Text – Page 20 – Citizen Reporter

Space For Those Who Don’t Agree

Lisbon, March 2011 Through the numerous jobs I do as both a journalist and an editor to help fund my own work here on this site, I end up editing many documents relating to new media and its significance. Among the terms and theories that are frequently kicked around is the one about how through today’s social media applications and collective spaces on the web, like minded people can find each other and further develop their projects or networks. No doubt, this is happening and will continue to happen; yet while many celebrate this development, I’m left concerned and wondering about the flip side of this coin.

What will a world be like where for the most part like minded people find each other and communicate amongst themselves? Where you unfriend or ignore any person with an opinion that doesn’t match your own. How will future compromises and cooperation occur among people who have very different points of view about how the world works or should work?

In many ways this question has begun to be answered with every passing election in this decade. In Europe for example, increasingly you hear about increase in votes for parties on the fringe or on extreme opposite opinions from each other. The middle ground or voices that express something less pronounced or less strict positions are losing ground (of course in many cases they might also deserve it for a poor track record).

Despite the power of the internet to educate and connect people, and the tools that have made this all possible, the answer to the aforementioned question has not emerged. You can surely follow people on twitter that you agree with just as well as you can follow people you disagree with, but do we really do both? Or do we unfollow the person who’s opinion we can’t stand. After that, we may never have to hear from them and can proceed with communicating with the more pleasant people we tend to agree with.

Of course this is not the same story throughout the internet. There are plenty of people, who disagree on things, listening and communicating with each other. But as systems of social networking become more refined, catering to what you like and who you like, how do we keep the things we don’t like -but might need to live alongside, from being ignored. Are all the great developments for sharing information making sure that NON likeminded people are encouraged (or required!) to keep listening to each other? Perhaps they should, since we do still live on this earth together, and ignoring each other continues to have terrible side effects.

Solidarity with Immigrants in Portugal

“The other organizations throughout Europe that work to help immigrants are in awe of what we do here, something they have been unable to do,” Timóteo explains with ethusiastic hand gestures in the air, “to run an organization for immigrants that is completely autonomous and not dependent on government or international funds.” He repeats this point to make sure everyone in the room has understood, this place and the people in it, are one of a kind in Europe and perhaps even the world. When you, as an immigrant, come to the cramped but welcoming offices of Solidariedade Imigrante in downtown Lisbon seeking help with a problem, this organization with over 19,000 members does not just feel sorry for you and start on the problem, first they explain who they are and what their mission is. They also invite that person to become a member of this multi-faceted organization, which involves getting a membership card for a 2 euro a month fee.

Timóteo Macedo, President of Solidariedade Imigrant looks me square in the eye to make sure I’m listening, “Help is a reciprocal process. We must help each other. Your problem is not unique to you, many others have gone through it, and they can now help you. Just as you can help someone else one day, or right now, you can help us pay the electric bill, for example.” He also goes over the growing force within Portugal that this organization has become, “In the late 90’s when we started, an immigrant could be stopped by the police and arrested on the spot like a criminal. That is not true anymore, now you cannot be arrested. Because we fought this policy, in the halls of government and on the streets. And the government had to take notice.”

Walking from room to room it is hard to ignore the number of people and the diversity of the faces and accents all around. Many seem to be waiting to speak with someone, perhaps about their own issues with legal documents and paperwork. Others are sitting in two’s around a table in the middle of the room, busy explaining what specific pages mean. Their Portuguese is accented and their patience and expertise indicates they themselves have been through this process at one time not so long ago. The walls have inspirational quotes in Portuguese, along with hand drawn flags; the red crescent, the globe from the Brazilian flag, the spinning wheel from the Indian flag. Every now and then a wall has an invitation to an upcoming event; debates, dinners, rallies, etc. I notice there has recently been a Hungarian night consisting of traditional music and food, a local volunteer by the name of Christof explains that members themselves take the lead for such events, “Sometimes members might decide to do their own events about their own culture, and so we might have Russian lessons or a Russian night, for example.” He goes on to explain a long list of services the organization provides, including: job training, youth counseling, housing assistance, and language instruction. As he gets into very involved and impressive details, I’m distracted by another office we’ve walked into with a bank of computers and tall book shelves adorned with signs that read “Please respect the order the books are in, they belong to all of us.”

