Buoyed by their success in cleansing their roads of women, the Saudi authorities are reportedly considering a clampdown on Bahraini drivers. According to our source in Riyadh, Alamin Al Hassan, Saudi advisers have submitted recommendations to minimize simmering tensions in the neighbouring Kingdom. “Flashpoints are created as Bahrainis mingle with policemen and tanks at check-points”, he said. “A 10-year cooling-off period is proposed, during which Bahrainis will not be permitted to drive.”
Still under discussion is how Bahrainis would travel to work. “It’s a small country, and recent events show that many prefer to walk into the capital, Manama”, says Al Hassan. But another suggestion is for Saudi Arabia to provide further assistance by sending drivers to Bahrain, creating much-needed employment opportunities for thousands of school-leavers.
With the current reporting restrictions in Bahrain we have been unable to gauge local reaction to the plan. However, a Twitter message posted by the country’s Ministry of Interior and Tourism appears to endorse the proposal: “Pedestrian areas to boost Manama’s tourist appeal.” With its easy-going lifestyle, Bahrain has long been a popular weekend resort for Saudis, who take the short drive across the causeway linking the two countries.
In a related development, F1 supremo, Bernie Ecclestone, is hoping that the postponed Bahrain Grand Prix can be rescheduled at the end of the season in November. “F1 has always steered well clear of politics”, he said. “but we’re pleased to see strong leadership in Bahrain. I always thought that the problems earlier in the year would turn out to be a storm in a teacup.”
One of the wisest and most compassionate writers I know is Bahraini, Mahmood Al-Youssif. For several years, I’ve been following his blog, Mahmood’s Den, admiring his relentless campaign for freedom of speech, freedom of thought, and freedom of religious persuasion.
UPDATE: 31st March: This evening, after a huge international outcry, Mahmood was released, unharmed. Sanity prevails! Many others remain missing or under arrest in Bahrain for their political views.
At 3am on 30th March, Mahmood was taken from his home by Bahrain security guards. This is for Mahmood.
ARRESTED
I’m awake, and it’s my bed. My body. I check the pieces. Fingers, ribs, kneecaps, toes. All intact. Just a nightmare then. Fix it in memory before it fades away.
No they didn’t hurt me. But I feared their power to hurt. Their eyes were yellow. They licked their lips in anticipation. I heard demons moaning in their cells, a scream. And they questioned me, already knowing the answers.
- Did you know him?
- Yes.
- Why did you do nothing?
- I don’t know.
- You could have helped him.
- Maybe.
- Then why did you do nothing?
He brought his face close. He spat.
I woke. Three thumps at the door. Five. Not my door. His.
- Security! Open up!
Still dark. Three o’clock.
More thumps. A woman’s voice inside:
- Wait!
So it had come to this. I told him. I warned him, the fool.
- That stuff you write. It’s dangerous.
- It’s the truth.
- But it’ll get you into trouble.
- I’m protected. We have freedom of speech and opinion.
- Not if you criticise. Not if you take sides.
- I take no side. I’m a unifier. I teach people not to hate.
- That’s why they’ll get you.
And now they were getting him. But only in my dream. No need to worry. No need to do anything. I could sleep. Dimly, more voices. A woman crying. A man shouting.
But now it’s morning and the nightmare has passed. I shift the curtain and it’s a beautiful spring day. Traffic is moving, almost normally. Some of the tanks have moved back. Thank God the worst appears to be over.
References:
Global Voices Online – news of the arrest. Mahmood’s Den – Mahmood’s blog. Storyful – ongoing developments in the story
Follow the Twitter hash-tag #FreeMahmood for more news.
Wednesday evening: AlertNet reports US state department has now criticised the arrest. Time magazine article. Committee to Protect Journalists reports 4 CNN reporters also arrested in Bahrain, then released.
Evening – 31st March: Mahmood is released, unharmed. The developing story continues to be tracked on Storyful.
The worst of my week on the web -- and the best Politics, poetry, and a call for compassion
Imagine. You’re a perfectly harmless despot who’s ruled the ‘island of happy smiles’ for several years. You’ve been generous to a fault. Just a month ago you gave $3000 to every family in the land .. and who can forget that you allowed your poor old uncle to purchase the prime commercial development site in the capital for just $3? There was economic freedom: no taxation! You let businesses hire cheap labor from anywhere in the world. And when the people asked for a voice, you gave them a parliament. You exercised your wisdom of course, to ensure that this did not mean the rule of the rabble. Your chosen advisers, wise and trusted friends and family members, continued to choose the right path for the country.
