Juhood: Volume 3, Issue 1

juhood v o l u m e

3 ,

i s s u e

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JUHOOD v o l u m e

t h i r d

Containing four essays regarding

THE MIDDLE EASTERN REGION which shall be considered to include the

NORTH OF AFRICA , TURKEY and IRAN edited by HANNAH KAPLON , and her merry team.

WE HAPPILY PRESENT this journal ;

C O N S I S T I N G O N L Y O F U N D E R G R A D U AT E W O R K , to our esteemed readers.

D U R H A M,

In the year two thousand and twenty P u b l i s h e d

a t

D u ke U n i ve r s i t y M a g a z i n e .

b y

J u h o o d

1 Acknowledgements Editor In Chief

Hannah Kaplon

Associate Editors In Chief

Gianna Affi

Ava Erfani Copy Editors

Jeremy Jacobs Hana Hendi Jasper Schutt

Julia Sargis

lllustrations

Featured Artist

Alia Zabarah | @alia.zabarah

Our Sponsors

John Spencer Basset Fund Student Organization Finance Committee (SOFC) Duke University Middle East Studies Center

The information provided by our contributors is not independently verified by Juhood. The materials presented represent the personal opinions of the individual authors and do not necessarily represent the views of Juhood or Duke University.

Juhood: The Journal of Middle Eastern and North African Affairs Volume 3, Issue 1, Fall 2020 • Copyright Š 2020 Duke University

2 Editor’s Note Dear Readers and Friends, It is with great pleasure that I present Juhood Volume 3, Issue 1. After perhaps one of the strangest college semesters in Duke history, we survived! I can’t say it was particularly easy, and I don’t know what next semester has in store, but I left Durham this November feeling extremely lucky for my friends, family, and Juhood Team.

I would like to start by thanking my wonderful peers on Juhood Magazine’s Executive Board: Hadeel Hamoud (President of Juhood), Grayson Real (Magazine Editor), and Gianna Affi (Director of Operations). Through what seemed to be the endless summer months of quarantine and then a quiet fall in our cozy house on 9th Street, we worked diligently to transition all aspects of what was previously known as Duke Association for the Middle East (DAME) to Juhood Magazine. We were following in some big footsteps. When Jake and Bryan graduated last year, it became our gig; they started something truly wonderful and left their indelible mark on both Duke and Juhood, an act nearly impossible to follow. Though we miss them dearly, I am so proud of what we have accomplished. In the last eight months, we revamped Juhood’s website, launched our online magazine, hosted our new event series Juhood Talks and Juhood Spotlight, created a podcast (which should be dropping this spring!), and even began to design our own merchandise (be on the lookout for that too). None of this was possible without you three. So thank you Hadeel, Gray, and Gianna. Not only are you my best friends, but also three of the most hardworking, measured, and inspirational people I know.

How lucky am I to be on your team.

And now, most importantly, since we are celebrating the publication of this journal, after all, thank you to my editorial team. A very special thank you to Ava who put incredible effort, time, and work into editing these essays to perfection, as well as Gianna, once again, for making sure the whole operation ran smoothly. Thank you Jeremy, Hana, and Jasper for your edits, honest critiques, and vision. Thank you Julia, whose stunning illustations now bring a new, unique life and flavor to the pages of Juhood.

And finally, thank you Alia for trusting us from Yemen with your beautiful artwork. We are so excited for our readers to get a glimpse of the world through your eyes.

Jake used to say that Juhood’s beauty lies in its honest and youthful undergraduate imperfections. This journal is far from perfect, but it has been made with a lot of heart.

I hope you all enjoy.

- Hannah

_ 07 HYDROELECTRIC DEVELOPMENT ON THE BLUE NILE

EMMA SMITH Yale

_ 21

_ 31

THE MURDER OF ISRAA GHRAYEB

THE DIASPORIC CHRONOTOPE

The ‘Honor Crime,’ Pinkwashing, and Reclaiming Tragedy

Time and Space in Darwish’s Memory for Forgetfulness

JAQUELYN HEDRICK UNC

ANDREAMARIE EFTHYMIOU UNC

_ 41 CONSTRUCTING A MODEL FOR HONOR Gendered Violence In Fadia Faquir’s Pillars of Salt

KOBE SPELLS UNC

_ 51 ARTIST INTERVIEW

_ 53 END MATTER

HYDROELECTRIC DEVELOPMENT ON THE BLUE NILE By Emma Smith

O

8

n July 22nd, Ethiopia’s Minister of Water and Energy confirmed rumors that the first phase of filling the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) had been completed.1 In the following days, Ethiopians rushed to social media, praising the leaders and workers who set into motion the dam that would be the answer to cries for long-overdue energy development.

Thousands shared pictures of the Dam, clips of children dancing in traditional clothing, and satellite imagery confirming the GERD’s successful construction all with the caption #ItsMyDam. For Ethiopians, the GERD promised to bring electricity to millions of people living in poverty and to kickstart growth in a troubled economic environment. Taken to its extreme, the GERD has come to symbolize a sort of Ethiopian revival, where hydropower is an instrument to lift the yoke of poverty and break down colonial-era barriers that suppressed the richness of Ethiopian resources and culture. Less potently, celebrations around the GERD proved a welcome distraction from brewing civil unrest and political fracturing at a time of unprecedented hardship.2 Yet Ethiopia’s domestic fervor for the GERD has been met with powerful opposition from regional actors. What many Ethiopians consider to be the key to economic growth, downstream nations Egypt and Sudan perceive as an existential threat. Climate change and water mismanagement already deplete the quantity and quality of water reaching downstream nations, and so the GERD, tucked within Ethiopia’s borders and close to the headwaters of the Blue Nile, could choke water flowing to Egypt and Sudan. Egypt – the GERD’s most outspoken opponent, and the country furthest downstream from the source of the Nile after Sudan – has underscored the dangerous consequences of reducing the Nile’s flow via hydroelectric projects. Egypt already suffers from severe water scarcity and has actively voiced concerns that hydroelectric development jeopardizes the lives and livelihoods of millions of Nile-dependent Egyptians. While Ethiopia’s rosy portrayal of the GERD evokes images of regional progress, Egypt’s pessimistic projections paint a nearly apocalyptic picture of drought, destroyed agriculture, mass-migration, and millions without adequate water.3 While originally the GERD promised to alleviate regional energy insecurity, the hydrological and political complications of the dam have sparked 1 Vall, M., 2020. Ethiopia Says It Needs Blue Nile Water To Help Its People. [online] Aljazeera.

com. Available at: <https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/07/ethiopia-blue-nile-waterpeople-200722135459565.html> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

2 Figure 1 3 Mbaku, J., 2020. The Controversy Over The Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam. [online] Brookings.

Available at: <https://www.brookings.edu/blog/africa-in-focus/2020/08/05/the-controversyover-the-grand-ethiopian-renaissance-dam/> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

9 a bitter feud between Ethiopia and its downstream stakeholders Egypt and Sudan. The GERD puts Ethiopia at a steep geopolitical advantage: the ability to unilaterally control the amount of water that Egypt and Sudan received from the Blue Nile. Yet as tripartite agreements between riparians continuously broke down over the course of the summer, the GERD controversy evolved to become something much greater than just a regional power struggle and resource-sharing agreement: the GERD sits at the crossroads of competing narratives of development and contradictory historical memories. As climate change exacerbates resource scarcity at a global scale, Egypt and Ethiopia’s management of the GERD issue could bode the future of multinational shared-resource conflict or cooperation in the coming decades.

Africa is on the cusp of an energy revolution spearheaded by renewables. Rapid population growth and climate change are driving the demand for energy-intensive services up and putting strain on already insufficient infrastructure. Millions of North and East Africans currently lack continuous access to potable water and electricity, and without greater energy production, this number will only continue to grow. For nations situated in the Eastern Nile Basin (ENB), proximity to one of the world’s most powerful rivers enables hydroelectricity as an affordable, sustainable means of electrification. The most notable renewable energy project to rise from North and East Africa’s shift towards green energy is the GERD, a 6.45 giga-watt hydroelectric power plant located near Benshangul-Gumuz, Ethiopia. Once fully operational, the GERD promises to make Ethiopia the largest power exporter in all of Africa.

The GERD straddles the Blue Nile, one of the river Nile’s three main tributaries, rising from Tana Lake, Ethiopia, and flowing northwards through Sudan and ultimately into the Egyptian Nile Delta.4 Despite North Africa’s natural abundance of oil and gas finds, many countries have shied away from dipping into hydrocarbon reservoirs, investing instead in renewable energy projects to meet rising demand. North and East Africa’s untapped renewable energy potential could allow the regions to ensure energy security – and possibly achieve energy independence – in the short-term and to compensate for decelerating global demand for oil and gas in the long-term.5 Climate change also drives North and East African investment in the development and deployment of renewable energy projects. Rising temperatures and altered weather patterns have a magnified impact on the agricultural sector in arid and semi-arid North African climates. Likewise, populated coastal zones are threatened by sea level rise, which may lead to 4 Foreign Affairs. 2020. Nile Be Dammed. [online] Available at: <https://www.foreignaffairs.com/

articles/africa/2020-08-10/nile-be-dammed> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

5 U.S. 2020. Oil Producers Will Fight For Market Share As Consumption Growth Slows: Kemp. [online] Available at: <https://www.reuters.com/article/us-global-oil-kemp-idUSKBN24716P> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

10

Figure 1 - Suter, Margaret â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Politics of Water: What We Know About the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Damâ&#x20AC;?. 2026. The Atlantic Council. https://www.atlanticcouncil. org/blogs/menasource/the-politics-of-water-what-we-know-about-the-grandethiopian-renaissance-dam/

11 massive flooding incidents, soil erosion, water contamination, and ultimately the mass migration of millions of people.6 Renewable energy minimizes carbon outputs and when used in lieu of crude oil and natural gas can contribute to delaying—even mitigating—the deleterious effects of climate change.

For countries in the ENB, hydropower presents the most viable avenue of renewable energy development. Hydroelectric power plants function by converting the kinetic or potential energy of fast-running or falling water into hydroelectricity, which can then be stored and exported for domestic or international distribution. The GERD specifically functions as a gravity dam, using both a main dam and a saddle dam attached to two powerhouses containing turbine generators to harness the power of falling water. Three connected spillways allow for the controlled release of dam water to prevent the GERD’s 74 km3 reservoir from overflowing.7 During construction, the GERD’s floodgates and spillways remained open, allowing for the Blue Nile to flow unobstructed. In the absence of external intervention, the GERD would by design remain non-functional until the floodgates closed and the reservoir began to fill.

Egypt’s dense population along the Nile Delta and Mediterranean coastline has left an estimated 95 million people vulnerable to climate change.8 Rising temperatures simultaneously decrease rainfall and increase sea levels, severely impacting agriculture, industry, and water management while also putting populated coastal areas at risk of soil erosion and flooding. Egypt recognizes these gaps in domestic water infrastructure and has heavily invested in contemporizing water management systems to preserve dwindling resources. In July 2020, Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi announced a fiveyear plan to implement large-scale water reforms worth $2.8 billion USD. The plan includes the construction of 47 desalination plants along Egypt’s 3,500 km coastline.9 While water management reform is certainly a step forward in 6 Oceanservice.noaa.gov. 2020. Is Sea Level Rising?. [online] Available at: <https://oceanservice. noaa.gov/facts/sealevel.html> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

7 Kaygusuz, K., 2002. Sustainable Development of Hydroelectric Power. Energy Sources, 24(9), pp.803-815.

8 El-Said, Mohammed. 2020. “Egypt’S Land Is 95% Desert, Country Depends By 95% On Nile Waters, Says Abdel Aty - Daily News Egypt”. Daily News Egypt. https://dailynewsegypt. com/2019/09/13/egypts-land-is-95-desert-country-depends-by-95-on-nile-waters-saysabdel-aty/.