As our meeting draws to an end Timóteo turns the conversation towards my own work and asks what I’ve been working on during this visit to Portugal. I explain my visit to the home of Aristides de Sousa Mendes and my interest in spreading the word about his story and his legacy. Timóteo nods like my words make perfect sense. “In this place we are Aristides de Sousa Mendes… we save lives everyday. First and foremost we value human lives… -The law comes second,” he smiles.

Adventures in Poultry Farming

“I was here til 4am this morning, one of the stove’s was acting up” Jorge points to the extremely long 2 story orange brick building in front of us. As he slides back a massive rust colored door he tells us to step inside and immediately our lungs are filled with the cozy smell of burning saw dust. It feels like a cross between a giant bakery and a disturbing dream, with the bright Portuguese sun filtering in through the diffused windows, the numerous stoves used for heating this huge space, and all over the floor like a moving ocean of yellow, thousands of baby chicks are heading our way. Actually they’re heading in every which way as if they have so much energy they need to move as often as possible. Elsewhere against the walls and nearer to the stove hundreds of chicks pack themselves into one giant mass as if they’re trying to stay as close together as possible. Some even seem to be forming some kind of chicken pyramid as a game. Besides the smell that makes you oddly comfortable, the sounds are this constant, though not deafening, it’s a chirping combined with traditional Portuguese folklore coming from a radio. At first I thought the music was for the chicks, they seemed to move to and fro depending on the rhythm, but Jorge crushes my theory about chicks and music “oh that’s just for me, I like having music on.” I tell him I think the chicks like it. He shoots me a look of possibility -maybe they do.

“By tonight this entire floor will be covered, they will move around and take over even more” I look left and right and notice the long pipeline that connects food and water, then there are the pillar-stoves every few steps that seem to be almost all generating warmth. Jorge watches me take pictures, he seems to understand how beautiful this workplace of his can be, he talks about how he usually starts out on the first day and how he gradually moves through the building making space for more chicks. “So last night one of the stoves went out, I had to be here to make sure the temperature stayed right.. if anything goes wrong.. It will cost me dearly.” Indeed I can only imagine as I stand there in a sea of yellow, that this is not a labor of love, but in fact his business.. and making sure these little guys live.. is tantamount to doing good business.

“Can you check the temperature remotely, like through a computer” I ask, trying to find some hope for a social life for someone in such a sensitive line of work. – Jorge seems to only hear the beginning of my question, “Oh I had a machine that would regulate the temperature.. a sort of thermostat that I could set to maintain the warmth that they need…. but it broke.. and the repairs and problems ended up costing me 2,000 euro so I gave up on it.” He takes us outside and in the open drunk of a rusting little toyota van is the small german engine, on top of a rusting pile of what looks like might have once been parts for a time saving innovation.

“Some months in the winter especially, when its too cold, I shut the place down. This year I shut down in December and I just started again a few weeks ago… its just too expensive to keep this place heated when the weather doesn’t cooperate.” I ask him how the last years have been and he indicates he has shut down at least one month every year for the past 3+ years. “I also shut down for 15 days in the summer last year.” he half smiles. I presumed he was talking about a vacation and didn’t press the issue to not look like I missed his joke.

When I met Jorge during Carnival the day before, he was wearing neat clothes and a smile, with his wife by his side greeting what seemed to be the entire town. Hearing I was a visiting journalist, he immediately invited me to come see his work. It wasn’t an overconfident invitation, it had the tone of a man who knows not everyone out there knows or see’s what he does on a regular basis. “I had to sleep there last night… had to make sure the little one’s made it through the night.. otherwise we’d be in trouble.” He explained this story to every neighbor that walked up to him and asked how he has been doing. It was like listening to a doctor who had to stay late at the hospital last night. Everyone responded with a look of respect for the good doctor.

