Nader Khairiddine Abuljebain is a man of stories, with a gamut hidden away in his repertoire. But where many would choose the conventional medium of worlds to express themselves, Abuljebain decided to put together a history in stamps. His book “Palestinian History in Postage Stamps” is one of the first to examine the history of a troubled people through an exclusively Arab, bilingual commentary through postage stamps. For Abuljebain is both an ardent philatelist and activist for Palestinian rights, and realized the ideal project would be a synthesis of the two. 

“Palestinian History in Postage Stamps” examines Palestinian stamps in detail with commentary that expresses the Arab viewpoint. It is nothing if not an assertion of Arab identity and Palestinian history through the simple expedience of declaring that a people with over a hundred years of stamps cannot be erased from historical and geographical narrative through occupation. His book and the stamps within cover a period between the initial colonization of the 1870s to the establishment of the Palestinian authority in the 1990s. All the stamps in the book are from Abuljebain’s personal collection, and were assembled lovingly over a period of years.

“Palestinian History in Postage Stamps” follows an interesting structure: the closest metaphor might be the cross-section of an onion. In looking at the world through a very Palestinian-centric viewpoint, it has at its core stamps that come from the troubled territories. The next ring outwards in the metaphorical onion comprises of stamps from countries contiguous to Israel, and in Abuljebain’s mind, offering the first line of defence and support to the Palestinians. These include Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Egypt.

The next ring outwards has countries that directly support the Palestinian cause in some way or another – Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Libya and Sudan. Proceeding outwards further still, a chapter deals with other Arab states. Abuljebain feels the Palestinian problem is actually one of Arab identity. Thus, even states that have not played a proactive role to date are still ideological companions solely because of geography and culture. “If Palestine is at the centre of my book, it is surrounded by states that try and confront the occupation, states that support those confronting the occupation, and finally other Arab countries. I’ve tried to express the history of Palestine exclusively through an Arab narrative, for it is very much a pan-Arab issue of identity and social cohesiveness,” he says.

Abuljebain is Palestinian but like many has not been able to reside in his homeland. His parents, he says, were evicted from Jaffa along with thousands others in the events of 1948. They moved to Kuwait, where Abuljebain was born in 1950. He’s an engineer by trade, and combines construction and consultation concerns as a business model. When he’s not shuttling around Gulf States from one consultation job to the next, he’s engaging in his other full-time profession as Arab activist and spokesperson. He moved to the United States post the Gulf War, and has been involved in political work and union activity both as a student and now in his professional life. He belongs to a number of associations and societies in the US where he writes and lectures on behalf of Arab causes.

In fact, his family’s exile in 1948 may just have been a boon to his nascent hobby. “Our extended family split up and travelled all over the world. This means there was a constant flow of letters from different countries, which meant I had a ready source of international stamps to start my collection,” he recalls.

Philately came early to him. “I started when I was a child. Many children start collections, particularly of stamps, and it wasn’t very unusual. But unlike many, I persisted. One of my fondest memories of an early stamp is of a 1956 Egyptian one depicting resistance post the Suez Canal issue. It was a very beautiful brown stamp, with a soldier, a man, and a woman all firing at an incoming paratrooper. I knew then that I was hooked, possibly for life,” he says.

It’s not that the young Abuljebain was only interested in war-like stamps. In fact, one of his other favourites from early life was the unity stamp between Egypt and Syria, with an arch linking the two countries’ maps. “Even aesthetically, I was always drawn to the political stamps,” he notes. 

Hear Abuljebain talk about stamps and you are left in no doubt of the enormous passion he has for philately. He describes lovingly the years of toil in completing stamp collections. “Once the last stamp in a set is found, no matter how mundane, the sense of achievement is indescribable,” he says.  “Nothing else compares.”

He is keen to dispel the notion of philately as an isolated activity. “It’s a science in itself, and within it encompasses history, geography, anthropology and sociology. Stamps are not just beautiful due to aesthetics. Many carry a political message, or memories of a geographical location. They are evidence of culture at work, of life occurring. And much can be deduced from even the simplest depictions.”

“A Palestinian History in Postage Stamps” is a work spanning generations. Abuljebian gathered the collections depicted within from sources all over the world: from activist friends, the Strand Street in London, swaps and exchanges, and specialist shops in the United States. His motivations behind the compilation are clear, if complex.

“I wanted to establish four things. First, I wanted to give vent to philatelist passion. There are many books on American, British and French stamps, for instance, but very few from the Arab world. I wanted to set a precedent. I also wanted to offer a reading of history from an Arab perspective, to balance some of the other narratives out there. Further, I wanted to argue the inherent correlation between Arab unity and identity, and the Palestinian issue. Last, there was the desire to take the Palestinian issue to an international audience, and make the cause both global and legitimate. I wanted to tell the world about a people with a rich history and culture, who were being oppressed and marginalized.”

Abuljebian’s book has been receiving accolades since it came out in the 90’s, but he’s not done. The philately is going strong and so is the activism. He is currently working on a series of papers, researches and lectures in the States on the history of Zionism and Palestine, the idea the right of return, and the viability of the one state solution were he calls for “a democratic secular state from river to the sea where all reside as equals.”

Between his architectural commitments, unceasing activism and ardent phlately, Abuljebain is a man difficult to pin down geographically. His seasoned voice of reason tells of many years of grappling with geopolitical issues and coming up with conclusions that may not be acceptable to all. But even a short conversation leaves one feeling strangely reassured that there are still a few good men left fighting for what they believe is right. Perhaps they should commemorate him with a stamp. It would only be fitting. 

Let’s assume for a second that you’re homing in on Barsha on the back of a giant bird. From afar, you see a cross-section of living and shopping spaces, with apartments and villas rubbing corners with little shops, restaurants, and hypermarkets. The Mall of the Emirates, with its protruding ski slope, slides into view as retail lynchpin.

