Category World News

We explore the intersection of cultural appropriation and appreciation today on The Stream: &nbsp.

Five people were killed and 19 others were injured when a powerful explosion at a chemical factory in China was caused by investigators in China. More than 200 emergency personnel responded to the explosion in Shandong province, which damaged homes one kilometer away.

Oualata is one of a quartet of fortified towns, or ksour, whose historical significance as trading and religious centers earned it the title “World Heritage.” They still contain remnants of a rich medieval past today.

The earthen facades of Oualata are punctuated by acacia wood doors with traditional designs that local women have painted on the walls. Family libraries safeguard incredibly valuable collections of cultural and literary heritage that have been passed down through generations.

Oualata is acutely vulnerable to the harsh Sahara environment because of its close proximity to the Malian border. The town’s historical walls have become strewn with stone and holes as a result of particularly severe recent rains, which have caused piles of stone and seasonal downpours.

Standing next to her crumbling childhood home, which is now her inheritance from her grandparents, Khady said, “Many houses have collapsed because of the rains.”

Oualata’s decline has only been accelerated by depopulation.

Sidiya, a member of a national foundation dedicated to protecting the country’s ancient towns, claimed that “the houses became ruins because their owners left them.”

Oualata’s population has remained stagnant for generations as residents relocate and leave their historic structures foreclosed. The traditional structures, which are covered in red mud-brick known as banco, were designed to withstand the desert’s climate but still need maintenance after the rainy season.

Only about one-third of the Old Town’s buildings are actually inhabited, leaving the majority of it to be abandoned.

Desertification is “our biggest issue,” according to the statement. “Oualata is covered in sand everywhere,” Sidiya said.

About 80% of the country is affected by desertification, which is a “adverse state of land degradation” caused by “climate change (and) inappropriate operating practices,” according to the Mauritania’s Ministry of Environment.

Even Oualata’s mosque was submerged in sand by the 1980s. Bechir Barick, a geography lecturer at Nouakchott University, said that “people were praying on top of the mosque” rather than inside.

Oualata is still home to remnants of its past as a major gateway to the trans-Saharan caravan routes and a renowned center of Islamic learning despite the relentless sand and wind.

Mohamed Ben Baty, the town’s imam, is the author of nearly a millennium of scholarship and is a member of a renowned line of Quranic scholars. 223 manuscripts, the oldest of which date back to the 14th century, are housed in the family library he controls.

He hurriedly opened a cupboard in a cramped, cluttered room to display its priceless, centuries-old documents, which are fragile and have survived unheilingly.

Ben Baty pointed to pages that had water stains and were once very poorly maintained and vulnerable to destruction as he approached the books, which were then stored in plastic sleeves. In the past, books were kept in trunks, he said, recalling a roof collapse eight years ago during the rainy season when the water seeped in and could ruin them.

More than 2, 000 books were restored and preserved digitally in Oualata thanks to funding from Spain in the 1990s. However, a small number of enthusiasts like Ben Baty, who doesn’t reside in Oualata year-round, are now relying on their dedication to keeping these documents preserved.

Because the library contains a lot of valuable documentation for researchers in various fields, including languages, the Quran, history, and astronomy, he said, “the library needs a qualified expert to ensure its management and sustainability.”

The nearest town, Oualata, is a two-hour drive across rugged terrain, and the island’s isolation prevents tourism development. The town’s location in a region where many nations advise against traveling, citing the threat of rebel violence, makes things even more difficult.

Three decades ago, Sidiya acknowledges that the planting of trees around Oualata was insufficient in response to efforts to combat the encroaching desert.

Oualata and the three other historic towns that were reunited in 1996 on the UNESCO World Heritage List have been the subject of a number of initiatives. One of the four towns hosts a festival each year to raise money for restoration, investment, and to encourage more people to stay.

When a number of Palestinians who were starving rushed to a distribution center run by the contentious Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, at least three people died. The operation was criticized by aid organizations because Benjamin Netanyahu appeared to acknowledge that it was a means of imposing a downward pressure on Gaza’s population.

I’ve written a lot about Palestinians’ trials and tragedies for a long time.

Every word of every column that has appeared on this page, devoted to Palestine’s precarious fate and the unwavering souls who refuse to leave it, has been treated as a duty and obligation.

Writing has the power and obligation to expose injustice and express gratuitous suffering, which is a privilege that writers have over the ability to reach so many people and places.

