Zwarte Piet Demonstrates for Art and Culture, without Sinterklaas!

Sinterklaas came to town Sunday before last, with his slave Zwarte Piet (translates Black Piet – not too subtle, eh?)

Saturday last, Zwarte Piet was in the Amsterdam demonstration for arts and culture, but Sinterklaas was nowhere to be found.

The demonstration which took place the day before yesterday, is estimated to have attracted about 20,000 people. Other similar demonstrations took place in 60 cities in The Netherlands, to protest against the intended government decision to reduce the funding for arts and culture institutions, under the  PVV programme.

As I rode my bike towards Leidseplein, I could hear the voices of the demonstrators. I walked past the police block and there it was a crowd of people – a lot of them looked Dutch, not immigrants, not Arabs, not black, not red, not green. Children, youth and elders gathered and of course Zwarte Piet, who stood on the roof of a kiosk at the edge of the square and waved his red cap.

Zwarte Piet yelled with the demonstrators, boo-ed at the speaker from the Christian Conservative Party who suggested that funds for the art and culture should be cut out of the the foreign aid funds,  and sang to the classical Dutch song from the sixties which was now turned into a protest song, along with all the other people.

I tried to take a photo of him, but I think that my gifts at photography have diminished with age, so I got a blurred one (see on the side). When the demonstration was over, I looked to see him and he was gone. Not the least discouraged, I swam my way through the sea of people, and at the edge where the kiosk was, I walked around. There he was giving candy to children. I walked up to him and took another blurry picture (see again).He was a 100 per cent Dutch young man, with extremely green eyes, dark brown painted skin (the kind which reminds of Al Johnson), and very red lipstick, like the one in fashion these days, and a red court jester outfit.

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I asked: “What are you doing here?”

In a Dutch English accent, he replied: “I came to demonstrate with the people for art and culture. I am an artist too, an actor.”

That made sense, of course, but why didn’t Sinterklaas also show up? Or is he not an artist? Or is he a PVV voter?

Many things have been said about the “racist” traditional celebration in The Netherlands. I am not saying anything new about it. I have met a few Dutch people who were apologetic of their colonial history. Nevertheless, many don’t see Zwarte Piet as any sort of racist expression on historical slavery. Think the Dutch East Indies Company! Instead, the festivity is more linked – or so it is said – to welcoming Sinterklaas into town coming from Spain, special sweets and presents for children. “There is no racist feeling in it, Afterall Sinterklaas saved Zwarte Piet from slavery”, said a girl I met.

Fine. The question again, why didn’t Sinterklaas demonstrate for art and culture? I hope it is not en “either black or white” affair. Grey areas – I have learned from intercultural discourse – is more suitable for the weather. So I learned in theory.

Back to Writing

I have been in Amsterdam for almost three months now. After a long while of being idle this blog is going to be revived with new ideas and comments.

 

Merci Beaucoup

Flotilla or no Flotilla

Two

I have been constantly asked why I choose to write this blog in English and for a while I was at loss to answer this question, mainly because I knew many people around would prefer to read Arabic. But of course it is a matter of realising one’s audience – as media and marketing freak specialists would constantly remind their brands at every chance possible.

I also wonder to a similar extent, why most of the news that concern issues such as that related to the Lebanese Flotilla are mostly reported either by Israeli media or citing Israeli media.

As pointed out in the previous article, 7 out of 10 search results on Google for “Lebanese Flotilla” were against the convoy. 6 out of those were Israeli sources (and here I am only citing the English search results) and one is sourced to YaLibnan.com, a website that apparently supports the 14th of March movement in Lebanon, whose skepticism of the Hizobllah arms (to put it in a mild way) has been used by many to fuel claims of Hizbollah terrorist ties – but that is another episode of the Lebanese history that is long to relate in this article.

Anyhow, the value of this source is that it is in English, as are a couple more that represent the same movement. Meanwhile, other local sources remain limited to Arabic and are therefore of no use to international media as well as to readers, perhaps even including the Turkish activists who were on Mavi Marmara.

