My reaction to Gibran Bassil’s speeches, or when I hear someone talking about him — عندما اسمع خطابات جبران باسيل، او اسمع احدا يتكلم عنه

أه !!! مايحكوووومشيييي

تعال بكراا

 تعرفوا على حمديّة الرقّاصة. يجدرالذكر أن حمديّة الرقّاصة هي من أهم الشخصيات النسائية في مسلسل ليالي الحلمية وأقواها. وهي الشخصية الوحيدة، الى جانب “أبلتها”، التي لاقت نهاية حزينة في نهاية الجزء الرابع من البرنامج عقابا على انوثتها المفرطة، قوتها و شخصيتها العملية المستقلة. ولأنها فتحت و أدارت مسرحا للرقص.

في خلال المسلسل تتمكن حمدية من الزواج من العديد من الرجال المهمين وفي  الجزء الأخير تتمكن من الحصول على المصنع الشهير الذي يتعارك من اجله سليم باشا البدري والعمدة سليمان غانم، الشخصيتان الرئيسيتان في المسلسل. في آخر حلقة من الجزء الرابع، تفقد حمدية الرقاصة كل اموالها لسليم البدري ونراها مكسورة ، تضع حجابا على رأسها و قد كبرت عشرات السنين في حلقة واحدة.

لا مغفرة او سماح ممكن لحمدية الرقاصة التي تركت زوجها كي ترجع الى الرقص واصبحت “أسطة” لها رجال تحت امرتها و مسرحا تديره. في نهاية الجزء الرابع تهرب حمدية من طليقها الذي تزوجها مجددا كي يؤويها. نراها تختفي في سيارة أجرة، من دون مال او اي مكان تذهب اليه. نراها تختفي من الخطاب الاجتماعي المصري الذي لم يجد مكانا لها بعد وقتها، و تختفي من حياتنا كأنها لم تكن.

لكن حمدية الرقاصة هي الشخصية الوحيدة التي سعيت مع جارتي ليلى الى تقليدها و تعلم كيفية طقطقة اصابعي مع بعضها في وجه أخي. حمدية الرقاصة هي الشخصية الوحيدة التي بقيت في ذهني. هي الشخصية الوحيدة التي استدعيها عندما اسمع خطابات جبران

بالرغم من عملية الاخفاء الروائي و الخطابي، و الذي يعكس مدى الخوف الاجتماعي من نساء كحمدية، هي الوحيدة التي تبقى اليوم من مسلسل الحلمية.

Lebanese song explains how violence becomes embodied in the everyday without relying on academic jargon

yep. this simple song says it better than most theories of violence I’ve read

مش هيّن أبداً مش سهل تمشي عالرايق على مهل

و رصاص مطاول راسك و دبابة فوق مداسك

و العسكر داير من دار ت يلعنلك اساسك

مش هيّن أبداً مش سهل, مش هيّن أبداً مش سهل

Nightmare in Pokhara

I wake up. My whole body screams but my mouth is wide shut and the silence is terrifying.

First, there is pain. So much pain that surrounds you all over and you cannot breathe.

Then, at one point, while you struggle not to drown completely in pain and silence, one little painful moment suddenly seems incredibly funny. So you laugh. Well, maybe you giggle a bit, for a second. Or you smile this yellowish smile that reduces your hotel room, the bed you are lying in, the nightmare that showed you ever so cleverly all the traumatic moments that you are still stuck on, into absurdity.

the view from my hostel in Pokhara, Nepal

So you laugh loudly. You laugh and the pain breaks into million pieces of miniature laughable pain, pieces that fall on the bed, that break everything and turn it into nothing. Everything becomes meaningless after that. You cannot remember why there was so much pain. You can barely remember the nightmare that caused this whole mess to begin with. Maybe you do remember. But it doesn’t make much sense. Pain, yellowish smile, laughter, chair,  bed. Everything collapses onto itself.

You stare at the ceiling. You reach for a book and start reading. the words you read fill you with new meaning. A chair is a chair. A bed is a bed. A yellowish smile is a yellowish smile. A nightmare is a nightmare. Pain is pain.

Remembering is remembering.

You take a deep breath and go back to sleep.

