Tag Archive | "Violence"

Kelish Zift


From David Anthony Hohol…

“Don’t worry, Fatimah,” my father said, stroking my tear stained cheek.

         “They’re only moving us to another location, Habibi.”

            Even at the age of eleven, I knew it wasn’t the truth. Even more so, I knew my father didn’t trust them for a minute, but he did his best to convince us he did.  

            Sectarian violence, the Americans called it. We just called it kelish zift, as what transpired was no less than total disaster. Several years later, I don’t think those who invaded my country ever really understood what they were doing when the came charging through the desert like cowboys; either that, or they just didn’t care. Even more frightening, perhaps, what unfolded was exactly what they’d planned all along. Within a few months, every conceivable part of Iraqi society began to crumble. Eventually, the real message of Allah, our kind and loving God above, disappeared from the hearts of so many, slowly drifting into the empty sand dunes of loss and denial surrounding us.   

            We became ruthless with one another. The occupier’s simplistically naive division of Iraqi people into Sunni, Shiite and Kurd aside, we became a splintered hoard of lost and angry souls. My beautiful religion was often the biggest victim, both in my own country and abroad. Animal-like packs of madmen kidnap Islam, holding it hostage for their own destructive deeds, and we all suffer because of it. In Iraq, people began to commit the most horrible atrocities in the name of Allah, and madness soon followed us all. I can’t remember all the details about that night, but I’ll never forget.  

            Even with a forced smile upon his bearded face, I noticed the sweat upon my father’s brow. My mother adjusted her hijab, a nervous habit that became obsessively compulsive whenever she was anxious or afraid. My older bother Khalid walked with a swagger of defiance alongside Father, his chest out, his chin pointed upward.  ”Your family will look good on camera before passing to the angels above,” said the largest man of the group.

            With his AK47 assault rifle draped over his hulking shoulder, he rested his open hand upon my back. The softness of his touch surprised me.

            “Take your hands off her!” ordered my father.

            The mercenary scowled with intensity. My mother slapped the giant of a man across the face. “Bas! You cannot lay your hands upon my daughter… not ever!”

            His icy stare seemed to look straight through her, but my mother did not retreat a single step. “I’m sorry, you’re right… ana asif,” he said.

             The wry grin upon his round face said something else.

            The camera man was busy preparing the tripod when we arrived in the basement.  Surrounded by concrete walls, we were all asked to sit on a bench. We were then told to stand and finally, were positioned in a circle around my father – all the while the camera rolled. “All right, that looks perfect,” he said.

            “Yalla, shabab! They’re ready!” he suddenly yelled.

            From the next room, at least ten men with rifles walked in and took position directly in front of us. “What’s happening, Baba? Shoo tsawi, Baba? Shoo tsawi?” I asked Father again and again.

            My body began to tremble.

            He looked down at me with only silently regretful eyes. My mother’s grip nearly crushed my fingers. The men raised their weapons. Suddenly, I felt dizzy. Just before the room exploded with gunfire, my mother threw herself in front of me.  

            The next thing I remember is being rolled over onto my back by a large black boot and looking up at a savage pack on ominous faces hovering over me. “I won’t finish her off,” said one.

           “She’s just a child.”

            “Atlah barra! I’ll do it, you coward!” said another. “And here… take the machete and remove their heads.”  

            I felt a large hand wrap around my forearm and pull me to my feet. As I stood and focused my eyes for the first time since the roar of gunfire filled the room, I saw the bodies of my family.  The walls were red with blood. The floor was sticky. “Allah, Akbar! Allah, Akbar!” a man yelled, as he raised a machete high in the air above my father’s lifeless corpse.

            I only heard the sinking thud of the blade and never actually saw it come down. With the entire pack of animals looking on at the beheading of my family, I managed to dart up the stairs and sprint into the alleyways behind our home.  

            “Yalla! After her!” a voice bellowed, just as I reached the front door.  

            With a burnt-out urban jungle to disappear into, I quickly got away.

            Four years later, I find myself living in Jordan. Two years after the murder of my family by radical Iraqi extremists, with no compulsive CNN-like need to preface the description of those bastards with the word Islamic, I was living alone on the chaotic streets of Baghdad.

