My idealism/optimism is at times, so intense and good-intentioned, that it is sometimes becomes exceptionally destructive. Sitting at the 6th floor lounge awaiting a 2pm Arabic Conversational Class, I had to fight with all my might, (employing various strategies) pin-point an area in the room far from concerned eyes to stare at, to hold back my effusive tears-Tears elicited from the trapped ideological position I was put in when I read about Adnan Khashoggi’s infamous involvement with the Reagan administration in Iran-Contra, his making a good chunck of his millions brokering arms-dealing for the US government. I felt dirty, compromised, and like an outright hypocrite by association. There was another feeling too, despair, lost hope in Arabs, in Arabs concerned for the betterment of Arabs, in disgust for Arabs who sell out, and cash checks that are tied to the killing of Arabs, all this blood from our blood! I felt dirty, thinking about the birthday party I attended for him in Cannes, for eating cavier, enjoying the extravagancies of that elite lifestyle begotten out of arms-dealing-blood on my hands, dripping from my fingertips, smearing letters on my keyboard. Blood Money.
Bragging about my grandfather’s association with the depraved billionaire. Unfairly placing judgment on my deceased grandfather who has no means of defending or explaining his political friendships. Why would he associate with such a man? How was this freedom fighter, engaged in, actually leading, anti-colonial resistance against France in Syria, continuing his commitement to Arab people? What of all these secret talks with Arafat and Lebanese politicians to reach peace agreements and advance the self-determination of Palestinians? What of all this when he was closely associated, possibly finanacially-backed by a man who aided the US’s conscience-deprived imperialist mission to kill Arabs and control the fate and cash register of the region?
I am struggling to hold back the tears as I type this, as I prepare to re-engage with the insensate academic community….
And this woman, two tables away, in front of me stares at me…I’m wondering if she is trying to watch CNN’s incessant coverage of the Anna Nicole Smith death or if she’s trying to read my soul…
It astounds me how disconnected people are from other people, from sensing the vibrations of energy emananting from people around. How did we get so disconnected? So bad at reading people, at knowing when to cover a hand, ear, or heart for the energy that vibrations on high soul-singing/speaking octaves, eyes that express inner turmoil