But English is not its only advantage. It is written in a neutral way that is seldom found in pro-Palestine sources from the region, which mostly employ an emotional, nationlalistic and, most importantly, a religious tone (this is something I will revisit in my next article in this sequence).

Not to forget, another and extremely important factor for the success of those sources is the fact that they are online. Definitely, it is not very clear to many Lebanese why being online and in English could be of any use. Afterall, the population, similar to populations in Egypt or Saudi Arabia but unlike citizens of the United Arab Emirates, for example, strongly prefer to read in Arabic whether it were offline or online. In addition, the online penetration in Lebanon is considerably low compared to other countries in the region, where DSL has only been introduced in recent years, and where telecommunications infrastructure is weak and costs of consumption still comparatively high. What use is English online content, then? Well, that is the content that forms the source of information for audiences outside the region, and those are primarily the ones who do not understand the dynamics of the internal conflicts in Lebanon which definitely affect a much bigger issue – that of the identity of Hizbollah and its link to resistance against Israeli occupation before the year 2000. And here to cite an example, I recall the incident when in July 2006, a German colleague of mine exclaimed that she had always thought that Palestinians were the ones who occupied Israel. No! Never underestimate those people and say these are the uneducated lot! People are not stupid, but they just happen to read whatever information lies before their eyes, and someone needs to put it there.

On a separate note, I hope that no one under-estimates the genre of the news that is reported – in Arabic – on websites such as MBC.net. Although very scandalous in style, this website attracts a considerable audience, who is mainly youth. Now this website has reported yesterday that Haifa Wehbe, the famous Lebanese singer/sex idol, was denied permission to board the Lebanese Flitilla Miriam by Hizbollah authorities.

(to be continued)

Flotilla or no Flotilla

One:

As it appears, the Lebanese flotilla which is said to have been preparing to sail to Gaza has been halted by internal disputes over whether or not authorities have allowed it to sail, the identity of the organisers and the Israeli threats to strike the ship if it ever nears the Israeli coast.

I have been compelled to write about this not merely because of their political repercussions but because media is heavily linked to this ordeal, on all three levels. This article highlights one. A series of articles will follow to discuss the other two.

Is the flotilla the right thing to do? It is true that Mavi Marmara’s massacre which took place when Israeli commandos landed over the deck in international waters and killed nine people, the international media have turned their rather disinterested eyes towards the region, when Turkey announced its dismay and turned overnight into the biggest champion of Arab and “Islamic” causes.

Rachel Corrie followed, and members participating in both flotillas became the source of news and stories for media. That was good exposure, a good reminder of the almost forgotten Gaza, amidst Iraq bombings, BP oil spill and Obama’s most recent issue among others.

But behold, how a successful campaign (and by that I mean the communications and media component) can be overturned.

Miriam, the Lebanese ship is now the subject of news flow over Israeli news websites, mainly highlighting the fact the ship has not been authorised to sail. The organisers of the ship convoy are alleged to be supporters of Hizbullah.

- 7 out of 10 results on the first Google search page for Lebanese flotilla come up with news about the Israeli warnings and the ship’s ties to Hizbullah all of them from Israeli media.(Here is one example : http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3906357,00.html)

- 3 out of the 10 are reports that counter this claim at least two of them are blogs. One titled “Hizbollah to stay off Lebanese Flotilla” said:

A statement from “Hizbollah”read:

“We in Hezbollah highly value the humanitarian moves to break the siege on Gaza, but since the beginning we have stayed away from such acts not because we are greedy but because we do not want to give the Israeli enemy an excuse to carry out an aggression against Lebanon.”

Lebanese newspaper Al-Liwaa reported Friday the Public Works and Transportation Ministry requested that the group “refrain from participation in the Lebanese aid ship Miriam,” Haaretz said.

http://palestinenote.com/cs/blogs/news/archive/2010/06/18/report-hezbollah-to-stay-off-lebanese-flotilla.aspx

Keeping aside the question whether Hizbollah is part of it or not, one could just imagine by reading the statements made by Israelis the future excuse they are planning to make when they attack this ship should it ever sail.

