Love Letters to Our Comrades
Fehras Publishing Practices
Listen to voiceover
Prelude
Sobhi El-Jeez
My comrade, Sobhi El-Jeez
Left me on the ground and went away
My comrade, Sobhi El-Jeez
Put down the broom and left
They didn’t tell me what I could do
For the millions of poor people
Comrade, oh comrade
Where are you, my comrade?
You burdened me with so many things
Stones, dust, and boxes
You changed my last name
And made my name “Comrade”
Comrade, I have no comrade
And my name will remain “Comrade”
I’m searching for someone else
I’m searching for someone like you
Walk, walk, I walk
We walk and continue the road
Oh comrade
Written by Ziad Rahbani
As we give thought to the poignant moments of our interconnected histories, we are transported to a radio show in 1997, a year marked both by sorrow and continuing resilience in South Lebanon against the Israeli Occupation. That year, “Sawt Al-Shaab” (Voice of the People) radio station hosted the Lebanese artist Ziad Rahbani in its Beirut studio where one can hear the lingering echoes of the Qana massacre of 1996. An IOF (Israeli Occupation Forces) shelling of a UN compound Near Qana, in South Lebanon, claimed the lives of 106 civilians who had taken refuge in that compound. For five hours, the influential composer, pianist, and dramatist poured their heart out in an open conversation with journalist Doha Shams and other guests, discussing the very essence of political, social and cultural work.
Ziad Rahbani lived through years of intense regional political and social transformations following the collapse of the Soviet Union. Every image they painted in a song or a theater piece was based on the harsh reality of their time, which witnessed a violent Civil War and occupation. Their talk during the interview resonated beyond escapism, touching on themes of mental health in times of crises, the struggle for a living wage, the contrasts of Marxism and neoliberalism, the profound influences of the Islamic Republic of Iran, the rise of China, and the repercussions of the first Palestinian Intifada worldwide.
Throughout this on-air gathering, Ziad shared reflections on collective memories behind the musical scene. During the program, Bisan called in— a young child whose name echoes the beauty of a Palestinian town to the south of the Jordan River. Bisan sang a heartfelt poem that Ziad composed as a tribute to their comrade and companion, Sobhi El-Jeez. Sobhi died during the ravages of the Civil War in Lebanon. The purity in Bisan’s voice reminds us of the fragility of life and the enduring power of love that binds us together even in the face of loss and genocide.
The companionship and the camaraderie of this story inspired us to write love letters to honor our comrades who strived for a better reality.
A love letter to a garden, one that strives to rise above its own “happy laws of gardening”. But more than that, it serves as a reminder that whenever we leave behind the theater of men, we witness the maternal flourishing of intuition. The revolution is constant, unfolding every year, every season, every cycle.
Through the mechanism of these love letters, we can hear the clatter of inclusion between the unassuming flowers and the resourceful shrubs. This garden is a paradise of undoing, where weeds and brambles begin to digest the enclosure, and vines embrace the hinges of the gate. It is a garden where growth is ripping the seams of the engine apart.
In every struggle and every field of work, we find reverberation of our love, a testament to our collective liberation.
Thanks to the hands and souls of all labourers who appeared in the video work. Some of whose names are mentioned here. Others who we cannot collect the names of (if you come across this commission, please get in touch with us). Please know we see you and recognise your labour and your magic. No exhibition will be built without you.
Names in order of appearance: Kristina, Nancy, Willem, Diego, Mokia, Emilio, Sina, Rafal, Jessie, Leila, Santiago, Sami, Waylon, Abhishek & the participants of the UNIIDEE residency “Neither on land nor at Sea” Module VIII in 2024. The locations in which the art labour took place are SAVVY Contemporary, Spore Initiative, Flutgraben e.V., and Cittadellarte Fondazione Pistoletto.
To our Beloved Cultural Workers,
In every quiet moment of the day, our thoughts inevitably drift to you—you who breathe life into our world with your boundless creativity and unwavering dedication. We worked together shoulder to shoulder, wearing many different shoes. Do you remember when we were watching your dance, and you asked: “How many hands move in the orchestra?” then you murmured: “The timelapse of the gestures of those who weave a story must be long.”
In those days, you kept repeating a catchphrase: “All the stories are impure.” You were shimmering in our eyes. We cherish those moments when we plough together and cultivate the city. We humbly receive these sweet, sweet tastes of camaraderie.
When you were walking in the shoes of collaborators, as builders, art handlers or artists, the degree of freedom and recognition you offered throughout our collaboration filled our eyes with tears of respect. You blessed us with trust and selflessness, despite the craze of the cultural scene on authorship. You watched over us where labour laws were biased. And We got warm under the light of your humbleness. With immense appreciation to accompany you on this journey. We humbly receive this delicious auspice.
When you were walking in the shoes of curators, we were lucky to have a coworker who knew how to put a screw in the wall. You graced us with unparalleled care. That empowering sight of your attention on where to put down your foot! You weaved a show, carrying no ego. Your patience stunned us. You believed in people above aesthetics, ensuring that you acknowledged all the names, hands, and deeds of whoever made the show possible. You actively and meticulously rejected the hierarchies of ideals and stood on the ground of materials. We humbly receive this candied taste of care.
When we were in the shoes of producers, you overfilled our hearts with joy when you told us how material conditions of labour are more important than the story: ” Let’s not forget that it is just a story; it works even better when it’s less perfect,” you claimed. You were always attentive to others’ needs during a production. You even forethought the labour of dismantling, ensuring you won’t overspread your shadows even in the end. We are in awe and humbly receive this sweet taste of awareness.
