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On Raising Three Daughters Alone

http://www.culturestreet.com/post/joseph-wakim-on-raising-three-daughters-alone.htm?

http://bit.ly/1NZ4D7c

Culture Street

August 19, 2015

Joseph Wakim is a widowed father of three daughters. From psychologist to social worker, he founded the Streetwork Project in Adelaide, the Australian Arabic Council, produced TV documentary Zero to Zenith: Arab Contributions Down Under, wrote four satirical comedies that were staged in Melbourne, founded Australia’s first Arabic Festival (Mahrajan), was appointed Victoria’s youngest Multicultural Affairs Commissioner, and composed music for his band The Heartbeats. He was granted the Violence Prevention Award by Commonwealth Heads of Government in 1996 and the Order of Australia Medal for public campaigns to redress the roots of racism in 2001. He has had over 600 opinion pieces published in all major Australian newspapers and was finalist at the United Nations Australia Association – Media Award 2014 for creating a ‘voice for the voiceless’.

By Joseph Wakim

Without a word spoken, mothers effortlessly read a room, gauging its temperature, scanning their children’s faces and measuring their heartbeats.

This is the language of love, a language that should not be the monopoly of mothers. It is a language that lies dormant within men, waiting to be awoken. I was sure that whoever gave mothers this gift would not have bypassed fathers, in case they ended up like me. Twelve years ago, cancer claimed the life of my wife when we were both aged forty and our three daughters were all in primary school. As her candle flickered, a flame was ignited within me.

I grappled with grief and guilt: why was my life spared when my daughters surely needed their mother? Men suggested that I reach out for a new woman, for single parenting manuals, for beginner’s cookbooks, for dating websites, for hired help, even for sleeping tablets.

Women offered to baby-sit my children if ever I felt like flying away, but I felt instinctively protective and spread my wings over our precious brood who had already been robbed of their mum.

Instead of outsourcing, I searched for my in-tuition. If women have the capacity to raise well-adapted children alone, where is it written that men cannot do the same?

I began my emancipation by unblocking the valves of my heart which raised my antennas to read different wavelengths and rhythms. I used be minister of foreign affairs (garden, garbage, garage). Now my portfolio expanded to home affairs, ironically sometimes ‘foreign’ to me.

No, I did not find my feminine self or become ‘Mr Mum’ because this implied that the nurturer was intrinsically a woman’s domain. I had found my inner self and opened the flood gates to a wellspring within.

Once we unblock our valves, we discover that we are perfectly capable of telling bed-time stories, consoling them after nightmares, nursing them when they feel sick, helping with school assignments and reading their faces like a book.

In many cultures, the stereotype of a strong man is often associated with a clenched fist. Strength is equated with stubbornness, having the last word, never saying sorry and never having our word broken. But these are often the cracks of fear, not love and definitely not strength. They show insecurity about losing control over one’s ‘kingdom’ as the one who wears the pants.

True strength is the capacity to flex rather than break in the face of a cyclone like cancer. True strength is the capacity to speak and listen to the many languages of silence, of touch, of faces. True strength is the capacity to express emotions rather than suppress them in fear of being unmanly.

My book What my daughters taught me is a testimony that masculinity is not hard-wired by nature, but soft-wired by nurture. As men, we cannot hide behind these traditional excuses that we are incapable of being primary carers and nurturers. In my book, I swing a sledgehammer at these rusty shackles of gender stereotypes as I realise that they are a prison, not a prism.

My daughters not only taught me to write a story about the emancipation of my heart, but also taught me to read their language of the heart.

Joseph Wakim is the author of WHAT MY DAUGHTERS TAUGHT ME, published by Allen & Unwin,

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Stagnant NAPLAN results a symptom of teenagers becoming ‘screen-agers’

http://www.canberratimes.com.au/comment/stagnant-naplan-results-a-symptom-of-teenagers-becoming-screenagers-20150808-gius5p.html

Stagnant NAPLAN results a symptom of teenagers becoming ‘screen-agers’

August 9, 2015

Is it any wonder that the NAPLAN literacy and numeracy results published last week show that the writing skills of years 7 and 9 students have gone backwards?

Before we play the blame game between teachers and parents, we need to look at the growing elephant in the room: screen time by “screen-agers”.

Federal Education Minister Christopher Pyne saw the “lack of improvement” as a wake-up call to go “back to basics” in school education. For many of us parents, this means tangible basics, not virtual basics. We have seen the effects of our children surfing between education and entertainment on the slippery screens.

As parents, we are the first teachers in our children’s lives. We can block the applications, look over their shoulder, teach them self-discipline, apply time restrictions and ban screens in bedrooms.

