Growing up, whenever someone would tell me to akabir a’ali (enlarge my mind), an image of a neurotic man who would nitpick over tiny details would come into my mind. The kind of man who makes it a point to examine and take issue with every fault or problem he can see, make an issue appear larger or more significant in the grand scheme of things than it actually was, and getting too emotionally involved in the issue at hand. Because ultimately, rising above things means looking past something you may find disagreeable, against your beliefs, unjust, or simply unappealing. There’s an aspect of personal betrayal that can only be solved by reducing the significance of the event, incident or person in question and removing your emotional attachment to the aspect that you would have otherwise taken issue with. The idea of not getting too emotionally involved in a relationship is somewhat odd, but knowing my father, not that surprising.

When he said that to me an image of my hysterical mother immediately came to me, tugging at my father’s legs demanding attention with him choosing to ‘rise above’ her. My mother, the endless carer but pathological worrier, who regularly finds herself hysterically overreacting to anything and everything. I can see how my father’s approach to relationships might be useful when dealing with my mother, but I also know my mother’s hysteria has only intensified in the face of my father’s nonchalant reactions to her dramas. His cold demeanor only increases her feelings of loneliness and alienation, which in turn magnify her hysteria.

But what I think my father may have meant with the phrase is more than simply ignoring or overlooking one’s hysteria, but simply the typical Arab father figure approach of tightening your boots and just going along with it. Relationships for relationships sake are bound to fail, and putting too much emphasis on relationships and love and romance and drama is effectively the antithesis of mind enlargement. A functional approach to love is the only way to ensure such love will endure. In essence, the success to long-lasting love is to effectively rise above the concept of love itself.

In an article on Slate, a former aid worker asks “Should Westerners help needy Africans?”, but instead of answering this (quite condescending) question (for the record, ewz says ‘yes you should’), she goes on to tell a very long story that concludes with her deciding that all Congolese people shouldn’t be trusted.

Wait what?

Here’s what happens in a nutshell: she is working in the Congo, meets a boy who asks for money to go to school and then, out of nowhere, begins judging the 14 year old boy for having a ‘defeatist’ and ‘victimised’ attitude which is the reason he always fails in life, tries to mentor him, sometimes fails but overall succeeds, and in the meantime pays for his tuition, and watches him do better and better in school and even start up his own business. In the end, when she gives him the final payment before leaving the Congo, we are led to believe by her conclusions (because he smiled and said he lost the money) that he used the money for personal gain. Therefore, erm, all Congolese people can’t be trusted.

Ultimately, the author of this article manages to be both incredibly condescending and incredibly naive, which is quite a feat, considering aid workers tend to only manage to be one of those at a time. There is certainly an element of truth in her claims that all Congolese can’t be trusted: when people grow up in fucked up environments like the Congo, where conflict is systematic, long-term and has effectively destroyed people’s normal livelihoods, people are going to develop pretty fucked up worldviews and survival strategies. And not surprisingly, these strategies and worldviews will differ from the sheltered, privileged worldviews of societies and people who aren’t suffering in places of conflict.

Where this author has got it completely wrong is that she stands ‘above’ this worldview which she calls defeatist and lazy, and expects people to emerge from this worldview simply out of nowhere. It is quite naive to assume that this boy, who for all intensive purposes has never experienced life outside of a conflict zone, is capable of having a ‘healthy’ worldview that isn’t defeated or victimised. This guy was born a refugee for God’s sake, he is a fucking victim! What did you expect him to do, go through and put the money towards an education when he knows chances are this education will be of absolutely no use to his survival?

Her judgements on the boy, and the wider Congolese society, are also incredibly condescending and naive it’s borderline ridiculous, but unfortunately, not that uncommon in the Western-dominated humanitarian aid world. Yes, Congolese society is kind of fucked up, but if you grew up in the Congo leading the same shitty life this boy has led, you’d have a pretty ‘defeatist’, ‘lazy’ and ‘victimised’ view of the world yourself.

