious book, cannot help itself; it is dependent for its very existence on things outside itself. Despite the claims of autonomy, purity, and control that architects like to make about their practice, architecture is buffeted by uncertainty and contingency. Circumstances invariably intervene to upset the architect's best-laid plans - at every stage in the process, from design through construction to occupancy. Architects, however, tend to deny this, fearing contingency and preferring to pursue perfection. With Architecture Depends, architect and critic Jeremy Till offers a proposal for rescuing architects from themselves: a way to bridge the gap between what architecture actually is and what architects want it to be. Mixing anecdote, design, social theory, and personal experience, Till's writing is always accessible, moving freely between high and low registers, much like his suggestions for architecture itself.' Review by RB Browne 2010 link

I have read a book which finally admits that we are dependant. We are dependant and fragile, architecture doesn't serve the highest order of aesthetics as we were all taught and how we dreamt, but merely a business. This book is also about the Zen - I think, a chance to relax the tension that the 'Art' part matters only to us among all the dirty lot. Accept it and ease the grief, politics, money and all the chaos is part of it.

Some other brilliant links to the author's research, and many more:
spatial agency
flexible housing
field journal

2011-05-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

2011-05-06T15:06:00.000-07:00

Alya has a brilliant article about her little cousin. Find it here!
open democracy net

2011-01-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

image by Italian artist Loretta Cappanera

http://www.bookarts.uwe.ac.uk/mut_tour10.htm

Previous call for artists on the site of the Centre for Fine Print Research, UK
'On March 5th 2007, a car bomb was exploded on al-Mutanabbi Street in Baghdad. Al-Mutanabbi Street is in a mixed Shia-Sunni area. More than 30 people were killed and more than 100 were wounded. Al-Mutanabbi Street, the historic centre of Baghdad bookselling, holds bookstores and outdoor bookstalls, cafes, stationery shops, and even tea and tobacco shops. It has been the heart and soul of the Baghdad literary and intellectual community. The Al-Mutanabbi Street Broadside Project has completed its call to letterpress printers after reaching a goal of 130 broadsides from 130 individual printers. Now the Al-Mutanabbi Street Coalition is issuing a call to book artists to work on a project to “re-assemble” some of the “inventory” of the reading material that was lost in the car bombing of al-Mutanabbi Street. We are asking book artists to join our project and further enhance the work of the Coalition by honouring al-Mutanabbi Street, by creating work that holds both “memory and future,” exactly what was lost that day. '

Recent and upcoming exhibitions and events with auctions of the broadsides:

Northern Print
Newcastle upon Tyne, 14 October to 4 November 2010
www.northernprint.org.uk

UWE Bristol
Bower Ashton campus - 6th December 2010 - 6th January 2011

Inkspot Press
Brighton - mid-December 2010 - end of January 2011
www.inkspotpress.co.uk

as advertised on the site

2010-11-20T15:45:00.000-08:00

egy csokorravaló új site
http://www.atrissi.com/wordpress/
http://fann3arabi.wordpress.com/
http://www.arteeast.org/
http://kootoob.blogspot.com/
http://www.fai.org.lb/Home.aspx
http://fai.cyberia.net.lb/
http://www.contemporarypractices.net/index.html
http://www.arabigraphy.com/index.html

the narcicyst

2009-05-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

The Narcycist once posed the ultimate question of our era at the US border : ''Can't an Arab man just take a vacation?''

The Narcicyst- P.H.A.T.W.A. (Official Music Video) from The Narcicyst on Vimeo.

http://www.narcy.net/
http://www.myspace.com/euphrates

'shakomakonet: What inspires your writing?
Narcy: Man, truly, writing is second nature to me now, I'm inspired by the people around me, the struggle I see in their eyes and the search for a reason to why our people are in the position they are in now. I find inspiration in the brothers and sisters around me that are trying to change and grow out of the misery that surrounds them, as well as the light in the eyes of those I Love. My biggest inspiration has to be the daily existence of being.

shakomakonet: What do you want your art to do for the people in Iraq?
Narcy: I hope my art just opens eyes out West to who we are as a generation of displaced Arabs. I hope that it allows a dialogue to be developed. My ultimate goal is to fund Iraqis to come to University out West or something where we can allow our people to grow and regain the knowledge of our elders that has been stripped by the power hungry politicians from inside and outside our country.

shakomakonet: Does the fact that most people outside the so-called West aren't into hiphop present an unsurmountable obstacle for you?
Narcy: Not at all, I think the curiousity is sparked by what you don't know. I've converted a good about of 'khalas' (aunts) and '3amus' (uncles) to the hip-hop at my shows. They roll up and be like WHERE CAN I get A CD...hahah. If I can make my 'khaloo' (uncle) dance to hip-hop, I can make just about anyone love this culture...hahaha. TRUST ME.'
http://www.shakomako.net/narcy.html

Bernard Khoury

2009-03-03T15:04:00.000-08:00

Japanese restaurant, Beirut
"The Yabani project was built to house a Japanese restaurant and bar on a 285 s.q.m site located at the edge of the Damascus road on the former demarcation line that separated East and West Beirut. The traces of shelling of the recent wars are highly visible on many of the adjacent buildings that are still squatted by refugees." says Bernard Khoury/DW5 on Yabani.

IB3 building - residential building
"Our design mission was developed around the shell and core principle which consists of designing the structure of the edifice, its facades and the common areas, leaving all the inhabitable surfaces to be partitioned and finished by the architects of the future owners of each residence." says Bernard Khoury/DW5 on IB3 Building.

http://www.bernardkhoury.com/
http://www.metropolismag.com/story/20070725/the-discreet-charm-of-bernard-khoury
http://www.architecture-page.com/go/people/profiles/bernard-khoury-dw5

Bernard Khoury (born 1968)

Bachelors In Fine Arts 1990 R.I.S.D
Bachelors In Architecture 1991 R.I.S.D
Masters In Architectural Studies 1993 - Harvard

Bernard Khoury studied architecture at the Rhode Island school of Design (B.F.A 1990 / B.Arch 1991). He received a Masters in Architectural studies from Harvard University (M.Arch 1993). In 2001, he was awarded by the municipality of Rome the honorable mention of the Borromini prize given to architects under 40 years of age. In 2004, he was awarded the Architecture + Award. He has lectured and exhibited his work in prestigious academic institutions in Europe and the U.S including a solo show of his work given by the International Forum for Contemporary Architecture at the Aedes gallery in Berlin (2003). His work has been extensively published by the professional press. Khoury started an independent practice in 1993. Over the past 10 years, his office has developed an international reputation and a significant diverse portfolio of projects both locally and abroad.