But with so much school work becoming screen-centred, distractions abound. The temptation to discreetly flick between screens is at their fingertips and minimised when footsteps approach.

At least with textbooks, it is transparent that the student is focused on the “subject” matter and parents can see that no one has been snuck in through the “windows”.

As parents, we have seen our children’s learning curve flatten as tablets have replaced textbooks from year 7.

We have seen their handwriting deteriorate as the computer brain auto-corrects and spell-checks with no incentives for the students to learn from their lazy mistakes and phonetic habits.

We have seen their proofreading deteriorate as grammar-check stagnates any improvement in sentence construction.

We have seen their research skills deteriorate as students rely on the logic of Google’s search engine by feeding it key words.

We have seen their navigation skills deteriorate as a book’s index becomes obsolete and CTRL+F (find) renders that skill redundant.

We have seen their vocabulary deteriorate as online dictionaries and “right-click” synonyms replace autonomous thinking with automatic alternatives.

We have seen them regress from critical thinking to “mindless transcription” and copy-paste because they can. This has been borne out by 2014 Princeton University research of students, whereby the laptop note-takers showed shallower processing than the hand-writers.

Indeed, we have seen them struggle to hand-write anything more than a paragraph, yet their year 12 exams require them to hand-write many pages for many hours.

The transition by many schools away from textbooks does not prepare students for the real world, but the virtual world. It has fostered laziness and a minimalist approach.

My new book takes an honest look at modern parenting with a strong focus on the challenges of raising “screen-agers”. In my chapter “How to compete with a screen”, I refer to the screen as “his majesty” who has “invaded my kingdom” because it has become “more charismatic, more colourful, more charming”.

I have watched the pattern and the paradox in families too often: children gravitate towards their screens to play games because they’re bored.

They shoot zombies but don’t realise that their expressionless faces tragically look like zombies – motionless and unblinking. They handle the console as if they are in control of it. When they have saved the world, they finally look up at the real people who share their space, only to realise that the boredom creeps back, with an even greater intensity.

The itch for another fix is irresistible and the cycle continues until the parents intervene.

“I am not addicted!” they yell back at their parents.

“Then why are you having a tantrum?”

One brave teenager recently conceded that the computer console tricks him into thinking he is in control, but it is actually controlling him, sapping his imagination, perpetuating his boredom cycles.

Just as the dummy tricks babies into thinking they are drinking, he saw the console as the teenage dummy, and that it was time he and all teens spat this dummy to reclaim their brains.

While these technological tools were sold to us as enhancing our children’s learning curve, the NAPLAN results paint a much flatter picture.

The digital education revolution of 2007 was a great theory. In practice, it may be producing “dumbed-down” teenagers who are gaining digital dexterity but losing basic skills. The NAPLAN results are a wake-up call to regain balance between the rectangular world and the real world.

Joseph Wakim is the author What my daughters taught me (Allen & Unwin, August 2015).

 

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Father who raised his three young girls alone after their mother died of breast cancer shares the lessons he’s learned

DAILY MAIL, 29 July 2015

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3175465/Father-raised-three-young-girls-mother-died-breast-cancer-shares-lessons-s-learned-in.html

From learning to cook, tying ponytails, and buying sanitary pads: Father who raised his three young girls alone after their mother died of breast cancer shares the lessons he’s learned

  • Joseph Wakim has raised three daughters after his wife died of cancer
  • Grace, Michelle and Joy were all under 11 when their mum died in 2003
  • Mr Wakim raised them solo despite pushes to get help to cook and clean
  • The three sisters taught Mr Wakim to be a mother and a father
  • He’s written a memoir of life lessons titled: What My Daughters Taught Me

By Emily Crane for Daily Mail Australia

From tying his daughter’s hair in a ponytail to buying the right brand of sanitary pads – Joseph Wakim has learned some valuable life lessons in the past 12 years.

Mr Wakim has been raising his three daughters on his own in their Sydney home since his beloved wife Nadia passed away from breast cancer back in 2003.

He was inundated with friends, family and strangers telling him he would need help to raise his daughters – aged 11, nine and four – but Mr Wakim says he decided to do the job single-handedly and trust he would know what to do.

Joseph Wakim has been raising his three daughters – (L-R) Grace, Joy and Michelle – on his own in their Sydney home since his beloved wife Nadia passed away from breast cancer back in 2003

What followed was years of emotional and hilarious events that helped Mr Wakim become both a mother and father to Grace, Michelle and Joy.

‘I’ve made every mistake you can think of,’ he told Daily Mail Australia.