By that, I do not mean that any human rights effort should not be made lest it be interpreted in the twisted way Israelis usually do.

However, I have stated earlier that such human rights activism is intended above all to stir the media rather than resolve the actual blockade over Gaza, because 1.5 million people living in Gaza would need a constant flow of food and medical supplies among other basic needs of survival and that would only happen if this blockade was totally lifted off the Gaza people by the Israelis – a very clear and non-delusional objective set by the organisers of the subsequent flotillas.

The key word is human rights activism and civil society movements, multi-national, multi-party, multi-sect civil movements. I speak of those because they exist in the socio-political realism of Lebanon and this region, notwithstanding the international media exuberance in highlighting these divisions. (to be continued)

Saudi Women don’t Want to Drive

Saudi women are breaking their heads over whether they should support a government intention to allow them to drive or not. That is true. On a top female online discussion forum that draws almost 2.2 million Saudi women, a long discussion has been taking place, intitated by a “reasonably objective” lady who has stated the pros and cons of being allowed to drive, concluding that the law would not be welcome should the government decide to pass it soon.

The writer said she feared that having women drive would cause more vices, such as men following women who are driving their cars around. Another problem would be to have a policeman stop a woman driver for a ticket or fine and have a chance to “check her out” or risk her being seen talking to a strange man in the middle of the road. She cited that three Saudi female pedestrians had been recently killed by a male driver whose intention was to stalk them, before he lost control over his vehicle.

The comments were divided between support and condemnation of such a law. Most women participating in the forum went against the law drawing a comparison between driving the earleir law which allowed satellite receivers to enter the kingdom, consequently opening the air for Saudis to watch “vice” and indecency and to entertain devilish thoughts.

Those who refused the law said that it was the making of liberal secular non-believers, who sought freedom (here an extremely negative connotation).

It should be noted that 30 per cent of all Saudi internet users (a total of 8 to 9 million) are women. Their presence online is very strong. Their discussions revolve around cooking, marital problems, children, health, and religion. They are the advertisers’ dream.

The New Identity of Dubai Public Library

Back I am, and in my inbox waiting for me were few stories that I need to comment on.The most compelling, and I should say repelling, was a photorelease on the new identity of the Dubai public library.The release read:

Anjum Anand featured next to the display of her giant ‘book’ titled Eat Right for Your Body Type near the Al Safa Public Library, as part of Dubai Public Library’s new identity campaign. The location and title of the book has been selected to draw the attention of the public and to remind them that their choice of books and reference materials can be accessed at the Dubai Public Library.

A campaign to promote books

Reading the book’s title, however, I was reminded of many facts of the Arab World that might seem depressing for book lovers. In the year 2004, while still in Lebanon – also the year I took small job at the Beirut International Book Fair- the top-selling book was a cook book. Later in the years to follow, the top selling books bounced between the same cook book, a horoscope book and a couple of newly published “modern” poetry publications with “hot” content, whose heroes were young writers capitalising on the conflict among the old guards in the poetic scene.

So that no one gets me wrong, cook books are great, but for the lovers of the art of cooking, for newly married house wives and for single independent executives who live alone and need to cook their own meals. But to have this as a general trend is the issue in question.

This also reminds me of the dude I met on the plane on my way back, who after ruining my appetite for sleep (a food-related word ha!) with his constant talking, finally set the last straw when – trying to impress me with his enthusiasm- he said: “The thing that annoys me most is to see people reading a never-ending book”.

This also reminds me of many things. But so that I do not get carried away, I just want to go back to the main story here: The Public Library! Man! A cook book? Encourage people to read? Euffff!

