Scripted Hate: What to Expect When Campus Watch Smears You

A couple days ago, I woke up to the following email from someone calling himself "George Barbery":

It was only then that I discovered that Campus Watch still exists and that it has two other heads, one called Middle East Forum, and one called American Thinker (whose icon is a patriotic man in a straining, seated position). Thanks to "George Barbery" I had been alerted  to the fact that an employee of MEF and Campus Watch had defamed me as an apologist for ISIS. Given that what the author wrote bore no resemblance to what I had posted on my blog, it was easy to dismiss as non-serious. Yet, I couldn't help but respond:

"George Barbery" did not respond. But as I looked at the vitriolic comments that began to build on the website, I noticed a comment, posted by "RedzoneDog" that could belong to him:

People began to take RedzoneDog's advice. Minutes later, I received the following note, this time from someone calling himself "Dr. Tom Barron":

I responded again:

"Dr. Tom Barron" wrote back immediately:

The email read like it had been written by a Campus Watch/American Thinker/MEF employee whose job was to solicit content and create the appearance that these organizations are engaged in debates about ideas. Again, I decided to respond:

"Dr. Tom Barron" did not reply. Subsequently, as the piece was reposted across Campus Watch's other websites, such a Middle East Forum, I began to receive other emails such as this:

And this:

And on it goes. What has been most striking in the emails and comments are these things:

  • Misrepresentation. These folks—authors and readers alike—speak a lot about 'ideas', but do not actually engage with them. At first I was surprised to see how confident the editors of the site were that their readership would not bother to compare the piece's claims to what I actually wrote. Silly me. They know their audience very well, and are secure in thinking that their readership couldn't be bothered to check whether claims are accurate or fair
  • Defamation. Sites like these exist not to debate ideas, but solely to defame character. Usually, they set their sights on people of color and especially Muslims. For some reason, I am in their gunsights this week. Next week it will be someone else. The logic of their defamations boggles the mind. For instance, this author and his audience claim I am a communist, a Nazi, an ISIS apologist and more. But that's not the point—the point is they believe if they can fling enough crap, some of it might stick. For people whose careers are actually precarious, such willful misrepresentations of character and thought could actually inflict damage. 
  • Censorship and Danger. What the author and his audience find so objectionable is not just the content of what someone like me has said, but rather the fact that we were allowed to say it in the first place. In other words, the project is grounded in doubts as to whether people who disagree with them have the right to free inquiry and research. Why is their anger and outrage so visceral? Why are they so outraged that people oppose their agenda?
  • End the University. From the outset, one of this organization's goals has been to poison the workplace of universities. Why? With their relative autonomy, universities are some of the last places that cannot be (completely) controlled by the right-wing and their corporate backers. It is true that informed, disinterested research produces knowledge that diverges radically from the programs of think-tanks and interest groups. But Campus Watch and MEF would like to take it a step beyond contesting the claims of scholarship—they would like to do away with the institutional supports that make disinterested scholarship possible in the first place. Perhaps it is because they cannot imagine what it would be like to do disinterested research, for unlike scholars, American Thinker's editors and writers are paid to produce a given party line, just as an advertiser is paid to produce inticement or a lobbyist is paid to produce political and rhetorical pressure. These organizations are so detached from actual scholarship that they have come to assume that, like them, everyone else must be a party stooge or paid propagandist. 
  • Scripted Hate. The comments and emails sent to me by readers of The American Thinker (and MEF and Campus Watch) are so regular that they appear to be based on a preexisting template or script. The bullet points are remarkably focused: tenured liberals are radicals; our universities are corrupting the youth; leftists hate America; people who disagree with them must be Nazi sympathizers. The insults I have received from Campus Watchers pale in comparison to the kind of hate and contempt these organizations reserve for the Arab and Muslim figures they defame. But it is hate speech all the same, designed to hurt and intimidate. Behind this symphony of hate stand its conductors and composers, the Campus Watch/MEF/American Thinker editors and authors. 
  • Echo Chamber. The public comments section of the forums of these publications speaks volumes about the institutions that support them: they are uncivil and non-serious, characterized largely by an intense hate and fear, most of it directed toward Muslims and Arabs. It's difficult to get a sense of how hateful and inarticulate the comments are without reading them. Some of these comments smack of sock puppetry, like the email from "Dr. Thomas Baron." But others might be composed by actual people. At sites where comments are unmoderated, we could plausibly that the vitriol is accidental, or not necessarily a direct expression of the site's managers. In contrast, at The American Thinker the poison is not only moderated, but cultivated. The incivility and hatred that flourishes there is anything but accidental.