Philosophy

DW5 is a Design production facility for developers, architects, planners and designers providing the necessary resources to support the successful development of design projects. The workshop is an open platform for a growing number of collaborators.

The company is based in Beirut, Lebanon and has developed an international reputation among professionals by successfully assisting designers and architects on various high profile missions locally and abroad.

DW5 is located in a 700 square meters industrial loft in the Quarantaine sector, Beirut, Lebanon. The Studio is essentially one large open space free of subdivisions equally shared by all architects.

Our teams engage in assisting the production of various scale projects, from early planning phase to construction supervision. A wide range of supporting skills underpins the work of the practice, including model making, CAD drawing and visualization, and in-house audio-visual, photographic and printing systems.

The main drive of the practice is design excellence and precision, achieved through close collaboration with clients, designers and specialists - from structural and environmental engineers to cost consultants. Management of cost and time is an important priority to us which has resulted in delivering award winning projects challenged by demanding budget and schedules.

Background

Founded: 1993
Offices: 1
Design team: 12

Key projects

BO18 , Beirut, Lebanon, 1998, Music Club
Centrale, Beirut Lebanon, 2001, Restaurant
Yabani, Beirut Lebanon, 2002, Restaurant
BLC Bank, Chtaura Lebanon, 2004, Commercial
Black Box, Beirut Lebanon, 2005, Restaurant
IB3 Building, Beirut Lebanon, 2006, Residential
Evolving Scars, 1991, Experimental
BCD-05, Beirut Lebanon, 2004, Entertainment
Andalous, Kuwait, 2006 Commercial
Santa Cesarea, Italy, 2007, Vacation Village

http://angryarab.blogspot.com

2009-02-16T05:55:00.000-08:00

'Thursday, August 18, 2005

Sushar Rosky--lest she dies namelessly--is a Sri Lankan maid who killed herslf by hanging early morning yesterday in Sidon in Lebanon.
The Ugly (real) Face of Lebanon: This is the real Lebanon: the real Lebanon is a place of hate, sectarian animosities, and blatant racism deeply rooted in delusions about non-existent grandeur. The real Lebanon is a country where people shamelessly oppress the poor and the destitute, and then have the temerity to brag about an imaginary Lebanese “civilization.” This a country where people shamelessly express contempt for those who work for them, especially if they are darker in skin, and then have the chutzpah to think that Lebanese are superior to other Arabs. This is a victim that will not be mentioned in Lebanese news bulletin, and her death will go unnoticed. Not even an investigation is warranted because the victim is a poor maid from Sri Lanka: her name for the record is Sushal Rosky (b. 1987), and she killed herself by hanging early morning yesterday. The lousy Hariri rag (Al-Mustaqbal) even mocked her death: they said that her love of her country has killed her. Her death must have looked hilarious to Hariri followers for some reason. But then again, I never understand them, and they never understand me. Nobody knows what her employers have done to her, to lead her to this. This is not an isolated incident: this is part of a long pattern of Lebanese “excellence” in the abuse of maids, especially those dark-skinned workers from Sri Lanka who come to Lebanon with no rights, and have their passports confiscated. Whenever you see images of the right-wing opposition, and whenever you see the images of “telegenic” Lebanese who so impressed Western reporters even at left-wing publications—don’t get me started here—remember that those same people who can converse with western reporters in their western languages, and who are keen on emulating the latest in Western fashion before they even see it in their silly fashion magazines, those same people go home to subject their Sri Lankan maids to unspeakable abuse, harassment, and mistreatment. This is the Lebanon that no Lebanese flag, and no silly Rahbani songs can hide. This is the Lebanon that can really explain the longevity of the Lebanese civil war: place boiling with hate and with deep-seated complexes that are responsible for the most self-deluded "culture" that I know. The body of this maid will be flown back to her country—I hope—and the Lebanese state will not conduct an investigation of her death. Why would they? The employers told the press and the police that, oh, she was simply homesick and that is why she killed herself, BY HANGING, using pieces of clothes in the early hours of the morning. The afore-mentioned Hariri rag thought that this was very funny. Hariri followers will probably be exchanging jokes about her, and Lebanese Forces chat rooms will now circulate their own “humorous” versions of her death. Jubran Khalil Jubran once commented about that society observing that inside the mouth of that “nation” are “rotten teeth.” Don’t expect the US State Department to comment on her death, the freedom loving president of yours will not call for an investigation, and Kofi Annan, who had no clue about the massacres in Rawanda and about the corruption of his own son, will not call for a special meeting of the Security Council. This foreign domestic worker was not a billionaire, and her death will go unnoticed. When the billionaire Hariri was killed, the silly organization known as the Socialist International (what would Marx, Bakunin, and Proudon think of that outfit, one wonders) sent a special delegation to mourn Hariri. They will not be mourning her. The Nation magazine which could not get a hold of itself when Hariri-An-Nahar journalist, Samir Qasir, was assassinated will not publish special tributes to her. No western government will express alarm about her plight. This will be a death that will be added to the many deaths that go on regularly in Lebanon without any fanfare or press releases: these are the deaths of people who have no lobbies behind them, and no powerful government. Her death will be added to the deaths of scores of poor Syrian workers who were victims of a movement that shouted slogans about “freedom” and “democracy” and “independence”—Bush’s version of that, to be sure. No songs will be composed to mourn Sushar Rosky, and Lebanese and Arab singers will not rush to sing her praises the way they do when Hariri or King Fahd died. Arab satellite stations will not send a team to interview her family in Sri Lanka, and no Lebanese newspaper (I hope that Doha Shams of As-Safir will be the exception—I know that she will) will send a team to investigate the circumstances behind her death. This death in a just world would, and should, open the file of the horrendous abuse of foreign domestic workers in Lebanon. Let us face it: slavery has been banned in Arab countries, but forms of slavery exist in every single Arab country. I once asked an Asian worker in Qatar whether the treatment of Asian workers in Gulf countries was akin to slavery. “Semi-slavery” he corrected me. Western human rights organizations which scrutinize even the utterances of the Palestinian people will not utter a word in her memory. Life will go on, and the Lebanonese nationalist people will go on bragging about hey they are better than everybody else around them, how they are superior in their very genetic makeup. If they only know; if they only know how pathetic they sound, and how clueless they are about their very existence. I will not post nice pictures, poetry, or art today. I will not post anything today. Let this picture stands as a testimony to the cruelty of people, and to the injustice in the world that goes on every single day, with little if any press attention. This image will stay with me. And if US media are not busy covering the “anguish” of Israeli occupation soldiers and the “suffering” of Israeli colonial settlers, will they find the time to cover her death?
Posted by As'ad at 9:57 PM'

