Friday, April 29, 2011

Wael Ghonim is the 30-year-old revolutionary who helped harness the power of social media to mobilize Egyptians and hasten the downfall of Hosni Mubarak.

Addressing Muslims in the San Francisco Bay Area on a recent visit, Ghonim reflected on his experience and on the unfinished revolutions currently sweeping the Arab Middle East.

“While a small fraction of Egyptians was living the good life, most Egyptians were living without dignity for decades,” said Ghonim, currently on leave as a Google Middle East marketing manager. “That’s what finally forced the Tahrir Square revolution on 25th January. For years, Mubarak and his family and cronies kept stealing the country’s assets while torturing dissidents. Many Egyptians were surviving by eating out of street-corner trash.”

But Ghonim’s message was one of hope and optimism. He believes that the new Egypt will be fundamentally different from the old. But it will require patience, vigilance and more sacrifice, because the battle for a life of dignity and freedom for Egyptians is far from over.

“We need to shock the world one more times,” he said, “by showing that the fall of a dictator can be followed by a government of transparency, accountability and the rule of law. Even if it takes Egypt 2-3 years to succeed, it will send a strong signal to dictators and oppressors everywhere that they can be overthrown by people power.”

The striking thing about the Tahrir revolution was that there was no hero and no leader to lead the masses. Egyptians led themselves. “People often look to leaders to tell them what to do. If the recent events in Egypt have taught us anything, it is that we don’t need leaders for revolutions to succeed.”

In Tahrir Square, Ghonim did not see anyone engaging in self-promotion. Young Egyptians used the Web to harness the wisdom of the people, even as Mubarak’s regime tried to block Internet access. Physicians treated the wounded. Volunteers cleaned the streets. People kept vigil against government goons. Women fed the hungry and cared for the sick. Christians and Muslims joined hands. There was a unity of purpose.

Until the revolution, Egyptians were fatalistic. They were resigned to the Mubarak clan ruling Egypt forever. It all changed in January when, inspired by Tunisians, Egyptians threw away the yoke of fear and took charge of their own destiny.

There is now the urgent need for Muslims in the West to help Egypt move forward. One way, suggested Ghonim. would be for us to sponsor rural areas. “Economy is the priority now. If a laborer, farmer or taxi-driver begins to feel that the revolution has not brought any change to his life, if he still has difficulty feeding his family, he will say, ‘This has done nothing for me. We might as well go back to the old way.’ If you can teach, contribute money, donate useful and usable tools, offer healthcare, if you can help modernize 10-15 Egyptian rural villages through focused effort, that will make a big difference.”

Tourism is another area where Muslims can contribute. There will be fairs and celebrations throughout Egypt in June. Ghonim appealed to Muslims to visit Egypt in the summer and see firsthand the country’s transformation. It is the kind of economic stimulus Egypt urgently needs. One out of 9 Egyptians depends on tourism for livelihood. Over 1 million Egyptians have lost their jobs during the revolution. “We cannot let the unemployed channel their frustration into anti-revolutionary activities.”

To Washington, Ghonim had this to say: You have to align your interest with your values. Dictators dangled stability in front of you while denying people their rights and freedom. You went along with this. Unless there is a fundamental change in your policy, you will lose us. There are signs that changes are occurring but they have to be long-term and based on respect and justice.

“I believe in people, not governments,” said Ghonim. Governments don’t want to change but people do. The Internet is a powerful catalyst for change and people must learn to leverage its tools to bring about the changes they seek.

The military may yet complicate the transition to democracy in Egypt. As the young activist sees it, as long as people are engaged, are not distracted by frivolous pursuits or consumed by partisan politics, those in power will have to respond to the wishes of the people. Otherwise the leaders will turn into tyrants and society will atrophy.

It is important for people to take responsibility instead of waiting to be told what to do, Ghonim said. “Many of you asked me how you can help Egypt and other countries. I have given you some ideas but you can use the Internet to figure this out yourself. Do your homework. Don’t ask for guidelines. I am just 1 of 10 million Egyptians. I don’t consider myself a leader. I don’t believe I have done anything remarkable. It’s the people, all of us, united by a common purpose, who made the revolution possible. We have a long way to go but what we have shown is that each one of us can be an agent for change.”

While Tunisians, Egyptians, Yemenis and others have been brave, the bravest so far, according to Ghonim, have been the ragtag Libyan rebels. Without heavy weapons and with hardly any training, they have taken on the army of a mad and ruthless despot and gaining ground every day, inch by inch.

