Patti Smith song for Qana

This song is not on Qana.
It's for Qana.

http://www.pattismith.net/audio/qana.mp3

hoping there won't be sad songs to sing in this part of the world anymore
hoping children will start singing again.

They say the war might not be over... yet peace still feels so real; today is a new day.
Hope is strong .

this is for all the blood that lies under.
this is for the small yet resilient flowers that will pierce our winter snow; small flowers never seen before.
this is for all the hope that survives.

Let us remember and live for those who died.

"The miracle is Love" ... (Patty Smith)

Farewell gift?

Sunday August 13th, 2006

I heard them fall, the smoke rose to my place...I knew it was another horror...
No electricity again... I wait... And this is what I find:

These are the news as showed on tayyar.org, I have inverted some of the order so that you'd understand the real chronology:

15: 05: The Israeli government, in a press conference, agrees to the UN resolution for the cease fire.

14:53: 20 Israeli air raids fall in ONE minute on the area of Rweiss in South Beirut

15:10: Many buildings are destroyed in what is qualified as the most violent air strike on Lebanon since the beginning of the conflict.


Now for those who still think Israel is targetting Hizbollah, as if the previous news were not enough...

15:52: air strike destroys paper factory in Neemeh
15:55: air strike destroys tyre factory in Joon

16:10. I watch skynews reporting on the strikes in South Beirut, where 6 families are reported so far to be under the ruins. I watch in awe as they still use the expression "Hizbollah stronghold".

For those who think the conflict is over, please follow the news.
A part of me fears that this war might be over...for it will never be.
It only means more impunity for the state of Israel.
It only means another forgotten war on an entire civilian population
It only means another 1000 civilians turned into figures.

Now i understand how some inidividuals spend their lives or give their lives defending just one cause...Unlike the world, they don't forget.

Marjeyoon.

In the town of Marjeyoon in the South, a centre gathered the different army and police officers and soldiers that were stranded in the area.
The Lebanese government took their weapons (for their own protection, so that they wouldn't be tempted to defend their lives) and appointed them to protect the civilian population of the area. And so the fleeing civilians found shelter in this place, protected by weaponless heartful soldiers.

Estimations say there were 300 to 400 persons in the centre, all civilians and unarmed officers.

On August 19th 2006, the day before yesterday, the Israelis invaded the town of Marjeyoon.
After having gone through an attempted ambush in a part of the village, they crossed the whole village and decided to take all of the centre's population as hostages.

The minister of interior had contacted the police and army forces and asked those amongst them who had individual weapons (i.e. guns) to give them to the UNIFIL so that they do not get killed whilst faced to the Israelis. And this is what happened.

And the Israelis surrounded this gunless, weaponless group of helpless soldiers and civilians.

Yesterday, after local and foreign interventions, the Israeli troops agreed to let the police and army forces and civilians leave the centre. Some of the civilians chose to stay behind...

A long convoy of cars was thus allowed to leave the village and the embargo to "safety land"...
They were escorted by the Red Cross.

The Israelis first bombed the road on the convoy's way out of the village.
The road was quickly covered so that the convoy would still make it through. It was said god was on their side...

I was watching the news regularely to check on them...They announced the convoy left the village... A deep breath and a smile... They are safe...

But they did not make it very far. For the Israelis have no friend, no ally, and no particular ennemy, which makes everyone in danger.

In the town of Kerfraya, the planes hit the convoy. The same convoy they had allowed to flee.
7 civilians were killed, more than 40 wounded.
One of the casualties is a first aider from the red cross.

i stare at the television in disbelief.
i watch the faces of these red cross volunteers, filled with nobleness, with pride, with selflessness and immense sorrow... they must have felt they failed the people. They must have felt they failed their companion.
How can one tell them it is so untrue...

This war is just meant to make us feel how alone we are and that our lives are worth nothing... they can be taken whilst the whole world watches.