http://www.shakomako.net/why.html

2009-02-06T16:41:00.000-08:00

SHAKO MAKO? (mi ujsag?)
http://www.shakomako.net/third.html

' WHY ARE YOU AN IRAQI SINGLE?

Do you get harassed by your mother’s friends for being single? Does your mother burst into tears about your marital situation and make you feel guilty for not being married? Do your parent’s friends (by order of your parents) sit you down and try to find out why you’re single? Do your married friends make you feel like crap and make you feel very old for not being married? Well if you’ve answered yes to any of these questions, you’re probably in your twenties and single. I am assuming that you must be sick of the harassment, the inquisitive questions and the lectures. It sucks doesn’t it? You can’t go to a wedding or a party and not be showered with questions about your singleness. For all those reading who have no idea what I am on about, here’s a little taster for you. I will speak in feminine for the sake of the story. Here it goes.

So you are with your parent(s), going to a wedding or a 3azeema, you walk in, do your courteous greetings, then you take a seat. Oum Flan comes along, grabs the seat next to you, asks you how things are going and then dives in head first. Try to imagine the most annoying voice possible (yes they usually come acquainted with a god given squeaky annoying voice). ‘Shwakit ra7 tizowjeen? (When you going to get married then?)’ OR ‘Diyallah 3ad izowjee hata asowee rajeem lil 3iris (Enough already get married, so I know when to lose weight for the wedding)’ OR ‘Hay shinoo hay shged hilwa tal3a hel yawm, zain ma 3indich a7ad minnaaa minnaa? (Don’t you look lovely tonight, so haven’t you met anyone here or there?)’. This is usually re-enacted throughout the night by Oum Flan #2, Oum Flan #3 and sometimes Abu Flan (by order of Oum Flan). So after making you feel like a worthless piece of crap, they leave you alone to go back to their tables or seat to do some matchmaking for you. Then all of a sudden in a distance you see a potential husband - which we will call the ‘poor sod’ for the sake of this story - being dragged over by Oum Flan, she introduces the potential to you and the whole family, then insists that he sits next to you. He sits down. A polite smile is exchanged. You get slightly nauseous. Poor sod has a moustache that covers his upper and lower lip and even worse poor sod has a combover that makes your dad’s combover look captivatingly sexy. Poor sod is sitting there just as confused as you. Silence. Everyone is looking. Awkward. Yes. You decide to break the silence because you start to feel sorry for poor sod. ‘So what do you do?’, he responds. He then asks you the same question and you answer. Silence. Oum Flan is telling everyone how cute you look together. You lean over and say ‘I have to go to the washroom excuse me’ – Ladies, if ever put in this situation, this is the only polite and acceptable way to deal with it. Go to the washroom. Lock yourself in and stay in there for a minimum of 20 minutes – I guarantee you he will be gone by then. So after 20 minutes of playing snake on your cell phone you get back to the table, and he’s probably gone by then, if not, then I highly suggest you just play along with some harmless small talk. The evening ends, you are thinking thank god its over, you do your goodbyes, and you get in the car then your mother turns to you and says ‘khowsh walad hatha poor sod, moo?’, you agree for the sake of agreeing. Then as soon as you step into the house, you get a call from Oum Flan, wanting to know what you thought of poor sod. So your mother asks for your opinion again. And you simply say what you feel. ‘Mom, he’s not really my type at all’. Then all hell breaks loose, you can imagine the rest I am sure.

Now if you are an Iraqi female or male and you haven’t gone through this yet then I am happy to inform you of this situation occurring in your life very soon – Be prepared, grab a magazine for your 20 minute washroom escape. Now, as embarrassing and nerve wracking these situations are, I must defend the concept for all those worried Iraqi mothers out there. Truth is, if this happens to you, there is a possibility that the potential that was introduced to you by Oum Flan may actually be a compelling potential. And in that case I would suggest that you do a little small talk cause there is always room for more ‘types’ of people in that ‘type’ category you’ve created for yourself. But fair enough, if the potential is a scary chap who has a piece of Bagilla (Broad Beans) from his lunch stuck on his overgrown mustache – then you need to take that little detour. So why do these situations tend to happen the first place? Well, there is persistence in the Iraqi community for Iraqis to marry Iraqis, however truth is, and our community does not seem to understand the difficulty in finding a partner these days, especially if you are limiting yourself to Iraqis. It was a lot easier to get married in the days our parents got married, everyone knew everyone and everyone knew everything about everyone. nowadays it’s not so easy. Also, with time, Iraqis have changed too. Iraqi women are not as passive as they used to be and Iraqi men are a lot more independent than before. The traditional gender roles that were common in our parent’s generation have very much changed. Nevertheless, there still seems to be a conflict between some Iraqi men and women pertaining to the guiding principles of marriage and the cultural boundaries that both Iraqi men and women have experienced. There is more of an emphasis on Iraqi daughters to uphold Iraqi traditions and values, however some Iraqi sons have not been raised with that same emphasis, and consequently some Iraqi women are rebelling and stepping out of those cultural boundaries shaped by Iraqi parents and society. It was quite normal to hear of Iraqi men marrying western women however it wasn’t very common to hear Iraqi women marrying western men – now the tables are turning. Whether you think its right or not is a personal opinion, nevertheless what cannot be denied is that this is a likely consequence of living in the west, especially if you haven’t met the right ‘Iraqi’ partner.