حاج الباصات في بيروت 2

انا كثير بحب الباص لأنه بالباص انا دايما أقليات بكون. كل العالم يللي من سوريا بيقعدوا حد السواق و بيتعرفوا على بعض “انت كمان من سوريا؟ انا كمان؟ و انتِ كمان؟ هلق بعدني راجع من سوريا، انا من تلكلخ، وين عايش هون؟ خليها علينا شباب، انتٍ اكيد لبنانية!”

  بالباص في شوية أمل و روح أخوية ووطن.

اليوم كمان يوم كثير مهم لأني اخيرا شفت الحاج تاع الباصات نحن و موقفين بربير. يعني لو حدن راسمه للحاج من كتاب عن الاستغلال السياسي الاقتصادي للطبقة العاملة ما بتكون هلقد زابطة معه. الحاج كثير كثير ناصح و كثير كثير ختيار و صابغ شعره و شواربه اسود. بيقعد برة على طاولة كبيرة و حامل دفتر بسجل فيه كل الف و كل 500. كأنه  spitrited away طالع الحاج من فيلم

“تعا لهون ولييييه!!!!!!” بيصرخ على سواق الباص و بروح لعنده السواق. السواق من ألذ و أطيب و أأدم عالم بعرفها بحياتي، اوقات بوقف الباص لينطر عالم لأنه بيعرف دوامهم و انه حيتأخروا على الشغل اذا ما نطر. اذا عرف الحاج اكيد بيدبحه

 لما طلع السواق على الباص رحت قعّدت حدّه و سألته: ” عمو دخلك هيدا هوي الحاج؟”، نقز و طّلع عليّ (“انت بتعرفي شو يعني حاج؟) و قال لي: “ايه يا عمو هيدا هو الحاج” و ابتسامة صفراء على وجهه عم تقول “شفتِ يا عمو؟ شفتِ على آخر هالزمن هالأ%#ر بقللي “ولييه”؟”
ايه شكله شكل حاج” بقول انا و منقرط انا و هوي بضحك صامت احسن ما يقصفنا الحاج لأنه عن جد بخوّف

 
“دخلِك في عطلة اليوم عمو؟”
“لأ بس شوب كثير و في اضرابات”
“انا ابني صرلو مأضرب 20 يوم..مش جريمة هاي عمو؟ و عم ادفع 100 دولار للمدرسة بعدني”
“منيحة مدرسة ابنك عمو؟”
“ايه عمو منيحة. انا ابني بيطلع الاول بمدرسته!”
“برافو عليه شاطر! الله يخليلك اياه”

 بيلتفت عمو السواق عليّ و بيطلع فيني. عيونه وسعوا كثير و ابتسموا لما قلتلوا برافو لأبنه. فهمت وقتها انه مش مهم اذا الحاج بهدله و أهانه و استعبده. ابنه عم يطلع الاول على المدرسة. اكيد اكيد اكيد انه ابنه للحاج مش عم يطلع اصلا ليطلع الاول. و بكرا، شوية شوية، على مهل، ابنه لعمو السواق هوي يللي حيلغيه للحاج. عمو السواق سوري على فكرة، و ابنه عم يطلع الاول على صفه بلبنان فخدوا يا لبنانيّ و خود يا لبنان

انا كثير بحب الباص. بالباص في شوية امل وروح أخوية..ووطن

ثورة او فوضى: كيف نقرأ تاريخ الانقلابات العربية

61كمال الصليبي، منطلق تاريخ لبنان، ص

“

كانت ثورة “الملك بندار” في جبة المنيطرة واحدة من ثورات كثيرة قامت في الشام ضد الدولة العباسية في القرنين الاولين من