Hover a bit closer and you realize Barsha is a community humming and bustling in its own right. People mill around, cars honk and there are the inevitable traffic jams. From your perch in the sky, you linger over busy street corners. Just a few turns away, villas sit slouching in the very epitome of languor.

As a strictly amateur thespian, comedian, and general noisemaker, I find the arts scene in Barsha figuring ever more prominently within my schedule. And that’s largely due to two enterprises: DUCTAC and the Jam Jar.

Nestled in the Mall of the Emirates, the DUCTAC theatre is home to an artsy generality of people of all ages - some as tiny as kneecap-biting five or six. It offers lessons in music, comedy, tap dance, improv, writing and Arabic, and there is theatre space for all manner of performances. From little girls dressed in pink tutus to people carrying a menacing array of props and scripts, DUCTAC is home for everyone with even a fibre of interest in the arts. Within DUCTAC operate the indomitable duo of Ali Al Sayed and Mina Liccione, the founders of Dubomedy. Mina is an ex-Broadway tap queen and comedienne, and Ali a world-class purveyor of comedy in his own right. I’m currently dabbling in stand-up comedy classes with them, and thoroughly enjoying the bonhomie and camaraderie.

Then, if you were to gain some altitude, and look across to the other side of the Umm Suqeim road dividing Barsha from Al Quoz, you would see the Jam Jar hidden between rows of identical warehouses. Technically, it’s on the wrong side of the street to be considered Barsha. But its influence and proximity means it deserves honorary mention.

One of the true pioneers of Dubai’s homegrown arts scene, it caters to a wide variety of events- musical performances, theatre, and arts exhibitions. It’s a communal space that’s easily accessible, and the all-girl team is genuinely enthusiastic about arts and culture. The Jam Jar, in some manner or other, has been involved with many of the seminal arts and culture events in Dubai and even Abu Dhabi. I have memories of several happy evenings and afternoons there.

Between the Jam Jar and DUCTAC, Barsha’s denizens can rest assured there will always be artsy endeavors to soothe the soul.

Short films have always had their place in the history of film. In particular, 20th-century cinema had the feature attraction preceded by shorts. These were replaced by ads and coming attractions by the commercial realities of Hollywood, where every second of reel time must be monetised.

But the short film is far from dead, particularly in the Middle East and the UAE, where it fits in well with the local tradition of storytelling. Alice Kharoubi, Project Manager and selector for the Abu Dhabi Film Festival's (ADFF) Short Film Competition, believes there's increasing funding available, and also more encouragement for new directors.

Interesting viewpoints

The International Short Film Competition at the ADFF showcased 31 films from the world over, ranging from three minutes to more than thirty. "We've chosen films that offer interesting viewpoints from a variety of sociocultural reference points, and ideas we believe our audiences will appreciate," Kharoub said. The showcased films were at a high level, both conceptually and in terms of quality. "In previous years, some of the shorts we've shown at ADFF have gone on to win Oscar nominations. Many of the directors have gone on to expand their repertoire and make full-length features," she noted.

"The UAE market is relatively new to the idea of short films, but short films do well here," she said. "They have the advantage of offering interesting viewpoints from a gamut of sources, and encouraging the audience down the corridors of romance, comedy, drama, tragedy and dreamlike surrealism."

An excellent example of a surreal, dream-like sequence was Jean Sebastien Chauvin's And They Climbed The Mountain with a running time of thirty-three minutes. A couple is stranded in the middle of what could be utopia, with pristine landscapes that are lovingly explored through wide-angle shots. Yet they find a phone — the most alien of artefacts in such a deserted paradise — which leads to palpable dread and a sense of impending misfortune.

Simple idea

Director Chauvin says his inspiration for a film usually comes from a simple idea that he then adds layers of complexity to. "In my film, the starting point is a situation the couple find themselves in — of finding a phone in the middle of nowhere. The entire movie revolves around this basic tenet."

Director Marwan Khneisser presented Short Memory, a powerful critique of civilian life and death, and the disproportionate firepower used in Israel's bombardment of Lebanon in 2006. Talking about the film's abrupt yet haunting ending, Khneisser said, "I made my film based on one of the most heartless incidents occurring during the 2006 war. I wanted people to be aware of the nature of such war crimes [committed by Israel]." The film offered a charming snapshot of urban life in cramped quarters before war inevitably disrupted all. Khneisser believes the vertical nature of his shots is an ideal complement to the lively yet claustrophobic nature of Beirut life.

Common yet complex

Norway's Henning Roenlund was another director whose work featured in the ADFF Short Film Competition. His film A Marriage narrated the tale of a Russian woman marrying a Norwegian man, and is a study in interjecting nuance into stereotype.

"Such marriages are fairly commonplace, due in part to high Russian immigration, and come with their own baggage of stereotyping. The woman is often described as opportunistic, or the man as looking for cheap gratification. Of course, real life is far more ambiguous, and my film tries to examine these complexities."

For Laila Bouzid, director of Tunisian film Mkhobbi Fi Kobba, inspiration for a film can often be a case of identifying a true story and building a rich narrative around that. Her moving film depicted the sexist standards and violence often inherent to patriarchal society.

Kharroubi has been Project Manager for ADFF's Short Film Competition for the past five year. She's seen interest grow in her section, and noted that short films are becoming more commercially accepted. The ADFF is capitalising on this by adding new award categories. "This year, we've added the award category for Best Producer from the Arab World to go with the Best Producer internationally."