We can’t keep absolving aid recipients of their agency, or expecting them to lay down and live their lives according to how Westerners (or, for that matter, ‘privileged’ people who tend to control aid resources) would live. There’s a schism that needs to be addressed and the Slate article manages to completely fuck it up.

Do you want to know how to solve the humanitarian’s dilemma, here’s my lesson: stop being so f***ing naive.

"Look at this guy, Sincerely Bishop, look at him!"

Last week the YouTube clip ‘Eat Da Poo Poo‘, showing a Ugandan preacher’s, erm, colorful explanations of gay sex, went viral, leading to a number of parodies and remixes. The recent upsurge of homophobia in sub-Saharan Africa has its own interesting historical aspects and parallels with contemporary European society, but what is interesting about this video is that it puts a face to this homophobia: Pastor Martin Ssempa.

With his own official website, and other YouTube clips to his name, Pastor Martin Ssempa’s online presence raises some interesting questions about his funding sources, his audience, and his PR tactics. He certainly has some very bizarre views, but there’s one question that isn’t very obvious at first glance: just who is Pastor Martin Ssempa marketing himself to?

The impression one gets from his website is that his ministry is either seeking, or getting, support from outside the region. The content of the website is presented like that of a local NGO– talking about responding to the HIV/AIDS crisis and the ‘good’ work of the organisation. He’s not so much communicating to his Ugandan constituency but rather promoting his work to outside donors, possibly for fundraising purposes.

Politicians and social advocates in East Africa rarely communicate to the public through online platforms, particularly ones that look like this website. First off his constituents are generally not regular internet users; only about 4.5% of the population of Uganda regularly use the internet- So off the bat a website like this would be a weak advocacy tool.

But it’s also the aesthetic and language on the website that reads like it’s being directed to a forieng audience. The photos of Ssema, the style of writing, is generally inconsistent with his public image on the ground, as the now infamous YouTube video has shown. And then, the icing on the cake, there’s contact information for the U.S. Hmmm…

It’s no surprise that gay porn obsessed US faith-based organisations have promoted anti-gay attitudes in the US, you don’t need ewz to tell you that. So a quick google or too on Pastor Ssempa and this is what we’ve found:

….Pastor Martin Ssempa, leader of the Makerere University Community Church and spokesman for the Interfaith Family Culture Coalition Against Homosexuality in Uganda.

Ssempa has called homosexuality, “a criminal act against the laws of nature,” and has said that, “there should be no rights granted to homosexuals in this country.”

According to the U.S. Embassy in Uganda’s website, Makerere University Community Church received a grant under a program designed to provide funds for AIDS prevention, treatment and care programs in Africa. Ssempa and his coalition, which includes Roman Catholics, Anglicans, Baptists, Seventh Day Adventists, and Evangelicals, have threatened the safety of Ugandan LGBT rights activists by posting their names, photos and addresses on a website.

With support from conservative organizations such as Family Watch International in the United States, Ssempa has launched attacks not only on homosexuals but on Uganda’s women’s rights and HIV activists as well, the IGLHRC said.

Source: 365Gay.com

Martin Ssempa — pastor of Makerere Community Church, has received funding from the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief – on Aug. 21 organized a rally to protest the press conference, during which he called for continued action against MSM and WSW (HRW statement, 8/23).

His website lists Wait Training (US Faith based org) as the organisation to book speaking engagements for Ssempa and receives donations on behalf of Ssempa’s ministry. Ssempa’s US contact is Wait Training. Apparently he is also supported by Canyon Ridge Christian Church in Las Vegas.

It’s interesting that this fraternity of homophobic bigotry has chosen Ssempa as a kind of prodigal clown of the anti-homosexuality movement. It’s also very sad.

Have a good week. Don’t eat da poo poo.