‘I’d pick up the phone and ask people how do you make rice or I’ve just ruined someone’s dress in the washing machine.

‘But I had to just trust my instincts.’

The family moved from Melbourne to Sydney before Nadia’s cancer took hold and there was little family nearby when she passed away.

‘People were suggesting to get help to cook, do the laundry, clean. I wanted to give it a go on my own. I was reluctant to have my children surrounded by strangers,’ he said.

Joseph Wakim’s wife Nadia died in 2003 from breast cancer when their daughters Grace, Michelle and Joy were aged just 11, nine and four respectively

Joseph and Nadia Wakim moved from Melbourne to Sydney with their children before her cancer took hold and there was little family nearby when she passed away

Mr was inundated with friends, family and strangers telling him he would need help to raise his daughters Grace, Joy and Michelle but says he decided to do the job single-handedly and trust he would know what to do

‘They already lost their mum, I didn’t want them to lose their dad.’

Mr Wakim, who has detailed his family’s journey in a memoir titled: What My Daughters Taught Me, has shared stories of how they learned to cope in Nadia’s absence.

‘Grace taught me how to tie Joy’s hair in a ponytail and secure if with a hair tie. In time, I also learnt that the ponytail looked smarter if I tied to high on her crown,’ he wrote.

On one occasion, Joy’s ponytail wasn’t straight and Mr Wakim used his instincts to fix it.

‘Rather than redo the entire routine from scratch, I tired to wriggle it to the middle by fiddling with the hair tie. How was I suppose to know that you cannot drag a ponytail like a desktop icon without torturing the child?’ he said.

Mr Wakim, who has detailed his family’s journey in a memoir titled: What My Daughters Taught Me, has shared stories of how he and his daughters learned to cope in Nadia’s absence

The past 12 years have been filled with emotional and hilarious events that helped Mr Wakim become both a mother and father to Michelle, Joy and Grace

He even opened up on having to step up when his three daughter’s eventually started menstruating.

‘As the Minister of Foreign Affairs it was my responsibility to bring home a sufficient supply of sanitary pads,’ Mr Wakim said.

‘If someone was in the pad section, I would park my trolley near the men’s toiletries and pretend to be browsing at the razors. When the coast was clear, I would pounce and exit.

‘Times have changed. Now I am a familiar face in the sanitary napkins aisle. I spin the pads into the trolley from a distance and wave to the security cameras in case anyone watching wants a laugh.’

What My Daughters Taught Me by Joseph Wakim is available on Wednesday, July 29.

 

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It took the death of my wife to realise how much I missed out on as a dad

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/jul/29/it-took-the-death-of-my-wife-to-realise-how-much-i-missed-out-on-as-a-dad

Wednesday 29 July 2015

It took the death of my wife to realise how much I missed out on as a dad

When my wife died, men suggested I find a new wife, women offered to help. But in becoming a single parent to my three daughters, I found my best self

‘I took my hat off to so many women raising their children alone, many with admirable grace. Why can’t men do the same?’

When cancer claimed the life of my wife 12 years ago, leaving me staring into the eyes of our three young daughters, my gender prism had to change. Nurtured in a culture where boys’ and girls’ roles were clearly defined, I was grossly ill-prepared for my widowed fate.

I suffered survivor guilt, struggling to understand why bad things happen to good people, struggling to understand why my life was spared when my daughters surely needed their mother more than me.

Men suggested that I reach out for a new woman, for single parenting manuals, for cookbooks, for dating websites, for hired help, even for sleeping tablets and psychologists.

Women offered to “give me a break” and care for my children.

“Thank you, but no thank you. They’ve already been robbed of their mum. I can’t do this to them.”

Instead of outsourcing, I reached deep within. I took my hat off to so many women raising their children alone, adapting to their new reality, many with admirable grace. Their children seemed well adapted. Why can’t men do the same?

Whoever gave women the capacity to perform full parental roles must have given the same to men. This was a fork in the road. But there was no way I was going to avoid the painful path to get closer to my daughters, and inadvertently closer to myself.

So I began my emancipation. I used be minister of foreign affairs (garden, garbage, garage). Now my portfolio expanded to home affairs, ironically sometimes “foreign” to me. I burnt the wok, ruined “hand wash only” garments, and bought the wrong sanitary pads. I felt like I was now jogging on one leg, from home to car to shop and kept telling myself: “Just do it!”

Paradoxically, when I failed, when I felt weakest, I actually became my strongest. Something dormant within had awoken: the capacity to do anything and the plasticity of the brain to adapt.

Like Uncle Martin (from US sitcom My Favourite Martian), I raised my antenna to full length to tune in to the rhythms and language of my daughters. For every “but you don’t understand …,” I responded “then make me understand!”