Broadcasting

She believes the next step is for broadcast TV to realise the viability of broadcasting short films. "We've recently worked with OSN to broadcast some short films, and we hope the trend will continue. Introducing short films to TV audiences will give them a greater diversity of entertainment, and help directors become better known," she said.

The short film can be a platform that is rewarding for both audience and filmmakers. Its truncated nature means less time and place to tell stories, which helps directors distil narrative down to basics. For audiences, the short film can produce ideas scintillating yet simple, capable of exploding with pristine clarity in the mind — rather like the coruscating light bulbs that populate Juan Pablo Zaramella's short film Luminaris. From the funny to the harsh, surreal to the pertinent, short films need not pander to Hollywood's often vacuous commerciality just yet. As Director Nash Edgerton of Bear put it, "Most of my short films are borne of a simple repetitive thought or dream. I make films to share that thought with others."

— Hisham Wyne is UAE-based freelance writer

Naujib Mahfouz, Egypt’s celebrated novelist and master short story writer whose oeuvre also encompassed scriptwriting, would have been hundred had he been alive today. The Nobel Peace Prize winner produced a body of work credited with some of the best writing not just in Arabic but possibly in any language. His work has had a profound impact on the world of contemporary Arab literature and cinema. To honour his hundredth birthday, the Abu Dhabi Film Festival is hosting commemorative events and screenings of some of his best known films.

Mahfouz was a product of the Egyptian revolution of 1919, a rebellion against British rule that engendered new individualism and identity in Egyptian hearts and minds. His early years saw a new Egypt that had won independence from British rule in 1922. There is curious symmetry in that Mahfouz’s hundredth birthday also falls on a revolution where Egypt is once again negotiating its identity.

At a panel discussion marking Maufhuz’s contribution to cinema, Egyptian critic Kamal Ramzi said, “Mahfouz gave us a common language of literature, and metaphors we could share. Through his novels and scripts, he enrolled us in a school of life that taught us what universities couldn’t. His brilliance as a writer was in bringing his characters to succinct life, and he always left clues that allowed actors to do justice to the roles he created.”

Mahfouz, the veritable man of cinema, had an early introduction to the screen. Since the age of seven, he used to accompany his nanny to the cinema. He’s been known to write about the agony of watching a film end and a story finish. Those moments were among the unhappiest of his life, when the characters and their stories disappeared into a roll of credits.  Not only did Mahfouz write for cinema, he also wrote about cinema – his books are peppered with cinematic references. “The importance of cinema is reflected in Mahfouz’s writing. He often uses techniques like parallel montages, and flashbacks, which are techniques inherent to the world of film,” said critic Samir Farid.

The Abu Dhabi Film Festival is showing some of Mahfouz’s classic works, including The Beginning And The End (Bidaya wa Nihaya) as well as its contemporary reinterpretation ‘Principio y fin’ set in Mexico, Between Heaven And Earth (Bayn el Sama wa el Ard) and The Thief And The Dogs (Al Lis wa Al Kilab).

Mahfouz enriched the world of cinema as he did of books. His work speaks volumes of his attachment to Cairo, to Egyptian culture, and the new flame of identity post independence from British rule in 1922. A very happy hundredth birthday to the man of cinema and letters.

No one wants anarchy on their doorstep

Oct 21^st 2011

If one were to tell you that you could defeat an ardent foe but would then need to feed their large family and keep their feral offspring from raiding your larder, would that be an idea to entice you? No one wants a wolf of their own making at their doorstep baying the arrival of winter.

It’s therapeutic applying the same logic to Pakistan’s prospects, and the supposed legions out to sabotage us. For instance, it’s been drilled into us ad nauseum since independence that India wants to squash us and use our eyeballs to bake bread. Admittedly, wars have occurred in the past, when there was more parity of power. At current juncture though, we have little that India could covet. Then of course, there’s that argument that Americans want to neutralize our fantastically manly nukes and strategically castrate us.

Of course, per norm, what most haven’t considered are the ramifications. Consider this: a full-blown invasion by America occurs; and our utterly glorious forces are quickly defeated in battle – with the caveat emptor that their radars were under maintenance or were switched off, that the Fauji cornflakes were laced with soporifics that morning, or what have you (refer to a certain raid in Abbotabad in May for the entire litany of excuses). What then? At the very least, one would run into Iraq-like scenes; and while many will no doubt run to busts and portraits of Zardari to preserve them for future auction at Christie’s once his sainthood is papally sanctified, those better prepared will make for arms caches and help themselves to some good stuff of the radioactive kind. Yes, your friendly superpower will have contingencies in place for this, but the idea of them believing all possible sites could be secured without leakage is frankly ludicrous. And so, America, by their very actions would arm anarchistic groups with the possible wherewithal of making American life very miserable.

One can also imagine India’s dismay. What was once a somewhat dysfunctional state on its borders will have suddenly turned into a delightful free-for all where all strategy is useless. The problem with strategy as expounded by Sun Tzu and Machiavelli is it always assumes the enemy as rational. And by rational, one mean capable not just of coherent thought but also concerted action. Multiple groups leaves practical rationality adrift, because there is no overriding writ.  So India, rather than tangoing with a foe it knows and comprehends, is suddenly left dealing with factions that do what they want when they want, based on whim and impulse, for they already have precious little left to lose.

No one wants a dead Pakistan. No one- not even India – wants a Pakistan so incapacitated it can’t keep itself in partial order. Despite all the jingoism, even if India has the military might to skewer Pakistan in half, what might it achieve by following through? It’d only have more states to add to the ones it can barely manage as is.

Flippancy aside, our purported carcass would turn into an excellent playground for opportunists. This will include Russia and China, who’d quickly extend influence into the failed state. It’s easy to see how America won’t be happy with that. Iran will quickly mobilize its resources too, which would leave Saudi Arabia in conniptions. And all this will be happening on India’s borders. Not a good outcome for that erstwhile neighbour.