Bravo IDF. You are a noble ennemy.

Remote resistance.

August 8th, 2006

"Now we know that the world after you is not enough"...
This is how i feel... this poem addresses Beirut and i have heard it too many times when there "was war"; when i was 13.

i spoke to the only childhood friend i am still in touch with yesterday.
i have very little friends left after this war.
I seem to be "unecessarily provoking" people; so i decided to stop because I understand they would want to burry their guilt under layers of denial...

she is now pregnant. Before the war, she was running around everyday buying things for her child to come.. and now she said to me: the whole day passes sometimes and i forget he is coming soon...

noone deserves to have his happiness turned to emptiness...
Reversed wombs... this war is all about reversed wombs; emptying children ...emptying hope...

i used to meet with this girl and another friend of ours, each time in a different house, and we used to produce pamphlets that we wrote with our hands, hundreds of them...
pamphlets to incite people to resist; those were the days where the syrians were occupying Lebanon. Those were the days where we had an innocent dream.
We were only sixteen back then; we used to go off late at night and then at dawn behind our parents' backs for they did not need to know their precious girls were in "the resistance".. and we used to distribute these words, over entire areas... walking to get there...

we got caught many times; there were many times we had to run for our cover...
these words were not as worthy as we thought; they did not free Lebanon.
Yet, we felt different from the rest; we felt we were trying to do a small change with our small hands; that if a hundred persons read us, one at least would feel something, or would know that someone cares...

Later on, there was the cedars revolution and 2 million persons went down on the streets.. i don't think it was the pamphlets...they were all different.
i know today it was just a small awakening before another long sleep.

i know there are many Lebanese who share my vacuum.
i know there are many people who are making a change and fighting this nothingness...

i just wanted to say to my friend that it is people like her and her child to come who will make the world enough for all of us after this...
these small children are our resistance... and i hope they will never have to write pamphlets in their lives...

Music and tragedy.

To add the last touch to our tragedy

they sent us a few days ago a group of egyptian actors...

Has any of you ever watched an egyptian movie?
Well, unless it says comedy, you are always guaranteed tragedy and a lot of tears (when you are not sharing the tears it gets a bit annoying to hear them after a while).
Violent scenes would contain head buts quite similar to what you got to witness during the last worldcup ...
And then, only more tragedy.
A knotless plot... A plotless knot: those are egyptian movies in my head.

When i was very young, i used to watch them in secret.
my cousin who was older used to severely punish me if she caught me doing it: she thought they were cheesy and tragic..

Judging on the colours and content of my blog, i would say i did not fail her; i am today the cheerful person she hoped i would become!

To make a long story short, please don't send anymore egyptian actors.
First our prime minister is not acting; he is sincere, and plus he already has a job.

We answer the straight and cold faces of people such as Gillerman with tears;
Although some would say they'll laugh at our weakness, I think it is a necessity to cry today.
If only to prove to ourselves , and not to others, that we are still sane...
we are still real...
we are still Human...

Let's stand up to cruelty with warmth.
To heartless faces with faceless hearts...

And to erase the taste of drama, I will recommand an article on music in Beirut I had read on Haaretz. "when the last note sounds on peace"...
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo=749085&contrassID=2&subContrassID=11&sbSubContrassID=0&listSrc=Y

It is simply beautiful although so sad...

to all the beating hearts on both sides of this conflict...
Shut your ears.
open your eyes and hearts instead : only then you will hear...

Third world war.

i saw on CNN the other day pictures of Israeli pilots giving high fives after the success of their strikes on the bridges next to my house.

Gillerman had said a week before when Israel apologized for Qana's massacre that Israel bleads when Lebanese civilians die... whilst Hizbollah dances on roof tops when Israeli civilians die.

there are no roof top left to dance on and anyway I don't see anyone dancing.

The high fives and the smiles on those "heroes"' faces broke my heart even more than the civilians being taken out of the ruins from under those bridges...

