The rose that goes around comes around..

Today, I was given a rose while I was buying roses for a friend who had surgery.
The merchant gave me a beautiful red rose as I approached him. I did not have enough cash to buy a bouquet that comes with a clay vase,  but he said I could come to pay later. I asked if he was sure and mentioned that I lived really close by, he seemed to trust me, and I was very thankful and flattered. I didn’t have time to go to the bank, withdraw money and come back, not to mention it would have been unpractical. 
I promised I’d come back later in the evening, and he said it would be okay if I came back another day. It is very refreshing,  seeing that most merchants have become completely skeptical. Not just merchants, just about most people have.

So I headed to my friend’s house. While there I picked up his two year old daughter, Hiba, a breath of fresh air, we chuckled and she made my heart smile, pointing at the bouquet and saying “zarda” baby talk for Jardin, meaning garden. .
I let her pick a rose, then I did the same for her cousin who’s also two, and of course just like most kids, she did pick the same color as Hiba. Also a peach rose.
Total roses given : two.
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On my way back,  I went  to the same roses merchant to give him the rest of the money, and to buy roses for my place, and he greeted me with another free rose, this time fushia-pink.

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I asked him for a fushia and white bouquet, and he made me a gorgeous one. I then asked him how much, he jokingly said 5000dhs only,  so I removed my glasses and said “here you go!” And smiled. He laughed and then said : only 20dhs. . 

Again, I was touched, because while he’s already let me go to pay him the difference later, he also did not take advantage of that act of kindness to charge me more, in fact he was willing to charge less than usual. ( I expect 30dhs+ for that bouquet)
So I gave him a bill that covered what I had owed,  the bouquet, and then some.. he was very touched and happy. And said:  “Thanks Assya!”

There, he remembered my name from earlier today.  I told him : ” I  owe you, my name is Assya”

Today I gave two beautiful roses and  received two. So to celebrate I decorated this rose and painted my loved ones’ names on it, my parents and my sister..
And there surely are other people in my heart, and even if their names are not on those leaves -or probably are- , they could certainly feel that.

Also intensely on my mind today,  my late grandmother, Aicha. That I love and miss beyond words. 🌹

Assya

#GlassHalfFull

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My Solitary Weekend Surprise: Sadness turned Smiles.

I recently decided to try and spend every weekend possible alone, to unwind, organize my thoughts and connect with my center. I made a quiet promise to myself not to interact with anyone for most weekends, unless I really have to, and that excludes text messages or phone calls with my parents.
I have never been a fan of parties or the habit of having to go out every weekend. Even when my friends invited me for BBQ on a sunday, or to go to the movies on a saturday night, I have to admit that I had to exert much effort to convince myself to get ready and attend the event.
So today is a sunday, and I managed to spend all saturday alone, being quietly productive, and slowly packing for my upcoming move to my new place. But today I had to step out because I needed some fresh mushrooms for my steak, which I could have tried hard to convince myself to give up on for other veggies that I have, but then I urged myself to go out when I realized I almost ran out of mineral water- Now that, I cannot do without.
 So I stepped out, ran into a neighbor in my building, small-talked my way out for 30 seconds, and headed to the nearby market. I bought the mushrooms, and while at it, a pineapple, – Gotta have those enzymes, oh so extra serious about my training and diet lately- and headed back to my place. I usually  buy the water from the corner store under my building, I picked up the water, and on my way out, I bumped into a poor woman and her daughter, I was embarassed to have only given her the tiny change I had left from my quick groceries, and said sorry.  She asked me to buy her half a liter of milk, I said I was sorry I had no more money, but two seconds later I realized that I could get her the milk and pay the store later, since I’m a regular customer.
I walked back into the store and asked for a liter of milk, he pointed out to a brand I didn’t know, I asked if it was very good, he smiled in a way that conveyed both contentment and surprise for my constant pickiness about purchases he knows I am giving away-  Then I said with a smile ” I am serious, does this milk go bad fast?”. He told me not to worry, ever. This had happened a few times before, and I had happily paid for beverages and sandwiches, because in a way that  does erradicate that little doubt we might have inside that we are being manipulated.
I grabbed the milk and gave it to the lady, she smiled and said thank you, and then her daughter enthusiastically said “May God keep you always shining!”. To see a child who is about 10 years old  be that happy for some milk and say those deep words… It felt as if something breaks your heart, and then the words that follow instantly mend it.
I walked in my building, took the elevator, wept for a moment, and quickly told myself what I usually tell it every time I am hurting, “Tears will make you feel better, for a moment, but they won’t improve anything. Get the good ouf of the bad. Make someone happy, you’ll be happy”.
I rushed into my place, grabbed some cash –I am obviously not trying to make myself look good; and I have no gain in doing such a thing- and those who do know me, those who are like me, they know it is no pretense- After all we see people how we are — I ran back downstairs and was happy to find her and her daughter not so far from my building.  At that moment, the mother told me “I hope you get everything you wish for from the heart”. and I said “Amen, sister, Amen…”  I wished her good luck, admiring their smiles, and feeling this immense smile on my face, and went back to my place.
Before I stepped out today, I had no idea I was going to speak to anyone – In fact, I had just had some coffee and was getting ready to do some strength training, and then all this happened. I am very happy I went back downstairs, because if I had just told her I didn’t have any money on me- and I really didn’t, and left, I would have kept on thinking about the pitiful poverty and not be able to focus on my training, or even train at all.
Now I feel better, for my small contributions might make only a few people happy, but they add up. I wrote for myself, in an attempt to let this load of emotions and reflections out in writing, and less vocalizing; and if I shared it to you, it is to inspire you to keep doing the good that you are doing, no matter how small it is, and to motivate people around you to do the same. It is true that some people who beg have made a profession out of it, manipulating passerbys and harrassing tourists or locals, faking a disability, or pretending to have disabled child, but the vast majority really are genuinely in need of your help. And even if someone has enough money but fools you into helping him or her, it is okay, because you did it out of a good faith.
And I firmly believe that what goes around comes around, not just in revenge and harm, but also in the form of goodness.
Assya Moussaid