And yet, no matter what you gave, your ungrateful people wanted more. More freedom. More power. Jobs. The ouster of your uncle as prime minister after his 40 years of unselfish service in the job.
For weeks, they gathered around the Pearl Roundabout in their tens of thousands, chanting their demands and disrupting traffic, stopping those who had jobs from going to work. There were mistakes of course, but you were the first to admit them. For example, when someone gave the unfortunate command to fire on the demonstrators, killing three of them, you immediately faced the nation, expressed your condolences and promised a full investigation.
But still the demonstrators massed around the Pearl, calling now, unthinkably, for your removal. And finally, this week, your patience was exhausted. It was time to put an end to this madness. So you ordered the army to disperse the protesters with whatever force was required, accepted the kind offer of military support from your nervous fellow-rulers in the Gulf, arrested the ring-leaders, and put the country under curfew. No more Mr Nice Guy!
And then you decide to fix the problem once and for all. What was the cause of all this turmoil? What was the focal point? What else could it be but the 300-foot high monument, the Pearl itself? So you order it smashed.
When lives are lost and a nation’s iconic landmarks are destroyed in a wanton act of violence, the empty space left behind becomes the focus for rage. Ask New Yorkers. I fear this is not the end of the story. The Pearl lies vanquished and scattered on the ground like the Hydra, and my guess is that two heads will grow for each one cut off.
Why should I care? I’m not Bahraini and though I lived there for ten years, I don’t any longer. It’s none of my business.
And yet it is my business. Why do I write? Because I love wordcraft. Because I love to tell stories. Because one of life’s great pleasures is the stimulation that comes from sharing ideas and experiences with readers and other writers. But also because I want my stories to make an impact. I write about the dangers of closed minds and sectarianism and the futility of war.
As events have unfolded in Bahrain, I’ve been reliving my experiences in Beirut some 35 years ago when civil war was brewing. Protests by a majority underclass against a minority ruling-class: it always seems to start with jobs and money. Marches, a few deaths, clashes, protests intensify. The expats certain that everything will be back to normal by the weekend. They’re right: there’s a lull. But then it starts again, heavier weapons are mysteriously provided and Religion sweeps onto the scene. She’s disguised as Justice, blind, but carrying a book instead of scales, and her sword is not there to defend but to attack. Barricades are erected, check-points are set up. The cry goes up: ‘If you don’t kill them, they’ll kill you and everything you treasure.’ Trying to restore control, the government sends in the army, calls for military assistance from its neighbour. History retells itself.
And I started blogging and tweeting for all I was worth, to anyone who would listen. Read my story, I pleaded -- and I directed them to this extract from The Lebanese Troubles. Do you really want Bahrain to be another Lebanon, with endless civil war? And guess what. Nobody listened. Or if they did, they sent messages like this:
I should have listened to Yeats:
I think it better that in times like these
A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth
We have no gift to set a statesman right.
On Being Asked For A War Poem
It was poetry -- via Twitter -- that lifted my gloom. Angela Scott, tweeting as @whimsywriting, had posted the single word ‘Doubt’, with a link. Well Doubt was certainly what I was feeling -- so I could only take a look. And this little gem was waiting for me, bringing a big smile back to my face:
Doubt’s Big Hairy Behind
Angela Scott
03/17/2011
Doubt tiptoes its way inside.
Subtle.
Sneaky.
Before I know it,
Doubt blindsides me,
Takes me down,
Pins me to the ground
And flops its big hairy behind
On top of my chest.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
I spit in Doubt’s eye—my only defense—
But Doubt only grins through its pock-marked face,
And green-tinged smile, and swipes the spittle away.
He’s experienced worse.
Doubt’s got me
And he knows it too.
My gnat-like strength is waning.
My belief is gone.
I shift a little,
Make adjustments to carry Doubt’s weight.
He’s not going anywhere.
That’s perfectly clear.
So I may as well get comfortable.
What a brilliant image! Showing me that writing really can make a difference -- at least if the reader’s in the mood for listening. If this inspires you to find out more about Angela, there’s a link to her blog at the end of the post.
