Art has played an influential role in making sense of the loss felt after the August 4 explosion. Tom Young’s “Strong Angels” and other paintings show a human dimension of the tragedy and its civilian heroes, who “join forces to lift the city’s grief,” writes Darine Houmani of Diffah Three (The New Arab). “Despite all its devastation, the August 4 explosion brought greater impetus to preserve our heritage and brought about a database of our historical buildings that hadn’t been done before,” states Mona Hallak, an architect, heritage activist, and director of the American University of Beirut’s Neighborhood Initiative, as cited in The New Arab. Several weighed in on the rebuilding efforts, including Lebanese architect Jad Tabet, who proposed “rehabilitation” rather than “reconstruction,” focusing on preserving the city’s existing social fabric and inhabitants alongside the architecture (for further reading on Jad Tabet and architectural heritage, see Al Jadid, Vol. 4, No, 25, Fall 1998; Vol. 5, No. 26, Winter 1999; and Vol. 24, No. 79, 2020). As art historian and gallery owner Andrée Sfeir-Semler says, “You need to nourish people with art and culture because that is what feeds their souls.”
Between the Silence of Taboo and the Cry of Despair
By Naomi Pham
The 10th of September every year marks World Suicide Prevention Day. The International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP) and World Health Organization (WHO) estimate more than 720,000 suicides occur each year worldwide. Large-scale studies conducted on a global level find that the rates of suicidality (encompassing suicidal ideation, plans, attempts, and death by suicide) are low in the Arab world compared to other countries. 2019 statistics from the World Health Organization reported that countries within the Arab world held figures between 2.0 to 4.8 suicides per 100k (with Syria reporting 2.0 and Iraq 3.6 per 100k).
How Power and Language Keep Arabic Literature at the Margins
By Naomi Pham
Literary prizes have long held the rapt attention of critics, intellectuals, and readers in the Arab world, as evidenced by the dozens of prizes awarded each year for novels, short story collections, and poetry anthologies. Occasionally, Arab writers have been awarded the International Booker Prize or the Prix Goncourt for translated editions of their works. Yet the Nobel Prize, whose last Arab winner was Naguib Mahfouz in 1988, has eluded them for nearly 40 years. Amir Taj al-Sir writes in “The Annual Nobel Fever,” published in Al-Quds Al-Arabi, that Arab readers and intellectuals follow developments surrounding the Nobel Prize “as if stricken with fever — even though it is not an Arab prize, and it is doubtful that it will ever again be awarded to an Arab after Naguib Mahfouz, given the humiliation and marginalization that Arabs and their ancient civilization face across the world.”* Year after year, anticipation over the year’s winner leaves many in the Arab world asking questions similar to those of Brewin Habib in Al-Quds Al-Arabi: “Will the Nobel remember us after 37 years of absence? And will the eternal nominee, Adonis, finally receive it?”
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.
Coming of Age Story Witnesses Tribulations of Growing up Arab American in Brooklyn
By
D.W. Aossey
Coming of age stories can be tricky. In no other genre do authors willingly stick out their necks, relying on a single, flawed adolescent to heroically carry the day. No clever plot twist can save our young protagonists if they’re not up to the task; no quirky sidekicks or kinky lovers can plaster over the holes. The vulnerability of a Holden Caulfield, the dimwitted charm of a Forrest Gump, or even the precocious morality of a Kevin Arnold was always destined to shine. And then we have Michael Haddad, the teenager at the center of “Arab Boy Delivered” by author Michael Aziz Zarou.
It’s the early 1960s. A Palestinian family takes over a neighborhood grocery store in an Italian part of Brooklyn, where working-class residents pop in and out for bread, milk, beer, and cigarettes. They’re mild to outright discriminatory against Arabs. “Camel jockey assholes, go back to the desert!” comes up more than once; vandalism and other mischief loom. The police have little help. Michael, the young son of old country proprietors Aziz and Jamila Haddad, searches his parent’s worried expressions and philosophizes. He listens to 60s music and goes through his coming-of-age routine, seeming more grown-up than he should be. He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks.
Ensconced in her garden of stone and statues, Jordanian poet, artist, and sculptor Mona al-Saudi has always been connected to the earth around her. She spent her earliest years playing amidst the ruins of the Roman Nymphaeum near her home in Amman, enamored with the geometric forms. Staring at the towering structures, her mind wandered to the more existential questions of life from a young age. “I would leave my little friends to play with the statues, converse with them, contemplate their folds, and I felt that they were silent creatures full of life… These legendary archaeological sites gave me the feeling of man’s ability to create great works that remain for eternity. And that is how my dreams began,” she said, as cited by Ghazi Anayem in Thaqafat. This love of heritage and history followed her wherever she went, inspiring all her creations for years to come. She told Gulf News, “Our house was only three meters away, and when I opened the door of my house, I could step into the Nymphaeum, with its Roman baths, columns, and scattered sculptures all over. These were literally historical stones. And I used to play in these ruins. That is why I belong to this kind of era, which I feel endures.”