عهدها. و لم تختلف عن غيرها من هذه الثورات الا بالطابع المسيحي الواضح الذي تميزت به، و بكونها حصلت على الارجح بدعم أو ربما بايعاز من الروم، و ذلك في زمن المنصور عندما كان الحكم العباسي في الشام على أقواه.  و قد ذهب المستشرق هنري لامنس الى ان ثورة نصارى لبنان في عهد المنصور، و الثورات الاخرى التي قامت في مختلف انحاء الاجناد الشامية في عهد الرشيد و الامين و المأمون و المعتصم، لم تكن الا انتفاضات شعبية محقة ضد جور بني العباس. لكن الواضح من كتب الاخبار ان الداعي لكل من هذه الثورات كان اصرار اهل الشام على مقاومة ابسط التدابير التي حاول العباسيون ادخالها الى البلاد لفرض الامن و الحد من الفوضى السائدة فيها. و كان اهل الشام في ذلك الوقت، على ما يبدو، ممعنين في حب الفوضى. و قد وصفهم الرشيد في زمانه بانهم “جند سوء” اي “جماعة سوء”. و اضطر ابنه المأمون الى القدوم شخصيا الى الشام 3 مرات لضبط امورها عن كثب. كما انالمتوكل حاول نقل مركز الخلافة في عهده من العراق الى دمشق، ربما لهذه الغاية بالذات”

لا اريد ان ادخل في سجال تاريخي بل أن نفكر سويا كيف نقرأ النصوص التي تؤرخ و تحلل الاحداث التاريخية. عندما أقرأ كتابا عن التاريخ لا احب ان أتعثر بالكلمات و التعابير التالية

 الواضح من كتب الاخبار

ما هو واضح للكاتب ليس واضحا لي أبدا.

و كان اهل الشام في ذلك الوقت، على ما يبدو، ممعنين في حب الفوضى

هذا تحليل نفسي معمم على شعوب بحالها

 وقد وصفهم الرشيد في زمانه بانهم “جند سوء” اي “جماعة سوء”

 

هل كان من المعقول  للرشيد ان يصفهم بانهم مقاومون وثائرون؟

بس هيك. و الآن  سأعود الى القراءة

On Kunhadi’s new civility campaign, or how to cross the road when there is no state.

It’s funny. NGOs in Lebanon seem to address every single facet of violence in Lebanese society: be it war-related violence, refugee violence, violence against women, violence against domestic workers, traffic, pollution etc.  Structural violence however is something that NGOs do not rally and scream against. Structural violence, as I taught my undergraduate students in Michigan while holding an imaginary gun and shooting at them, is NOT a visible form of violence. It is not rape; it is not physical or verbal abuse.  It is a violence of institutions.

And this is exactly why it is such a powerful form of violence. It is very difficult to trace, see and locate structural violence in order for it  to be challenged and revealed. Structural violence is the form of oppression, segregation and assault committed by social structures and institutions on certain communities, races, bodies and peoples that produce ontologically different bodies, races and peoples; and also produce chaotic and “uncivilized” people who don’t cross the road properly in Lebanon. The weak structure of Lebanese institutions, something that NGOs arguably help produce, is itself the cause of a lack of obedience (whether intentional as a defiance to the weak state or an unconscious presentiment of the daily absence of the state) to traffic lights and of the “inability” of Lebanese people to “cross the road in the correct manner”.

NGOs in Lebanon, the official spokespersons of Michel Foucault’s biopolitics of modernity, are really starting to get on my nerves. Having a campaign that orient citizens to cross the road in a “civilized” manner assumes that the problem of crossing the roads safely is that of individual ignorance of civility, manifested in modern and sophisticated traffic lights and white stripes on the roads.

Give me a break. As the whole country is drowning in water, it is really obvious that “modernity” and “civility”, for those who consider this top priority in Lebanon, will not be a possibility if the state collapses in a sewer in the next few hours. Civility is a dialogical relationship between citizens and the state. A relationship of trust, fear and productive self-regulatory obedience maybe. But a relationship nonetheless. So, I refuse to hear about civility form NGOs.

عن العطل و حاج الباصات في بيروت

و صرنا ندفع 1000ليرة بدل ال 500 ليرة لناخد الباص رقم 24 من الكولا للحمرا وما حدا منا فتح نيعه و سأل ليش

