From the Archives: The Re-Birth of a Nation...

"Liberty and union, one and inseparable, now and forever!"


I keep having this recurring thought: After the celebrations end, the CNN troops withdraw from the land, and the sentimental speeches from foreign heads of state come to a close, what is left?

Over 300 dead shahidin minimized to a statue erected in their honour?
Spatially, a downtown square already envisioned as the Freedom Square, re-crowned "Tahrir Sq."?
An already ailing, aged ruler whose fatal flaw has been pride and a reluctance to acknowledge reality?
A power vacuum, leaving the "new Egypt" vulnerable to whomever has the loudest voice?
And a nation of almost 85 million who never imagined that they would live to see such radical change in a country


February 14, 2011

Selves Delusion

 “And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.”

― Khalil Gibran, The Madman: His Parables and Poems 

______________________________


It's a cool September evening with rain looming in the forecast and the phantom presence of summer lingering in the air; ****** and I have unintentionally embarked on another one of our dérives. As our legs carry us onward through Scarborough with almost no direction, he leads the conversation into a new-ish topic.

"Not to get too morbid or anything, but do you ever think about what people will remember of you, you know, when you're gone?"

"Of course. I thought everyone did..."

"Well, what do you think they'll remember?"

"Hmm...Inaccuracies."
 

_________________________________

“My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear--a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.”

_______________________________ 


I contemplate this exchange between ****** and I over and over again for the days following. I've quickly come to appreciate the ways in which our conversations manifest themselves into endless thoughts long after we've parted ways. Beyond that, I appreciate the sense of freedom as we mutually expel the ideas that can otherwise cause undue alarm among the others. The more I consider it, the more I can conclude that the source of my comfort lies in the fact that there are versions of myself than can exist unrestricted in the company of this friend. My fear isn't necessarily that those versions don't feel safe when shown to the others--or, any less safe than the rest of my selves--but that they might somehow endanger those they're exposed to. I've employed a new strategy over the last number of years in anticipation of this disconcertedness: show the most challenging versions of myself right away and see if they'll run. This seems to have worked out even better than I imagine...few remain. But then, what about the stubborn ones--the ones who wholeheartedly cling to versions of me I don't even recognize.

I can hear Don Draper's raspy voice uttering those lines about people showing us who they are and our failure to believe those versions, because "we want them to be who we want them to be."


_________________________________ 

“I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I do--for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my deeds thy own hopes in action.”

_________________________________ 



Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by the absolute boring-ness of the selves others have construed of me, I can't begin to imagine how these versions can satisfy them. Perhaps there is an element of self-delusion at play in this claim. My favourite line to thwart the advances of interested, but not interesting suitors was always "But you don't even know me..."

I once made it a mission to avoid those people at all costs, the ones who project their version(s) of me, but I soon learned how Sisyphean a task that would be. It simply doesn't matter how much you assert yourself--or, the versions of yourself you think to be more accurate than those perceived of you externally--because that self is still subject to their own sensibilities.
In one of my favourite scenes of Waking Life, Timothy 'Speed' Levitch closes his monologue with the haunting lines
"as one realizes that one is a dream-figure in another person's dream - that is self-awareness!"
I read somewhere that in ancient Ubuntu philosophy, humans are born without ‘ena’, or selfhood, and only acquire it through interactions and experiences with others in the external world. Even in more Western schools of thought and disciplines, self-knowledge is most always constituted through relationships with others.
  
 The Self as a kaleidoscope (of versions) is an image that has its abundance of iterations in this post-, post-modern world...


_________________________________ 

“In the stillest hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper...”

_________________________________ 


Growing up, we are fed a steady diet of well-intentioned axioms that basically tell us to be ourselves and disregard what others think of us--to "dance like nobody is watching". Of course as we get older and (hopefully) develop some critical thinking skills, we soon realize how unavailing these messages are--what is a subjective self?. Sometimes, though, we default to these as coping mechanisms when we feel overwhelmed by the burden of perception. Or as pseudo-intellectuals might otherwise identify as being subject to a dangerous gaze of some sort.

If you've ever been in an abusive relationship, you may recognize what I'm getting at. Sometimes, an important part of surviving some of these experiences is by convincing ourselves not to pay any. attention. what. so. ever. to what is being said about us. This is a lot harder than it sounds, and I think it becomes even more difficult over time. Sure, it may be easy to disregard the fuming vitriol being spewed in our direction as meaningless ire reflecting only the inner turmoil of the abuser, that we are simply casualties of that inner war. The only problem is, the 'abuser' is also usually the person who knows versions of ourselves that others have not accessed...


