Who’s afraid of the Apocalypse?

We Gulfies have it good. We enjoy a standard of living on par with most industrialized nations, something that manifests itself in more than just a voracious appetite for luxury products. The unfortunate combination of a naturally arid environment, abundant fossil fuels, and lax energy policy have meant that we consume far more electricity and fossil fuels than elsewhere in the world. We have used oil revenues to transform swathes of uninhabitable desert into dense, comfortable cities where we have become used to a lifestyle completely removed from the physical realities of our environment. We have come to rely on cheap and abundant electricity, systemic air conditioning, desalinated water, food imported from all corners of the globe, and cars that cost next to nothing to run.

So how do we compare to other nations? Let us start with the Gulf’s carbon footprint. A carbon footprint measures the overall carbon dioxide and methane emissions for which we are responsible on a national level. According to World Bank data presented by sustainability advocacy group Carboun, “the Arab world, which constitutes 5% of the world’s population, emits just under 5% of global carbon emissions, … and except for Saudi Arabia, no single Arab country is responsible for more than 1% of global emissions. The energy use of an average Arab person is still below the world average and less than half that of an average European.”[1] The news seems at first reassuring, but it belies the individual consumption habits it represents. Viewed on a per capita emissions basis, it emerges that four of the GCC countries are ranked among the top 5 carbon emitters in the world, “with Qatar topping the global list at a staggering rate of 12 times the global average” (El Gendy).

Carbon Emissions

Carbon emissions represent only the big picture. A Deloitte whitepaper citing the latest available data from the International Energy Agency (IEA) reveals that “in 2008, each person in the GCC countries consumed on average 9.650 TWh [terawatt hour] of electricity against a global average of 2.782 TWh and a Middle East average of 3.384 Twh.”[2] By comparison, Americans consumed 13.985 TWh, the Japanese 8.063 Twh and Europeans 6.285 TWh. Tellingly, 47% of the GCC states’ energy use was residential, compared to a global average of 25% and an American one of 33%. “In fact, head-to-head when absolute numbers are compared, each GCC resident is almost at par with the average consumer in the USA: both using more or less 4.5 TWh of electric energy in their respective homes in 2008” (Deloitte).

The obvious question that now presents itself, as far as residents of the Gulf are concerned, is ‘so what?’ Presented with these facts, why should the average citizen of the Gulf care if her electricity consumption is on par with that of the United States, or if her family drives more cars than 3 European families do? After all, she is entitled to her fair share of her country’s natural resources, resources that if she didn’t use someone else would swoop in to exploit. Does not the Gulf have as much right to development as the rest of the world? In the name of what principle should it be asked to lag behind?

For now, it would appear that very few people in government or civil society place the looming ecological crisis high on their priority list. Driving the excessive patterns of consumption is a combination of environmental and socio-political factors. The unavoidable need for air-conditioning, water desalination and private transport represents part of the equation. The other part of the equation is socio-political: GCC governments have subsidized petrol and electricity prices for so long that it has become a political impossibility for them to now suggest a reduction or reversal of these subsidies. Citizens are completely removed from the real cost of these services and have come to regard the cheap exploitation of their one valuable natural resource as an unquestionable right. Electricity rates are so cheap and bill payments so little enforced that there is virtually no incentive on the consumer end to reduce consumption. Governments are in fact already struggling to keep up with their domestic demand, as can be evidenced by the increasing frequency of blackouts and brownouts during the summer months in some countries.

In my last post I talked about the Anthropocene, and the fact that collective human activity has now become a force of geological change on our planet. Our levels of energy consumption render us extremely comfortable, but they are outrageous, unsustainable, and downright irresponsible. And energy consumption is but the tip of the iceberg. Unless we adhere to planetary boundaries — measures of a ‘safe’ operating space for the planet — we are almost certainly driving our species down the path of extinction. The infographic below shows the nine boundaries and the extent to which we’ve exceeded them in  yellow.

planetary boundaries

The trouble with such apocalyptic talk, though, is that it’s actually rather easy to file away in the back of our minds and not give  another thought. The idea of human extinction is so large, so unreal, that we cannot identify with it in the same way we identify with something more personal: an illness or a death in the family. One must, ironically enough, be taught to care about the apocalypse (which, on a side note, explains why religious teaching dwells so much on the end of times, and incessantly tries to relate the afterlife to the present). In trying to rekindle our sensitivity to the state of the planet, we have to start with our expectations for ourselves. We have to consider that rather than expecting to work hard to trade up (cars, homes, vacations), we have to work hard to trade down if we expect ourselves, much less our children, to survive at all.

