October 2007

With great interest I have been watching the TV series “King Farouk” this Ramadan, recounting the life of Farouk I, the last king of Egypt who was dethroned by a revolution carrying the signature of the Free Officers in 1952. For years we were taught to believe that Farouk was a ‘bad king’ whose ‘carelessness’ led to the Arab defeat in the War of 1948. Revolutions vilify and destroy all that preceded them. Egypt was no exception. Farouk’s name was ruined and so was that of the entire dynasty of Mohammad Ali Pasha, which like all other royal families, certainly had its faults. Even the Wafd Party, which was ultra-nationalistic, was ruined by the revolutionary Nasser regime. History books depicted Farouk as a womanizer, a drunkard, and a passive monarch who cared more for his personal indulgences than for the fate of Egypt and the Arab World. Historians, how-ever, know better. It was Farouk who initiated the Arab League in the 1940s. It was Farouk who worked to break the Hashemite-British dominance in the Arab World—with help of Saudi King Abdul-Aziz and Syrian President Shukri al-Quwatli. It was Farouk who insisted to go to war in Palestine in 1948. Farouk was a womanizer indeed—forgivable perhaps be-cause of his young age—but for example, he never drank alcohol. That is one of the many lies created by the Free Officers.

 

Her paintings are exhibited around the world, in countries like France, Belgium, Monaco, Spain, and Switzerland. Her mother is the distinguished Syrian poet, Nada Kahal. Her name is May Abu Jeib, and she is a rising star in Syria. She is a woman of dreams, passion, vision, and an ambition that knows no bounds. She dedicates her-self to the wellbeing of society, meanwhile painting the colorful world of her dreams. Like a butterfly—colorful and bright—she draws a smile on people’s faces, and elegantly flutters along, gently placing the pillars of her dream into place, one after the other. She does much and says very little, and with a dedication of purpose she confidently marches along, seeking no reward other than seeing her dreams come true. Born in Lebanon and raised in Paris and later in Syria, Abu Jeib’s involvement in art began at a very early age. As a little child she sent one of her drawing to Princess Stephanie of Monaco, seeking inspiration from a well-established idol. The young Princess noticed the little girl’s obvious talent, and replied with an encouraging letter. Abu Jeib earned a degree in French Literature and a diploma in piano from the Conservatoire d’Auberviliers in Paris. During her studies, however, she continued to paint and held her first exhibition in Damascus at the French Cultural Week in 1995. Abu Jeib taught drawing classes at the Faculty of Architecture at Damascus University, and designed dolls and story-boards for cartoon companies. On several occasions, she accompanied her mother on the piano during her poetic recitals, and together they have worked on numerous fund-raising events and exhibitions for charity programs. Her dreams and talents are capsulated in her latest grand fund-raising project, “The Little Dream Book.” It tells the story of Aya and Omar, two children whose adventures are recounted in a series of short-stories and 33 poems written in five different languages, French, English, Italian, Spanish and Arabic. Abu Jeib collaborated with Lebanese musician Elias Rahbani, who transformed one of the poems into a song, then composed its music and helped both record and produce it. The CD will be distributed with the upcoming book. The “Little Dream Book” aims at promoting readership among young Arab children through interactive and well-crafted stories, while introducing them to a variety of foreign languages. Abu Jeib still dreams of raising her projects to an international level. She aims at transforming the stories into animated films with cartoon characters like the famous ones from Walt Disney, maintaining values, however, that are relevant to Arab children, and to which they can relate. The project aims at supporting children with cancer with an ongoing fundraising program for the Children Cancer Center in Lebanon and the Basma Center in Syria. Shortage of funds, however, has hindered the project’s progress, but nothing seems to stand in the way of Abu Jebi’s determination to succeed. She still works with passion and patience, certain that one day, her project will see the light. You lived abroad in the past but are now based in Syria. Would you think of leaving Syria again? I was born in Beirut. I lived there for five years then moved to Paris with my family during the Civil War. We moved back to Syria when I was 10-years old. So far I never thought of leaving Syria; it is the only home I know.