]]> http://sysh.wordpress.com/2010/06/07/eat-da-poo-poo-a-critical-perspective/feed/ 0 sysh http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/btb/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/ssempaIMG_6737-300x200.jpg http://sysh.wordpress.com/2010/05/07/athens-is-on-fire-but-the-flames-are-not-new/ http://sysh.wordpress.com/2010/05/07/athens-is-on-fire-but-the-flames-are-not-new/#comments Fri, 07 May 2010 10:56:33 +0000 the sish http://sysh.wordpress.com/?p=405 ]]>

It seems the moussakka is hitting the fan in Greece, as protests against government austerity measures led to the death of three ‘private sector’ workers. The austerity measures were put in place in exchange for anunprecedented $146.5 billion bailout from the European Union and the International Monetary Fund. Estimates of the number of public (and some private) workers participating in the strike ranged from 15,000 to 30,000.

Yes yes, it’s all quite crazy, but hold up, let’s slow things down a bit and break it down. First of all, something had to be done, and I’ll get to that in a minute. So the protesters, for the most part, have to accept that as fact. The system was not working, and it’s no one’s fault but the Greeks themselves.

But the reality is actually very very bad, and I know this because contrary to popular belief in many European circles, these problems are not new, and the solutions proposed by the European Union and the International Monetary Fund are not new, but is in fact a tried and tested formula of castrating the power of civil society (i.e. ‘the power of the people’).

First, let’s have a quick rundown of what exactly the government is proposing…

PAY CUTS: basically, the government is planning to freeze the salaries of all public sector workers, with some pay cuts also being implemented.

PENSIONS: the new changes will prevent early retirement. They will also be adjusted so that the minimum number of years someone will have had to have worked will rise to 40 years, rather than 37.

TAX REFORM: VAT will rise, as will taxes on alcohol, fuel and cigarettes. There will also be a clamp-down on tax evasion.

PRIVATIZATION: Finally, the government is also looking to reduce the reliance of the Greek economy on the public sector, and is looking to “grow the private sector”. This sounds very exciting, except practically speaking it means a lot of privatization.

Conclusion: The cuts are ‘necessary’, but not the complete story.

The thing is, this sounds pretty crazy, but let’s explore this a bit further. For example, the average age of retirement in Greece is 61, but realistically speaking, it is not uncommon for public sector workers in Greece to retire in their 50s. Also, the pay cuts in the public sector are coming about following several years of continuous increases in pay, with salaries rising by an average of 30% since 2006.

Finally, anyone from Greece will tell you that a large proportion of Greeks simply don’t pay taxes. And no one really questions it. Tax evasion is costing the government at least 20 billion euros a year. TWENTY BILLION EUROS. I know!

So before we go anywhere, a little scolding is in order. To the wonderful people of Greece, yes, you can riot and claim that this is against democracy (where, as every Greek person will remind you, democracy wasFOUNDED, etc.), but you’re forgetting one thing. A large angle of democracy was ‘no taxation without representation’, and quite frankly, I’m sorry but you can’t have your cake and eat it too. If you’re not willing to reach down into your pockets and pay for it (through taxation, not corruption), then you shouldn’t be allowed to have your say. Simple.

But the thing is, this formula of shrinking the public sector, haven’t we seen it before? More specifically, haven’t countless economists rallied against them back in the nineties, back when they were referred to pompously by the Chicago School as ‘the Washington Consensus’?

Let’s quickly recount the Washington Consensus again…

Sounds kind of familiar, doesn’t it?

My own country was subjected to the Washington Consensus back in the early ’90s. And you know what? We rioted. Of course, we didn’t riot nearly as hard or as long as the Greeks have done, but that’s because, growing up in an authoritarian regime, we weren’t filled with false promises of our own self-worth, and no one was there to stroke our egos and falsely inform us that our opinion was worth anything. So after a bit of grumbling and rioting, we were forced to STFU and deal with the austerity measures.

A few years later the government implemented some more, harsher austerity measures on us. What did we do this time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a peep. And you know why? Because by that time, even that tiny bit of human impulse to speak out against injustice was zapped from us. And there is no doubt that a large reason for that were the austerity measures themselves.