_________________________________ 

“You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen--the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives. I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.”

Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.

And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”

Thus I became a madman.”

bad at comforting

I held my mother as she cried today. I sat next to her on the couch and reached my arms all around, expecting her to brush me away as usual. She didn't, and in those moments her body felt so much smaller than mine. The numbness which I had been cloaking myself with against the all day attacks suddenly cracked. As it slipped away I felt a raw anger pointed at our attacker--the source of mom's tears.
I leaned in and squeezed tighter the harder she sobbed, the more she apologized for what she could've, should've, would've done to put an end to all this. For a second I let myself imagine that I was transferring my numbness, that perhaps in exchange for her pain I could loan her some of my indifference. But in this equation, it was only the misery that had been multiplied.

I've always felt unskilled when it comes to providing comfort in times of grief; I freeze, I get awkward. I either cant't say the right thing or say too much. That in turn makes me feel more guilty. But no matter what, there are few worse feelings than watching your mother fall apart and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Dis(tress)patches from the Archives

I have this habit of thinking in third person.

“As she adjusted some more books on the shelf, the framed picture caught her attention and she wondered how it could ever be that her eyes had once looked so bright and innocent.”

I don’t know when it started, but sometime during my coming up I began to describe the situations around me as they unfolded—to myself, in my own head, as a witness.

I think it developed from all the books I read. I think it developed as a necessary device for a kid who always spent more time in her head than out.

Now, I think it’s a coping mechanism, or a subconscious escapism. Either way, it somehow gives me a momentary disassociation, or perhaps a hyper-association that quickly displaces the me.

“She shut the door behind her and scampered to her bed, a sense of defeat in each step. The warm damp air of another summer night flowed through the window and she knew she would somehow have to force herself to sleep. She lay in the soft lump of her blankets distracted by thoughts of just how many crickets chirped from below…”

I write this way too. Even when I tell my stories, sharp memories that still make me feel the way they did when they happened. Sometimes I wonder if even my tendency to turn my “I”s into “she”s and “we”s is not a good enough disguise. Its like maybe I don’t know how to belong to a story in a way that doesn’t betray it. That doesn’t betray me.

“A loud, clunky bang below suddenly seized the moment, and her eyes darted up from the page. Heart banging out of her chest, the book fell to the floor as she stood up to throw herself against the door.”

Truth be told, I don’t even want to be in the stories.

(2014)

Dis[tress]patches

The uncertainty of it all is the most stressful part.

You could be in the clutches of a deep, comfortable sleep when the terrifying shrieks yank you right back. The screaming is soon accompanied by wailing and for a brief, dizzying moment you wonder if perhaps you haven't awoke at all. Perhaps you have been thrust into a nightmare; except somewhere in your consciousness you recognize this brand of chaos. You try to ignore it at first, try to shut your eyes and even put a pillow over your head. This pathetic attempt at disassociation only makes the swelling combination of foolish curiosity and illogical guilt grow larger. Soon they have taken full control of your body--you are up and reaching for the controls on the tower fan, switching off the liberating gusts of cool air and sonic relief. Now you can make out the ramble more clearly. Curse words are hurled in a  staccato, rapid-fire assault at no target in particular. You swallow back a clod of misplaced guilt, the kind that witnesses to traumatic events and survivors are left with, despite knowing they could have done nothing to alter destiny. You know better than to step into the line of fire. Besides, all desire to perform the noble sacrificial lamb role have evaporated over time and have been replaced by a collective resentment. There's nothing you can do but save yourself, you try to repeat to your distracted mind. The booming thumps of footsteps made heavy with rage get louder--it's coming for you. You throw your full weight behind the door--and your faith in its ability to keep the threat at bay...