            At thirteen years of age I offered myself to a man, so that he would hide me in his truck and take me across the border into Jordan. It was the only form of currency available to me at the time and I did what I had to do to stay alive. Once I arrived in Amman, I was given a warm bed to sleep in at a camp for displaced Iraqis.  I became one of what later reached nearly a million Iraqi refugees in the tiny Hashemite Kingdom. The people here have been kind and I’ve done my best to go on living.  

            I try not to remember, I never want to forget, and madness still rages in the desert.   

 

 

 

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The Peaceful Warriors


Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni and his wife Janet among supporters as he kickstarts his campaign for re-election back in October.

From Uganda Corespondent Arinaitwe Rugyendo…

Perhaps the biggest surprise so far about the 2011 presidential elections campaigns, is the ‘peacefulness’ in which the candidates and their supporters are conducting themselves.

We have not heard of beatings and related violent scenes to the levels that we have witnessed in the past three elections since Uganda returned to electoral democracy in 1996. The last three presidential elections have probably been the most violent ever in Uganda’s electoral history. In fact, a committee of parliament had to be constituted after the 2001 presidential elections to investigate and document all the electoral violence incidents that marred that election. No action has ever been taken on that report.

In 1996, the oppostion’s main candidate, Dr. Paul Ssemogerere, was stonned in Western Uganda even when it was clear that the main candidate in that election, Yoweri Museveni, was clearly in the lead. He won with a landslide.

In 2000, an army officer, Brig. Henry Tumukunde, took time to warn the Reform Agenda presidential candidate, Dr. Kiiza Besigye, that the guns ‘they’ had were more superior than his (Besigye’s) antics. This was ofcourse followed by very many cases of violence that at one point, an overzealous army officer drove through a crowd of Besigye’s supporters in Mukono, killing and miming some.

In 2006, some suspected overzealous agents of the state eighter were documented shooting at opposition crowds or outrightly and violently disrupting candidates and their supporters. So, what has changed this time? Why is the current campaign comparatively peaceful?

The last 25 years have produced one unique poltical situation in Uganda and this is the umblical sisterhood between President Yoweri Museveni and the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) Party. If Museveni were to leave the stage at this point, and seeing how the chaotic situation that has come about as a result of a horde of NRM independents, the NRM would probably go with him. But to keep it together, the ruling party, having achieved significant progress in such areas as security and the economy, must leave one legacy in place- a completely peaceful country from which it will need the incentive to survive another two decades in power without question.

In fact some sources tell your columnist that this election is being viewed in some quarters as Museveni’s best opportunity to set a stage for his legacy. He needs to win peacefully and clearly. He appears to be terribly working to leave a legacy as the only Ugandan president who united the nation and left it intact in much the same way as his mentor former Tanzanian president Julius Nyerere did for his nation. For a man who spent most of his youth fighting to transform a nation, leaving it in shambles is one serious dent he will not wish to leave behind for the history books.

In ensuring that violence is not orchestrated by the ruling party like how it was suspected of in the previous elections, the NRM is in a unique process of righting the wrongs. In fact sources close to the presidency have revealed that the president has secretly ordered the Electoral Commission to be very diligent and ensure that they do not do any stupid thing that will raise any questions. He has also, incredibly, told all the Army Generals to back off and desist from making any controversial statements. Once this is done, and with the very possibility of winning the polls, he will then start to purge all those who have been soiling the name of the government. Some of his lieutenants who have been implicated in high level corruption will be the first causalities. Those who went against his word and stood as independents, even if they win, will be the most losers as those who took heed will mostly be the ones he will deploy. In very many strange ways, the government of 2011 will resemble the broad-based government of 1986 with very many new faces from across the political, religious and ethnic divide taking centre stage. Therefore, running a very peaceful campaign is one way of writing the NRM legacy as a party that not only revived the economy and brought peace but also as one that did not leave a fractured society behind.

With this firmly in sight, the NRM could bring one good surprise package by reviving the presidential term limits before the next election in 2016 with Museveni passing on the baton to a younger generation of leaders to take the country forward. It happened in Botswana, which is, like Uganda, considered one of Africa’s success stories. A year to President Ketumile Masire’s last term in 1997, he surprised everyone including his own party and stepped down for Festus Mogae. The same situation happened when Mogae was one year to go, he left the seat for the Airforce General and Senior Bachelor, Ian Khama, the son of the first president, Sir Seretse Khama.