 الله يعين العالم

ويا ريت السواقين حيطلعلن زودة. كل المصاري حتروح على جيبة “الحاج”، هيدا الشخص المجهول اللامرئي يللي بدير الباصات على البربير.  لما تسأل عمو السواق” عمو؟ مطولين لنمشي؟” بقلك: “انا ناطر الحاج، بس بقلي امشي بمشي”. و لما بتسأليه “عمو؟ عن جد حتغلّوا الباص ويصير الف؟” بقلك: “حسب الحاج..بعد الحاج ما قرر”. أخر خبرية عن الحاج جعلته عدوي اللدود، اكثر من نبيه بري فمش مزحة يعني. كانت يوم عيد الميلاد على الساعة 7 مساء لما طلعت بالباص من الحمرا للكولا. الباص كان فاضي. نطرنا شي 10 دقائق و ما اجا حدن

انا: “عمو حتروح فيني او خلص بلاها؟”

عمو: “لأ اكيد حآخدك عمو…ما في حدن اليوم لانه اليوم عطلة. انت معطّلة اليوم؟ انا ما عطلت..كان بدي عطّل بس الحاج قال لي روح اشتغل حيكون في ركاب كثير، روح ومنشوف. مضي النهار وضليتني اسأله شو يا حاج؟ بوقّف؟ باخد عطلة؟ يقللي لأ لأ خليك. اليوم قلت لحالي انه في عطل لكل الناس، بس…مش كل الناس بيطلعلها عطلة. في ناس بيطلعلها تعطّل وفي ناس لأ. دقّولي اولاد بنتي على التلفون اليوم وقالولي “جدّو تعا! جدّو اليوم عطلة تعا عملنا كزدورة!” قلتله للحاج بس ما سمحلي. كان واعدني بالعطلة..وعدني.”

انا (بكل حمرنة برجوازية): عمو انت ما بتعطّل ابدا؟ “

عمو: لأ يا عمو ما عندي عطلة، بضلني بهالباص رايح جايي. عندي 7 بنات، 2 منهم هون ببيروت والباقيات بالشام…ما بشوفهم”

انا: (مجددا بكل حمرنة): ما بتزورن عمو ابدا؟”

عمو: عمو آخر مرة رحت على الشام قعدت اكثر من 14 ساعة على الطريق. المسافة بين بيروت والشام 90 كم..بعيدة كثير الشام عن بيروت. بعيدة كثير يا عمو.

وكل عام وانتم بخير انشالله تكونوا استمتعتوا بالعطلة

the semiotic logic of Gebran Bassil’s politics for dummies.

Ceci n’est pas une pipe. non..

Ceci n’est pas une pomme.

Ceci n’est pas Sherihan

Ceci n’est pas du racisme

  (http://www.aljadeed.tv/MenuAr/news/DetailNews/DetailNews.html?id=45797)

باسيل: النازحون يأخذون مكاننا ويجب بحث ترحيلهم

أكد وزير الطاقة والمياه جبران باسيل “اننا سنحافظ على كل شبر من ارضنا”، وأضاف: “عندما نقول لا نريد نازحين سوريين وفلسطينيين يأخذون مكاننا، هو أمر يجب تكريسه بالفعل وليس بالقول فبوجودهم وبعملهم وبعيشهم يأخذون مكان اللبناني”. وتساءل باسيل خلال إطلاقه بصفته وزير الزراعة بالوكالة، فعاليات يوم النبيذ اللبناني الذي سينظم في فرنسا في 16 أيار 2013، في حفل أقيم في جمعية “بترونيات” في البترون، “كيف يمكن ان يتم تعليم المنهج السوري في لبنان في بعض المدارس؟ أين سيادتنا وكرامتنا من هذا الامر؟ وهل هناك اي بلد في العالم يعلم منهج بلد آخر على أرضه؟ ألا يكفينا الفلسطينيين في لبنان لتأتي بقية المخيمات إلى لبنان أيضا؟”.

وشدد باسيل على أن “هذا التفكير ليس عنصرياً أبداً، بل انه تفكير وطني ونفتخر به ويكفينا هجرة من ارضنا، فشبابنا يهاجر ولا يجوز إعطاء مكاننا لغيرنا”، مشيراً إلى أننا “لم نقل اننا نريد ان نقفل حدودنا، لكن الحدود هي لنصدر منها أموراً جيدة للخارج وكي نحمي أنفسنا وبلدنا لبنان من كل ما هو سيء، كي لا يدخل، هذا هو مفهوم الحدود وليس فتحها للافكار الغريبة والشريرة كي تأكلنا، لذلك يجب ان نميز بين قوافل النازحين عندما لم يعد بإمكان لبنان الاستيعاب وقافلة تحمل التجارة والصناعة والمواد، وما قلناه هو وقف استقبال أناس لا قدرة لدينا على استقبالهم، وهذا ما فعلته تركيا الاردن والعراق حين اوقفوا تدفق النازحين، فلماذا يبقى لبنان ارضا سائبة؟”.

