by Roba Assi*

-Pause-
A compelling collage featuring snippets of Langston Hughes’s poetry and snapshots of a young woman’s tribulations advocating for basic equality and free expression. When challenged to accept her limited role in society, Assi responds with a simple but profound truth about individual rights: “I have formed my own political and economic opinions, and I believe that they should be respected.” While lamenting the obstacles before her, Assi defines her struggle as laying a solid groundwork for the next generation and expresses confidence that her dream, rather than collapse, will burst forth.

- Play -
Amman, Jordan
March, 2006

(What happens to a dream deferred?)

Being all a feminist, a classical liberal, and a Muslim Arab woman, I know I am amongst a minority.

This fact shines bright in the faces of those around me. It scratches itself against my ears in my everyday conversations with friends, loved ones, and cab drivers. It is visualized in the graffiti covering the walls of my beloved city, embodied in orange spray-paint uttering statements that shy away from our own faults as a society, as a religion, and as an Arab nation.

(Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?)

Why, they ask, aren't you satisfied with the fact that you can drive and work wherever you want although you are a woman? Why, they demand, can't you just accept the law of God without trying to speak out against that which is divine? Why, they wonder, don't you know that by classifying yourself as a liberal, you are only helping accomplish the Western agenda against the Muslim nations?

(Or fester like a sore-- And then run?)

My mind rushes to answer these questions; because women’s representation in Arab parliaments does not exceed a blushing 6%. Because I do not have the right to speak my mind about all issues. Because as a woman, I am not equal to men in the eyes of law and society. Because every day, I see how tribal law still wins over civil law. Because I have formed my own political and economic opinions, and I believe that they should be respected.

(Does it stink like rotten meat?)

My mind rushes to answer these questions, but most of the time, my lips stay sealed. I do not live at a place – nor a time – where I can speak my mind without worrying. The saddest part? I stay quiet not out of fear of regimes and rule, but rather, out of fear of convictions, society, and ignorant mentalities.

(Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet?)

A few weeks ago, a professor of mine asked the class if anyone was aware of the cartoon incident that has been keeping this area of the world quite busy. Most of the students raised their hands, but upon further inquiry, it was settled that none had actually seen the cartoons or knew the exact details, because it was deemed heretical and punishable by law to publish the cartoons in local newspapers. So the professor started telling the students the details of the cartoons – the details according to him, very subjectively. I, already angered by the Muslim reactions to the cartoons, spoke up in disagreement about both the details and his opinion.

(Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.)

… I was asked to leave the class.

- Forward -
Amman, Jordan
July, 2029

I look at my daughter and I smile. I see a little of myself in her – I see the revolution, I see the zeal, I see the need to attaining perfection.

Yet, that's not why I smile – I smile because these traits are being poured into battles that I did not get the chance to fight, she is fighting the battles that I was fighting to fight. How funny that sounds!

As a child, I was asked to stay hush about issues pertaining to tribalism and conviction, because these issues were surrounded by a series of "givens" which no one could control. Once, my mother refused to talk to me for a day because I "failed" to appreciate the simple fact that while I was asking for trivial rights such as a woman's entitlement to receive an equal inheritance, other women in the Arab world did not even have the right to vote. During my third year at Jordan University, I was asked to leave a class because my opinion about a certain religious issue didn't conform to the opinion of the majority of the people around me.

Somewhere along, I realized that we are taught that individuals are impotent, unable to influence society. I realized that in order to motivate a much needed change, we must start talking about society, criticizing it, and asking for what every human has the right to have. I realized that my voice must be heard.

Today, my daughter stands straight, an important member in a secular society not dominated by a specific agenda, gender or creed. Her head is high as she speaks about issues in regards to social, political, and religious reform.

I am proud of her, but I am also proud of the audience. It took time, it took sacrifice, and it took hard work, but today, just looking at the audience, I smile because I was fortunate enough to see the day when the dream exploded. Not exploded in the sense that it collapsed – rather, the dream erupted, then it shone!