Voices of Resistance in Libya

Sometimes you’re reading a book, attending a lecture, watching a film, or listening to an interview and a voice grabs you. The story grabs you. The combination of the story, the voice, and some unknown, undetectable qualities grab hold of you and they shake you somehow. You may have been paying attention, but now you’re really paying attention. You may have cared, but now you’re passionate. You may have had ideas, but you’re inspired.

Citizen Media — Photo by Al Jazeera English on Flickr

Sarah Abdurrahman is one of those determined, inspired, and modest voices that pulled me into her world recently. A producer for On The Media, she has been heavily involved as a Libyan-American activist with the Feb 17th voices movement, or as properly known on twitter: @feb17voices. This group of people, including Sarah, are doing what they can to get real information about what is going on around Libya during this critical time. Its obviously no easy task and there is great risk for those on the ground, not to mention the fear of not succeeding that many have struggled with even before this amazing uprising.

In one poignient moment while being interviewed, Sarah speaks about her father, who decades ago was doing the exact same type of work only with different technology. She speaks about how the older generation has fought and feel that disillusioned after having not succeeded back then. She wants them to know their struggle is part of this struggle. She wants them to know what anyone who fights in this life for a better world wants to know: that they didn’t do so for nothing. That their lives have had purpose, and they are appreciated, and directly connected to everything happening now.

Do yourself a favor, be open to inspiration. Listen yourself to the fantastic Sarah Abdurrahman’s testimony. It won’t be the last time the world takes notice of her.

My Libyan Student

In late 2001 I moved to Lisbon, Portugal in search of new adventures, a stronger connection to my roots, and to basically roll the dice and see where life would take me. Like many children of Portuguese parents who return to Portugal in search of work, I ended up an English teacher at a large corporate school outside Lisbon. This particular area was also where many multinational corporations, embassies, and comfortable retirees were located. These were the sources of the often entertaining and very interesting students that sat in my classes.

One particular gentleman came to my attention when several other teachers told me there was a middle eastern man who spoke no English and no Portuguese and was therefore very hard to communicate with. I was immediately curious about both the person and the challenge. For several months I’d also been privately and rather lazily been learning to write Arabic letters, I wondered if this might not be a chance to get some critique of my work.

The day came where I saw Sadiq* on my roster, he was going to be a student in my little class. In that tiny glass walled room we went through the usual lesson and as others had warned me, he couldn’t follow much compared to other students. I did what I could to communicate and one point I tried to use French which, to his great pleasure, worked! As class ended Sadiq seemed to light up as he explained that he is Libyan and he works at the embassy but that he speaks neither Portuguese nor English. He’s pleased I speak French and asks me some questions he wasn’t able to ask earlier about the lesson. After that I decided to further break some ice by asking him what he thinks of my notebook filled with Arabic letters and words that a toddler could probably write with ease. He laughs. He points to the page and he points to me and in his limited engish he happily exclaims “you?” Yes. Me.

Protest — Photo by Steve Rhodes on Flickr

In the months that followed that meeting Sadiq’s English progressed to a very encouraging level. We no longer used French and he would even write up some short Arabic exercises for me to try. On the occasions where I would be taking a break in the lounge he would sit next to me and talk about how things work in Libya. He knew I was curious, from the climate to the traditions, he always seemed to have something new to explain. One memorable time he joined me sitting with a female colleague who had just been outside smoking. He seemed concerned and went on to explain in his English “In Libya, women no smoke. She is beautiful, she is strong, and she doesn’t put terrible things in her body.” My colleague was of course not impressed and replied, “What about men, it is ok for men?” Sadiq frowned and said “Men are terrible and dirty, so they do these things.” The answer wasn’t great by many standards, but as always I appreciated Sadiq speaking from the heart and showing me what I imagined others might say if I were sitting in Tripoli.