Homesick for a home that’s not my home…

What do you call a homesickness for a home that’s not your home ?

When you’ve lived for a decade, maybe not necessarily a decade, maybe five years or so in a country that’s not your home country, and you’ve adjusted there, you had lived there for a while, you have experienced love and sadness, success and failure, and not necessarily all these fluctuating emotions, but you’ve come to love every part of that town, the streets and corner cafés, the walls, the culture, the respect and the free smiles in the morning from strangers, the respect for lines everywhere, and the respect for seniors or younger people, and being treated regardless of your social class.

When the first five questions you are asked by someone you just met don’t refer to your social class or degrees, or your father’s occupation. When you’re treated solely for being human and for what you do from that moment on towards that person you just met, and not based on your past experience, religious or social backgrounds.

When people only care about your experience as it’s reflected in your behaviour towards them, and not asking you about it upfront, or anything personal you might not be comfortable to disclose.

When you’ve loved that city that you’ve secretly called home for a while, but never quite told your family or anyone in your ‘real’ home that you actually felt like home abroad… And you loved every part of that society, even the walls in the streets, that don’t necessarily have anything fancy about them but you just liked those walls, and you don’t know why… You like that wall by which you had that long walk where you mentally drafted an e-mail, a letter or a project, or just going over your life, or just not thinking about anything in particular, probably just peacefully admiring the trees, or the rain drops on colourful leaves, and holding a coffee from that favourite corner cafe.  

And you don’t necessarily know all the streets because you go out all the time, but maybe just because you  love how that town makes you feel, that safety, the quietude, that serenity knowing you could spend half an hour or more, just walking alone, without anything interrupting your chain of thoughts, no violence, no abrupt bickering, no crazy drivers, no stranger coming at you for no reason, no person frowning at you just because they’re having a bad day. 

When you go to that corner cafe in the morning to grab your coffee, and people are all smiles, for free. They are not smiling because you’re dressed well or because they know you, they are simply smiling because they know they’re not losing anything for smiling. Yes, sometimes you could see someone who’s not smiling, neutral, just like you could be feeling sometimes- and that’s fine, neutral is good too, but often here, in our own home, you might have your day ruined just because somebody hadn’t had his morning cigarette, and he picks a fight with you just because you politely told him there is a line as he tried to steal your turn.

So you like that town, and love its culture, and you like every little detail about it, and then one day..you are done there, because you finished school, grad school –or any program that was the reason you initially travelled, thinking you would complete it and go back home for that brilliant career your foreign diploma can guarantee you, unaware of the tremendous lifetime impact that trip is holding for you– and it is time to leave the country voluntarily, and often involuntarily.

