May 2007

The theme of this issue is “Syrian Expatriates” due to the upcoming Expatriate Conference, to be held in Damascus in May 2007. Many of us have been expatriates at one point or another during our careers. I it the description in 1996-2002 while studying at AUB and doing my PhD in Great Britain.

During that period, enchanted by the incentives of becoming an expatriate for life, I applied for numerous jobs abroad and was accepted for every single one of them. I was sometimes even offered jobs without me actually seeking them. Among the opportunities I turned down—or some would say ‘missed’—was that of researcher at Westminster University in London, journalist at the UK headquarters of al-Sharq al-Awsat newspaper, other publications in Qatar, the Arab Center for Unity Studies in Lebanon, the Arab Documentation Center at AUB (where I worked briefly as an analyst), Haigazian University in Beirut, and more recently, at the Syrian Embassy in Washington DC.

There are few cities I enjoy spending time in as much as Marrakesh in Morocco. In Marrakesh, life comes at you in full co-lour. There is the old Medina, with its narrow cobbled alleyways where pedestrians, motorbikes, donkeys and stray cats (and the odd CNN crew) all compete for vital space Within the old inner city, there is the loud and sinuous market, with its displays of vibrant clothing, stacks of shoes, traditional pottery and hand-woven rugs. And there is of course Jammaa Al Fna, Marrakesh’s huge central square that looks like a scene from a Thousand and One Nights story with its snake charmers and monkey handlers. And tucked away behind the old walls and behind thick wooden doors are oases of calm and serenity called Riads: tradition-al Arabic homes, wrapped around open-air inner courtyards with fruit trees and fountains. Foreigners have been snapping up these age-old properties, where extended families used to live, and turning them into hotels and guest houses. In the last ten years - and since my first visit to Morocco - I’d noticed this trend: hundreds of homes bought, refurbished and transformed into destinations or Westerners in search for the exotic. This month on Inside the Middle East, we wanted to report on this trend. I wondered: who is benefiting from the investment? Are things changing too fast in the Medina? Can Moroccans still afford to live in the heart of the old city? It was a sunny day on the first day of filming. The CNN crew too had rented a Riad for a few days. I started on my first cup of coffee of the morning when producer Schams Elwazer checked her messages and announced: «There have been suicide bombings in Casablanca.» Immediately, we put a call to CNN’s international desk in Atlanta. The lurry of phone calls that comes with covering a developing story starts: the Moroccan Interior Ministry, the information Minis-try... We hear from one source that the target was the American Consulate in Casablanca. A Moroccan source confirms that two men - brothers - blew themselves up in a street near an American language centre and the US consulate in Casablanca. I called the Consulate: «Did something happen near your building this morning?

Words sound futile when describing a brilliant and enchanting man, who has strong charisma, rare eloquence, patience, and a commanding presence on screen. He has performed in timeless classics in both cinema and television, all of which have become turning points in the Syrian drama. Among his unforgettable works are Ukhwat al-Turab (Soil Brothers), a historical epic about Otto-man Syria during World War I, Asi al-Dame (Tearless), a contemporary social drama, Yawmiyat Mudir Am (Dailies of a Director General), a satirical comedy, al-Taghriba al-Filastiniyya (The Palestinian Epic), a grand historical production about Palestine, Muluk al-Tawaef (Feudal Kings) and Rabi Kurtuba (The Spring of Cordoba), about Muslim Arab rule in Spain, and Saladin. Mahmud Darwish, one of the greatest Palestinian poets of the 20th century, described him as “The Arab Anthony Quinn.”

