The Second Prologue of a Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird by Ahmed Saif Hashed

Yemenat

In my quest to transcend the conventional norms associated with writing biographies, novels, and similar literary forms, I have endeavored to create a narrative that defies easy categorization. What I have penned may not fit neatly within established boundaries; instead, it reflects a blend of diverse styles that may appear chaotic, mirroring my unique temperament as the author.

At times, I narrate events in a manner reminiscent of storytelling, favoring lyrical prose. On other occasions, I delve into the philosophical underpinnings of these events, exploring their depths. I strive to extend my gaze beyond the text, seeking to uncover its dimensions and essence. In doing so, I aim to infuse the narrative with my own presence—perhaps a bit ascetic, rebellious, and revolutionary, or perhaps chaotic, contradictory, and temperamental.

In any case, I often transcend the customary and the traditionally accepted, or so I believe.

In certain passages, I find myself merging literature, philosophy, history, sociology, and various other fields of knowledge.

I strive to enrich the narrative with elements from these disciplines, bolstering it with the tools and insights at my disposal, in the hope of making it more engaging, passionate, and beneficial for the reader.

This is a goal I have pursued throughout this book, leaving the evaluation of my successes and failures to those who seek and care.

As I recount events, I often reveal certain truths, even when they may appear unflattering from society’s perspective or challenge the conventions of my upbringing, status, and social life.

Such revelations frequently clash with notions of justice and humanity.

My writing serves as a challenge and a protest against prevailing stereotypes steeped in injustice, advocating for what is humane, just, and free while aligning myself with the future I envision.

To the simple, weary souls crushed by oppression, I say: Do not surrender. Rebel, resist, and rise against the heavy reality you face. Strive to break the chains that bind your feet and the authorities that stifle your voices and silence your tongues.

Resist all forms of humiliation, shackles, and coercion imposed upon you, and do so with even greater resolve if you can.

Fight against those who wish to reduce you to docile herds or submissive beings, stripped of awareness, will, and action—mere shadows devoid of humanity and conscience. You are oppressed, denied the right to doubt, to question, and to know.

Seek freedom, a future, and a dignified life that befits you as individuals worthy of life, love, justice, and hope.

Proclaim to those who have thrived on your suffering, stolen your rights, and confiscated your dreams: History belongs to us, not to you.

In the annals of history, you are nothing but tyrants, murderers, thieves, and plunderers who have passed through here without glory or dignity. Falsehood does not establish truth or confer legitimacy, and illusion cannot lay the foundation for a meaningful existence.

Glory is forged by great minds, by the exceptional whose achievements rest upon their shoulders, their labor, and the sweat of their brows.

Tell them: You are tyrants and corrupt, destined to reside in the foul refuse of history, in its deepest abysses, perhaps forever cursed. “Nero” was never a hero, nor a figure of greatness; he was a lord of destruction.

We, however, deserve life, glory, and dignity. We are the builders, while you are the destroyers. You embody great injustice, the ruin of civilization, and the death that robs life of its joy and happiness, burdening it with darkness and despair, rendering existence painful, bleak, and repugnant.

To all free souls: Lift your heads with pride in the face of sycophants, narcissists, incense bearers, and the preachers of tyrants who twist the truth or bury it in their graves, who tame reason, poison awareness, and distort history. Rebel and resist all those who spill blood, propagate death, and wreak havoc upon the earth.

I occasionally find myself compelled to engage in sharp criticism of a reality marked by backwardness and stagnation, striving to rebel against or incite resistance to the prevailing concepts that dominate it. Such an endeavor may provoke the elite of society, particularly its more rigid factions, as it challenges aspects of the collective consciousness that manifest in brutality, savagery, and tyranny. This critique not only exposes the false modesty of societal norms but also reveals the flaws underpinned by deception and artifice, distancing us from the harsh truths we must confront.

At times, I feel constrained to withhold these thoughts, compelled to keep certain truths secret or to bypass mentioning specific reasons or events that are too sensitive or taboo in a society that, for the most part, venerates ignorance and encircles it with oppression, ignorance, and death. In my search for a vast, open space beneath the sky, I find neither a path nor the means to achieve such expansiveness.

In moments of uncertainty, I resort to evasion and camouflage, employing approximation and skirmishing. I use symbolism, allusion, and metaphor out of necessity, hoping to preserve the details for a future when I might encounter less oppression and tyranny or discover a realm of freedom and spaciousness. That day may arrive, or it may not come to pass within my lifetime. However, it is certain that others—braver, bolder, and more audacious than ourselves—will pave the way, creating expansive spaces for expression, honesty, and the freedom that remains suppressed or unattainable in this heavy reality, in this unjust and tyrannical era.

