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عصر المعلومات والاحتلال المعنوي

  فارق هائل بين هاتين الصورتين ! فبينما تقف الأولى لتعبر بشكل لا لبس فيه عن قضية الفلسطينيين وقضية فلسطين العادلة، تسحب الثانية هوية القضية وهويات الفلسطينيين جميعاً لزاوية ضيقة فتكفن الوجه المشرق ببندقية دينية عصبية وعلم لا يمثل تاريخ القضية ولا حاضرها لولا تدخلات البتروشيكل. هكذا يتم ليس فقط الاستحواذ على المعاني واستلابها بل وتشويهها
Celtic v Hapoel Be
palestine flag 2
الاستحواذ على مفهوم أخلاقي من قبل أي جهة وإساءة تمثيله لا ينزع عن هذه المفهوم نسبته الأخلاقية. إذا انتصرت داعش غداً لمبدأ من مبادئ حقوق الإنسان و في ذات الوقت قامت بارتكاب الفظائع فإن هذا لن يجعل من ذلك المبدأ قذراً وبطبيعة الحال لن يدفعنا للتخلي عنه.
بذات المقاربة، الاستحواذ على مفاهيم مثل الثورة أو المقاومة من قبل أنظمة وجماعات مستبدة و مجرمة من ترامب لحسن نصر الله لا نتنياهو للأسد لا يعني أن علينا التخلي عنها.
لم نتخلى عن المكتبات لاستحواذ الأسد عليها “مكتبة الأسد” ولا عن الله لأن حزب الله حمله كلاشينكوف على علمه ولا عن المقاومة لأن حماس بنت اسمها على أركانها “حركة المقاومة الاسلامية”. لم نتخلى عن القراءة لأن “أمازون” سيطرت على النشر. ولم نتخلى عن الحب لأن “هوليود” و “تيندر” و”بلاي بوي” عرضوه كما يشتهون.
إننا نعيش في زمن تغيرت فيه وسائل الانتاج وملكياتها وتغيرت معها أشكال الحروب. إن الحروب التي تخاض اليوم حول العالم هي حروب “معلومات” وهذه المعلومات لها شكل واحد “اللغة”. سواء أكانت نصوص وكلمات أم كانت صور ثابته أو متحركة أم لافتات أم بيانات أم حلقات تصويت، أم أعلام أو لغات برمجة أو رموز. وفي هذه المعارك التي تتنوع ما بين خلافات وقلقلات ونزاعات وصراعات وحروب فإن هناك تنافس مستمر للسيطرة على المعلومات. جزء من أشكال هذه السيطرة يكون من خلال الاستحواذ على المعاني. وهذا ما يلقي بتحديات هائلة على أنظمة المعرفة والقرار.
إن ما يحدث في فلسطين منذ بضعة أيام  منذ اعلان ترامب القدس عاصمة لـ “اسرائيل” لا مشكلة فيه من حيث التصعيد. وأرفض رفضاً قاطعاً الخطاب الذي يقول “لا تدفعوا بالناس إلى الموت” لان في هذا شيء من النظرة الاستعلائية “للناس”. وأرفض رفضاً قاطعاً أيضاً تقييد التعبير وحسره تحت ذرائع شتى أسوءها على الاطلاق ما أقرأه على شبكات التواصل الاجتماعي من حيث أن تلك التظاهرات تؤثر على صورة المجتمعات الغربية لنا!!!! أو تلك المحبطة الفارغة-الثورية والمسكونة بالمقت والكسل مثل “وهل سيغير ترامب قراره إن خرجتم كم مظاهرة!!”.  وفي الحقيقة فإن كل “شقفة” من هذه المحاكمات المبتورة من جسم المعنى الكلي يبدو أنها فريسة الاستحواذ من حيث لا تدري. وهذا التشوه في القيم هو مقتل أي بنية فردية، زوجية، أسرية، جماعية، …
ومع هذا الوعي لمفهوم “الاستحواذ” سيمكننا أكثر أن ننتبه لممارساتنا و تعبيرنا. فما أراه خطيراً ليس التظاهرات بل “دود الخل”. إن الإنسلال لداخل الخطاب سواء عرف نفسه على شكل لافته في تظاهرة، أو تظاهرة في حد ذاتها، أو بيان سياسي، أو فيديو مسجل أو أي شكل من أشكال الانتاج هو ما يثير القلق ويسترعي الانتباه. على سبيل المثال: ما أسهل أن ينسل خطاب دحلان ,وأصابع بعض المخترقين لحماس وعلى ارتباط مباشر بالموساد للخطاب الوطني الفلسطيني المحق فيسرقون جميعاً منه حقوقه كاملة كما حدث معنا في سورية حيث تم استلاب هوية الثورة ومعانيها.
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To: Bassel From: Bilal CC: Black Dog