واستطرد قائلاً: “نحن ندعو اكثر من ذلك، الحكومة اللبنانية التي نحن فيها وطلبنا عقد جلسة خاصة لهذا الموضوع، ان تبحث جديا بترحيل النازحين الى ارضها، ومن يريد مساعدتنا ليس بإرسال الاموال بل يدفعوا ما عليهم اولا نتيجة الاعتداءات الاسرائيلية او ان تدفع الاونروا مبلغ مئتين ومليار مستحقة عليها فاتورة كهرباء للمخيمات الفلسطينية، ومن يريد ان يساعد فان البلاد من حولنا شاسعة واسعة ويمكنها ان تستوعبهم من تركيا الى الاردن الى العراق الى قبرص التركية، فيضعونهم هناك الى حين ان تحل الازمة، وفي سوريا هناك اراض في أيادي الثوار والمعارضة والجيش الحر كما يقولون، وواسعة فليضعونهم فيها”، وأضاف “لماذا لا يأتون إلا الى لبنان؟ وان من يدفع الفاتورة هم اللبنانيون وهي فاتورة لا ندفعها اليوم فقط بل في المستقبل ايضا سندفعها وقد عشنا التجربة في السابق مع الفلسطينيين ولا زلنا حتى اليوم نقول “حق العودة”، وقد اصبحوا مواطنين بواقع الامر، اذ لم يأت احد الى لبنان وتركه الا غصبا عنه، فهي ارض خلقها الله مميزة مع كل المصاعب الموجودة التي نعيشها”

The vagina, the anus, the mouth and the breast: ‘uncivil’ and ‘civil’ anatomical politics in Lebanon

In the last few years, and quite visibly in this last year, Lebanese people have been, unusually, under a lot of pressure to regulate and control their body parts through drastically different types of techniques and institutions. Four main body parts emerged as the main new sites for Lebanese governance, some of them more imminent and problematic than others: The vagina and the anus, regulated through the infamous homosexuality and virginity tests that the police and intelligence state apparatuses are conducting on certain Lebanese subjects; the mouth through the smoking ban, and the breast through the national breastfeeding campaign that the ministry of health and World Vision launched this year. While some of these bodily regulations have not yet become a regular form of governance, others are implemented routinely in hiding.

Yes, I know what you are thinking.  Is it a coincidence that the state police, state institutions, lobbyists, middle class activists and international humanitarian organizations are choosing to regulate body parts that are deeply associated with sexual pleasure? Of course it is not a coincidence! If there is any true conspiracy theory, it is this one!
I call ‘uncivil’ the vagina and anus regulations, and ‘civil’ the mouth and breast ones, not to put a moral judgment on these kinds of regulations but to highlight that the former is seen as an non-modern way to regulate a subject’s sexuality. Let us not be mistaken though, everybody’s vaginas and anuses are under scrutiny by institutional power everywhere. There is just a biopolitical way of regulating and controlling, through medicine, public health and psychology, and an ‘uncivil’ one, through the state’ police and intelligence apparatus. Arguably, one is less creepy than the other, but both gaze upon our sexual body parts to ensure a normal masculinity/femininity.

Why the Lebanese state would choose such an ‘uncivil’ way of “checking up” on our vaginas and anuses, and not a safe, public healthy, NGO-run campaign way, is, I think, something to register and analyze.
Let’s start with the ‘civil’ regulations since we all like health so much.

Banning smoking in Lebanon (or, how to govern the citizen “by the butt”)

On the first day of the smoking ban, I asked the “service” driver about it, do the taxis also get affected?
“They fine us the same amount they do for restaurants, 135000L.L. if they catch us smoking. If you smoke in my car, it is I who will be fined as well” .What did you think of the ban, I asked: “…I don’t know miss…it’s like…, I am sorry to be rude…but it’s like they are holding us by the ass. The state is holding us by the ass. I inhale fumes from cars all the time, the fumes that come from the Saida garbage mountain,  I inhale that also everyday… you know?”
Holding us by the ass? Another body part?! I don’t think this post can handle any more!