You go back home and you feel off place with the reverse cultural shock. Chances are you probably never fully fit in even before going abroad, maybe even in your own home before you explored the newfound home, you never really felt like home, because you didn’t really agree with the culture, the society and its contradictions, but you just never experienced better, so you sucked it in and lived with it. But when you finally went to that place, that actually gave you all those intangible things that you somehow felt you craved deep inside, but weren’t quite aware of, and where people understood you, and the culture offered you elements that aligned with your principles, and made you feel understood the way you wished to be understood. Then slowly, over the years, the bittersweet reality that you now have experienced something better and that there is no going back grows on you.

When you go back home, you’re hoping to adjust, you are trying to, and the more you try to adjust, the more you contrast and compare,- and the more you contrast, the more people get infuriated, telling you not to, and to accept that you are back home now, –It is as though the judge has made an irreversible decision, you are in jail, reminiscing the outer world, and a fellow inmate tells you to accept you’re in jail now– Maybe there is a little envy in them because they never experienced better, maybe they think they want your own good and out of good intentions ask you to deal with your own reality right now.

But why do you feel homesick for a country that’s not your home?  You try to figure out why…
I believe it’s a lot like when you fall in love with somebody and you don’t even know that it happened, and you dont know how it happened. Maybe because they understandingly listened to you when you were very upset, maybe because they made you feel like they knew exactly how you felt that moment you were dealing with the residue of denigration or a wrongful act, or maybe they managed to make you laugh because a sense of humor always makes us like people, or maybe because they reflect you – But then all those things add up and you find yourself loving somebody without knowing why, that, I believe to be the same process that transpires when you’ve lived somewhere that provided the safety, the serenity, the free smiles, the respect, somewhere that reflected your own principles and being.

You fully realized you fell in love with that town, that country, but now you have to go back home. You know you are missing something, and that you will be every day, you know what it is, but you’d rather keep distracting yourself and pretending that you don’t know what it is, than face the vortex of reality. 

You try your best to adjust, knowing that you probably won’t, realizing that the more you try to adjust the more homesick you become for that home… that is not your home.

Assya Moussaid.

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Prof. Amina Balafrej in Coma: Family Demands Investigation

Amina Balafrej, professor of medicine and Pediatric Diabetes chief of staff of Rabat’s Children’s hospital, is in a profound coma, under intensive surveillance, since August 31st, 2013. She was struck by a reckless driver who broke the 60km/hr speed limit by much, he is still at large, and no investigation was launched.

Amina is a famous woman in Morocco, particularly in the medical field, as she is the founder of a pediatric diabetes service that receives over 130 new diabetic children every year. Taking them in charge by providing three key ingredients: standardization with elaboration of protocols, organized therapeutic education and material aid provided to the most financially restricted patients’ families.

Dr. Balafrej’s family have posted a message, inviting any person having been present at the accident site to send an email to pouramina@gmx.com, since no investigation was launched, her undignified daughter, Dr. Sara desperately calls for any help.
Her daughter, also a professor of medicine, had launched a petition collecting 14,000 signatures demanding an investigation, as she writes that the agressor in question had been -taken in charge- while her mother had been abandoned on the sidewalk, before she was taken to the emergency and registered under “X”, without any decent care for hours.

Sara explained that her mother’s ID cards were not examined, although present in her handbag, her cellphone was switched off, and her family had remained uninformed.
Consequently, her family had not been able to reach her for five precious hours, during which they could have spared her from the profound coma she is presently in.
“My mother sacrified her life for her country, to gratuitously treat thousands of children of modest families. She created the first service of Pediatric Diabetes in the country. While the offender is free, no judge was assigned to the case. We had to fight for weeks to get the list of names of people involved, in vain” added Sara.

Shortly before the accident, the victim had been preparing for the July 2014 opening of an ambulatory follow-up center which would group all necessary services for diabetic children, including consultations, psychology, dietetics, day hospital, etc.

Whether the victim of such a crime is a doctor who has given a lot to humanity or just a man working a regular 9-5 job to provide for himself and his family, it is always heart-wrenching to hear of such stories, and to witness the escalating staggering rates of hit and runs, and crimes in Morocco.
Our prayers go out for Dr Amina Balafrej, her family, and for all those who have been victims or any abuse, and are desperately seeking justice.

Mugged In Morocco: before, during and after

Published on © Morocco World News:

Agadir, Morocco- MWN

This is one of those articles you start with a deep sigh, one that results from an overload of emotions, a whirlpool of thoughts.

