In my memory

When a song was written for Northern Ireland, but works perfectly for Sarajevo, Beirut, Aleppo or Homs, too. It's the same pain, always.

"But when I returned how my eyes have burned 

To see how a town could be brought to its knees

By the armoured cars and the bombed out bars

And the gas that hangs on to every tree

Now the army's installed by that old gasyard wall

And the damned barbed wire gets higher and higher

With their tanks and their guns, oh my God, what have they done

To the town I loved so well"

Syria in Beirut

In Beirut, Syria is everywhere. It's just 50 kilometres to the border, and 100 to Damascus. Syria is not far, and Syria is here. 

I had been told to be careful, told not to mention that my husband comes from Syria. I was careful for a few days, but everyone here asked about him. Abuk lubnani? Zowjik lubnani? (Is your father Lebanese? Is your husband Lebanese? ... because what else would bring anyone to Lebanon?!) No, he's not Lebanese, he's Syrian. La, huwa suri. I was not going to lie. I mean, come on. 

And the response, again and again, was ou ana suri, ana suriye (I am Syrian, too). 

Followed by a big smile. 

Ou ana suri. 

And Syria was everywhere. It was the big, black Landrover parked in front of a block of flats in Sanayeh, Syrian license plate. The young man who works for a local NGO who came to Beirut when he couldn't stay in Syria any more. The beggars on Hamra Street, young women, old women, almost always with children, toddlers, babies who run barefoot on the dirty pavement. The shopkeeper and his wife, who have been living in Lebanon for 30 years. The taxi driver with the toothless smile. The AUB student with the excellent GPA. The doctor who, when he needs help, speaks to the policemen in English because he knows they won't be as helpful if a young men with a Syrian accent approaches them. Layali and her daughter who live in Beirut now after having spent seven years in Abu Dhabi where Layali's husband's company had send him. Naya who says she can't go shopping with me because if the shopkeepers hear her Syrian accent, they will charge her double the price. The waiters at the Syrian restaurant where the most delicious Syrian food is served, the restaurant that makes its owner rich while 30 of his employees live together in one apartment, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, and the family is still in Syria.

Syria is everywhere in Beirut, if you look closely, if you care to listen.

Syria is here, when fighting breaks out in Tripoli, close to the border. They say you can hear the bombs targeting Aleppo on the highway leading north. It's a small country, the borders are never far.

Syria is here, when a bomb explodes in Dahiye, in South Beirut, where the Shia live, because Hizbollah fights on Assad's side, and ISIS fights Assad, and ISIS does not like Shia. 

Syria is here, when you speak with Halima, a Lebanese artist and women's rights activist, about the Lebanese civil war, and you say that in a way Syria has become the new Lebanon, and she says, no, shakes her head, and says no, Syria is much worse, much worse. With tears in her eyes, this strong, composed, confident woman, who has lived through the Lebanese civil war, with tears in her eyes, she repeats, no, Lebanon was never like this, Syria is worse.

Syria is here, when you sit in the park with your friend Lina, the kids play, its a sunny day in December, and it's beautiful here in the park. You need to make a phone call, and while you're on the phone she receives a call, too. Is everything ok, Lina? It was her family from Aleppo, who just wanted to tell her they are fine. A missile has hit their street, many people died, but their house was not hit, they are alive, they are not hurt, even though many people died, many children, the children... I need to tell my husband and my sister they are fine, and she starts typing on her smartphone. You would not want them to hear on the news their family's street was hit without knowing their house was spared, you would not want them to worry. She was fine until I started to cry. I cry, she cries, Syria was there, on the bench, in the park, Syria was in Beirut.

And Syria is the man at the local corner shop, who greets you with a smile and a friendly keif al-hal? keifek? (how are you?) every time you pass by, who reacts faster than you when Lieschen is sick next to their shop one summer day, it might have been the heat, or maybe something else. Almost every day you see him, the neighbourhood wouldn't be the same without him, and one day he asks you, mineen inti (where are you from?) and you say min Almaniya (from Germany), and since he asked, you can ask, too, and the response is, of course, ana suri (I'm Syrian). Min Haleb (from Aleppo). 'albi bi Suria, he says, my heart is in Syria, and there he stands in front of you, this rock of a man, holds his hand to where his heart is and he cries. 

'albi bi Suria, and in Beirut Syria is everywhere.

A different kind of diversity

.
Of cultural diversity in Beirut.

African and Asian migrant workers. Their children. And my child. 

 

So how is Beirut? It's hot, it's humid, it's busy, it's crowded ... full of people who could hardly be more different. If you know anything about Lebanon's capital, if you have only read one or two poorly researched articles you'll know that there are 18 different officially recognised sects in Lebanon, that there are Muslims, Christians, Druze who call this city home, that you have more Christian sects in this country than you could probably ever name from the top of your head ... even if you identify as a Christian yourself. There are Sunni Muslims, Shia Muslims, Syrian-Orthodox Christians, Catholic ones, Maronites ... to name just a few. There are different religious sects, different socio-economic classes, people who speak French fluently and others who hardly know a handful of words of English. There are those who live in London, Paris, Washington or Dubai for most of the year and those who have perhaps never left the city they were born in. And that's just the Lebanese. Add to that Syrians, many of whom recently sought refuge in the country, and Palestinians, the majority of whom have been here for much longer.