Today, the part of the world that I hail from has finally realized the dream; my dream, the dream of many before me, the dream of many after me. This dream is of acceptance, the acceptance of ideas; where leaders and citizens make arguments, listen, exchange ideas and change their minds.

Of course, we still have a long way to go, for after all, achieving civil rights and societal equality is a long, uphill battle. But for now, I'm smiling over the work that has been done and hope for an even bigger smile tomorrow. We must continue to fight, so that we move forward – together.

(Or does it explode?)

Roba's article won third prize in the "Dreams Deferred" essay contest on civil rights in the Middle East

There are in the Middle East today two challenging ideas: old and new. The old ideas will vanish because they are weak and exhausted. There is in the Middle East an awakening that defies slumber. This awakening will conquer because the sun is its leader and the dawn is its army.

In the fields of the Middle East, which have been a large burial ground, stand the youth of Spring calling the occupants of the Sepulchres to rise and march toward the new frontiers. When the Spring sings its hymns the dead of the winter rise, shed their shrouds and march forward.

There is on the horizon of the Middle East a new awakening; it is growing and expanding; it is reaching and engulfing all sensitive, intelligent souls; it is penetrating and gaining all the sympathy of noble hearts.

The Middle East, today, has two masters. One is deciding, ordering, being obeyed; but he is at the point of death. But the other one is silent in his conformity to law and order, calmly awaiting justice; he is a powerful giant who knows his own strength, confident in his existence and a believer in his destiny.

There are today, in the Middle East, two men: one of the past and one of the future. Which one are you? Come close, let me look at you and let me be assured by your appearance and your conduct if you are one of those coming into the light or going into the darkness.

Come and tell me who and what are you.

Are you a politician asking what your country can do for you or a zealous one asking what you can do for your country? If you are the first, then you are a parasite; is the second, then you are an oasis in a desert.

Are you a merchant utilizing the need of society for the necessities of life, for monopoly and exorbitant profit? Or a sincere, hard-working and diligent man facilitating the exchange between the weaver and the farmer? Are you charging a reasonable profit as a middleman between supply and demand? If you are the first, then you are a criminal whether you live in a palace or a prison. If you are the second, then you are a charitable man whether you are thanked or denounced by people.

Are you a religious leader, weaving for your body a gown out of the ignorance of the people, fashioning a crown out of the simplicity of their hearts and pretending to hate the devil merely to live upon his income? Or are you a devout and a pious man who sees in the piety of the individual the foundation for a progressive nation, and who can see through a profound search in the depth of his own soul a ladder to the eternal soul that directs the world? If you are the first, then you are a heretic, a disbeliever in God even if you fast by day and pray by night. If you are the second, then you are a violet in the garden of truth even though its fragrance is lost upon the nostrils of humanity or whether its aroma rises into that rare air where the fragrance of flowers is preserved.

Are you a newspaperman who sells his idea and principle in the slave market, who lives on the misery of people like a buzzard which descends only upon a decaying carcass? Or are you a teacher on the platform of the city gathering experience from life and presenting it to the people as sermons you have learned? If you are the first, then you are a sore and an ulcer. If you are the second, then you are a balsam and a medicine.

Are you a governor who denigrates himself before those who appoint him and denigrates those whom he is to govern, who never raises a hand unless it is to reach into pockets and who does not take a step unless it is for greed? Or are you a faithful servant who serves only the welfare of the people? If you are the first, then you are as a tare in the threshing floor of the nations; and if the second, then you are a blessing upon its granaries.

Are you a husband who allows for himself what he disallows for his wife, living in abandonment with the key of her prison in his boots, gorging himself with his favourite food while she sits, by herself, before an empty dish? Or are you a companion, taking no action except hand in hand, nor doing anything unless she gives her thoughts and opinions, and sharing with her your happiness and success? If you are the first, then you are a remnant of a tribe which, still dressing in the skins of animals, vanished long before leaving the caves; and if you are the second, then you are a leader in a nation moving in the dawn toward the light of justice and wisdom.

