تدعو جمعية الشفافية الكويتية الراغبين بالتطوع للمشاركة في مراقبة إنتخابات مجلس الامة يوم 29/6/2006 إلى التسجيل لديها على ان تقدم لهم دورة تدريبية بعنوان (المراقب الإنتخابي) للخبير الدستوري د. محمد المقاطع و سيمنح المشاركون شهادة مراقب إنتخابي.
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الدعوة موصولة الى مدونين الكويت خاصة ان تساعدوا في نشر الدعوة ولنتصدى بها الفساد ولنكن درعا نحمي إرادة الشعب من التزوير. ان الامل كبير
I didn't have the chance to take a picture of the posters yesterday. And now they are all ripped to pieces. Posters in Surra, scattered around, not too many. They say something like "We can't be bought by the Dinar," and "We're not for sale" (rough translation).
"Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind but wise." Or was it an old man? A guru, perhaps. Or a griot soothing restless children. I have heard this story, or one exactly like it, in the lore of several cultures. Toni Morrison. Nobel Lecture.
Two girls, raised in two different matriarchal families, finally realize that the bond that unites them as friends is stronger than other societal bonds that kept them apart.
Eva’s husband walks out on her leaving her with two girls and a boy. Her house becomes a place where many seek shelter. But the house lacks proper order, an attribute Morrison reserves for those who are not willing to allow a space for differences among people. As part of her illogical, disorderly fashion, Eva takes in 3 boys and calls them all Dewey, against everyone’s quizzical inquiry as to how to distinguish between the 3. Her daughter Hannah also loses her own husband when their daughter Sula is only 3, leaving Sula to be raised in an a-typical matriarchal family.
Helene Wright is raised by her grandmother away from the Creole whore who gave birth to her. When Helene marries a seaman who is constantly away and bears her daughter Nel, she raises her in such an orderly fashion that makes this matriarchal family the opposite of that of Sula.
It is this opposition that joins the two girls and leads to a friendship that becomes the main focus of the novel, even when Morrison crowds her novels with many more interesting characters and stories:
Eva herself kills her own son when his war trauma leaves him too attached to his mother, but then throws herself out the second floor window onto her burning daughter in an attempt to save her life.
Sula sees her own mother burning but doesn’t move to save her, partly because of hearing her mother in an earlier occasion admit that she loves, but does not like Sula, her daughter.
There is also Shadrack, the shellshock veteran who celebrates National Suicide Day every year, and who finally leads some townfolks into a tunnel, and accidentally, to their death.
Another one of Toni Morrison’s successes. If you haven’t touched a Morrison yet, what are you waiting for?
The old woman is keenly aware that no intellectual mercenary, nor insatiable dictator, no paid-for politician or demagogue; no counterfeit journalist would be persuaded by her thoughts. Toni Morrison. Nobel Lecture.
This isn't my own post. But I found the comment stretching a bit too long in Shuroq's blog so I chose to include it here.
الشاب اللطيف في أثناء الحديث قال هذا أبوي وإذا أبوكم نزل نفسه بالانتخابات ما راح تساندونه؟ فردت عليه عالية: إذا كان شريف. فقام الشاب اللطيف بإعطاء عالية تلك الخزة الطويلة الظاهر مصدق إنه ريّال ويخرع. كان قبل شوي قايل حق شروق إنه لو كان متزوج كان عنده عيال قدها وقايل بعد إن احنا من نكون عشان نقعد نربي ونهذب بأخلاقيات الناس واحنا يهال وما نفتهم (كلمة يهال صايرة تنقال لنا وايد هالأيام بس أول مرة أسمعها من ريال عنده 17 سنة. بس الداهية شروق عرفتله وقالت إي طبعا أنت أكبر منا لأنك ريال) وأعتقد أن هذا السبب اللي خلاه يتوجه حق شباك شروق لأنها فاهمته تمام.