I was confused, for the past four days.
Bassel is killed, actually, he was killed back in 2015, but we only heard the news lately

I was confused. I felt lost, tired, helpless and i needed to cry. I cried. I slept. I took the train. I mingled with the Sein, frequented centre Pompidou terrace, and rode my bike. Altering the peddling pace between anger and sadness, shuffling the memories. Crying out and then laughing hesterically. I was not a scene in a movie, nor a chapter in a book, or i was?

The news about Bassel rewinded my memory reel to Damascus 2012 when everything was going just. We were risking our lives, some fellow citizens had already died, and freedom was foreseeable and i can confess we almost touched hands, kissed and spent good time.

But then it became just too manipulative and emotionally draining and we simply very bitterly simply we did not have the capacity to contain the pain and the art to embrace challenges.

Friends were killed, kidnapped, arrested and beaten or put in starvation to death. Bassel was arrested too. We were working on a media platform when bassel disappeared. I never saw him again after that day. We were supposed to meet as usual at pages cafe- Rawda area branch that day but he never arrived and then things started to change.

For many, the brave act of waiting for detainees has always been like an evolutionary hopeful open palm morphing gradually into a tight fist. Grasping time. But then time leaks.
The news about Bassel’s death broke me and my fist was let free and i could realize it was empty. Time had slipped somewhere and i could not see the future for a while. It was too tranquille to be contained. Just like many ordinary Syrians I was totally devastated by the fact of his assassination.

I did not know what to do. I could not even send my condolsencrs to his best friend, love and wife Noura. I was ashamed when i knew i am so empty.

The very basic thing i could thought of was to read Bassel’s again. Sort of connecting with the sole immortal construct: words.

I did. And it started to become a smooth relief.

I also went back to a letter he sent me from his detention with his love-Noura- and i cried more. I kept crying for days like a child. Until i woke up and realized i was not a child so i stopped.

During the hard moments, from day one, I started to think how can we be more helpful to bassel in an innovative way. If only i had plenty of money to announce huge prize to those who can crackdown the syrian government files. I thought. Not only syrian government but any brutal shit in this world. How can we spray the stencils of #freebassel on monuments with another hashtag #novandalismplease? Or maybe how to create a mass player video game for hunting for denocrcy treasure in palmyra! But then i became more disappointed. First, because non of these thoughts were innovative and second because i was spending time trying to cope through production. More wastage of peace.

I then discovered, with a deep sincere conversation with myself when i was onboard train that my real big pain was not Bassel, and it was not Nora. It was me. I felt a deep sorrow and i felt so pity on myself. I lost another big dream! Like many, Bassel, beside being a friend, was a symbol star to me, guiding my dreams in the dark desserts of conflicted ideologies.

Soon, after this self-consciousness moment i felt less selfish and less weak and more liberated and freed than ever.

The rest is the best. Few hours latter i will find myself doing the best thing i could ever thought about to say goodbye to Bassel: hugging a dog.

ps, i still feel for no reason that Bassel is still alive.