9 ‫ مليار جنيه‬05 .. ‫ هل تنجح محطات حتلية مياه البحر فى حتقيق األمن املائى ملصر ؟‬.. ‫ «س و ج‬.‫اليوم السابع‬ ‫ وهذه تكلفة احملطة الواحدة‬..‫ مليون متر مكعب يوميا‬8.2 ‫ والدولة تستهدف إنتاج‬..2502 ‫خطة احلكومة للتنفيذ حتى عام‬ -3B%8D%/9/6/0202/yrots/moc.7muoy.www//:sptth .‫ اليوم السابع‬.0202 .»‫ اليوم السابع‬-DA%8D%CA%8D%68%9D%AA%8D%-48%9D%78%9D%-CA%8D%-88%9D% -AA%8D%7A%8D%7B%8D%DA%8D%58%9D% -9D%58%9D%-9A%8D%A8%9D%48%9D%DA%8D%AA%8D% -1B%8D%DA%8D%8A%8D%48%9D%7A%8D%-78%9D%7A%8D%A8%

12 improving hydro infrastructure, the greatest threat to Egypt’s water security is its near complete dependence on the freshwaters of the Blue Nile. Approximately 95-97% of Egypt’s water budget comes from water sources that originate from beyond Egypt’s borders. The Blue Nile is effectively Egypt’s main source of water. Any reduction to Blue Nile water levels could pose colossal economic and health challenges for Egypt, leading to the nightmarish images of barren fields, mass migration, and nationwide water insecurity.

Egypt’s dependence on the Blue Nile is a point of geopolitical exploitability, and lays the groundwork for Egypt’s opposition to the GERD. Not only would the GERD inherently limit the flow of the Blue Nile to downstream states such as Egypt, but it would also enable Ethiopia to directly manipulate downstream water supplies. By closing the GERD’s floodgates and filling its reservoir, Ethiopia can immediately impact the quantity of water reaching downstream riparian stakeholders. In this way, Nile water levels can be weaponized as means of political leverage. More likely, GERD-related changes in Nile water levels would arise as an unpremeditated consequence of incompatible climate needs and overdevelopment.

While Egypt is arid and water poor, Ethiopia is naturally water rich and groundwater-dependent, with temperature plateaus and a predictable rainy season.10 Water management strategies best suited to an Ethiopian climate would likely not benefit its more arid downstream counterparts. Likewise, as Ethiopia’s growing population drives energy demand and water usage, there may be a strong temptation to expand existing GERD infrastructure to increase power output. Without a multilateral, legally-binding water-sharing agreement in place, Ethiopia would be free to unilaterally manipulate the quantity of water flowing downstream. The consequences of hydroelectric overdevelopment are not isolated to a single country, so any action Ethiopia takes to raise or lower GERD reservoir levels affect all riparian states connected to the same life-sustaining waters.

Water insecurity in Iraq presents a powerful example of the deleterious impact of hydroelectric overdevelopment on a major river system. Much like Egypt, Iraq heavily depends on the flow of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers for agriculture, sanitation, industry, and domestic water usage. However, water-intensive Turkish and Syrian hydroelectric development plans beginning in the 1970s have significantly reduced the quantity and quality of water flowing downstream into Iraq. Without a multilateral water-sharing agreement .4615184/98%9D%18%9D% 10 ‫ املركز العربي للبحوث‬.0202 .»‫ ما بني التهديدات وسبل املواجهة‬.. ‫ «تغير املناخ يف مصر‬.‫املركز العربي للبحوث والدراسات‬ .79314/gro.gesrca.www//:ptth .‫والدراسات‬

13 in place, tragedy of the commons allowed for water-resources to be depleted haphazardly and unilaterally. On its current path, the Tigris and Euphrates rivers will run dry by 2040.11 The ENB problem differs from the Tigris-Euphrates situation in two key respects: relative power and regional influence. Blighted by decades of top-down mismanagement, conflict, and severe infrastructural damage, the Iraqi government had little recourse by the time the effects of Turkish hydroelectric overdevelopment materialized in the early 2010s. Egypt, on the other hand, has enjoyed custodianship of the Nile for more than sixty years. Furthermore, Egypt far exceeds Ethiopia in terms of military size and preparedness, and continues to profit from colonial-era agreements preventing upstream nations from completing any major infrastructure projects. Whereas Iraq faced down much more internationally powerful upstream aggressor, Egypt’s historical claim and military might balance with Ethiopia’s territorial hold on the headwaters of the Blue Nile.

The Nile continues to be a source of national pride to which many Egyptians feel culturally entitled.12 During the early 20th century, Egypt’s pre-Islamic past was adopted as the ideal of a widespread ethno-territorial nationalist movement called Pharaonism, championed by Egyptian visionaries such as Taha Hussein.13 While the majority of modern day Egyptians do not subscribe to Pharaonism or its subsidiary movements, the symbols of Ancient Egypt continue to feature prominently in anti-GERD rhetoric as evidence of Egypt’s historical claim to the Nile. Furthermore, the existing framework for water-sharing formalized during the British occupation points to Egypt as custodian of the Nile. Britain prioritized Egyptian water security to ensure a steady cotton cultivation in the Nile Delta. The 1902 Anglo-Ethiopian treaty was the first colonial-era agreement governing Nile water, in which Ethiopia agreed to renounce any activity that would arrest or block the flow of the Nile.14 In 1929, Egypt and Great Britain – speaking on behalf of Nile riparian states Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, and Sudan – signed the Nile Waters agreement empowering Egypt to veto any upstream development project that jeopardized its water share. Long after the British occupation ended, Egypt and Sudan signed the 1959 water-sharing agreement, supplementing the original 11 Al-Ansari, Nadhir, Ammar A. Ali, and Sven Knutsson. “Present Conditions and Future

Challenges of Water Resources Problems in Iraq.” ​Journal of Water Resource and Protection​06, no.

12 (2014): 1066–98. https://doi.org/10.4236/jwarp.2014.612102.

12 Colla, Elliott “Conflicted Antiquities: Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity”. 2007.

Duke University Press. https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822390398 13 Wood, Michael “The Use of the Pharaonic Past in Modern Egyptian Nationalism”. 1998. The Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, vol. 35, 1998 p. 186 14 “FACTBOX: Nile River Agreements And Issues”. 2020. U.S.. https://www.reuters.com/article/usegypt-nile-factbox-sb/factbox-nile-river-agreements-and-issues-idUSTRE56Q3MD20090727.

14 1929 agreement which quantified the amount of water afforded to Egypt and Sudan, respectively.15 Despite its geographic disadvantage, Egypt has maintained the legal and political upper hand in governing the Nile, as well as a cultural claim to its many resources, at least until the creation of the GERD. From Ethiopia’s perspective, colonial-era agreements sideline upstream states and fail to serve as an appropriate framework for GERD negotiations. Ethiopia strongly condemns prior water-sharing agreements as detrimental to upstream nations by preventing them from utilizing one of the most powerful resources originating within their own borders: Ethiopia cannot be considered water-rich, after all, if Ethiopians cannot access their own water wealth. Upending archaic water-sharing arrangements contributes to a growing movement to recognize both Ethiopia’s cultural heritage and the lingering impact of colonialism on present day society. More poignantly, Ethiopia looks towards the GERD as a possible solution to an incoming climate change-induced humanitarian crisis.16 Canadian development agency Rainbow for the Future identified that an estimated 44% of Ethiopia’s population lives in extreme poverty. About 80% of Ethiopia’s population depends on agriculture for their livelihood, meaning that unstable weather patterns and decreasing rainfall urgently impact food security.17 The GERD in particular could improve irrigation throughout western Ethiopia and likewise provide electricity to 65 million impoverished Ethiopians.

Ethiopia examined hydroelectric development in the Benshangul-Gumuz Region as early as the 1960s, but widespread political unrest and a coup d’état put these plans on hold. Decades later, Ethiopia recommenced the nascent hydro-development project in response to mounting climate pressures.

In 2011, the Ethiopian government signed a $4.8 billion USD contract with Milan-headquartered civil engineering group Salini Impreglio S.p.A. to begin building the GERD.18 As preparations for the GERD ramped up, downstream nations Egypt and Sudan expressed severe concerns with the dam’s impact on the flow of the Blue Nile. Tripartite negotiations failed to slow the GERD’s early progress, prompting then Egyptian President Mohamed Morsi to visit Ethiopia to convey Egypt’s disapproval directly.19 Ethiopia brushed off Egypt’s criticism 15 Ibid.

16 ELIAS MESERET and CARA ANNA, Associated Press. 2020. “Extreme Poverty Rises And A

Generation Sees Future Slip Away”. MSN. https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/extremepoverty-rises-and-a-generation-sees-future-slip-away/ar-BB17LOUo. 17 “About Rainbow For The Future”. 2020. Rainbowftf.Ngo. https://rainbowftf.ngo/about-rainbowfor-the-future/.

18 “Grand Renaissance Dam (GERD) Project Timeline”. 2020. Construction Review Online. https:// constructionreviewonline.com/2020/06/grand-renaissance-dam-gerd-project-timeline-andwhat-you-need-to-know/.

19 Ibid.

15 and continued with diverting the flow of the Nile to begin construction on the roller-compacted concrete walls of the main dam.

In a dramatic twist, tensions rapidly escalated between the two riparian states when an incriminating conversation between Morsi and a panel of Egyptian politicians was erroneously broadcast live. In the meeting, Egyptian officials brainstormed methods to sabotage the dam, unaware that their suggestions were live on state television. The politicians suggested deploying Egyptian special forces, jet fighters, or paying anti-Ethiopian rebel groups to destroy the GERD. Egypt initially backtracked, apologizing to Ethiopia for Morsi’s “daydreaming” and reaffirming commitment to peaceful negotiations.20 However, Egypt shortly after suggested that military action was not entirely off the table. Egypt’s military ambiguity became a hallmark of its strategy negotiating the GERD: while Egypt firmly supported a diplomatic resolution to the GERD dispute, Egypt would take whatever means necessary to protect its water security should Ethiopia begin to restrict the flow of the Nile.21 Negotiations briefly paused in 2013 when General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi ousted Morsi in a military coup. The new administration adopted a slightly more welcoming attitude towards Ethiopian hydro-development. Egypt agreed to the construction of the GERD contingent on Ethiopia meeting several conditions. Egypt demanded Ethiopia pause construction of the GERD until further multilateral arrangements could be made, as well as a significant increase in its share of the GERD. Ethiopia rejected Egypt’s terms and continued construction. Recognizing that Egypt alone would not be able to stall GERD negotiations, Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi turned towards downstream riparians and the international community to gather support for Egypt’s terms. Ethiopia relented to Egypt’s diplomatic offensive by inviting Egypt and Sudan to join a Tripartite National Committee (TNC) that would convene to make critical decisions about the GERD.22 The TNC generated productive discussion and led to major agreements between its three participants. The Committee produced a Declaration of Principles that would serve as a guideline for future negotiations. However, key technical issues still plagued talks between Egypt and Ethiopia. Egypt sought more rigorous limitations on Nile water flow to safeguard against decreased water flow during droughts and times of hardship. Ethiopia resisted any form of legally-binding agreement.23 Ethiopia viewed limitations on 20 “How Ethiopia’s Renaissance Dam Became Egypt’s Nakba”. 2020. Middle East Eye. https://

www.middleeasteye.net/opinion/egypts-nakba-ethiopia-dam-nile-sisi.

21 Ibid.

22 Ahram Online. 2020. Timeline: The GERD Crisis - Politics - Egypt. [online] Available at: <http:// english.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/1/64/352222/Egypt/Politics-/Timeline-The-GERD-crisis. aspx> [Accessed 13 August 2020].