Ghonim is not motivated by revenge or retribution but he is insistent that the main perpetrators responsible for Egypt’s economic, political and social decline be brought to justice, starting with Hosni Mubarak. “We have to set an example so that future leaders will think twice before abusing the law and doing whatever they please.”

Ghonim asked Muslims not to suffer from “conference syndrome.” This is where Muslims attend well-meaning seminars and conferences, listen to speakers flush with oratorical exuberance, feel inspired, then go home and … do nothing. “Let’s reduce the volume of talk and increase the amount of action. We don’t have to tolerate tyranny and we don’t have to wait for leaders. We can change our own conditions if we have the courage to believe in ourselves.”

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Libyan-Americans Urge U.S. to Recognize Libyan Opposition

Libyan-Americans are urging President Obama to recognize the Libyan opposition's National Council as the legitimate representative of Libyans. “I don’t know why our government is dragging its feet,” asks Faraj in frustration. “France, Italy and Qatar have recognized the rebels. Why not America?”

Faraj is an electronics engineer in Silicon Valley, California. He came to America as a student from Libya in 1978. After graduation, he couldn’t return home because of threats on his life by Muammar Gadhafi’s security squad. He had been outspoken in denouncing the dictator.

“Libya used to be a peaceful, prosperous country,” said Faraj. “But now it's probably the most backward country in the world.”

As an example, he cites a visit to Libya by Shaikh Zaid of United Arab Emirates in the early ‘70s. While touring a hospital, the Shaikh exclaimed, “I wish we had a hospital like this in the Emirates! We and Saudi Arabia are 20 years behind Libya!”

"Now the fact is Libya is 40 years behind UAE and Saudi Arabia!"

So what explains this descent?

“One word: Gadhafi. He controls all the oil money. In the 40+ years of his rule, Libya earned trillions of oil dollars nut hardly any of it went into building infrastructure or schools or hospitals. Gadhafi distributed wealth to his family, relatives and cronies and created a police state. He put his sons in charge of security. Libyans were forced to accept his dictatorship. Those who didn’t, he killed them or jailed them.”

Faraj described how Gadhafi sent hit squads to Rome, Paris, London, even to the United States, to kill Libyans who opposed him from abroad. “When he took over power in the 1969 coup, Gadhafi made it clear that Libyans must support him if they expected to live. Otherwise, he would kill them or imprison and torture them. No in-between.”

Other Libyan-Americans in the Bay Area agree with Faraj. “Libyans will absolutely not accept either Gadhafi or his sons remaining in Libya,” said Mufta, also an engineer. “They must leave, or they will be captured and put on trial.”

“It’s just a matter of time,” said Yusuf, a student who was born here, grew up in Libya, and returned to the United States a decade ago. “Benghazi is the capital of Free Libya. It’s terrible that people are dying in Misrata, Ajdabiya and other cities but Gadhafi’s days are numbered. He has killed his own people. He has committed crimes against humanity. He will be called to account, God willing.”

Yusuf doesn’t like the "rebel" label. “Rebel has a negative connotation. Those fighting Gadhafi are freedom fighters. They are the pro-democracy force in Libya.”

Faraj has family in Libya. His cousin was among the first killed in February when Gadhafi’s snipers from rooftops began shooting at people as they streamed out of mosques after Friday’s congregational prayers.

What about Gadhafi’s boast that he will not leave Libya and die fighting if it comes to that?

“Gadhafi is a coward,” said Faraj. “When he sees rebels advancing on Tripoli, he will try to flee with his family.”

Many Western analysts and pundits are predicting that if Gadhafi falls, Libya will degenerate into a civil war because of the “tribes with flags” that comprise the country.

Mufta seethes with anger at this analysis. “Yes, Libya has many tribes but it’s not as if they don’t have a national identity. They are united in putting Libya above tribal affiliations. After decades of Gadhafi’s oppression and misrule, it will take time to undo the damage and work out a national agenda but it will happen. Western analysts are wrong and arrogant to think we cannot bring about and sustain democracy on our own.”

The ragtag Libyan rebels have proven to the bravest among Arabs fighting to rid their countries of tyrants. Without training or weapons, they have taken on a regular army. They have suffered heavy casualties from indiscriminate shelling by Gadhafi’s forces (two foreign journalists – Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros - have also been killed) but they are holding their own. They have even driven back Gadhafi’s forces from Misrata in recent fighting.

What can hasten Gadhafi’s downfall?

Faraj and Mufta identify two urgent issues. “First, the United States should immediately recognize the National Council as the legitimate representative of the Libyan people. Second, give the rebels the heavy weapons they need so it’s a level playing field. They can finish the job themselves.”