Santa Claus in the World of Media and Consumerism

It was rather intriguing to hear an additional theory about how Santa Claus evolved to the persona we know today. The fact the the Santa Claus we know today is a result of an advertising campaign in 1931 by Coca Cola is already an indication of the way media function, in my opinion, not through mere emotional messaging that appeals to the populace, but through an essential repetition. Yet, the theory someone introduced in a radio show today, also refers to an embedded message meant at the crisis-stricken populations of Europe and US. The Santa we know today is red, plum and jolly. He eats milk and cookies, and has a factory with elf workers in the North Pole. He hasn’t always been that plump or red. In fact, his depiction ranged from thin to fat, from short to tall, and some images also showed him as an elf or a bishop (according to the Coca Cola website itself).

True, Coca Cola dismisses the myth that it created a red Santa coat because it was the official Coke color, although not all Father Christmas images are clad in red. The fizzy drink giant, less of a giant back then, had intended to promote the brand as a winter beverage as well as a summer one. The radio theory, steps in here, explaining that despite that this might be the fact, there was an additional underlying goal, namely, to give hope to people struck with the economic crisis of 1929.

Meanwhile, Santa Claus has developed immensely through movies. He has a Mrs. Claus, which also another interesting. The gift-giving bishop St. Nicholas was never portrayed as having a wife, and only when he was transformed, via Sinterklaas*, into the more secular Santa Claus in the early 19th century did a wife appear. The wife of Santa Claus is first mentioned in the short story “A Christmas Legend” (1849), by James Rees, a Philadelphia-based Christian missionary. (another wiki)

In the story, an old man and woman, both carrying a bundle on the back, are given shelter in a home on Christmas Eve as weary travelers. The next morning, the children of the house find an abundance of gifts for them, and the couple is revealed to be not “old Santa Claus and his wife”, but the hosts’ long-lost elder daughter and her husband in disguise. (wiki)

Santa also runs a factory in which the elves are the workers. A capitalist Santa is constantly upgrading his service quality, delivery time, and receiving tax and efficiency inspector. In some movies, he gets paid, but who is the employer? His wife is sometimes young and sexy, or he is about to become a father to a newborn. In a certain movie he is fighting another character that tends to change the North Pole to a commercial theme park! It might not be a marvel to see a character so commercialised by the media to be fighting commercialism (including stricter measures to select nice children so that his factory can cut on production). I’d see this character not as a children’s legendary hero, but as an integrated image that reflects various aspects of the modern life where their conflicts are more between the commercial and the more commercial, the consumerist and the more consumerist, although this needs a lot of research and study.

* SinterKlaas is the origin of Santa Claus. He is celebrated on the eve of December 5 in many European countries mainly the Netherlands, Belgium, Aruba, Suriname and Netherlands Antilles. The character is controversial in The Netherlands, because of Zwarte Piet, (Black Pete) who has his origin in the bishop’s legendary past. According to the story three small Moorish boys were sentenced to death for a crime they did not commit. The bishop intervened, saving them. To show their gratitude, the boys remained with Sinterklaas to help him, tumbling and jumping on rooftops on Sinterklaas night to deliver presents. Nowaday, the Dutch color their faces with black to personify Zwarte Piet. The controversy arises amongst intellectual post-colonial discourse in addition to concepts such as otherness, difference, and multi-culturalism compared to interculturalism.

SinterKlaas at the library in Amsterdam

What the hell is wrong with the Egyptians and Algerians??

It is surreal, this conflict between Egyptians and Algerians over some football game, as national pride rolls among the feet of the players and their fans, long after the game was over.

The day after Egypt lost the game with Algeria I was in the elevator, and I decided to take part in the conversation taking place between two bank employees, an Indian and an Egyptian. The Indian man asked the Egyptian whether he watched the game. The Egyptian of course did. I asked who won, and they both looked at me and in one tone almost embarrased said: Algeria.

I smiled. The Egyptian asked me: Are you Algerian? I said no..

I had a vague idea about the game from the reports on divorces between Egyptian/Algerian couples because of the game. It all seemed so pathetic to me.

Two days ago, I met S, a friend of a friend, and I asked him about the game. S, an Egyptian, said the whole story was sad, but he also said that Algerians were very aggressive in their nature. I did not say much.