Insomniac Soliloquies to Self

it's 4 am and i find myself wide awake, twisting from side to side as though the furtive movements will eventually tire me out before finally giving in and sitting up. i turn on the lamp next to my bed--touch activated, a novelty in the 1980s it clearly dates to--and reach for my phone and the book I am halfway through reading. of course, this is purely for symbolic purposes, or maybe an incorrigible habit i adopted before my phone became an extra limb.

after distractedly shuffling through a montage of facebook videos-- old couples on vacation, white people calling the cops on black people for absurd reasons, a vice video about something to do with a fake fashion show (or restaurant, or drug, etc.)...

suddenly i am fixated by the image of a boy, no older than 14, whose hands are expertly binding together slats of timber using what appears to be a natural twill of some sort. he builds a cylindrical wall around a hole he has already dug out, his hands moving efficiently and gracefully, creating the perfect structure. with the miracle of time-lapse he soon creates a wheel out of hollow logs carefully woven together, and a mechanism attached to the wheel which allows for several "cups" to successively dispense water from the water reserve below. voila-- a well.

thinking about this boy's masterful use of hands, the aptitude with which he designed and created this whole thing machine before my very eyes, i hear that tormenting voice in the back of my head and i start to wonder. if a 5 minute time-lapsed video of my skill was to be made, what would it show? beyond the soup of cliche resume points, like "team player" (am i really?), or "excellent communication skills" (they're okay), what real skills do i have?...

somewhere between wondering what college program i can quickly enroll in to overcome this, and blaming my parents for not forcing me to study something more tangible, more valued in "the real world", i slip back into sleep mode...

The Sacred Oath of un-Hurt

I can almost see the words spewing out of my mouth before I can even stop and think about them first. The strange combination of anger, unchecked emotion, and a spiritual exhaustion that can only come from years of bottling everything up. Accusations come flying out, and my unjust unappreciation takes centre-stage. The messages become muddled into one long torrent of bitterness. They cease to make sense, cease to even be true, but what do I care-- I just want their crushing impact to be felt.
How could you look someone in the eye who you love and deliver stab after stab to their soul? Simple: by consciously trying to avoid listening to the own vile messages escaping your mouth.
How could you pretend their quickly appearing tears mean nothing, instead choosing to dismiss them as reflections of your own hurt and angst?
Most importantly, how could you bear the weight of defeating one of the only people in the world who's ever cared for you. The person who has had your back, even when you found yourself spineless. The person who watched from afar, but never too far, allowing you to be who you are, and then loving you for it.
How could you betray the most sacred oath made in a relationship between two broken people who found in eachother their own missing pieces: the promise you each took never to do to eachother what others had already done far too often...

How do you regain the sense of lost love and trust, if you ashamedly cower in your own solitude, trying in vain to convince yourself that you don't need them anyway...

"Hip Hop is Bigger Than the Occupation"

Existence is Resistance Presents: Hip Hop is Bigger Than the Occupation

"A Film By Existence is Resistance and Nana Dankwa about a musical tour to Palestine teaching resistance through the arts. Featuring M1 of Dead Prez, Lowkey, Shadia Mansour, Marcel Cartier, Mazzi of S.O.U.L. Purpose, DJ Vega Benetton, SWYC, University of Hip Hop, Jody McIntyre and many more.... for more information on upcoming tours and about the organization please click here"

Gonna try my best to find out about when and where this film is released...

In the dark, even my shadow abandons me...

Today when I left class I found myself hysterically running to the station, yet in no real rush to get anywhere. I hit the ground running and literally did not look back (or around, at the startled expressions of my fellow pedestrians) until I’d made it to the station and became distracted with the fare-paying.

But do you ever wish you could literally just pick up and runaway from life? Run, to no particular destination but away. Rush, with no time restraint, but with the intention of outrunning your thoughts?

As I felt the wind toying with my hair, resisting against my force I forgot to think. For that instance, for even that brief, fleeting moment, I could forget. Or maybe not forget, as the thoughts came rushing back as soon as I sat down, but rather ignore.  Every doubt that had been spewed in my face, every reminder of my countless fuckups, and every angry, bitter, disappointed, mournful voice- everything was silent.

All I could hear, all I could focus on was the rhythm of my steps on the concrete. The rhythm compelling me to keep running, because stopping even for a moment would undo all the unthinking I was doing.

But life doesn’t work that way. You get onto the metaphorical subway, nestled among dozens of your own kind, yet alone and an outsider at the same time. No friendly words or smiles exchanged, and no small talk about the weather outside. And that’s when it all comes rushing in, hitting you like a ton of bricks, one-by-one but within seconds of eachother. A jumble of words, images, phrases and thoughts come flying at you, aimed at your spirit and unrelentless until they do what they came here for: to break you down. Like an unexpecting matador suddenly thrown into a pen of raging bulls, each bearing a haunting resemblance to your own image…

Where can you run now? When you're surrounded? Yet alone...