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Ducks of the Same Feather

There's an anguished piece by Timothy Egan in The New York Times about the similarity between Donald Trump, the current front-runner Republican presidential candidate, and Italy's sybaritic prime minister Sylvio Berusconi. If you can overlook shades of their toupees, you will find that they are ducks of the same feather.

Both have embarrassed their nations with vulgarity and stupidity. Yet the public cannot seem to have enough of them. Everyday brings fresh evidence that this duo should be fired immediately and sent into exile in a remote, inhospitable island to plant turnips and practice stand-up comedy on each other. But they march on, feeding on the insatiable desire of a certain section of the public looking for their daily fix of outrageous behavior and buffoonery.

Try to digest this fact: 47 percent of Republican voters believe that President Obama was not born in the United States. That's today's statistics, not last year's or the year before. If you are about to throw up, don't blame it on a bad hair day.

The Birther department is expanding, the newest addition to the faculty being that paragon of propriety, Mr. Charlie Sheen. If this were a big joke, like the one Joaquin Phoenix pulled on the David Letterman show, we could laugh a little and return to our daily grind, but it is not. It is a serious trend suggesting that the nation hasn't really advanced 150 years after the civil war.

Since publicity hounds seem to be ruling the republic, we may see more outrageous 'movements' coming our way. The thing to do would be to hold firm and not despair. On their own, these movements are likely to die a fast and natural death as people finally awake to reason and common sense and reject their architects as idiots and charlatans.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Long and Winding Trail

We parked the car at the foot of the hills. As soon as we stepped out, a flock of finches flew out of the rosemary bushes and disappeared into the evergreen pear trees. Within moments they reappeared and alighted on the bushes, giving us a view of their yellow breasts and reddish heads and charming us with their playfulness. Against the backdrop of the green hills, they represented the stirring life of spring.

We took to the long and winding trail, savoring each step in the wilderness. The sun peeked from behind the clouds and a misty rain fell as well, but soon it was clear and a light breeze blew, rippling the grass in the meadow. The trail was lined with miner's lettuce, monkey flowers and thistles. Coastal oaks sprouting fresh leaves and laurel and olive trees spread their seductive shadows away from the trail.

Just ahead, we saw a group of wild turkeys meandering along the trail. As we approached, they vanished into the thickets. An eagle, then another and yet another, flew over the trees into the open sky, drifting laterally and then circling and drifting again.

When we came to the familiar opening, we saw the two oak trees within whose encircling leaves we had stood so many times before, listening to the birds. Today, we just looked at them and felt their presence suffuse us. They had grown even more beautiful in all the months that we did not visit but we told ourselves they were glad to see us too. A jay perched on a fallen laurel looked down at the sloping meadow that merged into another trail by which the creek flowed. We moved on.

The wind had picked up speed and the tall grasses rippled with conviction. Wildflowers were everywhere, sorrels and lupines and clovers and a few we didn't know the names of. At one point we stopped to marvel at the grace of the green hills resting against a calm sky. From the undergrowth came bird songs of infinite variety, pure music of earth and sky.

We had never hiked this far up the trail, always resting at the eucalyptus grove from which we could see the valley and the city stretching away in all directions. But we were determined to reach the summit of the skyway trail today. We should have brought some water but the air was cool and the thirst did not pose any challenge. Besides, the creek was not far away, if it came to that ...

We flushed a flock of doves from the underbrush, feeling guilty and thrilled at the same time. Finches, sparrows, jays kept up their twitter nonstop. There had been warnings of wild animal sightings, particularly mountain lions, but the fear only added to our adventure. We came in peace for mankind; that's what we would tell the wild animal were we to encounter one .Surely it would understand and leave us alone.

We were now approaching the end of the trail and soon enough we were there, tired and sweating but also exhilarated.

Along with the regular wildflowers, we were surprised to find many daffodils, tossing and turning just as the famous English poet had come upon them long ago and immortalized them in the poem that we had memorized in our childhood. Must be due to pollination. We didn't see why anyone would plant daffodils here. But then, there is no dearth of lovable eccentrics in this part of the world.

We sat on the worn bench and took in the view. After a while, huge bees began to buzz us, the air thick with them. We had trespassed into their territory. A dove cooed and a jay shrieked. But we had seen what we wanted to see and began tracing our way back.

Near the end of the trail, we met two elderly couples tending to their vegetable patches.

"What are you growing?"

"Oh, just some cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, squash, peppers and mint."

"Wow, that will cut down on your grocery bill!"

Laughter all around.

The finchess were still there. This time, they stayed in the rosemary bushes, frolicking and singing with abandon.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Female Mystery Writers

Kate Atkinson is among the finest mystery writers in the world today. She spins stories that grip readers with their intricate psychological plots. Her prose is brilliant. In a single sentence she can sum up a lifetime of anger or bliss that lesser writers may take chapters to convey.

