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281 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 15, 2018
Should I tell you the story of an improvised street dance? It's set to the noise of the bombs. You go with their rhythm, matching it with as much excellence as you can. You dodge the shrapnel gracefully. You are judged by continuing to breathe, by staying in one piece. It's a dangerous routine, but its finale is sublime: Destiny and the angels bow and applaud. Dirty and washed out, you give the living technicians and designers, theorists and experimentalists, moralists and villains, all alike, the best middle finger pose of your life.
Most Syrians are not politically well educated. How could they be, with the death grip Baathism had on education and with the margin the party left empty filled with loyalist clerics? People grew up loathing the word "democracy" without knowing its actual meaning (...) In the eyes of many Syrians, these so-called universal values were tools of a foreign agenda, aimed at the destruction of our society.
...you could tell that no one outside the city gave a damn. The whole world worried about radicalization, of course — the radicalization that had taken over our minds in our terrorist city, or rather the radicalization rampant in the minds of foreign fighters exported here from all over the world. The world never wondered whether the radicalization originated from the bombs that they and the others dropped (...) Ideas associated with the West have carried the air of hypocrisy since the partition of our countries by the civilized imperial powers — not to mention the invasion of Iraq. Always, the west comes here, posturing about the protection of minorities, freedom, democracy, fair play. Always, they carve up our countries, steal our resources, bomb our cities — and then wonder why the sweet words they muttered while doing so doesn't sound the same in our ears.