Identity

I arrived at the university early – something that always delights me and gives me hope that one day I might yet become a punctual man. I sat in a corner and used the time to finish the readings for the first day, though I fell asleep after a few pages – no wonder, considering I’d gotten up at 5am in the Youth hostel in Leipzig to be on time for the beginning of my new course at the Freie Universität Berlin’s Summer School (FUBiS). I only snoozed for a bit and at quarter to nine, I walked down the isle to the FUBiS office, where we’d been told to wait for our lecturer Miss Becker to pick us up. And sure enough there they were – all those interesting people that made up the students of this course, each single one of which I couldn’t wait to get to know better.
And I didn’t have to wait for long: after some admin stuff, we started with a first round of introductions, but with a twist: we had to pair up and got 15 minutes to find out the other person’s identity (!!!), in order to then present our colleague to the rest of the class. What a great idea and what a challenge! Samira and I first discussed for ten minutes what 'identity' could actually mean? Does it mean, what we are at our core? Is it a mix of religion, nationality and socio-economic background (in any order)? Or is one's identity more of a contextual or even performative issue - i.e. it changes with each situation? Or oppositional - you're more this as opposed to that? Well, in the end we just had to try.

Thus, I now have the honour to introduce you to my class, through the words of others:

Shaykha likes capital cities and identifies herself with three things: being a Gulf Arab, Islam and her tribe.
Idir’s parents are Berbers from Algeria, but he’s just Idir.
Noora was raised in Algeria by an (Eastern) German mother and an Algerian father. But she’s a Berliner or even a Neuköllner.
Dushe doesn’t qualify for a national identity. He’s European, Cosmopolitan and not on time.
Nash’at is a Muslim and a Palestinian and a student of democracy and human rights.
Anoud is a Saudi, Muslim mother.
Dina is half-Egyptian and half-German, but doesn’t belong to either place.
Mohammed identifies with a Global identity, according to Muslim values, unlike most people around him in Saudi-Arabia.
Jenna is Californian (in this context) and not interested in her Eastern European roots.
Mohammad is a Muslim from Afghanistan, studying Psychology and Management Sciences.
Elsa is a French citizen and wants to know more about her African roots in Benin.
Hermeen doesn’t identify with any specific country or religion. Living in the United Arab Emirates of Eritrean parents, she relates to a Global culture.
Islami is from a privileged minority in Afghanistan, who received a good education.
Donatella is a shy Italian girl, interested in the Middle East.
Tom is a married American journalist with two kids.
Ruhollah is first of all a Muslim, then an Afghani and lastly a defence lawyer.
Wolfgang likes do disassociate himself from being "German", he'd rather be a "citizen of the world". And he believes in humanity.
Samira is a student from Tehran. She loves Islam, but disassociates herself from fundamentalist streaks. She wears her hejab to show her identity.

And Mahmoud – well, Mahmoud couldn’t come. But he sent a letter:

Dear Colleagues,

I apologize to all of you for not attending the summer session this year.
As a Palestinian, it follows that I live under occupation, thus cancelling simple human rights, such as the freedom of movement and travel.
Thus, after I finished packing for the trip, I started my journey, like a trip to hell, to the (Israeli-occupied) West Bank-Jordanian border. There, one finds there are all kinds of tormenting and humiliating sights. Waiting to cross were crying children, pregnant women, elderly men, and disgruntled, broken youth.
Then I got the news – certainly like many others – who were turned around after hours of waiting: I am prohibited from travelling? I tried to explain to the Israeli soldiers that my purpose of travel was to attend an academic course in Germany about Islam and the West, but no one would listen. My hopes were shattered by the crushing weight of the occupation.
Though I write you with tremendous sadness, know that theses words are unable to fully describe to you my feelings as I return home and begin composing this letter, even before telling my family about what happened.
I apologize especially to Miss Becker for my absence from the course. But it was not my choice – it was that of the occupation.
In my stead, feel free to write my name on a small placard and place it on an empty chair!
Sincerely,
Mahmoud

P.S.: In seriousness, I hope you are able to pass this message along to my colleagues who are able to attend the course, as well as to send them my hope in joining them in another course in the future.