Not that I meant to end on such a downer. Tune in next week for more thoughts on the Gulf, the Anthropocene, and where we fit in it all.

Something New to Say

Hello everyone,

It’s been just over a year since I’ve posted anything to this blog, partly because I got too busy preparing to move for grad school, but mostly because I ran out of substantive things to say. There are enough people ranting on the internet already without me adding to the din.

I am very pleased, however, to announce the revival of this blog, for I have found new and interesting things to share! For the last seven months I’ve been a graduate student at Sciences Po Paris, and this semester I’ve had the immense pleasure of attending a class entitled “Political Philosophy of Nature,” taught by the delightful Bruno Latour. The subject of the class is difficult to describe in straightforward terms, but it would be fair to say it has been an incredibly eye-opening experience for me and everyone else I’ve spoken to about the class. It’s taught me so much in fact, that I feel obliged to share some of the things I’ve learned about, all the while remaining within the original parameter of a Bahraini blog. Not to mention that I’m also being graded on this ;)

What exactly is ‘political philosophy of nature,’ you might ask, and what makes it so interesting? Political philosophy is (very generally speaking) a discipline that deals with the fundamental ideas and theories behind government, principles of rule, law, legitimacy – all the spheres where humans interact to form or submit to systems of governance. For too long, this discipline has been focused on human beings as sole actors, with the planet and its other inhabitants constituting little more than a backdrop for human thought and endeavor. The political philosophy of nature attempts to remove Nature from the backdrop and bring it firmly to the foreground of our politics. Why? Because nature no longer signifies the kind of eternal majestic wilderness Keats and Wordsworth reveled in – ‘nature’ is also carbon emissions and acidifying oceans and melting ice caps and disappearing tuna fish. Nature, far from being an infinite economic resource, is a rather finite space where the global economy is simply one dependency among many. Ultimately, ‘nature’ needs a seat in our parliaments and a vote in our elections, because it’s as much a part of our socio-political systems as the constitution or the ballot box are.

This is not going to become a blog about convincing you to ‘go green’. One of the, erm, less bright aspects of this class is a certain doomsday vision – according to many scientists, we are already well beyond the point of staving off major planetary change and must simply learn to deal with its consequences. Instead, I’d like to shed some light on a new way of thinking about being. A good place to start is with the concept of the Anthropocene. The short explanation is that the Anthropocene designates a geological era where collective human activity has become the primary agent shaping the earth’s ecosystems, much like asteroid impact once altered the state of the earth, set off an Ice Age and killed off the dinosaurs. This means that humans are well on their way to rendering the earth uninhabitable for themselves, unless they can halt or reverse the rate of change by adhering to planetary boundaries. A far more eloquent and scientific explanation of the Anthropocene and what it means can be found in this TED talk by professor Will Steffen. I cannot recommend the 18 minutes of this video enough.

Living in the age of the Anthropocene has vast ramifications for us all, no matter what country we live in or what kind of government we find ourselves subject to. All of mankind is intimately bound in this together. We must cease to think of ourselves as citizens of ‘x’ country and begin to see ourselves as inhabitants of a borderless planet where the conditions necessary for our survival are not guaranteed to continue. The Anthropocene demands that we find new ways of relating to one another and to the world we live in. We must reexamine our relationships with science, religion and politics; our notions of fact, value and consensus.

Over the coming series of posts, I will attempt to tackle the challenges posed by the Anthropocene as they relate to the Persian Gulf. The combination of oil politics, lack of economic diversification, looming energy insecurity, hereditary rule, and what appears to be complete nonchalance towards the state of the planet make us a prime and riveting case for examination in the light of this new world vision. I am not nearly intelligent or learned enough to propose solutions. This will rather be an exercise in exploring complexity and achieving a more comprehensive understanding of an immensely controversial topic. I hope you enjoy the process as much as I do.