نظرية الإلتصاق – Attachment Theory

Attachment theory

النظرية

بالمشائم تلتصق الأجنة بأرحام والداتهن، في الرضاعة و المداعبة والحمل تبقى الرضع ملتصقة بأمهاتها. هذا جزء من الفطرة البشرية التي ستصاحبنا مدى العمر. الالتصاق. إن كل ممارساتنا الاجتماعية الأكثر ألفة هي أنواع متفاوته من الالتصاق.

ثم حين يكون و نتعرض للفصل عن بعضنا. فإننا نتفاعل بأشكال مختلفة. مثلا:

الإحتجاج: منبعه التوتر الناجم عن الفصل

اليأس: منبعه الحزن و الفجيعة

التجاهل أو الانفصال: وهو سلوك دفاعي في المقام الأول رداً على الكبت واحتواءً سلبياً للحزن

الإسقاط على أرض المجتمع

عاش المجتمع السوري طوال عقود في عمر المراهقة. يرد نقاشاً معمقاً لهذا واسناداً لنظريات مرجعية في مكان لاحق في تسلسل هذه النظريات لكن حالياً يكتفى بالاشارة لمراهقية المجتمع يعود لتسطيح ثقافي وانتاجي مارسه نظام شمولي على مر 41 عاماً سبقت الثورة. النزق المراوح بين الحاجة الطبيعية للالتصاق الاجتماعي والفطري من جهة وانعدام الثقة والأمراض الاجتماعية النفسية من جهة أخرى  من طرف آخر ألقى بظلال شائكة على سلوك السوريين الفردي والجماعي خلال السنوات الماضية

على مستوى الفصل العنيف عن “بعضنا” سنرى تجليات واضحة لتعبيرات الاحتجاج، اليأس والتجاهل إذا ما ألقينا النظر عميقاً في ظوهر الاعتقال، اللجوء ، وما يصطلح كثيرون على تسميته “سرقة” أو “قتل” الثورة السورية.

المراجع

Ainsworth, M. D. S. (1963). The development of infant-mother interaction among the Ganda. In B. M. Foss (Ed.), Determinants of infant behavior (pp. 67-104). New York: Wiley.

Bowlby, J. (1969) Attachment and loss: Volume 1. Attachment, New York: Basic Books

Bowlby, J. (1973) Attachment and loss: Volume 2. Separation: Anxiety and anger, New York: Basic Books

نظرية الإرتداد – Reactance Theory

reactance theory

النظرية

تصف هذه النظرية حالة السلوك الإنساني في وضعية التحفز تحت الضيق والقلق والرغبة في استعادة الحريات المسلوبة

 وفقا لهذه النظرية، عندما يشعر الفرد بأنه مرغم على اتخاذ سلوك معين بشكل قسري فإنه سوف يتفاعل ضد هذا الإكراه. وكثيرا ما يتجسد هذا التفاعل برغبة متزايدة بتبني واتباع السلوك المقيد حالياً. ويتجلى هذا الشعور العارم بالإستياء من حالة الإذعان واستلاب الحريات بسلوك يأتي معاكساً تماماً  لما أرادته السلطة القامعة

تجربة

وضع بينيباكر وساندرز (1976) لافتتين على جدران حمامات/تواليتات الكلية. كُتِبَ على واحدة منها: “لا تكتب على هذه الجدران تحت أي ظرف من الظروف” في حين كُتِبَ على الأخرى “من فضلك لا تكتب على هذه الجدران”. بعد بضعة أسابيع كانت الجدران التي حملت لافتة: ‘لا تكتب على هذه الجدران تحت أي ظرف من الظروف” مليئة بالكتابات أكثر بكثير من الجدران التي حملت اللافته الأخرى.