 

But that's not the only way in which Beirut is diverse. One stroll on one of the capital's streets, and you'd have to be blind not to notice all those African and Asian faces. Beirut is Eritrean, it's Nigerian, and Filipino. It's the African housemaid, the Asian nanny. Some of them in gingham uniforms, others in their regular clothes, they often accompany families of the upper middle class when they take their kids to the park or a walk by the seaside.

 

Doing research as a European in a country like Lebanon can be challenging. You don't really speak the language, you're not used to the heat, and things are different than at home. You are different.

 

Doing research with a child is even more difficult. Or so I thought. I didn't think I could just drag along ze baby to my interviews so I started looking for childcare. On a student budget. Ha ha, she's ambitious, that woman!

 

But I found something. In a centre run by an NGO providing all sorts of support services to Asian and African migrant workers living in Lebanon. They were kind enough to agree to let ze baby stay for whenever I needed someone to look after her for a couple of hours.

 

So that's how ze baby ended up spending a few hours every week with a group of little African and Asian kids. Originally from Sri Lanka, India, the Philippines, or half Asian, half Arab, most of them have been in Lebanon for the majority of their life. They speak Arabic, some English (which is the language of communication in the centre) and sometimes also the language of their parents, be it Hindi, Tamil, Tagalog or Filipino.

 

That's how ze baby ended up spending a few hours every week with all the other children, and that's how I ended up hearing all those stories.

 

About recent changes in the law that don't allow maids, cooks, cleaners and nanies from Africa or Asia to keep their children. They don't get the residence permit they'd need to stay, so eventually the kids are being sent "back home", a country many of them don't know, where a language is spoken many of them have never learnt, or at least not properly.

 

About how much the children love that they can run around, sing and shout in the centre. Because at home, in their parents' employers' home, they are told to be quiet, not to disturb the employers with their laughter and their shouting - noise, disruption, not wanted, stop it please, can you be quiet now?!

 

About how some parents before they found the centre just locked the children alone at home until they were back from work in the afternoon.

 

Because doing research with a child is difficult, and working with a child is difficult, too. Childcare is expensive and hard to find, the European researcher from the UK knows that as much as the Sri Lankan cook in Lebanon. Or maybe not as much. But she knows, too.

 

And so ze baby plays and sings and paints with the other little kids. And while I sit there and look at them I can't help but think how much they are the same, children, funny, laughing, quite adorable most of the time and simply annoying from time to time, and how much they differ. They are five, six, seven, eight now and all play together, but Lieschen, just because of the place she was born in, the family she grew up in, the country the nationality whose nationality she holds, has the opportunity to such a different life. All the same yet still so different. That's Beirut, that's also Beirut.

Beirut is...

After four days...

Beirut is hot. Beirut is humid. Beirut is big and busy.

It is old houses and modern buildings, broad highways and narrow streets.

Beirut is Hamra and it is all those people who are extra friendly to the German hijabi. Are they Sunni? Or just generally friendly?

Beirut is bushes of pink majnounieh, those flowers I know from Palestine. 

It is people advising me not to tell others that I have worked in Palestine or that my husband is Syrian because politics ... and me talking about it anyway because what the heck.

Beirut is full of Syrians, young people, families, poor rich, big cars with Syrian number plate parked outside of the 5 star hotel, and Ahmad who is going to the camps in the North, where thousands of Syrians are living surviving.

Beirut is Sanayeh with all its greenery. An urban jungle. Trees, bushes, palm trees, flowers. Green against the yellow and grey of the houses. Beirut is beautiful.

Beirut is the current waste management crisis, communication between the municipality and its waste collection company going wrong. 

Beirut is secretly guessing which sectarian group he / she / they belong to ... as if it mattered. It is seeing a cross, a picture of the Dome of Rock, a painting of Nasrallah, a hijab worn a certain way and  thinking 'aaaaaaah!'.

Beirut is sitting in a restaurant near the sea and realising that, even sitting so close to the water, does not really bring any relief from the heat.

It is sitting in a café with a former combattant, speaking about his past and the reconciliation work he is involved in now, before he buys Lieschen a fresh orange juice.

Beirut is full of foreigners. It is meeting an American-Lebanese family who used to live in Germany on the playground, it is Syrians, Syrians, everywhere, it is Italian tourists in Gemmayzeh, French volunteers in Dawrah, and all those Africans, Filipinos, Sri Lankans, Indians and Thais who came here for work.

Beirut is haggling with the servis drivers and making use of all those tricks you learned in Palestine. 

It is answering again and again, 'where are you from?', 'are you Muslim?', 'are you married to a Muslim?'.

Beirut is seeing, from your roof-top balcony, a mosque and a church ... and the sea.

Beirut is airconditioned rooms smelling of cigarette smoke.

Beirut is barely coping with the humidity and wondering how on earth they manage back in the days, without fan, no AC, God, what on earth did the French want here?! 

Beirut is hearing Arabic in the streets, English and French, marhaba, ahleen, kifak, ca va, yallah bye.

Beirut.

Currently doing fieldwork in Beirut. More pictures and texts to come inshaallah.

Convert Conversations I

.

Culturally German, religiously a Muslim. 

Or: Too much biryani.

Bismillah

In the beginning it was exciting

If I am being perfectly honest, in the beginning it was exciting. This new religion came not only with a testimony of faith, principles of belief, acts of worship and the building of a relation with God, but with a whole new, and at times exotic, culture. Cultures, I mean. There was Eritrean hospitality, Moroccon tea, Algerian music, Pakistani food, Turkish fashion, Bosnian sweets, Central Asian architecture. Learning how to be a Muslim, I also learned loads about the many cultures that Islam left its footprint on in one way or another, cultures that are hard to think of without the enormous influence the religion of Islam had on them. 

