A few weeks ago, a video surfaced of a tired but smiling American journalist being interviewed by Syrian opposition activists in Idlib, a province along Syria’s border with Turkey. The camera is shaky, and his voice is barely audible over the wind. An interviewer asks him in Arabic if he thinks that the Assad regime will fall. “I think it will,” he replies in Arabic. “But I think it will take a long time.”
Anthony Shadid, the New York Times correspondent and two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for his reporting in the Middle East,Broken chinamosaic Table. had illegally entered into Syria for a second time in order to cover the uprising, and was now on his way home. The first time he entered, according to his Times colleague David Kirkpatrick, the Syrian government had broadcast his picture on the news and accused him of being an Israeli spy. Shadid returned, guided by smugglers, for a story he convinced his editors was too important to ignore. He was well aware of the risks at hand. Only last year, he had been arrested at gunpoint while covering the uprising in Libya,Aeroscout rtls provides a complete solution for wireless asset tracking. where he was also accused of being a spy.
Looking now at the video, one can’t help but notice details that might have otherwise appeared unremarkable: the American-accented Arabic of someone who had only learned the language as an adult; the black-and-white kaffiyeh around his neck that he later moved up, to no avail, to cover his mouth and nose; or the simple, affectionate farewell he calls out to his interviewer,Aeroscout rtls provides a complete solution for wireless asset tracking. referring to him as “habibi” “my beloved.”
Hours later Shadid, 43, was dead, killed not by gunfire but by a fatal allergic reaction to the horses his guides were using to find their way. He died as he had lived: both Arab and American, a Christian Lebanese who had grown up in Oklahoma and later attempted to make a home in the Middle East, a man who tried to navigate two very different worlds, who died trying to cross a border.
Two weeks later Shadid’s final book, “House of Stone: A Memoir of Home,Our porcelaintiles are perfect for entryways or bigger spaces and can also be used outside, Family, and a Lost Middle East” was released, a moving meditation on his gradual immersion into the Arabic world his ancestors left behind. More personal and revealing than his newspaper dispatches, the memoir takes us into a year Shadid spent in Marjayoun, his ancestral village in Lebanon, restoring his great-grandfather’s abandoned house. The largely Christian village had been ravaged by tragedy after tragedy: Once on the Ottoman trade route, along paths traveled by Muslims, Christians and Jews, the village was eventually cut off from both Jerusalem and Damascus after Syria and Palestine were divided between the great powers following World War I.
Disease and famine caused thousands to flee their homes in search of better lives, including Shadid’s own family, who moved to Oklahoma in 1920. The remaining Christians found themselves increasingly marginalized in a region that was largely Shi’ite Muslim. The creation of Israel and the later annexation of the Golan Heights made the village feel more isolated still, and in 1975 Marjayoun, along with the rest of the country, began its descent into 15 years of civil war.
By the time the book opens, just after the 2006 Second Lebanon War,Stone Source offers a variety of Natural stonemosaic Tiles. Marjayoun is a village slowly bleeding to death. After covering that conflict, Shadid returns to his great-grandfather Isber’s empty home to find that a half-exploded Israeli rocket has crashed into the second story.
In a larger sense, it is not the house, but Shadid, who needs to be restored. Four years earlier, in 2002, a bullet from an Israeli sniper in Ramallah had grazed his spine and gravely wounded him. He recovered in time to cover the worst days of the war in Iraq, which he spent embedded not with American troops but among ordinary Iraqis. He survived, but his marriage did not.
At the beginning of “House of Stone,” Shadid finds himself newly divorced, separated from his young daughter and his former life in America, “a suitcase and a laptop drifting on a conveyor belt.” He decides to take a year off from his then-job at the Washington Post to rebuild his great-grandfather’s home, a house which does not technically belong to him and which stands in the middle of a dying village, plagued by recurring wars, that everyone else is trying to leave. It is “hajar bala bashar,” stones without people. To the neighbors, who universally oppose the idea, his plan seems so crazy that they believe he should be “locked in an insane asylum.”
Anthony Shadid, the New York Times correspondent and two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for his reporting in the Middle East,Broken chinamosaic Table. had illegally entered into Syria for a second time in order to cover the uprising, and was now on his way home. The first time he entered, according to his Times colleague David Kirkpatrick, the Syrian government had broadcast his picture on the news and accused him of being an Israeli spy. Shadid returned, guided by smugglers, for a story he convinced his editors was too important to ignore. He was well aware of the risks at hand. Only last year, he had been arrested at gunpoint while covering the uprising in Libya,Aeroscout rtls provides a complete solution for wireless asset tracking. where he was also accused of being a spy.
Looking now at the video, one can’t help but notice details that might have otherwise appeared unremarkable: the American-accented Arabic of someone who had only learned the language as an adult; the black-and-white kaffiyeh around his neck that he later moved up, to no avail, to cover his mouth and nose; or the simple, affectionate farewell he calls out to his interviewer,Aeroscout rtls provides a complete solution for wireless asset tracking. referring to him as “habibi” “my beloved.”
Hours later Shadid, 43, was dead, killed not by gunfire but by a fatal allergic reaction to the horses his guides were using to find their way. He died as he had lived: both Arab and American, a Christian Lebanese who had grown up in Oklahoma and later attempted to make a home in the Middle East, a man who tried to navigate two very different worlds, who died trying to cross a border.
Two weeks later Shadid’s final book, “House of Stone: A Memoir of Home,Our porcelaintiles are perfect for entryways or bigger spaces and can also be used outside, Family, and a Lost Middle East” was released, a moving meditation on his gradual immersion into the Arabic world his ancestors left behind. More personal and revealing than his newspaper dispatches, the memoir takes us into a year Shadid spent in Marjayoun, his ancestral village in Lebanon, restoring his great-grandfather’s abandoned house. The largely Christian village had been ravaged by tragedy after tragedy: Once on the Ottoman trade route, along paths traveled by Muslims, Christians and Jews, the village was eventually cut off from both Jerusalem and Damascus after Syria and Palestine were divided between the great powers following World War I.
Disease and famine caused thousands to flee their homes in search of better lives, including Shadid’s own family, who moved to Oklahoma in 1920. The remaining Christians found themselves increasingly marginalized in a region that was largely Shi’ite Muslim. The creation of Israel and the later annexation of the Golan Heights made the village feel more isolated still, and in 1975 Marjayoun, along with the rest of the country, began its descent into 15 years of civil war.
By the time the book opens, just after the 2006 Second Lebanon War,Stone Source offers a variety of Natural stonemosaic Tiles. Marjayoun is a village slowly bleeding to death. After covering that conflict, Shadid returns to his great-grandfather Isber’s empty home to find that a half-exploded Israeli rocket has crashed into the second story.
In a larger sense, it is not the house, but Shadid, who needs to be restored. Four years earlier, in 2002, a bullet from an Israeli sniper in Ramallah had grazed his spine and gravely wounded him. He recovered in time to cover the worst days of the war in Iraq, which he spent embedded not with American troops but among ordinary Iraqis. He survived, but his marriage did not.
At the beginning of “House of Stone,” Shadid finds himself newly divorced, separated from his young daughter and his former life in America, “a suitcase and a laptop drifting on a conveyor belt.” He decides to take a year off from his then-job at the Washington Post to rebuild his great-grandfather’s home, a house which does not technically belong to him and which stands in the middle of a dying village, plagued by recurring wars, that everyone else is trying to leave. It is “hajar bala bashar,” stones without people. To the neighbors, who universally oppose the idea, his plan seems so crazy that they believe he should be “locked in an insane asylum.”
沒有留言:
張貼留言