Slavoj Žižek on cultural capitalism and charity in a brilliant animation.

‘Oplossingen’ in de categorie Veiligheid:

• Preventief fouilleren in het hele land
• Heropvoedingskampen
(Waar hebben we dat eerder gehoord?)
• Etnische registratie van iedereen. Inclusief vermelding ‘Antilliaan’
(Oh ja, daar! Da’s toch ouderwets, dat deden ze in de jaren ’40 ook al.)
• Falende leden van zittende en staande magistratuur weg
(Geert neemt het niet zo nauw met de ‘trias politica’. Gek, want da’s toch een belangrijk onderdeel van ons aller geliefde Judeo-Christelijke democratie, nietwaar?)
• Niet-Nederlanders die een misdrijf plegen direct uit Nederland verwijderen

‘Oplossingen’ in de categorie Islam (aka Buitenlanders):

• De islam is vooral een politieke ideologie en kan dus op geen enkele manier aanspraak maken op de voorrechten van een godsdienst
(Interessante herdefiniëring, Geert. Is dat nou moeilijk, de Christen-fundies te vriend houden als alles wat je over de islam zegt ook op het Christendom van toepassing is, inclusief de passages over vrouwen-ongelijkheid enzo?)
• Geen hoofddoekjes in de zorg, het onderwijs, het gemeentehuis of waar dan ook bij de overheid, en evenmin bij welke gesubsidieerde organisatie dan ook
(Hoe zat dat ook alweer, Geert, met die mensen die vrouwen onderdrukken en voor hen bepalen wat ze wel en niet mogen dragen doen?)
• Verbied de boerka en de koran, belast hoofddoekjes
(Selectieve vrijheid van meningsuiting en drukpers! Typisch zo’n voorbeeld van de rijkdom van het Judeo-Christelijk gedachtegoed.)
• Assimilatiecontracten. Niet tekenen of niet naleven = het land uit
(Allemaal aan de waterstofperoxide, op straffe van deportatie!)
• Voor vreemdelingen geldt: werken of wegwezen. Geen baan = geen plaats in Nederland
(De ware betekenis van ‘arbeidsvoorwaarden’ wordt mij ineens duidelijk…)
• Weg met procedurestapelen. Afgewezen = meteen weg
(De IND is immers onfeilbaar, of niet dan?)
• Inburgeringsexamen in het land van herkomst, tot het zover is: inburgeringscursus in Nederland niet gehaald, dan het land weer uit
(Heb je het nou alweer over die waterstofperoxide, Geert? Oh, je gaat exporteren! Goed idee! Ongetwijfeld een lukratief handeltje.)
• En vooral: volledige immigratiestop voor mensen uit islamitische landen
Definitie van een islamitisch land volgens de Nederlandse regering: een land waarin meer dan 50% van de bevolking als moslim geregistreerd staat.
Dus: Dag lieve Walid! Het was leuk getrouwd met je te zijn, maar nu mag het niet meer van Ome Geert. Sorry.

Heel veel meer heb ik er niet over te zeggen, al gaat die waanzin nog 45 pagina’s door. Kijk zelf maar, als je het aankunt…

The best of both passions, really! May it be a fun tournament. Cheers to the world… and let’s hope the Italians won’t win!

‘All morning, Mark Regev, the Israeli spokesman, has been on television speaking about the flotilla’s “political nature,” stressing that it was political action, not humanitarian. This is really talking point, since of course it’s a political act: both enacting a blockade and attempting to break it are political acts. […]‘

From The Human Province, ‘Murder on the Mediterranean’

‘Israel for a long time has treated Gazans as animals that ought to be kept alive because Israelis are not cruel to animals. The Israelis will recite the daily totals of humanitarian aid that they let in (which, of course, they don’t pay a penny for.) The jailer considers himself a “humanitarian” if he lets the inmates eat. So, as animals, the Gazans are allowed to eat. But humans need more than food in order to be human.’

From The Magnes Zionist, ‘The Attack on the Free Gaza Flotilla’.