But what are we to make of a garden whose tenders plant so many flowers of hate and fear? And who needs groups like ISIS when such homegrown threats to civilization already flourish on our own soil? Curious, I wrote to some of my correspondents: 

It didn't take long for "ron.temis@aol.com" to write back:

I have been told the phrase "Lech tizdayen" (לך תזדייו) is not a traditional way to say "shabbat shalom."

Reading al-Koni in English

Kudos to the panel of judges for the Man Booker International Prize whose 2015 Finalists' List is to applauded both for the depth of talent it marks and the breadth of literary accomplishment it acknowledges. I cannot remember ever before seeing a list that so well reflected the fact that the literature was a global, and not just Euroamerican thing. There are many personal favorite writers on that list, with Hoda Barakat, Amitav Ghosh, César Aira, and Fanny Howe foremost among them. (Arabic Literature in English has a great round-up of the authors on the list with ties to the Arab world.)

I want to make a special pitch for the talents of one of the giants who appears on that list. Ibrahim al-Koni's oeuvre is well celebrated in the Arab world but still largely unknown in English. His life experience—from the Sahara to Moscow, from Tripoli to Warsaw and Barcelona—and his voracious reading in Arabic and Russian make him a very global figure. Reading him is like discovering a continent where Tolstoy and al-Jahiz are drinking companions, and where Dostoevsky can't get over al-Ma'arri.

For English-language readers wanting to catch up on al-Koni, I would most highly recommend two short novels widely available in English translation, The Bleeding of the Stone (trans. M. Jayyusi and C. Tingley), and Gold Dust, (trans. E. Colla). 

If you are hesitant about reading a novel, here are some FREE of CHARGE short stories and excerpts that will give you a sense of why everyone loves al-Koni:

In "Tongue," a harrowing short story from al-Koni's story collection Kharif al-darwish (Autumn of the Dervish), men are forced to confront the burden of unwanted speech.

In "The Teacher," excerpted from al-Koni's magnum opus novel, al-Majus (The Animists), men and Sufis struggle against the black magic of the desert. 

"The Cloak" is an excerpt from al-Koni's 2012 novel, al-Waram (The Tumor), an allegory of the Qaddafi dictatorship. 

And finally, here are three thought pieces about al-Koni, translation, and the place of his fiction in Arab and African writing:

"Translating al-Koni"

"Al-Koni's Homes"

"Ibrahim al-Koni's Atlas."

Jabra Ibrahim Jabra: Ramparts

Twenty years ago last month Jabra Ibrahim Jabra passed away. A Palestinian refugee, Jabra lived an extraordinary life in difficult times. He survived expulsion from his birthplace in Bethlehem, earned a PhD in England, then went on to a polymath career in the arts in Baghdad. As a novelist, Jabra wrote some of the most challenging works of the modern canon, including In Search of Walid Mas'ud, The Boat, and (with Abderrahman Munif), A World without Maps. As a translator, he managed to bring life to Shakespeare and Faulkner in Arabic during the 1950s, in so doing he opened the door for a set of lively conversations about world literature among Arabic modernists. Without Jabra's translation of The Sound and the Fury, it is unlikely that novels like Men in the Sun, Miramar or Voices would have been written. As a painter, Jabra was an ardent champion of experimentation and abstraction, and he was arguably the leading essayist of the Arab world, writing widely on art, literature, history and memory. 

As a poet in the 1950s, Jabra collaborated with other poets—Adunis and Badr Shakir al-Sayyab, especially—who were also experimenting with mythical themes and the ritual dynamics of formal poetic composition. At that moment, for these poets the core truth of aesthetic modernism resided in the possibility that the dead and the old might give birth to the new—and do so in art. This poem appeared in Jabra's 1959 collection, Tammuz in the City, and attests to the poet's ability to imagine the deep, mythical ties connecting his native homeland, Palestine to his adopted homeland, Iraq. 

Ramparts

Beneath the walls, walls.
And beneath them, walls. 
Ur, Jericho, Ninevah, Nimrud—
On the debris where the sighs of lovers went to die
Where chattered then vanished the teeth of captives, stripped bare
There, now are hills that bloom each spring
Now home to crickets and ants, 
Refuge to sparrows in the late morning
Feeling the last traces of the evening dew
Through tattered feathers
Beneath their tails lies a head
Before which millions once kneeled
Which ladies’ hands once anointed with perfume.

