Sex Industry in Palestine

A new report on sex trafficking in Palestinian society issued by SAWA, Amira Hass reports.

I haven't read the report, but from the way it's summarized, it leaves many questions untouched.

One thing I'm going to be watching for is the way this report will be used politically by different Palestinian groups. Ramallah has been cast since the siege on Gaza by those who oppose the PA as a den of vice. I have been hearing stories the delegitimized the cities for a few years now. Jerusalem was always "tainted." I won't be surprised if the women this report is advocating for will end up being used to tarnish political opponents. We'll see.

"What the Living Do"

What the Living Do
From What the Living Do by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

From a Somali Woman To Her Executioners

I was scared. Sometimes, I thought you would let me go, would forget about me. It had been months since you judged me and my belly got bigger and bigger. The bigger it got the closer I came to my due date, the date of my execution. I ate almost nothing and drank little, hoping that my belly will stop growing and you will forget about me. Some hopeful mornings I was certain that I will die in childbirth, the way my mother did. She gave birth to me and rushed away, leaving me all alone with you. I was a nobody. You would forget about me. You had guns to buy and wars to fight. What do you want with a woman like me?

I was scared when I heard his scream. I never heard him scream before. I only knew his whispers. When he told me how much he wanted me, how beautiful my eyes were, how he had to go now. I loved his nightly visits because after love-making he always covered me and because he wasn't one of you. His brother was, which is why you spared his life. I'm happy you did. You wanted me to watch. Your slaps forced me to open my eyes. From a distance, I kissed his blood-streaked back the way I kissed it when you weren't looking. And for a moment, I forget about you.

I was scared when I felt the first pains. I closed my eyes and waited for mercy. The women's voices urged me to push. I pulled it inside as hard as I could. I knew that if it stays in me long enough you will forget about me. I held to it the way a drowning man hold onto a dead body floating by. If it stays in me it will only hear the stories I tell. But it betrayed me again. I felt it slipping from between my legs, silent. Death came and missed me. My scream reminds you that I am ready for you.

I am scared when you force me to watch as you dig my standing grave. My water breaks again. How many deaths am I to give birth to? Other people are watching too. It's almost festive. It reminds me of Eid days, when as children you and I used to gather around storytellers in the marketplace. Today, I'm the heroine of your story. I am tall, so you have to dig deeper, which makes you hate me more. I stand. You arrange it so that I can only move my head. The first stone misses. I smile. The second misses too. My smile widens. But soon your aim gets better and I no longer can tell if I'm smiling or not. I don't have my hands to shield my face. You deny me that small mercy. Do I feel pain? I don't remember. All I remember is the glistening skin, my parted lips, and the scream of pleasure that brought you to me. Then my lover covers me. And I go to sleep.

Is it Right to Kill ?

Last week, a Somali woman was stoned to death for having sex with a man. Another one will be stoned once she gives birth. A man was stoned to death because he committed adultery. And before that a rape victim was stoned to death for being raped.

All in the name of Islamic law as interpreted by illiterate, gun-wielding hooligans.

But wait. If the death sentence was delivered in the context of a stable Muslim state, following proper Islamic procedures, and was even carried out by a "civilized" lethal injection, would it be right?

Is it right to kill because two consenting adults had sex?

This is the issue. The argument that Islam makes it particularly hard to punish those who break the rule of no sex outside marriage does not address this issue. Yes, we need four adult witnesses who actually witness sexual intercourse (unmarried women's pregnant bellies complicate this a bit). And, yes, men and women are to be punished equally. But this strictness and egalitarianism do not change the fact that adultery and sex outside marriage are criminalized. True, it never stopped Muslims from having sex outside marriage, but that's not the issue either. The Somalia cases force me to think about one question only:

Is it right to kill because two consenting adults had sex?

That is the question.

Thanksgiving, the Palestinian Way

On this Earth …

On this earth

There’s what’s worth living for

April’s hesitation

The smell of bread at dawn

A woman’s magic words for men

The writings of Aeschylus

The beginnings of love

Grass on a stone

Mothers standing on a string of a flute

And the invaders’ fear of memories

On this earth

There’s what’s worth living for

The end of September

A woman leaving her forties with all her beauty

Sun hour in prison

Clouds imitating a flock of creatures

People’s chants for those who face death with a smile

Tyrants’ fear of songs.

On this earth

There’s what’s worth living for

The lady of earth

The mother of beginnings

The mother of endings

She was called Palestine

She is later called Palestine

My lady, I deserve,

Because you are my lady,

I deserve life.

(my translation)

Masar: Trio Joubran

Just Because

About Zeina

A bio- article in Al Akhbar newspaper (in Arabic) about a dear friend and one of my favorite people in the world: Zeina Za'tari. It's rare that you get up in the morning and read something good.

Freedom

Some people might choose to think of this Mohammad Mounir's song as a song about Egypt. Certainly whoever put the video together (and the people who commented on it) think so. I can see why: it's called "Freedom" and has words like "martyr" and "refugee." Serious business. Grab a flag!

I prefer to see it as a love song that borrows the language of nationalism to express love for a woman--to legitimize a forbidden love, to be exact. I think this makes it more interesting and a bit subversive.

To say to one's country, as the song does, "Your love is freedom; in love, nothing is forbidden" should not raise any eyebrows. But to say it to the one you love, especially if your heart is "going against the current," will raise hell. No one wants to be a refugee in their own country, which is why the best line in the song makes no sense if you are thinking a country is the object of desire: "Hold me, take me, I'm a refugee, and I am true for the first time..." Well, unless you're asking for political asylum!

What I'm saying is that love songs can be powerful and legitimate without having to be about God and Country. Let's try listening to them that way and see what happens.