Fast forward 12 years, and I realise that they made me understand my capacity to embrace full parenthood – not just fatherhood or motherhood.

I swung my metaphoric sledge hammer to the rusty shackles around my ankles that defined masculinity – shackles that were more than a gender prism. They were a gender prison.

Nine months ago, I penned a frivolous column on my emancipation, egging on my “fellow man” to embrace his inner self (not his feminine self). Today, my book What My Daughters Taught Me is born to tell the tale in all its gory glory.

Some women I know vow to pass this book to their husbands “in case anything should happen to me, and he needs to look after our children”. But why wait until a tragedy dictates a steep learning curve? Why not enjoy the full fruits of parenting today?

When we talk about the crisis of masculinity that defines many of our debates around domestic violence or marriage equality, we ought look beyond gender to the bigger picture: the crisis of personality.

Boys need to be raised in a culture that expands their social vocabulary, where emotions are expressed rather than suppressed.

In their book Man (Dis)connected: How Technology Has Sabotaged What it Means to be Male, Philip Zimbardo and Nikita D. Coulombe explore the “modern meltdown of manhood” which they attribute to absent fathers and the male addiction to screen gadgets. They argue that this trend towards “extreme escapism” has led to socially stunted males who glean fulfilment from the virtual world rather than the real one.

My children’s development wasn’t determined by the gender of their single parent, but by the quality of our love. Deep within, we’re soft-wired by nurture, not hard-wired by nature, to be affectionate, to tell bedtime stories, to help with school assignments, to hold our children’s hands when they are sleepless and sick.

Men need not be relegated to the one with the wallet and car keys. Their definition of manhood and strength need not be a stubborn word that will not be broken, and a similarly stubborn reluctance to say sorry.

On the contrary, such “strengths” are often the cracks of fear. True strength is the capacity to adapt, to flex rather than break in the face of a cyclone like cancer. True strength is the capacity to speak and listen to the many languages of silence, of touch, of facial expression.

When I was a social worker, many male clients would tell me, “I love my children, but it comes out all wrong!” Their fear and over-protectiveness comes out as anger and distrust.

Many females believe their father is a benchmark for their future partner, for better or worse. My daughters remind me of little things I have said or done that are etched in their memory but erased from mine. What they chose to internalise may be different to what we amplify or repeat.

While my choices resulted from circumstance, now I wish I’d made the choice to remove my shackles long before.

Joseph Wakim is the author of What My Daughters Taught Me, published by Allen & Unwin, RRP $32.99, on sale now.

 

 

 

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Widowed dad Joseph Wakim opens up about raising three daughters on his own

 

http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/nsw/widowed-dad-joseph-wakim-opens-up-about-raising-three-daughters-on-his-own/story-fni0cx12-1227461356666

29 July 2015

 

Widowed dad Joseph Wakim opens up about raising three daughters on his own

  • The Sunday Telegraph
  • July 29, 20159:38AM

Men should be nurtured to be nurturers writes Joseph Wakim, author of the book What My Daughters Taught Me. Picture: Supplied Source: News Corp Australia

“WITHOUT a word spoken, mothers effortlessly read a room, gauging its temperature, scanning their children’s faces and measuring their heartbeats … This is the language of love, a language that should not be the monopoly of mothers. It is a language that we men can reclaim and relearn, as it lies dormant within us, waiting to be brought back to life. I was sure that whoever gave women this gift would not have bypassed fathers, in case they ended up like me.”

Joseph Wakim was left to raise his three young daughters Grace, Michelle, and Joy, after his wife Nadia died of cancer.

Widowed after his wife Nadia died of breast cancer 12 years ago, Joseph Wakim was left to raise his three young daughters, Grace, 11, Michelle, nine and Joy, four, on his own.

He has written a book called What My Daughters Taught Me — where he speaks candidly about ignoring the well-meaning advice from family, friends and strangers — to follow his own heart and instinct and do what is best for himself and more importantly his three girls.

Here he reflects on male stereotypes and why men need to be nurtured to be nurturers.

“What is required here is a change of heart by men”.

So said the PM when confronted with a survey that revealed that a quarter of the men thought some circumstances justified violence against women.

The PM has indeed hit the heart of the matter as the continuum from boys bottling up emotions to adult anger management to ugly violence is not new.

Too many males are socialised to act on their emotions, often with fists, rather than express their emotions through words or faces.

In my many years as a social worker, some males feared that “talking about how I feel” would be perceived as “what women do”.