Hide the laments of your heart in light song. 
You son has come to stay in the valley. 
Then to wander through the wilderness
Where ladies, wrapped in soil,
Walk along the ramparts
Walls lie beneath them, and walls.

In the wastes are cities into whose halls he enters
Seeing nothing but towering walls
Punctured by blind peepholes
And marble floors stretching out, empty
Beneath the last echoes of singing voices
But nightly go the singers
Behind the walls, where the ants and crickets live
Where not hope, but the deposed kings wait. 
Where donkey manure clothes the history of states,
The memory of conquests, and the letting of blood.

Hide your desire—really, hide it! And hide also the desire of the other sons.
Beneath their feet, the lust of years and years
Chases their flesh as they race
Through the collapsing walls
Collecting the fullness of lips
In ceramic cups
Squeezing arteries and veins
So as to draw in thick blood the appetite of the night
On pages of stone. 
The eagle seizes the sun in its beak
While the viper brings forth the wisdom of its poison. 
Disguise your desire—disguise it well! 
Don bracelets of silver and pure gold, 
Bracelets of thorn and bindweed.

Ur, Nimrud, and the sacred virgins
In the temples of Babel and Byblos
Offering their bodies to strangers
So that the hills might bloom (above the old city ramparts)
So that the fields of grain might tremble with gold,
And the anemones might shiver in the meadows
Beneath the claws of the kites and crows
The lips of the widows and the virgins are parched
(Verily, cover your hunger, cover it well!)
And meanwhile, the night drags on across the walls, 
And beneath them, walls
Beneath them, walls.

— From Tammuz fi-l-madina (Beirut: Dar Majallat Shi‘r, 1959).

Advertising in Poetry

I've been perusing some of the old Beiruti poetry journals of the 1950s and 60s lately and was struck by the advertisements — and how they seem to suggest a style of modernist, petroleum-centered consumption that might go with modernist poetry. These images are from issues 5-11 (1958-9) of Majallat Shi‘r, edited by Yusuf al-Khal and Adonis, and from issues 1-3 (1962-3) of Majallat Hiwar, edited by Tawfiq Sayigh. (Critical side note: Hiwar was funded by the Congress for Cultural Freedom (later renamed the International Association for Cultural Freedom), a CIA sponsored front-group in the culture battles of the Cold War. The CCF also sponsored political and literary conferences in the region, including the famous 1961 Rome Conference, a landmark event in the formulation of Arab modernist poetics.

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1958)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1958)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1959)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1959)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1958)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1958)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1959)

Iraq Petroleum Company, Ltd (Shi'r, 1959)

MEDCO Petroleum (Hiwar 1963)

MEDCO Petroleum (Hiwar 1963)

Hillman Cars (Shi'r, 1958)

Hillman Cars (Shi'r, 1958)

Van Heusen Shirts (Shi'r, 1959)

Van Heusen Shirts (Shi'r, 1959)

Esterbrook Pens (Shi'r, 1958)

Esterbrook Pens (Shi'r, 1958)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1958)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1958)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1958)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1958)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1959)

Middle East Airlines (Shi'r, 1959)

Middle East Airlines (Hiwar, 1962)

Middle East Airlines (Hiwar, 1962)

Middle East Airlines (Hiwar, 1962)

Middle East Airlines (Hiwar, 1962)

#IAmFamilyGuy: Charlie Hebdo Media Roundup

Last week’s horrible events in Paris have brought out the best in cultural and social commentary. It’s also brought out the worst in liberal and neocon war-mongering (e.g., New Yorker columnist George Packer speaking from his old comfort zone).

We have been called to believe in this equation before. On one side, we are told, stand the allies of freedom. On the other, extremism and intolerance. Or “The West” and “Islam” as Samuel Huntington put it, taking hundreds of years of received orientalist tradition and welding it into many of the policy recommendations that rule our contemporary world.

Given the abstract, wholly undefined character of this magical equation, almost anything can be plugged into it. As if most of our commentators—from Fox News to CNN—were reading from the same Mad-Lib, adding nouns and adjectives, verbs and adverbs in the appropriate spots. Judeo-Christian tradition versus Islam. Moderate Islam versus extremist Islam. Enlightened versus barbaric. Freedom versus tyranny. Peace-loving versus violent. But underneath them all lie the two most basic binaries: us versus them; human versus inhuman.