So why hasn’t it been easy to meet the right ‘Iraqi’ partner? Well in defense of Eastern thought, the way the west has influenced Iraqis when it comes to marriage could be argued to be very problematic. Media and society has created an image of this dubious romanticism behind finding your ‘soul mate’. Which has happened to some, yet, wandering around waiting for ‘Mr. Right/Miss Right’ to come along and sweep you on your feet is not how it always works. Hollywood has also been pretty good at placing a considerable amount of importance placed on following your heart – not your mind. Truth is, most people will tell you that following their heart often left them in a divorce. And if you want to take that risk then that’s a chance you are free to take, however, I am assuming that most people who want to get married want to stay married. It’s not very difficult to confuse love for lust, that’s why it should be important to be pragmatic about the people you meet and the person you choose at the end of the day. For those singles out there wondering why they might be single, well could it bet possible that you’re being too picky? There’s nothing wrong with wanting certain characteristics and qualities in your mate, but if you are waiting for a Cindy Crawford look-alike who can cook, clean and pamper you like your mom did, or if you are looking for a George Clooney look-alike with Bill Gates bank account then you might find you’re not being very reasonable or realistic. And actually you will probably find that if you do meet someone who fits what you look for materialistically/physically and have ignored everything else you will probably end up very unhappy or divorced. And unfortunately there have been very high numbers in divorce for young Iraqi couples internationally and interestingly enough most of these marriages were love (or could be lust) marriages. So, What went wrong? Well, it’s very possible that a mutual understanding of incompatibility was concluded by some of these marriages and consequently the marriages were terminated, but in my opinion that was probably a small minority. For the majority of these divorces, the people involved were probably getting married for the wrong reasons. For the sake of settling, or for settling for what may seem to be the ideal package and ignoring compatibility questions. There is also the problem of not getting to know your partner well enough, and that again comes down to decisions that were made too early on about the relationship. Many of the subjects of these divorces (whether they know it or not) probably didn’t really understand what they were getting themselves into. Breaking news from shakomakonet headquarters: Marriage isn’t going to be an extended honeymoon, unfortunately, but that is the truth. It takes a lot of commitment, tolerance and compromise. If both partners cannot communicate and compromise about the most basic of issues then there is likeliness that it could be a problematic marriage. The reality is that marriage can be routine, boring and hard work and if you feel you are not ready to put in energy to tolerate these things then you are most likely not ready for marriage. If you have waited 28 years for a partner, then it probably isn’t worth your while to settle for anything. Don’t let people like Oum Flan get you down, but just remember, that there is not just one person out there for you, there are many people out there for you, and if you open your mind to others you will probably find it uplifting that you have made room for more potentials for you to choose from. I hope parents read this article too, because parents should understand that their dreams for their daughters and sons don’t always turn out the way they intend it to be. And there is no shame in that, being single is not a bad thing and wanting to be married is very much natural in our culture, so let your daughters and sons take their time, its better that your daughters and sons choose a partner that they are willingly convinced of, rather than rushing into a relationship just to get you off their back and end up being unhappy in the future. '

Rim Banna يا ليل ما أطولك

2009-01-13T15:46:00.000-08:00

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=5uNfP9yKMHE

hakawat -mesek

2008-12-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

If any work of fiction might be powerful enough to transcend the mountain of polemic, historical inquiry, policy analysis and reportage that stands between the Western reader and the Arab soul, it’s this wonder of a book — a book not about a jihadi but a hakawati (Arabic for storyteller). “Listen,” Rabih Alameddine invites. “Allow me to be your god. Let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story.”
“The Hakawati” uses one of the oldest forms of storytelling, the frame tale. Western readers know it from “The Canterbury Tales,” but the device precedes Chaucer by well over a thousand years, originating in Sanskrit texts known variously as the “Panchatantra,” “The Fables of Bidpai” or “Tales of Kalila and Dimna.” As Doris Lessing notes in her introduction to the most recent English translation, one version of the Sanskrit framing narrative has Alexander the Great enlisting an Indian sage to reform a cruel potentate by telling him stories. In another, an Indian king uses the stories to arouse the curiosity of his three sons, whose brains have gone soft from privilege. Whatever the original frame, the history of the whole collection is a record of the cross-fertilization of cultures. Through storytelling, the conquered and the conquering can become as close as family.
In “The Hakawati,” the framing narrative, set in 2003, concerns a young man’s trip from Los Angeles to his father’s deathbed in Beirut. There he and his relatives exchange jokes, tear-jerking tales, cliffhangers and legends during the weeks of their vigil. Some of their stories are contemporary — the description of an impetuous sister’s wedding, a great-grandfather falling in love, troubles at the family’s car dealership, the 1967 Israeli-Arab war, the demise of a favorite uncle.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/18/books/review/Adams-t.html?_r=1

na, kovetni kene, el kene olvasni, de mindenkeppen meg kell jegyezni

valenciaba erdemes menni

2008-11-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

2008-11-17T15:23:00.000-08:00

Indignation of an Israeli Writer: Ari Shavit

Cana: 102 Faceless Dead

We killed 170 people in Lebanon, most of whom were refugees, during the month of April, 1996. Many of them were women, old people and children. We killed 9 civilians, one a 2 year old girl and one, a centenarian, in Sahmour, on April 11th. We killed 11 civilians, including 7 children, in Nabatyeh, on April 18th. In the UN Camp in Cana, we killed 102 people. We made sure to inflict death from a distance. In a very secular manner, without the archaic idea of sin, without the antediluvian worry to consider man in the image of God, and without the primitive proscription, "You shall not kill!"

