Showing posts with label Syria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Syria. Show all posts

Thursday, 3 September 2015

On Aylan Kurdi's Death

I don’t know if publishing the photos of three year old Aylan Kurdi’s body washed up on the beach was necessary or not. It may have been necessary to move the Harper government to let more Syrian refugees into Canada (which hasn’t happened yet, but it looks likely, since Kurdi’s family was refused entry to Canada in June. Our culpability here is obvious), but I don’t know if it was necessary in Europe. The tide of public opinion was already shifting there. #refugeesarewelcome was trending on Twitter, and Angela Merkel was all over the news and frequently being praised and supported. I think reports of more refugees dying, after the many this week, and especially children found dead on the beach, may have been enough to sway political opinion there.  There's no way to know.

But it doesn’t matter now, the images have already been released and gone viral. I’m not sure there’s any point in second-guessing that in retrospect, or if the question of whether it was necessary is even the point here.

What I do know is that the people who are the farthest from Syria and those least affected by this issue share those images the most freely and the most lightly, and are least aware of the human costs to doing so. White non-Muslims especially, but Muslims in the West are sharing them a lot too, and the Muslim community has this contentious discussion about whether it should be done every time something like this happens.

If Aylan Kurdi was a white Western child, the image of his corpse would not be plastered all over the newspapers and tweeted and shared by millions on Facebook.  It wouldn’t be ethical or even imaginable to do so. If he was a white child, it would not have been necessary to share that very personal evidence of the tragedy to make anyone sympathise with or help his family and others like them. And now everyone scrolls past the image of his corpse countless times a day. It’s dehumanising, in more ways than one, and it doesn’t help people not to dehumanise Kurds or Syrians or Muslim refugees. This shouldn’t have to keep happening.  Haven’t enough people died?

People in the West are already very used to seeing images of foreign brown and non-Christian dead, and desensitized to it. There was a lot of very heated debate over whether the picture of Alison Parker (one of the Virginia news anchors who was murdered last week) with the gun being pointed at her, much less her death, should have been shown. Because it was disrespectful of her and her family, and sensationalist, and giving her killer the publicity he wanted, and unnecessary. But not nearly so much so for Kurdish or other Syrian refugees, or Rohingya, or black Africans, or non-white victims of ISIS.  It’s much more acceptable and normalised then, for obvious reasons.

Kurds and Syrians and other Arabs, especially nations people are fleeing, or even just Muslims, are going to have to see those images of Aylan hundreds of times in the next days. It’s easier to see Aylan as your child and his death as your tragedy when you are part of one of those groups. He’s not just another foreign body in a faraway place you know little about and feel little for. Seeing the image of him dead is painful, and brings home how much you are dehumanised and how little the rest of the world cares about or would even notice your death and remember you as a person and not just another mangled corpse in the news.

Many of Aylan’s family are still alive.  His five year old brother Ghalib and mother Rehan and at least eight other refugees died in the same boat today, but his father Abdullah survived.  The family told the National Post today that “[Abdullah’s] only wish now is to return to Kobane with his dead wife and children, bury them, and be buried alongside them.”  They are going to have to live with all this publicity.  And hope it actually helps.

It’s often a lot less clear to people directly affected by this that sharing those images was the appropriate or humane thing to do. It’s certainly much harder to watch happen, and the cost is a lot clearer. Many of us were already grieving.

Rest in peace Aylan and Ghalib and Rihan Kurdi, and everyone else who has died. There are too many to name or to count accurately. To Allah we belong, and to him we are returning. I hope this isn’t necessary next time. I hope people realise the cost and the inhumanity of it.

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

Spam, translated

That post where I translated a spam email gets a lot of hits, so I'm guessing a lot of people are getting spam they can't read.  Here's another one from a Russian email address:

لسلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاتهانا من سوريا ام وحيدة لطفلين عندى اقتراح اريد ان اقدمه لك لصالحنا انا وانت فارجو الرد بارسال بياناتك والسلام عليكم ( hsafia82@live.com

Peace and mercy and blessings of Allah upon you [I am] from Syria the single mother of two children [and] I have a suggestion I want to give you for my good and yours [so] please reply by sending your information to [email address] and peace be upon you.

This is a 411 scam trying to get your information to steal your identity or string you along sending money, do not reply.  It's a scam.

Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Junk Mail: Syrian Edition

السلام عليكم و رحمه الله و بركاته
انا ارمله من سوريا دمشق , و قد تأثرت عائلتى و زوجى بسبب الاسلحه الكيميائيه مما ادى الى وفاه زوجى و اولادى انا احتاج الى شخص يخاف الله اقدر اثق فيه مشان يساعدنى بأستلام صناديق زوجى ياللى بها 7,2 مليون دولار محفوظين بمكتب الامم المتحده أغراض عائليه و هو حفظهم قبل وفاته بالولايات المتحده بسبب تأثره بالأسلحه الكيميائيه . ارجوك اخى راح اكون سعيده كتير اذا بتقدر تساعدنى .

This is an email from a woman claiming to be from Damascus, a widow who had lost her husband and children to chemical weapons (victim of recent well-publicised war or disaster: check).  She wants someone trustworthy and God-fearing (appeal to decency and morality and religious duty to help: check) to help her get boxes of her husband’s containing 7.2 million dollars (need help getting huge amount of money from somewhere: check) which he’d stored in the office of the United Nations (fabulously wealthy person dead due to war stores crates full of cash at…which UN office?  There are lots and lots.  Besides, nobody does that), and their family possessions which he’d stored in the United States (what, where,and with whom?) before his death (good planning, sir!) from the effects of chemical weapons (repeat the sad bits again after mentioning the supposed millions: check).  She will be very happy if anyone can help her.

It’s obviously a 411 scam; the letter was written by a real person somewhere.  The dialect looks accurate enough – a little uneven, could be a Syrian toning down their dialect so that other Arabs can understand - but anyone who’d watched Syrian soap operas could write that.   

But.  This was written by a real person somewhere, who might be Syrian, and even if they’re not, there are a lot of poor and displaced Arabic speakers who could write for 411 scams.  They’re not going to be earning much working that gig, and they might be getting into bigger trouble.  But all this is speculation: I don't know this hypothetical person's situation.

و عليكم السلام يا كاتبة الرسالة.
 سامحيني, ما بقدر أساعدك بمشكلة هذي الخيالية أو بمشاكلك الحقيقية.  الله يعينكم جميعا و ينصركم إذا كنتم على الحق.  و الله يرحم أقاربك اللي ماتوا, لأن كل شخص منا عنده حبايب ميت, خاصة انتو أهل سوريا (إذا هذا كان جنسيتك الحقيقية, و حتى إذا ما كان), و يعطيهم جنة الفردوس و يفتح عليكم.

الله معكم

No I didn't send it.  It's just another 411 scam. And a dua is not meaningful help.


Friday, 23 August 2013

Poetry: Song for an Ancient City

I have loved this poem for a few years, and now it's up on the new Mythic Delirium site, in English and Arabic, with recordings in both languages.  Do take the time to listen to them.

Merchant, keep your attar of roses,
your ambers, your oud,
your myrrh and sandalwood. I need
nothing but this dust
palmed in my hand’s cup
like a coin, like a mustard seed,
like a rusted key.


I need
no more than this, this earth
that isn’t earth, but breath,
the exhalation of a living city, the song
of a flute-boned woman,
air and marrow on her lips.
 - Amal el-Mohtar, 'Song for an Ancient City.'
It's not my Damascus, quite, mine was candy and garbage and shawarma and eroding concrete and bus exhaust, but the sentiment could be mine.  It's especially poignant right now.

Damascus, how I miss it.

Here's another one:


I looked for you
in the Umayyad mosque
I saw your feet stamp the coriander dust
your fingers swinging old shoes
of leather and brass
back and forth, back and forth—
                                                hooded, grey, wondering and small,
two fingers hooked into the heels
of shoes I carried in one hand.
your hair was bound up, far off from me;
I bound mine, too,
a gesture of loyal symmetry.
 
I looked for you
I could not find you
in the sun-steeped mosaics,
in that city of silver and capsicum
the figures of fruit trees, bridges, vines.
of frankincense and raisins.
I saw whole cities blooming in the stone
I saw long veils stitched with hexameters
that would not speak to me, would not say
that lied when they breathed:
where they'd seen you last.
she is near.

 - 'Damascus Divides the Lovers by Zero, or The City Is Never Finished' by Amal El-Mohtar and Catherynne M. Valente


Thursday, 16 August 2012

A never-ending stream of bloated corpses

I've been struggling for some time, trying to find a polite and socially acceptable way to say this, but I don't think there is one. I think this is one of those things that you must not say, but it bothers me, and I think it needs to be examined. So I'll just say it.

Please forgive me if I offend you, it's not intentional, and I'm probably not talking about you.

A number of people have been flooding my Facebook wall with images of corpses from the war in Syria (and some from Burma). Usually corpses of children or infants, or adults with young children crying over them, or just piles of corpses. Bloating and rotting and covered in blood and dirt and shredded clothing.

They all have two things in common: they're as graphic as possible, and they're posted by people who do not live in the Middle East.