Turkish lentil soup, Arabic hiphop, South Asian tea

Now, more than ten, almost fifteen years later, I can make a mean Turkish lentil soup; know how to do small talk in Bosnian, Turkish and Arabic; could give a 30 minutes presentation about Arabic hiphop and a 60 minutes presentation about the role of the diaspora in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I can tell a Moroccon hijabi from a Saudi, Pakistani, British-Pakistani, Turkish, Syrian or Malaysian one - from a 100 metres! (when I wear my glasses) - and I would happily explain to you the difference between aloo paneer, palak paneer and aloo keema ... if you asked. I can say the traditional Islamic greeting salam alaikum (may Peace be with you) the way it is pronounced in Turkey, Arabic countries and the Sub-continent. I prefer Fairouz over Umm Kulthum and Moroccon green tea with mint over South Asian red tea with milk; haggle like a pro (I am known to have made a taxi driver in Jericho complain, "she's worse than the locals!"); and it does not seem odd to me (any more) to keep on asking "how are you?", even after the person in question has already replied (twice).

Muslim habits, norms and values

With Islam, I got to know a long list of different countries, cultures, mentalities, lifestyles. Cultures which differ in many ways but which have in common that Islam is one of their main cultural reference points (not the only one, of course, after all, we don't want to fall into essentialist narratives of how all Muslims are the same, do we?). I have gotten to know many aspects of these cultures, I have gotten to love some of them, and many have become a part of me. I have not just become a Muslim but I also adopted quite a few habits, norms and values that are often regarded as essentially linked to Islam while in reality they are rooted in one of the many cultures, societies or communities which happen to be majority Muslim.

Culture and religion

Culture and religion are closely intertwined. That is not just an Islamic phenomenon but something that can be observed in all cultures and religions worldwide. Sometimes this intertwinement is pretty obvious, at times it happens more subtly and you need to look closely to spot it. Sometimes it is problematic, sometimes absolutely fine, or perhaps even of advantage - for example, when it brings out the best in a community of believers. Intertwinement can mean similarity, overlapping, contradiction; it is not positive or negative per se. In practise, the intertwinement of religion and culture means that it is often hard to tell where culture starts and religion ends.

"If you want to be a true believer..."

At first, I did not mind that too much. At first, it was exciting. And at first, I also lacked the knowledge to tell the difference between cultural practises and religious principles. Wrapped in mashaallah, alhamdulillah, bismillah, many things that were not Islamic in their own right (but, for example, Arabic or Turkish) or even not Islamic at all (as they contradicted the very basics of this religion) looked like they were the way to go - if you wanted to be a true believer. "Oh, you don't like abayahs? But that's what proper hijab looks like!" - "What do you mean, you are not happy to sit in the back? But you are a woman! We can't allow free mixing in our Islamic classes!" - "No, no, no, don't ask the speaker your question directly, let one of the brothers pass your question on!" - "Male friends? Astaghfirullah!!??" - "Western music? Filth! I only listen to Nancy Ajram..." - "No, I don't think we should start yet; yes, we are already 45 minutes behind schedule, but what if anyone is still on the way? Isn't it our duty to wait for our brothers and sisters in Islam who came here with the intention of listening to an Islamic talk and not prevent them from gaining knowledge? Gaining knowledge is so important in Islam!" - Ok, sorry, I might have gotten a bit carried away. Where was I?

Ten, almost fifteen, years later...

Ten, almost fifteen years, later, the initial excitement has slowly worn off. Not completely, I still owe a lot to all the Muslims (and their respective cultures) that I have met on this journey in the last years, I love many things I have learned from them, things that have become part of me. But I have become a bit older, a bit (tiny bit!) more knowledgeable, a bit more confident and, sorry!, less accepting of nonsense. I have realised in the last years that people have been trying to sell me something as Islamic which is not. And I'm tired of it. I don't need to wear a Saudi abayah to be a Muslim; I don't need to have the same views on gender relations as many South Asian Muslims, for example, do; my Norah Jones is not less Islamic than your Nancy Ajram; and if you serve samosas and dates to non-Muslim visitors at an event organised by the local mosque that's not "typically Muslim food". Your culture is not representative of Islam. 

Losing out of sight how diverse our Muslim community is

Alhamdulillah for biryani, but do we really need to serve it at every event organised by our Islamic Student Societies? At every single event? If all members of said society are desi (see, how I have learned my cool cultural terms), that's, of course, absolutely fine. There is nothing wrong with biryani. This is not about biryani. This is about a majority acting as if the minority did not exist. This is about losing out of sight how diverse our Muslim community is. If all members of a mosque or student society or what-not are not Arabic but they keep on serving Arabic food, in my mind, there is something wrong. And I am not saying that this is being done on purpose, that the biryani fraction of my community have bad intentions or that they are to blame. If you are in the majority it is very easy to forget how those in the minority feel. I am not blaming you for that. But please, try to be a bit open-minded and don't start rolling your eyes and saying, "but it's Eid", when I suggest to order pizza instead of kebabs. 

An Islamic community in Germany

Last year, I spent Ramadan in Germany. My mosque there is very multicultural. The majority of the visitors are German-Moroccons, but  the mosque is also attended by German Muslims with a German background (like me) and by those whose families once came from Turkey, Syria, Eritrea, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bosnia, Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt, Southeast Asia, Poland, Slovakia, the US (many of whom have also become pretty German in the meantime). The only language we have in common is German so pretty much all activities are in German. In fact, a comparatively high number of young Muslims attend this mosque as they feel more at ease in a German-speaking (as opposed to Turkish- or Arabic-speaking etc.) environment. Here, they understand the language. And know how things are being done. 