I’m standing where I am throughout. Any honest author is aware of how exhausting and foolish that can be, but because I am required to tell the truth truth openly and, if necessary, repeatedly.

The moral imperative of this terrible, disfiguring hour is, in my opinion, to end what has happened to Palestinians and continues to happen to them.

A response is necessary because silence frequently results in complicity and consent, whether intentionally or accidentally.

Each of us who feels like we have a duty and obligation reacts in a unique way.

Some address lawmakers in their speeches. In demonstrations, some people encircle the arms. Some travel to Gaza and the West Bank to avert the prevailing devastation and despair they are causing.

I write.

Writing in support of Palestinians is not intended to be a polemical provocation, nor can it be dismissed as a rejection of their humanity, dignity, and rights.

It’s a conscience-based act in my opinion.

I don’t write to mollify. In order to provide readers with a convenient and comfortable ethical exit ramp, I object to categorizing what has happened and is happening in Palestine as “complex.”

No complex occupation exists. The process of oppression is simple. Apartheid is not difficult. The cause of the Genocide is not complex. It is cruel. It is incorrect. It must renounce politeness.

Writing about Palestinians in this direct, unwavering manner resounds with responses from all directions.

Some readers praise your “courage.” Some thanks you for “speaking” to them, not yelling, and naming names. Despite the risks and reproaches, some readers urge you to keep writing.

Some readers refer to you as ugly names, which is much less charitable. Some people wish harm and misfortune for you and your family. Some readers try to fire you, but they don’t.

Whatever the reaction, whether it be kind or unkind, thoughtful or thoughtless, or the consequences, whether or not, you can always keep writing.

However, one of the drawbacks of writing about Palestinians is losing the comforting serenity and tender pleasure of long-standing friendships.

On this depressing note, I suppose I’m not the only one.

For refusing to ignore or sanitize the horror we see day after day, students, teachers, academics, artists, and many others have been exiled, charged, or even jailed.

My struggles are modest in comparison, despite being stinging and disconcerting. Even though dear, detached friends seem to have a price for openness.

These friendships, which were established over decades through varied experiences, including happy and unhappy ones, have suddenly vanished.

I was aware that something could go wrong. I had no fear of it. I accepted it.

However, it sprang when it did.

It came a little late. Voicemail was used to make phone calls. Emails didn’t receive any responses. Inevitably, the silence and absence grew until they became a clear verdict.

I therefore declined to request explanations. That would be pointless, in my opinion. A door had been forced to close and close.

I admired and respected my friends. With whom I trusted, trusted, and sought advice from, and sought their counsel.

Gone.

I wish them and their loved ones the best. I’ll miss their counsel and assistance, occasionally both wise and occasionally.

Some of them are Jewish, while others are not. I have no regrets about their choice. They have used their prerogative to determine who can and cannot be referred to as friends.

Their litmus test, which we all have, was once passed by me. I’ve already let it go.

Some of my former friends have enchanted me with Israel, I am aware of. Some people reside there with their families. Some people may be grieving as well, concerned about what will follow.

I don’t ignore their apprehensions or doubts. I don’t contest their safety’s value.

The unspoken root of the irreversible divide is where, in my opinion, we are.

Palestine’s freedom and sovereignty cannot be compromised.

That is not coexistence, let alone peace. It is oppressive, brutal, and unforgiving.

This profound and lasting loss replaces the clarity that results from rejection. It increases your sense of genuineness and loyalty in relationships.

Perhaps the people I assumed I knew were completely unknowable. And perhaps those who believed they knew me were completely unaware of me.

A reckoning is taking place. It can be messy and painful, like most things, big or small, near or far.

We are attempting to navigate a pitiful world that, on the whole, rewards tolerance and punishes dissention.

I can assure those friends who have chosen to stay away that I think you have a right to do what you are doing. I am just like that.

Not to hurt, I write. I request a response.

I make a point that Palestinians’ lives matter.

I make it clear that edict, force, and intimidation cannot eradicate Palestinians.

I make it clear that no one should perform this ritual every day.

I firmly believe that humanity must be universal and that justice must not be limited.

I demand that Palestinian children discover a life beyond occupation, resentment, and grief.

I make sure Palestinian children have the same opportunity to play, learn, and thrive as our children.

I make it clear that a nation must be shaken of the killing lust that has spread like a fever that won’t go away.

Too much harm has been caused.

Can we come to a consensus on that?

The account will indicate that I wasn’t among the silent during this obscene moment of slaughter and starvation when I stopped writing.

For better or worse, it will record me on the record.