What is the lifetime achievement you dream of?

The Ministry of Health tries to ensure quality control within kitchens of hotels and restaurants in Damascus. Have these measures succeeded? Or is there still much to be done?

Competition is on the rise in the Syrian food industry. As end users, we ask ourselves: ‘what do we look for in restaurants and what makes a restaurant distinctive?’ We have quality in Damascene restaurants that offer a delicious variety of Syrian cuisine. We have wholesome meals, since Arab food is famed for being nutritious and diversified. We have competitive prices, where one can ‘ill the table’ with a wide variety of dishes while paying minimum charge when compared to similar restaurants around the world. We have a kind and warm staff serving customers, and most importantly, safety when eating in these places.

Syria is on the right track, but needs to digest certain realities in order to achieve more reforms.

Seriously, I cannot but admire the various articles in FW over the past eight months, written with so much enthusiasm, positivism, and dosages of «real-ism» for what needs to be done to move forward in rebuilding Syria. Being a Syrian Arab expatriate - born in the US and having lived only a few years of my life within the confines of Syria’s borders, the rest between the US itself, Lebanon and the GCC – might account (actually it does) for such cynicism and for espousing radical and grandiose solutions as opposed to the circumspect reforms being propagated by all.

It is a quick in-and-out of the Middle East for me this month. I’m shooting two shows in one trip, which means two countries in less than a week. It also means checking in and out of hotels and lying in and out of airports more times in a few days than most people do all summer.

 

I’ve arrived at a point where I know almost every airport in the Middle East like the back of my hand. I recognize customs officials, I instinctively make my way past security to the check-in counters and I can take my shoes off and pull my laptop out of my carryon luggage in five seconds flat.

No student of the Middle East can complete his/her course of study without at least once encountering the works of Professor Edward Said, who died on September 25, 2003 after a decade-long battle with Leukemia. Agree with his ideas or not, his contributions to his academic field and to the political workings of the Arab world are as prolific as they are influential.

 

I first met Colette in 2001 when she invited me to her lat to a gathering of friends and family that included the playwright Riad Ismat and the historian Sami Moubayed. Colette was effusive and mixed light-hearted banter that always seemed to find its mark with more serious and shrewd observations that were compelling in their logic. Her thinking was distinguished by its reason. After the inauguration of President Bashar al-Assad, for example, the new president quickly freed the country’s political prisoners, turned prisons into hospitals, authorized in-dependent newspapers and magazines, announced the new policy of encouraging private banks and private universities, and numerous other measures. In response, the new president was criticized by members of the opposition who complained that he had not gone far enough. Colette took a longer view. “Bashar al-Assad has given us reforms that we have wanted for many years,” she told me. “To do this, he has overcome resistance that has prevented such reforms in the past. Now is the time to support him and to encourage his reform project to move forward.” Colette’s support of the current president and his father, Hafez al-Assad, belies the difficulties that she and her family experienced during the early years of Baath rule. In 1963, when the Baath Party came to power, her father was quickly jailed for his political views. During these years, many Syrian intellectuals led the country, but Colette chose to stay. She once told me about the time she took a short visit to Beirut. On her return trip, she was denied entry on the Syrian-Lebanese border. “I was being excluded from my own country,” she explained to me. “Fortunately, I was able to make a phone call, and I got through to Hafez Assad (one of the three military rulers who shared power at this time) and, on his order, I was al-lowed to return home.” Within contemporary Syria, Colette is an example of the traditional class of urban notables who have found a way to maintain their loyalty to Syria during troubled political times. Her grandfather, Faris al-Khoury, was a graduate of the American University of Beirut in the first years of the century, and served as a member of the long suffering group of Syrian statesmen who patiently op-posed French occupation from 1920. As the first Christian prime minister of a predominantly Muslim country, Faris al-Khoury attended the founding of the United Nations in San Francisco in April, 1945. Colette’s grandfather encouraged her pursuit of an independent life as a writer and an artist. It’s perhaps fitting that, from 1990 to 1995 she served as an in-dependent member of parliament—her way of doing honor to her grandfather’s judicious political leadership. Several years after I first met Colette, I brought a group of Americans to Syria—Americans who had never before traveled to the Middle East. She welcomed us and engaged in another tour de force as hostess and raconteur. Later, my friends from the US told me that her urbane, intelligent manner—as well as her obvious humanity—made an indelible impression and created the perfect frame for their experience of Syria. Shoukran Imam, the wife of the late painter and teacher Fateh Moudarres, tells me that many women who were coming of age in the early 1960s hold Colette in awe. In 1959, Khoury published Days with Him (Ayyam Ma’ahou). The main character in the book was a young woman from Damascus who re-belled against the strictures of family and faith to pursue the man she loved and to seek fulfillment in her work. The novel was a best-seller in the Arab world. Within Syria, this book was a declaration of independence for women and is roughly comparable to Betty Friedan’s noniction work The Feminine Mystique in the US, which was published in 1963. “I remember Days with Him very well,” said Shoukran Imam. “I would read this book in bed when my parents thought that I was sleeping. It opened the world to me.” After the 1970 Corrective Movement saw the emergence of Hafez al-Assad as Syria’s president, Khoury’s popular celebrity was bolstered by official recognition. Following the 1973 October War with Israel, for example, Colette published the novel Bright Days (Al-Ayyam al-Mudi’a): the government made the book required reading for eleventh grade students in Syrian schools. To inform readers about Colette Khoury’s current activities, I have asked my friend George Meassy to meet with her and to convey my questions. Colette’s responses follow:

