- Meditation Massage… November 13, 2018
- Peace with Petals… November 12, 2018
- Barn Yard… November 12, 2018
- Twilight Meditation… November 12, 2018
- Swing Meditation November 12, 2018
- Mystic in Mystic… November 12, 2018
- The Mirror Effect… November 12, 2018
- Nature Immersion… November 12, 2018
- Anubis Yoga November 12, 2018
- Cheese Meditation November 12, 2018
Category Archives: Blog
In the winter of 1960, around the same time that four black college students were taking their seats at a lunch counter in Greensboro, Malcolm X set up a string of high profile debates to elevate his platform and challenge mainstream civil rights organizations who were pushing for integration. Between 1960 and 1964, Malcolm participated in more than twenty formal debates, including at Yale Law School, where he argued against integration and made a case for Islam as a remedy for America’s ills.
Malcolm’s impressive intellect and brilliant oratory skills had been honed at the Norfolk Prison Colony where was a member of the prison debate team which debated student teams from Harvard, Yale, Boston University, MIT, and Holy Cross. Malcolm easily won every single debate he participated in while in prison. Malcolm thrived on the lost art of debate; for him, confrontation and communication were prime pathways for the revelation of truth. Malcolm debated integrationist black men with whom disagreed, and he debated racist white men with whom he disagreed. He believed that raw debate face-to-face was necessary to “clear the air of the racial mirages, clichés, and lies.”
In September 1960, the month before Malcolm came to speak at Yale Law School, Malcolm was rubbing elbows with Fidel Castro at the Hotel Theresa in Harlem, where Castro also met with Nikita Khrushchev, President Gamal Abdel Nasser, and Jawaharlal Nehru. Castro had agreed to move to the hotel uptown on Malcolm’s suggestion, after a spat about the bill at the Hotel Shelburne in midtown. Castro thought being situated in Harlem would help him convince black Americans to support the new Cuba and his plans for liberating Afro-Cubans from their oppression.
When Malcolm took his place in the hallowed halls of Yale Law School before a standing-room-only audience on Oct 17th, 1960, he declared: “The western world is sick. America is sick.” By chance, on that very same day, Vice-President Nixon spoke with a much smaller crowd on the New Haven Green about getting tough with dictators like Castro and Khrushchev “whose objective is to conquer the world by any means if necessary.” Separated by just a few blocks in geography, Malcolm’s call for the complete separation of the races and Nixon’s strong man capitalist politics were gulfs apart. What united them, however, was that both men welcomed the presence of the opposition at their events – unimaginable in today’s highly partisan political circus.
Malcolm began his talk at Yale Law School appealing for minds to kept open and reason to prevail. He said: “In this crucial hour in which we live today, it is essential that our minds constantly be kept open to reality. We have both races here in this Yale Law School Auditorium tonight. Let us not be emotional. Let us be governed and guided only by facts.” Joining him on stage was NAACP national youth secretary Herbert Wright who was a grassroots organizer of college students and a champion of nonviolent protests, having organized numerous sit-ins across the South.
Minutes before the debate began, Malcolm followed Herb into the men’s room to talk strategy. After looking under all the stalls to make sure no one was listening, he said, “You hit ‘em high, and I’ll hit ‘em low. You’re going to be the State Department, and I’m going to be the War Department. But we’re going to be respectful of each other.” In our current anti-intellectual moment marked by vapid vitriol and toxic rage, such an expression of solidarity with an adversary seems counter-intuitive and strange. While Herb would argue for pushing change through litigation, legislation, and registration, Malcolm would call for reparations, land, and a return to the soul.
Malcolm stated his purpose for speaking at Yale Law School directly: “We have accepted your invitation to come here to Yale University Law School this evening to let you know first-hand why 20 million so-called Negroes cannot integrate with white America, why white America, after 100 years of religious hypocrisy and political trickery will never accept us as first-class citizens here.” Malcolm appealed for African-Americans to be given the “right to hold their heads up, and to live in dignity like other human beings.” Long before intersectionality was a buzzword, he traced how racism drove and shaped postcolonial conflicts in Congo, Algeria, South Africa, China, Cuba, and Panama.
At Yale Law, speaking to future foreign policy makers and legislators, Malcolm assailed America for its failure on the domestic and global stage to solve the race problem, and blamed this failure on western diplomats, learned politicians, theologians, legal experts, sociologists, and civil rights leaders. If there was to be a savior, he asked, would such a man of God “be someone from Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Howard, or Tuskegee?” White or black? Theologian or preacher? Who best to deliver the world from “such propaganda, mass lies, mass suspicion, mass confusion, mass dissatisfaction, mass unrest, mass hatreds…and the ingredients for such mass bloodshed.”