I came back to Morocco about three months ago, after I spent a little over a decade in Canada, where I studied, worked, experienced life with its ups and downs, and learned. Coming back home was a relief, being with the parents, shielded again, enjoying the little things, like the sun, the feel of sand on my feet, and a little afternoon coffee with my grandmother.

I had many moments of dissatisfaction with many aspects of the Moroccan culture, some of which I had always been aware, and some that I got to see due to the reverse cultural shock. I wasn’t happy with the legal system when trying to issue a new ID card, the way one has to literally suck up to a man or a woman at the municipality to get things done with the least back and forth possible, the coldness of the offices and treatment, as though one is waiting for welfare stamps. I wasn’t happy with the rudeness of some taxi drivers when I didn’t have change. I wasn’t happy with the Moroccan TV programs; I found them to be denigrating to the viewer’s intelligence, sense of humor, sense of decency, and like this wasn’t enough, we are showered with very frequent TV ads, lasting a minute each, aired so frequently, to the point of making one memorize the ad song by heart. The list goes on.

But as I am a glass-half-full type of person, I chose to look at the bright side, to enjoy the Iftar meal with my family and go upstairs to watch National Geographic, or any other interesting foreign channel. I kept on finding ways to be happy about being back home, in little things like artisanal sandals, freshly made Moroccan pancakes, and the pristine beach waters. This image my optimistic mind chose to focus on was all shuttered two weeks ago. on July 24th at 10:35am, I was coming back home from the bank, and as I was trying to open the house door, I felt someone touch me from the back. Annoyed, I turned asking the “person” not to touch me, as I assumed it was someone asking for charity, but as I turned, I realized he already placed a knife on the side of my stomach; he was wearing a helmet. I later discovered that he left his motorcycle engine on, a few meters away from my door.

Everything slowed down for a second. It felt like those movies where they pause a scene, and play a bunch of slow-motion shots, and possible scenarios assumably thought of by the victim.

In less than two seconds, before he decided to speak, I had 5 questions cross my mind, “is this my cousin? no my cousin doesn’t have a motorcycle, is this the neighborhood watchman, no he wouldn’t dare touch me, is this….?” He talked, and I realized it was a thief.

He threatened in the most disgusting language that he would cut me open if I moved, and repeated it 5 times even though I didn’t resist, I handed my phone, he took my other phone, and pulled my handbag about 4 times until it tore up over my neck, and escaped.

I was tempted to fight for a second, to swiftly grab his wrist and kick his crotch, but with a clickable knife on my stomach I figured it was too risky. I told him he could take everything and leave, and so he did.

I then pressed the intercom, screamed to mom that I just got mugged. She came out running. I could feel her own heart almost dropped. She frantically ran outside in the street but he’d already gone. I was pained to see her senselessly walk around, unarmed, yet trying to avenge me.

My mother then asked me to go upstairs put on a Jallaba (Moroccan traditional dress, with a hoodie) before we could go file a report at the police station. I was wearing loose pants, and a loose sweater and my nice leather handbag, that’s now history, worn across my chest.

You may wonder why my mother asked me to wear a Jallaba over my clothes? Well, sadly in Morocco, when a woman goes to report a theft, rape or any attack, she often is judged herself, assuming and expressing that her clothes or expensive looking belongings were her fault. And yes, that is exactly what happened the next day, as I went back to the police station to report having seen my iPhone with its case being sold on a local online website. I was wearing jeans, t-shirt, a cap, and Vibram fingershoes. One of the police officers told me not to wear clothes that give a sign that I came from Canada, and that I looked like a tourist, and the others agreed. I said thanks.

I was also told, by others that I shouldn’t have walked home coming back from the bank that morning (although home is 5 minutes away from the bank), they told me “It’s your fault, you should have taken a taxi.” When I told my Canadian friend about it, he said, “That’s awful, you shouldn’t be scheming a plan to get out of the bank safely while going on your daily errands.” When one says it’s your fault, after you got mugged, you feel rage for being wronged twice, once for being mugged by an evil person, and once for the lack of sympathy and taking the blame.

Another thing I learned from this experience is that the psychological trauma is not acknowledged by most people. It is belittled and considered a spoiled mentality. A lot of people told me I should be grateful I didn’t get cut or stabbed. Yes I am grateful that I didn’t get stabbed, but this shouldn’t stop me from being worked up inside and dealing with the emotional shock. The judgement on me voicing my emotional and psychological trauma is even harsher because I came from Canada, and so anything I say is considered bragging and being picky.