A violent election is usually a symptom of a desperate government’s efforts to retain power at all costs. The fact that this is not happening in the current election, the confidence of the NRM campaigners notwithstanding, seems to imply to me that the nation might be in for a big surprise from Museveni. If he does not do a ‘Ketumile Masire’ in 2016, then we might have to prepare for a real good surprise in which he might be righting his legacy and slowly following in the footsteps of his mentor, the former Tanzanian president Julius Nyerere.

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Sporting Masculinity


From David Anthony Hohol…

I started playing hockey at the age of four, and it remained an integral and constant part of my life until I was nearly twenty years old. Hockey in Canada, especially in rural areas, is not just our nation’s pastime, but a way of life and a belief in an idea. Hockey is organized like most sports with minor leagues, junior ranks, semi-pro and pro levels, each with their own governing bodies and modus operandi. All kinds play the game of hockey, as there are many different roles to be filled. There are certain personas in team sport, however, that rise to positions of leadership and power, just as there are those who lead us on the fields of battle, and in the politically charged ideological wars of our postmodern world.

Leadership and social power are both integral parts of athletics, and even more so in a violent and physical sport such as the game of hockey. Effective leadership in hockey makes the team more successful. Who becomes team leaders and what makes them effective is something that I began to actively pursue an understanding of about half way through my fifteen-year hockey career.

I so loved playing that game. At times the feelings that still live on within me surge through my body and manifest themselves into tiny pockets of emotion. Pride, reverence, and sentimentality flow through me, as I look back at the time I spent in the sport of hockey and see it as amongst the most important and self-improving times in my life.  In retrospect, it seems I was a part of something that was indefinable yet complete in itself. Philosophical undertows aside, I was a member of a very powerful and decisive subculture. We all worked together in order to achieve a common goal. We had our own rules of protocol, our own rituals, our own values, and even our own language. Like men on a frozen battlefield, our goal was always victory. Other valuable objectives, both as a team and as individual players would always be included, but it was conquest that everyone’s efforts revolved around, and thus victory was our ultimate goal. The structure of hierarchy on a team was to be respected at all times, as we needed to be a cohesive unit in order to achieve that victory. Problems with individuals were discussed amongst the team first, the coaching staff second. We were the ones who would be out there in the fight together, so disputes had to be settled internally. Problems with the team system or philosophy would be communicated to the team captain or his assistants first. We did not disrespect our coach in front the team. We left the dressing room in the same order, we warmed up in the same order, and ended every warm up the same way with the ritualistic tapping of our goaltender’s pads. Last but not least, the captain would always be the last man back with the goalie before the opening face-off.

Most importantly, no matter if it was the pre-season, the regular season or the playoffs, and no matter what the score or situation, if two or more opposing players physically doubled up on one of our own, we were to save our man at all costs. This precluded absolutely everything and is the only time victory or defeat was temporarily set aside. When one of our men was down, it was the team’s responsibility to not only get him safely out of harms way, but to avenge him with extreme prejudice. This is why physical play in hockey is so revered, as it represents sacrifice, solidarity, leadership and power all at once.

What results from this exceptionally powerful cohesiveness and structure is the emergence of a unique language or argot, a form of communication born from the domestic side of hockey and is used to refer to both teammates and opponents alike. Whether it be grinders, goons, cherry pickers, hackers, stick men, submariners, hat tricks, shut outs, bangers, or shadows, the terminology is endlessly unique and is quite perplexing to those fully removed from the group. The bottom line is that such idiosyncratic standards demonstrate patterns of a distinct subculture. Deeper still, the foundational super structure that serves as point zero for any and all characteristics is that we all operated under the pretext of hegemonic masculinity, as power and leadership within a male inter-group structure of hierarchy was vital to the maintenance, growth and success of the team. As all subcultures are, any team I played on was a social group that stood completely separate from yet integrally connected to the daily ingestion of human experience.