“Poverty, rapine, murder, tumult, blind bigotry, cruel persecution, pestilence!” recalls an American observer traveling in the Middle East. As he digs into history in search of such inimical quotes, while blatantly obscuring positive ac-counts, Michael Oren’s Power, Faith and Fantasy: America in the Middle East 1776 to the Present continues in the tradition of Zionists, such as Bernard Lewis, in ‘writing the history’ of the Middle East in the most skewed and perilous manner. Oren’s book is yet another reminder and highlight of two dilemmas, one faced by Arabs in particular, and the second by scholars in general. First, the book sheds light on the continuously lost battle in the realm of academia between our Zionist adversaries and us Arabs; they can sell our own history to the American public. We cannot. By combining thorough academic research with enchanting tales of piracy and warfare, Oren succeeds in attracting both, the scholar and the ‘aver-age Joe’ to his account of history. Second, this book sheds light on one of scholarship and academia’s gravest laws: with ample research, diligence, and determination, one can validly prove almost anything. By magnifying certain issues and neglecting, or downplaying others, one can ultimately ‘re-write history.’

In his 1946 essay Politics and the English Language George Orwell laments the quality of the English language of his day, citing examples of dying metaphors and meaning-less words that have seeped into the English language. He attributes this to the lack of logical thinking and the growing indistinctness of ideas. He further writes that if thought corrupts language, then language can also corrupt thought. Not far from Orwell’s speculations, language today, as an instrument for expressing thought, has changed. Not so long ago, the art of composition and communication were an important skill in public and private life of our nation. Twentieth century Syria witnessed the rise of remarkable public speakers, authors, poets, and journalists. Their ability to wield words effectively became one of the chief tools of politicians and often made the greatest difference in their positions. Contemporary poet and diplomat Nizar Qabbani’s mastery of words and his echoes on love, feminism and the natural beauty of Damascus and its alleys, saw the start of his writing career at the young age of sixteen, albeit in a conservative society. Ali Ahmad Saeid, famous as Adonis, is considered among the prominent modern Syrian poets. Farid Al-Atrash compositions and songs flourished in Syria; his lyrics resonated in every household at a time when life in Syria in the nineteen fifties, sixties and seventies was difficult- economically, socially and politically. Their words and song lyrics offered hope for the Syrian future and have since become a representation of who Syrians were. Regrettably, communication and language as was known to Qabbani, Adonis, and Al-Atrash is now regarded as a historical notion, and a pretentious and hollow rhetoric has replaced it. Whereas our literary forefathers perceived language as a performance of literature, an interplay between thought and word, it has now been reduced to a mere construction of words, reflecting the modern generational lack of deep thought and reflection today. Whereas our prominent politicians, writers, scholars, journalists and composers characterized our country’s past decades, it is now a rarity to come across such stimulating and well-expressed communicators as our predecessors. Along the years, their oratories inspired the Syrian people at times of political and economic instability; their powerful words harmonized the nation or resulted in its upheaval. They are our ancestors, who realized the importance of precision in speech, diplomacy in address, and intellect in thought, skills that are, sorrowfully, lost on their descendants. The jargon peculiar to today’s generation consists largely of words and phrases that have spread by imitation and have become very convenient to use, even among today’s educators, authors, journalists, and public speakers. Our language has settled into a familiar pattern and invaded our susceptible minds by ready-made phrases that lay the foundation for an impassive and incoherent generation. Newspaper, radio, television, billboard, bumper sticker, T-shirt, mail, magazine, and online communication has made modern day jargon the prevailing communication tool. The decline of our language is not only a result of today’s communication tools, but a result of economical and social causes also. Significantly, it is important to recognize that the change in our language use and thought have ramifications on our lifestyles, as well as our economical and social conditions. The decline of our language is certainly not due to a certain writer, musician, or speaker, but is the responsibility of our civil society and state, to conserve and uphold the whole-some language of our former literary and scholarly figures. The limits of education, media, music and art today provide little exercise, if any, for our minds. Vocabulary introduced in song lyrics and television shows, have removed all shades of meaning, further reducing the need for deep thinking about our language. We live in the age of Internet technology, and despite some of its achievements, modern media will continue to annihilate the power and influence of scholars, teachers, and educational institutions. Thinker and writer Ludwig Wittgenstein expressed it best in his book Tractatus Logico Philosophicus when he wrote: ‘the limits of my language indicate the limits of my world.’ Today’s local television shows, aimed at the young audience, fail to communicate material, wit, constructive language, and stimulant information. Our youth are nourished on language stemming from aimless television programs such as popular soap operas, international music videos and many situation comedy shows, domestic and global that has infiltrated and shaped our language. Consequently, our exposure to the mundane and profane can only result in an intellectually dampened generation. What is more problematic is that most youngsters I have conversed with would not admit that language is in a bad way but it is generally assumed that we can not consciously do anything about it. The argument goes that our world is decadent, our manners and social relations detached, and therefore our thoughts, and inevitably language, must collapse. For the last few decades, our culture and education have been in a declining state. In a country of eighteen million people, our cultural reserves are dwindling and we are left with few significant intellectuals to speak of. Our language has become inaccurate be-cause our thoughts are common. In return, our language makes it easier for us to have uninteresting thoughts. However, as George Orwell expressed, as far as the general spirit of the language goes, it is curable. He is heartened by the fact that meaningless words and expressions have of-ten disappeared, not through any evolutionary process but due to the conscious action of a minority.

