The final weekend of November has been smothered by sheer emotion. Every ounce of my flesh and soul has been overwhelmed with the murder of a 22 year old who I never met. I've never seen him or his family members, but this one tragedy has been the centre of my weekend. His pictures, soulless body and mourning lovers showed how real the challenge is. In our little community centre; the small mosque which is used as a school, recreation centre, social club and wedding hall was transformed for the first time in my generation, into a place of panic and confusion. EVERYONE, I mean EVERY single last person whose ever entered that centre asked "how in God's name have we succmbed to such a tragic way of life?"
I will brief my readers on the mentality of my people: Lebanese Muslim-Shia's tend to known for strong faith and an adherence to islamo-arabic traditions. Much of these traditions are beautiful and are lessons for the world, some of these traditions need to be challenged. But all in all, we, as a people have prided ourselves on resisting an oppressive machine, transformed from secular to Godly, and being beautiful.
The murdered young man was targeted. It was planned, first degree murder. There was a score to be settled for some reason. The members of my community are whispering rumours of drugs and a gang-related lifestyle. But I will leave these questions unanswered - as the Muslims say "Allah-who-alam" God know's best. Because we really have no idea what happened and why he was shot to death.
But whatever the issue is, I lay the responsibility of this man's death on us. Myself, and the village that held the responsibility of raising a man to not ever been involved with such people. Us, you, me, him, her. The father holding the rosary listening to the Imam speak. The mother looking chatting with her counterpart. The 20-something young man who prefers to smoke sheesha and shoot pool and chase skets instead of come to centre to enlighten their hearts. A community that failed to look after it's as if was their own. The village is responsibile for his death, regardless of what the reason was for his planned murder. We all have a hand in this.
I am bloody-f*cking-angry. At the ignorant people who are ONLY focused on their personal affairs. The people who are so possessed by this foul world. This awful planet- that uses the blood of the innocent to water the flowers and foliage which fools us to believe that life is pretty.
I am angry at the fathers who claim they tried, but gave up. I am angry at the men who had good intentions, but did a poor job at manifesting them. I am angry at the gossiping mother. I am angry at the mother's who didn't come together to intervene on behalf of their friend's son. I am angry at the young men who know the truth, but couldn't care less about it. I am angry at the young women, too overwhelmed by the pursuit of (false) love. I am VEXED, Furious with the SELFISH.
ME ME ME, MY MY MY....and at the same time....not my business, not my problem, not my son, not my daughter. Too late.
He's now your son, he's now your daughter, hes now MY brother. I am just as guilty as the ones I am angry with.
Calm Down Neil - Calm Down.... Think...think....think about what Malcom X said (may God rest his pure soul)
"Anger is A Gift".
Productive anger - Anger that moves you in the right direction, anger that makes you want to readjust society from what it is, to what it ought to be.
Alright, now my fire is directed.....I know what to do...
I will let know later on what it is, and if it worked.