But what the service driver is saying is really insightful. He is talking about the different kinds of regulations that the state administer. He is less against “regulation” per say than against the way the state has suddenly[1] decided to govern us, ”by the ass”, by us upside down, and governing certain body parts that have no direct impact on structural forms of violence and oppression, like  the Saida’s garbage mountain that is directly affecting people’s lives.
This is what biopolitics does sometimes. It puts the responsibility of life and health onto individual citizens by inviting them to govern their own behavior, to be responsible for their own health. By relocating the responsibility of health from the state to that of the citizen, other more structural forms of oppression are left unaddressed.

I get off the service and head to T-Marbouta in Hamra. Outside in the square, a concert is being prepared by AUB students and staff to celebrate the beginning of the smoking ban. A guitarist walks in the square with his cigarette in his mouth. Two people jump on him and plead him to walk away from the square and finish his cigarette then come back. Other AUB students are roaming the streets of Hamra giving out brochures about the ban “If you see anyone smoking in a public space, it’s your responsibility to report him/her”. Holy shit, I think to myself, as many terrified smokers were panicking at that time.

Smoking in public spaces has been a long-term cause for many activists, AUB academics and public health professionals in Lebanon. The fact that their lobbying worked in a country like Lebanon is  really commendable. But it is important to also look at and think about the new spaces that were re-appropriated because of the ban, the “shared public spaces” that the ban created in bars, restaurants and “public” transportation (which are not really public). What kind of a public space is that? Who inhabits these spaces and who does not anymore? Do these spaces reveal structural forms of violence or do these structures become hidden and unnoticed in them?

The ban also created interesting and new spaces for smokers, like smoking on sidewalks in groups while drinking, and getting to know other people. The other night, smokers were given a “5 minute cigarette break” during a concert and head outside to smoke, with their drinks. I guess there was too many of us so the police stopped by and asked what was going on, “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?! Now you deal with it!” screamed some people (well it was actually one person…and it might have been just me, and I might have just whispered it to myself). But there was this feeling of solidarity about it all. One guy came up to my friend, who is not a smoker, and started comforting him “don’t panic, it will only take a month, then everything we’ll be back to normal…this can’t go on like this!”.
People were genuinely surprised about the ban. Sometimes we over-exaggerate the failure and weakness of the state and its power to regulate us. But hey, strangers are getting together and talking during  5 minutes cigarette breaks, so, state you better watch out!

The national breastfeeding campaign: turning the breast into a natural right”
It seemed to have gone unnoticed, but the breastfeeding campaign ad that the ministry of health, “partnering” with World Vision (or is it the other way around?), broadcasted on national television is really telling of how much the breast is a crucial site for regulating women’s bodies in Lebanon.
The ad caught my attention because it is charged with gendered and moralist images of what a Lebanese woman should be. I screamed the first time I saw it really. I also keep my eye out for breast campaigns (be it for cancer, esthetic surgeries, or breastfeeding) because they can tell us a lot about how women are thought of and imagined by the state ( or Lebanese state/World Vision in this case).
If you have missed it, here is the ad