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Compensation Schizophrenia

“BD 10M Unrest Payout Hope,” declared the front page of the GDN yesterday in typical tabloid fashion. Inside, the paper explained that a new Civil Settlement Initiative (CSI), proposed by the National Commission tasked with implementing the recommendations of the BICI report,  has found BD10M to hand out to unrest victims along the following guidelines:

a) ” ‘The [Justice, Islamic Affairs and Endowments] ministry will have its own team of investigators who will evaluate each case and will then come out with a compensation figure, which is up to the applicant to accept or not,’ said Dr Al Deerazi, former secretary-general of the Bahrain Human Rights Society.”

Ah, the good old take-it-or -leave it-approach. How quaint.

b)” If the applicant agrees to the compensation amount proposed by officials, he or she will have to sign a document agreeing to drop any court case.”

Ah, bribing people to shut up. Always effective.

Apart from a complete lack of transparency of procedure, there are two things severely wrong with this initiative. The first is immediately obvious: it is a way to avoid charging or trying anyone connected with the year’s crimes. Anyone in the government, that is, because everyone from opposition bystanders to party leaders has already been prosecuted in military court and handed a swift draconian sentence.  The second is less obvious but equally worrying: According to the GDN, “[t]he CSI initiative [is] different from the National Victims Compensation Fund, set up by His Majesty King Hamad last September.”

So now we have two compensation funds? Different how, you might ask? Are we that eager to redress all wrongs?

If only. The CSI operates in direct opposition to the National Victims Compensation Fund set up by the King last year. The reason for this new initiative can be found in the BICI report. Para 1679 on page 401 states very clearly that Royal Decree Law No. 30 of Sept 22, 2011, establishing the National Fund for the Reparation of Victims, requires that “a final criminal conviction must be rendered against the perpetrator of the human rights crime for the victim to receive compensation.”

Here we go again with the mixed messages. So there’s a fund that requires criminal convictions for payouts, and there’s another that requires one to renounce the right to litigation in order to receive compensation. In addition to an apparently inexhaustible supply of mystery money. Who exactly is running the show again, and why is the CSI trying to one-up the King?

It’s a bit of a catch-22, because we all know no one is really going to be punished for their crimes, except maybe the five Pakistani policemen currently on trial, whom I’m sure will be cleared of murder one way or the other. On one hand, the King’s approach might mean very few victims actually receive compensation for lack of convictions. On the other hand, the CSI’s approach means no one gets tried and (allegedly) everybody gets paid, whether they lost a window pane, a car, a job, or a father last spring.

I wish I could believe the conflicting proposals are simply a way to offer the victims more choice. But it seems clear to me the government has forgotten that the point is justice, not money. There has been no progress on any side in pushing cases to court. No government or law enforcement figure has been held accountable yet.

Settling out of court is normally a cost-cutting procedure. It’s resorted to when a trial looks set to drag on too long, to the point where any restitution is undone by the cost of litigation. It is NOT a way to bypass justice and avoid convicting torturers, murderers, and those complicit in their actions. It is NOT a way to erase crimes from our country’s history books by ensuring no official record of them is maintained

While respecting their right to choose, I sincerely hope none of the victims or their families accept the Civil Settlement Initiative. It is insulting to their cause and to the memory of their loved ones. Financial restitution will ease some of the victims’ pain, yes, but only the delivery of justice will create the requisite peace to put the past behind us and rebuild this torn nation.

Grave crimes against civil and human rights were and continue to be committed in this country. We should be recording them, redressing them, and writing them into our history books for our kids to read, so we can truly say Never Again.

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Mind Control

A couple of days ago I went to see The Descendants, the first movie I’ve seen in the cinema in a few months. 15 minutes into the movie, I remembered why it was I hadn’t seen a film in theaters for so long: the almighty censors. There was no sex or nudity in the movie, so with nothing to chop out, the trigger-happy guardians of morality decided to eliminate any speech alluding to sex. So swear words were out. Descriptions of sexual acts, however innocuous, were out. Anything remotely alluding to ‘immoral’ activity was axed. Badly, awkwardly, amateurly edited out of the reel, leaving the viewer slightly flummoxed as to what happened in between.