When austerity is implemented while corruption is rampant, as it was in my own country, and as it is so obviously in Greece, what develops is a strong and powerful elite– think of them as the bastard children of Mugabe, Berlusconi and Sarkozy. This elite, who were at the right place at the right time the government decided to decentralise political and economic power under the guise of ‘transparency’. What happens is that this power, initially at the hands of the so-called public sector, which despite being bloated and in desperate need of reform, maintained its transparency by still being ‘public’, is dissolved quickly and abruptly into the murky waters of the ‘private’ sector, where street cats hiding behind dumpster eat away until we have the ‘fat cats’ of tomorrow.

So Greece, go ahead and riot, but make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.

A few weeks ago M.I.A. released a scathing attack on Lady Gaga in NME, where, apart from criticising her excessive usage of product placements in her videos, also said:

“none of [Gaga's] music is reflective of how weird she wants to be or thinks she is. She models herself on Grace Jones and Madonna, but the music sounds like 20-year-old Ibiza music, you know? She’s not progressive, but she’s a good mimic. She sounds more like me than I fucking do! That’s a talent and she’s got a great team behind her, but she’s the industry last’s stab at making itself important.”

As if to reflect what she thinks Gaga should be doing, M.I.A. just released her latest video, a Gagaesque 10 minute short film to her latest single, Born Free. With its gruesome violence, brutal subject matter, and grim message, M.I.A.’s “Born Free” video isn’t the kind of thing you’re ever really prepared to see. Kids get shot in the head, bodies are blown up by grenades in slow motion, and people are senselessly beaten and killed.

The video is brutal, but it’s also a significantform of political protest, and a downright subversive bit of art. Given the recent immigration laws in Arizona, the ongoing trampling of Palestinian human rights, the recent Sri Lankan civil war and subsequent detention of Tamil civilians (M.I.A. herself is a Tamil refugee), and the abuse and detention of migrants trying to get into Europe, this video comes at a very good time.

But here is where the parallels to Gaga get interesting. Whereas M.I.A.’s latest video shows the rounding-up of ethnic minorities (in this case, erm, gingers), the trampling of personal liberties, the frustrations that lead to resistance movements, it does so in an unflinching and unapologetic way. But Gaga’s latest video, “Telephone”, portrays female (trans) sexuality and gender bending, and also does so, wait for it, unflinchingly and unapologetically. Gaga’s video is coming at a time of increasingly tense sexual and gender politics in the US, and so is equally timely and relevant.

I can’t help but wonder, is Lady Gaga merely “the music industry’s last stab at making itself important”, and is nothing more than a senseless celebration of capitalism and the excess of the noughties, or are there deeper critiques of sexual and gender politics that are different sides of the same coin that is M.I.A’s critique of racial and ethnic politics?

Where do U stand on the Gaga/M.I.A. showdown?

You’ve seen the stats over the costs and benefits of the volcanic ash cloud that’s currently hovering over most of Europe, grounding all flights in the region: over 206 tonnes of CO2 saved, shortages of medicine, cut flowers and exotic fruit and vegetables. The grounding of all flights has already cost the British economy at least £920 million, with losses set to rise at the rate of £230m for every day of further disruption. Calls for government ‘bail-outs’ of the airline industry.

But underneath the chaos and hysteria of the media, things are relatively quiet on the ground. For the most part, people are out and about enjoying the sunshine. Travelers stranded in various cities across Europe have either made it back to their home countries the old fashioned way (boats and trains), or are enjoying the extra few days of holiday.

click to enlarge

Climate change skeptics, or those who argue against halting or lowering the volume of flights, point to the desperate need for high levels of air traffic flow, and without it, modern civilisation as we know it is essentially doomed, or at the very least, taken back to some pre-historic, pre-globalisation, pre-everything that ever matters in this world kind of era. But, realistically speaking, this small taste of a post-oil, post-climate change world actually isn’t quite the disaster we were warned it would be. In a way, it’s kind of simple, and dare I say it…quite nice?

What the volcanic ash that has grounded flights throughout Europe has shown us is that, in fact, slowing down for a week isn’t actually so bad. Given the fact that, in London at least, the ash cloud has coincided with a heat wave and much-needed sunshine, there’s an aura of positivity that has engulfed the grounding of the flights. Knowing you can’t leave this island by plane may spell disaster for some people who just needed to get on that flight, but for everyone else, it’s been a nice wake-up call. The world hasn’t ended, the sky hasn’t fallen, and in a way, it’s kind of cosy knowing that we’re all stuck in this together.

