Reports | 25 05 2020
By: Mamdouh Azzam
Gray is vexed because he feels isolated. He views himself as being certainly more authentic than either white or black, or any other colors. They, however, prevent him from being represented. He has no right to be seen.
Gray is not normally worn by presidents—i.e. it is not fit for protocol. Leftists hold no love for it either; it is lodged firmly in the middle—the dead point—far removed from any variance or contrarianism. The rightists do not ask for it, as it gives an air of facileness and apathy; the ‘water of life’ will not be coming out of it.
Gray is the color of cunning. He devours any color standing in his way, then reshapes himself according to its coordinates. He blunts his proper features and sneaks into the perspective. He simulates the spoken word and declares, with a nod of the head, his assured affiliation to the speaker’s quotations. Any speaker? Yes, any speaker. Gray has no patience to delve into the issue of the creating ideas, or the leadership of wills. Gray therefore claims that he holds harmony sacred—thereby allowing him to shower any strong presence, idea, or opinion; with praise.
Gray can even tell you what he personally has done in defense of rights. Gray loves himself, claims to have tamed the regime’s guard dogs—long before any of the childish “Revolution’s” boys started to “jump about” shouting for freedom, or other gibberish. He tells how, when he was supervisor of a state farm, he refused to send the governor any fruit basket plucked out of his orchards; how he asked the senior official’s representative asking for his boss’s share: ”Tell him where is his payment therefore?"
Who dares to do this? I do not answer this question. I know for a fact that he does not want an answer; nor does he want me to agree or disagree. The story he tells is the issue. It is the heroic story, of him standing up and saying “no," at a time when everyone—everyone, without exception, said yes. He stresses the expression: "without exception" to my face. I know that he wishes to register his accusation to others of being indolent, at the margins of his “story.” All those without heroics in the past era, deserve no freedom now, or in the future. These are his “logical” grounds he gleams from his own life style, characterized by “opposition to officials:” Leave me out of the issue of “power,” says he; I am not interested in politics at all. What is important, after all, are ethics.
A vulgar and disjointed plot, by virtue of repetition. These are the limits of the gray state employee wishing to pronounce his "revolutionism" or “integrity." It is also a proper expression for him: A confrontation astride illusion, and a borrowed sense of heroism.
I think to myself “he must be a liar, too.” Authority does not allow its junior employees to even sneeze in the face of generals—let alone to prevent the governor from craving tomatoes! A small-time civil servant with the rank of supervisor can look rifle through workers’ pockets when they leave; or even take their absences, at most. This is the function is vested in the “executives” in the state properties, which they declared as belonging to the people. A "Socialism" singing the praises of straight rows, bland and similar faces, and monolinguism.
Because of this very isolation, gray cheers aloud: What do the peasants of this country know of democracy? I believe he is referring to the predominance of the people of the countryside in the Syrian crowds on the streets.
There is a similar question regarding fiction writing; a question addressed to the hundreds of novelists around the world: How can a farmer talk about big issues? The intention of this question actually is: A farmer or worker cannot talk about big issues. They believe the farmer is unable to climb up the stairway of great wishes and hopes. There are those who suggest that a farmer’s awareness does not exceed the size of a grain of zucchini. How could he be expected to cross the threshold of a revolution, then? How can he even talk about a value as great as freedom?
David Cook answers this in his book African Literature: “The issue is not to imagine these words to be individually said, or written; rather, if these words truly express with enough conviction—and in a manner acceptable to us—their existence, their thinking, and their interaction with their environment."
They would, then, probably know it intuitively, by touch, by longing; much like the need to breathe air—a necessity of life, and not a system of political philosophy, nor legal articles. In any case, they were referring to dignity—freedom and dignity. We cannot deny people water, because they do not know how to swim; nor can we stop them from breathing the air, simply because they do not know its composition.
Gray, however, does not recognize the diversity of colors. I do not know whether this denial is caused by hatred, ignorance, or color blindness. He fails to see it; believes that the slogans are his alone; or that the “despicable” crowds stole the words out of his mouth. He does not say it in so many words, but can contemptuously sneer at any large crowd coming out to the streets, to demand anything.
Gray says: Let them go to hell, man! Or he would say: “These people” cannot make a revolution. That is why I am not with them. In order to elicit expediency, he would turn to history. Again?! He would lament the absence of leaders: Where Robespierre here? Where is their Danton? Their own Bonaparte, even? Where is their Lenin? Their Trotsky? Give me one single name who can lead “these people.” Do you think that we do not create leaders? You are mistaken. The fact is that “these people” cannot produce any leader.
No wonder, then, that gray claims to be a descendant of all other colors. He can be taken from mixing red, blue, and green; or from mixing black and white. That is why you see him hiding behind all colors.
Opinion articles published do not necessarily reflect the opinion of Rozana.
This article is published in partnership between Rozana and Sawtak Huna.