المراجع

Brehm, J. W. (1966) A theory of psychological reactance, New York: Academic Press

Pennebaker, J. W. and Sanders, D. Y. (1976) American graffiti: Effects of authority and reactance arousal. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 2, 264-267

 

الاسقاط على أرض المجتمع

الـ “لا” شكلت أغلب وعي السوريين. ما جاء في عهد الأسد وضع كل تعاليم المنع الدينية وقوانين الممنوع الوضعية في الجيبة الصغرى للبنطال. لآت نظام الأسد فاقت كل تعاريف الحدود. في الحقيقة هي لم توضع لضبط الحدود الاجتماعية وضمان السلم والرفاه الانساني بل وضعت لحبس الانسان في ظلمات الرعب. لا ..لا ..لا ..لا..لا ..لا

كان مكافئها الوحيد “نعم” للأسد. فاز الأسد في الانتخابات الرئاسية مرارا وتكرار بنسب 99 % !!! من أصوات الشعب السوري الذي أجاب قسرا بـ “نعم”. حمى المنع طالت بالطبع السياق الاجتماعي من الزواج للطعام فاللباس فالضحك. كل هذا سيأتي ذكره و تفسيره ومآلات ارتباطاته بالثورة السورية في نظريات مقبلة

2017 Publishing Schema

Hello friends,

 

So it took me a bit to organise my publishing agenda for 2017.

In this year I will be publishing under three main themes

1. Media Studies approaches

a. Content Strategies & analysis (this will include data for human rights)

b. Media Institutions and content production

c. Audience Studies

2. Organisational analysis 

In this section I will be cpntributing some input i believe can be of any value to organisations interested in better understand their poition, dynamics and develop them).

3. Semiotics, Power & Society

Under this section there will be a mix of theoratical understanding as well as historical narriave from Syria. But also reflections on current semitoics/power/society triangle. This will be very much related to the Media studies approaches.

 

 

I hope by the end of the year we will have some quite interesting corps. let us see.

 

 

 

Capricious Organism

My friend Cecile asked me to contribute something to their new issue of Matago.

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Capricious Organism | Bilal Zaiter

http://www.matago.fr/

Matago is a biannual magazine devoted to short stories and visuals that simply claim to offer a different image of humanity than the one with high reductive and anxiety contents, now disseminated by hegemonic information, before all concerned for the moment. The Matago chooses to open windows on memory and imagination, the elsewhere, and the marvelous, the history of women and men and, through them, their civilizations. Neither journalistic nor polemical, in “the era of time”.

Here is what i wrote and would like to share with you.

Capricious Organism

The bike’s wheel embraces the feather
as the kid jumps to pick the sonnet
another feather falls to fill the hole in the bonnet
The prisoner eats a plate of stones, lentil, and cordonnet

From the crack of the prison slither the feather, the only left finger twirl it with pleasure

The king is angry and all his egos dither
But the doors are open and love’s tether sutures time patches all together
Christmas this year is gentle and warm like a zither

Most birds migrate
where time’s corticate
is coruscate and corrugate
Where no one invades the clouds or their hearts ablates

I wonder the sky, promenade and parade
carrying my dreams in my socks, or baguette
Sometimes i drop my beanie
Sometimes i fix my tie
But i remain a dolphin -or maybe just a human- scrapping the wind of time

Once upon life time i was an ant
Carrying back home my bread under my armpit
One in the middle class, like a windmill, careless and self-made
That was long time ago, before 2011, when the walls were grey, and the boots were high like the heat of ovean
The mouth was small, the eyes were oval, like unpleasant surprise
Then one day, another ant in the camp played her trumpet

I am a gazelle, from balcony to street, and from fear to light i jumped
Then the plane threw the cage, where my friends and I were trapped
I eat the dry grass on the bars and the insults of the guard, until i turned into a mouse i tasted the cheese there in the darkness landscaped
The hunter saw me and said, i should not eat, as i am just a stone, and so his orders i obeyed, and what he said I so much hard tried not to be.
Gently, I fantasized time, dropping gracefully in my cracks, until my soul jumped out and that was the moment to time I looped
I wondered the streets. searching for my dreams. i licked the corners of songs jars, my hair turned grey, and my heart was freezed.