Who knows, in the midst of iPads, iPods, Facebook, MySpace, MyFace, fast flow of info, and over-stimulation of modern life, culture of me, me, now, now, maybe not having your mangosteen delivered halfway across the world won’t actually kill you…let’s give it a try in making slow the new fast. Or at least, enjoy it for now.

After running a 10k for a charity on Sunday morning (I don’t do this often ever), I found myself unable to enjoy a cigarette the rest of the day. Ironic, considering it was the thought of a post-run cigarette that carried me through the run. But lo and behold, every cigarette I smoked that day, try as I might, I just didn’t enjoy. Having received the NHS Free QuitPack in the mail the week before, I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll quit again’, and on Monday morning, I became a ‘non-smoker’.

This time, however, I’m trying a different approach. Gone are the Allan Carr delusions that I shouldn’t miss smoking a cigarette, and that cigarettes are ultimately my enemy and I should kill the ‘nicotine monster’ inside of me. This time, I’m done with delusions. The truth is, I love smoking. The act of being a smoker has given me a number of guilty pleasures that are mine and mine alone. Having a cigarette with a morning coffee is priceless, especially after a big breakfast on a Saturday or Sunday morning. A glass of red wine after dinner on a weekday is made fifteen times more pleasurable with a cigarette in one’s hand. Sitting on a patio on a sunny day with a bottle of beer and a cigarette after a good work out simply cannot be beat.

And you know what? No matter what anyone says, none of these experiences will ever be as pleasurable as they were with a cigarette. In fact, I’m now making a conscious effort to avoid doing these things, because when I’ve tried to do them sans cigarette, it just wasn’t the same. The magic was gone.

But you know what? That’s life. And that’s how I’m approaching quitting smoking. I would do anything to re-live those great cigarette moments, but I won’t. Because, as the Rolling Stones once said, you can’t always get what you want. I’m trading those moments of happiness for other things: not smelling like an ashtray, for one. Not craving a cigarette at awkward moments or long office meetings. Saving 50 quid a week. A clearer chest. And cigarettes are not my enemy. In the ten years I was a smoker, cigarettes were like a best friend to me: when I was down, they were there to comfort me. When I was happy, they were there to share my joy. When I was stressed, they calmed me down and gave me a few minutes of reflection. And sure, they demanded a few financial and health sacrifices, but a friendship is a give and take process, so what can you expect really?

Having said that, I’ve made peace with me and cigarettes going our separate ways for now. Maybe at some point in life I’ll need it again. When that happens it will be like reuniting with an old friend. Until then, I’m on my own, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing either.

I like Matt Damon. A lot. I think this is partly because I subconsciously still compare him to Ben Affleck, and considering the trajectory of their personal and professional lives, Matt Damon comes across as a legend. But I also <3 Matt Damon because his politics is well-thought out, and he’s not afraid to intelligently express his views. And so, I was quite excited to find out he’s starring in a movie about the Iraq war: The Green Zone.

In a nutshell, the Green Zone tells the story of Roy Miller (Matt Damon), who, while looking for weapons of mass destruction, slowly begins to realize that these WMDs may not exist. Soon enough, Matt Damon’s character is running around Baghdad like a chicken with his head cut off, determined, in a way only a privileged American could, to ‘get to the bottom of the story’. I say this because I couldn’t picture a scenario where an Iraqi would be able to do half the stunts this American character could do without being killed– and yet Americans see nothing wrong with running through the streets of a foreign country as if they own the place, with little regard to their privilege in being able to do so. But this discussion is for another entry.