Yes, India is undoubtedly sponsoring the Baloch insurgency, but that’s only to keep us sufficiently busy that we can’t stir things up in Kashmir. And America is clumsily plying pressure any way it can, because it’s petrified of an explosive Afghanistan once it inevitably pulls out prematurely, rather like a poorly performing lover. It’s all realpolitik. But that doesn’t mean the world is out to get us.

Au contraire, the reason we keep limping along regardless of an economy that looks a wheel short compared to a unicycle, and a leadership that makes Billy the Kid look like Mother Teresa, is that the entire world is united in at least one thing – Pakistan must be kept afloat at any rate. So the next time one brings up the idea of an existential threat from America, India, or the bogeyman du jour, it might be a good idea to tell them that a Pakistan limping is far preferable for all concerned to one irrevocably broken.

The column was written for the Express Tribune, and was published October: 9th. 2011. It can be found here.

Of late, there has been much ado over the prospects of the PTI and a certain Mr. Khan in the next general elections. There have been the pragmatic who insist that Mr. Khan’s idyllic, idealistic appeal makes for a good anthem call, but fails in the negotiated murk of implementation. Then there are those who say Mr. Khan’s whim and vigor yielded the unlikeliest of results on the cricket pitch in 92: it’s not too much to hope for a similar upheaval in status quo in the political outfield.

These arguments, though well-meaning and for the most part fairly adroit, are also unfortunately irrelevant. For it isn’t Khan’s bona fides that one must worry about, but that the system of electoral machinations is vehemently against the outsider.

Consider the facts on the ground. The PTI’s appeal, though rising, is based largely around urban centers. The party’s supporters are the urbane urbanites, who for the large part excel at couch analysis, latte sipping, and categorical activism through the consistent updating of Facebook statuses and Twitter one-liners (please note, at this juncture, that I very much count myself as part of the Facebook updating, tweeting, cappuccino cohort).

Now, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this. In fact, it’s a non-violent, semi-progressive agenda that does not give leeway to the same dichotomy of thieves that have been robbing all and sundry blind for decades. I support it.

But the nature of Pakistan’s socio-political structure is feudal. This ensures that the mass bulk of your voters are going to vote the way they always have - depending on which constituency they may fall in. Subjected to decades of oversight, they’re in the advanced stages of Stockholm Syndrome, and will relentlessly vote to power the same people who always proceed to disenfranchise them. This seems a bit harsh, so allow me to qualify: landowners, even if of a feudal bent, have some connection to their sundry serfs. They may do very little, but still have more power to effect change in feudal lands than your average white-collar person.

Alas, this calculus has been done before. In 1835, Alexis de Tocqueville stated the danger of democracy becoming the tyranny of the majority. Essentially, this means a majority can impose its views to the detriment of a large minority. This is precisely the case here, with the white-collar vote outweighed by a mass of farmers and workers answerable to their feudal lords. The lords canvas, and arrange for people in their circle of influence to be ferried back and forth from polling stations. They point votes in the direction of their latest decreed alliance.

The moral of this story is that as long as the feudal structure stays, the Khan stays out. Even His Cricketship has mentioned this anecdotally on several an occasion. He talks about how the PTI sweeps urban centers and loses ground in rural areas. He blames this on rigging: I would put it down to simple influence of the land-owning classes. Even if he were right, and rigging were occurring in far flung polling stations, that too is a by-product of a system in feudal inertia, because an independent election commission has not yet been established in Pakistan. The incumbents have no wish to erode power in the interest of fair play.

So here then is the dilemma. Khan is canvassing against a system that looks after its own - and in the manner of Marx’s structuralism has created institutions that help it sustain and propagate itself. The PTI’s core constituency is the very sort of urban middle-class that does not have the might of numbers or resources to challenge land and power. In delicious irony, the poor who are being hurt the most by the current system are also helping to sustain it: a stereotypical Marxist construct if ever there were one.

This isn’t about Khan’s suitability as premier, nor about his ideals. It’s simply about a system that is caught up in its own inertia, and looks after its own. Outsiders are not welcome. And the urban classes Khan is courting – or rather the ones who are courting Khan - have a history of not voting anyway. So stick that in your Facebook and update it.

Activists, and most with any human sympathy to their name, were shocked when Greece decided to nail new unpleasant colours to its masthead. The second flotilla, en route to breaking the blockade that Israel has enforced around Palestine, was detained at Greek ports earlier this month and then sent back.

Written by Hisham Wyne

More than a couple of weeks have transpired since the assassination of the purported rock star of the Al Qaeda world. The champagne has been guzzled, and the mild mannered Joes next door in New York have reverted to type after a day of macho beer guzzling and frenetic war cries.

It’s now time to reckon with the aftermath. Osama bin Laden, referred quasi-affectionately as OBL on twitter, is no more. And we sit and bask in the joy of a world where his death changes…very little.

It’s safe to surmise that OBL had, for many years, not been in direct tactical command of Al Qaeda, regardless of how much porn he may or may not have watched. Two reasons precluded his taking active charge. His status as the world’s most wanted man meant he couldn’t saunter over to the local telegraph office and ask to send a cable to al-Zawahiri. Second, the amorphous nature of Al Qaeda relies more on autonomous cells than a hierarchy. The recent attacks in Pakistan and Afghanistan’s Kandahar indicate Al Qaeda is alive, well and unfortunately still capable as ever of inflicting damage.

The Bin Laden aftermath raises far more important questions for his host country, Pakistan. The choice between conspiracy and ineptitude is stark, and unpleasant. Either a carefully planned endgame ensued, where the military knew both of OBL’s existence and the planned operation, or it was blissfully ignorant of either and the American swot team genuinely managed to evade detection for the better part of an hour, and fly out.

