We Call to the Eye & the Night: Love Poems by Writers of Arab Heritage
Edited by Hala Alyan and Zeina Hashem Beck
Persea Books, 2023
Reading the two hundred poems in “We Call to the Eye & the Night” — an anthology that contains the work of 85 contemporary Anglophone poets of Arab heritage — gives the reader the sensation of gazing into a brilliant night sky, one that is both familiar and strange. Venus, whose association with the goddess of love animates this book, shines more brightly than usual, as sharply visible as the crescent moon. Some of the stars are familiar — such as Fady Joudah, Naomi Shihab Nye, Philip Metres, Mohja Kahf, Hayan Charara, Nathalie Handal, Glenn Shaheen, Hedy Habra, Lisa Suhair Majaj — while others have risen to join them in new constellations. Forty of the poets represented here were born in 1990 or afterward, including George Abraham (recently named editor of Mizna Journal), Leila Chatti (who teaches at Smith College), Mohammed El-Kurd (Palestine correspondent for The Nation), Noor Naga (who teaches at the American University in Cairo), Fargo Nissim Tbakhi (who teaches at Towson University), Jess Rizkallah (an author and illustrator), and Nadim Choufi (also a videographer and sculptor, as well as co-Programs Director at Beirut Art Center).
“Everything became visible. The prisons were opened. People entered them. Cells were photographed. Papers, clothes, remnants of beds, doors, and instruments of torture were collected. What had once been hidden was now placed before everyone’s eyes,” writes Sally Ali in her essay, “Should We ‘Eat Each Other’s Worries’?”, published in Al Modon.* Yet visibility does not necessarily constitute remembrance, nor does displaying the material remains of suffering mean that those who suffered have been cared for in the aftermath. The 63rd Damascus International Fair held in late August brought the horrors of Assad’s prisons out under open air for all to see. The exhibition “When the Walls Speak” was presented in the Interior Ministry’s pavilion. The exhibit included a reconstruction of a cell using real cell doors, detainees’ clothing, handcuffs and other restraints, and a chair used for torture — all items collected from the various prisons and security branches, including Military Security Branch 248, which operated under the Assad regime.
A healthy literature cannot be entirely free of crime fiction, or, more broadly, of literature that confronts crime, violence, and human conflict. No society is free of conflicts, whether visible or hidden. A brief look at Algeria’s history before and after independence reveals a long record of political upheaval, repression, and violence. The question, then, is not whether such realities exist, but whether literature is willing to confront them.
“A state is not tested when it tries someone who is widely loved. It is tested when it tries someone whom most of the country despises,” writes Sally Ali in her essay, “On One Day, Beirut Abolishes and Damascus Executes.” This observation is particularly relevant to the recent death penalty decisions in Syria and Lebanon, where the question of punishment has become inseparable from the question of state governance. On August 11, the Damascus Criminal Court sentenced former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, his brother Maher al-Assad, cousin Atef Najib, former Defense Minister Fahd Jassem al-Freij, and five other former regime officials to death, a ruling that raises broader questions about what kind of government Syria will establish in the aftermath of the Assad regime. On the same day, Lebanon’s parliament approved the abolition of the death penalty, a decision that Marwan Harb argues may carry little meaning for Lebanese citizens unless the state can also address its political and social failures. Together, the contrasting decisions in Syria and Lebanon demonstrate how the death penalty can serve not merely as a form of punishment, but as a measure of a state’s commitment to justice, accountability, and legitimate governance.
August 4 and the Collapse of Lebanon's Last Illusion
By Elie Chalala
The Beirut Port explosion was not simply a tragic accident, but a catastrophe enabled by years of political negligence and institutional complacency. On August 4, 2020, 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate stored in Hangar 12 alongside fireworks exploded, killing at least 218 people, injuring roughly 7,000, and displacing approximately 300,000 more. Yet in the six years since the blast, efforts to hold those responsible accountable have been repeatedly obstructed, leaving justice suspended and the victims without closure. Rather than focusing solely on the explosion itself, Sally Ali in her essay, “August 4 and the Insolence of Crime,” examines the political structure that allowed such dangerous conditions to persist and, more importantly, the system that has survived largely unchanged in its aftermath. The question is not simply whether justice has yet to arrive, but whether the greater danger lies in the state’s ability to endure six entire years after a crime that should have fundamentally transformed it.
French, Historical Memory, and Algeria's Linguistic Future
By Naomi Pham
In Algeria, the debate over whether French should be replaced by English has become increasingly entangled with broader geopolitical and ideological tensions, often overshadowing the country’s actual linguistic and educational needs. In his discussion of Algeria’s “language question,” Algerian novelist and author Waciny Laredj rejects both the demonization of French and the uncritical glorification of English, arguing instead for a pragmatic, historically informed, and educationally sound approach to multilingualism.* French remains deeply embedded in Algerian society, from everyday communication to education and professional life, making its complete removal an enormous and potentially disruptive undertaking. At the same time, Laredj challenges narratives that portray French solely as a colonial legacy, pointing to moments in which the language played an important role in intellectual, political, and liberation movements. The question facing Algeria is not simply whether French should be replaced by English, but whether such a transition is practical, historically conscious, and genuinely beneficial to the country and future generations.
I have been closely examining the pressing controversy surrounding the al-Sharaa HTS government's decisions to politicize Syrian history, alter the national holiday calendar, and manipulate the collective memory of the Syrian people. The government has motioned to remove holidays commemorating the October War of 1973, March 8 Revolution Day, Teachers’ Day, and Martyrs’ Day based on the HTS's aim to distance the newly formed state from Hafez al-Assad's legacy.
When an unknown author claimed the Prix Goncourt in 1975 with his novel “The Life Before Us” (La Vie Devant Soi in French), news media scrambled to unravel the mystery behind the bestselling book and its writer.
The Afterlife of Little Syria in American Urban Memory
By
Naomi Pham
Pockets, though sparse, of Manhattan’s Little Syria have withstood the test of time, though just barely. The community was once considered the “mother colony” to the thousands of Arab immigrants coming from the then-Ottoman-controlled Greater Syria (which today encompasses Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Israel, and Jordan) during the Great Migration from 1880 to 1924.
Between living in the memory of beauty, deliberately blind to its flaws, and living in beauty’s shadow, perpetually weighed down by the past, Hanadi’s story is a portrait of more than a woman disregarded by both family and society, but an encapsulation of all the problems plaguing Lebanon, in fiction and reality.
Syrians have nursed a wound that has never been given the chance to heal, just barely scabbing over before it is reopened once more — so much so that the Syrian experience has become synonymous with pain and suffering. In the aftermath of the coastal massacres in March, Samar Yazbek found herself feeling empty, searching for answers only to be met with silence.
Twelve years have passed since the horrifying attack on the people of Damascus’ Ghouta district, but the nightmares of that day are just as vivid today as they were over a decade ago to the survivors. Shortly after midnight on August 21, 2013, Bashar al-Assad’s regime launched a sarin gas attack on the towns of Zamalka, Ein Tarma, and Irbin.
A Hemingway Legacy Exposes the Rot Hidden Within Egypt’s Shadows
By
Naomi Pham
One of the Arab world’s most unyielding literary dissidents, Sonallah Ibrahim (1937-2025) devoted his life’s work to social justice and national liberation. Known for his stubborn integrity, Ibrahim refused to “enter the pen,” a phrase he used in reference to submission to the cultural establishment, and equally refused prizes, honors, and official recognition. He paved the way as the pioneer of the Arab documentary novel, his writing both a witness and a staunch refusal to submit to corruption and tyranny.