The road to Olympic Mountain
I do not think that one can marginalize or liberate the cause of the liberation of the South, a moment that separated two stages of all our lives. In the period leading up to the year 2000, I had been able, for decades, to live with all the hardships suffered by our people there, of which we were a part, since after my graduation from the university I was working as a professor of the Arabic language in the official secondary school of Tire. I do not specifically mention the number of times that the city of Tire was bombed, and that we went down to the entrances to buildings, which are somewhat similar to shelters, or the times I used to go to the villages of Zibqin in the south and I do not, I will return to Cairo from where I came. And if it happened that I arrived, I do not know when the bombing will start and when it will end, there are no ceilings there shadowing people, and no shelters. And if we were to map the number of times the southerners traveled towards Beirut or other areas while they were being displaced by successive invasions, continuous bombing, or the number of times they returned to their villages, we would have obtained something like a maze that has no first or last, and on A myriad of oppression and suffering, of fear, humiliation and soreness, the people we lost, all these things I remember now as I recall the moment of liberation, this moment that seems to come from the collective imagination, from myths and epics.
It will be a matter of ingratitude, denial, and lack of loyalty that those who deny this bright moment in our history will come out to us, a moment that did not happen by chance, but the resistance, whether national or Islamic in the future, paid a high price for its achievement: the martyrs seemed to cut the same path that the runners took. The ancient Greeks reached the Olympic Mountain, where each of them had to deliver the torch to his companion, and where dozens fell before the torch reached the top of the mountain. Suffice it to compare what became the south two thousand years ago and what it was before in order to show the size of the victory that has been achieved: these houses we are visiting now, these houses and great buildings that spread in the villages of the borders within a stone’s throw from the occupation soldiers, these lush gardens … All of them would not have been achieved, accomplished and built without the sacrifices made in their way. Only a stone was raised over a stone on the broken backbone of a martyr there. Zahra only bloomed from that bleeding, which flowed without a wound from the wounds, and even the wind seemed to echo the sobbing of those who were in pain waiting for their loved ones who promised them to return and then did not return. The wind is made from the sighs of these people and the water is made from their tears: so we felt that the feet are not the only ones who set foot on the liberated land, but that the soul is freed from its minds, the soul is freed from its fear, and the looks are freed from its blinds. Here, I must say that when the earth is occupied, there is a loss of all elements of existence, and the inability to see things as they are. Imagine, for example, when we stand on the hill of Maroun al-Ras and look towards occupied Palestine, there is something missing in the scene, there is something the eye feels unable to see because these assets that are confiscated from us, because we carry a great sin and a minister in being confiscated, so the looks mixed with feelings of fear and humiliation . The people who were dying in the occupied south, they felt before the promised paradise they went to an endless purgatory, feeling a sense of negligence in defending the land, and I am talking here about the ordinary dead. I am present at this moment the first poem I wrote after liberation in 2000, as I did not want to write a poem with a victorious tone, propaganda, or slogans, or burdened with empty rhetoric, because the martyrs who gave their most valuable and gave the body language its best manifestation, we had to meet them In similar linguistic manifestations. Therefore, the personality of Abd al-Amir Abdallah, the writer, satirical, laughing, funny and tragic journalist who lived in Beirut, was diagnosed with cancer, then suddenly woke up in the kindergarten of the two martyrs. I knew Abd al-Amir and the extent of his attachment to his mother land in Bint Jbeil. When he heard that the south was liberated, when he heard the drums that were ringing, the hymns and songs of the returnees, he woke up from his death and walked with the returnees to be buried where he should be buried, in the land of Bint Jbeil, and the whole poem revolves in Somewhere between the moment of departure from Rawdat Al-Shahidin and the moment of arrival to Bint Jbeil. Art finds in such moments a place and a foothold for it, and it can only be favored by the high language that the martyrs presented in their way, such as eloquence.After twenty years of liberation, and we now live in this terrible retreat in the life of the nation, and we see our country collapsing on those in it, and our economy collapses with hunger and poverty everywhere, we see a political authority that does not stop spreading its epidemics and corruption throughout the country and its faults, so we must To ask: Has this security paid us for the liberation of the country? Is it beneficial or upright to liberate the earth with the enslavement of man? That is why I feel that this liberation is now being slandered and threatened with its meaning being robbed. In this respect, the situation seems more painful than it was before the liberation, and the reason is that the stab of the enemy hurts the chest, but the stab of the friend hurts the heart, that we are wounded from our father’s house, from those who had to protect their people and value their struggles, to stand by his side and provide him with a happy life And those are the ones who robbed him of all his rights, confiscated his property and plundered his wealth, and now they want to disavow everything, and I remember the words of the Palestinian poet Ahmed Dahbour in the context of his criticism of some practices of power at home, the occupation bullets, and the puppet regimes: «What is the difference between a bullet and a bullet as long as they reach my head? ». In conclusion, I salute all those who sacrificed for the liberation of the land, from the first bullet fired by the Palestinians in the sixties, to the martyrs of the national resistance and to the martyrs of the Islamic resistance. I say that the most important battle now is to defend the gains and stand on the side of our people who did not spare their wealth, blood, life and tears, Therefore, the resistance is concerned with standing with everyone who says that liberating the earth does not cancel our role in resisting the interior and fighting corruption. Resistance is not obligated to choose between fighting the enemy inside and the enemy outside, and she knows that her popular back will be vulnerable to breaking if it continues as it is. The exhibition of defending the Lebanese people, their values and dignity is a basic battle and can only take place by a radical change of the political class allied with the capital, banks, and extremists who fall to the throne of power.
Liberated geography … the sick homeland
Muhammad Ali Shamsuddin
I see her looking down from windows and windows and from the eyes of the oppressed in the streets and squares and in front of banks, banks, thieves and deeds, and on the doorsteps of thieves, governing councils and sects who are forced into the liberated geography on the chest of an entire people.
Can we speak of a homeland liberated from the Israeli occupier and citizens bound by the chains of their doctrines and dependencies and who reproduce their slavery by specific dates in the seasons of acclamation and affiliation dependency and loyalty?
Is it possible now, after twenty years, chaos, and Corona, to liberate the South, to say with reassurance: We are free citizens of a free geography?
It is the skeptical question, yes …
When the divine spark sparked the resistance’s dowry on the borders and trembled with its horror, accuracy, and clarity, the Israeli occupation soldiers who subjected the southern land twenty-five years to enslavement, we were on the edge of the strip. Lightning Resistance will open to look. I was seeing other babies born and another people that would be created with liberation. I could have set the boundaries of the geography liberated in centimeters, with the stones of villages and shepherds on the free land, and I say that blood was shed near this tree and at that rock and in this valley and the flow of water and without these children and women and the elderly and men who were living anxiety of freedom and dignity, must His dawn will rise. The resistance came and opened a wide door to my questions to rise … But can I say now the following dangerous sentence: We are Lebanese now and at this very moment a slave people living on a geography liberated by our sects, politicians, rulers, spoilers, and looted thieves, oppressing our hands, our executioners with our hands and our hand.
The problem lies in the core of the sectarian bone that must be liberated with the land if not before it, and that we are a enslaved people living on a liberated geography, that exciting masks of enslavement follow on this geography guarded by the weapon of resistance, and that it is absurd to rejoice in complete and complete liberation with the power of deterrent and terrifying force For Israel … and further. If the souls of the Lebanese are not freed from the chains of sectarianism and political dependency and compete to plunder the liberties of the liberated geography and share it with many titles – but the essence is the same – the body cannot be free and the soul is destroyed.