Perhaps some of what I have articulated is a concession to the prevailing law, a law that still thrives in the shadows, carefully avoiding the ire of society and what could be perceived as a blatant transgression against its vital aspects. This hidden world prefers silence to revelation and confrontation, shunning the bitter truth.

I strive to ensure that my words do not appear exaggerated, far-fetched, or provocatively undermining of the core customs and traditions of society and its dominant religious thought. This is an immense task, one that I believe requires a collective effort that remains largely out of reach.

I often find my presence palpable in my writing, characterized by spontaneity, rebellion, and protest, even a touch of chaos. I bring with me the moment in all its fervor and complexity. My work may at times seem random, as I occasionally present ideas out of order, prioritizing certain thoughts based on their significance or, at times, on less pressing reasons.

I elaborate in some areas and summarize in others, repeating themes from one context in a similar manner in another, where a shared element or common impetus links them. The sequence of my narrative may shift erratically, as I jump from one point to another, guided by spontaneous memory or a thread that connects the two events. I may relate one incident to another by occasion, a specific feature, or the pressures of reality, striving to articulate what I wish to express in that urgent moment.

What I have written did not emerge in a single outpouring or a continuous flow over consecutive days. Instead, it comprises segments separated by varying spans of time, some extending over months or even years, interspersed with significant deletion, addition, and revision. This accounts for some of the erratic repetition, despite my efforts to mitigate it during the review process.

In a different light, I have rephrased childhood questions in clearer and simpler terms or framed them within a philosophical and epistemological context. Yet, I have been careful not to diminish the brilliance and intensity of those questions, which emerged boldly from a childlike innocence but are often suppressed by the prevailing realities and consciousness.

Regarding the multitude of incidents I have sought to recall, I have endeavored to remember as much as possible. Some events have slipped from my memory, leaving them to spontaneous recollection, or perhaps I will revisit them in future sections or chapters.

In the meantime, I strive to weave in other occasions, maintaining a stronger focus on the present or the recent past, so as not to remain stagnant or imprisoned in the tombs and labyrinths of the past.

I turn my focus to the present or its recent past, guided by the circumstances and the relevance of the topics at hand. In instances where recalling specific details proves challenging, I strive to approximate the essence of what truly transpired.

This section serves as the beginning of a project that may evolve and expand in the future, driven by necessity, the urgency of the moment, its significance, and the time I have remaining in my life—or rather, what little remains. I have endeavored to share much of my writing on social media prior to its publication in book form, hoping to refine my thoughts through feedback and reassessment of what has been shared multiple times.

My aspiration is that this book will contain fewer errors, ideally correcting most, if not all, while enriching it with further study, revision, and analysis in this edition and potentially in future ones.

I wish to highlight a final point in this introduction: some of the most influential texts that have shaped my consciousness and thought at various stages of my life include Critique of Religious Thought by Sadeq Jalal Al-Adhm, The History of Political Torture in Islam and Political Assassination in Islam by Hadi Al-Alawi, as well as Materialistic Tendencies in Arab Islamic Philosophy by Hussain Marwa. I have also drawn inspiration from several works by Salama Moussa and numerous novels, including Men in the Sun by Ghassan Kanafani and The Village of the Virgin by Mohammed Haneyber, among others.

I once dreamed of becoming a martyr or being immortalized as one. The story of Sana Muhaidli profoundly affected me; I have never forgotten her tale. I named my first daughter Sana in honor of this courageous Lebanese girl who executed a suicide operation against a convoy of Israeli occupation forces in southern Lebanon.

I have admired Salmiah Ghandi and found inspiration in Nelson Mandela’s struggle and spirit of tolerance. In my early years, I was captivated by the Cuban Revolution and the figure of Che Guevara.

I named my son “Fidel” before he became Fadi, in recognition of Fidel Castro, the voice that stood resolutely in solidarity with the just causes of the Arab world in Palestine and Iraq.

I have long identified with the left, naming my second son Yasar before he became known as Yasri. At one point in my life, my allegiance was firmly with the impoverished, embracing the leftist ideals of economic justice and social equity. In another phase, I found myself captivated by liberalism, particularly its advocacy for freedom of thought. However, I eventually came to realize that “liberalism” might not adequately encompass the diverse range of ideas and literature I yearned to explore.

Today, I am enamored with the future I envision. I assert that I have cultivated my own perspectives and that my primary allegiance lies with humanity.

I strive for independence, refusing to be merely another member of the herd. I have scant patience for the constraints that seek to confine me to their narrow confines or to a stagnant past that lacks the vitality to propel us toward the future.

I stand resolutely against injustice, oppression, and tyranny, regardless of the labels they bear. My passion for freedom knows no limits.