I have been a fan ever since I read Behind the Scenes at the Museum some years ago. The imagination with which she conjures up the thoughts of her characters and weaves them into her tale of loneliness, bravery, mystery and happiness against impossible odds is breathtaking. Her characters are so believable I expect to run into them at work, in the park or at bus stops.

It's going to be downhill for her after Behind the Scenes, I told myself. I just didn't see how she could follow it up with more richly-imagined books.

Yet she did! In Case Histories, One Good Turn, and When Will There Be Good News?, Miss Atkinson kept me enthralled with mysteries filled with such suspense that I realized I was reading an authentic successor to Agatha Christie, the original "Queen of Mystery" and the best-selling author of all time. Atkinson's intelligence is palpable on every page. Nothing is forced or contrived. The point of view of each character flows naturally and mingles seamlessly with other points of views. The dialogues are natural and concise, just the way real people talk.

Her latest, Started Early, Took My Dog, is the best yet from this brilliant storyteller. Don't be fooled by the whimsical title. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize she chooses her titles as carefully as she imagines her stories.

Tracy Waterhouse makes an impulsive 'buy' from a deranged woman at a London Mall. It's a transaction that turns her life upside down. A horrifying murder of a woman brings a sinister cloud to the sunny sky of what she imagines will be her new life. Complications arise when the reluctant detective Jackson Brodie wonders about a doppelganger tracing his move as he tries to comfort a dog that he had saved from a cruel owner. Corrupt police officials try to cover their misdeeds but the truth haunts them, particularly one named Barry whose moral quandary is fast catching up with him.

All the elements of a can't-put-down thriller are there in Started Early but what really makes it a standout is the lyrical quality of the writing. Each sentence is a surprise, each turn of phrase delightfully inventive. And to think, it all begins when an adopted woman calls Brodie from New Zealand, requesting him to trace her biological parents.

Atkinson's closest competitor is the Irish writer Tana French. French's three books - In The Woods, The Likeness and Faithful Place - are standouts as well. Her atmospheric invocation of place and memories and unfulfilled lives is unparalleled. Frank Mackey, once among Dublin's finest but now scraping out a living as a tough and cynical private eye, is a character impossible not to root for. He is after the truth and will go to any length to uncover it, no matter where the chips may fall.

If there is one thing French lacks, it is her inability to surprise when the 'whodunit' is revealed. The reader expects to be shocked but I found that I could predict the murderer fairly easily. This was particularly true in Faithful Place. But her writing is so persuasive that you are happy to overlook this flaw.


Among Scandinavian mystery writers, Karin Fossum of Norway is unique. She also writes psychological thrillers and her amiable police inspector Konrad Sejer is the lovable and persistent uncle we all know. Fossum reached her peak with the remarkable The Indian Bride but her other books are not as satisfying. She strives for subtlety but in the process has become somewhat predictable.



Another English writer who made a splash with her debut thriller, Raven Black, is Ann Cleeves. Ms. Cleeves has planned a quartet of thrillers based on the Shetland Island off the coats of Scotland. Raven Black, the first, is absolutely riveting. I couldn’t put it down until I read it to the end in one sitting.



Magnus Tait is a dimwit who can be surprisingly perceptive in the way he channels his thoughts. Two pretty girls unexpectedly drop in on him on New Year’s Eve as he nurses his loneliness. He has been lonely since his mother passed away, his only friend. The island is haunted by the disappearance of a little girl some years back. Fear and anger grip the Shetlanders as one of the girls who visited Magnus is found dead the next morning. Inspector Jimmy Perez has to sift through conflicting evidences to catch the killer. Perez? Isn’t that a Spanish name? What’s a man with a Spanish name doing in a sub-arctic Scottish island? Is Magnus as dumb as he appears to be? As the story proceeds, the island’s past comes into focus through the fog, and there is hardly anything idyllic about it.



No question about it, Raven Black is a winner, a worthy recipient of the Duncan Lawrie Dagger Award. Unfortunately the second book in Ms. Cleeves’s quartet, White Nights, is a letdown. It is plodding and repetitive. It lacks bite. Inspector Perez already seems like an old man. You want him to pick up the pace but he just, well, plods along.



No matter how talented, it is often difficult for a writer to follow up a bravura performance with another. Here’s hoping that Ms. Cleeves will regain her footing with at least one of the two remaining thrillers she plans to write.