Their hearts were heavy with fears and their valves were steaming. Add alcohol to the mix and you have a lethal cocktail.

These valves should never have been closed in the first place.

My own heart was forced to open up to dual parenting roles more than 10 years ago when I became widowed and had to raise my three young daughters alone.

I learned how they handled emotions, how they listened to each other, how they readily said “sorry”, how they talked about their fears, how they saw strength as adaptability, not as stubbornness, how they did not need to have the last word.

I was raised in a culture that had clear gender boundaries and we thought we were normal. Now I realise that boys need to nurtured to be nurturers, and that this notion that the genders are different by nature is greatly exaggerated. It closes the valves to the heart which are rusty to turn later in life.

* Joseph Wakim is author of What my daughters taught me (Allen & Unwin), out now.

 

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Former jihadis are our best weapon again Islamic State grooming

http://www.smh.com.au/comment/former-jihadis-are-our-best-weapon-again-islamic-state-grooming-20150520-gh5ig4.html

http://bit.ly/1HtuFO9

Sydney Morning Herald, 20 May 2015

Former jihadis are our best weapon again Islamic State grooming

Shutting the door on former Islamic State recruits seeking repatriation may miss an opportunity to block the radicalisation path. After all, law enforcement strategies and name-calling by government voices have not curbed the magnetism of this “death cult”.

Yes, the chorus of cautious voices is justified. Yes, the disillusioned youth should have renounced IS on the same public platforms that drew them in: online for other youth to see and hear, loud and clear. Yes, the youth who have broken our counterterrorism “foreign fighters” legislation must be subjected to the full force of our criminal justice system, including imprisonment. Yes, we need to ensure that we do not inadvertently create an escape clause for “jihadis” who want to “get out of jail free”.

But if ever there was an opportunity to benefit from these de-radicalised voices, and benefit from the lessons learnt in other parts of the world, this is it. Surely, our intelligence authorities should be trusted to be intelligent enough to harness rather than squander this opportunity.

In Europe, former extremists have long been recruited by organisations such as Exit and the Institute for Strategic Dialogue. These movements recognise that angry, rejected youth need a counter-narrative and “tangible alternatives to violence”. They recognise that “formers” have a credibility that governments lack.

Former extremists now understand the continuum from isolation to belonging to disengagement better than most. They now understand the consequences when one is seduced by the two-dimensional videos then lands in a three-dimensional reality, sometimes cleaning toilets and babysitting. They now understand how to resist these temptations and learn to act on their anger through legitimate channels such as social justice and politics. They now understand what many non-Muslim “experts” are grappling with: why people go and why they return. No amount of funding or education can substitute for the firsthand testimonies of “formers”.

In the United States, the diminution and implosion of the Ku Klux Klan was partly due to former members publicly denouncing its violence, such as the late Elwin Wilson in 2009. For more than a century, former members have proven to be a more formidable force than law enforcement authorities or external critics.

Even in Australia, a mercy campaign involved eminent Australians petitioning for clemency for the “extraordinary rehabilitation” of former drug smugglers Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan, before their tragic execution last month. There was growing recognition that their genuine and demonstrable reform could have aided the war against drug smuggling.

Clearly, cynicism prevails about the sincerity of reformed jihadis returning from the Middle East. The same logic does not apply, yet Australia has never tested this theory of deploying deradicalised and disillusioned youth to aid the war against violent extremism and home-grown terrorists.

Prime Minister Tony Abbott reflected the broad Australian sentiment when he declared that “there is no place in our society for people who have been radicalised”. Perhaps those deradicalised now passionately agree with him, but offer a more credible voice. Perhaps they are now the most potent strings on his bow. Perhaps their testimonials are our best weapon in this battle for young minds.

This logic has been echoed by counterterrorism experts including Professor Michele Grossman, who argue that the most authentic counter-narratives come from disillusioned foreign fighters who are in a unique position because of their firsthand experiences.

Rather than investing $21.7 million in an online social media campaign to counter pro-ISIS propaganda, our government could spend less money by amplifying the testimonials of deradicalised formers through all the clandestine channels. The money could be spent to build resilience and resistance against the groomers and traffickers.

Surely our authorities can discern who among the three young jihadis now seeking repatriation has already demonstrated to other disoriented youth: “wrong way – go back!”

If we are serious about fighting the recruitment of IS and its ilk, we need to learn from international experiences and recognise when opportunity knocks. Before us now, we have people who have been “educated” and exploited as frontline fodder. They can in turn educate us to inoculate other vulnerable youth against this dead-end street, sold as a path to paradise.

What needs rehabilitation now is our policy on these “formers”, when the policy of fear is lifted to give way to clarity.