Israel- the "democratic" state??

Last year was Israeli Apartheid Week in Toronto and each day saw at least a couple of events stretched across Toronto's university campuses. As I was rushing to class last week (U of T) I happened to see a couple of students set up on a table with posters reading "Support Israeli Democracy" and such. Now, I just HAD to stop and see exactly what sort of misguided propaganda they appeared to be trying to spread. As I got closer to their posters, I noticed they were full of all sorts of numbers: statistics from the U.N (mainly) and some Israeli-lobbyist groups.
The first thing I thought about was why on earth they would use U.N "official" definitions and sources to explain why Israel should be allowed to carry out its terrorist agenda in the name of democracy.
Lets just remember here that of the 115-member states of the U.N's General Assembly, THE ONLY COUNTRIES WHO SUPPORT ISRAEL'S ACTIONS ARE (*drumroll*):
- The U.S
- Micronesia,
- the Marshall Islands
- Palau (all 3 of which are associated states of the U.S)
- Australia
- and Canada (ashamedly, under Stephen Harper)

Anyway, I gotta attach the fine print here: I'm not anti-semitic, I'm anti-the STATE of Israel & any ideas grounded in the belief that some people are more entitled to the world than others (ahem, Zionism, ahem). I do not support the Harper government (lets leave it at that). And of course, I'm in a firm believer in the democracy & the right to self-determination, but like my fellow-Canadian Trudeau said: "A democracy is judged by the way the majority treats the minority". And shall we even begin to discuss how the Arab + Palestinian citizens are treated within the occupied territories?...

Israeli Apartheid Week: DAY 2

 As we sit in STARBUCKS with our coffee and 

NESTLE chocolate bar,

 reading that new book purchased at INDIGO/CHAPTERS, 

let us think about how without US THE CONSUMERS, these companies could not continue to help Israel perpetrate its crimes against humanity of the people of Palestine.

Every purchase we make at these and hundreds of other corporations help 

lodge bullets into the heads of 8-year-old schoolchildren,

bulldoze a Palestinian compound to build Jewish settlements,

"train" IDF soldiers to terrorize Arab civilians

build more humiliating roadstops and walls,

help perpetuate the Israeli propaganda pursued by virtually all major media networks.

Click here for more information on what you as a consumer can do:

BDS

BOYCOTT+DIVESTMENT+SANCTIONS

END ISRAELI APARTHEID.

take some time to sign a petition too:

end demolitions

The Skeptic's Tinge of Guilt

"It is not certain that everything is uncertain."

- Blaise Pascal

I often think about some of the wisdom I've gained from my philosophy classes and one particular thing comes to mind: "Pascal's Wager".
Blaise Pascal (a French philosopher) basically IN LAYMAN'S TERMS suggests that it makes the most logical sense to believe in God because that route will produce more to gain and nothing to lose than any other path one lives. He does this by breaking it down:

- belief will lead to: 

a) heaven (if God exists)

b) moral benefits (if God does not exist)

- not believing in God will lead to:

a) hell (if God exists)

b) immoral consequences (if God does not exist)

Okay fine, I agree this whole theory (even when explored in whole, even when lectured on by one of Toronto's most recoginized modern voices in philosophy, Mark Kingwell) is a little thin and arid, its one of the first thing that strikes my mind whenever I think of my own place in the perpetually growing map of religion. And those thoughts, especially when shared with most other people, start to make me feel this strange tinge of guilt... maybe even shame?

Am I really shamed into feeling I should believe in something solid and well-organized?...

Think about it.
Everytime you make/laugh at that little sacreligious joke (What does Jesus order at a bar?... Holy spirits :| ) in poor taste.
Or how about when you have Sunday off, you've promised to accompany your mom to church and you sleep in?
The worst is when you're in someone's home (that someone of course, having made it clear they belong to a religion) and they begin accosting you with questions about your own faith...

And you begin to feel it. That little voice inside almost lashing out at you for such a display of "poor spirituality". Or even that you're being watched... and judged... by that Jesus of your joke.
And no matter how much you assert Christopher Hitchens quotes inside your head, you can't seem to escape that feeling. Who cares if in the end you've got reason on your side. When's reason ever accepted and appreciated in this world?...