I wept for them before weaping for our dead.

Because the world, not matter what loss it grieves, will survive a Lebanese civilian's death.
But what I fear is that the world will not survive the loss of its own humanity.

This is the beginning of the third world war... this is the beginning of what will be our end.

The lemon truck...

Today I saw the proof of this world's insanity.
The horror of this war, but mostly its absurdity.

On the highway, a lemon truck passed by carrying a white flag on its antenna.

These are the days where lemon trucks have to drive fast and carry white flags...

Even fruits are not allowed in this part of the world that hosts terrorist children, terrorist mothers, terrorist bridges, and terrorist fruits...

Awaited american dream that will carry the solution to us soon...
A new middle-East with less fruits on one side... and more weapons on the other.

if you cannot see a thing, do not worry. This is gemayzeh today: what used to be one of the liveliest streets.

Somewhere in this darkness, there is a picture of a famous journalist , Gebran Tueni, that died in the name of democracy last year...

Small corners live on...

An E. Pelvis D.J. puts up the volume...

the bombs are not there anymore.

"A place where everybody knows your name"

Tomorrow...

Have been going out for the past two nights.

There were many books written about the strange Lebanese phenomenon...
studies to try to understand why the Lebanese would live war during the day and party at night.

It seems more writers were interested in the partying bit than in the war itself.

I do not see why not.
Just to spite the world...

I saw why not on a night I went up to the Keserouan mountains.
that is the only time i felt ashamed of belonging here. fancy cars and restaurants and night clubs that quickly moved from Beirut and relocated themselves in the Kesrouan ... where the more priviliged get to drown the war, for it is not their war apparently...

i would not be surprised if they closed that area one day: only the chosen ones go in.
Actually i do hope they do close it one day.
for the only thing i share with them is the mutual urge to forget each other and pretend the other does not exist.

Gemmayzeh, Beirut at night.
The streets that were once, one month ago, filled with hippies and writers and singers and dancers and mostly wannabes, are now deprived of even the memory of those people who passed by...
for they left no imprint...

and then there was a small corner "Torino express"; open.. alive.. together with two small other pubs.

And my brother , my own "Ambassador E. Pelvis", was being a DJ for the last time.

For E. Pelvis leaves tomorrow...

Not on a jet plane, not even on a boat. Boats are for others.
He crosses a bridgless roadless path to Syria... and then... i don't know.

Excuse me, I have to wear a brave face now.

Tomorrow Rani leaves.
Tomorrow Rani leaves.
Tonight i will go to peaceful sleep knowing he is still here somewhere around.

tomorrow there will only be an A bit left of me.

Good morning Lebanon!

Did not sleep again last night.
Beirut was heavily bombed.
What remains of my family is shattered.
My parents have become, in the old tradition of good maronites, mountain hermits.
My brother is living in the centre of the city with his friends
And then there is me. i don’t even know where I am every night.

After having fallen asleep at last, in my own bed, and thank god for the Israelis for that one.
You see, unlike the Syrians who had small bombs that would cross only a few walls max,
The Israelis have big bombs.

Big bombs that can cross any wall, any womb, any ground.
So, one would rather sleep in his own bed under Israeli bombing for there is no place to hide.
Gone is the time of stair cases and small rooms that would be in a safe-r part of the house!

I hated those mattresses and those places that were not my bed.

Thank you the Israelis for making sure to maintain our ways of living and for keeping us in our beds.

Sleepless nights are the price to pay now… As if day light makes you safe. I wait for daylight to fall asleep.

So I fell asleep with daylight.

But! Surprise!
Their mothers must have told them they should always surprise a lady to keep her passion alive.

And good morning Lebanon!
Two air strikes next to my house!
Two bridges fell down.

They waited for daylight…Why did they wait for morning traffic to bomb them?
It kept running through my mind…. They have enough technology to hit the bridges by night and not cause any casualties…

And boom boom! No time to think!
Another two bridges on the road north.