Strangely enough for the next months Sadiq would often invite me to embassy parties and cultural events. I would be introduced as “the professor” and the consulate officials of Algeria or Tunisia would greet me warmly every time. On occasion there would be an example of Libyan culture or folklore on display and Sadiq would walk me through each item and each tradition. I’d leave the events with my head filled with stories told in broken english and pamphlets about how the Libyan economy works.

One day at an event there were copies of Gaddafi’s infamous little green book, which made me laugh as I thought about Mao’s little red book. Sadiq asked if I wanted one, but he didn’t have a kind word to say about it. He immediately moved on to a book of photos about Libya. He proudly pointed to the cityscape of Tripoli, the beautiful coastline, images of large scale agriculture. He was extra adamant about a photo of what I think was a female police officer, I remember him saying “In Libya, Mark, woman can do everything. Not like other places where they don’t let.” I was still processing that moment when he turned to the last photo which showed Gaddafi reviewing a military parade with an array of rocket launchers and tanks. After so many pages of enthusiastic description he pointed and said “this is not so nice. I don’t like this,” and closed the book with some disappointment.

I never asked more about the government and how he felt about it. The country he taught me about was filled with great stories and great beauty. Indeed I decided for myself that as a Libyan in that era it might be safer to avoid or ignore the government and focus on the beautiful things as much as possible.

In the fall of 2002 I left Lisbon for Amsterdam, but I would return for occasional visits and meet him for tea. Eventually he mentioned being recalled to Libya and realized I would probably never see him again. He insisted that one day I would come visit his country and he would be my host. He told me about his wife and children waiting for him back home.

That was over 6 years ago. Today we sit home and we watch some kind of revolution happening in Libya. 40 years of a mentally disturbed dictator are not totally over yet and the trauma will last far beyond his days. I watch the videos and the photos of street battles and I wonder how Sadiq and his family are doing. I hope they are safe. I hope they have a better future ahead of them. Who knows, maybe years from now you’ll be reading on this site about my reunion with Sadiq at Liberation Square in Tripoli.

*Not his real name.

2 Days to Uganda Elections

Poll Worker — Polling Station Worker, Uganda by: flickrmember peprice

We are less than 2 days from presidential elections in Uganda, a place that already is regularly left out of the front pages and trending topics in many parts of the world. When you add to its usual lack of coverage the fact that right now whatever international news is getting attention is focused on any and all protests in Algeria, Libya, Iran, Yemen, Iraq or Bahrain, it is a bad time for anyone that wants to hear more from Uganda.

Myself in my own work, though I say I focus on under reported news, Uganda and Ugandan elections are topics that I have not touched on often enough. Still, with a president election this weekend, what I do know is that there is a president (Museveni) who has been in power for more than 25 years. Regardless if he would be a perfectly charming and benevolent president, 25 years qualifies as too long and a matter of suspicion for this citizen journalist. After having eliminated limits on how many terms a president can serve, the Ugandan leader has earned similar criticism and concern in his home country and among the international community.

In the lead up to this election, my sources on the ground have warned of fraud. They’re concerned with how easily it could happen, especially if the government can manipulate final vote counts. There is a need for eyes on the ground, for reporting, and observing. It seems anyone involved it trying to do so is going to have a major challenge on their hands. This challenge deserves the same kind of support we’ve seen pouring out over the past few weeks for Tunisia and Egypt.

One place I will be looking throughout this process, besides the various voices on twitter, is on the UgandaWatch site. UW is an Ushahidi report-mapping system where Ugandans can submit, via sms or web, reports about what they are seeing wherever they are in the country. This will help, though it doesn’t tell the complete story, to understand what is really going on compared to whatever the office of the president may tell us.

Let’s hope it is a good weekend for voters, journalists and election observers in Uganda.