I spent a large portion of my years playing hockey in a leadership role. Why did I become a team leader? As I now look back upon my past through the lenses of a classical education, it seems the necessary characteristics were there, and perhaps they always had been. Without question drive, the desire for achievement, and leadership motivation were all integral components of my ability to lead. I wanted to be the best, I wanted to be the one that the coaches and the team looked to as an example of how to play the game; I wanted it more than anything. Further still, honesty and integrity was applied through my candid approach to both my coaches and my teammates. At times, I was seen as a hothead, as I just couldn’t help but say what was on my mind. Contrarily, I was respected as someone who was always open and honest. I played honest as well, as no matter who it was I played for when I was out on that ice my heart was always on the sleeve of my jersey. Self-confidence and cognitive ability also applied to my ascent to the leadership role. I never considered being intimidated an option, which directly correlated to the development of my ability to read others team’s systems, discover their weakest points, and my specialty, latching on to the opposing teams weak minded players and provoking them right out of the game.

Although I didn’t make all of the decisions all of the time and I didn’t constantly give orders, I probably leaned towards an autocratic style of leadership. I did so, however, as an autocratic in democratic clothing, a Napoleonic style of leadership that works very well, albeit slightly Machiavellian. Present to your teammates the right to choose, but subtlety convince them that your way is the best without them knowing it. If one is a good leader this approach encourages all to participate while simultaneously activating your ideas the vast majority of the time. At all times, however, I was well aware of team hierarchy. Certain players were more followers than leaders, and other players were more leaders than followers. Beyond the team aristocracy, there was a wide range of players who were all important parts of the team, no matter how big or small their role. I felt it my duty as a team leader to be able to handle different players in different situations, and at different levels to maintain the power structure of the team. The sociological approach that most applies itself at this point is called Normative Theory, that suggests leaders are most effective when their decision-making styles are formulated on a situational basis. In other words, a leader’s ability to establish a definition of the situation is a vital part of leadership, as the idea of the reflexive self once again demonstrates its centrality to social psychology.

I believe that the inter-actionist approach explains much of why I came to lead, as I was the right leader for the right situation due to a combination of past experiences. The ability to lead and the ideals of masculinity from which they stemmed, had been developed from within my childhood reference groups and role models. My grandfathers both epitomized masculinity. My mother’s father was a paratrooper for the British Army during WWII, and then served as a police officer for twenty-eight years, including twenty years as a homicide detective. He always symbolized authority and that masculine detachment from emotion. My father’s father worked his entire life farming out on the prairies of Alberta, working with his hands and his back for more than sixty years, a man’s man and the picture of strength. My father’s image was that of Johnny Slick, an in- your-face publisher heavily involved with politics, who was sued for defamation of character countless times, but in representing himself in court never lost once. Telling it like it is, regardless of the sting that resulted, was my father’s specialty. All these men, in combination with the traditionally subordinated persona of my grandmothers and my mother, produced a constant countenance of masculinity and I came to see these ideals as being represented in leadership, and in some ways I guess I still do.

The masculine image of the men of my reference group brings us to the idea of hegemonic masculinity; the masculinity of power and leadership. Hegemonic masculinity is part of the very fiber of my hockey experience. The masculinity of leadership is an integral part of sport, and it becomes heightened with a higher the level of violence and physical play. There’s no doubt, team leaders become figureheads of hegemonic masculinity. As mentioned, I used the normative approach to leadership and incorporated my legitimate power as a team leader, my reward power to offer my approval from a position of authority, and my referent power, as I had the ability to call my team into action. Like the sport/war metaphors that are so common in the world of athletics, when I stood in front of my teammates before a big game I spoke with an androcentric tongue and stood as an elite male extending his influence and control over lesser status males within the team inter-male dominance hierarchy.

Sport/war metaphors valorize masculinity and lionize or make heroes out of the most aggressive men. I always led my team with a socialized power motivation. I wanted to be lionized. I wanted to be seen as the picture of masculinity to serve my own ego, but also to work with my teammates and lead by example, so that in the end we all would be victorious. As a hockey player, victory was the only thing that ever mattered to me, the only thing I played for… for fifteen years. And not only did I want to win, to use a sport/war metaphor, I wanted to crush my opponent and stand above my vanquished enemy as a symbol of hegemonic masculinity. I was often told by the many I played with and against that I was one of the most brutal and animalistic players they had ever seen. I did and still do take pride in that. Furthermore, I always saw myself as though playing on a stage and as a result I would often skate a brief but victorious circle around a fallen foe, still dazed from the crushing blow I laid upon him and say “Keep your head up boy”, as I skated back into battle leaving him immersed in hegemonic totalitarianism.