Jay Z: "These lyrics are a cry for help" (video)

Jay Z explains how his style went from being centred around technique (flow, etc.) to being more lyrically-focused after gaining "more life experiences":

"For people, don't just judge us as ignorant kids, or drug dealers...Its much more than that... Its layers of complex things thats going in our house, in our homes, in our hallways...

Just imagine your kid growing up in the middle of Marcy Projects when it was fiends in the hallway and shootouts  on Sundays at 12 noon... or seeing someone get killed for the first time at 9 years old.

Imagine that.

So, here's why these things are happening and heres what we're going through... and why... so understand, and 

help.

A lot of these lyrics are strong in nature because they're defiant... but at in the end of it, its all a cry for help..."

Israeli Apartheid Week: Toronto

Israeli Apartheid Week (IAW) is an annual international series of events held in cities and campuses across the globe. The aim of IAW is to educate people about the nature of Israel as an apartheid system and to build Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) and last year IAW took place in over 40 countries. Events include lectures, films, and actions that will draw attention to the many continuous injustices that  are crucial in the battle to end Israeli Apartheid.

From website:

"The aim of IAW is to contribute to this chorus of international opposition to Israeli apartheid and to bolster support for the BDS campaign in accordance with the demands outlined in the July 2005 Statement: full equality for Arab-Palestinian citizens of Israel, an end to the occupation and colonization of all Arab lands – including the Golan Heights, the Occupied West Bank with East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip – and dismantling the Wall, and the protection of Palestinian refugees’ right to return to their homes and properties as stipulated in U.N. resolution 194. In previous years IAW has played an important role in raising awareness and disseminating information about Zionism, the Palestinian liberation struggle and its similarities with the indigenous sovereignty struggle in North America and the South African anti-apartheid movement. Join us in making this a year of struggle against apartheid and for justice, equality, and peace."

Now here's a little schedule of all the events taking place in Toronto. For more information or to check out some of the events in other cities, CLICK HERE.


Interrogating Apartheid: Campus as a Site of Resistance
Monday March 7th , 7 PM
University of Toronto: Fitzgerald Building, Room 103
Speakers: Judy Rebick, Abbie Bakan, and SAIA (Students Against Israeli Apartheid)


Film Screening: Jaffa the Oranges Clockwork 
Tuesday March 8th
Ryerson University
Film by: Eyal Sivan


The Cultural and Academic Boycott
Wednesday March 9th, 7 PM
University of Toronto, Bahen Auditorium, Room 1160
Speaker: Judith Butler


York's Complicity in Apartheid: Art, Culture and Resistance
Thursday March 10th
 York University
Speakers: Paul Kellogg, John Greyson and SAIA


State of the Siege, State of the Struggle: The case for Boycott Divestment, Sanctions
Friday March 11th, 7 PM
University of Toronto, OISE Auditorium, G162 (First Floor)
Speakers: Riham Barghouti and Ali Abunimah

The CHRONICles: random mind wanderings/reflections on the day: De

What is strength, what is selfglorification?
What is bravery, what is bravado?

We spend our whole existence conjuring up images of heroes in our lives. We give them traits invisible to the world, we attribute major accomplishments to them, and we build them up to mammoth heights.

Then on unbeautiful days we are shown who they really are.

We begin to see blemishes in their once perfect glistens.
We see cracks in their superior shells.
We see rough edges in their once flawless finishes.

Our once bold, unbreakable faith that had upheld the foundation of these distant statues begins to shake, threatening to give way...

How can we repaint the images we once ogled at with admiration?
How are we to reimagine the perfectious figures we once held in such esteem?

To what degree are we, the witnesses, capable of sustaining heroism...

The Fallen Hero...

I Need a Doctor

FINALLY! Some visuals for one of my favourite songs to emerge from 2011 so far: I NEED A DOCTOR.

Obviously I love Eminem (as any hiphop fan will most likely have to admit), but I think Skylar Grey's voice is dope on this beat and super believable.

Oh hey, did I mention DRE IS ALIVE??? LOL. Not only is he alive, he seem's to be alive an healthily sporting a more muscularly defined physique. 