It’s one of those things I’ve never gotten used to about Bahrain, and that never fails to fire up my indignation. It’s possible I’m overreacting, but to me such petty censorship is indicative of much of what is wrong with the way our society is run. Every time a scene is cut out of a movie, I hear an evil snigger echo in my head, and a smirking voice saying, “We know what’s best for you, little girl. We will decide what you see and hear, and you will only know what we allow you to.” As though censorship ever did anything other than fire up curiosity and create artificial demand for precisely that which is being censored. The best thing you can do to market a book or movie is ban it: people who would have never picked it up will clamor to get it, if for no reason other than to concur for themselves that it ought to be banned.

These nonsensical attempts at censorship pervade not only our movies and internet but our politics, our papers, our TV stations, our school textbooks, and even our conversations with our elders. What do the GDN, Bahrain Cinema Company, your biology teacher and a pharmacy cashier have in common?  The relentless attempt to pretend certain facts of life are anything but. God forbid you hear a swear word in a movie, because it’s not like you’re ever going to get angry and use one. God forbid the government admits to corruption or police wrongdoing, because it’s not like any of us have experienced any such thing. God forbid they teach you the external structure of your reproductive system, because it’s not like you’re ever going to use or look at it. God forbid you walk out of a store holding a box of tampons without a black bag, because it’s not like anyone knows the dirty secret of women’s menstruation. There is a vast difference between a personal choice to not tell the world you’re on your period and the expectation that no one must know about it.

What I find most insulting about these attempts at censorship is the fact that behind closed doors, I’ve found Bahrain to be one of the most open, unguarded societies in the world. We put up these demure, conservative fronts but I can discuss sex and relationships with my most conservative Bahraini girlfriends, married or unmarried, far more frankly than I could with any Americans. It’s no secret to anyone (but perhaps parents in denial) that a significant number of young people in this country are getting it on long before they’re married, in ways Western societies consider downright obscene. Perhaps I should just calm down and let the censors do their thing: who needs to watch movies when real life is so much more accessible and interesting?

Movies and morality aside, the most troubling form of censorship is obviously in our politics and state media. Censorship is not about ‘protecting’ us from immorality and misinformation; it’s about controlling our thoughts. It’s about controlling the narrative we’re exposed to, the facts we learn, the viewpoints we hear. It’s about muting certain voices while pumping up the volume on others. Hence the papers with their Orwellian headlines and front page freak shows.

[I was going to post a great example of a GDN attempt at mind control here, but I was advised I'd get fired or arrested if I did so and pointed out the obvious. So here I must exercise the worst kind of censorship there is, the kind imposed upon oneself :( ]

And with that I leave you to ponder upon all the things I’ve left unsaid…

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On Martyrdom

This Arab Spring was born of an act of suicide. Tunisian Mohamed Bu Azizi set himself on fire because he despaired of his life and all efforts to improve it. Was Bu Azizi a ‘martyr’? Was his death a ‘sacrifice’? Did he know what he would set off and how much he would change? Do his intentions make him more or less of a martyr? Is calling him a ‘martyr’ a celebration of his death? Is it a final vindication? Or is the term simply devised to make us feel better, another feature of the primal human endeavor to imbue life and all its parts with meaning?

These are difficult questions, and frankly I think anyone who claims to know the answers is mistaken. As the country marks the one-year anniversary of shocking bloodshed, I find myself troubled by the repeated references to martyrs, the reliving of their final moments in all their gory detail. Yes, it is important to remember. The brutal deaths galvanized me and many others out of complacency, and perhaps the movement would not have gained as much steam were it not for those lives lost. But is that the right thing to dwell on?

I don’t mean to be insensitive in this deconstruction of martyrdom. The families of the dead have the right to call them whatever they like, according to their beliefs. Still, it bothers me to see the term bandied about as different sides clamor over who is and isn’t a martyr: the dead protestors are martyrs, but the dead policemen are not. Or vice versa. Is a man shot in the back, clearly fleeing, a martyr or a coward?  Were not the policemen fighting for their beliefs too? Were they not defending themselves as well? Is it not possible they actually believed in what they were paid to do? What if a group of pro-government and anti-government activists got into a riot and some died on both sides – who are the murderers and who are the martyrs? Who decides which belief is ‘right’ and which is ‘wrong;’ which grants martyrdom and which doesn’t? Does an Israeli Zionist fighting Palestinians for the glory of her god and religion qualify as a martyr too? What about suicide bombers? Are we sure they are not ‘right’ too?