Malcolm decried America’s “great loss of prestige” in the world despite the “advice of her expert advisors,” and noted the decline of British global influence: “when the sun rises, we can hardly find the British Empire.” He noted the oversized influence the American president exerts upon the world, noting that America’s “president is almost like a ‘god,’ for he has in his hands almost every other country on this earth” and thus the “eyes of even the foreign nations are turned toward the American elections” as they too must know “what type of man will be the next ‘god.’”
In his debate at Yale Law School, Malcolm X proposed Islam as a solution to the country and world’s ills. He said, “My friends, Islam is the religion taught by all of the prophets: Noah, Lot, Abraham, Moses, and even Jesus. Islam is the true name of the religion God gave to the prophets in the past to cure their people of whatever moral or spiritual ailments that were afflicting them in that day.” One can only wonder how a black nationalist Muslim freedom fighter today would be received in reciting these exact words in such an elitist space – he or she would likely end up dead too, just sooner.
In front of the most elite crowd in education, Malcolm unflinchingly dared to speak truth to power, and exploited the privileged position of his audience at Yale Law to drive home his powerful argument for reparations. He stated: “If I were to collect the combined wages of everyone in this Yale University Law School auditorium tonight for just one week, I would have plenty of money. If I could work all of you for nothing for just one year I would be extremely rich. Well, what about the millions of black people who worked here in America as your slaves for over 300 years without one payday? What happened to their wages? Who collected the profits, or amassed the fortunes received from their free labor? Facing these unpleasant facts, surely you can easily see now how America became so rich so fast.” He personalized the matter, forcing his elite, white audience to step outside their privilege and into the subjectivity of black people by presenting a theoretical parallel to reveal the injustice of unpaid slave labor and just need for reparations.
When the debate at Yale Law concluded, Nation of Islam members wove through the crowd of elite white students to sell records with “A White Man’s Heaven is a Black Man’s Hell.” Malcolm and Herb would go on to spar at City College, but the race debate at Yale did not abate in the wake of their visit. When Strom Thurmond visited the Yale Political Union the following year, he defined himself as a “regular old-line Democrat of the states-rights, free-enterprise, and individual liberty, who feels that the New Deal-Fair Deal element pirated the party name and perverted it with socialism and communism.” Weeks after his visit, the Yale Political Union hosted Ralph McGill, publisher of the Atlanta Constitution, who attacked Thurmond’s views and passionately argued for the desegregation of schools in the south – his pleas were no match though for the conservative student coalition that voted down a resolution urging the federal government to push for desegregation.
Inspired by these debates on campus about race, a bunch of young men from Yale (led by Augustus Kingsolving) decided to spend their spring break studying racial injustice in the Deep South, where they planned to meet with representatives of the NAACP, the American Legion, and various civil rights groups. Along the way, as part of their scrappy “Project Truck,” they met with student president Jesse Jackson at North Carolina A&T, stayed on plantations owned by Yale alums, and attended white citizen councils that opposed integration. In our racially charged present, where white men are suspiciously absent from the front lines in dismantling racism, the civil rights activism of these and other privileged young white men from the 1960s seems even more radical than it was at the time.
As for Malcolm X and Herb Wright, in 1961 an undergraduate student named Richard Holbrooke at Brown University invited them both up to Providence for a debate, after the buzz about their stellar spar at Yale Law had spread. But when Malcolm arrived in Rhode Island, he was told that Herb would not be debating him after all, due to a new policy passed by the NAACP which barred members of the organization from debating him — so as not to dignify his views. Though Malcolm and Herb’s dueling days were done, their dynamite duet to be danced no more, they had become friends in the fire despite their differing views, and Malcolm was disappointed to have to give a speech at Brown — instead of ride high in another debate.
For Malcolm, debate was a super highway to personal and communal transformation. Rooted in ideas and facts, not opinions and feelings, debate was an honest and necessary act to reveal truth and convince even the most elite and hateful of his cause. It was not an exercise in civility but a radical strategy in facing one’s enemy head-on and pushing for social change. A debate was not passive or sedate – it was a public exorcism of hate. To win, Malcolm drew upon every asset he had, including his disarming wit – and often liked to smile when going in for the kill. There was joy in the hunt; a surety in victory not victimhood.