Our own clemency policy and counter-narrative need not be as black and white as the ISIS propaganda. Conditions apply.

 

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Condemnation by Muslim leaders of atrocities is now expected to be said even louder, without delay

 

http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/opinion/joseph-wakim-condemnation-by-muslim-leaders-of-atrocities-is-now-expected-to-be-said-even-louder-without-delay/story-fni6unxq-1227186240974

 http://bit.ly/1J5V7Jz

 

Condemnation by Muslim leaders of atrocities is now expected to be said even louder, without delay

The Advertiser

16 January 2015

The Advertiser

ARE Muslim leaders condemned whatever they do?

If they are silent in the face of atrocities that incriminate their faith, they are seen as complicit. Their silence is construed as consent and they are treated as collectively guilty by association until proven innocent.

If they condemn the atrocity, they feed into an unquenchable hunger for submission, as if their condemnation does not go without saying.

Does the condemnation guarantee that their equal citizenship status is restored? On the contrary: it guarantees they will be condemning forever.

It guarantees that their loyalty remains in question because they continue to answer that question.

This is exactly how the bullying cycle is perpetuated. The bullied know their place and recite the mantra on cue, every time, as soon as the bullies flex their muscles.

The cycle runs along these lines. A crime is committed by misguided ‘‘Muslims’’, in Australia or abroad. Their brethren are asked: are you part of ‘‘them’’ or part of us – Team Australia? The brethren plead: we hate them! We love you! Please believe us! Thus, they perpetuate the perception of the powerful bringing the powerless to their knees.

How do I know this?

Because I have been involved in public advocacy for Middle Eastern people for nearly 30 years. I have written and received hundreds of press releases, condemning the other, denouncing the other, distancing ourselves from the other. It has been a struggle to have these condemnations published, only to find letters columns accusing Muslim leaders of ‘‘silence’’.

Has the hunger for these public condemnations diminished because it finally goes without saying?

No. The stock standard condemnation is now expected to be issued even louder, without delay, without reservation.

So I stopped writing them and stopped encouraging them.

When asked about the atrocities, the answer should be, ‘’Please Google all previous condemnations on the public record. Why would our position be any different today? What part of the word condemn don’t you understand?’’

To those addicted to condemnations, and those hoisting the pen as a flag of free speech, it is time for new questions and new condemnations.

Yes, we should link arms in silent solidarity after the 17 cold-blooded murders in Paris.

But if we are serious about free speech, where were the Je Suis Gaza banners last July when Operation Protective Edge claimed more than 2100 Palestinian lives, mostly civilians and children?

Where was the arm-in-arm international condemnation by world leaders?

Is death less painful or less cruel if bombed from above?

Is it less of an atrocity if sanctioned by the state?

Is human life not precious if the victim is not Western?

During this war in Gaza, the Sydney Morning Herald published a cartoon on 26 July that caused profound offence to readers. The elderly Jewish man in the cartoon was sitting in an armchair ‘emblazened with the Star of David …[which] closely resembled illustrations that had circulated in Nazi Germany.’

The Herald decided to ‘apologise unreservedly for this lapse, and the anguish and distress that has been caused.’

Hence, the pen of cartoonist Glen Le Lievre was trumped by this ‘serious error of judgement.

This was not the first time that freedom of expression was sacrificed at the altar of ethnic or religious sensibilities.

In April 1996, actor Marlon Brando claimed that ‘Hollywood is run by Jews. It is owned by Jews and they should have a greater sensitivity about the issue of people who are suffering.’

After a swastika was pasted across his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and he was threatened that the rest of his life would be a ‘living hell’, Brando apologised for his ‘anti-Semitic vulgarities.’

Unlike Charlie Hebdo’s cartoons, it was the artists, not the critics, who were condemned. It was freedom from offensive expressions rather than freedom of expressions that prevailed.

While those offended resorted to ink rather than blood to voice their outrage, the examples highlight the hypocrisy of those who defend some offensive cartoons but condemn others.

If Muslim leaders are expected to stand in solidarity and continuously condemn crimes, could they expect some reciprocation? Where was the condemnation when Australia voted against a UNSC motion to end Israeli occupation within 3 years and to recognise a Palestinian state within the 1967 borders? On 30 December, the USA was the only other country to vote against the motion in the 15 member Council. By voting against a ‘just, lasting and comprehensive peaceful solution’, Australia voted to perpetuate the misery of the Palestinian people.

To condemn or not to condemn, that is the question.

Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of continuous condemnation, or to stop the cycle and invite condemnation of all inhuman atrocities, equally.