23 “Nile Basin’s GERD Dispute Creates Risks for Egypt, Sudan, and Beyond,” July 13, 2020, https://

16 water withdrawal to be a form of neo-colonialism akin to the 1902 and 1929 water-sharing agreements that impeded Ethiopia’s ability to develop. Ethiopia also mirrored Egypt’s concern for the internal impact of climate change, and would attempt to avoid limitations on hydro-development to leave room for future expansion of GERD facilities or new projects to accommodate rising Ethiopian domestic needs.

Another important factor to note is that the GERD, according to current plans, would elevate Ethiopia’s status to be Africa’s leading power exporter. Ethiopia’s plans gathered substantial international interest, particularly from world powers like China seeking to expand its influence in Africa. Ethiopia’s GERD model would allow for future additions to increase its size and capacity.24 It is thus in Ethiopia’s best economic interest to refrain from any sort of legally-binding agreement on hydroelectric development, although this arrangement would be harmful to downstream nations that depend on a consistent Nile discharge. As time dragged on, the hot-and-cold tripartite negotiations failed to reach a mutually-agreed conclusion. By 2019, Ethiopia had nearly completed the GERD with no tripartite agreement within reach.25 Egypt’s concerns over water security clashed with Ethiopia’s assertion of its right to develop along the Nile.

The urgency of GERD negotiations drastically increased in June, 2020, as Ethiopia rushed to complete and begin filling the GERD by early July, with or without Egyptian approval. Egypt responded by intensifying diplomatic efforts to prevent Ethiopia from unilaterally filling the GERD. Egypt called upon the international community for assistance, requesting that the United Nations Security Council arbitrate further deals, but Ethiopia successfully lobbied for the issue to be handled at the continental level by the African Union (AU).26 The diplomatic situation between Egypt and Ethiopia rapidly deteriorated.

AU-brokered talks continued to no avail, hindered by heightened tensions and disinformation. Over the course of June and July, an unofficial Egyptian hacking group called Cyber_Horus vandalized Ethiopian websites in protest of the GERD,27 and Ethiopian officials baselessly blamed Egypt for large-scale protests www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/menasource/nile-basins-gerd-dispute-creates-risks-for-egyptsudan-and-beyond/.

24 “Timeline: The GERD Crisis - Politics - Egypt”. 2020. Ahram Online. http://english.ahram.org. eg/NewsContent/1/64/352222/Egypt/Politics-/Timeline-The-GERD-crisis.aspx.

25 “Nile Be Dammed”. 2020. Foreign Affairs. https://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/ africa/2020-08-10/nile-be-dammed.

26 “Grand Renaissance Dam (GERD) Project Timeline”. 2020. Construction Review Online. https:// constructionreviewonline.com/2020/06/grand-renaissance-dam-gerd-project-timeline-andwhat-you-need-to-know/.

27 Rasha Mahmoud, “Egypt Hackers Attack Ethiopian Sites as Nile Dam Talks Falter,” Al (AlMonitor, July 8, 2020), https://www.al-monitor.com/pulse/originals/2020/06/egypt-cyberattack-ethiopia-nile-dam-dispute.html.

17 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia over the death of a popular singer.28 Rumors soon began to circulate that Ethiopia had secretly started to fill the GERD, which Egypt previously declared as tantamount to an act of war. The once spectre of a so-called water war now seemed like a very real possibility.

However, a swift and decisive Egyptian response to the GERD was hindered by a litany of urgent, coincident domestic and geopolitical crises: surging positive coronavirus cases bedeviled Egypt’s health infrastructure; an active Islamic State affiliate occupied and held hostage four villages in North Sinai; discontented citizens launched widespread protests against Egyptian president Abdel Fattah el-Sisi; and, most pressingly, Turkey intensified its involvement in the ongoing Libyan civil war, challenging Egyptian regional leadership and signing a contentious maritime agreement that directly encroached on Egypt’s exclusive economic zone. Under steep geopolitical pressure from both the South and the West, Egypt could not afford to tie up resources in a single problem and publicly ruled out the possibility of military action in response to the GERD, with the notable exception of measures taken in self-defense.

In mid-July, Ethiopia’s Minister of Water and Energy Seleshi Bekele announced that Ethiopia began to fill the dam on national television, but retracted the statement when pressured by Egypt for clarification. Sudan expressed concern shortly after a Sudanese water management company had noticed a sharp drop in Nile water levels, and satellite footage revealed that GERD water levels had begun to rise. On July 22, Bekele officially announced that the first phase of filling the GERD reservoir had finished. Ethiopia so far has succeeded in unilaterally constructing and filling the GERD without input from downstream riparian stakeholders. Tripartite negotiations resumed in early-August, though the talks are unlikely to bridge the gap between Egypt’s firm requirement of a legally-binding agreement and Ethiopia’s rejection of it.

The outcome of Egypt, Ethiopia, and Sudan’s tripartite GERD talks will shape Africa’s energy landscape and set a precedent for water-sharing agreements on major rivers around the world. As climate change and shifting markets increasingly necessitate a global transition to renewable energy, ongoing GERD negotiations will serve as a paradigm for transboundary water-sharing negotiations. In order to achieve success, GERD negotiations will need to reach a legally-binding, transboundary arrangement preserving Egypt’s water supply while also rejecting the tenets of colonial-era water-sharing agreements. The agreement will need to reconcile Egypt’s dependence on the Nile while acknowledging Ethiopia’s right to use resources from within its own borders.

28 Daily News Egypt, “Deadly Protests Erupt in Ethiopia over Killing of Popular Oromo Singer,” Daily News Egypt, July 1, 2020, https://dailyfeed.dailynewsegypt.com/2020/07/01/deadlyprotests-erupt-in-ethiopia-over-killing-of-popular-oromo-singer/.

18 While Egypt may lose hegemony over the Nile, it is nonetheless imperative that a legally-enforceable agreement prevents Ethiopiaâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;or any upstream riparianâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;from unilaterally manipulating river waters to exert political leverage on vulnerable downstream states. Facilitating transboundary water-sharing will discourage the recurrence of a tragedy of the commons scenario, where all riparian states unilaterally develop without consideration of the harm to natural resources and negative impacts on surrounding states. Ultimately, water resources cannot be treated as a zero-sum game, or in the end, the Nile will be depleted and all parties will lose.

THE MURDER OF ISRAA GHRAYEB

By Jacquelyn Hedrick

The ‘Honor Crime,’ Pinkwashing, and Reclaiming Tragedy

22

T

#‫غریّب‬-‫إسراء‬-‫كلنا‬

#WeAreAllIsraaGhrayeb

wenty-one-year-old Israa Ghrayeb, a Palestinian woman and talented makeup artist from the village of Beit Sahour near Bethlehem, died on August 22, 2019 under what were originally described across news outlets as suspicious circumstances necessitating further investigation. Reports state that Israa was allegedly discharged from Beit Jala Hospital after a two-week stay during which she had been treated for a spinal injury. Around this time, Israa, an aspiring makeup artist, indicated on her social media accounts that she would be forced to cancel all of her appointments with her clients for the months of August and September due to poor health as she anticipated spinal surgery. Initial explanations for her injuries ranged, but most indicated they occurred either during a beating by her brothers and father or in her attempt to escape from them by jumping from the second story of their home, after family members raised concerns about a video she shared on Instagram, in which she appeared publicly with her fiancé.1 Several days after her release from Beit Jala Hospital, Israa died in her home. Many have since questioned why Israa was discharged at all, given the presumed extent of her injuries at the time. Following her death, a video recorded by a nurse outside of Israa’s hospital room emerged and circulated widely on social media. The video contains audio purported to be the sound of Israa’s screams, some calling for the police, from her hospital room. Her screams are accompanied by loud thumps, thought to be the sound of Israa being beaten yet again by her family. The Bethlehem district prosecutor ordered further investigation of her death, including an autopsy report.2 On September 12, the Public Prosecution of the State of Palestine issued the results of the official government investigation during a Ramallah press conference led by Palestinian Attorney General Akhram al-Khatib

1 Diana Alghoul, “#WeAreIsraa: Outrage as Palestinian Woman ‘tortured to Death’ in Honour

Killing,” Alaraby, accessed December 4, 2019, https://www.alaraby.co.uk/english/news/2019/8/31/ man-tortures-palestinian-sister-to-death-in-honour-killing; “Palestinian PM Vows to Release Probe Result over Woman’s Death,” Al Jazeera, accessed December 4, 2019, https:// www.aljazeera.com/news/2019/09/palestinian-pm-vows-release-probe-result-israagharib-death-190903100248161.html; Amira Hass, “Palestinians Outraged Over Suspicious Death of Young West Bank Woman,” Haaretz, September 2, 2019, https://www.haaretz.com/ opinion/.premium-palestinians-outraged-over-suspicious-death-of-young-west-bankwoman-1.7775243.

2 Alghoul, “#WeAreIsraa”; “Palestinian PM Vows to Release Probe Result over Woman’s Death”; Amira Hass, “Palestinians Outraged Over Suspicious Death of Young West Bank Woman.”

23 and Dr. Ashraf al-Qadi, lead forensic investigator and author of the autopsy report. Clarifying much of the murkiness previously shrouding Israa’s death, the press conference provided a firmer timeline and confirmed public suspicion that she was beaten to death by members of her family.3 al-Khatib stated that “‘Israa [Ghrayeb]’s death was the result of severe respiratory failure that resulted from her having been beaten and subjected to violence.’”4 al-Khatib indicted three of her family members – believed to be two of Israa’s brothers and her brother-in-law, though their names were not made public – on charges of “‘beating to death.’”5

In order to contextualize Israa’s murder and better understand its political significance both locally and globally, it is necessary to engage with both the concept of the ‘honor crime’ and the practice of pinkwashing, as well as their intersections in cases like Israa’s. Furthermore, this engagement is required to wholly appreciate the uniqueness, the importance, and the weight of the Palestinian people’s response to her killing.

Throughout media coverage and public discussion, Israa’s murder has been referred to as an ‘honor crime.’6 In Lila Abu-Lughod’s chapter “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime’” in her pioneering work Do Muslim Women Need Saving?, she defines an ‘honor crime’ as “the killing of a woman by her relatives for violation of a sexual code in the name of restoring family honor.”7 Given that Israa was killed by her father and brothers after appearing in public with her fiancé prior to their marriage, therefore violating a sexual code, it follows that her murder has been consistently described as an ‘honor crime.’8 However, regardless of aptness, Israa’s murder being designated an ‘honor crime’ is significant given the “political and cultural work” this label performs by placing specific acts of violence against women in their own category.9 Abu-Lughod argues that the ‘honor crime’ “is marked as a culturally 3 Alghoul, “#WeAreIsraa”; “Palestinian PM Vows to Release Probe Result over Woman’s Death”;

Amira Hass, “Palestinians Outraged Over Suspicious Death of Young West Bank Woman.”

4 Tamara Abueish, “Palestinian Officials Confirm Israa Ghareeb Died from Physical Assault Wounds,” Al Arabiya English, September 12, 2019, http://english.alarabiya.net/en/News/middleeast/2019/09/12/Palestinian-officials-confirm-Israa-Ghareeb-died-from-physical-assaultwounds.html.

5 “3 of Israa Ghrayeb’s Relatives Charged with Her Murder,” Middle East Monitor, September 12, 2019, https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20190912-3-of-israa-gharibs-relatives-chargedwith-her-murder/.

6 Shahd Haj Khalil, “Honour Killings in the Spotlight after Palestinian Woman Is Brutally Killed,” Middle East Monitor, September 3, 2019, https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20190903-honourkillings-in-the-spotlight-after-palestinian-woman-is-brutally-killed/.

7 Lila Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime,’” in Do Muslim Women Need Saving?

(Cambridge, United States: Harvard University Press, 2013), 113, http://ebookcentral.proquest. com/lib/unc/detail.action?docID=3301358.