The movie slowly becomes a story of the various motivations and reactions to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, highlighting how various people on all sides reacted and responded to the war. From Baathist generals, US officials, Western journalists, and regular Iraqis, the movie perfectly captures the varying agendas and motivations, both personal and political, that shape the conduct of war. A brilliant study of human flaws and the scramble for power and survival that takes place in conflict, it successfully portrays the shades of gray that both news (and Hollywood) coverage of the war on Iraq never quite managed to do. The Iraq war was never as simple as the US vs. Iraq, or the West vs. the Arab world. The Green Zone does a good job of capturing both how some Americans felt about the war, but more importantly, how some Iraqis felt about the invasion, which was, at least initially, not as clear-cut as those on both sides of the global political spectrum wanted it to be. This is exemplified most clearly through the main Iraqi character, Fareed, or ‘Freddy’ as Matt Damon’s character refers to him, who is one of the most memorable film characters I have seen in quite a while.

But I couldn’t help but feel like it was one big orgy of violence. Except the violence was based on real life. It all felt a bit self-satisfying. It was like listening to Bob Geldof talk about the plight of Africa to the backdrop of fly-infested African children writhing in the dirt. I could leave satisfied that I’d helped (by donating money, or listening, or simply agreeing with what is being said), but in the end I had only eased any guilt I felt by watching people less fortunate than me suffer, and acknowledge their suffering. Even the movie’s official website looks like a trailer for Modern Warfare 2, which is slightly disturbing given that we’re dealing with a real war here.

Liberal or not, The Green Zone is ultimately war porn. It worked with the Bourne movies, because those movies were escapism: it was fine that people were blown up and killed, because the Bourne movies existed in a fantasy land. But blending in the action-style sequences of the Bourne movies with real life just left me feeling angry and emotional, and not in the good way. The movie, for those who have seen it, ends on a ‘good’ note, but the fact that the ending was happy made me feel like both I, and the entire population of Iraq, had been cheated somehow, especially when ones juxtaposes the ‘happy’ ending of the movie with the sad realities of modern day Iraq.

At the end of it all, leaving the theater, I was left with the same feeling I get after sitting in front of Chat Roulette for too long: the hollowed out feeling of voyeuristic exploitation. Except with even more dicks.

Are these separate moments in time? By that, I mean: when does the postmodern existence begin, and when does it end?

For me, living in a large city, working a 9-5 job, modernity is exemplified by the periods of sunshine: wake up, rush hour tube, work environment, produce produce produce, eat perfectly structured meals, produce produce produce, rush hour tube. I am structured by my job, by the city, by my decision to partake in this routine. But once the sun goes down, the world is my oyster. In a city with no limits, there are no limits to what I do, who I can be, where I can go, and why I exist.

This leaves the period of dusk as the most crucial of transition periods; by the time the sun begins to set, I am overwhelmed with structure, and I begin to crack. The frustrations of being structured beyond my control begins to overflow, and this depresses me, as it fills me with a sense of hopelessness brought about as a result of my complete powerlessness.

As twighlight sets in, however, the feeling of powerlessness is so severe that its very existence becomes powerful: I am structured to the point where no structure can contain me. I can alter these structures, and mold them to suit my needs. I can choose to wallow in melancholy, but I can also choose to embrace my pathetic existence and humour it. And by dark, I have broken through my structure and molded it to suit the many possibilities that await me.

It is during these crucial hours between day and night that I will write: the crucial moments when I am both filled to the brim with despairing structure, yet also just as the darkness of postmodernity begins to ooze through my pores.

There is no right and wrong, just an infinite number of equally valid stories. This is one of these stories. But god dammit, it’ll be the best fucking story you’ve ever heard.

I should probably clarify that I am not a postmodernist. I dabble in the discharge that is postmodernism, but I do not 2girls1cup myself in it. I prefer to skip through the cesspool and watch the waste of postmodernism splash against my postcolonial Wellington boots.

My desires, my dreams, my ambitions, are all quintessentially modern. I want a better, more fulfilling job. I want more money. I both crave stability and excitement. And so on.

However, I approach my ‘modernity’ with my tongue firmly placed in my cheek. If I were to grasp at straws, I could argue that my ‘approach’ to modernity is postmodern. The humour with which I approach my structured self is unstructured, relative, ‘beyond’.

Anyway I am not a postmodernist.

Some tips: sheikhs and suicide bombings are good.