Now, I keep hearing stories. Egyptians are bitter. I saw this as an amusement at the beginning, but as the story goes on, it becomes really disgusting. I can say no less.

My disappointment arises from the following:

1- Egyptians (and I say Egyptians because the media bluntly continues to highlight their point of view over the Algerian’s although the other side is just as redhanded) have lost all contact with the world and with their causes to the extent that actors, artists and politicians now take the opportunity at every turn to re-underline their civilisation, history and thus superiority. Meanwhile, the life standards of Egyptians continue to deteriorate, their basic rights ignored, their needs smothered by hash, football and the Shaaban AbdelRahim syndrome.

2- The feeling of superiority banishes any feeling of brotherhood between two Arab states, at a very crucial time in the region’s political and economical course and context. The elitist cliches on Arab unity, almost a meaningless blabbering, is in its worst stages of humiliation.

 

 

 

PR/Journalist dialogue blocked?

The clash between public relations people and media people continues, despite that the crisis has proven that cooperation between the two parties would be best to help them keep their jobs. Journalists find themselves compelled to write stories about companies in a positive tone perhaps to lure advertising to their media, while public relations professionals are pushing to find alternative ways which they call “more professional” to service their clients’ communications needs.

That is what the PR measurement summit has been discussing during the last two days of its 3-day schedule.

David Baker, Regional CEO of Action PR, said the PR industry was still facing difficulties and the outlook for at least the first quarter of next  year wasn’t looking so bright either. He said: “This summit is meant to save us, convince the clients that PR isn’t just an additional tactic and that it is an essential part of the communications strategy that can be measured scientifically.”

The PR measurement Summit called for abandoning the Advertising Value Equivalence formula, still widely used in this market. The message being that the media are not the absolute way to reach out to the audience, considering that 29 per cent of the Arab population is illiterate and thus have no access whatsoever to print or social media.

Journalists on the other hand get in two different lights. It might be somehow a relief that the future relationship with the PR industry will not be a constant tugging and nagging to get in stories into their pages. Yet, as one journalist told me, this would be like condemning the media for a system that the PR has created altogether. “Are we supposed to take moral responsibility for the inefficiencies of messages pushed through from their end? And now that those agencies who are not able to justify their activities are blaming the media, saying that it would be meaningless to measure media coverage because media can be manipulated and bought!”

AVE’s, however, have been abandoned asa practice on a wide global scale. UK PR Week awards disqualify campaigns submitted with AVE measurements, and having worked in public relations, I know for certain that such measurement is indeed non-qualifying, simply because the media as tool does not qualify as the best way to communicate at all times.

Meanwhile, an incident this week have brought media gifts back into question.

I was attending an event over the weekend and it was a sort of a gala dinner. An Arab journalist was standing next to me. The PR manager for the event organisers came with a media pack and handed it over to us. The journalist sighed and said: “What a shame.. Old days were better. Six years ago you would receive a media bag with a set of diamonds in it.”

The PR manager said: “We are setting up a box for donations outside”, smile and added: Crisis..

The Arabic Vagina Monologues

Rihana finally spoke. Not that she didn’t want to, but being deaf, she insisted on making me hear her voice when she uttered the question. I still do not understand why it was so important to her to articulate it.

She asked to meet me and I went out to see her the moment she came. I could hear some music coming out from her iPod and she was dancing in the middle of the road. Yes she is deaf.

She then stopped and said: “Who is the whore?”, and she danced away into the street past the restaurant, the car workshop and three black clad ladies who eyed her in contempt.

I crossed my legs so tight and sipped at my tea. Reem, who was recently divorced said: “I do not understand all these women. They could kill for a husband, and all that it boils down to is 7 minutes of in and out. End of story.” She remarried 7 months later.

“I swear I heard a voice coming from it”, said Leila. She was not walking properly yet, and feeling a bit soar. What did it say? I asked. It was reading a sort of a poem, at least it had that tone. I could not figure out what language it was, although something was so certain in me that it was in French. What was it? I don’t know. She closed her eyes, and I figured it was pain, but then she started humming a poem recital tone like that we all had in childhood, standing infront of the chalk board, swinging on our feet and stopping to catch a breath between two long sentences. Her fiance came to pick her up, because she never went on the streets alone, it was immodest. She stood upright, swallowed her pain and walked away. Half way she screamed at him for trying to hold her hand.