Our solid alibi is that we are responsible for nothing, that the responsibility falls on Hezbollah. A most doubtful alibi. For when we decided to launch a massive attack on the civilian region of South Lebanon (while Israel ran no vital risk), we decided, ipso facto, to spill the blood of X number of civilians. When we decided to drive half a million people out of their homes and to shell those who remained behind (while in Israel, we did not have one single victim), we decided, in fact, to execute several dozen of them. This (alibi) allowed us to make such cruel decisions without seeing ourselves as rotten.

We killed them because the increasingly wider gap between the sacrosanct character that we attribute to our own lives and the more limited character we give to theirs, allowed us to kill. We believe, in the most absolute manner, with the White House, the Senate, the Pentagon, and the New York Times on our side, that their lives do not have the same weight as ours. We are convinced that with Dimona (Israel's atomic site), Yad Vashem and the Shoah Museum in our hand, we have the right to compel 400,000 people to evacuate their homes in 8 hours. And we have the right, at the end of 8 hours, to consider their homes as military targets. And we reserve the right to rain 16,000 shells on their villages and their populations. And we reserve the right to kill without any guilt feelings.

But all this cannot alleviate the gravity of the massacre, Israeli style, and our responsibility for its execution. For it is perpetrated, in general, in places to which we give free range to immoderate violence.

The shelling of Cana was executed according to the rules, orders and objectives of operation, "Grapes of Wrath." There is something wrong in these rules, orders and objectives. Something that is no longer human. Something that touches on the criminal.

And all of us, without exception, were an integral part of this machine. The public supported the media, who supported the government, who supported the Chief of Staff, who supported the inquiry officer, who supported the officers, who supported the soldiers who fired the three shells that killed 102 in Cana.

Nothing can prevent Cana from becoming an integral part of our biography. Because, after Cana, we did not denounce the crime, we did not want to subject the affair to the eyes of the law, we merely wanted to deny the horror and go on with our current affairs. That is how Cana is part of ourselves -- like one of the features of our face.

As the massacre perpetrated by Baruch Goldstein (in the Cave of the Patriarchs on Muslims while praying) and the crime committed by Ygal Amir (like the reactions to them) were manifestations of rotten seeds in the heart of the national-religious culture, the massacre of Cana is no less extreme a grain of rottenness in the heart of secular Israeli culture: its cynicism, brutality, instrumentalism, egocentrism of the powerful; this tendency to blur the frontier between good and evil, between permitted and prohibited; this tendency not to require justice, not to care about truth.

The manner in which contemporary Israel has functioned during and after Cana shows that modern, rational Israeli life conceals a terrifying aspect.

Ari Shavit/Haaretz/New York Times Syndication. Ari Shavit is a writer and columnist of the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz. He lives in Jerusalem. (Translated from Hebrew in "Liberation" of May 21, 1996.)

hulyet kapok.

ezek a cikkek a www.al-bushra.org oldalrol szarmaznak, ami kozveszelyes informaciot tartalmaz ugy latszik. a helyzet morbiditasanak ertekeleset ratok bizom.

2008-11-17T15:14:00.000-08:00

The Independent 4/19/96, page 1

MASSACRE IN SANCTUARY; EYEWITNESS

By Robert Fisk

Qana, southern Lebanon - It was a massacre. Not since Sabra and Chatila had I seen the innocent slaughtered like this. The Lebanese refugee women and children and men lay in heaps, their hands or arms or legs missing, beheaded or disembowelled. There were well over a hundred of them. A baby lay without a head. The Israeli shells had scythed through them as they lay in the United Nations shelter, believing that they were safe under the world's protection. Like the Muslims of Srebrenica, the Muslims of Qana were wrong.

In front of a burning building of the UN's Fijian battalion headquarters, a girl held a corpse in her arms, the body of a grey- haired man whose eyes were staring at her, and she rocked the corpse back and forth in her arms, keening and weeping and crying the same words over and over: "My father, my father." A Fijian UN soldier stood amid a sea of bodies and, without saying a word, held aloft the body of a headless child.

"The Israelis have just told us they'll stop shelling the area," a UN soldier said, shaking with anger. "Are we supposed to thank them?" In the remains of a burning building - the conference room of the Fijian UN headquarters - a pile of corpses was burning. The roof had crashed in flames onto their bodies, cremating them in front of my eyes. When I walked towards them, I slipped on a human hand...

Israel's slaughter of civilians in this terrible 10-day offensive - 206 by last night - has been so cavalier, so ferocious, that not a Lebanese will forgive this massacre. There had been the ambulance attacked on Saturday, the sisters killed in Yohmor the day before, the 2-year-old girl decapitated by an Israeli missile four days ago. And earlier yesterday, the Israelis had slaughtered a family of 12 - the youngest was a four- day-old baby - when Israeli helicopter pilots fired missiles into their home.

Shortly afterwards, three Israeli jets dropped bombs only 250 metres from a UN convoy on which I was travelling, blasting a house 30 feet into the air in front of my eyes. Travelling back to Beirut to file my report on the Qana massacre to the Independent last night, I found two Israeli gunboats firing at the civilian cars on the river bridge north of Sidon.

Every foreign army comes to grief in Lebanon. The Sabra and Chatila massacre of Palestinians by Israel's militia allies in 1982 doomed Israel's 1982 invasion. Now the Israelis are stained again by the bloodbath at Qana, the scruffy little Lebanese hill town where the Lebanese believe Jesus turned water into wine.

The Israeli Prime Minister Shimon Peres may now wish to end this war. But the Hizbollah are not likely to let him. Israel is back in the Lebanese quagmire. Nor will the Arab world forget yesterdays terrible scenes.