One day, as I was trying on some clothes in a store, I discovered that the tank top had a defect, the store owner swapped it, and then he said don’t worry that one is already sold as is! And then he added: “Moroccans are okay with that, you people coming from abroad are picky and like to wear perfect things!”. I said “I’m Moroccan too, sir. And it is not OK to sell defective material to anybody, Moroccans locally or coming from abroad!”. I wonder what he would have had to say about the defects if he didn’t figure I had lived abroad (He did when he heard me say ” tank top,” and use words like “Okay”).

Even a doctor who is supposed to be ethical more than most people, asked about my medical history and I told him it was in Canada, and then he said “now you’re in Morocco, forget Canada!” Oh wow.

It is just mind-boggling how much so many people love the last word, just want to be a philosopher, impose opinions that are based on bogus, and comment on everything.

Everyone tells me that the best way to “blend in” and avoid those who always have something to say, and want to have the last word, is to ignore what’s said. Ignore the guy who annoys me on the street although I’m dressing very decently; ignore the taxi driver who bullied me after I refused to ride in the front; ignore the person who said it was my fault I got mugged. Basically, never speak up and I would be happy. But I can’t wrap my mind around this. I am against the famous “Well, what can you do?” This silences everyone with ambition, or the intention to make a change.

After the unfortunate incident being mugged on the holy Ramadan, I started hearing theft stories left and right. Many of my relatives and friends have already been mugged. I figured that the ones who drive and minimize walking have less chances of being aggressed as there is nobody watching them, from a very long distance, while they’re going on about their day, completely oblivious to being a prey.

A few weeks before I got mugged, I was trying to figure out a way to launch a service that women could call if they feel they’re being followed by someone with evil intentions. I decided to do so the day I went for a 21k run (Btw- I am a long distance runner, I don’t wear jogging colorful clothes, I wear dark clothes, a head cap and a cotton sweater with a hoodie over it- to give you a vivid picture) and ended up running 5k only after a bum noticed me and decided to run after me. Luckily, I ran much faster and sprinted, but he kept on running for no less than 3 minutes, and I stopped at a busy place, where he couldn’t dare to touch me.

I then got informed and found out that there is no security service or police line to call in case of such incidents. It was possibly too much to expect but for over a decade, I knew I could call 911 even if I felt I was followed and talked to by a suspicious person. And I realized after asking people, and suggesting my idea to launch such service. Sadly, I didn’t get any encouraging feedback, and was told that in Morocco, “You’re on your own. Pray God to be safe before you step out of the house, don’t wear expensive clothes, don’t take out your expensive phone in public, don’t put anything of big value in the handbag; as a matter of fact, wear two bags, one for the show and a smaller one inside the clothes, put money inside your bra, and come home as early as possible (although that doesn’t mean anything, as I myself got mugged at 10:35AM).” and the advice list goes on.

I don’t want to make this piece too tedious for you to finish. But If you already made it here, I would like to conclude with an invitation to raise awareness on the lack of safety in Morocco. We need more police on the streets, and residential neighborhoods, and not just downtowns and the marinas where tourists can be safer.

I will start posting on Twitter under this hashtag #MakeMoroccoSafe. MWN takes this matter to heart and is willing to help the cause. And I will be beyond delighted to see you contribute, with advice, articles, or any help getting more security in our beautiful, yet dangerous country.

Originally published on MWN

Mugged in Morocco: before, during and after

Is it Bad Timing or Absent Butterflies?

-Published on The Huffington Post-

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready for a relationship.” How many of you have used this line with someone who clearly was ready to bend over backwards to be your boyfriend?

“I just got out of an exhausting relationship, I have a lot of problems in my life right now and I don’t want to affect anyone with me, I don’t feel stable and comfortable being in a relationship while I’m looking for a job, and I don’t want you to get attached and hurt.” Aren’t we all selfless and considerate to want someone, but still choose to stay away from them for their own good? Sarcasm aside, in reality, we often do come up with eloquent excuses that we feel would soothe the person the most.

The excuses we come up with are not necessarily fake reasons, but they are definitely used as a concealer. I truly believe that when a woman wants something to happen, no amount of stress or problems would stop her from taking the plunge. Not a job search or a relative’s passing would come in the way of the heart when it wants the physical and spiritual proximity of another person.