Not really a fan of all that futuristic, test tube, robot shit (ugh, anyone remember the video for "In Da Club"?), but I am sooo amped to see various clips from all our favourite Eminem-Dre moments. Who else walked down memory lane when all those N.W.A clips played? sigh... just a friendly reminder of where this generation's hiphop helped derive from...

ENJOY!

"Against the Wall": William Parry & the Art of Resistance

"It’s a means of communicating about injustice. It’s one means of getting a message across. The more people who learn about Israel’s crimes, the more who challenge the West’s blind backing of Israel – the quicker Israel’s incredibly sophisticated military machine will be undermined. The spray can is part of the spectrum of other creative, non-violent ways being undertaken by civil society to raise awareness, challenge historical narratives and overcome injustice..."

- William Parry 

Is the spray can mightier than the sword?

British photojournalist William Parry thinks so. He's the author of Against the Wall: The Art of Resistance in Palestine. Parry travelled extensively throughout the West Bank & Occupied Territories collecting photos of the artwork that covers the wall dividing the region from Israel.  Being careful to include a thought-provoking variety of images and graffiti, he contrasts each image with a vignette of a Palestinian community that lives with the daily reality of the ugly "security" wall and all that it represents.

The book features artwork from Banksy, Ron English, Blu and Palestinian artists and activists.

Here are some of the images from the wall, which has been recently called "the largest protest banner in the world":

Here's William Parry in a BBC interview from a few years back speaking on the book and some of the artwork on the wall (as pictured above)...




William Parry will be in Canada next month for a serious of lectures called Against the Wall: The Art of Resistance in Palestine.
go to www.cjpme.org/ for more info.

Dr. Norman Finkelstein: Radical Intellectual

He's been pegged as not just an "anti-Semite", but a "self-hating Jew". Some have even gone so far as to call him "an enabler of terrorism". But one person I've looked up to and respected greatly, and informed myself about at lengths is Dr. Norman Finkelstein.

This is a man whose parent's have been directly affected by the horrors of the Holocaust- both being the only to escape slaughter from each of their families- but who continues to maintain one of the loudest anti-Zionist voices in America and abroad. His distinctly strong views, rooted in a well-researched academic past, have gained notoriety among respected intellectuals, like Nom Chomsky. But hearing interview responses and speeches he's done, Dr. Finkelstein continues to assert he is not at all deserving of "being put on a pedestal"- anybody in his position should and would be doing the same. He's published a lot of work, including his controversial books The Holocaust Industry, and ‘This Time We Went Too Far’ – Truth & Consequences of the Gaza Invasion.

Although his resume boasts of impressive positions at top Ivy League schools, critics have claimed "he's not a teacher, he's a propagandist". People continue to harass him on a daily basis, going so far as to vandalize his property and relentlessly call for his eviction from his New York home. He's been banned from travelling to Israel for 10 years, infamously made a slew of different remarks in defense of Hezbollah, and travelled throughout Lebanon and the Occupied Territories on a speaking tour (any Jew reading this will understand the gravity of that gesture).

Next Wednesday, February 16, Dr. Norman Finkelstein will be making an appearance in Toronto at York University in an event called "Israel, Palestine and the Muslim World: Where are we headed?" You can click
right here to check out more info on this event, and some similar ones in other areas of the country.

Anyways, I continue to observe this fascinating man with a vigilence. His opposing sides are highlighted very well in the documentary "American Radical: The Trials of Norman Finkelstein".

HERE, is perhaps one of my favourite clips because I think its such an accurate portrayal of who this brilliant man is:

Scattered Thoughts about Egypt

Hours turned to days, then days now to weeks. I sat by watching, my mind eager to SNATCH any new breakthroughs or information. My energy went from being fully devoted to listening to the stories from the front lines, to feeling weary and almost wishing the entire situation would just end.

I've had trouble eating and sleeping, and have obsessively spent my time flipping between CNN and BBC, to getting live streams of Al Jazeera online. It borders on hysteria.

I've Youtubed the same videos over and over, marched with hundreds of Torontonians for 2 Saturdays in a row, and have relentlessly pounded my cousin with questions about what its REALLY like down there.
I've engaged in debates, explained what was happening to anybody who will listen, and brushed up on historical accounts of the power struggle that has ailed my country for decades.

I'm tired.
The other day, I scolded myself for feeling this way. I thought "What on earth gives YOU the right to feel weary and over-informed when these heroes are out there on the streets, determined to find an end that can satisfy them?!?"