The former is evidence of a widening disconnect between the puppet masters, the underlying politicians and the general public. The Kremlin of the USSR era would be hard pressed to muster such intrigue. The alternative is a behemoth army that, despite guzzling a sizable percentage of the impoverished state’s resources, is still hard pressed to find and mine intelligence. Pakistan continues its double game, simultaneously firing on Nato helicopters and arresting a senior Al Qeada figure in Karachi.

Then there is the widening rift between the silent in Pakistan who secretly approve of OBL’s disappearance from world affairs, and the vocal ones who are offering funeral prayers for OBL’s safe passage to the bounties of heaven. The chasm is tenuously bridged by an issue that unites most Pakistanis, regardless of political affiliation or worldview – that America is less benevolent friend and more opportunistic taskmaster.

Chomsky, in an excellent piece, describes the double standards at play in the American narrative. He doubts that Americans would be as thrilled with the Iraqi commandos landing at George W. Bush’s compound, assassinating him and throwing his body into the ocean. Chomsky usually makes it a point to dismantle the patriotic self-centeredness of American ideology, where most actions are ascribed as a saving grace for all of mankind and half the animal kingdom. But in his quest to even the scales, Chomsky is rebutting an American narrative by making arguments relevant solely to an American audience.

In the rest of the world, the notion of America as the great Satan, or as world saviour, is strangely passe. Most observers realize that America is merely fulfilling the terms and conditions of an imperialist power furthering its political, social and economic interests. Empires have propagated ideology and bent others to their will since the time of the Mesopotamians, the first great civilization. There is irony in history: Mesopotamia was founded on the fertile banks of the Euphrates river, where lies the present day cauldron of Iraq, from  which the world’s latest great civilization is trying to extricate itself.

As a rational, self-serving nation, America will act in its own interests when it can. This makes it neither evil nor particularly special. From an American viewpoint, taking out OBL was a good decision, regardless of his capacity as ringleader. It proved an ideological victory; one that will almost certainly give Obama a clean run to the White House for the second time. And while OBL’s removal may not hamper opportunistic attacks carried out by lone individuals or splinter cells, the chances of a massive organized attack have been reduced as Al Qaeda busies itself with the messy business of succession.

Yes, Osama is gone. But the conditions, mostly economic impoverishment and socio-political ignorance that allow Al Qaeda access to willing young recruits wanting to splinter into millions of pieces for the hope of a better afterlife, persist. Ideology and blind faith are often a last refuge for the marginalized.

Two weeks on, little has changed. America is still struggling to define its role in an angry Middle East and Afghanistan. Pakistan is still sliding towards a sort of zealous faith-based double standard that makes rational argument next to impossible. Schisms between the military, political infrastructure and constituents continue to suffer. It’s unsurprising that media pundits from the country have largely shied away from supporting OBL’s demise.  But Bin Laden bent ideology to devastating end, and is responsible, both directly and via proxy for thousands of deaths. There should be no sorrow at his demise. It’s just unfortunate that his replacement, either the Egyptian Saif el Adel, or Adel’s compatriot Ayman al-Zawahiri, is already manning the guns.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Contemporary Art in the Arab world: A virtual majlis

Author: Hisham Wyne

 A simple investigation of the contemporary art movement in the Arab world is enough to ensure the discerning stenographer of a cacophony of medleys. Contemporary expression is not a simple construct but rather a composite of self-expression, ideas, stimuli and reactions, communicated through a variety of media.

There is an articulation of various influences, and the flow of ideas and creation is influenced by factors so broad and nuanced that the nature of Arab art is constantly changing; its flux making it hard if not downright irresponsible to pigeonhole it.

In fact, according to Antonia Carver, curator of Art Dubai, any attempt to define the genre of Arab contemporary arts is merely borne out of the need to package it as a discrete, marketable item. “In a way, there was no such thing (and arguably there isn’t now) as “Middle Eastern art.” It’s a just convenient umbrella term. The description’s widespread use is relatively recent; its prevalence rising in the past 15 years as international interest in the region increased dramatically.” She says that it became desirable and convenient to think of the region as producing a single artistic phenomenon. However, contemporary artists in the region, as well as the diaspora, work in a variety of media and styles. They are influenced by history, politics and their personal lives, much like artists anywhere else in the world. “What they share is a connection to a continent with an intertwined history and a common language, ” she says.

 William Lawrie, Director of Lawrie Shabibi, seems to concur with the assessment that the idea of a unified regional art scene is a stretch. He notes that contemporary Middle Eastern artists work with painting and sculpture but are increasingly also experimenting with new media such as video. There is no one discernable influence: ideas range from those recognizably part of the region’s calligraphy traditions to more international expressiveness through abstract painting and photography.

 Isabelle de la Bruyère, Director, Middle East, Christie’s, seems to hold a similar viewpoint. She says that while some artists work with calligraphy, offering historical references and iconography familiar to the region, others offer figurative interpretations. The more daring push at the very boundaries of stereotype using cutting-edge video or installation art. “The contemporary Middle-Eastern art scene is rich in innovation but as is often the case in art, it often also draws on the past, and herewith the rich history of Islamic culture,” she says.

Jack Persekian, Director of the Sharjah Art Foundation, believes there’s little to choose from between Middle Eastern art and the rest of the world. With influences coming in from the West and an intermingling of ideas and narratives, there is little that is stereotypically Arab or Middle Eastern.

