[thingist] The War Is Coming

sebastian at rolux.org sebastian at rolux.org
Thu Sep 10 19:48:34 UTC 2020

The War is Coming

For Ghayath al-Madhoun and his million Arab poets

I decided to leave Syria the day a stray bullet passed in front of my eyes. 
That day I realized my homeland was not my homeland, my blood not my blood, and 
my freedom belonged to a freedom fighter who didn't think to ask my permission 
before he shot me: a lack of courtesy we encounter often in war time.

If they are going to kill me, better to kill me in a foreign language.

On the road from Damascus to Berlin I met an old soldier from Dara'a who 
couldn't carry his nightmares anymore. I wrapped them and put them in my 
suitcase; at the airport I paid the fine for excess baggage.

Whoever is not afraid to cross the border carries the war on his back.

Swap your best shirt for a bulletproof vest, your poems for the first chapter 
of the Koran and your house in Athens for a throne atop Mount Aigaleo so you 
can survey from on high the coming war.

This war is trite and pedestrian, filled with similes and ornate adjectives, 
its history is written in the font Comic Sans, violence so limitless the war 
doesn't know where to put it, one grave for every thousand corpses, one shadow 
for every thousand survivors, it's an indelicate war, barrels vomiting 
explosives, steel cylinders filled with accessories for washing machines and 
car parts, the death that disseminates is an earthy death, this war is 
rightfully ours because in it we have buried all our loved ones.

On the 7th of January 2014, the United Nations stopped counting Syria's dead. 
This decision certified mathematics as the science of quality, not quantity, of 
living labor, not shapes, of time, not space - in other words, mathematics is 
the science that studies the material relations among all countable objects.

By the end of 2015, according to Facebook, 311 friends of mine had died since 
the start of the war. I decided to shut down my account: death must have a 
beginning, middle, and end. I can't spend my life in its wake.

I, Ahmed, son of Aisha, although nothing more than a humble migrant, wish to 
apologize on behalf of the Syrians to Greek men and women for filling their 
televisions with our deaths as they eat their dinners and wait for their 
favorite shows, I wish to apologize to the municipal authorities for leaving 
our trash on their beaches and polluting their shores with tons of plastic, we 
are uncivilized and we have no environmental awareness, I wish to apologize to 
the hotel owners and tour operators for damaging the island tourist industry, I 
wish to apologize for shattering the stereotype of the miserable migrant with 
our mobile phones and clean clothes, I wish to apologize to the coast guard who 
have the thankless task of sinking our boats, to the police for standing in 
disorderly lines, to the bus drivers who have to wear surgical masks to protect 
themselves from the diseases we carry, I also wish to make a most humble 
apology to Greek society for exceeding the capacity of their detention camps 
and for sleeping in their squares and parks - finally, I wish to apologize to 
the Greek government who had to request additional funds from the European 
Union in order to pay the purveyors who stock the detention camps, as well as 
the bus drivers, the police, the coast guard, the tour operators, the hotel 
owners, the municipal authorities, and the television stations.

"Don't worry," said the bullet, "I'll go in and out." I explained to her that I 
couldn't allow it since when she left she was bound to take some of my memories 
- like the face of the girl I loved in the fifth grade, the voice of the imam 
the first time my father took me to pray, the smell of the freshly baked bread 
in my grandmother's house, the fingers of my teacher as she taught me to write 
the word الحرب and Van Basten's final goal in the Euro of '88.

It's well known that no organization can buy arms on the black market without 
American authorization. This is one of the reasons I never managed to 
understand the difference between enlightenment and genocide.

If you don't want to be canon fodder, if you don't want the war to catch you 
with your pants down, put on that thinking cap, double down the class struggle, 
get organized, triple down the class struggle, fight, fill your pockets with 
rocks, stick to your guns.
Out with the Left! 
Bring back the Spartacists!
Out with the NGO's! 
Bring back Garibaldi's brigades!
Out with the Humanists! 
Bring back the Italian Autonomists!
The slaughter is about to begin.

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