Always use the word ‘Sand’ or ‘Darkness’ or ‘Whispers’ in your title. Subtitles may include the words ‘Islam’, ‘Jihad’, ‘Desert’, ‘Dawn’, ‘Struggle’, ‘Oil’, ‘Orient’, ‘Arabia’, ‘Calling’, ‘Veil’, ‘Allah’ or ‘Anger’. Also useful are words such as ‘Terrorists’, ‘Timeless’, ‘Fundamentalism’ and ‘Tribal’. Note that you must always refer to Arab people as the “Arab Street”.

If you must include an Arab, make sure you get one in a veil or burning an American or Israeli flag. Under no circumstances should you have a picture of a well-adjusted Arab on the cover of your book, or in it; sometimes you may make mention of certain well-rounded Arabs, but only to highlight their differences with the West. Suicide belts, an AK 47, a mosque, the desert: use these.

In your text, treat the Middle East as if it were one country, and constantly refer to it as ‘Arabia’ or ‘The Muslim World’. It is hot and dusty with rolling sand dunes and huge herds of camels, because they are the only animals that are strong enough to live in such a harsh climate. Don’t get bogged down with precise descriptions. The Middle East is big: twenty-two countries and 300 million people who are too busy fighting and dying and warring and bombing themselves to read your book. The continent is full of deserts, jungles, forests, highlands and many other things, but your reader doesn’t care about all that, so keep your descriptions mysterious and exotic and unparticular. Also, make sure that you mention that Turkey, Iran, Pakistan or Afghanistan are not Arab countries, but then continue to refer to them as if they were. Because, although you are worldly and realize the differences, they all sort of look the same so it doesn’t matter.

Make sure you show how Arabs are completely different from the West, and do things no other humans do. Do not mention music, television or bars; the mosque is an Arab’s entertainment of choice, along with jihad, war, tribal meetings, issuing fatwas, gutting sheep, cutting off limbs, and having arguments about the inferiority of women. Make sure you show that you are able to partake in such acts without flinching, and describe how you learn to understand this perspective—because you care.

Taboo subjects: ordinary domestic scenes, love between Arabs (unless honor killing is involved), references to Arabs having fun, references to Arabs not hating the West, mention of school-going children who have no intention of blowing themselves up. Make no mention of Christian Arabs, Jewish Arabs, black Arabs, or blonde Arabs. All Arabs are Muslim, and all Arabs are dark (but not too dark).

You may show Arabs partaking in everyday life, but always sound slightly astonished at how they can cook, clean, and sometimes (but rarely) laugh, given their strict Islamic tradition. Make sure to mention that despite partaking in everyday actions, they do so under “the watchful eyes of the oppressive regime/father/mullah”. Also, any mention of school should also be accompanied with the topic of “madressas”. This is when you show the clip of faceless young Arab boys banging their head on the ground and chanting.

Throughout the book, you may adopt a bad Arabic accent, in conspiracy with the reader, or an angry, helpless tone. Establish early on that your liberalism is impeccable, and mention near the beginning how much you understand why all Arabs hate the West, how you sympathize with the repressed “Arab street”, despite their backwards nature. If you are a man, take it upon yourself to save the beautiful veiled woman from her oppressive society. If you are a woman, treat Arabia as a man who is oppressive, traditional, and yet strangely kind and caring. ‘Arabia’ is to be pitied, feared or liberated. Whichever angle you take, be sure to leave the strong impression that without your intervention and your important book, the “Arab Street” is doomed.

Your Arab characters may include young fundamentalist men, highly sexualized yet oppressed females, and devout Muslims. Or corrupt leaders, poor Bedouins, rich sheikhs, and harem prostitutes you have slept with. The devout Muslim’s goal must always be to reclaim Islam from the Fundamentalists, and makes constant references to the fact that ‘radical Islam is the exception not the rule’, so that your readers are clear that, like them, you are not anti-Islam. The Modern Arab is a fat man who steals and works in the visa office, refusing to give work permits to qualified Westerners who really care about ‘Arabia’. He is an enemy of change, always using his government job to make it difficult for pragmatic and good-hearted expats to set up NGOs or Women Shelters. Or he is an Oxford-educated intellectual turned serial-killing Islamist in an Armani suit. He is a cannibal who likes non-alcoholic Cristal champagne, and his mother is a rich and veiled woman who runs a harem.