Kate Atkinson is a master of the genre, as are Tara French, Karin Fossum, and perhaps Ann Cleeves. Of the four, Atkinson gives the most pleasure because of the way she uses language to reveal the dark thoughts of her characters. That she also can hold you in suspense until the very end make her a rare talent indeed.



Friday, April 01, 2011

No Cruelty, Please!

Three years into my marriage, I informed my wife one morning that I was renouncing the materialistic life and moving to a commune in Oregon.

Her expression did not change. As she poured milk into her bowl of cereal, she looked at the wall clock and said, "You are late for work."

I knew this would be difficult. I sighed and told her I was serious. "In six months, I will be moving to an Ashram at the foot of the Himalayas."

"Wow, a jet-set hippie!" She almost choking on her cereal.

I pointed to the suitcase that I had packed the night before. "Look," I said, "the best thing would be for you to come with me but I am not sure you will want to. Life in a commune is hard. Sharing everything and all."

"Oh yeah, I hear they share everything," she said.

She was referring, obviously, to drug and sex.

"It's not what you think," I replied.

"You are late for work," she repeated.

"Look, I am sure we will be together again. It's just that I need to find myself. I have had it with this consumer life. It has nothing to do with you. If anything, it's only because of you that I didn't leave earlier."

Her eyes narrowed. "If this is a joke, it's a very bad one," she said menacingly.

I knew it would come to this. After all, how do you leave your wife just like that to connect with your inner mojo?

Seeing the tears in my eyes, she flinched. For the first time since our surreal conversation, she looked at me with what I thought was anger and fear.

"Have you lost your mind? Are you crazy? What am I supposed to do here alone?"

"I have made arrangements," I said. "You don't have to worry about mortgage and the bills. I will explain everything."

"You are not serious, are you?"

The first wave of desperation was beginning to hit the tranquil shore of her mind.

"I am. This is destiny. You will be okay. I can see both of us in the Ashram one day. Trust me, you will not regret it."

Suddenly, I saw a spoon flying in my direction. I ducked. Barely in time.

"Hey," she said fiercely, "cut the nonsense. If you don't feel like going to work, don't. Call in sick."

"I am not sick. And I will be leaving in about 15 minutes. I want to go over some details with you."

Fear began to fill her face. She kept staring at me intently.

"For God's sake, stop it," she finally said. "If there is something wrong in our marriage, if I have done anything to upset you, just tell me. I am sure I - we - can work it out." Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"No, no, you have done nothing wrong. You have been an angel. I couldn't have asked for a better wife. But that's not what this is about! A month ago I saw a dream. I saw myself in an Ashram. I saw the same dream three nights in a row. After the third night, I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to leave everything behind and go away. My only hope is that you will be with me again one day as we seek nirvana together."

"Really? Did you bother to ask me even once if I wanted to come to the commune with you?"

"No, I did not. There's a reason. I saw in my dream that unless I left you behind, I would never get you back. You know how it goes, give up to get back. Think of this as the test of our love."

"Are you writing a novel or something?" There was sarcasm in her voice.

"I really have to go," I said. "I have written down everything. Can we just sit for a few minutes to go over the details?" My voice betrayed my desperation. I sat down and began to sob.

"What am I going to do alone?" she wailed. "How can you do something like this to me? Life is not a movie, you know! You can't just take off like that! Let's talk this over. Call your friends. Discuss it with them. See what they have to say!"

"But that's the point. I have to leave quietly. No one must know. That's what I was instructed to do in my dream."

"Shut up about your dream, you idiot!" she screamed. She was trembling and crying. "Oh God, this can't be happening! I didn't do anything to deserve this!" She looked at me with murder in her eyes.

I tried to pacify her. She sprang away from me as if I were a leper. "I want to go back home," she said. "I want to go back to Chittagong. I don't want to stay here. Go to hell and find yourself. I want to go back to my parents."

"That cannot be," I said emphatically.

She became hysterical. I tried to calm her down. I sprinkled cold water on her head. I gave her ice-water to drink. I begged her to stop screaming. "What will the neighbors think?" I asked.

When nothing seemed to work, I used my only remaining option.

"It's April Fools', silly," I whispered in her ears.

She didn't understand what I was saying, so I had to repeat myself several times until it finally sank in.

I had to atone for my unpardonable act. After she had regained her self-control, we left immediately for Las Vegas where we enjoyed a show by her favorite entertainer, Tom Jones.

But it took her several years to start treating me like a normal human being. Every now and then, at home or at a party, I would catch her looking at me. It was clear what she was thinking. "This guy is a lunatic, a moron. How did I ever end up with him?"

Moral of the story: By all means, pull an April Fools' on your loved one but make sure it is free from cruelty.