In Washington, DC, hundreds of Americans marched yesterday in solidarity, although what they were in solidarity with is unclear. Down the street from where I live, the gates of the French Embassy are covered with flowers and signs that say #JeSuisCharlie, whose most accurate (or idiomatic) translation might be #IAmFamilyGuy. In Paris, despots and democrats rushed to be seen as defenders of freedom, even though everyone there knew that they are anything but. The only thing that was missing from the gathering was George W. Bush to remind us that you’re either with us or against us.

I have nothing to say that hasn’t been said better by the handful of brilliant commentators who have been cutting through the fog, shedding light on the attack, its meanings, and its implications. I recommend their essays (in no particular order):

  • Juan Cole soberly observes that the purpose of the attacks was to "sharpen the contradictions" in order to push the French public—and Europe—to take increasingly extremist positions toward Islam. 
  • At the London Review of Books, Adam Shatz writes on the moral logic (and rhetoric) of the moment, and its ties to violence.  
  • On his blog, A Paper Bird, Scott Long critiques the cheap “solidarity” of the media gestures toward the tragedy, and suggests that true solidarity involves something more difficult, like understanding that it is not enough to say (or imagine) that we are all alike.
  • At the Globe and Mail, Nahrain al-Mousawi reminds us that the attacks in France belong to a broader context, which includes a history of attacks on free expression in the Arab world.
  • Cartoonist Joe Sacco shows that in the end, the abstract right to free expression is always tied to particular content.

Baghdad Central Listed Among Top Middle East Novels of 2014

I'm very happy (and honored) to find Baghdad Central has made one list of "year's best." India Stoughton reviews literature over at The Daily Star, and this is what she has to say about the top Mideast novels of the past year:

The problem with a year-in-review summary of fiction is that it leaves busy readers no chance to form their own opinions of the work. Happily, good books don’t age. So here are six of the more interesting works of fiction with a Middle East focus published in 2014. If you didn’t catch them this year, consider putting them on your reading list for 2015.

To see what titles she recommended, take a peek here.

Badr Shakir al-Sayyab: One Crutch in Hell

The great Iraqi poet Badr Shakir al-Sayyab died fifty years ago today, but not before changing poetry. Here is my translation of the last poem he is said to have written shortly before his death:

One Crutch in Hell

I am still turning
Around the mill of my pain
Like a blindfolded bull, like the millstone—never resisting.
People pass by, on their way toward heights.
But I can no longer walk on my feet, damn them.
My bed is my prison, my coffin, my exile into pain
Into nothingness.
And I say: A day will come to me, months from now, 
Or after years of wasting away,
Or eons,
And I will go. On my two feet I will go,
A crutch in my right hand.
One crutch? No—two
Beneath my arms, supporting
A body of aches, a body dying
An abandoned encampment, a ruin, covered by a flood of blood.
I go on, on my two feet I go on.
Even if the road leads to the grave,
And gloom, and hungry, thousand-mouthed worms
Stretch out before me to the furthest reaches of the world, in a river, 
Or pitch-dark valley, or high mountain,
I will go there, either gladly, or riding on my own back
I will travel along the inferno of my path and push the black doors wide open
And I will roar in the face of the caretaker,
Why was the door shut?
Let the devils of Hell
Punish the obscene body
Let them punish the open wound
Let your eagles gouge eyes and devour the heart
Here, in this place, my neighbor does not wish me ill,
And the prostitute who passes by my house at midnight does not sing out, 
“Here is the cripple’s house! They ran out of food and drink
And tomorrow they are going to throw his two daughters and wife out onto the street,
And his infant son too if they cannot pay the mountains of rent they owe!”
Throw me, scattered, uncomposed
Do not shut your door against my misery,
Open it, and feed my body to the fire!

For more Sayyab, visit the tributes over on Jadaliyya.

Multiple Choice

In January 2007, the NYTimes went in search of examples of how professors give exams in the field of Middle East Studies. This is what they got. I like the exam I submitted to them, though I can admit it now: mine is an example of an exam I'd love to give, not an exam I've ever actually administered. And for the record: multiple choice exams have as much place in a literature curriculum as a scantron exam has in your DVD player.