The blood of all the refugees ran quite literally in streams from the shell-smashed UN compound restaurant in which the Shiite Muslims from the hill villages of southern Lebanon - who had heeded Israel's order to leave their homes - had pathetically sought shelter. Fijian and French soldiers heaved another group of dead - they lay with their arms tightly wrapped around each other - into blankets.

A French UN trooper muttered oaths to himself as he opened a bag in which he was dropping feet, fingers, pieces of people's arms.

And as we walked through this obscenity, a swarm of people burst into the compound. They had driven in wild convoys down from Tyre and began to pull the blankets off the mutilated corpses of their mothers and sons and daughters and to shriek "Allahu Akbar" (God is Great") and to threaten the UN troops.

We had suddenly become not UN troops and journalists but Westerners, Israel's allies, an object of hatred and venom. One bearded man with fierce eyes stared at us, his face dark with fury. "You are Americans," he screamed at us. "Americans are dogs. You did this. Americans are dogs."

President Bill Clinton has allied himself with Israel in its war against "terrorism" and the Lebanese, in their grief, had not forgotten this. Israel's official expression of sorrow was rubbing salt in their wounds. "I would like to be made into a bomb and blow myself up amid the Israelis," one old man said.

As for the Hizbollah, which has repeatedly promised that Israelis will pay for their killing of Lebanese civilians, its revenge cannot be long in coming. Operation Grapes of Wrath may then turn out then to be all too aptly named.

west - beirut

2008-11-17T14:32:00.001-08:00

West Beirut (Arabic: Beyrout Al Gharbiyya — بيروت الغربية) is a 1998 Lebanese drama film written and directed by Ziad Doueiri.

In April, 1975, civil war breaks out; Beirut is partitioned along a Muslim-Christian line and is divided into East and West Beirut. Tarek is in high school, making Super 8 movies with his friend, Omar. At first the war is a lark: school has closed, the violence is fascinating, getting from West to East is a game. His mother wants to leave; his father refuses. Tarek spends time with May, a Christian, orphaned and living in his building. By accident, Tarek goes to an infamous brothel in the war-torn Olive Quarter, meeting its legendary madam, Oum Walid. He then takes Omar and May there. Family tensions rise. As he comes of age, the war moves inexorably from adventure to tragedy.

Ezt a filmet neztem a multkor az interneten. Tok jo volt, de ti ne is almodjatok rola, h Magyarorszagon megtalaljatok :D.

palestine

2008-11-17T14:26:00.000-08:00

Palestine is a graphic novel written and drawn by Joe Sacco about his experiences in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in December 1991 and January 1992. Sacco gives a portrayal which emphasizes the history and plight of the Palestinian people, as a group and as individuals.

A Palestine, egy kepregeny - konyv, amit folyamatosan olvasok a konytvarban es a konyvesboltban. Ha elolvastam se varjatok folytatast :D.

forget about baghdad

2008-11-17T14:16:00.000-08:00

A film reflecting upon the clichés of „the Jew” and „the Arab” in the last hundred years of cinema, combined with the biographies of some extraordinary individuals: Iraqi-Jewish communists. „Son of the Sheikh” – „Jud Süss” – „Exodus” – „True Lies”. Silent film star Valentino as the noble Bedouin. The image of the „greedy Jew” serving the Nazi cause. Paul Newman as the blue-eyed Jewish freedom fighter in Palestine. The darkskinned, hook-nosed, hysterically shrieking Arab terrorist who gets annihilated by Schwarzenegger… A muddled composite of cineastic memories!
Jewish Arabs? Arab Jews? Sephardim? Mizrahim? – Over the past few years, there has been a lively debate in Israel, mainly among intellectual „Mizrahim” (Middle Eastern Jews). Their criticism is directed at the politics of alienation and instrumentalization of Arab Jews, stemming from the colonial pretensions asserted by Israel’s European-influenced founding generation. Over the years, Samir – himself the child of Iraqi immigrants in Switzerland – has focused on the issues of alienation and the formation of identity in his films. In the context of this discussion, Prof. Ella Shohat (sociologist and film historian at the City University of New York) is one of the most important figures in the film. Raised in Israel as the daughter of Iraqi Jews, she reflects on her history. The film „Forget Baghdad” also focuses on the life stories of four other exceptional individuals: Shimon Ballas, Professor of Arabic in Tel Aviv, is involved in the pro-Palestinian peace and civil rights movement. Sami Michael, one of Israel’s most famous best-selling authors, who broke with the communists back in the mid- 1950s. Moshe (Moussa) Houri, a wealthy kiosk owner and building contractor in a Tel Aviv suburb who to this day continues to vote for communists. Samir Naqqash, the only one of the four who still writes in Arabic. His works of literature have brought him critical acclaim and quite a number of prizes but publishers these days are no longer interested in bringing out his books – neither those in the Arab world
nor those in Israel…
The four old protagonists were influenced back in their youth by the internationalism of the Iraqi communist party. Yet in the early 1950s, their religious background as Arab Jews put them at odds with the rising Arab nationalism which, paradoxically, they had been supporting with their political work as communists. Fleeing to Israel was like going from the frying pan into the fire, where as communists they were treated like outsiders and viewed with suspicion. Though they felt part of the Arab world, they had no choice but to assimilate and adopt a new culture. Their identity as „Mizrahim” and their political orientation made them frequent targets of chauvinistic ignorance. Their lives thus provide exemplary reflections of this century’s history and how the „new world disorder” came to take hold.
As in his earlier documentary „Babylon 2” (1993), Samir interweaves the various levels to create an artistic and entertaining montage film.

2008-11-03T17:44:00.001-08:00

Randa Chahal: ‘Always This Running Away...’

