AhMedia احا صحافه

The biggest debate now is which sport that represents our country and why soccer will be always the future sport in America. lots of sports fans raise the question of which president candidates is the real man when it comes to sports. The conservatives would like to portray Obama by shifting position and retreating from the real America, are the same people who portray president Bush stubbornness and steadfast position to top gun mission accomplished kind of a people. But to really understand the contrast positions between the simplistic conservative (myopic unilateral and go it alone) and the complicated contradictory one of liberal (shifting multilateral internationalist), you need to look elsewhere; you need to look at the contrast of the American football and world football (soccer) game. President Bush’s position represents the game of American football; that is always about exceptionalism, being different and being special, and the one that sets us apart form the rest of the world. President Bush for example is not moved and was utterly surprised when the rest of the world didn’t agree with him. With his sense of entitlement he believes that the rest of the world should follow his lead; he is the world quarterback, and once he calls the play you had better run his direction or you are out of the play (contracts). For him, winning is all about physical elimination of the enemy (opponents) and acquiring their territories on the field all the way to the end zone (Kabul, Baghdad). Obama position on the other hand represents the game of world football (soccer), it is inclusive, eloquent complex and multi-nationals, in world football (soccer) it is not so much about occupation of territories; world football (soccer) is about shifting position, maneuvering and running a series of attacks and retreats, wining without physical elimination. American is about staying the course, in your face overly specialized; when you are on the offense there is no retreat. Soccer however is about retreat from defense to offense with such fluidity, in soccer you need to understand not just your skills and capabilities but at the same time avoids the opponent’s strengths. American has been always the American way of inviting people from allover world to the American way; in the other hand world football (soccer) invites people from all over the world to be a world football (soccer) fan, a citizen of the world; so to get us out of the quagmire of Iraq we need to a president who plays world football (soccer) not American football ; and speaking a foreign language won’t heart either.

Ahmed Tharwat
Producer/Host of the Arab American TV Show Belahdan
www.belahdan.com

ahmediatv@gmail.com

Celebrating the Edi at the Mall

Ramadan, the glorious fasting month for Muslims has finally come to an end, no more Iftar under the big tent at Marina Grill and Holy Land Bakery, no more sweets Katife, Konafah, and no more California Majoul dates to break the day fast. 3o days of Christmas celebration has just vanish before your eye like unfinished sweet dream. Now it is time for Eid celebration, a celebration of complete realization that life goes on even after Ramadan; you have been for 30 days cleansing your body and your soul of all excessiveness of life. Now it is time for Muslims in America to go out there and an apologetically celebrate their end of ramadan Eid, and in post 9/11 America this is way overdue.

My daughter and I started Eid celebration by rushing to the nearest Mosque for the early Prayer. In the segregated prayer room, she is always perplexed by the unexplained gender separation praying. After the brief chanting of god’s greatness … “Allah Akbar, Allah Akber … we began the Eid prayer, and as the Imam with his three piece suit gives a short sermon, thanks god for that as Americans Muslim Imam seem to be a long series of divine threats. We need to stay true to our faith” he tells us “Don’t listen to the extremists’ rants, listen to your heart., right on brother. At Social hour, After warm kissing and hugging, bagels replace the traditional Eid cookies for the Eid snack. We present Elediah- a few new fresh dollar bills to our eager happy kids. Then we all headed to of all places, Mall of America, the shopping Mecca of the world, the consumers’ cathedral where millions visit to worship Calvin, Liz, Loren, Tommy and unveil the secrete of Victoria . For Muslims in America, Mall of America has become a new cultural sanctuary. Thousands of American Muslims of all ethnicities, nationalities, races and creeds gather to celebrate OUR own native customs and identities. Next to the Betty Crocker Bakery, A few Egyptian men catching up on their latest political jokes in Egypt. Several Palestinian women watch nervously As their kids vanish into the maze of Camp Snoopy indoor playground. A group of Iraqis enjoy a rare peaceful moment by the indoor garden, while not too far away, some Somali men Kneeling down in the corner getting ready for the noon prayer. Next to them, a cluster of young Pakistani men are listening to their iPods and comparing latest features on their iPhone. By the Rainforest Café, some West Africans in their crisp white robes and hats seem oblivious the strange artificial noises coming from the tropical theme restaurant. On the rollercoaster Muslim boys ride with Muslim girls, who laugh as their headscarves ; hjjab, fly over their faces above their unconcerned parents. in the middle of the mall a few Muslim women, cloaked with their traditional black dress Burks, walking together in concert, their black unified bodies eclipse the front window of Victoria’s secrete, seem oblivious to its window undressing displays. We are not shopping, just celebrating. There Are no shopping bags to carry, just our kids, No culture idol to worship except our Allah, No fashion trends to follow, only our traditions. It’s Christmas without the shopping craze, every year, Thousands of American Muslims turn the biggest shopping center in the world into a non-shopping mall … Where the biggest gift we get is our free spirit. Happy Eid Everyone.

