Scholarship on the Mahjar writers saturates much of the existing literature and discussion of Arab American literature, often alongside the contemporary writers of the third wave. By comparison, second-wave literature shares hardly a fraction of the attention between these two periods. From 1948 to 1973, second-wave writers occupied a surprisingly quiet and subdued presence despite the tumultuous developments occurring around them and in the Arab world.
Beirut’s Raouché Rock Tells Stories of Endurance and Collapse
By Elie Chalala
As a Lebanese and as many others who grew up not far from Beirut and the Raouché district — also known as Pigeons’ Rock — I was captivated by its grandeur. Two massive limestone outcrops rise from the Mediterranean along Beirut’s western coast, separated from the mainland by an ancient earthquake. This natural landmark is not only a symbol of beauty but also a silent witness to Lebanon’s triumphs and tragedies.
There is a sense of irony, or perhaps tragic justice, in that the story of a woman whose life and presence were forcibly erased from the public sphere continues to linger on the minds of many, unforgettable even 50 years after her death. Just as she forged a path through the social and political barriers confronting her, the Egyptian feminist, poet, and editor Doria Shafik’s legacy as one of the leading figures of the Egyptian women’s liberation movement in the 1940s cannot be forgotten. Shafik strived to make her voice and the voices of all Egyptian women known, undeterred by the many who hurled insults, slander, and mockery her way — but in exchange for her efforts, all her work was seized, her allies turned their backs on her, and she lived out her final years in silence and isolation.
Marwan Harb offers a sharp critique of Hezbollah’s estrangement from Lebanese national identity, portraying it as a militarized organization that derives its legitimacy not from democratic participation but from its arsenal. Harb traces the evolution of Hezbollah’s weaponry — once venerated as a sacred tool of liberation — through three distinct phases: initially serving as a sectarian shield during vulnerable times, then an instrument of internal political domination, and ultimately a hollow burden, clinging to relevance without justification. This trajectory illustrates the symbolic decay of the ‘weapon,’ transforming it from a shield of defense to a mechanism of control.
Like others reacting to the state of Syria following the fall of the Assad regime, Nour al-Sayed’s response is heavy with disappointment and dismay, expressed in the title of her essay for Al Modon, “If We Knew the Depth of Our Hatred… We Wouldn’t Have Needed a Revolution.” Sayed, adding a surprising levity, acknowledges the title comes across like something a child might say after not having their way, but just as quickly states that the severity of Syria’s predicament is not a matter that can be treated as “a child’s folly.” Her assessment of the country is sobering: the ‘victory’ against the Assad regime has “failed to mend the wounds, but instead has reopened them and deepened the pain.”
For decades, Ziad Rahbani occupied a unique place in the Syrian imagination — a figure at once satirist, musician, and political voice, whose art offered both entertainment and coded dissent. His relationship with Syrians moved through phases of clandestine admiration, public estrangement, and finally to a bittersweet mixture of betrayal and a lingering, conflicted gratitude that survived even the most profound political disappointments. His artistic journey intertwined with Syria’s own political and cultural shifts, making his transformation all the more personal for those who once claimed him as their own.
The Information Revolution and the spread of the internet and social media have had severe repercussions for cultural services as we know them. The loss of numerous publications remains one symptom of the many changes sweeping across the Arab world, which recently witnessed the closure of another publication, the Qatari cultural magazine Doha.
Why do we choose to tell painful stories, especially in documentary form, where we ask people to relive their trauma? That is a question I kept asking myself as I watched “Four Daughters.” Sometimes we need to know that pain is part of a story we too glibly read in the news, or perhaps it deepens a reality we think we know already.
After his passing in 2022, poets, intellectuals, and journalists offered their eulogies of the Lebanese poet Hassan Abdallah (1943-2022), who captivated readers with his words. Among those honoring him were Shawqi Bzay, Abbas Beydoun, Jawdat Fakhreddine, Talal Salman, and others. Without exception, Abdallah’s colleagues and friends remember him as a humble man, one who preferred to remain in the shadows and shun the limelight, festivals, and fiery speeches.
“Theatrical” perhaps best describes the current state of Lebanon’s performing arts scene, which seems to be embroiled in its own drama in recent days. Early this year, we bade farewell to the director and actor duo Antoine and Latifa Multaqa, pioneers of Lebanese theater’s 1960s avant-garde era and, for a moment, relished in nostalgia for Beirut’s culturally vibrant bygone days. Unfortunately, such rose-tinted memories have little room under the stifling atmosphere overtaking much of Lebanon’s arts and culture.
“There are clear faces that do not hide anything, as if their features convey the stories of their owners. It is as if every story in the life of its owner left a mark on it. For the Lebanese playwright Raymond Jebara, he wears a face of fatigue mixed with sharp sarcasm and a smile... eyes that describe the man,” wrote the Kuwaiti Al Jarida in an interview with Jebara in 2010.
As if gripped by the fear of losing the history of Palestine, Fathi Ghaben kept Palestine close to him for his entire life, in his mind, art, and physical existence. Reporters, critics, and Palestinian government officials paid tribute to the artist, whose unwavering focus on Palestinian culture and memory saturated his life and work.
The widespread reach of the Egyptian song and its artistic achievements, going beyond the Arab sphere to the rest of the world, owes its success to musicians, singers, and poets whose writings remain immortal today. Among them is the poet Magdy Naguib, who departed from the cultural scene on February 7, 2024, reports Al Habeeb Al Aswad in Al Arab newspaper. Hardly a moment goes by without news of the Arab cultural scene losing an artist, poet, songwriter, or other creative.