Filmmaker’s Complex Identities Spawn Thematic Dualities

By Brigitte Caland

Randa is a friend. A real friend, someone who you are certain will be with you when you need her, someone who will surprise you by her attentions, her consistency, and her own way of making sure people she cares for are fine. But Randa’s priority is being a mother for the three wonderful children who surround her. Her daughter, Nour, studies art and lives in the same building; her eldest son, Pierre, studies in London; and her youngest, Ulysse, remains with her, at home, attending a middle school nearby. Around her, various friends form a tribe that looks beyond nationalities, languages, and cultural backgrounds. Her house and garden are open to visitors who stop by, often with no notice, joining her for tea, lemonade, pastries, or a casual meal.

Randa’s credits as a filmmaker include “Lebanon of Another Time” (1981), “Sheikh Imam” (1985), “Screen of Sand” (1992), “Our Imprudent Wars” (1995), “The Infidels” (1996), “Civilized” (1998), “Souha, Surviving Hell” (2001), and “The Kite” (2002).

On a cold Parisian afternoon, the final weekend before starting the production of her film – she will start shooting the first months of 2006 – she sits in an armchair in my office and sips hot jasmine tea. She shares freely: “My reasons for filming are rooted in Tripoli, the town in Lebanon where I was born and grew up. I was stuck between two activities: going to the movies, or going to the beach. It was a traditional and rather sad city, and I was an unusual young girl who was lucky to have exceptional parents – open, literate, and conscious of the world around them. We used to discuss global issues, human rights, and the well being of others. They guided the three of us, me and my siblings, towards reading and making thoughtful choices. They helped me so much. I was privileged to grow up in a Sunni environment with extremely supportive parents who used to encourage me, saying: ‘Go ahead, you can make it, nothing can happen to you, surprise us.’

“I felt so confident. One day, while traveling on a plane, a wing caught fire and people on board were consumed with panic. Except for me. I just thought to myself, ‘My parents will not let anything happen.’ In time, as they aged and the situation was reversed and I took care of them, all my childhood fears resurfaced. I took on the role of a parent, and I no longer felt protected. I was present at their surgeries and the three of us – my sister, my brother, and I – now mothered them.”

Randa continued: “When I was 13 or 14 years old, I saw ‘Blow Up’ and it was a revelation. When we left the screening I told my father ‘I want to do the same.’ At that time he did not discourage me, but later, after I finished high school and left for France, he suggested that I aim for a job that would allow me to be financially independent. I pursued medical studies for one year, after which he recognized that this was absolutely not for me.”

With a tender smile, Randa mentions the relationship between her parents: “My father used to say that he married my mother because the Communist Party asked him to, to get her out of jail. She had been imprisoned several times, because, although quite young, she was the chief editor of the Iraqi party newspaper. So, I suspect he must have gotten her pregnant three times in a ‘comradely’ way. He was Sunni. He used to love life, beautiful objects, and beauty in general. She was somber, like most Iraqi people… I feel sorry for the Americans who did not check where they were putting their feet!

“My mother left Iraq and never was able to go back. She mourned Iraq from a distance. She did not travel because she did not enjoy traveling. She suffered when I left Lebanon, but she did not stop me from leaving. She felt making films was not a serious job and would have loved for me to write, as I once did for As Safir newspaper. I wrote in Arabic; they liked my style, but used to correct my grammar. Dad loved going to the movies. We used to have intense discussions about the scripts and the technical approach a director would take. I knew I would become a filmmaker in Paris.”

Randa’s pessimistic view of the film industry today is imbued with a nostalgic eye towards earlier times, when Hollywood and the proliferation of visual imagery was not subordinated to market demands.

“Today, the filmmaking industry has changed quite a bit. Images are common now, and we have an over-abundance of footage. Everyone has a camera, whether digital or video. Before, creating images was a difficult task. I remember how excited I was the first time I put my eye to a lens. Now there is such a demand for images… I feel manipulated by the situation, by imposed choices, by the images that continuously spill forth, by the marketing, by the need for commercial success. Most of the time, one must produce at such a rate that there is not enough time to think about the work being done. I don’t feel free. But I do think that all this is going to settle. There is such a gap between the movie I produced and shot 17 years ago and the one I am producing today. If you don’t play the game, there is no place for you. Everything needs to be basic. Hollywood has decided to make movies for the lowest common denominator. Those in charge of the industry believe that no one understands nuance, so everything is overly emphasized. Films are made for the masses.”

Randa adds, “I went recently to see ‘Chicken Little’ and found that it, too, had been made for the simple-minded. You quickly understand that the character has a problem with his father, but they say it so many times that my son looked at me and asked sarcastically, ‘Mom, did you understand that he has a problem with his father?’ ‘Fantasia’ is so far away. During the past 40 years, the industry has regressed a lot. All movies seem the same; all the scripts are simplified.”

Reflecting on the complexities of an identity informed by both Arab and European cultures, Randa imparts a critical perspective on filmmaking in France: “To get into the European mainstream, you need to swim in the mainstream. It is narcissistic and fundamentally concerned by its own history; there is no place for anything else. If you are not born French, you must talk about the suburbs, even when you live in a residential and elegant district in Paris! The newspapers have praised Abdel Latif Keshish so much, and in such a colonialist way, that I wonder what he will be able to do now, because he is not part of this mainstream.

“I am Middle Eastern, but I don’t want to be the Arab that makes movies for the Arab. It is a difficult process, because, unlike writing, the film industry requires a great amount of money before a movie can come to fruition. It took me two years to get away from the language of my family – Arabic – and to speak to the neighbors in their language – French. In French, for instance, you ‘work on the loss of someone,’ meaning, you try to overcome and forget. In Arabic, you remember. In Arabic, often one word is enough to explain a feeling, a situation, while in French most of the time you need a group of words: to burst into laughter, to let go of, to take the neighbor’s tongue.”