But am I really wrong for needing a break from all this overexposure? Have I betrayed my country and fellow Egyptians every time I've given a half-assed answer to people's questions in order to avoid launching into a full conversation?
----

I'm at the point where I can look back at the full range of emotions and ideas I've had since January 25, and almost pinpoint the days when my attitude went from an excited, curious, hopeful observer, to a weary, almost paranoid bystander who got sucked into a dramatic scenario unwillingly.
I remember feeling, albeit selfishly, PROUD and EXCITED that my country was making headline news. For once in my 21 years in Toronto, people recognized the flag on my bag. For once, I could head downtown and find hundreds of other supporters of the Egyptian people, speaking my language, sharing my vision for the future of our homeland.
And I ate it right up. I stayed glued to CNN, collected any newspaper headlines (most, making front-page) about Egypt, and shared videos via my page.

It wasn't until the 5th or so day that I began questioning the over-saturated coverage. WHY was CNN (which has, in the process, became the manifested representation of Americans for me) so deliberately covering every nuance and detail of the unfolding "crisis" as they put it? WHY could I now pick up any newspaper, conservative or mainstream, and see the word "dictator" beside Hosni Mubarak's name?
I've always been a firm believer in a lot of conspiracy theories. But with the relentless, almost "Big-Brother"-like involvement of the US in everything that has transpired since the fateful day in January, I've taken an unhealthy approach to the apparent American conspiracy being played out in front of us.

How could people be sooo eager to listen to Obama's statements about Mubarak and the protestors, when Mubarak himself (the man at the centre of this drama) hadn't even made an attempt to comment. How could American diplomats and Israeli power-houses continue to taint the mainstream opinion- to demonize the protestors and insist that Mubarak is a pillar of stability in the region.
Could millions of people- some on the streets, some unable to go public with their feelings after experiencing a brutally repressive regime for decades- be wrong?
Are Egyptians, Arabs, Middle-Easterners- are they all too stupid to choose who they would like to represent their state? Is the right to self-determination reserved for Western countries whose political representatives are nothing but mere puppets of the same system?
Is it really a crime to demand that your country undergo a period of restoration?

I've absorbed CNN with an almost sadistic pleasure. I hate the way they make us look on TV. I resent the images of people fighting off men on horseback, burning pictures and flags- this is merely a snapshot of a situation that the rest of the world wants to dismiss as black-and-white, ignoring the multi-faceted colours emerging with every new image, testimony, story of a protestor's disappearance, or minute "change" in the government. These all help tell the story of a country, a people, torn between the lives they have come to know and the unpredictable, intimidating change that "threatens" to swoop in.
But I love seeing my country on there...

Power is revealed only by striking true

“ Power is not revealed by striking hard or often, but by striking true.”

-       Honore de Balzac

I’ve been examining the whole situation (for lack of an adequate word) going on in Egypt with a bit of divided perspective. On the one hand, I feel the way I’ve felt since my 2010 visit- the moment I first saw a civil protest in Cairo’s main downtown square (ironically “Liberation Square”-Tahrir in Arabic). That I’d grown up largely listening to my father’s own memories of living in a repressed, paranoid military state probably led me to feel as awed and curious as I did when I saw the demonstration.

Here was a country in which anti-government opinion was strictly restricted from all media. A country filled with stories of police aggression- some made notorious (like the apparent brutal 2010 murder of blogger Khaled by Egyptian police), and some only whispered amongst terrified neighbours when nobody’s listening.

And these are just things my generation and I have been exposed to as the country’s 30-year “state of emergency” remains.

To fully understand the scope of today's Egypt would mean diving into my father’s memories, and those of the generations before him who lived to see numerous wars, an independence from the British, instability throughout the entire region, and a military revolution.

But that last point is one of the most fascinating, to me, and has been for as long as I remember.

Growing up I would listen, stunned, to my father nostalgically, and more importantly, proudly recount the story of how Colonel Nasser and some other important military figures overtook the British-led monarchy and installed their own Egyptian leaders. It was as if he, like every other Egyptian lucky enough to see that proud day, was directly involved in the cause of liberating their country. It wasn’t so much that they were living vicariously through Nasser and his comrades, but living alongside them- when they took over state radio to make the announcement, when they spent countless months planning and re-planning every step without leaving a paper trail, and when they paraded through the same Tahrir Sq. to, again, thousands of people…

Now I must make mention of the 2nd perspective I have, one almost diametrically opposed to the first, one grounded in pragmatism and an understanding that things are never as black-and-white as they seem.