Because I cannot fathom the minds and intentions of humans as they face their deaths; because I am not the one assigning them to heaven or hell in an afterlife; because I cannot possibly  judge who is ‘right’ and who is ‘wrong’ in my extremely limited human grasp of the big picture – for all these reasons, I reject the use of the term ‘martyr’.

Martyrdom is a notion based in moral absolutism, in clearly demarcated zones of right and wrong. Yet, ironically, the great human spectrum of belief renders such absolutism meaningless: your right is inevitably someone else’s wrong. If on every side of a conflict there is a martyr, where then is the ‘right’ and the ‘wrong’?

I don’t understand the attempt to classify deaths into different kinds. There is a ‘good’ death, and a ‘bad’ one. Certain kinds of death are glorified, to the point where they become goals to be aspired to. Martyrs are often said to have ‘won’ the ultimate prize; they have won a place where it really matters. Often during the clashes of last Feb/March, I heard the phrase ‘Victory or Martyrdom’ repeated – as though the two were counterparts, equally desirable.

If you ask me, death is death, all the same. It doesn’t matter if you go in your sleep or facing down a tank. What is the difference between a dead Gandhi and a dead Saddam? Only their lives. They are equally dead today, and the manner of their deaths is of absolutely no significance. Would it have mattered if Gandhi had died hacked to bits by the British, or if Saddam had died peacefully on a throne of goose down? Would it have changed their legacies? It is their actions in life that matter, that shape their memories, not the facts of their deaths.

Perhaps instead of revering the dead of the uprising for merely having died, we should look to the men and women they were in life. Instead of reliving the gory details of their deaths, we ought to be celebrating their fights, their achievements, their families; the good they have left behind.

In Memoriam

It’s astounding to think a full year has passed since the start of the Feb 14 movement in Bahrain. This time last year my friends and I were convinced the whole thing was a joke; that it would blow over, the community leaders would be paid off, the calls for demonstrations would fizzle. This was not Egypt and it was not Tunisia and we didn’t have nearly the amount of problems they did.

Mine was a Bahrain of opportunity, diversity, and tolerance. It was a peaceful country where I could sleep with my doors unlocked and stumble home at 4am unharmed. It was a land of privilege, where I paid no rent or taxes, drove a big new car, paid peanuts for petrol, and saw doctors for free without health insurance. I adored the 100-degree weather and the fact that it never rained. I had left a good job and was preparing to land an even better one.

It turned out I was living a vastly different reality to half my countrymen, of course. It turned out I didn’t know a thing about the country’s history. Much like a child caught by surprise at her parent’s divorce, I was baffled by the unpleasant truths as events unfolded. Discrimination? Corruption?  Arrests?  Torture? Since when?

Today I mourn the dead of the last year. I mourn the idealistic vision I had of Bahrain, the belief that it was a truly unmatched place to live. As I watched tanks shoot at flag-wielding protestors marching to retake the roundabout last Feb 18th, the horrifying realization of the sort of country I belonged to sank in. I’ve read enough stories of arrest and torture, heard enough diatribes of sectarian hatred and seen enough pictures of blown up heads to stop having any warm fuzzy feelings about my country.

At the same time, I can’t find it in me to take the side of the Feb 14th Youth Coalition. I feel like the only constructive thing I can do is deal with this mess like I’ve dealt with my parents post-divorce: the past is not my problem. None of it is my fault, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I can’t take sides retrospectively, and I can’t let myself be dragged into the he-did she-did narrative.  It is emotionally exhausting and completely futile. What on earth can I do about 40+ years of strife?  I can only draw a line somewhere in the sand and look at the events past it, manageable events that I could perhaps have a say in.