8 Khalil, “Honour Killings in the Spotlight after Palestinian Woman Is Brutally Killed.”

9 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime,’” 140.

24 specific form of violence, distinct from other widespread forms of domestic or intimate partner violence” that is then “explained as the behavior of a specific ethnic or cultural community” such that “the culture itself,” or ‘tradition’ is taken to be the cause of the criminal violence. Because the ‘honor crime’ has been consistently associated with Islam, the Middle East, South Asia, and communities of South Asian and Middle Eastern immigrants, the ‘honor crime’ is popularly understood as a phenomenon unique to Islam, these regions, and the cultures within them. In reality, gender-based violence, misogyny, and patriarchy are pervasive across all faiths, ethnicities, races, regions, and cultures.10 Designating Israa’s killing as an ‘honor crime’ implies that her murder exemplifies a phenomenon inherent to her faith and cultural background. It suggests that her murder happened, at least in large part, because Israa and her family are Palestinian and Muslim.

Calling Israa’s murder an ‘honor crime’ in the context of the Israeli occupation of Palestine carries specific and unique implications. The ‘honor crime’ has been used to justify the necessity of Western intervention to spread ‘women’s rights’ to the ‘East’ over decades. Similarly, it has been used to perpetuate the reduction of international conflict to a “clash of civilizations,” predicated on the false dichotomy of an uncivilized East and a civilized West.11 Relatedly, Israeli settler-colonialism in Palestine is often articulated in terms derivative of the “clash of civilizations,” as the occupation in many ways mirrors the Western ‘interventions’ described by Abu-Lughod.12 It follows, then, that ‘honor killings’ in Palestine have been used in a similar fashion to further justify Israeli occupation, by reifying the need for a civilizing presence, the Israeli state, in a region made uncivil by the presence of Palestinians, in order to bring values like freedom and justice to realization.13 ‘Honor crimes’ have previously been a target of pinkwashing campaigns in Israel and elsewhere.14 Pinkwashing is a state strategy “that instrumentalizes sexual politics, sexual rights, and sexual discourses” to establish a state’s reputation as being committed to liberal conceptions of freedom, choice, and equality, particularly as they relate to the lives of women and 10 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime’”; Nooran Alhamdan, “Palestinian Women Walk the Tightrope of Toxic ‘shame’ and Occupation,” +972 Magazine, September 23, 2019, https:// www.972mag.com/israa-ghrayeb-patriarchy-protest/.

11 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime,’” 114.

12 Ibid.

13 Dana Olwan, “Pinkwashing the ‘Honor Crime’: Murdered Muslim Women and the Politics of Posthumous Solidarities,” Journal of Women in Culture and Society 44, no. 4 (2019): 905–30; Jasbir Puar, “Citation and Censorship: The Politics of Talking About the Sexual Politics of Israel,” Feminist Legal Studies 19, no. 2 (July 15, 2011): 133, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10691-011-9176-3.

14 Olwan, “Pinkwashing the ‘Honor Crime’: Murdered Muslim Women and the Politics of Posthumous Solidarities”; Puar, “Citation and Censorship: The Politics of Talking About the Sexual Politics of Israel.”

25 members of the LGBTQ+ community.15 In meticulously creating this image of itself, a state can effectively conceal its oppression of another community or group under its hand. The term ‘pinkwashing’ was originally coined as a play on the term ‘whitewashing’ by breast cancer activists to describe corporations’ promotion of breast cancer awareness while profiting from the disease’s existence. Now, pinkwashing most commonly associated with discussions of Israel and Palestine. This use of the term became popular after a 2011 editorial by Sarah Schulman in the New York Times used ‘pinkwashing’ to describe Israel’s practice of highlighting its supposedly progressive record on issues of LGBTQ+ and women’s rights to distract from, and even erase, its treatment of Palestinians.16 The concept of pinkwashing is nearly inextricable from the theory of homonationalism; pinkwashing can be understood as the mechanism by which the political work of homonationalism is accomplished. Jasbir K. Puar of Rutgers University, who developed the theory, describes homonationalism as: an analytic to apprehend state formation and a structure of modernity as an assemblage of geopolitical and historical forces, neoliberal interests in capitalist accumulation both cultural and material, biopolitical state practices of population control, and affective investments in discourses of freedom, liberation, and rights.17 Homonationalism operates as a metric by which the right of a nation to sovereignty can be measured by how progressive its “sexual politics, sexual rights, and sexual discourses” are.18 This is to say that if the state or political community in question is presumed to fall short of the liberal ideals of these issues, those shortcomings then become sufficient justification for either a total denial of sovereignty, or a form of intervention that undermines existing sovereignty.

Jasbir Puar writes that “Israeli pinkwashing is a potent method through which the terms of Israeli occupation of Palestine are reiterated — Israel is civilized, Palestinians are barbaric, homophobic, and uncivilized.”19 With this said, the practice of pinkwashing as a means to justify settler-co15Olwan, “Pinkwashing the ‘Honor Crime’: Murdered Muslim Women and the Politics of

Posthumous Solidaritie s,” 917–18.

16 Jason Ritchie, “Pinkwashing, Homonationalism, and Israel–Palestine: The Conceits of Queer Theory and the Politics of the Ordinary,” Antipode 47, no. 3 (June 1, 2015): 618, https://doi. org/10.1111/anti.12100.

17 Jasbir Puar, “Rethinking Homonationalism,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 45, no.

2 (2013): 336–39.

18 Jasbir Puar and Miya Mikdashi, “Pinkwatching and Pinkwashing: Interpenetration and Its Discontents,” Jadaliyya - ‫( ةیلدج‬blog), accessed November 11, 2019, https://www.jadaliyya.com/ Details/26818.

19 Puar, “Citation and Censorship: The Politics of Talking About the Sexual Politics of Israel.”

26 lonialism, war, occupation, or other forms of intervention mirrors AbuLughod’s description of the “political and cultural work” of the honor crime almost exactly, making ‘honor killings’ an easy and predictable target for this strategy.20 A notable address by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to the United States Congress in 2011 exemplifies pinkwashing of the honor crime, in this instance by the head of Israeli state. During his speech, Netanyahu stated that “‘Israel has always embraced this path [of Western freedoms] in a Middle East that has long rejected it. In a region where women are stoned, gays are hanged, Christians are persecuted, Israel stands out.’21 Here, the Israeli Prime Minister alludes to violence against women in the form of ‘honor killings,’ violence against religious minorities, and violence against members of the LGBTQ+ community, and suggests that all are endemic to the entirety of the Middle East and therefore Palestine, with the exception of his own state of Israel. In making such an assertion, Netanyahu employs the rhetoric of the ‘honor crime’ through the mechanism of pinkwashing to “neatly [divide] civilized from uncivilized societies, the West and the rest,” just as Abu-Lughod and Puar describe.22 The “political work” of the ‘honor crime’ goes beyond sensationalizing violence against women to justify global Western interventions. In fact, it is as much local issue as it is a global one, particularly in the realm of Israeli occupation. Abu-Lughod poses a critical question, asking if a member of a community can “acknowledge the seriousness of violence against women [within their community] without contributing to the stigmatization of particular communities and their representation as exceptional?”23 This question alludes to the construction of a positive feedback loop within communities controlled by state powers that manipulate women’s sufferings for the state’s own goals. Again, this feedback loop operates just as Abu-Lughod and Puar describe.24 When ‘honor crimes’ occur, they are painted by the state as phenomena inherent to the culture and/or character of an oppressed group, thus necessitating and justifying the oppression of said group. Therefore, if members of the oppressed group were to address the issue of ‘honor crime’s and in doing so acknowledge their presence or pervasiveness, they would seemingly confirm the validity of the state discourse, and even become participants in it. In an effort to avoid such complicity, oppressed peoples are 20 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime,’” 140.

21 “C3. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Address to a Joint Session of the U.S. Congress,

Washington, 24 May 2011 (Excerpts),” Journal of Palestine Studies 41, no. 1 (November 1, 2011): 209, https://doi.org/10.1525/jps.2011.XLI.1.209.

22 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime,’” 115.

23 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime.’”

24 Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime’”; Puar, “Citation and Censorship: The Politics of Talking About the Sexual Politics of Israel.”

27 sometimes rightfully reticent to organize around ‘honor crimes.’ By design, the coerced inaction of oppressed people ensures that ‘honor crimes’ continue in perpetuity, providing an endless stream of material for a state to use in justifying its actions against the oppressed.

When considering the construction of such a feedback loop in Palestine by Israel, it would be understandable for Palestinians to avoid extensive discussion of what happened to Israa, especially in the face of endless violence, increasing annexation, continued assaults on Gaza, perpetual collective punishment, and further erosion of any hope for a Palestinian state. Instead, the weeks following Israa’s murder saw widespread outrage and fervent calls for change in multiple fields. Rather than allowing Israa’s murder to become fodder for Israeli or Western audiences, Palestinians, both in Palestine and in diaspora, took to platforms such as Instagram and Twitter to mourn, to share their thoughts and frustrations, and to create their own narratives as to what Israa’s murder meant in and for Palestine. This conversation quickly produced a viral hashtag in English and in Arabic – “#WeAreAllIsraa” and “‫غريّب‬-‫إسراء‬-‫كلنا‬,” respectively.25 Palestinians, primarily women, demonstrated in large numbers from Haifa to Ramallah to Gaza City consistently in the weeks following Israa’s murder. The protests culminated in a day of action on September 26, 2019. Tal’at (‫)طلعت‬, a grassroots women’s movement – whose Arabic name translates to ‘stepping out’ – organized the day under the slogan “No liberated homeland without liberated women.”26 Similar sentiments were captured in media coverage, each a powerful testimony to Palestinian women’s experiences of “[being] held hostage in the crosshairs of ‘honor’ and the Israeli occupation,” as one Palestinian woman explained to Nooran Alhamdan in an interview.27 Other women who spoke with Alhamdan described how their struggles against patriarchy and gender-based violence coexist with and compete against their struggles against Israeli occupation. They also described the additional burden of proving that their experiences were not unique to Palestine, but are in fact emblematic of global struggles against patriarchy, gen25 Khalil, “Honour Killings in the Spotlight after Palestinian Woman Is Brutally Killed.”

26 Maja Sojref, “No to Femicide in Palestine!,” International Politics and Society, November

6, 2019, https://www.ips-journal.eu/regions/middle-east/article/show/no-to-femicidein-palestine-3844/; Hala Marshood and Riya Alsana, “Tal’at: A Feminist Movement That Is Redefining Liberation and Reimagining Palestine,” Mondoweiss, February 25, 2020, https:// mondoweiss.net/2020/02/talat-a-feminist-movement-that-is-redefining-liberation-andreimagining-palestine/.