The phone starts ringing! The landline.
mobiles are gone again.
-Leave the house! Leave the house now! They will hit the electricity station!
Go down to south Beirut!

I wonder if my mother’s sanity will be safe from this war.
I wonder if she realizes she is advising her only daughter to go down to south Beirut, whilst the roads are being struck.

She and my father have seen too many lives broken. She has lost too much , and now…

- No mom, I am safer out of roads. And I don’t have a car. How will I move on the streets right now?
- Ok, then pack you bag and wait in a safe part of the house

- Yes, there is a safe corner I know (not)…

I start receiving more calls.
My brain , my adrenaline. I want to go up to the roof and see.
The bastards, this is my town!

More air raids.
Duck! Or maybe not.
Just wait and light another cigarette. They apparently know what they’re doing.

There are more casualties being announced on TV.

now I found it!
They bomb during the day so that when they release their beautiful and artistic video tapes of the strikes , they can show a small truck passing by.
An alleged terrorist hizbollah guerilla truck carrying weapons!... ???

Beautiful invention: google earth!
In the world, in the west, in the states, in the white house, a smart man in pyjamas will speak of self defense and fighting terrorism.
In the world, the same world, in the east, in Lebanon, all over, we will know it was a truck carrying bread to Beirut.
I know now there is a family stuck in a car under the ruins of one of the bridges they hit.

Here, the TV anchor just announced a person was killed in a van… a citizen.
Brilliant mind; men adapt to their awaited tragedies.
Probably carrying bread…

Jean Valjan! Les miserables! We all are Jean valjan. .. Our lives for bread.

I finish my cigarette. I can hear the planes. Where will they go? where will we go?

Well, what does it matter?
We are all targeted, south and north, east and west.

But mostly, we are all the same. all one.
Kill one and you kill us all. ..Although they would rather kill us all.

Good morning Tel aviv!
Thank you for a beautiful day!

I don't want to free Jerusalem.

i don't want to free Jerusalem.

an idiot just said on TV that this is happening so that we understand a bit of what the palestinians are feeling in Gaza and the West Bank.
I personaly had at least 14 out of my 28 years to understand...
1978 was not a good year in this part of the world.. my world.

I don't want to free Palestine
I don't want to change the world

I would if i could
with my small means and my small hands and what remains of my small heart

but i just want a country of my own
i want my family reunited
i want not to hear my mother's tears on the phone
i want to live myself to death

i want to help others and know i am not on a death row ... "carrying my coffin on my shoulder"...courting others to their coffins

i want to be something other than a victim on TV
a trapped person in a trapped population in a trapped country

i want the cameras to stop rolling

i want to have my intimate moments back

i want to die with the ones i love
away from reporters and sad tragedies and narratives

i want our lives to stop being frozen on cameras... under ruines.
i want the world to stop watching

i want my sea back
i want my house back

i want time to go back... i want time to go forth.

i just want my country back.

is that too much to ask?

We will be again.

وحياة اللي راحوا واللي صاروا الحنين"
وحياتِك يا أرضي ويا تاريخي الحزين

يا رفيقي اللي استشهد
يا شعبي اللي تشرّد

رح نرجع نتلاقى
رح نرجع نتوحّد

" وعد عليّ يا شعبي السجين

Does love live where war is?

"Life is a dream; the awakening kills us", Virginia Wolf.

When I was young, I dreamt of writing plays.
That was what i wanted to do before i decided to save the world
(and here i should quote my great inspiration Brain from the cartoon "pinky and the brain" who says in answer to pinky's question, his fellow mouse and one follower who inhabits the same laboratory cage:
Pinky: - "Brain, what are we going to do tonight?
Brain: - Conquer the world! like every night! )

so as a young person growing up, i wrote my first play.
My first and last play...
it spoke of a young man who dreamt since he was young he would walk on water one day.
He had read about a man called Jesus and was convinced he was not the son of god, but just a human, one who believed in the magic and infinite capacities of humanity...