The ad, published on World Vision’s site, configures breastfeeding as a child’s right. “Support children’s right- choose breastfeeding”.  The classical “you’re a horrible mother if you don’t breastfeed” message. As a good faith-based organization, World Vision understands breastfeeding as “pure goodness”. A woman who does not breastfeed is not only a horrible mother, but she is also “bad” and non-religious.
Let’s move on to analyzing the ad now. Different looking women, all middle class and pretty looking, are shot talking (more like lecturing) about breastfeeding. Playing with her children, playing a business woman, going to the beauty salon, playing a doctor, or being a good wife to her husband, all these  scenarios  were chosen through which the state/World Vision addressed breastfeeding through a one-sentence message each.
The message does not need a lot of deciphering: “if you love your child, no matter how busy you are, you should breastfeed him/her because the milk is good, natural and healthy. Breastfeeding also makes you skinnier and does not make your breasts fall down, so you don’t have to break any of the esthetic norms dictated by society and you can always remain beautiful and even skinnier than you are already are! You can’t ever say that you have no milk, because the woman playing a doctor in the ad says that of course you will have milk! Breastfeeding makes your kid smarter and healthier. Your mother did it, so you should do it too. And to top it all, your husband approves and has personally thought about the whole issue and figured out that breastfeeding is a “right” for you and a “right” for your child. Your husband has always your rights and that of your child on his mind.”
It is quite fascinating that the ad’s conclusive statement is pronounced by the husband/man. But then again, it is not really that surprising, is it?
This breastfeeding campaign seems to corner women from every possible cheesy way. Moralist arguments about breastfeeding and the pressure that women find themselves in, to breastfeed, is universal I am sure. And again, these kinds of biopolitical regulations completely undermine and forget structural forms of violence that Lebanese women find themselves in, especially in terms of always looking pretty and ageless.
By transferring all the responsibility of breastfeeding onto the woman, these kinds of campaigns abstract the breastfeeding activity from its social and cultural meaning and its effect on the woman worker, or the woman whose whole value relies in her perky breasts and looks. Suddenly, to breastfeed or not to breastfeed becomes an issue that individual women need to handle on their own, without challenging social rules and norms that pressure her not to breastfeed or without allying with women to negotiate these norms and fight them. Through campaigns like these, these fights become individual ones and are rarely talked about as a social problem.
If you’re into breast campaigns like me, you should compare our national campaign to regulate the breast with the Saudi’s national campaign for breast cancer where King Abdullah himself appears in person to talk to Saudi women citizens.

and read about it here
And now for the uncivil.
Gazing at the vagina and the anus (or, where did the state’s masculine power go?)
Let us not be fooled. All of our vaginas and anuses are penetrated by the state’s gaze. The difference is that “in Europe and developed countries”, gazing at the vaginas and the anuses becomes the work of the medical apparatus, and also of psychology and psychoanalysis. The medical gaze of vaginas and anuses is mainly focused on “health”, “hygiene” and “disorders”, which ends up regulating sexual practices and behaviors in the way medicine and psychology thinks of as “normal”.
Virginity and homosexuality tests on the other hand, require quite a different gaze than one that is regulating health and prolonging life. It has nothing to do with the life of the subjects, and more to do with creating and maintaining specific forms of bodies, those with un-penetrated vaginas and anuses.  These tests done by the police seems to happen as a way for the state’s muscle apparatus to check up on its own masculine power.

Lebanese demonstrators hold signs against anal “tests” on men suspected of homosexuality during a protest in Beirut on August 11, 2012.

It’s really incredible that the state chooses to gaze at the subject and govern him/her through the anus and vagina. But it actually makes a lot of sense. The only form of state power and governance left in Lebanon is its hyper-masculine apparatus of police and intelligence; and even this form of power is being castrated on a daily basis by different social and political agents in and outside Lebanon.  What’s left for this apparatus is to check for the masculinity of its subjects, manifested in sexual relations, as a way to check for its own masculine power

It remains to think about who is threatening enough to get these “tests” and who does not. Who is a good subject for the police and Lebanese intelligence and how is a scary one. The recent sexual harassment and beatings targeting peaceful protesters of civil marriage outside of the state’s own legitimatizing institution, the parliament, is in need for both legal action and social analysis to understand the workings of state power. You can read about the testimonies of the protesters here.
PS. Lebanese governance?!
I started this piece by assuming that it is the Lebanese state that is producing all these different forms of anatomical politics. However, it has become quite difficult to draw any kind of argument pertaining to the “state” in Lebanon. As many other countries, Lebanon government is influenced and sometimes run by international Non-governmental organizations, international aid money, be it through a country or a private donor. State institutions, municipalities and local organizations depend on their international humanitarian “partners”.