27 Alhamdan, “Palestinian Women Walk the Tightrope of Toxic ‘shame’ and Occupation.””container-title”:”+972 Magazine”,”language”:”en-US”,”title”:”Palestinian women walk the tightrope of toxic ‘shame’ and occupation”,”URL”:”https://www.972mag.com/israaghrayeb-patriarchy-protest/”,”author”:[{“family”:”Alhamdan”,”given”:”Nooran”}],”accessed”:{“da te-parts”:[[“2019”,12,8]]},”issued”:{“date-parts”:[[“2019”,9,23]]}}}],”schema”:”https://github.com/ citation-style-language/schema/raw/master/csl-citation.json”}

28 der-based violence, and misogyny as described by Abu-Lughod in “Seductions of the Honor Crime.”28 Yasmine Mjalli, founder of Ramallah’s Nöl Collective (formerly BabyFist) and a local women’s rights activist, wrote an impassioned blog post in the aftermath of Israa’s killing in which she acknowledged and validated some Palestinians’ concern that incorporating women’s rights into their vision of Palestinian liberation would harm its chances of being realized, but states her firm belief that “bringing justice to both women and to Palestine are not mutually exclusive.”29 This directly alludes to the positive feedback loop previously but expands upon it by describing shortcomings of her peers in their imaginings of liberation. Similarly, Noura Erakat, a Palestinian human rights attorney and prominent activist, issued a Facebook post about Israa’s murder in which she stresses the necessity to not only identify with Israa but with her family as well. She argues that in order for Palestinians’ protest “for life and for the sake of better futures” to be genuine and possible, Palestinians must acknowledge their own role in Israa’s death, not just the contributions of Israeli occupation or the shortcomings of the Palestinian government.30 Tal’at, the viral hashtags, the writings of Noura Erakat and Yasmine Mjalli, and interviews with Palestinian women in the West Bank are just several examples of the way Palestinians refused to capitulate to the feedback loop imposed upon them by pinkwashing, discourses on ‘honor killings,’ and the synergistic effects of the two when combined. Instead, public responses to Israa’s murder placed gender-based violence against Palestinian women in conversation with the structural violence of Israeli occupation. The responses of Palestinians to Israa’s murder directly challenge the structures in Palestinian society that contributed to Israa’s killing while also condemning the occupation that is superimposed upon every aspect of Palestinian life.31 In doing so, they also reclaimed the right to internal critique that had been stripped from them by the pinkwashing of the honor crime. 32 Their protests and publications make clear that an analysis of violence against Palestinian women without addressing Israeli occupation is incomplete, but also state emphatically that Palestine free of occupation but without freedom for wom28 Ibid.; Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime.’”

29 Yasmine Mjalli, “Isra Gharib’s Murder Exposes Issues of Power We Can’t Ignore,” BABYFIST

(blog), August 2019, https://baby-fist.com/get-inspired/isra-gharibs-murder-exposes-storiesof-power-we-cant-ignore.

30 Noura Erakat, “Facebook Post,” August 31, 2019, https://www.facebook.com/noura.erakat/ posts/10156292455586283.

31 Mjalli, “Isra Gharib’s Murder Exposes Issues of Power We Can’t Ignore”; Erakat, “Facebook Post”; Sojref, “No to Femicide in Palestine!”

32 Alhamdan, “Palestinian Women Walk the Tightrope of Toxic ‘shame’ and Occupation”; Olwan, “Pinkwashing the ‘Honor Crime’: Murdered Muslim Women and the Politics of Posthumous Solidarities”; Abu-Lughod, “Seductions of the ‘Honor Crime’”; Puar, “Citation and Censorship: The Politics of Talking About the Sexual Politics of Israel.”

29 en would not be a free Palestine at all.33 Thus, they move beyond oversimplifications of ‘honor crimes,’ liberation, and the power structures producing their lived experiences. Furthermore, by controlling the narrative around Israa’s death through social media and direct action, Palestinian women reclaimed the tragedy of Israa’s death from those who would use it to suggest that murders like hers are unique to Arabs, Muslims, or the Middle East, thus justifying Israeli occupation and apartheid.34 Finally, by emphasizing that patriarchy, gender-based violence, and misogyny limit and end the lives of women like Israa all over the world, they appeal to a vision of liberation that extends beyond Palestine. True liberation necessitates free women everywhere, a vision that cannot be realized until women’s rights are made a true priority and are no longer manipulated by state powers in an effort to justify further oppression and violence.

33 Yasmine Bakria and Jack Khoury, “‘Free Homeland, Free Women’: Palestinians Take to the Streets to Protest Femicide,” Haaretz, September 27, 2019, https://www.haaretz.com/israelnews/.premium-free-homeland-free-women-palestinians-take-to-the-streets-to-protestfemicide-1.7914855.

34 Alhamdan, “Palestinian Women Walk the Tightrope of Toxic ‘shame’ and Occupation.”

THE DIASPORIC CHRONOTOPE

By Andreamarie Efthymiou

Time and Space in Darwishâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Memory for Forgetfulness

D

32

iasporic literature is not singular in subject or content. It often deals with expansive themes such as existence, identity, and homeland. How authors treat these topics varies, but we can find similarities in literature that has become representative of the genre. In this paper, I apply Bakhtin’s idea of the chronotope to show how Memory for Forgetfulness by Mahmoud Darwish deals with the aforementioned themes using a unique construction of time and place common to diasporic literature. The idea of works occupying distinct times and spaces, or chronotopes, was first explored by Russian literary scholar Mikhail Bakhtin in “Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel”: Darwish’s prose-poem, taking place within a single day, offers a concise yet dense account of the diasporic experience.

I contend that Darwish does so by manipulating certain elements that make up a diasporic chronotope which is fragmented, does not use sequential time and forgoes place markers. Memory for Forgetfulness presents the experience of war as well as resulting trauma in a narrative that is as fragmented and fluid as the memories that make up one’s identity after experiencing this.

The narrator of the work describes his lived experiences in terms of moments and memories, some of which are not his own but part of a greater diaspora group. Darwish’s narrative explores the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon and the shelling of Beirut via a narrator that pieces together his surroundings from the sights and sounds of a shattered city. Through a stream of consciousness, Darwish explores what cannot be remembered, what cannot be forgotten, and what cannot be disavowed. In the world of Darwish, experience becomes past, present, and future, just as a day becomes a lifetime. By basing his narrative on the spatiotemporal experience of the character, Darwish’s narrative setting makes use of the power of individual moments in favor of a linear plot. Darwish’s chronotype has characteristics that do not fit into other established chronotopes that Bakhtin theorizes. The experience of the diasporan is unique as it the narrative of literature meant to convey this.

DIASPORA & EXILE Diasporic literature tends to refer to works that are written by those living outside their homeland. Diasporic literature is incredibly multifaceted, yet there appears to be a lack of scholarship that provides readers with a critical framework for its interpretation. While works of the Western canon have received decades of literary criticism, diasporic works have hardly received the same attention. There is an even more noticeable dearth of literary criticism dealing with Middle Eastern diasporic literature. Within the genre of diasporic literature are works that are written by people in exile, meaning those that

33 cannot return to their home country, usually for political reasons. As George Steiner states, “It seems proper that those who create art in a civilization of quasi-barbarism, which has made so many homeless, should themselves be poets unhoused and wanderers across language” (qtd. in Savin 1). Dawish, drawing from his own experiences, creates art that reflects his resulting identity after being forced to be a wanderer across countries and to be a speaker of many languages. This expression of exilic identity, though beautiful and even romantic if not completely understood, is not fully explored critically. The intricacies of the diasporic and exile narratives remain veiled.

Edward Said, in Reflections on Exile, discusses how the West romanticizes the concept of exile to feed notions of humanism and enlightenment (138). Said emphasizes how exilic literature acknowledges the existence of people otherwise condemned to live in liminality. Literature produced by people in exile often has some defining characteristics: a fragmented sense of self, themes of intergenerational trauma, and dichotomies of belonging versus isolation. However, interpreting exilic literature through a lens dictated by Western scholarship can take away the agency and intent of the narrative. The obstacles that the exile faces are often the product of a history of colonialism.

In Darwish’s writings, the anthropomorphized country of Lebanon has suffered at the hands of France. He also mentions Palestine, which has ceased to be a viable homeland for the exile because of the effects of colonialism. Exilic literature is a deeply sensitive subject, and the modes of analysis we tend to be presented with romanticize the experiences of narrators such as Darwish and make them into voluntary sojourns like those of Byron and Keats. In contrast, the writer in exile puts their experience on paper in order to reclaim their existence apart from the homeland. Removing this context and forcing these narratives into the molds of the Western canon denies this opportunity (139). This not only applies to exilic literature, but to diasporic literature. As Salman Rushdie, a member of the Indian diaspora, writes in Imaginary Homelands, “Western writers have always felt free to be eclectic in their selection of theme, setting, form…I am sure we must grant ourselves an equal freedom” (434). Limited literary criticism exists that studies the distinct spatiotemporal configurations that diasporan authors use in their works. For example, literature outside this genre of diasporic work is often categorized using popular chronotopes, such as the adventure chronotope or the idyll. However, the diasporic work does not fit into these chronotopes because the moments that are meant to be expressed are supposed to be fragmented. For the exile, for example, space might be imagined or beyond reach. A homeland might be present only in imagination, or in the senses. Keeping this in mind allows us to better grasp the meaning of these works.

34 INTRODUCING CHRONOTOPES The idea of the chronotope was first coined by Mikhail Bakhtin and applied to works in the Western canon. Bakhtin’s theory said “We will give the name chronotope (literally, “time space”) to the intrinsic connectedness of temporal and spatial relationships that are artistically expressed in literature...

The chronotope in literature has an intrinsic generic significance. It can even be said that it is precisely the chronotope that defines genre and generic distinctions, for in literature the primary category in the chronotope is time” (84).

However, Bakhtin’s basic framework can be used to study what time and space the diasporic work represents. Most specifically, “a chronotope is an imaginal construct or entity representing a temporal process that occurs in a spatial situation. It is exactly because of the fact that every activity, every development of time, is expressed through spatial changes that we should consider chronotopes to be the essence of narratives” (Keunen 13). When Keunen refers to the “essence” of narratives, he alludes to the connection between chronotopes and imagination. This imagination is inextricable from the author’s voice, the agency behind it, and their life experience. The chronotope reading urges us to explore the imagined reality that is connected to the narrator’s voice.

It is most useful to read the diasporic work in terms of time and space, as the narrative plot often cannot pinpoint one stagnant space or one unchanging identity. In Darwish’s prose-poem, his conception of self is constantly in flux, as is his understanding of where he finds himself. Time, to Bakhtin, is most relevant as an indicator to the reader. Similarly, description of space is valuable in cluing in readers into an internal state. Bakhtin argues that there are some specific configurations of time and space--some specific chronotopes--that are found in different narratives and fuel the plot.

APPLYING CHRONOTOPES TO MEMORY FOR FORGETFULNESS Darwish’s Memory for Forgetfulness has become monolithic in the world of exiles. In the remainder of this essay, I will apply Bakhtin’s chronotope to Darwish’s “Memory for Forgetfulness” to show a unique intersectional setting which I will refer to as the ‘diaspora chronotope’. Bakhtin provided us with a framework with which we could explain Darwish’s work partially, but also shows us why a diaspora chronotope transcends these guidelines. Following Bakhtin’s idea of the chronotope, some theorists like Bart Keunen thought they could group literature to fall into larger and more specific genres: conflict vs. equilibrium chronotopes.

If we focus on what Keunen calls, equilibrium chronotopes, we must focus on the following characteristics: the space must form a whole apart from disruption, and the system’s temporal pattern must exhibit repetition (Keunen 44).

The “idyll” is an example of an equilibrium chronotope. Bakhtin describes this

35 chronotope: as “an idyll is in most instances primarily defined by the unity of place, by the age-old rooting of the life of generations to a single place, from which this life, in all its events, is inseparable. This unity of place in the life of generations weakens and renders less distinct all the temporal boundaries between individual lives and between various phases of one and the same life.” To an extent, one could say that Darwish’s work follows an equilibrium chronotope like the idyll.

Darwish gives limited temporal markers. He says, “the neighborhood birds are awake at six in the morning” (9). Then, “Where is the newspaper? It’s six o’clock in the morning...” (22). The work takes place within a day, but six o’clock in the morning repeats. Darwish’s narrative transcends the sequential and linear dictation of the passage of time. This makes the reader feel as if they are in the same purgatory as Darwish. Both the narrator and the reader are waiting for permission to exist and find their bearings: “Time has frozen. It sits on me, choking me” (10). The world Darwish creates is isolated and parts of it seem to repeat, creating an insulated world for the narrator and the reader to explore their existence. However, the work substantially deviates from both of these readings when exploring the themes of trauma and memory.