But none of that was the case. Even on the day we took what was marked on the map as a ‘small mountain road’, the car rolled smoothly over tight tarmac, kilometer after kilometer. Like this:

And not only that. The buses actually followed timetables, and people were aware of those. Smoking was forbidden in bars and other public buildings. There were public toilets almost everywhere, and drinking water fountains in every mosque, palace and station we visited. There were even places to charge your cell-phone, in case you forgot to do so before leaving for the mountain-park from which to watch over the city of Isfahan…

… or before getting on a plane.
On long busrides, the bus would make a stop at a roadside restaurant for lunch, but on shorter trips we were often given a little lunch-box, complete with a cup for water or juice (also handed out) and a napkin:

On the train, this whole ‘taking care of passengers’ was taken to the next level when we found we not only had a pretty blue pillow and blanket with flowers, but we were also handed fresh sheets and pillowcases! Considering that this was the cheapest ticket (9 Euros for ± 500kms.), we were pleasantly surprised – even more so when the next morning, just minutes before arrival, we were handed a chocolate cake and a little juice-box for breakfast.

And the subway? That was simply amazing. Faster and cleaner than I’ve ever seen before (except maybe in Barcelona, but that was years ago, so my memory might fool me here).

(The only problem was actually getting on the subway-cars, because with around 8 million people in the capital, those were almost always packed like tuna-cans. This picture was taken at one of the last stations on line 1, the first time we actually saw the floors…).

However, it wasn’t only the organization and structure I admired in Iran. It was the precision. Whenever we were lost, all I had to do was look at my cell-phone to know the name of the nearest landmark or a main avenue or expressway close-by:

Of course I saved the best for last: quite possibly the most precision-oriented can of soda I have ever seen in my life. Behold the honesty on a can of Coca-Cola, made in Iran:

We have tried to put 330ml in this can, but it could be 8.25ml more or less… and to think we consider ourselves nitpicky and precise here in Holland!

It was big. It was beautiful. It was historical and ornamented and elegantly decorated. It was sandy, and rocky. It was crowded and polluted. It was tacky and vegetarian-unfriendly and sweet. Hospitable. Hot. Organized. Amazingly friendly.

It was everything I expected it to be. And also oddly familiar.

Pictures will be at qussa.wordpress.com, stories will follow in the days to come…

For now: 39 Seconds of Tehran (taken from our hotelroom):

I stared intentionally at the picture-printing-machine, trying not to accidentally look him in the eye. Unfortunately, just as I was about to put my USB-stick in the slot, my eyes wandered and crossed his.
He smiled.
Confused, I looked at his face. He was still smiling.
‘Excuse me’, he said, ‘do you know if the standard size for pictures is 9×13 or 10×15cms?’
‘Uh, 10×15, I think.’
‘Ok. Thank you!’
Glad to see my own prejudice blown to pieces, I set out to print my pictures.

An older woman, looking like she had never touched anything non-Dutch in her life, approached the not-Fundie.
‘Excuse me’, she said, ‘do you know if these candies are halal? I’m trying to find out if I can give them to my grandchildren.’
‘They contain gelatin, so they might be halal but maybe not.’
‘So what shall I do?’
‘It’s up to you, but I always say, when in doubt, don’t do it.’
‘Ok. Thank you!’
Glad to see all prejudice blown to pieces, I went home.

>>

And with that, we’re off to Iran! Will be back end of May… might have some prejudice-related stories to share then!

Dear Europe,

Sorry about the ash clouds over your head and that you can’t travel anywhere. We understand exactly how you feel.

Sincerely,
Gaza

Source: Facebook status update, author unknown, that is now spreading like wildfire.

… all I have to do is go to the Javastraat around the corner. There will always be an old man, walking slowly with his hands on his back, moving the worry-beads around. Makes me feel right at home.

Lebanon in general and Beirut in particular are not good places to learn Arabic for two reasons: 1) the people on the street are too proud of their (sometimes very limited) knowledge of English or French to speak Arabic to you, and 2) some (many) Lebanese people don’t even speak Arabic, especially in the social circles which you are most likely to encounter when studying in Beirut. I actually spoke English with a Lebanese accent before I spoke (some) Lebanese.
So: go to Damascus, or even Sana’a or Cairo if you want to learn. Really, I mean it.