German pasta salad for iftar

During Ramadan, free food is provided in the mosque every evening. Most of the time, it was Moroccon food. But that was fine. If 70% of your visitors are Moroccon, there is nothing wrong with serving Moroccon food 70% of the time. If, however, you serve Moroccon food only, I would say, there is a problem. At my mosque, they didn't do that. It was Moroccon food most of the time, with the odd Afghani or Pakistani meal inbetween. One day they made German pasta salad. German pasta salad. With mayonaise, cornichons, sweetcorn - exactly as we would do it at home. I was in food heaven, but I also realised this was the first time in over ten years of being a Muslim that I was eating European food in a European mosque.

It is easy to forget to look outside the box

As I explained above, in many cases, the majority of culturally (pretty) Turkish, Arabic or South Asian Muslims in Europe don't even realise how it can be for a German Muslim, for example, if Islam is made look, taste and feel foreign most of the time. They feel at ease, they know things to be that way, they expect things to be that way, so for most of them the thought that this might not be the same for those with a different cultural background does not even cross their minds. Again, I don't really want to blame them for it. I know myself how easy it is to see yourself only, to assume your preferences to be the norm, to forget to look outside of the box. I do it. You do it. We all do it. And as long as it happens unconsciously, unintendedly, I don't really want to blame anyone.

Muslims full of hared of "the West"

But there is something else, too. There are those who just don't question the predominance of Arabic / Turkish / South Asian / you name it! cultural practises in Islamic organisations and mosques in Europe - but who would, if you told them, agree that, yes, perhaps, one day we can have spaghetti napoli in the mosque for iftar and hmmm, why not get some potato salad, too?! And then there are those who are full of hatred of "the West" which they see as an antidote to "Islam". "Look at the West and how they treat their old people, sending them to care homes instead of looking after them, what a shame!" - "Look at how morally corrupted the West is!" - "You want to wear Western clothes?! Astaghfirullah, that would be imitating the kuffar!" 

I am not imitating "the kuffar" or "the West". I am of one them

I am sorry, I am not imitating "the kuffar" or "the West". I am of one them. Culturally, I am one of them; religiously, I am a Muslim. And before you start screaming now, "Oh my God, she declared herself an unbeliever" - I haven't. Not everything in Europe contradicts Islam. There are loads of cultural aspects that you can perfectly reconcile with Islam. In fact, some aspects of European cultures are even more Islamic than much that is found in many "Eastern" societies (talk about punctuality, bindingness of appointments or lower levels of corruption ... that is if you stay North of the Alps... :P ). 

Like the first Muslims back in the Prophet's time

By holding on to my German identity, I am really not doing anything different than the first Muslims back in the Prophet's time did. They were converts. And carried their (polytheistic) ancestors names, continued to eat their (type of) food and wearing their traditional clothes. They remained a part of society. What we consider essentially Islamic now (names such as Fatima, for example) used to be part of the culture of a polytheistic society. What did the Prophet (Peace be upon him) and his followers do? Did they start to scream, "don't imitate the unbelievers" and change their own ways completely? They didn't. They changed what needed changing and held on to what was acceptable to keep. Fatima stayed Fatima. She was not made change her name into a more "Islamically sounding" name when she converted. 

Islam is bigger than this, it is for everyone

And lastly, don't misunderstand me. I am not asking for big changes. I am not asking for German pasta salad everyday. Have your biryani. I'll share it with you. But don't pretend this was Islam. Don't make us, Muslims and non-Muslims, believe your Pakistani naans or Turkish pides were more appropriate to have in the mosque than my German rye bread. Islam is bigger than that. It is more than just biryani. Let's not belittle this grand religion, let's not veil the universal character it has. Islam is for everyone. Look outside your box, have some compassion and try to walk a bit in my shoes. Leave me some room and let me be who I am. That's all I'm asking for.

.

Palestine in California

.

Californian diary, part 2 (part 1)

As soon as we enter the shop, it smells like Palestine. It must be some of the spices, zaatar perhaps? it's been some time, crazy how odours can take you back to a place thousands of miles away. It smells like zaatar, the butcher behind the meat corner in the back of the shop speaks with an Arab accent and in the background some young Arab woman sings a catchy pop tune on the radio. A little bit of Palestine in California. It's hot outside on the street, April in LA is like August in London, but cool inside the shop, thank God for ACs.

Fresh oranges (60 cent the kilogram ... this is California, baby!), bananas, apples, eggplants, tomatoes, cucumbers, bundles of cilandro, basil and dill are piled up to your right. Deep-frozen meat and sausages, all halal, in the huge freezers to your left. Colourful hijabs and abayahs in one corner; the exact same kind of biscuits my friend from Gaza would have for breakfast in Ramallah in another. Two oversized Easter bunnies look down on us customers from the top of one of the huge shelves. There is one aisle with South Asian spices and specialities and one with Turkish delicatessen, to cater to all those who are kind of from that same corner of the world.

Living in the Southwest of the US of A, in an air-conditioned beige house with a car and a garage in the front and the small garden in the back that no-one ever uses anyway. Living in the Southwest of the US of A, buying a little bit of home. Or what used to be home. Or what used to be my parents' home. Because I have only ever been to Palestine once and when I walked over al-Manara in my baggy jeans they called me al-Amreeki.