Wissan Al-Khuweiri, Director of Mathaf’s Arab Museum of Modern Art, is particularly testy when asked what contemporary art in the Middle

East means. “It means what it means everywhere else in the world.” The process of international exchange has meant that contemporary art from the Arab world is in a process of constant engagement with art from elsewhere, leading to a broad convergence. It is rather the market, says Al Khuweiri, that tries to impose certain preconceived notions on what Middle Eastern contemporary arts might include. “People looking for certain cues in a piece of work will usually find them if they try hard enough,” she says. Every artist in the Middle East has their own approach, and tries to bring who they are to their work. They can identify themselves as Arab if they choose to, but only if they choose to. Al-Khuweiri believes that audiences should allow artists to define themselves as opposed to fitting pre-conceived cognitive frameworks onto them.

 Carver of Art Dubai and Lawrie of Lawrie Shabibi concur with this assessment. Regional art carries the influence of key artists from the West because many Arab artists have attended art schools in Europe and Russia. There is a synthesis of local and international sensibilities, creating a hybrid where it’s difficult to pin down individual artists. This can be an issue for Western art critics, says Carver, who might be able to see the various influences and discern a linear history but find it difficult to place works in a specific time or place.

 There is a perception that Arab artists work in the mien of their Western counterparts, using international ideas and tailoring them to regional sensibilities and happenings. That is not the case. Carver believes artists in the contemporary genre are subject to a barrage of ideas and the process of influence is likely to be one of exchange, because Arab artists also influenced European ones when they attended schools there. De la Bruyère concurs, saying that artists in the region are in no way passive recipients of outside influences. Persekian demurs. He believes that Western ideas have import for the Arab world, because successful artists want to be showcased internationally, in cities known for their art, and attract collectors. It’s not so much individuals that influence art here, but the market. This is a crucial point, according to him.

While contemporary artists are determined to explore a rich synthesis of ideas and influences, the vagaries of the market can often impose a controlling influence. Carver says, “The visibility in the Gulf has tended to be the most commercial artists, because we lack public, not-for-profit contemporary art spaces that take risks and show artists that are complex, but that is changing – often with individual patrons taking action themselves – for instance, the likes of Sultan Al Qassemi, Dr Farhad Farjam, Rami Farook and others.”

 Persekian of the Sharjah Art Foundation believes that artists hoping to make a living tend to follow the market. He believes still painting remains the most dominant and commercially viable form of contemporary art, due to its ease of acquisition and display in collectors’ homes. The market favours that art form, which means many artists will gravitate to it. Art, after all, is often produced to commercial demand, he says, which means market forces play a hefty role in negotiating the final product.

Yet galleries are increasingly interspersing commercial shows with others that don’t necessary bow to market whims. Lawrie notes that calligraphic works might have been the first off the mark in terms of market value, being readily identifiable as from the region, but tastes are changing.  Collectors are increasingly looking for more challenging art. Works influenced by pop art and conceptual minimalism are entering the commercial fray.

De la Bruyère of Christie’s points to an interesting discourse occurring in local markets. Buyers throughout the region are becoming infatuated with art from neighbouring countries, crossing borders both physical and conceptual to include a diversity of art in the

ir collections. “Over the last three years we have seen Arab buyers of Iranian art, Indian buyers of Arab art, and now Iranians and Arab art collectors looking towards Turkey. The market is not reliant on a single group of buyers or particular region or country in the world anymore, which gives it dynamism and breadth.”

Middle Eastern contemporary art is being negotiated through a dichotomy that pits artists’ creativity and self-expression against the demands of critics anxious to find a peg for their opinions, and buyers wanting commercially viable art. Yet the two strands aren’t necessarily divergent. Markets are becoming more nuanced, informed, open and interconnected. As the idea of stereotyping contemporary Arab art dilutes itself, artists will have more commercial freedom to express themselves while exploring new ideas and art forms.

So when left to their own devices, hopefully with a market that appreciates diversity, what ideas and influences might contemporary Arab artists explore? The general consensus is that contemporary art continues to explore historical elements of identity while being a window into the new tensions that form the social tapestry of the region. On the historical front, Lawrie notes that art in the region long been influenced by social and political factors, such as anti-colonialism in the mid-20th century. In the contemporary milieu, economic factors undoubtedly play a role.

 Persekian is in broad agreement, saying art in general is informed by unfolding events. Wars, uprisings, liberation movements, nationalism, women’s rights have all helped shape Arab art. At present juncture, the trend seems to be towards a conservative tilt in social attitudes. Contemporary art either reflects them, or rebels. Carver, while acknowledging some truth behind a convergence of discourse, warns against generalizing overtly. “It’s a cliché that Lebanese artists are only obsessed with war, but there’s an element of truth in that many of these artists have been able to articulate the civil wars and the aftermath of the wars in a way that no other sector of society has, and they continue to do so. At the same time, it’s wrong to pigeonhole them as being one-dimensional in some way, as many of them relate their practice to the history of art, medium, texture, and so on. It’s almost impossible to generalize the whole region.”

 Al-Khuweiri too warns against searching too deeply for general meta-narratives. She believes influences are individual, and interchangeable. Arab artists are no different from their international counterparts in that they interpret a wide range of stimuli through their work.

 Roxane Zand, Sothebys’ Director for the Middle East and Gulf acknowledges that nations will have their own identity, preoccupations and concerns. So too has the Arab world seen broad unities and commonalities. Yet, Arab artists have mostly strived for diverse self-expression: the works of interesting artists such as Ahmed Mater explore highly personal and intimate themes while others like Youssef Nabil and Essaoudi remain committed to examining the place of women in society. Lara Baladi has excelled at using patterns and complexities, just as Hefuna has unravelled the visual potentials of the mashraba. While personal and political themes abound, unified movements and schools of art are still hard to identify in a diverse region with individualistic growth.  “Where twentieth century movements in Western art were often launched through manifestos and as post-effects of the Industrial Revolution or the Second World War, contemporary Middle Eastern art may well find itself indebted to the technological, digital and cyber-revolutions we are currently witnessing. We are only just now seeing a more structured critical and artistic discourse emerging from this period of rapid change.” The macrocosm is being supported by published work in magazines and newspapers, panels, debates and conferences that further discourse around contemporary arts.  