Realizing this could push us to try to understand Darwish’s novel in terms of the other chronotopic genre that Keunen proposes based off of Bakhtin’s theory: the genre of the conflict chronotope. Keunen proposes that a chronotope be considered a conflict chronotope when it meets its own conditions, one of which is the following: “The first is that time needs to be integrated in movements that conflict with the movement of the chronotope’s center”, which is ultimately “the hero or heroine and his or her goals”. What this chronotope could look like in a narrative is a protagonist facing continuous obstacles on some kind of quest. The protagonist of Darwish’s novel is certainly facing challenges. His world is physically crumbling around him.

He cannot even go from one room to the next without fear of getting shot or crushed by debris. However, the narrative does not fully fit in this chronotope because the narrative does not have an end goal. The narrator is not striving towards getting out of his situation or going on some dangerous quest, he is simply trying to live. Another feature commonly seen in a conflict chronope is a return home. Memory for Forgetfulness is the tale of a protagonist that is fated to never have a nostos (return home). The final lines of the work are “I see in the sea nothing except the sea. I don’t see a shore. I don’t see a dove” (Darwish 182). According to the Bible, a dove was released by Noah after the flood in order to find land. When it came back carrying a freshly plucked olive leaf, it was a sign of life to Noah that he and his family would live and would be brought back to their land (Genesis 8:11). The protagonist in Darwish’s work has no such ending, but is rather condemned to live in an in-between, knowing that

36 he is not in his homeland but that there can be no return.

In Darwish’s novel, the exploration of memory and trauma transcends Keunen’s equilibrium and conflict chronotope genres and the specific chronotopes that Bakhtin put forth. There are elements of both: the isolated world that the narrator is trying to navigate is a sort of equilibrium, but then again, the narrator is not peaceful in his environment, nor can we place him in one isolated space. All we know of the narrator’s homeland are from the memories that he gives us glimpses of. In having no quest or goal, the conflicts that the narrator faces as well do not contribute to the construction of a proper conflict chronotope. In presenting the narrative through fragmented memories, senses, moments, Darwish strays from the usual confines of the narrative plot and defies the physical constraints of time and space. These literal parts of the novel reflect an internal state which is explored through a manipulation of space and time that allows the narrator to have a tripartite spatiotemporal existence: past, present, and future. The work transcends any known or theorized chronotopes that have been presented by Bakhtin himself or Keunen.

This specific configuration of time and space that Darwish uses is a diasporic chronotope.

SPACE (TOPOS)

For Darwish, both the narrator’s internal and external states are fragmented, uncertain and nostalgic. This fragmentation stems from the effects of the siege of Lebanon, being torn from the homeland and transplanted into an unfamiliar, threatening environment. Uncertainty comes from not knowing whether a bomb will drop within the next two minutes or within the next five.

Nostalgia is for coffee, his mother’s embrace, and freedom. Darwish, rather than describing his own emotions, allows us to gauge them through his description of place. He focuses on the juxtapositions between human flesh and metal, and the reader feels the narrator’s fragility. It is clear that the narrator struggles to place himself, whether it be in terms of citizenship, belonging, or simply placing oneself in a safe space in the middle of conflict. This is expressed by Darwish through the lack of place names in the narrative, aiming to have the reader share in this disorientation. The only space markers that Darwish uses are esoteric to him and others that have shared in his experiences. In doing this, “Spaces, in other words, are far from absolute in the reality of imagination” (Keunen 24). The space that Darwish exists in, from the range of the abstract space of exile, to the very specific street he stands in, are all manipulated and described in such a way that they serve as ways to explore fluid identity. In one instance, Darwish writes: “For ten years I’ve been living in Beirut in cement transiency. I try to unravel Beirut, and I become more and more ignorant of myself...How quickly it ends! And how quickly it begins...” (90). A

37 perfect example of how place is bound up with identity, the stagnancy of the political situation in Beirut is reflected by the narrator’s incapability to move on in his life: both his physical surroundings and mental state are crystallized in amber.

Darwish even extricates the narrator from place and uses just its description to emphasize his unique conception of existence. He combines the absence of temporal markers in the narrative with an absence of concrete place markers. Rather, the markers of place that the reader is provided with are experiences of Darwish that are associated with the place. They are sounds, smells, the things that one notices even when they don’t know exactly what is going on around them. In this sense, he writes, “But here, it’s the sound of bullets that tells you you’re in Beirut. The sound of bullets and the shriek of the slogans on the walls” (91). In these instances, the narrative takes on a more cinematic quality: “The sky sinks like a sagging concrete roof. The sea approaches, changing into dry land. Sky and sea are one substance, making it hard to breathe” (10). Darwish here conveys nostalgia, trauma, and exile in one fell swoop by emphasizing the portrayals of the homeland versus new territory. Darwish uses this concept of “landscaping cultural identities” in his literature to produce somewhat of the same effect (Savin 59). The description of Lebanon greatly reflects barren beauty and destitution contrasted by family and tradition bringing warmth to the devastated land.

Finally, Darwish confronts place and the idea of nostos. The book begins and ends with death which functions as a specific contextualized configuration of time and space. Death is the abstraction of a return to the homeland, which for Darwish the exile, is otherwise impossible. Dariwsh, both in actuality and as a narrator, cannot return to Palestine, nor to a peaceful Lebanon. In this sentence, Darwish emphasizes the exile’s experience: “...and between here and there they stretched their bodies like a vibrating bow until death celebrated itself through them” (13). The exile exists in two places at once. The exile feels that he belongs to one country, but it may not truly exist, or the citizenship of the exile might not be valid due to political changes. As the footnote on the page says, “Recurring throughout, “there” and “here” represent two poles of experience in the text. Literally, they are references to Palestine (there) and Lebanon (here)” (13). Palestine is the true homeland for the narrator, but impossible to reenter and to live in without fear for his life. Lebanon is the temporary home, it too going through changes, There are two liminal spaces that Darwish makes constant reference to: the halfway between Palestine and Lebanon, and the halfway between life and death: “Are you alive?” “In a middle region between life and death.” “As long as I’m dreaming, I’m alive; the dead don’t dream” (181-182). To the majority of people, there is one home, one culture, and one identity. The exile is privy to a

38 unique consciousness that turns these singularities to pluralities, and death is no exception. Death, in the absence of a homeland, becomes the ultimate nostos in Darwish’s narrative. This follows Rushdie’s concept of cultural transplantation (434). When circumstances make it impossible for the exile to return to the homeland, nostalgia and identity are centered around a place that no longer physically exists in any place other than the exile’s own imaginary narrative. In this case, the idyllic homecoming, once deemed impossible for the exile is replaced by return to the maker. Thus, in life, the exile only exists in a space where he is denied his own existence.

TIME (CHRONOS) Memory for Forgetfulness occurs within the span of a day. Yet this is difficult to gauge from the text itself due to the absence of temporal markers.

This creates a nebulous environment in which the reader finds themselves just as lost as the protagonist himself. Darwish chooses to manipulate time to convey the importance of memories and how they transcend the bounds of conventional time. For Darwish, this is specifically the type of intergenerational memory that stems from the loss of the homeland and exists in past, present, and future. These temporalities cannot be sectioned, but instead mimic the fluidity of identity that memory also emphasizes. Memory bridges past, present and future, it lets us exist in more than one place at the same time.

Memory allows us to be citizens of more than one country, citizens of the mind in homelands that we have by ourselves or collectively reconstructed away from conflict and pain.

Darwish asks “Does a bomb have grandchildren? Us. Does a piece of shrapnel have grandparents? Us.” (98). Darwish is not only applying this to his own current situation and the bombing of Beirut, but rather saying that the current event, his current predicament, is a byproduct of the previous centuries of conflict. He is both a grandchild of trauma and the parent of trauma. As Mariane Ferme says in Out of War, traumatic experiences exist in tension with the work of memory. Memory should theoretically distance the trauma from the present, but the body, through association of language often relives what ought to have been forgotten (65). Widely shared traumas are monoliths in the collective memory of those who lived through them.

This memory exits in the present along with the consciousness that the narrator exposes to the reader. This present is peppered with nostalgia, a yearning for what is now unattainable because of the very fact that time is in fact irreversible, a “longing for what is lacking in a changed present” (Divita 65). Nostalgia bridges past and present. It imbues past spatiotemporal existences with social meaning and allows for continued engagement with them.

Memory exists in the future too, in re-lived trauma dictating how the narra-

39 tor will interact with his environment. The awakening of experience happens multiple times within the span of a single day. Memory traverses the physical bounds of time in generational trauma, trauma from a recent past, and even trauma from indirectly learning about events. The memory that fuels an exile like Dariwsh, or a writer that is part of a diaspora is by virtue not just their own and cannot be grounded in one individual or time period, or chronotope.

CONCLUSION Darwish’s manipulation of space and time emphasize the unique experience that exiles are privy to, and the unique experience a reader of exile literature has. The anchors to the narrative, space and time, are manipulated in such a way that the important part of the story becomes the part that the protagonist cannot revisit except for in memory. The novel, for both the author and the reader, exists in a limbo where the events that are told have no point of reference, but the importance and verity that the exile attaches to them.

The chronotope is hinged on fluidity—the fluidity of time and space. Using this work to establish a diaspora chronotope, we find one common element: a sense of time and space that transcends physical bounds. The crux though is that all of these elements stem from Darwish’s intent to convey the importance of memory and trauma to the reader. These aspects of the novel bring it into multiple temporal and spatial existences.

Reading diaspora literature through the lens of the chronotope facilitates an understanding of how a distinct experience of spatiotemporality gives rise to a fluid existence and a fluid consciousness that surpasses the traditional limits of time and space. It is evident that major structural chronotopes are linked to Western literary genres-the epic, the idyll, the fable- but not the diasporan. Using a chronotopic approach to analyze Middle Eastern diaspora literature encourages the world to look beyond the prescriptive nature of genre and recognize that adaptive ability of diaspora literature to deviate from generic models. There is a twenty-year gap between the publication of Bakhtin’s work and the publication of Darwish’s. Bakhtin’s chronotopes have since been applied to many different genres of literature while Darwish’s diasporan work remains under the label of “third world literature.” The inability for diaspora literature to be analyzed by common tools and theories applied to the Western canon should not devalue it. Instead, in modifying critical theory such as Bakhtin’s chronotopes, and allowing it to take into account experiences and narratives of historically displaced peoples, diasporan narratives can regain their agency by telling their stories in a manner that stays true to their experiences. Viewing Memory for Forgetfulness through the chronotope gives “the East” a new frame of reference. In a chronotope where memory and trauma transcend physical bounds, the exile is free to exist in a conception of space and time that is free of an inherently imperialistic narrative history.

38

CONSTRUCTING A MODEL FOR HONOR

By Kobe Spells

Gendered Violence in Fadia Faqirâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pillars of Salt

I

42

n her 1996 novel Pillars of Salt, Fadia Faqir depicts the twin themes of imperialism and gendered violence in a Bedouin village in British Mandatory Jordan. In portraying language surrounding rape and sexual assault of women in the village, Faqir emphasizes the role of honor, shame, and purity as guiding moral forces in Jordanian society. Furthermore, through the hostile relationships between her main character Maha and other women in the novel, Faqir demonstrates the pervasive reach of this oppressive moral discourse as a source of “horizontal hostility,” or conflict among women within the context of a patriarchal system, among women in the village. In the context of an external assault upon Jordanian society, Faqir hints at a parallel between external and internal struggles for dignity and autonomy, inviting her reader to consider the connection between individual, communal, and national honor. In addition, the concept of horizontal hostility is closely related to the study of internalized misogyny, colorism, and other forms of internalized prejudice. I first argue that these two phenomena — “horizontal hostility” and the conception of women’s purity as a symbol of masculine and communal honor more broadly—are at the root of gendered violence in Pillars of Salt, forming this link by exploring the ubiquitous use of language surrounding honor and purity throughout the novel. I then briefly discuss what the novel suggests about the impact of imperialism on changing conceptions of male and female honor in the British mandate of Transjordan.