One of my very best friends lost her father a month ago. She hadn’t even known that her father had cancer, and neither did her mom. He had kept it a secret, as he didn’t want to burden his wife or worry his children, who had left Morocco to study in Canada and the U.S. many years ago. My best friend lives in Boston. She had lost her job a few weeks before she lost her father. She is grounded and strong, strength we both acquired through the experience of studying and living far away from our families.

I was heartbroken for her, especially when I heard her abrupt cries over the phone. But all this didn’t stop her from mentioning the guy she has been dating for a year, a complicated guy. He might not be the absolute object of her affection at this point in time, but it is obvious that he is important enough to make her wonder and feel confused, even in the middle of the biggest loss one can experience.

I had to mention my friend’s story to underline that when a woman really wants to be with someone, she doesn’t hesitate to get involved and, regardless of her circumstances, will give her best and hope for eternal bliss. But sometimes a woman lies to a prospective boyfriend because her heart doesn’t beat faster around him, so she resorts to saying that she needs to spend some time alone to move on from her past relationship, find herself again and start a relationship in the future. That could be a real reason, of course, but what she means most of the time is that she would like to start a relationship down the road with someone else, but doesn’t want to hurt her suitor’s feelings, so she consequently and unintentionally keeps the door open. Also, that me-time process could be interrupted anytime a woman feels she found a gem.

While I wrote about a woman’s perspective, I need to mention that I have noticed a lot of men do the same exact thing. They often tell a woman that they are not ready, and that perhaps if they meet in two years they could hit it off, but it just never happens. One of the main differences regarding the process of brushing off the hopeful between the two genders is that a lot of men would go ahead and “date” the girl, enjoy her company — the physical aspects in particular — and then find a way out later on. Women on the other hand, from a small survey I did among my female friends, and as you probably have noticed yourself, tend to attach the physical activity with the emotional presence; and the absence of butterflies generally means the absence of desire.

Truth hurts, and while some blunt people justify their insensitivity with the “I’m an honest person” pretext, sometimes adding “You should appreciate me for that!” a lot of other people will avoid saying the reason why they really do not want a relationship with the smitten hopeful.

If the latter found out that the object of his interest is just not that into him, he could feel misled, and get really upset and resentful that she used excuses and gave him hope. But how many men are really ready to be told in the face: “You don’t give me butterflies, so I will walk out and check my phone see if anyone I like has texted me, then maybe I’ll go online and see if I can engage in a conversation with someone that will intrigue me and make me smile to my screen, and if none of that happens, I will go run a bath, and think about me and the person I want to meet someday.” How many?

Dear men: If you ever see the woman who rejected you with another man, do know that the more a woman cares about a man she doesn’t want to be with, who is often a friend or a colleague, the more difficult it is to confess: “I’m just not that into you.”

And dear women: I have to avow that I got “busted” in the past; it was when someone I turned down, and to whom I gave countless reasons backing up my decision to stay single, found out I was dating another man. Although I felt his anger was exaggerated, I could still empathize with his vehement disappointment, as I may had even had expressed some antipathy towards relationships. I tried explaining that I had lied out of consideration, but I got a good Facebook block out of it (very awkward when you have 12 common friends).

I discovered then that the upside of telling the truth is the amount of embarrassment and guilt-tripping a woman could avoid. And to date, I am still trying to talk myself into being honest, even if that meant hurting someone I care about.

Follow Assya Moussaid on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kickassia

Egypt Crisis: Humanity and Logic: Not Found

-Published on Huffington Post-

The sight of humans getting sniped and shot in the head, a man crying over his wife’s corpse, tens of corpses pushed by a bulldozer with the rest of the debris is very heartbreaking and could never be justified. It is hard to fathom that the pro-coup people have desensitized themselves to the deaths of the protesters, simply because they are supporting the president they were not happy with.

I am not Egyptian, I’m a humanitarian liberal Moroccan, but my heart has been shaken by the massacre and unfair executions, and saddened by the shameful hate that has taken place between brothers and sisters of the same nation, the kind and welcoming Egypt. All other fellow humanitarians I have interacted with, and who have followed the events of Egypt undoubtedly feel the same way.

800 protesters killed in 2011, and Mubarak is supposedly on trial for them. So why should you be surprised if current (interim) government is determined to run a campaign that claims all protesters are armed terrorists, including women and children. Claiming they burnt churches (without any proof), even when some of the Coptic churches themselves announced they were burnt and mugged by baltajis; the thugs who are often seen walking in packs around or closely in parallel with the Egyptian police and army, advertised as faithful citizens trying to help protect the country from the terrorists.