I'm not sure why the posters post them. They seem to be trying to raise awareness, which is a valid concern in North America or Europe or Turkey. People in those countries might forget about the atrocities happening in Syria, because they don't deal with the survivors on a daily basis.

I do. I donate my time and knowledge to teach them English, and give them clothes and food and what money I can. I've been to the refugee camps near the Syrian border and I know that even though I do everything I can, it has little or no impact on the daily lives of refugees in Jordan, much less people in Syria. Or Gaza. Or Somalia. Or Burma. Jordan is flooded with refugees, and I see their desperate situation and confront my own helplessness in the face of it every day.

I don't want to go on Facebook and see a continuous wall of corpses reminding me of these things. That may be selfish. So be it. No one else is going to look out for my mental health. So I deleted a few people who posted nothing but dead babies and unsubscribed from quite a few others, without warning or discussion. Those pictures still come up, but it's not continuous anymore. I'm not advocating pretending the conflict doesn't exist, I just need a break from it.

There's an even bigger problem with these photos and Muslim chain letters: they're graphic to the point of voyeurism, and devoid of context. They're not attached to articles about the conflict, or commentary from people who survived. It's just gore.

And here's where my understanding breaks down. Why do people in other countries post disaster porn? What purpose does it serve, for the posters or the people caught in the conflict, and how does it help? People far from the conflict see the images, slow down and gawk like motorists passing a pileup on the highway, and then move on. They don't stop to help, they just want to have a look at the damage.

I don't entirely buy the 'raising awareness' justification. People think that's why they do it, but I don't believe it's the real, complete reason. This is one of those dark corners of human psychology that we'd rather not look too closely at.

Somebody do a study on this, because I just don't understand.

I'd appreciate comment, but please keep it civil.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

Turkey Again

Wow, it's been a long time since I posted here. My college and its dormitory are closed for two months, so I came to Turkey with the Turkish students. The trip was definitely not boring, but bus trips through Syria never are; we took about five different buses, the first of which was at least eight hours late, most of them were far too small, and one of them wouldn't start and had to be pushed. The Syrian police love hassling people, but we eventually managed to get through the borders. It has gotten harder since the niqab was banned in Syrian schools. The police are always extremely suspicious of me, wearing Arab clothes and carrying a Canadian passport; they think my passport is fake and tell me I'll have to spend days in the police station waiting for permission to travel through Syria.  But they let us all in eventually. As usual, none of us used a bathroom the whole trip, bus station bathrooms are that bad.

We saw two of the Syrian border officers get into a fistfight in the border station as we were crossing into Syria from Jordan in the wee hours of the morning. They had to be separated several times by another border officer; every time he moved away from them they would start punching each other again.  There were many bus loads of travellers lined up in the border station waiting, and they had been waiting for a long time, but the police mostly stood around smoking and ignoring them.  And then the fight happened.  I don't know what was going on.

I spent a week and a half in Ankara, and have been in Istanbul for about a week. I love Istanbul and wish I could spend more time here.

Monday, 22 March 2010

Turkey!

I'm so excited! I am leaving in two days for Turkey with one of my Turkish roommates. There are several reasons for this trip:

1. My roommate asked me if I wanted to go with her to Istanbul for a few weeks.

2. Of course I want to!

3. My visa expired a few weeks ago, so I have to leave the country and come back in anyhow.

4. The tickets are less than two hundred dollars round trip.

Adding together my roommate's small amount of Arabic and my better Arabic but nearly nonexistent Turkish, this should be interesting. We gesture a lot when we talk and carry around dictionaries, but we do manage to say quite a bit.

She told me yesterday that we would get to Syria by bus in the middle of the night, and asked if I was willing to wander around Syria in the dark with her (or something like that, in a combination of Arabic, Turkish, facial expressions, and gestures). Would I be too tired, or in too much pain? I told her, no, it's fine, I'll just load up on coffee and chocolate and more sugar and painkillers, and I'll be okay. It'll be fun!

On the visa front...the official at my college in charge of visas has been telling me tomorrow, tomorrow, insha'Allah for a good month now, and I don't think my visa application has ever left his desk; he wasn't even aware it was in there, until he asked me for something I'd given him weeks ago. He told me yesterday that if I pay a special tax the police will extend my visitor's visa my another three months, but I'm not supposed to be studying on that. I suspect he will just pocket my sixteen dinar 'tax' (about twenty five bucks) and continue to do nothing, but it's worth a try. At least then I would have a visa to show the Syrian police, who are well known for refusing people entry, or dropping them off at the nearest border, whether it's the most convenient or not.

Sometimes I wonder if I worry too much, or not enough.