What a start! I imagine that the arbitrariness of it must be the hardest part to deal with. I’m glad that Nash’at managed to get here and Mahmoud also announced that he will not give up and try again today.
Despite the shadow this cast over our first day, it was a great seminar, with vivid discussions, open minds and eyes so piercingly alive that it filled the room with light and my heart with joy – I loved it! I am more excited than I can tell you about our next seminar on Friday… well, and about the whole month ahead!

News from Bhutan

Every now and then, I have the pleasure of receiving an email from a French lady working in the little Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. I always love to receive these little glimpses into a place so different and odd, so warm and delightful, thrown from the middle ages into the 21st century within one generation.
Although it rarely features in our media, in this little country, the King recently abdicated and passed the throne on to his son, in light of the country's transition to a constitutional democracy, which also happened this year.
And now, he is to receive his coronation:

Celebrations to be held on November 6, 7, 8

His Majesty the Druk Gyalpo will don the Raven Crown and formally assume the embodiment of the Supreme Protector.

In Buddhist history, the King was called the Protector Of The People, The Great Elected One, The Upholder Of The Law. In contemporary Bhutan, His Majesty will be the protector of the nation’s security, the guardian of the Constitution, and the inspiration for Gross National Happiness.

His Majesty will receive the sacred dhar of empowerment [...] in the inner sanctum of the Punakha Dzong [a Dzong being a large monastery compound] at an auspicious date.

The nation will celebrate the enthronement in Thimphu [the capital of Bhutan] on November 6, the eighth day of the ninth month of the earth male rat year, when the people will have the opportunity to offer the tashi khaddar [??] to the Druk Gyalpo. [...]

The prime minister, Lyonchhen Jigmi Y Thinley, announced that three enlightened astrologers had studied the stars to select the most auspicious dates and His Majesty the King had granted his approval. This was announced yesterday at Tashichhodzong amidst a special gathering that represented all sections of Bhutanese society.

[...] according to the prime minister [...] "It will be an event that will radiate the creation of more opportunities for our people to pursue happiness through the goal of Gross National Happiness.”

The Coronation brings the year-long celebrations of 2008 to a peak.

By Rinzin Wangchuk, in Bhutan's newspaper Kuensel on 23 July 2008

You will be glad to know...
I found someone who will adopt the sofa!

My sofa

every day I come home on the tram. i get out at my stop and wait at the traffic lights for the tram to pass before crossing the road with the other people who got out. while the tram slowly passes, i look around me and see if there are any pretty girls. if there are, i make a rough estimate how many of them are living in the same dormitory as me and imagine one of them looking at me through the rain and shyly taking my hand as we cross the road. we walk to the dorm in silence and get in the elevator together up to the fourth floor. i open the door to my room and we go to sit on my balcony together. we watch the rain falling through the trees and cuddle up on my sofa.



I love the rain. I love my sofa and my balcony.


Six weeks ago I found the sofa on a street corner. It’s kind of sixties style, in good condition; fake velvet with bold floral patterns in brown and orange. I stopped a taxi and asked him if he would help me get it to my dorm. Since then I’ve more or less lived on my balcony. The best moments were when the gentle morning sun came through the leaves, or when it poured with rain, or when the storm shook the dark branches of the three big trees between my dorm and the one opposite in the middle of the night. I usually sit here alone, with my laptop to keep me company instead of a pretty girl.

Anatolian cello music is coming from the open door to my dimly lit room and it’s still raining. I contemplate what’s going to happen next. I’m about to leave this town; after a brief period of settlement. Most of the books I brought are still un-read in the shelf, four precious issues of Le Monde Diplomatique lie piled up neatly on the window sill, making my room look intellectual and international.

What will I do with my sofa when I move out in two weeks? Put it back on the street to an uncertain future? Take it with me to Berlin and during the month that I will be there find someone who might appreciate it as much as I did? Or put it up for auction on eBay? I’m not interested in the money, just in its future. I try not to cling to things, although they do play a role in a stage of our lives and gain a meaning. Often we assume that this meaning is attached to the thing itself, but isn’t that just an illusion with which we burden ourselves?

"Thanks to her I confronted my inner self for the first time as my ninetieth year went by. I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people's time. I learned, in short, that love is not a condition of the spirit but a sign of the zodiac."

"Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love."

from Gabriel García Márquez's "Memories of my melancholy whores"