It’s not just published work and debate that is sprouting around the nascent contemporary art environment. There is also a slow mushrooming of curatorial organizations both independent and government financed. The UAE has Bidoun, Ashkal Alwan, Sharjah Biennial and the ACAF while independent art houses are sprouting in cities like Cairo and Beirut. New cultural institutions are slowly putting down roots in the Middle East, like Doha’s Arab Museum of Modern Art (Mathaf), and the forthcoming Guggenheim and Louvre in Abu Dhabi. Concurrently, major art exhibitions such as Abu Dhabi Art and Art Dubai are cultivating a mix of the commercial and experimentation. These gatherings tend to become a focal point for expertise from the world over, resulting in a further melding of the local, regional and international.

 Government authorities are also playing a role in patronizing the arts - TDIC and the Dubai Culture & Arts Authority, for instance, are playing active roles in catalyzing and supporting broader artistic outreach. Thanks to a congruence of independent and governmental support, contemporary arts in the region is making global inroads. For instance, 2009 saw the UAE participate at the La Biennale di Venizia (the Venice Biennial). The transient sands of contemporary arts are being gathered in the hourglass of institutional support.

 At the same time, private collectors are playing an increasingly active role in the public eye. They have always been involved in shaping the socio-cultural and contemporary art discourse by exercising purchasing power and shaping market sentiment. They are now opening their collections to public viewing and contributing to the public appreciation of diversity. In the UAE, Sultan Saood Al Qassmi, Rami Farook and Dr. Farjam are well known figures in the art world, and their collections are displayed through a number of public exhibitions. They act as an essential bridge between esoteric art and public consciousness. This is not a new phenomenon: Zand of Sotheby’s notes that the sudden rise of art patrons in medieval times, such as Emperor Jahangir in India or the Medicis in Italy attracted flocks of artists to their courts. Today’s artists are no different, and naturally gravitate towards opportunities to explore their creative impulses, as well as earn a livelihood from it. Economic power and wealth has invariably been at the root of artistic growth, and collectors remain highly influential in this regard.

 Contemporary arts in the Middle East are on the rise, but there remain hurdles. Zand believes that an important concern Middle Eastern artists is to generate and push forward their own idiom, their own voice that is neither solely confined to ethnic roots nor purely imitative of the West. “For instance, it will be interesting to see the evolution of the treatment of calligraphy,” she says. Art is always pushing new frontiers, begging fresh perspectives, and Middle Eastern artists now face the challenge of innovating. Carver of Art Dubai believes that organic, paced growth is the next challenge. Space to grow and experiment needs to be available without experimentation being fetishized. There is also the difficulty posed by the ambiguous role of organizations commissioning public work, and how far they might be willing to go in pursuing funding ideas and not mere products. For Persekian, the challenge regional artists face is to not become a parody of themselves. The best contem

porary art in the region is fresh and surprising, he says, but the formulas of more successful artists are sometimes imitated without the underlying concepts. Aesthetics without the necessary metaphysics behind them lead to hollow constructs.

Last, there is the issue of engaging the wider public, and exciting the imagination of the youth that will form the next generation of artists. Contemporary arts in the Middle East is rather like caviar – perhaps a delicacy, but one appreciated only by a few. For contemporary arts to engage with public consciousness, the cliquish qualities of art connoisseurship must end.

This is where engaging with educational institutions is paramount. Not only will these places of learning foster a new generation of artists, but also introduce art to a wider, more youthful, audience. Persekian says the Sharjah Art Foundation considers educational institutions its main constituencies. “They’re our collaborators, partners and first reference points.” At the heart of it, art foundations, museums and educational institutions are all engaged in education and the generation of knowledge. Al-Khuweiri is firmly convinced that educational institutions are the key to regional artistic development through scholarship, visual literacy and a broader negotiation of ideas. Zand believes that educational spaces are essential, but that the definition of ‘educational space’ can also be widely interpreted: spaces that offer opportunities for new artists to display their work can be educational in their own right. Bierut’s Taskheil, Doha’s Education City, H.H. Sheikha Moza’s Qatar Education Foundation, Abu Dhabi’s TDIC and ADACH and Dubai’s Culture & Arts Authority are all playing roles in catalyzing engagement and education.

Carver of Art Dubai believes that education institutions remain the missing link in the evolution of regional arts, for all that international universities such as the NYU have made their way to Dubai. “In an ideal world, we would reinvent the institution in the Gulf, reinvent the western model of an art school, into something that was tailor-made for the Gulf and the Arab world, rather than import models that already exist elsewhere,” she says. Lawrie also believes that art education is essential. He notes that many artists study abroad, and then choose to stay there and hence become part of the diaspora. Increased access to contemporary art, through museums, galleries, fairs and auctions will hopefully increase the number of aspiring artists closer to home, and encourage a more serious approach to art education.

Assuming that educational spaces continue to form, both through governmental endeavour and organic growth, and art keeps evolving, what might the regional artscape resemble in a decade? There is little consensus, for, as Zand aptly puts it, art mirrors life and is mostly a reflection of current preoccupations and trends. The trends shaping Arab art in the future remain anyone’s guess. But Persekian believes that one thing is certain. Art a decade hereon will be far more inspired by local preferences and influences as   opposed to the international, as local markets and educational institutions hit critical mass and artists aspire to live, create and exhibit within the region. Carver agrees, believing artists will change as the region does. They will gain the confidence to lead rather than ape the market, while cities like Dubai and Abu Dhabi will emerge as market centres and hubs of ideas, entrepreneurship and debate that will shape their art. Finally, de la Bruyère says collectors will play an increasing role in the future. They will become more focused on contemporary art as they gain confidence in the field and along with government, private and institutional initiatives, will carry contemporary Arab from strength to strength in the next decade.