Terrorists walking in packs of millions? A new trend?

What do you know about terrorists? They scatter to cause as much damage as possible. A terrorist bombs a car, hijacks a plain, “sacrifices” himself to take as many lives as possible with him. Yet suddenly, nobody wonders why 3,000 “terrorists” died to kill 124 police forces members.

We have all seen protesters on the streets of Rabia Square; Men, women and children, including babies that appear to be only a few months old. Is that what terrorists do? Come out armed and ready to die with the most precious people in their lives?

If you were armed and saw death coming towards you and your children, would you stay still or use the gun you supposedly have? Or did these “terrorists” suddenly freeze in front of the godly charisma of the Egyptian soldiers that came to disperse their sit-in?

How about the 400 “terrorist protesters” that died whilst the dispersal of the mosque sit-in; Assuming that once the Egyptian police stormed in, and the “armed” protesters frantically started shooting around, wouldn’t that cause police deaths too ? Why was there none?
These are some of the questions raised and discussed by logical people online and offline, but when presented to pro-coup individuals, they are either ignored or reciprocated with hateful suppressive messages that don’t make much sense, like calling anyone who challenges the claims a terrorist supporter.

Rabia protesters were asked to leave or they would get dispersed. They stood their ground, and too many of them got killed. Just like the determined brave protesters did in Tahrir square in 2011, but the blood of those 800 innocent people couldn’t be justified back then, and Mubarak’s trial for their death is still on-going. Mubarak was released (under house arrest) shortly after the ousting of president Mursi, as though Egypt prison’s can’t detain two presidents at a time. The families of the January 25, 2011 victim protesters against his the aucocratic regime, and many Egyptians are crossing fingers, hoping to still find justice for the killing of the 800 victims.

It seemed very convenient for the coup masters to label today’s Rabia protesters as terrorists, simply because they are demanding the president they voted for back, for claiming democracy, and asking where their vote went.

Farsighted Egyptians believe that if a president gets ousted, democracy will be shaken forever, and that tomorrow if people don’t like a ballot elected president, any group of people constantly protesting against him, will cause chaos again.

Egyptians in 2011 protested against an autocratic president. Now they are protesting to get the democratically elected president back. Some people say that Mursi wasn’t given a chance to make substantial improvements in Egypt, to fix an abysmal economy and create jobs, given the thousands of protests that took place throughout his shortened term. While others argue that one year was enough time to make improvements, or as some said to me that 100 days were enough, which was the time they waited before they expressed their dissatisfaction with Mursi’s incompetency.

Minutes after the coup, 27 TV channels were closed, including any news channel that might tell people about the other side of the story, that is Morsi supporters. Thus, YouTube is almost the only place where one could see footage exposing the violence against protesters, who are shot with their arms up, banged on the head with a soldier’s helmet, or beaten with a bat on their skulls by thugs, every time some of them decided to leave the mosque sit-in, while the police watched.)

A 11-hour curfew was imposed, not to protect the people, but to simply impose control, and expose them to the current government-approved channels that constantly talk about how awful Brotherhood protesters are, stories about how these dangerous hijabi women are with their babies; throwing in advertisement segments, rythms of war and nationalism in the background, that showcase how brave the army is. If you tuned in a pro coup TV channel, you would never see a debate where a representative of each party is invited, you would not see a MB member, Mursi supporter or a humanitarian political analyst that condemns the violence, discussing with a pro-coup/pro ousting analyst. What you would see is a group of pro-coup people justifying the necessity of dispersal, how the police never kills an unarmed person, and how brotherhood ruined the country. You would also notice that a lot of claims are being said without any shown evidence, including the sad burning of churches, which injects hate in people, and calls for the sympathy of Christians around the world, and a big bold title that reads “Egypt fighting terrorism.”

But they would never Show you footage of Muslim Morsi supporters who formed a human shield around the churches during the messe ceremonies, they would never show you the Christian woman who condemns violence against the protesters.

Sadly some TV channels who chose money over humanity can’t afford to upset their sponsors, and if any honest conscientious reporter or presenter refuses to embark in propaganda, he is welcome to leave, or as Egyptians say “the door is large enough for a camel to pass.”