Are you a searching writer full of self-admiration, keeping his head in the valley of a dusty past, where the ages discarded the remnant of its clothes and useless ideas? Or are you a clear thinker examining what is good and useful for society and spending your life in building what is useful and destroying what is harmful? If you are the first, then you are feeble and stupid, and if you are the second, then you are bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty.

Are you a poet, who plays the tambourine at the doors of emirs, or the one who throws the flowers during weddings and who walks in processions with a sponge full of warm water in his mouth, a sponge to be pressed by his tongue and lips as soon as he reaches the cemetery? Or have you a gift which God has placed in your hands on which to play heavenly melodies which draw our hearts toward the beautiful in life? If you are the first, then you are a juggler who evokes in our soul that which is contrary to what you intend. If you are the second, then you are love in our hearts and a vision in our minds.

In the Middle East there are two processions: One procession is of old people waling with bent backs, supported with bent canes; they are out of breath though their path is downhill.

The other is a procession of young men, running as if on winged feet, and jubilant as with musical strings in their throats, surmounting obstacles as if there were magnets drawing them up on the mountainside and magic enchanting their hearts.

Which are you and in which procession do you move?

Ask yourself and meditate in the still of the night; find if you are a slave of yesterday or free for the morrow.

I tell you that the children of yesteryears are walking in the funeral of the era that they created for themselves. They are pulling a rotted rope that might break soon and cause them to drop into a forgotten abyss. I say that they are living in homes with weak foundations; as the storm blows -- and it is about to blow -- their homes will fall upon their heads and thus become their tombs. I say that all their thoughts, their sayings, their quarrels, their compositions, their books and all their work are nothing but chains dragging them because they are too weak to pull the load.

But the children of tomorrow are the ones called by life, and the follow it with steady steps and heads high, they are the dawn of new frontiers, no smoke will veil their eyes and no jingle of chains will drown out their voices. They are few in number, but the difference is as between a grain of wheat and a stack of hay. No one knows them but they know each other. They are like the summits, which can see or hear each other -- not like caves, which cannot hear or see. They are the seed dropped by the hand of God in the field, breaking through its pod and waving its sapling leaves before the face of the sun. It shall grow into a mighty tree, its root in the heart of the earth and its branches high in the sky.

Gibran Khalil Gibran

My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear-a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.

The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.

I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I do-for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my deeds thy own hopes in action.

When thou sayest, "The wind bloweth eastward," I say, "Aye it doth blow eastward"; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.

Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have thee understand. I would be at sea alone.

When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars-and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alone.

When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell-even then thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, "My companion, my comrade," and I call back to thee, "My comrade, my companion"-for I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.

Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart I laughed at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter. I would laugh alone.

My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect-and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.

My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand in hand.

Gibran Khalil Gibran

If the cow jumps over the moon after it turn into a giant cheese ball and I agree to get married, the first thing I'll do is hire a cook!

VHEMT (pronounced vehement) is a movement not an organization. It's a movement advanced by people who care about life on planet Earth. We're not just a bunch of misanthropes and anti-social, Malthusian misfits, taking morbid delight whenever disaster strikes humans. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Voluntary human extinction is the humanitarian alternative to human disasters.

We don't carry on about how the human race has shown itself to be a greedy, amoral parasite on the once-healthy face of this planet. That type of negativity offers no solution to the inexorable horrors which human activity is causing.

Rather, The Movement presents an encouraging alternative to the callous exploitation and wholesale destruction of Earth's ecology.

As VHEMT Volunteers know, the hopeful alternative to the extinction of millions of species of plants and animals is the voluntary extinction of one species: Homo sapiens... us.

Each time another one of us decides to not add another one of us to the burgeoning billions already squatting on this ravaged planet, another ray of hope shines through the gloom.

When every human chooses to stop breeding, Earth's biosphere will be allowed to return to its former glory, and all remaining creatures will be free to live, die, evolve (if they believe in evolution), and will perhaps pass away, as so many of Mother Nature's "experiments" have done throughout the eons. Good health will be restored to the Earth's ecology... to the "life form" known by many as Gaia.

It's going to take all of us going

www.vhemt.org

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