Many definitions of Arab intellectuals are rooted in the idealistic tradition that glorifies them as guardians of values and ethics, as figures closer to “angels” and “faqihs,” who stand above politics and power struggles and enjoy a monopoly over the authority of knowledge. These notions reflect social illusions and popular perceptions of the time when intellectuals were considered part of a sacred class. A recurrent list of names often cited and idealized as intellectuals include Mahmoud Abbas al-Akkad, Taha Hussein, and Naguib Mahfouz. These perceptions clearly distinguish the intellectual from the politician.
Many definitions of Arab intellectuals are rooted in the idealistic tradition that glorifies them as guardians of values and ethics, as figures closer to “angels” and “faqihs,” who stand above politics and power struggles and enjoy a monopoly over the authority of knowledge. These notions reflect social illusions and popular perceptions of the time when intellectuals were considered part of a sacred class.
Stories My Father Told Me: Memories of a Childhood in Syria and Lebanon
By Elia Zughaib and Helen Zughaib
Cune Press, 2020
“Stories My Father Told Me: Memories of a Childhood in Syria and Lebanon” is a delightful collection of short one-page stories told to Elia Zughaib by his father, accompanied by paintings by his daughter, Helen Zughaib.
Book publishers, journalists, authors, and cultural activists received a large blow earlier this month. The anticipated return of the Beirut International and Arab Book Fair was met with disappointment and anger as violence broke out over Hezbollah’s presence through some publishing houses, which many argued overshadowed the spirit of the event. For over half a century, the book fair has held a celebrated place in Lebanon’s culture. Considered the oldest Arab fair, the tradition began in April 1956 at the American University of Beirut, becoming a prestigious event showcasing thousands of titles and visited by tens of thousands for decades since its launch. Not even ceasing during the Lebanese civil war, the only time the book fair was previously canceled was in December 2006 during the anti-government sit-ins in downtown Beirut. The outbreak of COVID-19 in March 2020, the explosion of Beirut’s port later that year, and the worsening economic crisis forced it to once again close its doors until the surprise announcement of its return, marking its 63rd session, running from March 3 to March 13.
Book publishers, journalists, authors, and cultural activists received a large blow earlier this month. The anticipated return of the Beirut International and Arab Book Fair was met with disappointment and anger as violence broke out over Hezbollah’s presence through some publishing houses, which many argued overshadowed the spirit of the event. For over half a century, the book fair has held a celebrated place in Lebanon’s culture.
In a tale that spans generations, a recent novel shows the suffering of Syrian society through the abuse of sex workers and a struggle to make their smothered voices heard. Syrian novelist Ibtisam Ibrahim Tracy’s latest work, “Daughters of Lahlouha” (House of Culture for Publishing and Distribution, 2021), introduces readers to Syrian women suffering under both French mandate and Syrian regimes, social oppression, political tyranny, and the machinations of intelligence services over the past century. The novel was recently reviewed by Salman Zainuddin in Independent Arabia.
The corpse of the novelist Farida al-Raydah greets readers in the opening pages of the novel, crumpled in a chair with torn remnants of paper in her hands. On her computer lies an open, blank document entitled “Novel.” When a deliveryman named Abdel al-Salam discovers her, he searches through her belongings and finds the ready-to-publish manuscript of her novel discarded in the neighborhood trash bin.
A beloved artist in and beyond the Arab world, Palestinian political cartoonist and caricaturist Naji al-Ali's influence continues after 30 years after his death by assassination. Boualem Ramadani in the New Arab Diffah Supplement recently discovered a French book dedicated to al-Ali’s work, the first of its kind in France. Though published only in French, the book — "Le Livre de Handala" by Sivan Halevy and Muhammad al-Asaad, published by Scribest — includes important input from Naji al-Ali's eldest son, Khaled. He endeavored to preserve his father's legacy through the project. The book was first published in 2011 and received a new edition in 2015 with an updated preface from French political cartoonist Siné.
A beloved artist in and beyond the Arab world, Palestinian political cartoonist and caricaturist Naji al-Ali's influence continues after 30 years after his death by assassination. Boualem Ramadani in the New Arab Diffah Supplement recently discovered a French book dedicated to al-Ali’s work, the first of its kind in France. Though published only in French, the book — "Le Livre de Handala" by Sivan Halevy and Muhammad al-Asaad, published by Scribest — includes important input from Naji al-Ali's eldest son, Khaled.