Twisting of facts is so mind-boggling that I almost decided to sort low and high IQed people according to whether or not they believe the nonsense. But I became aware of the sad reality that many reporters, writers or news channels would accept to lie and trade their principles for money and job security. Example: Shirin Abdul Wahab, a very talented Egyptian female singer, was performing in Morocco just a few days ago. Let us assume that she didn’t know that shortly before her visit, Moroccans protested in the capital Rabat against the coup and the violence in Egypt; Right in the middle of the concert, she decided to send a message to Egypt and said: “I want to send greetings to the minister of defense, Al Sissi!” the people in the concert booed her and chanted “Morsi Morsi!” for a few seconds, and then the music maestro continued to the next song. Shirin then turned her back to the audience and said to the music group: “play anything!” waving her hand to them as in “whatever!” and left the stage without a word to the audience who paid for her concert.

Now, the Egyptian media, and by that I mean government approved channels, gave a whole different story, the video is on YouTube and this is a translation to what the Egyptian TV presenter said: “Shirin was in Morocco for a concert, she greeted General Sissi, then on her way out to her car she was attacked by some Moroccan brotherhood, from some “development and justice” party, or something like that! Whatever! They were not in the concert when she sent her greetings, but someone in the audience called the brotherhood and they came and chanted “Mursi Mursi!”

Bear with me everyone, is it just me ( and the rest of the YouTubers) or do you also deduct that the guy contradicted himself. Were the “brotherhood” outside and then suddenly inside? And how come inside knowing the brotherhood do not attend concerts. I was shocked by how that presenter was determined to call the Moroccans attending to have a good time brotherhood and violent simply because they called the name of the ousted president Morsi.
This is just the mildest example of how current Egyptian media, or the coup supporters among other Arabic channels get creative twisting facts, and making unfair claims to equate and justify violence and blood.

Children of key members of Brotherhood were targeted and assassinated, and nobody should wonder why. Days after, all brotherhood leaders among which are doctors and professors, were consecutively arrested in their pajamas. And for some reason, although they are supposedly terrorists, they did not shoot; and nobody should wonder why.

Using the global war on terrorism card, and manipulating the feelings of anyone who’s ever been harmed directly or indirectly by terrorists, to get their sympathy, fueling this hatred by claiming that Muslims burnt churches, while footage presented by the Copts themselves show that the thugs did it are all just cheap tactics that more people everyday are starting to see clearly.

As for those who tell humanists and non-Egyptians to mind their business, block me you don’t have to read my tweets or articles, I will not insult you or use any derogatory words, but remember that throughout history, anytime a person challenged a lie or stood up for truth, he or she was fought by people who have an agenda or bad intentions. Choose the side you want, ignore the death of innocent people, stay indifferent. But if you can’t do something good, don’t interrupt someone who is doing it.

It is my business to advocate for humans, my business to assist anyone whenever I can, give money to the homeless, buy a meal to a poor person, and apologize when broke. And so it is also my business to stand up for humanity, and help abolish propaganda. And I underline this: if the ousted president and his supporters were liberal, Christian or atheist I would stand up for them too. Massacre shouldn’t ever be justified with lies to help some sleep at night.

The world should not turn the blind eye on the Egyptian ordeal. Human Rights organizations should mobilize and be on site as live witnesses. The silence of the latter organizations makes one wonder if the Egyptian suffering is reduced to a “war on terrorism.” Even if terrorists were spotted, they should be arrested and passed through a juridical system, because the rational mind does not accept that hundreds of terrorists standing among 100,000s of people were all assessed , prosecuted and executed on sight.

Morsi might have done a lousy job, and even if he shouldn’t come back, the right of the people to peacefully protest shouldn’t be taken, or faced with deadly ultimatums.

Justifying the blood of thousands of protesters who are carrying signs, chanting and not harming anyone, just because the president they supported was incompetent, is utterly inhumane. The will of the pro-coup individuals shouldn’t be more valuable than the one of those who oppose the ousting of Morsi. And even if these protesters should know that the coup is in their best interest, I don’t think that strident attacks and injudicious arrests is the best way to do it.

If your choices were to either go home or die, if the TV channels that can speak for you were closed down, if you were referred to as an ignorant terrorist, if you were treated like a subhuman, if they made you feel your voice didn’t matter, if the only way you could bury your brother or wife is to sign a paper that admits they committed suicide, would you forget about your right or would you vehemently demand it and want it even more?

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/assya-moussaid/egypt-crisis-humanity-and_b_3863855.html