Joseph Wakim is the founder of the Australian Arabic Council and former Multicultural Affairs Commissioner.

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Sydney siege: Black flag symbol of fear, but we already have the antidote

http://www.smh.com.au/national/sydney-siege-black-flag-symbol-of-fear-but-we-already-have-the-antidote-20141218-129vaa.html

http://bit.ly/13eEkWp

Sydney siege: Black flag symbol of fear, but we already have the antidote

 

December 19, 2014

The more the black flag is used by terrorists the more it comes to symbolise fear. The flower memorial that grew after the siege is a symbol of our shared love and our shared values.

If he carries a gun, it is a siege. But if he also carries an Islamic flag, it is terrorism.

Perhaps that flag was more loaded than the gun. It tainted the tragic story as something borne of a “death cult” rather than a dangerous psychosis.

A black flag was also brandished from a passing vehicle in front of my children’s school in Parramatta on September 16. Verbal threats were made by a 14-year-old about slaughtering Christian children. Again it was the flag that catapulted the incident to banner headlines. As the school spokesman, I fielded media interviews from around the world to put this isolated incident into factual perspective.

And it is the black flag that may be used again to galvanise global media attention. In the wake of Martin Place tragedy, how do we stop “copy-cat” crimes by narcissists who seek to capitalise on the Islamophobia?

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From within the community, this may be combated by clerics reiterating that such perpetrators end up going down as criminals, not rising up as martyrs.

From the wider community, we should stop pushing people over the edge. Stop pushing people to denounce every crime committed by Muslims, as if it does not go without saying. Stop pushing people to feel that they are on parole, as if they are collectively guilty until proven innocent. Stop pushing people towards the margins of society, towards radicalisation, towards the IS recruitment propaganda that Muslims are unwelcome and unloved in the West. Using a migration paradigm, the Islamophobes are creating the push factor which feeds into the ISIS pull factor.

The Australian, British and other Western recruits who speak on these slick videos with the black flag as their backdrop tell their Muslim targets that they understand their alienation. “For all my brothers living in the West, I know how you feel … you feel depressed … the cure for the depression is jihad.”

The black flag has morphed into a weapon that is more explosive than the bomb. Yet the shahada on the flag iterates the most basic tenets of Islam: There is no God but God; Mohammed is the messenger of God.”

Imagine waving a crucifix inscribed with a basic Christian creed: “Jesus is the son of God who rose from the dead.” The crucifix in a different context has been misappropriated as a symbol of fear, such as Crusades during the 12th century and by the Ku Klux Klan during the 1920s when cross lighting had terrorised African Americans.

The repeated visual juxtaposition of the black flag in the IS beheading videos has been etched as a symbol to fear. The more we are conditioned to panic, like Pavlov’s dogs salivating when they hear a bell ring, the more the flag gains potency.

As with many fears and phobias, our reactions are not always based on fact. Anything resembling the enemy is treated accordingly. Hence, other black flags, Arabic writing, bearded Muslim men with no moustache, and even Arabic speaking people trigger a similar sense of anxiety.

It may take time to deconstruct this damage and reconstruct the reality. Just because an individual waves a black flag does not mean that he is an IS jihadist militant. Their political movement to forcibly recreate a Caliphate has been roundly condemned by Islamic clerics worldwide, including Australia where the Grand Mufti Dr Ibrahim Abu Mohammed denounced ISIS as committing crimes against humanity and sins against God. The movement thrives on fear and attracts those who love to be feared.

What Sydney-siders have demonstrated this week is that what we love conquers what we fear. Indeed, love is the antithesis of fear. And the epitome of this was the I’ll ride with you social media movement where the Muslim fear of being targeted on public transport was conquered by offers of accompaniment. On Thursday night, Muslim leaders arranged a public vigil at Martin Place to “Stand Together” with all those affected by the tragedy “here and overseas”, They gathered around the symbol of the flower memorial, not flags.

Tragically, this community is no stranger to sieges and fear. I recall Martin Place being closed off on August 3 during the peace rallies over the “siege” in Gaza. Many flags were flown by those empathising with a population on the other side of the world. Operation Protective Edge saw over 2100 Palestinians and over 70 Israelis killed.

No matter how high flags are hoisted, our shared love of our shared values rises higher and looks down on the facts with a fresh perspective.

We see those who exploit flags to foster fear, whether it is those who claim to be Muslim martyrs or anti-Muslim martyrs. Ironically, both share the same philosophy and serve the same master: Muslims are misfits in Australia.

From high above the flapping flags, we see people of all colour congregate around the flower shrine and we know better.