.

Ins Blaue hinein

.

Ich fuhr in den Jemen, als das noch möglich war

Ich fuhr in den Jemen, als das noch möglich war. Als noch nicht Nachrichten von Schießereien mitten in Sana'a, in Totschlag ausgeuferte Entführungen und in die Luft gesprengte Ministerien die Runde machten.

Ich fuhr in den Jemen ohne das Land oder seine Bewohner wirklich zu kennen und mit nur minimalem Einblick in die Sprache und Kultur. Ich fuhr alleine in den Jemen, mit Koffer, Handtasche und einem Zettel mit der Adresse meiner Unterkunft und meines Arbeitgebers in der Hand.

Am Flughafen von Sana'a erwarteten mich Hitze und Staub, Gelb und Braun. Von Bergen umringt lag dort die Stadt vor mir, über 2000 Meter auf einem Plateau in der Mitte des Landes gelegen. Sieben Stunden Flug hatten mich von Mitteldeutschland in den Nahen Osten geführt, in die glitzernden Metropolen der Golfstaaten, die es geschafft hatten. Noch eine Stunde Flug später kam ich im Jemen an. 

Als ich die Altstadt sah, wurde mir klar, dass ich vor Jahren ein Bild von Sana'a gesehen hatte, braune Lehmbauten, weiß bemalt, vor graubrauner Gebirgskette, und damals gedacht hatte, "wow, so stellt man sich bei uns 'den Orient' vor". Es gab diese Stadt, es gab dieses Land - das Bild war real, auch wenn es damals, in Deutschland, auf mich klischeehafter gewirkt hatte, als so manche verzerrte Darstellung allens was östlich von Wien liegt.

Aus der Flughafenhalle ins grelle Sonnenlicht, den weißen Staub getreten, verfolgte ich die Ich-bin-Tourist-aber-das-müsst-ihr-ja.nicht-unbedingt-wissen-Taktik. Ahnungsvolles Gesicht aufgesetzt, leicht arrogante Miene gemacht, Kinn hoch, und zielstrebig geradeaus. Wohin ich da lief - keine Ahnung. Ohne nennenswerte Arabischkenntnisse ein Taxi angeheuert. Den Namen meiner Unterkunft konnte ich sagen, das Stadtviertel, und eine Straße, die in der Nähe lag. 

Bis zum Stadtviertel kamen wir. Wie erklärt man einem Taxifahrer, der kein Englisch oder Französisch (Deutsch sowieso nicht) kann, wenn man selbst des Arabischen nicht wirklich mächtig ist, wohin es gehen soll? Eine Telefonnummer hatte ich dabei, aber weder er noch ich ein Mobiltelefon. Zum Glück ist man freundlich im Jemen, hilfsbereit und gastfreundlich, zum Glück war der Mann bereit trotz vorher ausgehandelten Fahrpreises Straße nach Straße zu durchfahren und immer mal wieder nach dem Weg zu fragen.

Gefunden haben wir das Haus schließlich tatsächlich, aber eigentlich bin ich damals in Blaue gefahren, bei meiner ersten Reise in den Jemen.

Lost in Translation

.

“Ooh, Arabic writing is so pretty, I want something deep and meaningful tattooed on me. I’m going to send an email asking for a translation, and then tattoo whatever comes back on my body. Should I check with an actual Arabic speaker before getting the tattoo? Nah, why bother.”

OMG.

Kids, don't try this at home.

(And be careful, too, when you're about to get ... a "Chinese" tattoo...).

Arab is the new Black

 .

The more I think about it, the more I think political art is the answer. (Ok, ONE answer. But one answer we have neglected for much too long.)

The Narcicyst feat. Shadia Mansour

The Narcicyst feat. Shadia Mansour: Hamdulillah

Zum Lesen, Mitsingen und Nachdenken: der Text

Women in the Syrian Crisis

"September 27, 2013, 10:00am - 12:00pm EDT

Location: U.S. Institute of Peace
2301 Constitution Ave, NW Washington, DC 20037

From dismal refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon, to the dangerous Syrian cities and countryside, Syrian women are on the frontlines daily -- some as freedom fighters and as mothers, others as civil society activists and political change agents.

Nadim Shehadi, at the London-based think tank Chatham House, suggests that the role of women in this revolution is indispensable and that the opposition cannot succeed without them. Indeed, most wars are not fought by men alone, but rarely do we give credence to women's efforts in war and peace.

In that light, 13 years ago, the U.N. Security Council passed Resolution 1325 to ensure that the world recognizes the inordinate burden of war on women as well as their critical role in peacebuilding.

On Friday, September 27th the U.S. Institute of Peace, in coordination with the International Republican Institute's Women's Democracy Network and Hivos, will host an expert discussion with Syrian women leaders who will highlight women's roles in the current political context and the challenges they face.

The panel will feature:

Sabah Alhalak, Panelist

Syrian's Women's League

Dr. Bassma Kodmani, Panelist

Arab Reform Initiative and Syrian Women's Network

Oula Ramadan, Panelist

Syrian Women's Network

Steve Heydemann, Moderator

U.S. Institute of Peace

Manal Omar, Discussant

U.S. Institute of Peace

Kathleen Kuehnast, Welcome and Introductions

U.S. Institute of Peace

Video, still photography, and audio recording are not permitted at this event.

Inquiries

Please contact Shannon Zimmerman at 202-429-3822 or szimmerman@usip.org with any general questions about this event.

Media Journalists should contact Steven Ruder at sruder@usip.org or Allison Sturma at asturma@usip.org."