So with a confident heart of a beautiful apostate
i decided to leave
I spread my wings wider than the logic of time, and the human’s lie
Smoother like my dream
i have been flying for the past four years

I joined millions of birds
Lonely people like us, you and me
Migrants
Widow women missing their loves
Aggressed who were betrayed in silence deep and hard
Protestors who died
Protestors who cried, and protestors who in themselves believed, and just for such a reason they were tortured
I joined the music of metros
Teenagers who were rejected and marginalized

Cracked hands of the homeless : that is to say humans like you and me who has no stove, nor home or glass to drink the wine of a new year
We are flying together … since years
Every day and dream
Our feathers fall
The window of the office, the fire place of the house are open. The sofa in the studio, the drawer in the kitchen.
Where a feather from a migrant will come
The feather of an ant, gazale, turtle, dolphin, panda, bear, cat, dog, human, bird… will come one day

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In french

 

I want you to read this beautiful story.

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and that’s not because it is so short and yet very promising of changing your life forever; something a religious figure would usually tell you. But because this text is a beautiful manifestation of the storytelling art with social change impact. This story is a healthy example of what we lack in our daily neutron media dish. Please explore the beautiful human inside us.The first body of story appeared  on Monday, December 7, 2015 at 12:13pm by Agata Szymanowicz on her Facebook account:

Please, please share this post and help me find this family!

They are from Damascus, Syria. They were once incredibly kind and generous to me and now, when their country is being torn apart, I hope I can pay it back.

In 1999 during my holiday travels through Syria I lost all my money, credit cards and passport and found myself stranded, alone and scared.
This family took me, a complete stranger, into their home. They not only gave me food and shelter but also treated as a dear guest and made me feel really safe and welcome. They showed me their city and introduced me to their friends. In many long, fascinating conversations they introduced me to their religion and culture. It proved to be a life-changing experience and resulted in my life-long interest in Middle East and Islam.
But even more long-lasting has been my sense of gratitude. And knowing that there are kind and caring people like this out there has always somehow made me feel safer in our turbulent world.

Now, with all that is happening in Syria, these lovely people may need my help. I have long ago lost contact with them (it’s a long story of lost or locked email accounts) and these photographs are the only link I have.

They were taken in 1999 in Damascus. The young man’s name is Fadi. He was a medical student back then and would now be in his late thirties. His sister’s name is Rala (although I am not 100% sure). She was studying architecture back then. She would now be in her mid-thirties. They also had a little brother, about 7 years old (so now in his twenties). The woman on the photograph is their mum. Their dad, on the second photograph, was a medical doctor. (The scruffy blonde is me so ignore :-))

Please share this post as widely as possible. Maybe someone will recognise them and put us back in touch.

(My email address, just in case: agata.anna@gmail.com)

Thank you!

On Wednesday, December 9, 2015 at 1:22am and because the post was shared 1455 times (last checked Wednesday, December 9, 2015 at 11:20am)   Agata found the family. :)

Thank you so much to all of you who have shared my post. I have just found the family I was looking for! I am still awaiting a message from them but I have been told that they are safe and sound. Can I just say – the amount of help and good will I have experienced in the last couple of days has been amazing and truly touching. Thank you so much to every one of you who shared my post, messaged me and made an effort to help me find these lovely people.

It is NOT really a small world. It is a big heart, It is a beautiful will. Although the original post was only liked by 15 people and enjoyed 11 comments but people SHARED it. Agatha has (381) friends on Facebook, the call for action worked and the 1466 shares helped spread the word. Some would attribute this to the power of special networks, I would definitely give some credit to Facebook but that is just part of the story. Should not Agata in the first place had the will and the compassion this story would not have seen the “digital” light in the first place nor have been rendered into a reality under the sun latter. This story SHOWS the power of discourse, and the interchangeable relation between text, image, and the medium. But more importantly, this story shows the potentials of Human-Driven Media.