Malcolm X’s good friend Muhammad Ali, who himself relished a good fight, said of his friend: “He’s nothing but a fellow who was an ex-dope addict, a prisoner, a jailbird who had no education, couldn’t read or write, who heard about the honorable Elijah Muhammad, who took him off the streets, cleaned him up and educated him enough to go out and debate and you might say defeat any opponent that he met.” Any opponent that he met – be it Ivy League debates teams in jail or the youth president of the NAACP at Yale Law School.
Malcolm X began his speech at Yale Law School with an appeal for minds to “constantly be kept open” and he ended it with these parting words: “I trust you will weigh well these words.” He knew all too well that critical and open minds, along with rigorous and informed debate, are the bedrocks of a healthy democracy and any hope for justice and social change among the elite. In the halls of the Ivy League — Yale, Harvard, Dartmouth, and Brown — the academic centers of elite power and privilege, Malcolm’s words were not censored or muzzled. He was given a stage to criticize American culture and politicians and make his case for the transcendent potential of Islam to heal personal and communal wounds.
Before he died, after coming back from hajj in Mecca, Malcolm X was no longer arguing for segregation or integration – but recognition as a human being. In his Easter Sunday sermon in 1961, Yale’s chaplain, William Sloane Coffin, said: “Enough of these less than halfway measures! There is something pathetic about people running around lighting lights when what we need is to have the whole bloody night come to an end.” But our national nightmare marches on, as we look on in horror, light some more lights, and refuse to do the real work necessary to confront hate and elite corruption head-on and deliver what’s right with an unshakeable might.
article in the New Yorker on polyglots which profiles a male polyglot who hit the streets of Malta to learn Maltese (as a hyperpolyglot and woman, I was disappointed to see they only interviewed on woman in this long article). Anyway, the article (which felt oh so familiar) brought back fond memories of my summer adventure in Malta, and perhaps if I ever catch up to myself I will be able to post some photographs from both Malta and Gozo.It’s been a very busy summer, filled with travel and research. I kicked off the summer in Malta, where I was invited to present my research at an international conference at the University of Malta entitled, “Emerging Disability Issues: Varieties of Disability Activism and Disability Studies.” I did find some time, however, to tweet about my adventures in learning Maltese — the grammar of which I had the opportunity to teach at the American University of Beirut. So I was surprised today to find an
I’ve been lucky to work in television, film, and theatre with a number of artists with impressive comedy chops of their own, like John Krasinski, Olympia Dukakis, Cynthia Nixon, Jennifer Aniston, Meg Ryan, Matthew Broderick, Aasif Mandvi, Tara Summers, David Walton, Faith Ford, John Ritter, Tim Allen, Kirstie Alley, Andy Dick, Jesse Martin, Jordan Carlos, Jay Mohr, Dominick Dunne, Kevin Bacon, Jerry Orbach, and Griffin Dunne. But for me, Maria Bamford is really something else — a comedy genius purely her own. She’s on a whole ‘nother plane — and rarely have I encountered a mind that can make so many connections so quickly and with such riveting hilarity.
I could go on and on about how her performance left me with a ruptured appendix from laughing so hard — and inspired me with its raw honesty and moral conscience, but I’m still digesting the “experience” (I am tempted to write a think piece about it, stay tuned). All this to say, if you have the opportunity to see her live — DO. It’s an experience unlike any other — and you’ll be thinking about it afterwards for many days and even weeks to come. Also, at a time when suicide and depression are headline news, Maria’s comedy creates a welcome and needed space in which mental illness stigma and shame are tossed to the wind, and being human in all of its messiness and terror is not only normalized but transformed into comedic high art. Ave Maria — thank you for being so bloody funny — and you, completely, you.
My first excursion after touching down in Addis Ababa during the Eid holiday was a walking food tour of the capital. Culinary tourism is a new concept in East Africa, so I was especially excited to join with an enthusiastic group of Europeans and Ethiopians to visit three restaurants in one night to sample traditional vegetarian, fish, and meat dishes. Ethiopian food is my favorite cuisine in the world, so I was in absolute heaven as I went to grab my first piece of injera – the sponge-like sourdough bread that is used in place of a plate and utensils.
Since I am vegetarian, I stuck to the palette pleasing globs of carrots, potatoes, cabbage, lentils, collard greens, string beans, split peas, and beets, while my new friends branched out and tried raw beef delicacies and Nile perch. My personal favorite dish is shiro – an orange chickpea stew cooked with berbere sauce — that I ended up eating every day of my trip. I am a total shiro addict and not ashamed.
Since many Ethiopians are Orthodox Christians and traditionally eat vegetarian dishes on Wednesdays and Fridays, all restaurants carry a “fasting menu” – a magnificent medley of meatless dishes – so vegetarians are always welcome. Our food tour concluded with a traditional coffee ceremony consisting of fresh brewed Ethiopian coffee and popcorn.