وسألونا ليش تبونها خمس ترى الخمس مو عادلة (شافو الشريطة البرتقالية بسيارتي ما شاالله عليهم نبيهين). وقالوا شلون توزعون فتاوي الطبطبائي مع أنه ضد المرأة. وقالوا عادي ماهي رشوة لأن مرشحنا طول عمره يحب يعاون وسألوا الوالد عن أفضال المرشح على المنطقة (الوالد ضحك لين قلناله، وشر البلية ما يضحك) و بينما شروق قاعدة تحاور المأسوف على شبابه دخل بالسالفة ثالث من أهل الدار يقول لنا أنتو ليش قاعدين تحاورون وتقنعون، بس وزعوا منشوراتكم و خلاص (طبعا الأخ واصل عالسالفة من الآخر وما يدري ولا حتى يبي يسمع أننا ما طلبنا نحاور أحد) لا وبعد كاسرين خاطرة يقول أنتو بنات و ما له داعي تكلمون صبيان بالشارع. يعني يكون ضميره صاحي على هالموضوع وايد.
المهم أن ولدي لما قلناله السالفة قال إي ما عليكم منه هذا كلكشي معاي بالصف و
he's messing with you
وهذا مرة جمع كم دينار من الطلبة بحجة أنه بيرتب لهم حفلة وطلع بالأخير قاص عليهم. الظاهر الابن البار كان يبي يعاون الوالد بحملته الانتخابية ببعض الدعم المادي. عفية عليك يابو عمر. والله عرفت تربي كثر الله من أمثالك.
What happened tonight is beyond anything I ever expected. My blood is boiling and my hands are still shaking. I never believed corruption could run so high and in such an open manner.
Distributing flyers with a message against buying and selling votes ended in one of the most aggravating and disturbing conversations ever when 2 men directly offered us money to shut up and/or sell our voices.
I will leave Shuroq to fill you in on the details. She's a more prolific writer with a better memory. And she has already been threatened to publish something by noon tomorrow or else.
Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow. This is how 9 years old Claudia begins telling us the story of Pecola that she and her sister Frieda, 10, were witness to. In this story, Morrison takes her readers into the world as seen in the eyes of two black girls whose fortune is only a little better than the distressed Pecola. Pecola, influenced by the seemingly happy life displayed on the screen of this pretty blond with blue eyes, decides that what happened to her could be prevented if she had Shirley Temple’s blue eyes: It had occurred to Pecula … that if her eyes … were different, … she herself would be different. If she looked different, beautiful, maybe Cholly would be different, and Mrs. Breedlove. Maybe they’d say, “Why, look at pretty-eyed Pecola. We mustn’t do bad things in front of those pretty eyes.” …Each night, without fail, she prayed for blue eyes. But Pecola is not that lucky. Her eyes aren’t blue. And her father Cholly rapes her. And her mother Mrs. Breedlove breeds no love on the girl. So it was. A little black girl years for the blue eyes of a little white girl, and the horror at the heart of her yearning is exceeded only by the evil of fulfillment. We saw her sometimes, Frieda and I—after the baby came too soon and died. After the gossip and the slow wagging of heads. She was sad to see. Grown people looked away; children, those who were not frightened by her, laughed outright. … All of us—all who knew her—felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. … She, however, stepped over into madness, a madness which protected her from us simply because it bored us in the end. It is only when Claudia grows older that she realizes that the town and she herself were wrong when they acquiesce to life’s unjust treatment to one of their own, saying the victim has no right to live.
I love Morrison’s multiple narrators. I love her refusal to allow her readers to classify good and evil. I love the fluidity of her style. But most of all, I love this, her first novel, and to me, the most gripping of all her 8 novels.
My aim is to begin some sort of a book review here. Not a very typical one, just my own thoughts and observations of a few of my favorites books. Toni Morrison being my favorite author, I will begin with this, then follow with the rest of her 8 novels before I move on to other writers.
That, my dear reader, is the plan. But I am generally not one to follow through with her plans :)