And then another wonderful discovery, this time thanks to Sheri Brissenden (@SHBRISSENDEN) who’d ‘followed’ me on Twitter after I’d vented about the hatred coming out of Bahrain. There’s a huge amount of guck on Twitter, but when someone follows, I always make a point of checking out their last few posts to find out who they are. I could see immediately that Sheri was my kind of Tweeter. One of her messages immediately caught my attention: “The wonderful Karen Armstrong discusses the Charter for Compassion.” I’d never heard of Karen Armstrong. But I was up for compassion.
20 minutes later, I’d thrown Doubt off and was up for the struggle again, inspired by words like these:
The Golden Rule: Do not do to others what you would not like them to do to you.
Any interpretation of scripture which leads to hatred or disdain is illegitimate.
We’re living in a world where Religion has been hi-jacked.
We have a talent as a human species for messing up wonderful things.
The cause of all our present woes is political, but religion is a fault-line.
A lot of religious people prefer to be right rather than compassionate.
It’s time that we moved beyond toleration to appreciation of one another.
I leave you with Karen Armstrong herself. Here’s to a better next week.
I’m increasingly worried about Bahrain. After 10 years there, we left a couple of years back, and I’m an observer now, not a reporter. But what I’m observing brings back dark memories of the early days of the Lebanese civil war, back in 1975.
Expat friends and colleagues tell me not to worry. It’ll soon blow over. There’s been worse before. The ruling family know what they’re doing. It’s just a minor inconvenience.
While we watched we discussed whether people would be working the next day, how long it could go on, whether the Palestinians would get involved. For several days, I entertained visitors by reading out the set of instructions I’d picked up at the British Embassy.
… When there is shooting in your area do not show yourself on your verandah or balcony. Do not attempt to use binoculars or cameras or take any action that could be misconstrued by the militias. If you are stopped at a barrier, identify yourself using the Arabic word ‘Ingleezi’. ‘Britaani’ or ‘Britaanieh’ have sometimes been misunderstood. (I hope that Scots, Welsh and Irish will forgive us for this advice.) It is safer to comply with the requests of anyone who stops you. For example, if you are told to move over to the side of the road, do so immediately without protest. Under no circumstances should you attempt to crash through a barricade …
The handout was a perfect reflection of our attitude: the troubles were a sensational, alarming, but finally preposterous fiction. There was no danger because, although we were Lebanese and we lived our lives on a daring enormous scale, we were also the foreigners, and we weren’t involved.
For a couple of weeks Bahrain has been out of the headlines, with Libya providing the journalists with plenty of good copy. There were a few good signs: negotiations with some of the protestors; a $20 billion fund for Bahrain and Oman from the other Gulf states. Would that be enough to close Pandora’s box?
Apparently not. According to CNN reports 774 people were injured and 107 were hospitalized in clashes yesterday.
Anti-government demonstrators in Riffa had planned a march. A crowd numbering roughly 8,000 set off on the march, according to Bahrain’s ambassador to the United States.
But they were met by hundreds of people carrying swords, hatchets, metal pieces, cricket instruments and pieces of wood with nails hammered into them. The opposing group had already taken up positions in an effort to stop the planned march
Swords, hatchets and cricket bats. It’s not exactly Lebanon’s rockets, mortars and machine-gun fire. But real trouble’s brewing – here’s The Lebanese Troubles again:
War creeps up on you like a cancer.
At first it’s nothing. An irritation, a nagging pain, a minor inconvenience. It’ll be gone in an hour or two, in a couple of days. It’s something you think you can ignore, but wishful thinking doesn’t make it go away. When the symptoms get worse, you begin to worry. So off you go to get advice and treatment, and for a while the medicine seems to work. But you’ve only stabilized the condition, not cured it. That little black malignancy lingers just beneath the skin, tainting cells, infecting organs, poisoning hope, building a malevolent army of decay, ready for the signal to go on the march.
Like Lebanon, an underclass demanding political and economic rights, a ruling class determined to hang on to power and privilege. Like Lebanon, sectarian labels fanning the flames. Like Lebanon, a potential battleground for the world’s ideological wars.
Let’s remember George Santayana’s law of repetitive consequences: “Those who do not learn from the lessons of history are condemned to repeat them.”
The Lebanese Troubles is available free at Smashwords for Read an Ebook week – ending today, March 12, 2011.
WHO’S TALKING?