The National Museum was my first stop the following morning as I was eager to visit the home of “Lucy,” the famous partial skeleton of the most ancient early human – or hominin – ever found. In Amharic, Ethiopians call her Dinkinesh, which means “you are marvelous” — and she is. After studying the museum’s famed skeletons, ancient Sabaean inscriptions, and Emperor Haile Selassie’s enormous carved wooden throne, my guide and I headed up the eucalyptus lined road leading to Mount Entoto, the highest peak in Addis Ababa to explore Emperor Menelik II’s thatch-roofed palace, the technicolor striped church of Saint Mary, and the best vistas in the capital. We ended our day at Tomoca Cafe to sip the best coffee in the world.
The next day I flew north to explore Ethiopia’s famous UNESCO World Heritage Sites. First up was Axum, the center of the ancient Aksumite Kingdom, considered the holiest city in Ethiopia and thus a popular place of pilgrimage. I was most eager to see its ancient towering stelae, which are thousands of years old. As an Egyptologist, I felt right at home at this impressive archaeological site and delighted in contemplating its possible connections to ancient Egypt.
Axum is chock full of archaeological sites – so bring your Indiana Jones hat when exploring its dark and dusty underground tombs and your reading glasses to marvel at the multilingual inscriptions on the 4th century Ezana Stone – which documents the conversion of King Ezana to Christianity and his conquest of ancient Sudan. This unique trilingual monument – often referred to as the Rosetta Stone of Ethiopia – features Ge’ez (Classical Ethiopic), South Arabian Sabaean, and Greek. We also wandered through the archaeological ruins believed by Ethiopians to be the palace of the Queen of Sheba and her royal bath, a solid rock hewn reservoir which has been used as a water source for millennia.
Lucky for me, I was in Axum for Ethiopian New Year, called “Enkutatash” in Amharic. This joyous holiday in September marks the end of the rainy season, when the yellow daisies dotting the hills are in full bloom. At 5 am, my guide and I slipped into the streets, and through the darkness spotted hundreds of people wrapped in white shrouds walking from all directions towards the outdoor mass in the city center. It was like Halloween but completely silent and with a somber and surreal feel. The priests processed regally through the sea of white bodies, carrying a replica of the Ark of the Covenant which they laid atop an altar as prayers were recited in Ge’ez. Each one of us lit a candle, which we carried with us as we marched through the streets in an orderly and spirited procession as the sun began to rise.
Whether I was crashing a wedding to take photographs or asking for permission to study saintly paintings in religious manuscripts up close, everyone in Axum was very friendly and accommodating. I was even invited to attend choir practice, and watched with amazement as dozens of men sang while shaking silver sistrums — ritualistic rattles that go all the way back to Hathor and Isis cult worship in ancient Egypt. Since I was the first professor to teach Ge’ez (the liturgical language of Ethiopian Christians) in the modern Middle East while at the American University of Beirut, to behold sacred texts in situ written in this ancient Semitic language – the grammar and vocabulary of which is close to Arabic — was a dream come true.
According to the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, the Biblical Ark of the Covenant – containing the stone tablets inscribed with the Ten Commandments — resides in the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion. Accordingly, this church is where many Ethiopian emperors were crowned. When I got to the small unassuming building next to the main sanctuary where the sacred ark is believed to be kept (no one is allowed inside), the heavens literally opened wide – unleashing a torrent of rain which was a welcome blessing, since I hadn’t seen rain in the Sultanate of Oman for years.
After that sacred deluge, it was on to the UNESCO rock-hewn monolithic underground churches of Lalibela, named after King Lalibela, who tried to recreate Jerusalem in the Ethiopian highlands. Ethiopia claims to be the oldest Christian country in the world, since the state adopted Christianity in 330 AD. Weaving in and out of Lalibela’s otherworldly medieval churches magnificently carved from massive single pieces of rock made me feel like I was in Petra’s sister city. The moss-covered alleyways between the smooth rock walls brushed with a weathered blush offered plenty of natural stone seats in the shade from which to admire each of the eleven historic churches. Inside, the darkness was penetrated only by narrow beams of sunlight channeled through the cross chiseled windows. The most impressive church of all, of course, is St. George Church, carved in the shape of a Coptic cross from volcanic tuff and often called the Eighth Wonder of the World.