 From the first reports taken of the protests, to the powerful images surfacing up everyday, the message has been the same- there is an unspoken and strong bond between the Egyptian people and the military. Maybe this is due to the fact that Egypt has a conscription law still in effect- essentially, every male must serve in the military. Thus, the military and the Egyptian citizens are synonymous. Or maybe it has something to do with the history of military operations in their country—indeed, the military leaders at one point created the Egyptian Egypt. That feeling of pride and identity, and knowing what it means to be an Egyptian- and not an Arab, North African, Middle Easterner, etc.- was reinforced by Nasser and the other decorated leaders. Whatever the case, the famous image of the old weeping Egyptian woman kissing the cheek of a young, uniformed Egyptian solider with piercing eyes, perfectly captures that soldier-civilian relationship. However disillusioned the people have become by their government’s strict system of security, they have found a way to embrace their soldiers wholeheartedly.

Which brings me to my main point. Much has been said about Egypt’s current president Hosni Mubarak- he’s a tyrant, a peaceful leader of the region, an incompetent president whose relied on American aid too often, a beacon of stability in the Middle East, a dictator (a label Western news outlets have avidly embraced for the first time), a wealthy, aged power-hungry lunatic, etc. But there hasn’t been much mention of Mubarak’s rise to power and his role in the 1952 Revolution.

Mubarak actually got his background in the military, graduating from the military academy and climbing the ranks to finally become Commander of Egypt's Air Force & Deputy Minister of Defense. In fact, he was rewarded and promoted for his outstanding services in the military during the Sixth of October War. With such noted roles in the military and an intense pilot training past, Mubarak's role in the 1952 Revolution cannot be undermined or ignored.

Maybe thats what continues to draw people like my father (he himself grew up in a military household and dreamed of being a soldier after witnessing the Egyptian Independence Movement) to the aged Mubarak. Ideas like loyalty, death before dishonour, and dying a hero are ones highly valued by people with close ties/sentiments to the military. And as I outlined before, Egyptians really have no choice but to feel this way towards their own soldiers.
That's is why its so difficult for me to maintain an agenda that is 100% compliant with the protestors. Maybe a bit of me relates to the sentiments my father has. Maybe as an Egyptian it's difficult for me to watch one of my own go through this public debacle. Like I said, the issue is grey at best- never black and white. Who will replace Mubarak? How will the USA continue to interfere in Egypt's domestic happenings? If Mubarak is the lesser of 2 evils (the other evil being the Muslim Brotherhood), how can we ask him to step down and instill one of our own? And finally, what about the transition? How will a new government be integrated? Will there be an interim government in the meantime, and if so who decides who that government is? The questions are endless.

However, an important thing separates me from my father and other Egyptian supporters of the regime. I grew up in Canada. This is a country known for promoting it's democratic ideals and a traditionally liberal, capitalistic agenda. We enjoy regular elections, political stability, and (almost always), a transparent government. I, like most other Canadians and even those Bush-electing Americans, can never imagine a system in which we were forced to sit by and watch a leader, who none of us seem to remember electing, continue being in power for 30 plus years. With all opposition prevented from having a voice, its not like an election would do the job anyway.
I can sympathize with those supporters because I know what they want: life, liberty and the freedom to pursue happiness. I know, because living in Canada, I am given those things without ever really facing the threat of losing them...

My sister got me one of those cool day-by-day calendars of Inspiring & Enlightening Quotes. Everyday I rip off a day to reveal some insightful-sometimes ideological, sometimes overly cheesy- advice/knowledge/ideas from different artists, theorists, writers, teachers, etc.

And on January 29, four days after the fateful demonstrations began, I ripped off another day to reveal the insight for that day. The quote was from French novelist Honore de Balzac, and came at such an appropriate time that I was compelled against all laziness to sit down and right this post:

 “ Power is not revealed by striking hard or often, but by striking true.”

And, as Hosni Mubarak has learned the hard way over this past week, his hard-struck, often-used power has essentially come to an end. Let's just pray and ensure that whatever future awaits my homeland, there will be eras of truth-revealing power.