So while I can understand and empathize with the desperation leading to the spilling of oil on highways and the wielding of firebombs, I cannot condone it and cannot see it as a way forward. I understand it’s about dignity; I understand it’s about justice; I understand that at some point enough is enough and anything is better than the hell you inhabit. Perhaps the Feb 14 youth are much braver than I am, or maybe they just have less to lose. But I don’t know what they make of the fact that Saudi Arabia is a mere 20 minutes across the causeway. The ruling regime is untouchable as long as Saudi exists, plain and simple. If anybody reading this can explain to me why I’m wrong, I would very much like to hear it.

I know it can be argued that if Egypt and Tunisia did it, we can do it too. But if this ‘Arab Spring’ has proven anything, it’s that there is no winning formula. Tunisia looks OK – Egypt is a royal mess, so is Yemen, Libya had to have a civil war with international intervention and the Syrians are currently being massacred as the world watches. Forgive me if I don’t share in the optimism. Honestly and depressingly, I don’t believe any opposition can achieve very much in Bahrain. Not peacefully and not without turning this into a full-out armed regional war, in any case. The scale of damage and chaos necessary to force the level of change the Feb 14 youth seek would be devastating. If the country is broken now, it will be beyond repair then.

I don’t understand what Al Wefaq are doing either: boycotts and walkouts are great to ruffle your feathers and show your outrage, but what do they actually achieve? If in theory tomorrow we all wake up to a new, elected prime minister and government, who will be its members and how will we suddenly cultivate a culture of justice, rule of law, and respect for a constitution and personal liberties? What is there to indicate that Al Wefaq or even the Feb 14th youth will actually do a better job of running this country than the current regime does? Why wouldn’t we make just as disastrous a mess of our elections as Egypt has?

What the Feb 14 youth have succeeded in doing, and what we all ought to thank them for, is drawing valuable media attention. It’s mostly negative, but it’s attention nonetheless. If I were to put on very rose-colored glasses, I’d imagine a situation where they caused enough disturbance to keep up the media and international pressure without doing something flat out murderous like blow up a bomb in a crowded mall. The legal arms of the opposition would get back in parliament and create what little pressure they can. The tiny handful of reasonable people currently in government, most importantly the Crown Prince, would exert their power. Then maybe, just maybe, the combination of all three would result in a way out.

Much as I disagree with their tactics, I have to thank the Feb 14 youth and every single person who’s taken to the streets this last year, peacefully or otherwise. You have paid a high price for this country’s awakening. Especially the dead. I am personally repulsed by the idea of glory in martyrdom, so I will not call them martyrs. Nothing is achieved in death. It is the will of the living that moves nations, not the tragedies of the dead. They’re simply the dead; the unjustly killed, the frivolously endangered. I am very sorry they had to lose their lives in this fight, and I pray their families and this country find peace one day.

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Bahrain Debate

A couple of Saturdays ago, I had the pleasure and privilege of attending the Bahrain Debate.  I scored one of the 50 tickets only a few hours before the debate, thanks to a friend who could no longer go and gave me her seat. At the time, I was slightly underwhelmed by the event. It was polite, organized, and uncontroversial. Everybody presented rational, sensible opinions. The most exciting part was hearing Sameera Rajab shot down and told to stick to the 30-second time limit like everyone else.

This vanilla public exchange of opinions can be viewed as a radical success, however, if juxtaposed against our esteemed Parliament’s sessions, or the Bahrain hastag on Twitter. Dear god, what an obnoxious people we appear to be. It is perhaps the greatest Bahraini achievement of the decade to get that group of differing individuals to have a civil discussion in a confined space over three hours.

The event might not have quenched my personal penchant for vigorous, no-holds-barred debate, but that wasn’t the point. The point was not to argue and convince; the point was to listen. The point was to try and empathize with leanings unlike one’s own. So instead of rolling my eyes when Mohamed Al Muharraqi spoke, I tried to let his words do more than resonate on my ear drums. I tried to put myself in his shoes and imagine being a doctor at Salmaniya last Feb/ March. I can’t say many speakers tried to do the same – some of them seemed only interested in looking for and exploiting pedantic openings in their opponent’s words.