 

Two authors in the US wrote a critique of the Israeli lobby in Washington DC. They triggered a storm of pro-test—and applause—from an audience wanting to know more.

Imad Moustapha

The first Syrian cinema “Jenaq Kalaa” was established by Jamal Pasha, the Ottoman military governor of Syria, during World War I. It was named after a geographic pass in which the Ottoman Army had defeated the British. The first film screened in Syria was a silent documentary about the German Army (allied at the time to the Ottomans). A second cinema quickly followed before the end of the Great War in 1918, shortly before the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. From here, cinemas began to snowball and reached a total of 120 by 1963. Today we have 120 cinemas in Syria. Twenty five of them are located in Damascus and Aleppo. According to “The General Organization for Cinemas,” there is currently one cinemagoer per eight days in Syria. The cinemas have a total of 15,000 seats and an annual in-come of 41 million SP. The older generation of Syrians still re-members the heyday of Syrian cinemas with a lot of regret and nostalgia. Reservations would be made several days in advance. Huge cinemas, hosting up to 1,000 seats, were created in Damascus. They had graceful decoration and a special section for families. In 1963, the General Organization for Cinemas was created, aimed at improving cinemas in Syria. Tragedy struck in 1969. The government passed a decree, #2543, banning the importation of foreign films. This ruined the popularity of cinemas, which were now filled with cheap East European films, as opposed to the grand Hollywood and French productions.

 

Established in 1937, Rawda Cafe is one of the surviving ‘giants’ of Damascus. It hosts young and old, rich and poor, male and female. It is the melting-pot of the Syrian capital.

Damascus is «my» town! I believe this statement—other than just stating the obvious, or endearing me to my fellow Damascenes—to be a noble and weighty statement. For Damascus, like any true megalopolis, is overpopulated with people who claim they are true denizens of this glorious city; yet seem to go about their daily lives taking Her for granted. I mean, I would be lying if I said I would mind living in a city that is more proper and clean, less crowded, better organized, greener (a sad observation for a city that, only 35 years ago, was still 60% green!), less noisy, or which possesses less ugly Stalin-era monstrosities of Architecture. I would LOVE it. And it is a sentiment that any self-respecting Damascene waking up to the unpleasant and suffocating smog, and passing by (or entering) some of the ugliest public buildings in the world—would undoubtedly share with me.