This article appeared in Gulf News' 4Men Magazine, and can be found here.

His courage and online activism inspired an uprising in Egypt. But former Dubai resident Wael Ghonim continues to shy away from media attention

Ordinary people are capable of the extraordinary. Not that Wael Ghonim was ever strictly ordinary. He had worked towards a master's degree in marketing from the American University in Cairo, and found employment at Google in late 2008. Just over a year later, he became Google's head of marketing for the Middle East and North Africa, which involved a Dubai posting. He moved, complete with his family, to a villa in one of the city's newer suburban communities. In January 2011, he managed to convince Google to send him back to Egypt, citing ‘personal problems'.

For all intents and purposes, Ghonim never embraced his role as a revolutionary. He was pushed into it, by dint of conscience, and the fact that he realised the potential of digital media to broadcast, disseminate, and unify.

Records show Ghonim had used several aliases - including Admin 1 and El Shaheed of the "We are all Khalid Said Facebook page". This, incidentally, was the page that catapulted Ghonim from conscientious objector to a genuinely influential force.

The page had more than 340,000 fans, and close to 50,000 responded to the first tentative call for a demonstration. The revolution was not just tweeted, but was initiated through social media. That is how Ghonim wanted it. While social media might not substitute for sneakers on the street, it at the very least offered a way to collaborate, gather, and overcome the psychological barriers of standing up to the "Pharaoh", Hosni Mubarak.

Ghonim had been using his technological nous to stand against Mubarak's regime in various guises for a while. For instance, he had been managing opposition leader Mohammad Al Baradei's Facebook page. But it was the Khaled Said episode that made him sit up and take notice.

Said, a young Cairo-based businessman, had witnessed policemen stealing drugs from a stash they had seized. He recorded that on his cellphone, and passed the video around. Days later, the police showed up to offer retribution. They beat Said to death in broad daylight, in public. Photos of his shattered face and caved-in skull went viral. Resentment bubbled, anger brewed, and Ghonim's ‘We are all Khaled Said' page offered vent to it.

At this juncture, very few select confidantes were aware that Ghonim was the administrator behind the page. When he decided to join the Tahrir Square protests on January 25, he did so in a personal capacity. He tweeted on the morning of the day, "I made [sic] my final decision. I'll attend #Jan25 Protest."

Tweets thereafter show a man drawn into the magnitude of unfolding events. They are a mix of exhortations for people to show up and protest, and first-hand accounts of police brutality against protesters. "We got brutally beaten up by police people #Jan25," reads one. "We are now marching in the streets in downtown in hundreds after being beaten up by police and breaking siege," says another.

January 25 was an eventful day that will surely retain prominence in history for a while to come. But Wael Ghonim (that's his Twitter profile pic above left) was still just one of hundreds, of thousands. On January 27, he went to sleep "dreaming of freedom", a dream that was still weeks away.

A last, ominous tweet was sent on January 28, saying "Praying for #Egypt. Very worried because it seems government is planning a war crime tomorrow against people. Pray for us. We are all ready to die. #Jan25" And then Ghonim disappeared.

Speculation was rife as to his location, and whether he had been arrested by pro-Mubarak forces. He had, and his incarceration lasted 12 days. While he endured psychological distress, he was one of the lucky few who didn't suffer physical brutality. During this time, rumours started surfacing that he was Al Shaheed of the "We are all Khaled Said" Facebook page: instigator, narrator, collator and administrator. His profile grew, as did the clamour for him to be found and released from custody.

On February 7, he was released as the government caved under a confluence of local and international pressures. By then, his identity as ideological youth leader was under no doubt. A series of correspondences shows Ghonim unwilling to accept the burden of any sort of leadership role. In the true vein of a Web 2.0 technologist, he insisted the revolution was crowd-sourced, and had no leadership. "I am not a hero, I slept for 12 days [in confinement]," he said in a live interview on the Dream 2, one of Egypt's most watched TV channels.

"The heroes, they're the ones who were in the street, who took part in the demonstrations, sacrificed their lives…"

His interview came at a pivotal moment in the revolution. Mubarak and his ilk had withstood wave after wave of people power. Despondency was setting in amongst many that the revolution had reached its zenith, and would slowly dwindle in the face of Mubarak's obduracy. It was not to be.

Ghonim's tearful interview galvanised the nation. His honest, emotional responses convinced even fence sitters and spectators that Mubarak had to go. More and more people poured out onto the street. Enough was enough.

Yet Ghonim continued a strange reluctance to offer interviews to foreign media. He went on CNN, but said it was only to counter the viewpoint of a general who had been on earlier. He spoke to Newsweek, yet insisted that he was not a leader, because the revolution had none. The disdain for Western media and leaders was evident in his exclaiming they had stayed silent for 30 years: there was now no need for them to become involved.

Ghonim believed a revolution won by the people of Egypt required no hijacking, either by the acquiescent international community or political opportunists within the anti-Mubarak movement.

Mubarak finally stepped down on February 11. For Ghonim, it was like welcoming back Egypt after 30 years of not knowing his own country.

Apart from offering an interview to CBS, he maintained media silence. His avoidance of the media eye continues to the present. While still engaging in post-revolutionary Egypt, he keeps a low profile.

When asked for a statement for this article, he politely demurred, saying current projects he's working on demand media silence.