Zukunftsorte Europas: Der Mittelmeerraum

.

Photo: CIA / Joy

 

"Der Mittelmeerraum war und ist für viele Menschen nicht nur ein beliebtes Reiseziel, sondern seit Jahrhunderten eine Quelle intellektueller, kultureller und wissenschaftlicher Inspiration. Aktuell ist die Wahrnehmung des Mittelmeerraums vor allem mit Stichworten wie Krise, Konflikt und Protestbewegungen verbunden. Doch ist nicht vielleicht die „Krise des Südens" auch ein Ausgangspunkt für neue Impulse in der Region und für die Europäische Union? Im Rahmen des Jahresthemas 2013|14 der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften  findet am 24. September die öffentliche Abendveranstaltung "Zukunftsorte Europas: Der Mittelmeerraum" statt, zu der wir Sie herzlich einladen möchten:

Dienstag, 24. September 2013, 18 Uhr 

Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften 

Akademiegebäude am Gendarmenmarkt, Leibniz-Saal, 

Markgrafenstraße 38, 10117 Berlin 

Der Eintritt ist frei. Eine Anmeldung bis zum 16. September 2013 unter jahresthema@bbaw.de ist erforderlich. 

Begrüßung
Christoph Markschies
Vizepräsident der Akademie Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin 

Mittelmeer als Mythos
Rémi Brague
Universität Paris 1 und Ludwigs-Maximilians-Universität München 

Zukunft im Süden? Für einen neuen Regionalismus in Europa
Claus Leggewie
Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut Essen 

Moderation
Ilyas Saliba
Kollegiat des Studienkollegs zu Berlin 2012/13 

Der französische Philosoph Rémi Brague („Europa – seine Kultur, seine Barbarei“) zeigt mit seiner ideengeschichtlichen Perspektive auf, wie das Mittelmeer seit Jahrzehnten Träumen verschiedenster Färbung Vorschub leistet, wobei die Mythisierung der Vergangenheit eine rosafarbige Zukunft des Dialogs der Kulturen plausibel machen soll. Ein Blick auf die wirkliche Geschichte dieses Raumes zwingt einen zu einer nüchterneren Sicht unserer vergangenen, heutigen und möglichen Lage. Der Politikwissenschaftler Claus Leggewie, Autor des Buches „Zukunft im Süden", analysiert die aktuelle Problematik des Südens, lange Zeit die bevorzugte Himmelsrichtung der Deutschen. Mittlerweile gilt die mediterrane Peripherie als Problem- und Gefahrenzone. In seinem Vortrag beleuchtet er Themen, Institutionen und Instrumente einer neuen „Süd-Politik“ und skizziert ein neues Europa der Regionen als Alternative zu Zentralismus und Postdemokratie. 

Die Veranstaltungsreihe „Zukunftsorte Europas“ stellt bekannte und überraschende „Zukunftsorte“ Europas vor. In jeweils zwei Vorträgen diskutieren Wissenschaftler, Experten und Studierende die historischen Entwicklungen sowie aktuelle Perspektiven und Zukunftsfragen ausgewählter Orte und Regionen Europas."

Reise nach Iran

 .

Von Singapore über Dubai in den Iran

Außerdem bin ich diese Woche auf die Geschichte von Mandy gestoßen. Mandy Tay aus Singapore, die in Dubai lebt und sich eines Tages in den Flieger setzt und in den Iran reist. Dort erforscht sie alleine das Land, trifft wunderbare Menschen und erlebt eine Region, die offen, freundlich und wunderschön ist. 

Nicht nur Atombombe, Schleierzwang, Holocaustleugnung

Und natürlich ist das nicht der Iran, natürlich könnte man auch ein (oder eine ganze Menge) Videos drehen, in denen es um all die schrecklichen Dinge geht, die im Iran vor sich gehen, aber in einer Zeit, in der wer "Iran" hört an Atombomben, Schleierzwang und Holocaustleugnung denkt (und fertig!), braucht es auch solche Geschichten - Geschichten wie die von Mandy Tay.

Nahost, Deutschland, Palästina, Berlin

.

"Schildkrötenwut"

Biografie/Dokumentarfilm und Diskussion

Am  4.9.2013 um 19:30 im ZK/U, Siemensstraße 27-49, Berlin - Moabit

"14 km - the shortest distance between North Africa and Europe e.V. und das ZK/U laden herzlich ein zum zweiten Filmabend im Rahmen unserer Arabischen Film- und Diskussionsreihe. Am 4. September um 19:30 Uhr zeigen wir "Schildkrötenwut" (2012, 69 min,Sprache: Deutsch/Arabisch mit dt. Untertiteln) und freuen  uns auf eine anschließende Diskussion zu Palästina. 

Der Dokumentarfilm von Pary El-Qalqili erzählt die Geschichte ihres eigenen Vaters, eines in Deutschland lebenden Palästinensers. Die Filmautorin versucht zu verstehen, warum ihr Vater seine Familie in Berlin zurückließ, um sich in Palästina ein neues Leben aufzubauen, Jahre später aber wieder nach Deutschland zurückkehrte und seitdem im Keller des Hauses lebt, zurückgezogen wie eine Schildkröte in ihrem Panzer. Durch viele Fragen sowie eine gemeinsame Reise nach Palästina bemüht sich Pary El-Qalqili, ihrem Vater näher zu kommen und beleuchtet gleichzeitig seine innere Verlorenheit und schwierige Identitätssuche. 