I respected the hierarchical structure of leadership and power in the game of hockey immensely. Hegemonic masculinity is always constructed in relation to a variety of subordinated masculinities and I was by no means always the vision of the elite male. The first half of my hockey career I was the subordinated male in the power structure of the team and I did so with pride. I remember when playing for and winning the Alberta Championships, I wanted the best players out there on the ice as much as possible, well aware that at that time I was not one of them. I looked at my role as providing rest for the team’s elite and security for my coaches by playing solid positional hockey when I was on the ice. I wanted to win – nothing else mattered. My role was embedded in the structural hierarchy of hegemonic masculinity. I had a part to play and played it well.

The second half of my hockey career involved a five-inch and fifty-pound growth spurt and the discovery of how physical play, and even out right violence triggered not only my offensive skills, but also my ability to lead. I remember as if it were yesterday the first time I was struck with this revelation at the age of thirteen. I’d already began to play rougher early in that season, but there was one instance in just our third or fourth game of the year when I caught a guy with his head down and literally knocked him cold right in front of our bench. What I remember clear as crystal was that when I looked up, I saw all my teammates and even my coach pumping their fists and screaming approving obscenities. The whistle blew and the young man had to be taken off the ice by his trainer.

I’ll never forget that hit. It was the first time I experienced power, not from the hit itself, but through my teammates’ reaction to it. It was a catharsis that changed my hockey career and deeper still, it changed me as a person. I made the jump to being a leader shortly thereafter and I began to realize that male solidarity is achieved and maintained by constructing and reconstructing inter-group relations at many levels. At a societal level, this represents hegemonic values as not only advantageous, but entirely essential to social order as it serves as an amalgamating ideological structure.

Fast forward a couple of years and I’d immersed myself in machismo and testosterone and more often than not, I was the leader. I became of those off-the-hook, over-the-top lunatics, who specialized in athletically sanctioned battery and assault. By extension, I was extremely adept at whipping an entire room of young men, oozing socially prescribed maleness, into an absolute frenzy. While in the locker room before hockey games, there were times I would pound my head into a steel cage that held the team’s equipment, while screaming war cries like some kind of madman, until my teammates frothed at the mouth. During the pre-game warm up, I skated out onto the ice without my helmet, so the opposing team could see the steel grating of the cage imprinted on my forehead. All the while, I stared down my opponents with a look that seemed to suggest I was planning on drowning their kittens or shooting their dogs after the game.

The off-shooting result of such ritual is the systematic delineation of gender. Manly men of aggression are lionized, while men who appear to be weak or passive are marginalized and emasculated. An extremely physical sport such as hockey thus links maleness to highly valued visible skills, and with the positively sanctioned use of violence and aggression. Such images serve as resources of mobilization to advance, justify and rationalize the patriarchal values that delineate hegemonic forms of masculinity.

Hegemonic masculinity also pigeon holes women into the subordinated roles of mother, wife or girlfriend, while officially licensing homophobia all in the name of the masculinity of leadership and power. Hegemonic masculinity represents, reproduces and legitimizes relations of domination under the guise of cultural values, norms, and beliefs. Such a construction frames out resistance as to challenge this will be perceived by many as challenging the fundamental morality of the social order and is often painted as an opposition to the very core of values upon which our society was built.  In the end, hegemonic masculinity thus survives and thrives on the mantle of its own neutrality, and the hegemonic androcentric construct of Western society is one in which the most manly of men still construct, maintain, and control the agencies of domination and power. The extremely cathartic experience of athleticism is an extension of these societal ideologies and gives the masses the temporal opportunity to wield micro-level power, while reciprocally supplying an arena to restore to the world the pre-conceived learning mechanisms of a given civilization, perpetuating the mass production of a society’s membership and the structure of power that results.

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