 

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Bigots recruit for ISIS

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BIGOTS RECRUIT FOR ISIS

By Joseph Wakim Daily Dilemma, Must see
September 30, 2014

While Australian defence forces are engaged in an international war against ISIS militants, some local vigilantes have become self-appointed defence forces.

They may believe that they are defending Australia from the potential enemy within, to degrade and destroy ISIS.

But are they helping the Australian military campaign, or helping the ISIS recruitment campaign?

A look at the language used by the ISIS recruiters and the language used by Islamophobes bear chilling similarities. Both tell their young male Muslim targets: you are unloved and unwelcome in the West.

The official ISIS recruitment videos use cinematic quality and anthemic music. They show revelling recruits singing and applauding, akin to a campfire celebration. It tries to seduce young men who aspire to be warriors.

The Australian, British and other Western recruits who speak on these slick videos tell their Muslim targets that they understand their alienation. “For all my brothers living in the West, I know how you feel … you feel depressed … the cure for the depression is jihad.”

They appeal to a sense of belonging “from a Muslim brother’s heart to another brother’s heart.” They use expressions such as “finally among your people.”

The recruitment videos tap into victimhood and injustice, ironically referring to children who are beheaded for being Muslim and conjuring “Palestine pounded” after the “Jews have taken it.” It implores its profiled targets to “look and see and wake up and understand why this is happening.”

Australian Muslims should not be seduced by this allure and would not relate to the identity crisis of the recruits.

But there are Australian media outlets giving oxygen to the same lethal messages.

They are online and on toxic talkback, amplifying venom that was once deemed bigoted. The war against ISIS overseas has unleashed a war against Islam locally. It appears that the factual filters are off and so are the boxing gloves.

Just on one site, the comments called for rounding up, deporting and banning Muslims. They competed for the most despicable descriptors from Satanists to a-holes, to evil, to rotten, to barbaric to flea-ridden camel jockeys. They refer to the prophet as twisted and the Koran as a comic book.

Any Muslim reading these rants may realise that they reinforce the message of the ISIS recruiters.

When local Muslim speakers protest that “we have been victimised for years and years,” he is again echoing the propaganda of the ISIS recruiters.

These verbal messages are reinforced with actions, as captured on the Islamophobia Register Australia. Some of these hate-based crimes include attacks on the most visible Muslims, women in hijabs, as well as vandalism on mosques and a knife-threat at an Islamic school. There are also death threats to Muslim leaders including the Grand Mufti, which have been reported to police.

Even from the chambers of federal parliament, there are calls by Senator Jacqui Lambie and Senator Cory Bernardi to ban the burqa, despite no shred of evidence linking this face covering to security issues. They probably meant the niqab where the eyes are uncovered, as burqas are worn in Afghanistan, not Australia. Moreover, the proposed private member’s bill may breach section 116 of our constitution: “the Commonwealth shall not make any law … for prohibiting the free exercise of any religion.”

The (mis)appropriation of all Muslims into one dangerous basket puts all adherents of Islam on a scaled continuum as pre-disposed to violent extremism and ISIS sympathisers under cover.

But the cumulative effect of such vigilantes and hysteria can have the exact opposite result.

It can remind Muslims that they are unwelcome, unAustralian, never one of us.

Some who feel insulted and intimidated by the bombardment of bigotry may resort to the register, the police and the relevant authorities. Some will try to ignore it and take precautions to keep their families safe by minimising public appearances (shopping centres, crowds, parks), hence restricting their freedom of movement. The older generation would have experienced a similar ‘open season’ during the 1991 war on Iraq and the 2001 war on terror.

But the younger generation may be both alert and alarmed. Some young males may already feel angry, for various sociological reasons. They may be ignorant about their own religion and may be susceptible to the beck and call of ISIS who would be rubbing their hands: “See – we told you! The West hates you. You are a victim. You are depressed. Come to your brothers where you belong.”

Ironically, the Islamophobia may drive these Muslims towards the margins of society, towards radicalisation, towards the ISIS enemy. Using a migration paradigm, the Islamophobes are creating the push factor which feeds into the ISIS pull factor.

Perhaps we need to deploy an Operation Hammerhead to counter these vigilantes. They are not making Australia safer, but helping their enemy, by default.

The front line of defence has often been the very people that they are targeting: Muslims who have risked their own safety to tip-off police about suspects. Whoever endangers Australia obviously endangers these families and also endangers the long term reputation of their community.

While the vigilantes aid and abet ISIS, the Grand Mufti Dr Ibrahim Abu Mohammed has denounced ISIS and their recent fatwa as committing crimes against humanity and sins against God.

So who is really degrading ISIS and who is feeding them with free recruits?