Among your characters you must always include The Hysterical Mother, who can’t speak any English and wanders the refugee camp slapping herself and screaming and cursing at the West. Her children are young fundamentalists, and she is shown weeping for fear that her sons will turn out to be suicide bombers. She must look utterly helpless, and snot must run down her nose. She can have no past, no history; such diversions ruin the dramatic moment. Moans are good. She must never say anything about herself in the dialogue except to speak of her (unspeakable) suffering. Also be sure to include a warm and beautiful veiled woman who has a shy laugh and who is concerned for her country. These characters should buzz around your main hero, making him or her look good. Your hero can teach them, bathe them, feed them; he or she carries lots of babies and has seen Death. Your hero is you (if reportage), or a beautiful, tragic international celebrity/aristocrat who has converted to Islam (if fiction).

Bad Western characters may include the Bush administration, Western expats who molest women, employees of the World Bank, Tony Blair. When talking about exploitation by foreigners mention the US and the word “imperialism” repeatedly. Blame the West for Arabia’s situation. But please, do not be too specific.

Avoid having the Arab characters laugh, or struggle to educate their kids, or just make do in mundane circumstances. Have them illuminate something about Europe or America. Arab characters should be mysterious, exotic, and traditional—but all must hate the West. It is the good Arabs that do not act on these feelings. Don’t try too hard to explain to your audience why they hate the West, because doing so would be racist towards their “Islamic civilization”. Accept the fact that you will be hated, and try and work through these feelings—but only with the good Arabs. A soundtrack of quick Arabic gibberish, and the call to prayer sound accompany the bad Arabs while they speak.

Make sure to impress upon your readers how Arabia was nothing before oil, and will be nothing again when oil runs out. Don’t mention education or technology (mobiles will destroy the sense of endless rolling desert). These things are not relevant when discussing the Land of Arabia, only oil is. Every Arab must be described in national dress, with the phrase: “flowing white robes” or “immaculate white robes”. Don’t forget to impress upon your reader how immaculate and how dazzling white those robes are. Muse repeatedly on the amazing ability of the peoples of Arabia to keep their flowing white robes so dazzlingly white. The women of Arabia must always be described as “black veiled women” and always in the plural. Never “wife”; always “wives”. Every airport must have a scene where an Arabian man in flowing white robes is accompanied by several black-veiled wives.

Describe, in detail, the call to prayer (athan, loud, haunting, conservative, bombed) or smelly, dirty markets. Also, sex is very important, so go into detail about the differences in the ways Arabs have and think about sex. And naked bodies. Or, better, naked dead bodies. And especially blown up naked dead bodies. Remember, any work you submit in which people look filthy and miserable and angry will be referred to as the ‘real Arabia’, and you want that on your dust jacket. Do not feel queasy about this: you are trying to help them be understood by the West. Animals, on the other hand, must be treated as well rounded, complex characters. This should be easy, as camels are the only animals that exist in the Middle East, other than scarabs and cockroaches.

Readers will be put off if you don’t mention the markets in Arabia. They are always loud and dirty. There is always someone who is spitting phlegm. Small, winding alleys and bazaars are critical—Arabia is the Land of Mystery and Exoticisim. Talk about the beauty of the rolling sand dunes and the geographical landscape, which continues to be beautiful despite the type of people that inhabit it. When your main character is in a desert living with indigenous peoples (anybody short and/or dirty) it is okay to mention that Arabia has been severely depopulated by War and Jihad (use caps).

You’ll also need a nightclub called Tropicana, where mercenaries, evil nouveau riche Arabs, prostitutes, guerrillas and US military hang out.

Always end your book or movie with the athan resonating through an abandoned market place during sunset, calling everyone to prayer. Seriously, don’t forget the haunting wail of the azzan. Repeatedly. Because you care.