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The
Revolution Will Not Be Televised
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By
Hwaa Irfan
Staff Writer - IslamOnline |
31/07/2003 |
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The
discussion ensued, looking at the city as a metaphor for unhealthy living, where neighbors do not know each other. |
Living
in the city is not easy for an empathetic woman who has spent over six years
living a near village life. It was the close friendship of my daughter with a
warm and tender young Muslim sister that brought me back to the small town to
spend time together before the girls return in the fall to books, lessons and
lectures. Up until then their friendship had been maintained by phone, so this
was a chance to spend time together away from the distractions of city life that
would continually test their respective inner well being.
I
was only there to accompany my daughter. I would soon have to return to the
city. The evening was spent together in the garden, surrounded by fragrances
that reminded me that I could breathe without the difficulty I experience in the
city. Soothed by the fresh breeze that caressed my senses, I was soon returning
to my normal state of calmness, sorely missed in the continual battle to exist
in the city. I was myself again.
My
daughter’s friend Maryam was happily reunited with her parents, as university
life is in a city far from home.She was reunited with her dear friend my daughter,
whom she had not seen since the beginning of her university semester. Maryam
invited me to talk to her mother about some of the products that she has been
buying, introducing the issue of a
U.S.
boycott with what the university students were doing. We were soon to be joined
by some neighbors and the discussion, far from being political, was about the
importance of choosing local products over
U.S.
products.
“What
am I going to do without Ariel?” one woman said. I could not say that Ariel is
in fact an animal rights issue and has little to do with Israel, but what I
could say pertained to the chemicals in Ariel that wash our clothes white and then
are thrown away to be recycled back into the food we eat and the water we drink.
Then alternatives were mentioned, but the alternatives were still foreign. This
should not be a problem, but it was for me, because I had seen how human
relations had changed over a period of 17 years.
Then,
it was about looking out for one another, sharing and understanding. People led
a more interdependent life with their surroundings. Products were locally
produced, less processed and healthy. The diet was determined by the seasonal
harvests, bringing people closer in rhythm with the laws of the nature that
Allah bestowed upon us for sustenance. It seemed to me that that had all
changed. Foreign products opened the door to wanting more than was necessary,
increased dissatisfaction with what one’s country produced, more additives,
ill-health, stress, distrust and a kilo of medication to show to everyone that
“I am really ill. I need your attention, your concern, your affection.”
The
discussion ensued, looking at the city as a metaphor for unhealthy living, where
neighbors do not know each other let alone spend time with each other, and the
young are a law unto themselves. One could leave home decently dressed in clean
clothes and return “with black clothes,” as one Sudanese sister put it,
because of the level of pollution. She knew the city, and we sang the same song.
This was our entertainment, sitting, listening, being together, talking about
the things that affected us all.
From
Palestine
to
Afghanistan
I ache inside. Never again in my lifetime, I thought, would I have to fight or
see others fight the way my people fought in my youth. In the forests of
resistance when it was clear who the enemy was, ordinary Afro-Caribbean people
began to rise above the oppression of the mind and championed our cause to be
who we were (what we are now is another story). We networked with the
underground resistance movements of South Africa, educating each other and the
public as we went along, in battle on the streets chased by policemen on
horseback; organized through education, challenging a racist system with new
ideas, and teaching resources; formed committees; directed our energies through
local councils and the voluntary movement; and whilst all of that was going on
we organized our own education and entertainment. We traveled across towns and
countries to be with each other in music, art and literature that possessed
meaningful lyrics and rhythms that helped us to understand what was going on,
hence revitalizing us. Sleep was minimal and the worries of our parents rose
when we left our homes for the day, but they understood. We wrote our plays and
poems and performed words of daily life, thoughts, experiences both personal and
public, and as we reconstructed the English language to say what we wanted to
say, we experienced what our audience experienced and observed how our works of
art moved them.
The
songs for
Palestine
haunt me making my heart weak. I listen until I cannot listen anymore. Mixed
emotions of tears, anger, powerlessness and pretending to be blind create the
atmosphere, even amongst those who feel that they can do something. In my head
are the words of Gil Scott Heron: “The revolution will not be televised.”
The jazz-oetry of the ‘70s—the precursor to modern-day rap music—was full
of realties that begged the listener to wake up before it was too late. Every
time I look at the news, hear or read a report, in my head is “The revolution
will not be televised.” It is Islam, my life, that has shown me the way, but I
found myself turning to the music of my heritage long ago, with lyrics that
clarified the personal and the reality of the system that we live under,
singing to our Creator. Those songs gave me strength and give me strength now,
as I listen to Bob Marley and his contemporaries, they speak of what is
happening now. The occupation of
Iraq
has presented a reality that many took for granted.
“The
revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
The
revolution will not be no re-run brother,
The
revolution will be life.”
(Listen Here) 
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Never again in my lifetime, I thought, would I have to fight or see others fight the way my people fought in my youth. |
The
discussion amongst friends and neighbors in the village was about life, the life
that has perpetuated the same system that feels free to ignore common consensus
and invade that which does not belong to it. For Maryam, going to the market to
do the household shopping is now about reading the label of everything that she
buys. Maryam was brought up close to her Islam and for her this task is not an
awesome one. Every Ramadan we are reminded of the excesses that life presents
before us and to do without these excesses for the holy month. Yet, when that
time ends, what do we do? Do we return to eating things that are actually bad
for us after redeeming our health? Do we return to using products that are bad
for our environment? How many of these products are supporting a bad regime or
even the occupation of
Palestine
and
Iraq
? Whether we want to or not, how many
of us find ourselves back into running against the clock, finding no time for
each other, let alone ourselves?
The
revolution will not be televised; it is to take place in our hearts and minds as
we genuinely look at the mechanisms that we live by. If we really think that our
lives are separate from what is going on then look again.
“First
they came for the Communists, but I was not a Communist so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists, but I was neither, so
I did not speak out. Then they came for the Jews, but I was not a Jew so I did
not speak out. And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for
me.”
(Martin Niemoeller, 1892-1984).
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