When you were walking in the shoes of initiators, the creations crafted by your hands enchanted us. Hands trained by the movement of prints, whether you were creating books, magazines, or an announcement for selling a risograph machine in your neighbourhood. Your devotion to highlighting details on the edge of a page or along the spine of a book, made each piece unique and illuminating. We will never forget the photo you captured from that orange tree on the southern route of Haifa, where that grand house stands. We eagerly await your return, carrying from your distant travels the leaves of olives and lavender you hid between the pages of your last diary book.
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To our Beloved Booksellers,
When we saw you, you stood resolute in your cherished spot, whether under the blazing sun or in the biting cold, fiercely defending the heritage and traditions of your craft. You offered wisdom to those seeking the dormant knowledge within the pages of old books. Your pure spirit shone upon our slender figures, our faces adorned with longing smiles. Through the chronicles of relocated publishing archives, you brought the present to life. You guided us to street libraries and drew insights from book markets that have bravely survived wars, fundamentalism, and populism.
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That day, you followed the marginalia of forgotten tomes, tucked away in boxes on dusty shelves, to uncover secrets sealed within their introductions. You spoke of LOTUS: Afro-Asian Writings magazine, published by the Afro-Asian Writers Association, sharing your vast knowledge of the association’s history and its magazine, which began in 1968.
You transformed that space into a warm sanctuary, where tall stacks of books and magazines embraced us. We sat on small purple chairs as you showed us issue no. 2/3 of LOTUS. Flipping through the pages, you stopped at page 123, revealing a poem by Iraqi poet Nazik Al-Malaika, a pioneer of Arabic prose. The poem, about a dream of a visitor waiting in the folds of the distant future, turned those velvet chairs into a capacious green field. In your hand, you carried a book titled A World Without Maps, where you hid a clipping confirming the poet’s presence alongside the Cameroonian activist and writer Marthe Ekemeyong Moumié and the Uzbek poet Zulfiya Isroilova at the second Afro-Asian Writers’ Conference in the main hall of Cairo University in 1962.
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Amid the chaos of random shelling and endless checkpoints, you became a bridge, transporting boxes of publications to a safe refuge from absurd death. Defying borders, you continue to trace books with unwavering passion, even in the internet age, as print seems to wane under its dominance. Like a paratrooper, you descended to assist us in preserving the publishing memory of LOTUS magazine. From Cairo to Cyprus, across Amman and Beirut, the magazine— a testament to the Afro-Asian Solidarity Movement—flew to feed its readers, becoming the bread of words.
We shared with you our reproach over the absence of female poets and writers in the magazine. Your keen memory quickly escorted us to the shore, pointing us toward Amal Farid, Laila El-Hakim, Nihad Salem, Rosette Francis, Samia Assad, Sanaa El-Beissy among other writers and translators, and their contributions to the magazine across its peak decades.
Thanks to you, we learned that artistic research should be a love letter.
To our Beloved LOTUS,
Your collective endeavour has given birth to a literary treasure and carved out a post-imperial political imagination—a revolutionary dedication to transcontinental cooperation. In a world divided by crimes of power structures, you have illuminated a path for collaboration, understanding and mutual respect. The Afro-Asian Writers’ Association’s vision has bridged continents, creating a tapestry of voices that speak to the shared human experience, rich in color and united in purpose.
Through LOTUS, you provided a platform for voices that might otherwise have been silenced. The magazine is a testament to the power of words and the strength of solidarity, reminding us of the beauty and necessity of relational works that cross cultures and geographical boundaries. We recognise the immense labor and resources required to create and sustain such a monumental project.
Your work has enriched the literary landscapes and sown the seeds of liberation for a more equitable global society. We continue to draw inspiration from your tireless efforts, finding in LOTUS guiding stars for our ongoing efforts to bring healing. Your legacy is a beacon of hope and a call to action for all who believe in collectives’ transformative power.
Dear LOTUS, the e-platform performingborders, binding new pages along your path. We can witness your flower blooming afresh. Another entry commissioned in the garden of performingborders who can attest to this observation is an assembly by Party Office called we’re the ones we’ve been waiting for.
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Pages from LOTUS: Afro-Asian Writings, the quarterly review of the Permanent Bureau of Afro-Asian Writers Association, selected from different issues from late 60s, 70s & 80s. Due to socio-political transformations, the magazine was relocated and produced in different cities Cairo, Beirut, Tunis. The English and French editions were printed in East Germany by the Afro-Asian Solidarity Committee. Fehras Publishing Practices, LOTUS: Afro-Asian Writings Collection (1968-1993), Hader Halal, 2024.
Music Credits from audio
“Sobhi El-Jeez” written and composed by Zaid Rahbani. Sang spontaneously by Bisan on “Sawt Al-Shaab” (Voice of The People) radio station in 1997.
The song was first recorded by Lebanese artist Khaled El-Haber in 1975. It was rearranged by Ziad Rahbani and recoded by Fayrouz in their album “Wala Kif” in 2002.
“Al-Maamal” (The Factory) by Ziad Rahbani, recorded mid 1980s.
“Middle East… W Kameh” by Ziad Rahbani. Live at Damascus Citadel, 2008.
“Baby, I Love You” by Bobby McFerrin & Wynton Marsalis Quartet. The Magic Hour, 2004.