That being said, if you insist on going to Beirut to learn Arabic – either the local dialect or modern standard – because you have family there that you have to visit, or you can’t stand to have a Syrian accent, or you are simply looking for a reason to be in Lebanon and wait for the next war or political upheaval so you can be cool and say that you were there ‘when history was made’, there are some places to do that.

First: Lebanese dialect
I started with classes at the CCF (Centre Culturel Français, on Rue Damas) in 2006. Twice a week in the morning, very affordable, a class with French expat wives who needed a time-filler and a nun from Germany. The teacher was very good, but the chatting wives were rather distracting – since they took the course for the second or third time (they never became good enough to go to the next level), they didn’t really feel like they needed to pay attention.

I then tried some classes at the American Language Center (Bliss Street across from AUB), but couldn’t get used to the transliteration system with numbers for certain sounds (which differed from the one I’m used to seeing in my friend’s sms-language). I also didn’t appreciate the fact that the book was written using a Palestinian dialect, which, although very polite and widely understood in Lebanon (especially in the South), is quite different when it comes to the nuances of daily speech.

I went on to the American Learning Center (Old Saida Road, Tayyoune), which basically is a cheaper rip-off of the American Language Center. It uses the same books (illegally), but the teachers were younger and more open to suggestions for change.

When I came back in 2007, I took a course in modern standard Arabic at AUB (more on that later) which included some hours of Lebanese dialect. Unfortunately, it was kind of a sideshow to the ‘real’ course, because the teachers were actually quite good; structured and with interesting and useful exercises, including going out on the street and actually talking to people.

I tried to take private classes from ‘teachers’ who offered their services on bulletin boards and the like, but without success – it was always a hassle to pick a time to meet somewhere, and because they worked without a book it usually ended up being just an hour of chatting without structural progress. They also tend to think that everyone who speaks a language can automatically teach it, which is not exactly the case.

Eventually I ended up at Berlitz Language Center (Sidani Street, Hamra), which was expensive but mostly worth it: they use their own method which is not transliterated, so you actually learn and use the Arabic alphabet and it’s easier to make connections to modern standard Arabic. I had to take private classes because there was no-one studying at the same level (or so they said), which meant lots of time and attention for my progress. There are several teachers available so classes are hardly ever cancelled due to absence, and most of the teachers actually studied the language and they are trained how teach it.

I think the only big institute I never went to was the Saifi Institute. I’ve had mixed reports from friends who went there – some said it was ok, others were not so happy about it. If anyone has something to say about them – please do so in the comments!

That’s it for my advice on learning the Lebanese dialect, on to Modern Standard Arabic.

I made two attempts to study modern standard Arabic in Beirut: one was a 6-week intensive summer-program at AUB in 2007, and the other consisted of private classes at ALPS in 2009.

The course at AUB (American University of Beirut) was, quite frankly, grossly overpriced and suffering from a severe case of arrogance. It took a lot of paperwork (including letters of reference and the like) plus some 4000 dollars to get in, after which we spent 2 weeks learning the alphabet and then were hushed through the curriculum by teachers more concerned with finishing the required amount of chapters than the progress of the students.
My classmates were mostly Americans whose course was paid for by some governmental institution or another, with an interest in very specific vocabulary and topics. Aside from using a crappy book (Al Kitaab), designed to understand Al Jazeera as soon as possible , we had obligatory classes in making tabbouleh and an excursion to the offices of Solidere (the company that bought rebuilt downtown Beirut) where asking critical questions was discouraged. The only good thing about the course was the amount of homework, which meant we actually learned something.

Much later I went to ALPS (also in Hamra, close to Clemenceau), where I took private classes with a teacher called Mohamed. He was very knowledgeable, sometimes a bit too much so: he could spend an hour dissecting one sentence, giving me all the rules and regulations and expecting me to deduct the complete Arabic grammar from that one sentence. Needless to say that this was the other extreme – where AUB was too geared towards understanding the news without regard for grammar, Mohamed’s class was all focus on grammar without one inch of interest in understanding the actual text – so after a few months I stopped taking classes there as well.

I now hope to find a good place to learn Arabic in Amsterdam…