The last two issues of Forward contained two articles, “Follow the heart” and “Born on the 17of the April: the story of Ahlam” by Sami Moubayed. These articles, and the author himself, encouraged me to write about my dream and how I also, followed the heart. My dream has accompanied me for the last 19-years of my life. It started in 1988 when I stood on my tiptoes and watched Ballet performances on the television show “Language of the World” by Vahe Tamazijian. It aired on Syrian TV, Channel Two. I was fascinated by the magical world of Ballet where ballerinas danced with elegance, dressed in beautiful clothes. My parents took me to audition for the Ballet School associated with the Higher Academy of Dramatic Arts at the Syrian Ministry of Culture. When we arrived we were ushered into a waiting room with hundreds of children and their parents, all waiting to become ballerinas. I waited until they finally announced my name. I ran into the hall, fascinated by the mirrors around me. The jury asked all the children, in a foreign language accompanied by Arabic translation, to perform certain moves. As a kid I was amused by what was happening so far; spontaneously I went back to my parents saying: “ballet is not only fascinating, but fun as well!” When the results were announced, the fun was over. I was not accepted. My dreams shattered and I sobbed my heart out, fainting from shock. I remember images of people around me, speaking foreign languages, the voice of my parents, and cold water over my face. I woke up and said: “Please accept me. I want to become a ballerina.” A Russian Ballet teacher replied: “Your flexibility is not enough; you did not meet the standards of Ballet.” I cried and begged, and my parents tried to explain the reason in simpler words, but their efforts were in vain. All of a sudden the teacher approached me saying: “Have you ever accepted a challenge? I am going to give you one and only one chance to become a ballerina. You will join the other children for one week on robation, and you will need to work very hard to impress me.” How could I say no to such an offer? I accepted the challenge. The month of October 1988 was the first challenge in my life. I promised myself to become a ballerina. I walked into the class-room at the Higher Institute for Music and Dramatic Arts, which was filled with twenty other girls, with one thing in mind: my dream. The countdown started. I joined as many classes as my energy could afford and worked so hard until my little body was exhausted. The ‘judgment day’ approached and I did not hear a word from Olga, the Russian Ballet teacher; she was just monitoring me with her big blue eyes. During the final day of the week, Olga requested that I wait for her at her office. My heart was beating so fast, I remember hearing her footsteps crossing the long corridor, I remember the long and heavy silence; I was accepted! Ballet became a part of my life. Actually it became my life. It was the oxygen I breathed everyday. My determination to win the challenge did not end there. I now dreamt of becoming the best—the finest ballerina in Syria. Olga went back home, to the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. I bid her a tearful farewell, and this coincided with my first performance before a live audience in 1991. It was my first solo, designed by Olga as a farewell ceremony to end her teaching career in Syria. The performance took place at the ballet hall of the Higher Academy for Music and Dramatic Arts; the same hall where I was auditioned and rejected back in 1988. While Olga taught me the meaning of a dream and a challenge, my second Ballet teacher Larissa, came to sharpen, strength-en, and shape that dream. Almost six years had passed and I watched all of my friends drop out of Ballet classes, for one reason or another. Left behind were only four of us; three girls and one boy. New students had enrolled, however, and the Syrian Ballet School was growing bigger. For her part, Larissa ended her teaching tenure in Syria by putting on The Nut Cracker Ballet. It was the first time the legendary show was performed in Syria. I was the main ballerina that night in 1998, dancing away at the Hamra Theatre. That show was attended by current Vice-President Najah al-Attar (who was Minister of Culture at the time) and the dean of the Academy, Sulhi al-Wadi. Their presence was a great honor and a strong encouragement for all of us. At that time I was almost seventeen, preparing for 12th grade exams—the Syrian baccalaureate I was at the crossroads of my life. What next? There was no academic institute for Ballet in Syria, and it was time to go to university. Sulhi al-Wadi created the Department of Ballet at the Higher Academy and I had the honor of being its first student. For the next four years I studied both Ballet and English literature at Damascus University. I continued to perform and was a member of the Syrian National Choir performing with the National Symphonic Orchestra. While heading for my audition at the Ballet School in 1988, I remember my mother taking a picture of me at the Umayyad Square, near a huge building that was being constructed. The little girl in the photograph became a fourth year student at the Ballet School of the Higher Academy of Music and Art, and the building became the Dar al-Assad for Culture—known as the Damascus Opera House. When I finished my double major I received a scholarship and was honored—again—to study at the National Higher Academy of Ballet in Europe. I badly wanted to go and explore the world of ballet abroad, to obtain knowledge and sharpen my experience. I went and performed in several shows with international dancers from all around the world. I was meeting new people every day and being tutored by some of the inest names in the profession. One day, I received an offer to perform with the Youth Ballet Group of the National Higher Academy. I was to continue studying with them, and perform with them as well, all over the world. In the professional world of Ballerinas, this was an amazing chance of fulfilling the dream, but for me, I decided to follow my heart and come back to Syria. It was the place where my dream was born, along with the challenge. It was the place where the young girl watched ballerinas dancing on tiptoes in fabulous clothes. I decided to re-live my dream in Syria and took the decision to teach what I had learned throughout the last 19 years of my life to children. I hope that Ballet will remain my companion dream throughout my whole life.