A thematic duality – between her mother and father, France and Lebanon, herself and her husband – persists as Randa contemplates the future. “I am not complaining; I am happy with what I have accomplished. But today I question the place I have here. And I think I don’t have a place in Lebanon. I think about my mother who lived as an exile. When she died, I had the feeling she died as a political, sentimental, and unreconciled exile, since her last will was to be buried in Iraq. We have not been able to fulfill her wish yet, and this is another form of exile. But Lebanon is not an option. I say it with no complaints – it is just a thought. I think about what would have happened had I stayed there. After living here for 30 years, I feel more and more distant from France and find I am getting closer to something more genuine and authentic. I don’t see myself getting old in France. I am comfortable neither in the position of intellectual jetsetter, nor in the position of Middle Eastern intellectual. I think it comes from my background. I am born from a mixed marriage. Both my parents were communists. We used to drink from crystal glasses brought from Bohemia, us the children, with the peasants rather than with the elegant guests. There was constantly this duality, this battle. The same happened with my marriage. I married someone out of my environment who had concerns other than mine. Today I am single and divorced and have developed cancer, which, hopefully, I have overcome.”

During her bout with cancer, Randa said she always had nightmares. “Like this friend of mine who lost three of her six children in terrible accidents. She used to have nightmares, every single night, and when finally she was able to name her fear, her nightmare, she lost her brother. My nightmares stopped when they removed my left breast. I was told that the left breast is connected to the image of the Man. I used to have terrible nightmares and used to tell them to my parents, to my lovers, and to my children. Today it is over, most probably because I dealt with this duality. I am finding my place.”

With her unique accent and great sense of humor, Randa considers where she wants to settle and grow. “But there is another issue about this duality I need to solve: the place where I wish to live and grow old. I do think that we have a choice. You and I have a choice. And this is what makes things harder. Nothing forces me to accept the system, the cold winters. My accent always makes me feel foreign. When I enter a store, or anywhere, when I talk I can see people’s eyes perpetually asking ‘where is she from?,’ but I have the same feeling in the Keserouan, or in Fakra. It took time to build my complicity and intimacy with my French friends. My godchild remains amazed by my accent, and I often tell him, ‘You will remember it later and you will love it,’ and the young people I work with laugh about it.

“Do I feel concerned by French politics? I have voted here ever since I obtained French citizenship. My daughter is more concerned: she is Parisian; I am not. I still am very much a Mediterranean. You sense it in my movies. There is always this ‘running away.’ I wonder to myself if it is linked to an incident that happened one day, when my ex-husband dropped me at the border of the no-man’s land in Beirut, which was cut in two during the war. I had to run in order to escape the sniper’s shooting. When I arrived on the other side, I was safe, but I ran on. A young boy started running alongside me, and while licking his ice cream he asked, ‘Why are you still running?’ But I think that the cause is deeper than this.”

Randa suddenly looked at her watch. It was time to rush off. Her son was waiting for her. She still had to find dessert for his dinner, and in her hurry, she almost left part of her meal in my refrigerator. As she rushed down the stairs, she came back to retrieve the food she was going to share with her daughter that same evening. We had spent another wonderful moment together. And although she usually despises talking about herself and giving interviews, she had generously opened up and spoken about subjects that are so clearly important to her today.

This interview appeared in Al Jadid, Vol. 11, no. 52 (Summer 2005)

2008-10-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

Abbazia, a popular summer and winter resort of Austria, in Istria, 56 m. S.E. of Trieste by rail. Pop. (1900) 2343. It is situated on the Gulf of Quarnero in a sheltered position at the foot of the Monte Maggiore (4580 ft.), and is surrounded by beautiful woods of laurel. The average temperature is 50 deg. Fahr. in winter, and 77 deg. Fahr. in summer. The old abbey, San Giacomo della Priluca, from which the place derives its name, has been converted into a villa. Abbazia is frequented annually by about 16,000 visitors. The whole sea-coast to the north and south of Abbazia is rocky and picturesque, and contains several smaller winter-resorts. The largest of them is Lovrana (pop. 513), situated 5 m. to the south.
1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Abbazia

'A trieszti öbölre gondolt. Illetve igyekezett végiggondolni egy fontosnak vélt dolgot, ami valami módon kapcsolatban volt a trieszti öböllel. Hogy milyen módon, az végül sosem derült ki; hiszen éppen ezért szerette volna végiggondolni rendesen az egészet, hogy megtudja, mi köze van ennek a dolognak a trieszti öbölhöz; de ismételten megzavarták, s hovatovább úgy kiverték a fejéből a gondolatait, hogy három évtized múlva, amikor újra megpróbálta megkeresni az összefüggést a dolgok között, még annyira sem jutott talán, mint az első alkalommal ott a hálóteremben.'

'De mit akar ő annyira kifejezni, egyáltalán? Nincs semmi mondanivalója számukra. Miért bajlódjon gyarló szavakkal és bamba cselekedetekkel, amíg összeáll belőlük valami rozoga látszat, hogy érthessék az emberek? Dögöljenek meg. Semmi köze hozzájuk. Esze ágában sem volt, soha nem akart egy percig sem az emberek közt élni. Csak az a lovas! Az a Trieszt felé ügető lovas. Utolérte őt a hágón, és nehéz parancsot hozott. Egyetlen szóból állt: Élj!
Ahelyett, hogy még elkeseredettebben tudott volna sírni, egyszerre végképp kijózanodott. Letörülte maradék könnyeit, és visszafordult a hátára. Hiába, mindez színészkedés, maszlag. Szerepeket próbál, áltatja magát, komédiázik. Ravaszkodik, hogy megkönnyebbülést merítsen a sírásból. De nem megy. Megcsömörlött tőle. Hiszen él. Ketrecbe zárták, és Medve Gábor növendéknek hívják. Ő azonban valahol egészen másutt van, teljesen szabad és független. Ezt be kell vallania becsületesen; hiába facsargatja a szívét hamis szánalommal. Akármilyen sajnálatra méltó ez a Medve Gábor, azt, aki sajnálni szeretné, vagyis önmagát, nem tudja sajnálni. Ő él, és ingyen szórakozik. Jó meleg van itt.'
Ottlik Geza: Iskola a hataron

Abbazia, mint عباسية
az irakiak torzshelye volt, valahol az Oktogonnal, a nyolcvanas evek vegen