What worries me the most today is not finding the political answers to Bahrain’s dilemma but making sure we’re asking the right questions to begin with. We’re not even at the point where we can talk about real solutions because half the population is fixated on imagined problems. There is too much distracting the country from the actual problem of political empowerment. (I use ‘political empowerment’ to mean everything from a electing our entire government to prosecuting corrupt public figures and civil servants).  As far as many ill-informed pro-government people are concerned, the problem is not political representation – it’s that the Shia are out to get them. They’re worried about the imaginary threat of having their throats slit in their sleep. They’re worried about Iran invading. They conceive of the Shia as a bunch of lazy, job-shunning, welfare-seeking losers who face Iran when they pray. As far as some kids spilling oil on the highways are concerned, the problem is that they’re not allowed to go back to the roundabout. Well, perhaps that’s not entirely fair; they’re likely to be retaliating for brothers, friends and fathers lost to prison or the grave. But however real their motivation, their actions remain reprehensible and their efforts misguided.

During breaks at the Debate I found myself asking many people, including ex-MP Matar Matar and speaker /businesswoman Sara Ben Ashoor, how they intend to tackle the misinformed attitudes of those pitted against them. It is not enough to laugh when a Sunni person claims to be afraid of a Shia person, nor is it productive to get all ruffled up in outrage. How do Al Wefaq and Co. intend to allay the Sunni fears, real or imagined? How do both the Sunni and Shia opposition parties intend to placate me and other secularists that they’re not turning this country into a theocracy?

Matar Matar was of the opinion that much of the problem lay with media and representation: no one wants to print or disseminate news about al-Wefaq saying inviting, inclusive, non-sectarian things. It’s true: Nabeel Rajab and the Khawajas get all the coverage. No wonder ‘the opposition’ is smeared with a single wide brush. How did we let the road-blocking molotov-chucking gangs become the face of the opposition?

The Bahrain Debate got a few things especially right: allowing the session to be bilingual and sticking to the rules. The organizers and moderator did a fabulous job, and I am personally very impressed with and grateful for the fact that it was privately funded by them. But while I’ve already said I considered the event a success, I’m not sure if it should continue in the same vein in future sessions. I think every Bahraini interested in listening has already done so by now. We’ve had a year to pore over the evidence, separate the fact from the fiction, the trolls from the experts. We’ve read the BICI report. It’s time for action. It’s time to build real bridges and seek genuine compromise.

Here I am, in grandiose optimistic idea mode. The scared Sunnis are not going to listen to me or to Al Wefaq – they need to hear the language of brotherhood and compromise come from their own leaders. If we can’t get Dr. Al Mahmood and Co to start talking sense, maybe we can do it ourselves. Maybe we need to tackle the can of worms that is sectarian conflict and put on something big, something that will make the boycotting, sectarian crowd stop and think. If our government insists on fomenting hate, let’s show it we’re smarter than that. We need to work towards forging a united front to pit against the government, or we let it win. In Bahrain, an unstoppable force has met an immovable object – now something’s gotta give.

Video of the Bahrain Debate here: http://vimeo.com/36621438

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On Patriarchy and Political Engagement

My mother once told me an interesting story, one that, if you bear with me, will shed some light on our Arab difficulty embracing democracy. It went something like this: A famous Egyptian singer  (was it Tamer Hosny?) was abandoned by his father in early childhood, and left to be raised by his poor hardworking mother. Years later, after the singer had risen to superstardom, his father reappeared, repentant and seeking reconciliation with his famous son. Many people criticized the father and claimed he was only out to cash in on his son’s success. But the singer embraced his father, absolving him of his previous mistakes, because, according to my mother, “a father remains a father, no matter what he does, and always deserves respect.”

True or not, it’s a telling story illustrating a fundamental stumbling block on the much-contested path, or lack thereof, to Arab democracy. We are societies steeped in patriarchal attitudes. We respect our fathers and our elders for the mere fact that they are our fathers and elders. We believe they know what’s in our best interest. We trust them to check our excesses and hold us to the straight path. And it is that sort of thinking that blights much of our citizenry when it comes to challenging the status quo.

I don’t mean to generalize. Not everyone thinks like my mother does, and younger generations are less likely to buy into this sort of mentality. Attitudes vary by class and education. It’ll take too long to speak for Egypt or Tunisia, but it’s worth pointing out that many of the Bahrainis who are pro-government today don’t actually support anything more than the idea of a ruling family. They too are unhappy with the corruption, nepotism and injustice – but their respect for the institution of the monarchy trumps their outrage at its inefficacies.