A highlight of my trip was getting to speak Ge’ez with Ethiopian priests in Lalibela. As the liturgical language of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, Ge’ez is used for religious purposes and rarely if at all for daily conversation — as the main language in Ethiopia today is Amharic. Imagine the surprise on the priests’ faces as I rounded the corners of these ancient churches speaking in Ge’ez and wanting to ask detailed questions about Ge’ez grammar in my book which I had, of course, brought along. These priests are the custodians not only of ancient chapels but also linguistic history. Teaching me how to shake a sistrum and parse Ge’ez grammar, these friendly Ethiopian priests made me even more gaga for Ge’ez than I had been before.
In the mood for a mummy adventure the next morning, I traveled twelve miles by car up Mount Abuna Yosef to Yemrehanna Kristos Church, an 11th century striped wonder made of stone and wood and tucked inside a sacred cave. What sets this church aside is the exquisite mural paintings – colorful crosses in entrancing geometric patterns considered the oldest in Ethiopia – decorating its striped arches and walls. Behind the church further back in the cave I came face-to-face with skeletons of countless monks and lay people wrapped in reed mats, some still with tuffs of hair on their heads. As an archaeologist, I marveled at their pearly whites, and turned on my flash to photograph their dusty bones.
The main reason I had journeyed to Ethiopia was to celebrate Eid in Harar, the sacred Muslim city of Ethiopia. Pressed for time, I hopped on a plane in Lalibela to land in Harar the evening before Eid began. At early Eid prayers the next morning, the stadium floor was like a blooming garden with flowers blowing gently in the wind, as Ethiopian women decked out in abayas of every color bowed and rose in repeated prostrations. Afterwards, I joined with a group of friendly Sufis processing in the street and singing devotional songs to the beat of the East African drums they carried. Once we reached their Sufi lodge, we communed in an ecstatic zikr filled with soulful dance, devotional songs, and so many smiles.
As I whirled the next morning through Harar’s narrow, cobblestone streets, to the accompaniment of Arabic call of the muezzin, I marveled at the city’s small pastel houses, and let myself lose my way in the dizzying labyrinth. It was easy to see why the whole walled city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As women passed by with woven baskets and even mattresses balanced on their heads, I tried imagining what Harar was like in medieval times when Harar was a famed center of Islamic learning. I wandered by so many Sufi shrines I eventually lost count.
Each alleyway boasts unusual architectural gems – like a small pink and purple mosque that reminded me of a wedding cake, and dome like homes that looked like alien space ships had landed unnoticed. To my surprise, I also found a few bed and breakfasts tucked away, traditional homes designed to give visitors the authentic experience of living in the medina instead of staying in a hotel. At night, tourists tend to venture to the walls of the city to watch locals feed hyenas from their own mouths!
For my research on the French poet Arthur Rimbaud, I paid a visit to the Rimbaud Museum – housed on the site where he once lived while gun-running in East Africa long after having turned his back on poetry. As I was interviewing the museum’s director, a huge gust of wind blew through the entire house violently slamming the windows open and shut like in a horror movie. Papers began to blow around, and biblical rumbles of thunder made us fear the whole wooden house would crash down upon us. “Look at that — you’ve awakened the spirit of Rimbaud, and he’s here with us now!” the director exclaimed, hurriedly trying to close all the windows as it began to pour.
When we got back to Addis Ababa, I had one last thing to do – go shopping. My guide knew I had been on the hunt for the finest Ethiopian clothes, and he kept reassuring me that he knew the perfect place in the capital. As he drove me around the grounds of a dilapidated old hospital, I feared he had misunderstood me. Imagine my surprise when we rounded a corner at the hospital, and there before us was the most chic boutique I had seen in all of Ethiopia. Even cooler – this hip store, run by a German NGO, was filled with high-end designs and textiles made by Ethiopians with leprosy who had been successfully treated at the hospital. I justified my shopping spree comforted by the knowledge that I was helping support Ethiopians with disabilities.
As a parting gesture, my guide gave me the best gift of all – cooking lessons in his family’s home. Alongside his wife, I learned how to make injera – though my first attempt at making this pancake like bread was marked by an abundance of batter splatter. To make the shiro, we combined fresh chickpea powder, garlic, onions, and berbere into a pan which I stirred with great anticipation, hungry as a hyena in Harar to taste my own creation. To top it all off, his 11-year-old daughter taught me how to brew traditional Ethiopian coffee – and to this day, I have not tasted a cup of coffee as savory as hers. As we sat down to break bread together, we feasted on the magical moments of my grand Ethiopian adventure, and began to plan my next trip to visit Omo Valley Tribes in the south. One visit to Ethiopia is really not enough — you will want to keep coming back for more.