Vor dem Hintergrund des Films haben Sie anschließend Gelegenheit, mit Palästina-stämmigen Moabiter/innen sowie mit Musa El-Qalqili, dem Vater der Regisseurin, über die Situation von palästinensischen Migranten zu sprechen. Gemeinsam möchten wir auch die (tatsächliche und potentielle) deutsche Rolle erörtern: Was macht Deutschland zur Schlichtung des Nahostkonflikts und zur Verbesserung der Situation von Palästinenser/innen? Was könnte die deutsche Gesellschaft in diesem Zusammenhang tun? (Moderation: Anja Gebel, 14 km e.V.)

Die Teilnahme ist frei, um eine freiwillige Spende wird gebeten. 

In regelmäßigen Abständen zeigen wir Filme, die sich mit verschiedenen arabischen Ländern beschäftigen und diskutieren anschließend mit Gästen aus Moabit sowie mit Länder-Experten über die Filme und die aktuelle soziale und politische Situation im jeweiligen Land, immer auch mit Bezug zu Nord-Süd-Verhältnissen. Unser erster Film beschäftigte sich mit den sozialen Dynamiken, die zur Revolution in Ägypten geführt haben."

Link zur Veranstaltung: hier.

Ein Abend mit Freunden

Mounir aus [Land in Südasien] ist zu Besuch. Er hat back home ein Business und überlegt, hier in Deutschland Handelspartner zu finden, eine Repräsentanz in Europa aufzubauen. Hier gewesen ist er noch nie, aber er hat gute Freunde und Verwandte, die enge Beziehungen zu Deutschland haben, selbst Jahre lang hier gelebt haben, die Sprache sprechen. 

Ein paar Sätze Deutsch

Vor Jahren hat Mounir sogar mal einen oder zwei Deutschkurse in [Land in Südasien] absolviert - und Deutsch ist in diesem Teil der Welt wirklich keine Fremdsprache, die es populär wäre, zu lernen. Ein paar Sätze und Phrasen sind hängen geblieben und die bringt Mounir mit einem Lachen immer mal wieder in die Konversation ein. Er ist wie so viele Südasiaten, die ich kenne - redet gerne und viel, lacht laut und ist eigentlich immer zu spät. 

Einladung zum Essen

Nachdem er einen Nachmittag bei uns eingeladen war, folgt bald die Rückeinladung. Wir sollen doch kommen - und die Freunde, die er an jenem Nachmittag bei uns kennen gelernt hat, auch mitbringen. So machen das Lieschen, meine Freundin Victoria, ihr Mann Soheil und die kleine Amina uns auf den Weg in den Vorort von [der Stadt, in der ich in Deutschland wohne].

Kuchen, Saft, Datteln und Brezeln

Mounir begrüßt uns herzlich, sein Cousin Ahmad, den sie Mo nennen - das Essen ist natürlich längst noch nicht fertig, aber wir werden mit Kuchen, Saft, Datteln und Brezeln versorgt. Als das Essen fast fertig ist, strömt ein Duft durch die Wohnung, der mich daran erinnert, wie sehr ich südasiatisches Essen vermisst habe, in der letzten Zeit in Deutschland. So ist das. Hier vermisse ich Chicken Karahi, Palak Paneer und Mango Lassi - und zurück in England sehne ich mich nach 'nem vernünftigem Döner, gescheitem Brot - und Cornichons. 

Chicken Karahi mit türkischem Fladenbrot

Das Essen ist vorzüglich, Chicken Karahi und ein vegetarisches Gericht mit Kartoffeln hat Mounir gezaubert - mangels südasiatischem Brot essen wir es mit türkischem Fladenbrot. Ich hatte viel erwartet, aber nicht, dass Mounir so verdammt gut kochen kann. Nach dem Essen gibt es meethai, noch mehr Marmorkuchen, Datteln und schließlich schneidet Mounir noch eine Wassermelone auf. Und Tee natürlich, English breakfast tea - ganz südasiatisch mit viel Zucker und Milch.

Deutschland, Südasien, Golf ... Deutschland

Wir sind eine bunte Runde. Mounirs Cousin Mo hat seine Schulzeit in Deutschland verbracht, in [Südasien] studiert und dort auch einige Jahre gearbeitet, bis er in die Arabischen Emirate gegangen ist, wo er jahrelang im Finanzsektor gearbeitet hat. Seit einiger Zeit ist er wieder in Deutschland - auch nach über zehn Jahren im Ausland ist Deutschland Heimat geblieben. Meine Freundin Victoria ist Deutsche, vor Jahren zum Islam übergetreten. 

Deutschland, Syrien, Ägypten, Belgien, Irland ... Deutschland

Ihr Mann Soheil stammt aus Lybien, ist in Deutschland geboren und hier aufgewachsen. Auch die beiden haben die letzten fünf Jahre im Ausland verbracht - zum Arabisch Lernen in Syrien und Ägypten, zum Studium in Belgien und Irland - und sind erst seit Kurzem wieder in Deutschland. Mo ist auf Jobsuche, er will wieder bei einer Bank arbeiten, Victoria ist Lehrerin, Soheil promoviert. Nur Mounir hat den größten Teil seines Lebens in Südasien verbracht.

