Tareq Khaleel, and the Generation of Writers of the Ibada
Eons ago when I studied Third Year Spanish Literature at the University of La Laguna, our professor would during his long monologue in our class spoke of the conflict of generations, apparently – if memory serves me – a concept pushed out by the Irish philosopher George Bernard Shaw.[1] Basically, it was one of the indicators of the out with the old and in with the new, in literature and other fields. However, in literature this concept is really important as literature is, contrary to what many would believe, not limited to the world of humanities, but rather the fruit of everything deeply embedded in our culture.
In my Spanish literature class of the third year, my professor, Salvador, introduced to us (to me anyway, as I had not studied “bachillerato” in Spain, but rather “high school” in the US) to what generations were, how they differed, and how important they were for literature. But most of all, what great events, mostly cataclysms, started these generations. For instance, the Spanish generation of 98 (1898, with the likes of Juan Ramon Jimenez, Pio Baroja, Azorin, Miguel de Unamuno, etc.) was triggered by the defeat of Spain by the US in a war that lasted less than a year and saw the Spanish empire which had been around for close to 500 years reduced to less than 15% of what it was the year before. It was this collective trauma that brought about a literary fertility the likes of which influenced generations of Spanish and non-Spanish speakers.
The same can be seen in Arabic literature where we see collective disasters constitute that spark, that instance where something beautiful comes out of something dark. That spark, or that stone, thrown in a pond creating a splash with a ripple effect, where writers react the only way possible: through the pen. In the contemporary history of the Arab world, the series of tragic events with devastating effects which, simultaneously, were the reason for an incredible literary abundance.
The Nakba of 1948, the Naksa of 1967, the Intifadas from the 90s to the early 2000s, all of these catastrophes have created several generations of literary and philosophical geniuses including (and not limited to) Ghassan Kanafani, Mourid Barghouti, Mohamed Choukri, Nizar Qabbani, Taha Abdurrahman, Ibrahim Nasrullah, etc... and any expert in Arabic literature (which I do not count myself as) will realize I am not even close to scratching the surface. Contemporary Arabic poetry, prose, philosophy, all have to thank these tribulations for their being.
To the previously mentioned terms, Nakba, Naksa, and Intifada, I propose the coining of a new term which summarizes the horrors we have all been witnesses to, whether it is through our televisions or our smart phones: the “Ibada.” Although it is for Arabic writers and thinkers to decide, I believe this term “Ibada,” which is the Arabic term for genocide, will be one of the terms used by English speakers and thinkers to refer to events which have been occurring since October 7th, 2023 (even though, it is safe to say that what led up to the operation by Palestinian fighters implemented on 7 October 2023 began way before).
I can also say with a lot of certainty that this continuous horror, which has been befalling the Palestinian people and continues to transpire while I am writing these words is having the same effect the aforementioned catastrophes had on their respective generations.
One of the Palestinian writers I have been reading since the events of October 7th, 2023, has been Tariq Khaleel. A Palestinian writer originally from Gaza but currently residing outside of Palestine, Tariq - copiously affected by the Zionist entity’s indiscriminate killing of innocents - has been a continuous voice of vehement rally against the unfolding and continuous horror with the only weapon he has at his disposal, the pen. Normally, in an essay or any type of literary review, I would abide by chronology and describe the evolution of his work. Unfortunately, desperate times demand desperate measures, and I can only see myself pointing out certain characteristics of his current work, those elements that really stand out, conveying his anger and disgust of a world that sits by allowing the genocide to be continued by perpetrators who until now have only been held accountable on the battle field but continue their extermination thanks to unquestioned support of decadent colonial empires struggling to remain relevant in a world that has begun to wake up and shows no signs of backing down.
In one of his most recent writings titled “Exhaustion” (literally “My Exhaustion or My Fatigue”), we see a person, the writer himself, repeating a daily routine over the last few months of waking up totally distraught from the news or lack of from his family in Gaza, “...my family, decent people, dispersed and scattered by the war, from displaced to martyr.” He cannot even find repose in slumber, as he wakes up, throws on his shoulders “a poncho made of wool his father gave him” to ward off the cold remnant from the night before, and right away thinks about the people in Gaza “whose greatest wish has been reduced to getting something to eat, or finding something to cover them and protect them from the Winter...”
His writing over the last few months has changed dramatically in its topic, changing from when he would write about science, scientists, literature, feminist literature, philology, and of course politics, to only speaking about the continuous tragedy playing out in Gaza, where he can only echo the suffering of his people, or the pain at the sight of nations, linked to his people through blood and creed, on the side watching with eyes wide open, yet doing nothing:
“How is it a people, said to be the best of all peoples, accept what is befalling Gaza?! In fact, how is it they take the tragedy, pain, and suffering of its people, and turn them into a commodity through which they profit?! How is it they tolerate the debauchery of those who criticize its people describing them with the most malign expressions and filthiest names?! Here I have understood that we are a people, a nation that does not follow in the footsteps of Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, or his companions.”
It is safe to say that writers are often at their best during the worst times, and this can be said about Tariq, who already a well-established writer has really blossomed as a result of these horrific circumstances. And I apologize for using this term. Can a flower blossom in the middle of a war? His writing flows with pain, anger, sorrow, and burden, and he uses all of the tools the Arabic language provides him with to express what he feels. Like other writers of this time, he prefers brief interventions because he knows people do not want to spend their time reading. And this is where his talent lies. He gives you a whole detailed picture that stands on its own, even though it is connected with previous writings whether they be in prose or verse.
Tariq is not the only Arabic speaking writer out there expressing his own personal chronology of the Ibada in Gaza, there are others as well. And God willing, when the dust settles, we will see more and more writers who express themselves in Arabic, as well as other languages, a whole new generation, appear to give their account of the tragedy that befell Palestine while the world stood, watched and did nothing.
John Joseph Colangelo
Translator & Researcher
[1] Again, “if memory serves me” is my disclaimer, so please do not go after me if I did not get it right (which would not be the first time).