The ministry of social welfare, called MOSA in the NGO circle (it took me a whole to figure that one out!), seems to be a “partner” to all of the international humanitarian organizations residing in Lebanon! It is therefore difficult and problematic to talk about state biopolitics and/or non-governmental biopolitics, since the presence of a non-governmental organizations assumes the presence of a governmental one. All in all, the boundaries between an NGO and a state institution have been blurred in Lebanon, as in many other countries. What we have here is an NGO-State or a State-NGO form of governance, for the lack of a better and more theoretically enticing word .
This further complicates the analysis of current anatomical regulations. After all, power does work in mysterious ways, chez nous au Liban.

delusional thoughts in sickness: remembering time in Proust and Jacques Brel

Sickness destroys my sense of time. My movements become stranded in space.

I am sick today. I woke up from what seemed to me an 11 hour long dream about a man who discovered a way to flow in space to escape from people on earth. Whenever they tried to catch him, he would escape into space and stay there, flowing among darkness and silence. when he missed earth, he would come back, only to abruptly leave again.

Once you leave you can never return. No one warns you about this when you travel. once you depart from a place you have inhabited for so long and has become part of you, it disappears. When you return, all you would encounter is the uncanny resemblance between your inhabited home and place-as-you-see-it. And this resemblance grows more and more disturbing and foreign with time.

Those who travel may never return home.They remain stranded in space, in between home and the uncanny, desperately trying to remember, to evoke a clear memory of home. So place becomes a site for remembrance.

My mother comes into my room and I directly turn into a child again, sniffling, making baby-like noises. i am sick. Help me. Feed me. Give me water mommy.. A sick and helpless child. Through sickness, time twists and flows, speeds up and slows down in unfathomable ways. I return as a child (and i was a sickly one for most of my childhood), I reach for my childhood toy, I surround myself with books, things that make me feel less lonely.

I read Proust’s “a la recherche du temps perdu” (In search of lost time) as I doze off to dream about the man in space. I freeze at a passage and read it over and over again, where Proust describes how he unsuccessfully tries to remember the church bell of his childhood city, Combray:

“Et aujourd’hui encore si, dans une grande ville de province ou dans un quartier de Paris que je connais mal,

un passant qui m’a« mis dans mon chemin » me montre au loin, comme un point de repère, tel beffroi d’hôpital, tel clocher de couvent levant la pointe de son bonnet ecclésiastique au coin d’une rue que je dois prendre, pour peu que ma mémoire puisse obscurément lui trouver quelque trait de ressemblance avec la figure chère et disparue, le passant, s’il se retourne pour s’assurer que je ne m’égare pas, peut, à son étonnement, m’apercevoir qui, oublieux de la promenade entreprise ou de la course obligée, reste là, devant le clocher, pendant des heures, immobile, essayant me souvenir, sentant au fond de moi des terres reconquises sur l’oubli qui s’assèchent et se rebâtissent; et sans doute alors, et plus anxieusement que tout à l’heure quand je lui demandais de me renseigner, je cherche encore mon chemin, je tourne une rue… mais… c’est dans mon cœur…”

I read and re-read this passage. I suddenly remember the day I went for a walk alone in Tyr. It must have been in the late 1980s, at the end of the civil war. I went alone, occupied by my thoughts about life. I stared at the beach for a while and as the waves crashed on the rocks, I made a very important decision about life. I know that I had a beautiful revelation that day, but I could never remember what it was.

What was revealed to me, as a 9 year old child, that is no longer for me to know, as a 30 year old woman? I have an overwhelming feeling that I have lost my way, that I have not been faithful to that 9 year old child. That I have forgotten myself.

My father comes in to check up at me. I discreetly wipe my Proust-inducing tears and assume the sick child role again. He holds his strong and big hand on my forehead and says his usual sentence in similar situations “you have a fever habibteh! layla, she has a fever!” I, very proud and happy for the attention, look at my parents, who are discussing my illness. Only through sickness may one really return momentarily as a child.

A song comes out on the radio, Jacque Brel’s “les vieux”

a song on growing old, dead dogs, the ticking clocks and death. I laugh loudly at the “le petit chien est mort” lyrics. Growing old seems so ridiculous and unjust that it deserves to be laughed at.

I laugh so much that I break in sweat. I regain my sense of time for a bit. I am sitting in my room. I am 30 years old. I am an adult. Tomorrow I have to go to work at the clinic.  My body is a distinct entity that is separate from other objects. My body ends in time and place. I slip in my bed further as I wait for the second round of fever to start.