“He left me”, Amani wept. I was in earnest, struggling to listen to her while my head kept wandering off to a pinpointed mountain top. I came back for one second to ask her why he left her. She wept louder. She finally said: “He had a dream, he told me. He was standing on the sidewalk and this bus stopped at a sign. He was going to get on the bus, but 10 men walked past him and caught the door first. When the bus drove off to the next corner, he told me, it stopped and started taking off something like a yellow jacket and there was no bus anymore, it was me. He broke off with me and went to buy a new car!” She was 19 years old.

Rihana wrote to me. She read: “My self is like a big old mansion. Sometimes I like to grab a chair and place it across from the doorway. In those many rooms up behind, I could picture old women wailing, their agonised voices echoing in my soul, their laughters turning into bewitched shrieks, their whispers like burning venom. The pain is metallic cold. I could picture lost children running through halls and knocking down candles, a girl craving for love locked in her room, her fingers wandering away in fantasy over her skin, curtains breathing in the winds from wide-open windows, and a silver darkness. As I sit on my chair exposed to the night stars, I long for things that I can’t have, and it grows dead lonely.”

She put me to sleep and we lay there on a green bed. Through my closed lids I saw her close on her trembling bosom, and fight for sweet sleep that doesn’t come. “I hate my father..” she said finally. I did not open my eyes, but my legs grew stiff, as if I would prance off in a second, to avoid a devastatinng wave of anger. She hugged herself and the pillow and said again: “I hate my father, but he did not hurt my sister.” Jana said no more.

Is there God? Her voice was like a horrid scortching sigh in hollow lead cylinder. She hugged her legs, smoked a cigarette, patted her flat stomach and reflected on a crime she never committed. I sacrificed my baby, I gave away my marriage he used to hit me. Their idea of support was to ask whether I had become a Lesbian. I would have just for spite. Women are soft on women, I reckon, softer than this world. I cut my hair to look ugly, said Maryam. She closed her face down on mine in a scary stare and touched the remaining inch of cropped hair. Do you see? Do you see? I am tired of suffering, If I go back it is only to shame. I think sometimes I should go and marry that man in the bank. He offered me money, a house and a maid. Hell, that is prostitution under a contract! Would you like me to do that? Would you like me to do that? She screamed like a nightmare.

In the hospital, I remembered Leila. I could hear the voice talked about. There were two, three, million of them in a chorus. They recited a poem, and it was in Arabic. Oh Mother Mary! Virgin Mary, full of grace, the Lord is wih thee, blessed thou art among women, the voices said. The prayer turned to a sunflower field and the flowers were singing. Their petals clutched, fastened with paper glue. They looked like giant moist eyelashes that were burdened down with infection. At the border of the field was an old sewing factory from another time, a medieval time. Sorceresses were sewing at big machines. What were they making?

I held my hands out looking at a pamphlet that fell from the sky. The paper was black, the writing was black, a black trickle gently leaked onto my fingers. There was a strike. I looked around and the street was flooded with distorted figures, all blackened with soot. They were not human beings, yet they were. On their bodies were maps. The maps stopped at dead ends. Their voices loud but feminine. I tried to read the pamphlet. It turned to a video screen in my hand and it seemed to play a movie. The woman in the movie was moaning, and there was man standing near her. He did not touch her, as if he did not see her, but she went on moaning. At times she would smile and say: I am being raped. On the corner of the screen there was an advertising for her music album. They deceived me, she said and continued to moan, now in pleasure, I am being raped, she went on. A website address appeared at the bottom of the screen, saying: Buy the music album for 20 per cent discount and you will get the movie for free. The streets continued to flood with strikers, as if they filled the whole world. The whore! screamed the victims, their dead-end maps glowing in the gory sun.