Ahmed Tharwat, Host Belahdan, Arab American TV Talk Show

Minnetonka, MN

A note from torture chamber

Thanks to digital cameras, millions of people around the world were instantly able to see the gruesome images of the Iraqi prisoners’ torture. However, in spite of the impressive delivery speed that relayed what happened inside the prison, those images were still only snapshots-pictures that are devoid of the context that only human eyes and minds can record and convey.

For me, there wasn’t any camera in the Egyptian torture chamber, there wasn’t any witness to tell the story. But after many years the deep physical and emotional pain and its tragic details remain vivid in my memory. I was a freshman at Cairo High School. Anti-government protesters were a daily routine of the landscape of Egyptian streets. I was too young to grasp the serious political implication of the event. Like most students my age, I was glad that classes were canceled that day.

Thousands of students poured into the streets from schools all over Cairo, but after shouting a few anti-government slogans, we moved away from the crowd to a side street in the affluent Garden City suburb. Without any warning we were rounded up by the Egyptian secret police (The Mukhabarat), who were zealously trying to fill their daily quota of random arrests.

We were lined up with common criminals in front of the police station . A tall handsome police colonel standing at the front started shouting the worst kind of profanities at us, his harsh words quickly extended to our families and parents. Without thinking and in a fearful voice I protested the excessive profanity, Unfortunately, the colonel took an issue with my soft protest; what happened after that has changed my life forever and shattered my faith in authority; my innocence was tarnished forever.

The angry police colonel stopped his verbal humiliation and without looking at me, he ordered one of his guards to take me away to … “the room.” The guard knew exactly where to take me; inside the prison, it was a small dark smelly windowless cold room, naked room stripped out of any human sign, the dark silence in the room seemed as if it has witnessed lots of broken souls.

Shortly, the colonel entered the room, where he calmly and without uttering a word or acknowledging my presence, closed the door, picked up a big riot stick and started hitting me savagely and indiscriminately. I stood helplessly overwhelmed by the colonel’s outrage; the severity of the beating escalated, until my skin start peeling off my body before my own eyes. I lost my feeling and any connection to my body; my confusing thoughts were trapped with no place to go.

I wasn’t trying to be a hero, I couldn’t muster any words, I couldn’t scream or resist. I couldn’t understand the colonel’s anger and outrage, but I knew he had a free hand to do to me whatever he pleased in that room. He didn’t ask about my name, he never looked me in the eyes, he never explained my crime. I was reduced to a nameless, faceless object, as I stood motionless and void of any rights or expression.

I wasn’t the usual suspect — a communist, a Jihadist or a government agitator. This wasn’t a national security issue, it was personal insecurity issue; The Colonel, unaccustomed to the slightest challenge, needed to break my will. He wanted me to beg for mercy, he needed a complete conquest.

My silence was deafening, and as the colonel grew more infuriated, he started getting more creative in his abuse. His relentless physical torture made his early verbal profanity seem like a friendly conversation. There is nothing more humiliating than unjust physical abuse; I couldn’t resist or retaliate, his savage hitting destroyed my ability to express my pain. At the time, I wished he would mix his severe beating with some verbal humiliation.

After what seemed like an eternity, the beating suddenly stopped, and without saying a word, the colonel stormed out of the torture room, he couldn’t stay and face his unbroken victim. I found myself standing alone licking my wounds, only to realize for the first time that the guard who brought me to the room was still there; he was standing in the corner wiping his tears. His display of sadness brought a much-needed touch of humanity to the torture chamber.

I often wondered how my brief confrontation with this colonel could generate so much fury against a helpless young boy. He was not following any orders; he was the whole chain of command. I now realize we were both victims. I was a victim of unjust violence and abuse. He was a victim of his sadistic obsession with violence and his intoxication with power. I was physically paralyzed for weeks. He was morally paralyzed for life. There wasn’t any digital camera to tell what happened inside the torture room that day; all these years, my own memory has had to carry the entire load … alone; … this is the real torture.

Ahmed Tharwat
Producer/Host of the Arab American TV Show Belahdan