APPROACH This paper is unique in its effort to use unorthodox interpretations of the honor code in traditional Middle Eastern societies to understand how positive incentives for “horizontal hostility” contribute to the prevalence of gendered violence in the Middle East. Further, I draw upon works that explain the transformation of male honor under foreign occupation to understand how the twin plots of Palestinian Bedouin war with the British and communal instances of gendered violence are interconnected in the novel Pillars of Salt. In doing so, I will attempt to derive a logical model for how the forces of imperialism have the potential to alter societal conceptions of male and female honor and therefore influence the use of gendered violence within a community.

THEORETICAL CONTEXT Middle Eastern countries’ collective experience with Western imperialism is inextricably tied to their concerted efforts to preserve tradition and cultural norms. Further, the topic of gendered oppression in the Middle East has been a major focus in the discourse surrounding the region. However, research on the connection between anti-imperial resistance and gendered

43 violence has been limited. Central to establishing this connection is a nuanced understanding of the dynamics which link women’s chastity to masculinity and family honor.

Reframing Female Honor Lila Abu-Lughod contends that honor itself is subject to a gendered dichotomy that serves as the moral basis for hierarchy in Bedouin society.

While men derive honor from their perceived “capability or ability [to resist others through equal or greater strength],” and ‘agl - freedom from irrational judgement clouded by sentiment - women are considered to be unfit for such a metric. She argues, “[the] identification of women with both menstruation and sexuality is thought to preclude them, in different ways, from achieving the moral virtue of those who uphold the honor code” (Abu-Lughod 119). More precisely, due to the belief that women possess an uncontrollable predisposition to natural passions and desires which precludes rationality, women’s potential to achieve honor is limited to acts of deference towards hierarchical superiors (generally males) and the denial of one’s sexuality (152).

Abu Lughod’s conception of honor as being gendered, yet not exclusive to men, is a departure from previously accepted frameworks such as Alan Dundes and Alessandro Falassi’s, in which “honor has been represented as a reward which men bestow on other men based, in large part, on their women following a particular sexual code” (Baxter 741). In other words, there existed no female counterpart to honor but rather an exclusively female capacity for shame, the opposite of honor. Abu Lughod’s argument is unique therefore in its regard for women’s deference and the denial of their sexuality as the sources of female honor rather than the more limiting categorization of such behaviors as sources of ‘shame.’ While such linguistic discrepancies may appear to be inconsequential, they are indeed quite significant, as Abu Lughod’s novel conception of the potential for female honor opens a broader discussion of how women can occasionally practice dominance within a patriarchal society.

Such is the basis of Diane Baxter’s Honor Thy Sister, in which she expands upon Abu Lughod’s argument that honor is not exclusive to males by asserting that women can gain honor through their obedience as daughters, supportiveness as wives, and their devotion as mothers (748). Baxter adds that the dependence of men’s honor upon women’s chastity “gives women powerful leverage as they negotiate their relationships with male family members” (747). Thus, building upon Abu Lughod’s recognition of women’s potential to gain honor, Baxter has enumerated several of the ways in which women can exercise agency within a patriarchal order. In this regard, the two authors’ works provide a gateway to understanding the incentive structure that leads some women to enforce patriarchal norms, a broader discussion of which can be found in later sections.

44 This nuance is absent from previous analyses of honor in the Arab world, such as that of Peter C. Dodd, who focuses more heavily on explaining the symbolism of female chastity not only as the source of masculinity and male honor but of the honor of the entire family (40). Nonetheless, each of these three arguments agrees upon the exclusive responsibility of women for the honor of both themselves and men. This consensus calls attention to the double standard which excludes men from the moral scrutiny associated with preserving one’s virginity and feigning asexuality in one’s discussion of the opposite sex. Even within the institution of marriage, which is lauded as a prize for women’s successful conformity to the aforementioned norms, Dr. Claudia Yaghoobi argues that these pervasive double standards dominate. Specifically, in her historical discussion of sigheh, or temporary marriages, in Iran, Yaghoobi explains that “trial marriage was only endorsed for unmarried men but not for unmarried women due to the importance of female virginity for unmarried women” (53). Further, Yaghoobi’s discussion of sigheh women and sex workers is also useful in its argument that such women are “simultaneously objects of both fear and fascination” (158). This quote closely parallels the aforementioned discussion of honor by Baxter, in that the simultaneous male desire for sex and fear of women’s sexuality closely parallels the role of communal narratives surrounding honor in both empowering and entrapping Middle Eastern women.

Together, these sources provide a framework for understanding how the dynamics of honor in Bedouin society guide the decisions of the novel’s characters. In particular, Baxter’s argument that the honor code contains room for female dominance and pursuit of self-interests demonstrates the possibility for such scripts to be accepted and even reinforced by women, a phenomenon visible throughout the novel and central to the argument of this paper, which aims in part to explore how women reinforce narratives that perpetuate gendered violence. Further, Abu Lughod’s discussion of the denial of sexuality as a source of honor in Bedouin society is an optimal lens through which to interpret the story of romance between Maha and Harb in Pillars of Salt.

Horizontal Hostility

In their book, Threshold Concepts in Women and Gender Studies, Holly Hassel and Christie Launius term the enactment of internalized oppression through the policing of fellow members of a marginalized group “horizontal hostility” (94). One explanation for such a phenomenon is David Ghanim’s argument that “one way of coping with a harsh situation is to internalize prevalent moral norms to make social reality less painful and more acceptable and tolerable” (35). It follows from this argument that women will have an incentive not only to voluntarily defer to their male counterparts but also to enforce similar behavior in the socialization of younger generations with the goal of

45 easing their transition into a patriarchal society.

Shifting Paradigms of Gender under Imperialist Rule Also relevant to this paper’s analysis is an understanding of the effect of imperialism on the changing model of masculinity and male honor. Amalia Sa’ar and Taghreed Yahla-Younis argue that, in Palestinian communities within Israel, an “inward-turned wave of violence [emanates] from blocked paths to masculine performance” (305). While framed within the context of Palestinians living in Israel, the authors’ argument that the removal of “possibilities to accrue political and economic power” by the Israeli occupation limits the available scripts of male honor to violence is apt to describe the situation of many other groups subject to imperialism (308). Sa’ar and Yahla-Younis’s argument about blocked paths to masculinity is crucial to completing a model that connects imperialism with gendered violence and therefore serves as a lens through which to analyze the novel.

ANALYSIS In Pillars of Salt, almost no one is exempt from accusations of shame, not even the novel’s male characters. Among the most useful tools for developing a model for shame and honor in the book is Abu Lughod’s discussion of deference and denial of sexuality as the primary, if not sole, sources of female honor. First, Abu Lughod asserts that “denial [of sexuality] is necessary because the greatest threat to the social system and to the authority of those preferred by this system is sexuality itself” (119).This is most evident in instances where “the Storyteller,” a satirically written narrator who criminalizes the novel’s protagonist through a ridiculous alternative description of events, actively characterizes Maha’s sexuality as evil and chaotic throughout the novel. For example, in his account of a sexual encounter by the Dead Sea between Harb and Maha, he describes the scene as “a fierce struggle” in which Harb attempts to “[resist] her spell” as she tries to “capture his soul by immersing him in that sea of demons” (61). Further, Harb’s resistance isolates Maha’s sexuality, rather than the act itself, as a source of demonic evil. Again, when Maha receives an extremely painful treatment designed to increase her fertility and answer to the incessant demands of the community that she bear a son, she expresses unequivocally that she “felt like [she] was dead and was about to be fried in hell” (74). Yet, the Storyteller tells an opposite tale, recalling how she was “swimming in pleasure” when she emerged from the treatment (88).

Finally, when Maha gives birth to Mubarak, the Storyteller continues his relentless slander, claiming that “evil gave birth to evil and will outlast us all,” and assigning non-human, presumably jinn-like characteristics to the newborn (141).

Together, these three examples demonstrate the demonization of

46 women’s sexuality and reproduction in the novel. This finding is significant in that it reaffirms Abu-Lughod’s argument that women’s sexuality and reproductive roles, in addition to menstruation, are “seen as a handicap to their ability to attain the same level of moral worth as men” and subsequently are viewed as disqualifying women from the possibility of honor through the masculine scripts of self-control, coercion, and rational judgement (124).

As Abu-Lughod makes clear, the disqualification of women from moral equality has important implications for the expression of femininity and the potential for female honor. In particular, the novel demonstrates abundantly the necessity for females to vigilantly guard an appearance of asexuality in order to avoid the permanent label of shame. The most prominent example of this pressure comes when Harb expresses his desire to meet with Maha at night. Despite his confession that he hopes to marry her, she exclaims defensively, “Are you mad? For a girl to be out at night is a crime of honor. They will shoot me between the eyes” (10). After declining Harb’s invitation, she is shocked that Harb wants to marry her in spite of her decision not to see him.

She asks, “Harb wanted to marry me?! But I hadn’t ventured out of the house last night. My mother, Allah bless her soul, told me that men were birds of prey; they chased the quarry as long as it was alive and struggling, but when they had killed it and filled their stomachs, they look around for another.” She concludes, “just like any man in our tribe, he proposed to me because I said no” (16). Here it becomes evident to the reader that Maha’s deceased mother instilled in her at an early age that a woman’s value in the eyes of men, and, by extension her honor, rested upon her denial of sexual or even romantic interest in men. This ideal is not limited to men, however; when she experiences great joy during her wedding ceremony, she insists that she “must not let the women of the tribe see how excited [she] was” (22). The pervasiveness of this conception of female honor and its association with asexuality is linked closely to the fear of women’s sexuality as a source of social disorder or fitna.

Constructing a model for men’s honor is more complicated. The importance of land to the masculine honor system is evident through Maha’s father’s wish that Daffash were “a peasant capable of digging his hands into the soil and transforming that piece of land into a green orchard” rather than a “womanizer and a city worshipper” (20-21). The attribution of male honor to land is arguably associated with the role of men as breadwinners and protectors for their women and children. However, the reader witnesses a progression throughout the novel, in which Sheikh Nimer’s weakness and old age and Daffash’s negligent absence from the farm inevitably leads to the former’s reliance—however reluctant—upon Maha as the plough woman of the land.

Upon his deathbed, he finally declares “this land must go to its ploughman. No, plough woman. The land is yours, Maha. That is my will. I have said it in front

47 of the imam and Raai. Daffash does not deserve one span of it. It belongs to your son after you” (180). Much prior to this realization, Maha says “since I was a woman, he did not want me to work in the field because it was exhausting and shameful” (20). Though one might interpret the “shameful” nature of work in the field as a reflection upon the morality of the woman who engages in it, it seems more likely that such shame is attributed to the men in her family who have presumably failed in the eyes of their community to perform their role as providers and “plough men.”

Thus, it is important to note that Faqir has portrayed the potential for changing economic conditions and challenging circumstances to reshape societal frameworks for male and female honor. In this regard, this development throughout the novel opens a broader discussion of how the experiences of imperialism and modernization transform ideals of male and female honor.

In “Masculinity in Crisis,” Baxter asserts that conditions such as the loss of land holdings and the inability to provide economically have caused Palestinian men in the Occupied Territories to construct masculinities “that enshrine militaristic notions of active and bloody combat.” Her model, which represents the rise of more violent and nationalistic conceptions of masculinity among Palestinians, provides great insight on the relationship between economic imperialism, “blocked scripts” of masculinity, and domestic violence (310).