The month of May has its historical importance in Syria, because it celebrates two events in modern history. One is the May 6, 1916 hanging of Syrian nationalists in the Marjeh Square during World War I, and the other being the French onslaught of May 29, 1945. On this day, 62-years ago, France bombed Damascus and tried to arrest its democratically elected leaders: Acting Prime Minister Jamil Mardam Bey, Speaker of Par-liament Saadallah al-Jabiri, and President Shukri al-Quwatli. While French planes were bombing Damascus, Prime Minister Faris al-Khury was at the founding conference of the United Nations in San Francisco, presenting Syria’s claim for independence from the French Mandate.

Whilst on a first-time visit to Syria in 2003, the international Scottish superstar Sean Connery had made—like many other foreigners visiting the country for the first time—many illuminating and surprising discoveries. The ex-007 was surprised to see the idyllic beauty of the country and its people.

When Bashar al-Assad, the youngest president in Syria history, was inaugurated before the Syrian Parliament in July 2000, he gave a speech that was a sharp departure from the dreary realist pronouncements by Baath leaders during the previous thirty-seven years of Baath rule in Syria. Where did Dr Assad’s high-toned sentiments originate? In his inaugural address, a Syrian might recognize the measured, intelligent, and uplifting rhetoric voiced by the leading lights of the Syrian independence movement, beginning in Ottoman times and ending in Syria’s emergence from French colonial rule in 1946.

Without this, how will the Bush administration even begin to formulate a rational Middle East policy, much less think about getting out of Iraq?

U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) has finally answered the inane but prevailing question in Washington: “To visit Damascus or not visit?” On April 4, 2007, she met and talked at length with President Bashar al-Assad.