Politik, Bildung, Gesellschaft, Kultur

Über Essen, Nachtisch und Tee diskutieren wir. Politische Lage in Syrien, Ägypten, Tunesien, Südasien; Bildung, Kultur und Werteerziehung in Deutschland, der arabischen Welt und Osteuropa; Dankbarkeit; humanitäre Hilfe in Südostasien; Mechanismen der Medienberichterstattung; über Christen in Südasien und Muslime in Europa; wie es ist, dazuzugehören und doch außen vorzustehen; wer die Verantwortung (und Möglichkeit) hat, für Minderheiten einzutreten und einen positiven Beitrag für ein friedliches Miteinander zu leisten - der Staat, die Zivilgesellschaft oder die Minderheiten selbst? Mos Bericht über eine Begegnung mit der Grenzpolizei am Flughhafen von [einer deutschen Stadt] ("Sind Sie Muslim? Beten Sie? Können Sie ein Flugzeug steuern?") ruft Kopfschütteln und lautes Gelächter aus.

"Noch ein Wort und - "

Wir warten bis alle fertig sind mit wudu, dann beten wir zusammen im Wohnzimmer. Vorher räumt Victoria noch die Spülmaschine ein und ich helfe ihr ein bisschen - als unsere Gastgeber das mitbekommen, folgt ein höflich-insistierendes "Aber nein das muss doch nicht sein ihr seid doch unsere Gäste bitte lasst das". Einer der Männer, ich glaube Mounir, scherzt: "Ach, die machen doch nur ihren Job" - worauf er die Antwort bekommt: "Noch ein Wort, mein Freundchen, und wir räumen alles wieder aus!" Gelächter. Wir beten. Und machen uns zweieinhalb Stunden später auf den Weg als es eigentlich geplant war. Ein Stück Fahrt durch die Nacht, und bald sind wir wieder zu Hause.

Afghan and Palestinian rap: Soosan Firooz and Shadia Mansour

.

It's by coincidence that I came across a music video by Afghani female rapper Soosan Firooz (for some reason I'm having difficulties embedding the video into the blog post, but you'll find it - with English subtitles - under the link above).

Somehow, Soosan Firooz reminds me of Palestinian rapper Shadia Mansour:

Ramadan global

  .

 - 6. Ramadan - 
.

Bilder, die zeigen, wie Muslime auf der ganzen Welt Ramadan begehen, beten, fasten und feiern findet man jedes Jahr wieder in "westlichen" Zeitungen. Und jedes Mal bin ich wieder fasziniert. Wie oft wird doch davon ausgegangen, dass Muslime weltweit doch irgendwie alle gleich seien - schließlich teilen sie die Religion.

Virtuelle Reise um die Welt

Wie oft vergessen wir, dass der Islam keineswegs nur in der Türkei, dem Iran und arabischen Staaten verbreitet ist, sondern fast überall auf der Welt Muslime leben und ihre Religion praktizieren - auf oft ganz unterschiedliche Art und Weise. Indonesien, Pakistan, Dubai, Frankreich, Serbien, Jemen, Palästina, Türkei - diese Bilderserie nimmt mit auf eine Reise um die Welt.

Vertraute Bilder

Beim Durchsehen der Bilder kam mir vieles vertraut vor, hatte ich doch in einigen der gezeigten Länder selbst schon Ramadan verbracht. Ein Text ist mir wieder eingefallen, den ich vor zwei Jahren für Muslime Helfen geschrieben habe - zu genau dem Thema, nämlich wie in Ländern rund um die Welt, all den Ländern, in denen ich in den letzten Jahren Ramadan verbracht habe, gefastet und gefeiert wird.

Ramadan in Paris, Bulgarien, London, Palästina, Indien...

Wie also feiert man Ramadan in ... Westdeutschland, Bulgarien, Ostdeutschland, Paris, Palästina, Indien, Pakistan, London? Hier geht es zu meinem in drei (eins, zwei, drei) Teilen veröffentlichten Text auf der Webseite von Muslime Helfen!

It could have been any of us

 .

A 31 year old mother stabbed to death in front of her three year old son.
A child who dies in his mother's womb before he is born.
A husband shot by security guards arriving at the scene who thought he, the Arab, was the attacker.
A court room which becomes the site of a heinous crime (when did they wash away the pool of blood?).
A media landscape which, in the aftermath of the killing, keeps on reporting about a "tragic incident" without mentioning the anti-Islamic, xenophobic elements of the attack (because Islamophobia doesn't exit).
A chancellor who ignores the murder for a week, then offers her condolences to the President of Egypt, and the family of the murdered, without addressing the Muslims of Germany, too (because clearly, we were not concerned at all). 

Marwa El-Sherbini 

7 October 1977 - 1 July 2009

 إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعونَ

We will never forget

The dark side of Dubai

"Most people know Dubai for its massive skyscrapers and luxurious hotels, but few know that the city was built by modern-day slaves."

Als Muslime Juden retteten

In einer Zeit, in der kleine Türken in Deutschland Männer mit Kippa auf der Straße als Drecksjuden beschimpfen, weil sie denken, das wäre in Ordnung so; in der man als Muslim in so manchem Teil Jerusalems oder Tel Aviv Angst haben muss, heil wieder raus zu kommen; in der Muhammads in Südfrankreich kleine Myriams ermorden; in der muslimische Organisationen in Berlin Schwierigkeiten haben, jüdische Kooperationspartner für Dialogsprojekte zu finden, weil das Misstrauen zu groß ist - in einer solchen Zeit lohnt es sich - auch wenn es keine neue Info ist - mal wieder an eine Zeit zu erinnern, in der Muslime Juden vor denen, die ihnen nach dem Leben trachteten, und ihren Verbündeten retteten. Zurzeit in London zu sehen: eine Ausstellung zum Thema.