Yet, while this model provides a convenient link between the understanding of “blocked scripts” of masculinity and domestic violence, such a link is less apparent within Pillars of Salt for two reasons. First, the bloody resistance and martyrdom which Baxter describes as an “enshrined” source of masculine honor in the modern-day context is intentionally deemphasized by the men of Hamia. When Maha attempts to initiate a discussion about ‘Hakim,’ a personification or “embodiment of Arabs’ anger and resistance,” Harb denies the continuation of the resistance saying, “It is better for him to stay underground. He must not be seen” (Faqir 55). Though there is some talk of the resistance, it is by no stretch utilized by Harb or his comrades to assert their masculinity by gleaning honor from their participation therein. Further, the connection between external forces of oppression and the internal dynamics of gender violence is complicated by the simple fact that Harb, who seems to bear the brunt of the resistance against the Mandate and indeed sacrifices his life in the pursuit of said resistance, does not once participate in or insinuate a threat of violence against Maha or any other woman in the novel. Rather, it is her brother Daffash, who is arguably the complete opposite of Harb, particularly in his willful and embarrassing acquiescence to the process of assimilation and economic imperialism, that epitomizes the ideal of masculinity rooted in the control and brutal repression of women’s sexuality.

Despite his reputation as a perpetrator of adultery, a rapist, and a ser-

48 vant of the Mandatory government, Daffash appears to act with the support of not only the other ordinary men of Hamia, but even religious figures. When he accuses women of having “no brain and no faith,” “the imam [nods] his head approvingly,” and “the men [laugh] in unison” and, when he attempts to choke Maha to death, “the men [stand] under the palm trees watching” (218). Here, it is apparent that Daffash’s violence against Maha is seen as a natural response to protect his masculine honor in the face of Maha’s insubordination. The people of Hamia, then, are capable of looking past Daffash’s disrespect of his heritage and neglect of family land––traits that Maha embodies exceptionally––in order to measure him instead in his ability to control his sister through whatever means necessary. It is obvious that control of women, rather than land or heritage, is the dominant source of male honor in the setting of the novel. Due to Daffash’s use of violence and the lack thereof in Harb’s storyline, it is not clear that there is a connection between blocked paths to masculinity due to imperialism and resistance and the use of gendered violence in the novel, at least not in the way that this connection is manifested in modern-day Israel/Palestine.

Nonetheless, the narrative which privileges internalized shame and deference as a source of female honor in fear of unrestricted female sexuality is undoubtedly connected to the use of gendered violence. For example, when Maha is physically abused by Daffash for “[humiliating him] in front of [his] friends,” Huala eagerly endorses Daffash’s actions, saying “I will open my mouth and spit on Maha’s face. She is a disobedient girl and deserves to be beaten up” (164, 165). Here, the concept of horizontal hostility is manifested most bluntly (Hassel and Launius 94). However, while Huala’s internalization of the narrative that female disobedience is so shameful as to merit physical punishment creates a clearly antagonistic relationship between her and Maha, other examples demonstrate more accurately the pervasiveness of the phenomenon of “horizontal hostility” even among those whom one might least expect. Maha’s mother, for one, asks a young Maha who has just been slapped

by Daffash, “what do you expect? He is a boy. Allah placed him a step higher.

We must accept Allah’s verdict” (33). The epitome of internalized shame in the novel, however, occurs when Maha passes judgement upon the English and city-going outsiders whom Daffash brings home. Disdained by the revealing clothing of the foreign women, Maha “started laughing at city women who had no sense of shame”. She is joined by Hamda, who asserts, “they are used to it, my sister. By Allah, the men get bored with them very quickly. They show them everything, but we hid our treasures. When Flayyeh sleeps with me he feels as if he had conquered the cities of Andalusia” (34). This dialogue provides a prime example of one of the greatest incentives for “horizontal hostility”—the casting of shame upon other women in order to create a self-image of com-

49 parative honorability. In fact, the language used here closely parallels that of women in the Bedouin tribe upon whom Abu-Lughod’s own research is based, who are quoted as dismissing the behaviors of Egyptian women by saying, “Oh, she is a peasant. They don’t care. They have no shame” (48). By comparison, the earlier example of Maha’s mother’s declaration that violence against women is a natural product of the divinely-ordained hierarchy between men and women can be interpreted through the lens of Ghanim’s argument: “when patriarchal injunctions are perceived to be legitimate, mothers transmit to their daughters the very same social values that have dictated their lives” (34).

Yet, as the example with Maha’s shaming of the outsiders demonstrates, the internalization of patriarchal social values is not nearly sufficient to escape the brutal reality perpetuated by such moral norms.

CONCLUSION Working in tandem with Abu-Lughod’s discussion of female scripts of honor, Christie & Lainus and Ghanem’s arguments about the process of “horizontal hostility” and the underlying incentives for such behaviors provide a useful framework for understanding the role of internalized shame in perpetuating gendered violence in the novel Pillars of Salt. With that being said, Baxter’s argument about blocked pathways of masculinity less closely parallels the events of the novel as they unfold. This discrepancy is most evident when Daffash’s unapologetic appeal to the favor of Mandatory authorities and his reliance upon violent control of his sister to achieve honor are contrasted to Harb and other resistance fighters’ denial of the resistance and their rejection therein of a potential source of masculine honor rooted in violence and nationalism. Ultimately, it is the communal traitor who alienates himself from the resistance, rather than the brave nationalist, that perpetrates domestic violence against the protagonist. It is possible, however, to extrapolate Baxter’s argument about the changing ideals of male and female honor under imperialist economic and social pressures to track the broadening of Maha’s father’s ideals about land and honor to become inclusive of females. Thus, it should still be said that externally-imposed processes of economic and social change have the potential to alter traditional notions of honor, femininity, and masculinity, a phenomenon which Faqir artfully demonstrates.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank the esteemed Dr. Claudia Yaghoobi for her academic direction as the professor of the course and curriculum that inspired this paper, and for her tremendous contribution to its refinement and revision.

Interview with Cover Artist Alia Zabarah Hi Alia, thank you so much for joining us today!

Can you tell us a bit about how you started photography and why you love this medium of art in particular? ‫أحب التصوير ألن في وضعنا الحالي لم ارى امامي سوا الجانب الفني‬ ‫ألستطيع اظهار الجانب الجميل الذي ما زال موجوداً رغم الحروب واألسى‬ .‫ وبدأته منذ ثالث اعوام من االن‬.‫الواقع على بالدنا‬ Translation: I love photography because all I see before me in our current situation is art. It allows me to show the beautiful side [of Yemen] that still exists despite the wars and the grief that befell our country. I started photography three years ago.

How old were you when you started taking photographs? ‫ ألن الكثير من يتابعوني على صفحتي الخاصة على االنستقرام‬،‫هذا سؤال جيد‬ ‫ حاليا ً عمري في السادسة‬.‫ويرون اعمالي يتفاجأون عندما اخبرهم بعمري‬ .‫عشر سنة وبدأت التصوير وانا في الثالثة عشر سنة‬ Translation: This is a good question, because a lot of people follow me on my Instagram profile and see my work, and they are surprised when I tell them my age. Currently, I am sixteen years old and started filming when I was thirteen years old.

How and where did you study or learn photography? ‫من خالل متابعتي بكثرة للفنانين الكبار وانا ارى ان الفن يلهمك الكثير لتعمل‬ .‫بشكل أكثر وتتعلم من خالل ممارستك له‬ Translation: By following a lot of great artists, I see the art that inspires me a lot to work more and then learn through my practice.

Where are you currently in Yemen and what is the situation there? How is the situation affecting you? ‫انا اسكن في العاصمة صنعاء وهي مدينة تعبر بمبانيها عن الفن بحد ذاته‬

‫ اما عن حالنا فنحن مستائين لما نحن عليه ولكن الفن غرز‬،‫وتراثها االصيل‬ ‫ في‬.‫فينا االمل والنهوض لتعود بالدنا التي بتراثها هي التي ألهمتنا هذا الفن‬ ‫الحقيقة ال يوجد مواطن يمني لم يتأثر بما يمر عليه من حروب واوضاع‬ ‫ ولكن انا‬،‫ فالبعض اثر عليه ايجابيا ً والبعض اثر عليه بشكل سلبي‬،‫سيئة‬ ‫دفعني الى االتجاه الى الفن لربما يكون هو الجانب االيجابي الذي يعيد لوطني‬ ‫اليمن صورته الجميلة في عين العالم وليست الصورة التي تملؤها الحزن‬ .‫والحروب‬ Translation: I live in the capital, Sanaa, which is a city that expresses art in itself and its original heritage with its buildings. As for our condition, we are upset about what’s happening, but art has instilled us with hope and advancement, so that our country, whose heritage inspired us, inspired this art. In fact, there is no Yemeni citizen who has not been affected by what he is going through in terms of wars and bad conditions.

Some have been affected positively and some have been affected negatively, but it pushed me to the direction of art. Perhaps it is the positive side that restores to my country, Yemen, its beautiful image in the eye of the world and not the image that is filled with grief and wars.

Have you received any recognition of your photography thus far in Sana? ‫ ربما ما يشجعني اكثر على فني هو تشجيع اهلي واصدقائي على‬،‫نعم‬ ‫ وتقوم هنا الكثير من المعارض والتي اعتبرها طريقة‬،‫االستمرار فيما اقدمه‬ .‫لعرض الفن الخاص بي‬ Translation: Yes, perhaps what encourages me most to do my art is my family and friends who encourage me to continue what I do. And there are many exhibitions here, which I consider a way to display my art.

What are some of the exhibitions? ‫بقية المعارض التي شاركت فيها كانت مدرسية واخر معرض شاركت فيه‬ .Phone Art Yemen ‫كان‬ Translation: The rest of the exhibitions that I participated in were schools, and the last exhibition I participated in was Phone Art Yemen.

What is your inspiration for the cover art, in particular? ‫ نزلت منشور على صفحتي على االنستقرام عن احد التراث العربي‬، ‫اوه نعم‬ ‫ وعندما نشرت هذه‬.‫ هذه القطعة الحمراء تدعى بصمادة‬.‫وهي الصمادة‬ ‫الصورة شاركت بها في معرض‬ .Phone Art Yemen Translation: Oh yes, I posted a post on my Instagram page about one of the Arab heritage and it is Al-Samada [below].

This red piece is called Bisamada [right]. When I published this photo [below], I participated in the Phone Art Yemen exhibition. ‫وهذه الصورة اخذت في المعرض تكملة لعرضي عن موضوع الصمادة‬ ‫ اما عن الصور المعلقة على الحائط هذه‬،‫العربية والتي توحي بالوحدة والقوة‬ .‫مشاركة زمالئي الفنانين‬

Bisamada ‫بصمادة‬ Translation: And this picture [above] was taken in the exhibition as a continuation of my presentation on the subject of Arab Sunday, which suggests unity and strength.

As for the pictures hanging on the wall, this is the participation of my fellow artists [also shown in the Phone Art Yemen exhibition].

Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to speak with us. Is there anything else you would like to add? ‫ بالدنا جميلة جداً فهي توحي بالفن ابتدا ًء من المباني انتقاالً إلى مجتمعها‬،‫نعم‬ ‫الذي يمارس الفن بحرفية انتها ًء بتراثها الجميل فما علينا هو نطور من هذا‬ .‫الفن لنعكس النظرة االيجابية عنها وهذا هو دورنا تجاه وطننا على األقل‬ ‫وأنا اشجع بقية اصدقائي على االستمرار بتقديم فنهم الخاص واشجع كل فنان‬ .‫صاعد على هذا الوطن‬ Yes, our country is very beautiful as it displays art from its buildings to its society that practices art professionally to its beautiful heritage. So, what we have to do is develop this art to reflect a positive view of [Yemen]. This is our role in our homeland at least.

I encourage the rest of my friends to continue presenting their own art, and I encourage every emerging artist to come to this country.

Al-Samada ‫الصمادة‬

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juhood