He dreamt he too would walk on water one day...

when he finds the sea...for he hadn't seen the sea in his life.

And he finds his sea one day.

And he walks on it...for a brief while before he drowns.

that is love...
that is war...
the beauty and reality of becoming one with the universe , the beauty of finding out what really matters...before we drown.

love grows in war.
it defies all natural odds.
when humans become unhuman and men start to kill each other...
only then can a human being love from all his heart.
when the world has turned inside out and no reversed womb can host a lonesome soul...

the wonder of a heart that heals the world, and heals wounds that are not supposed to heal.

it is the key out of this world and back to this world again.

A very dear friend of mine asked me a few days ago how i was feeling.
and when i asked back, she hesitated before she said ok.
i asked again, thinking she was not.
and she said: i am perfectly happy! i am in love! but i just feel guilty because everyone is dying and suffering around me...and i should be in pain too... but i am not. simply because i am in love.

this is a tribute to the simple truth of her words that reminded me of what i had.
this is a reminder for us in pain that there is still something that awaits.
that my heart is still alive.
i hope yours is too.

Tribute to our army

This is a picture i took this morning.
it's a picture of an army position/check point deep in the North of Lebanon, close to the Northern border with Syria.
Which makes it the furthest point from the Israeli border.

Still it was destroyed;
the gain?
if i knew, i would understand this war.

wounded soldiers, fathers, brothers and sons.

This is a small tribute to these everyday heroes that know not how to fight
that go without weapons, without planes and without a cause ,
waiting for the next plane to come...

A small tribute to their brave pure hearts for they are pure
a tribute to the women and the fathers and the sons and daughters that await them home.

These civilians dressed in deadly suits
and walking to their death with faces that shine and hearts that do not go forgotten.

Promises and hope

The ceasefire is about to end. A few hours more of "peace" promised by the Israeli government.

I have not slept for two nights;
they promised to stop shooting (which they did not fully stop, of course since they have the right to target suspicious objects on roads... such as aid trucks...)
but they did not promise not to make us pay the price of the promise.

on the first night i fell asleep at only 4 am because the planes were so low, so close...
i thought they were coming home...
i thought my home was no longer mine...

on the second night, the first night had left its memory carved in my tired body, and my tired body could no longer surrender to sleep.

when i was a child, i used to be haunted by a fear for my brother.
my brother had the ability to sleep through all kind of noise
and my greatest fear was to be unable to wake him up one night... when our house was hit.
and it was always a matter of one night away...

is it my same fear revisited that has been keeping me from sleeping for two weeks now?
the electricity station is a constant presence, a constant promise of an absence.

have i began, having lost the practice of war through 16 years of peace, fearing for my own life?

this cannot be.... for it used to be our pride...
that my mother used to mock the bombs and still sleep in her bed... because it was Her bed...
the stair case is not as confortable when you're a child and you know your mother is sleeping in her bed.

in my mind, if i closed my eyes, i used to see her bed hanging in the sky... a star shaped bed in a mine filled sky.

those days are gone.
the days where you hear the sounds of bombs from far and you sing and go into the shower hoping the sounds will go away.

one day, peace came.

i don't even remember how.
i don't remember having celebrated the way i should have.
i regret it now.

i only remember many tears.
for the syrians came in with peace.

and the price of our freedom had been the bombs. blessed bombs that they were; carrying a promise of freedom, a promise of hope.

blessed bombs, blessed promises of better days to come, blessed promises of parks and dogs and happiness...

Having to face this happiness was maybe harder than facing the bombs.
for i knew exactly what to do in the face of bombs...
but happiness??
and now?

now i know there is something else.
now i have met those children from the books i used to read
now i have seen those countries where you can ride a bicycle to work

now the bombs are taking something away from me...
something i no longer await.
what more can i await?