As we debate the question of Arab “readiness” for self-rule, whether in Bahrain or Egypt or Tunisia, we have to examine the inherent values upon which a democracy hinges: the binding authority of a constitution, adherence to the rule of law, and a negation of individual authority. Are these attitudes a prerequisite for democracy, or are they cultivated through its exercise?

It’s a little bit of both, I think. Government is an institutionalized reflection of a society’s beliefs. The two are intractable, feeding into and off each other. Debating which is responsible for the other is like debating whether the egg or the chicken came first. How are we talking about democracy when many of us can’t even contest our fathers’ decisions in our own homes? What sanctity can a constitution have if some people still feel morally bound to do as their elders / religious leaders say? On the other hand, if parents won’t teach their children to think for themselves, should it be the government’s mandate to do so? Will rearing a generation on the practice of democracy actually result in the decline of patriarchy?

Whether or not this dreary, allergenic ‘Arab Spring’ ever results in a passable democracy anywhere in the Middle East is yet to be seen. In the meantime, we Arab societies have to learn to judge people by their deeds and not their inherent or inherited status. In the space of a generation we can teach our kids how and why to respect others, for the reasons that matter, not for reasons of birth and stature. There is nothing inherently worth respecting in our elders and fathers – it is only their actions that merit reverence. There is no inherent authority in a ruler except what is vested in him/her by the people. The only wisdom in a religious leader is what he gains by rigorous education, not piety. Maybe when enough Bahrainis on both sides of the political divide learn to think this way, democracy will come. Or maybe enough of us already do, and change is coming.

Take off Your Blinders

Call me naïve, but I am baffled by my countrymen’s immaturity. For the last year I’ve watched Bahrain fall apart at the seams and observed silently from the sidelines, endorsing the odd tweet or posting the occasional comment on a blog. At first I was too overwhelmed with ideas, emotions and opinions to coherently put anything into writing. What was the point anyway, among the rising rabble of seething, screeching and pontificating voices? When it became too much I got off Twitter and withdrew to the narrow, manageable dramas of my personal and professional lives.

It’s time for me to speak now. It’s not about making a difference or changing the course of history. It’s not about my God-given right to speak. I’m just procrastinating at work.

Many older and wiser commentators, bloggers and activists have said most of what there is to say on Bahrain. We’ve heard the slogans, catchphrases, and honeyed platitudes. Witch hunts have been mounted; debates have been organized. Everyone’s asked the questions: Are we ready for democracy or are we not? Would we vote responsibly or would we not? Will the mullahs take over or have they already? Is our crisis a political one that needs a political solution, or is it a societal one that needs a societal solution?

At the heart of these questions is the fallacy that the problem is either one thing, or the other.

Why can’t it be both?

Why can’t all the various views be simultaneously right? I speak to you, my fellow Bahraini: Why are you looking out one eye only? Why is it so difficult for you to accept that both you AND your opponent speak the truth? Why are you right and why is everyone else wrong? Why are you the only one who understands the way forward? Why are you the only one who’s been hurt?

Our government has done wrong, and it has done right. With one arm it has helped some off their feet, and with the other it has struck down on their brethren. Instead of surveying the entire extent of its actions, we hone in on particular ones, and insist everyone else devote their attention to the very same items as well. Everything is explicable and justifiable in light of whatever it is we’ve chosen to fixate upon. We speak not with the aim of expressing ourselves, but with the aim of convincing everyone else that we’re right.

The saddest thing I’ve seen over the past year is the ‘either-or’ narrative, the taking of sides.  The necessity of declaring a position: with us or against us. The doubt cast upon how much the opposition really cares about Bahrain – as though any sane person would fight and die for something he or she didn’t care about.

Let us rise above our egos. Let us rise above personal affront. Let us actively decide to NOT be offended when we most feel like we’re entitled to it. Let us admit that others are as just as right as we are. Let us please stop the polarized narratives, the one-sided reporting, and the taking of sides. The only side we’re all on is Bahrain’s. And to that end, I dedicate this blog.

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