Commentary on Al-Jubaihi’s Article on “A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird ” by Parliamentarian Hashid

yemenat

By:Jalal Hindad

While reading A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird by Yemeni parliamentarian Ahmed Saif Hashid, I encountered a critical article about the book on Yemen Voice, written byYahya Abdul-Raqeeb Al-Jubaihi. In his article, Al-Jubaihi discusses various events, opinions, and critical perspectives that piqued my interest. Even before completing the book, I felt compelled to respond to his observations, which I may elaborate on later.

In light of Al-Jubahi’s commentary, I find it important to address several points that arise from my reading of the book, particularly to clarify the underlying positions and foundations of his critique.

Before diving into Al-Jubahi’s arguments, it is essential to outline some key elements relevant to this discussion:

First, the author of A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird employs a style that fuses multiple literary genres associated with autobiographical literature. Specifically, Hashid’s work blends elements of the novel, autobiographical narrative, and memoir. If we categorize this last component as “memoir,” it is important to recognize that it represents the experiences of a literary figure deeply engaged in emotional and human sentiments, rather than merely serving as the political memoir of an individual constrained by the conventions of political and historical writing and the ideological implications of his views.

A critical engagement with this book requires adherence to the specific parameters and standards of the context in which the author’s ideas have developed and culminated in his work. While some chapters reveal that Hashid has not hesitated to incorporate elements of his political career into the narrative, such inclusion often falls outside the norms of political and historical writing.

Furthermore, autobiographical literature, or the “autobiographical novel,” has become a comprehensive form of literary narrative more than ever. In this genre, the author does not resort to subterfuge or employ a distant perspective; rather, he narrates the work in the first-person voice.

As the author serves as the focal point around which events and experiences revolve, certain elements inherently apply to him as a writer. The most significant of these are credibility and a detachment from ideological agendas when discussing the various phases and transformations of his life.

Additionally, critics and readers must consider essential prerequisites when examining the author’s work. The foremost of these is the necessity to respect the emotional and subjective literary space. The narrative techniques employed in this genre effectively blend the personal, the real, and the imagined, while the credibility demanded in autobiographical literature remains the common thread uniting these dimensions.
Thirdly, this literary genre necessitates that both scholars and critics immerse themselves in its unique thematic space and the established classifications of language and narrative structure.

Critical analyses should center on the manifestations of narrative components and the interplay between emotions and imagination, the self and the other, as well as silence and noise.

Critics must be cautious to avoid falling into the trap of unconscious biases shaped by ideological and political contexts. Such biases can distort their critiques, leading to the isolation of specific contexts and events within the book and fragmenting them into observational spaces.

Regardless of any efforts by the critic to conceal or obscure their objectives, these biases often manifest through overt or subtle layers, revealing the nature of the critique and the critic’s ideological motives. This tendency can aim to politically condemn the author, overshadowing the objective elements and goals of impartial, neutral critical reading.
Commentary on Al-Jubaihi’s Observations in His Critical Reading of A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird”.

Al-Jubaihi illustrates to his readers, myself included, that he is not merely an ordinary writer; he possesses a substantial knowledge base and a strong ability to grasp the nuances of literary and autobiographical writing. However, despite his attempts to mask his intellectual biases and observational tendencies while tracking various elements and issues in the book to fulfill his political and ideological needs, he ultimately fails to hide these inclinations.

This need for validation leads to a less-than-honest methodology aimed at politically and ideologically condemning the author and the book, rather than offering a genuine critique. The elements and mental frameworks in his article operate outside the parameters of impartial criticism and its established methodologies.

Commentary on Al-Jubaihi’s Intentions and Critique

This is not an attempt to demonstrate Al-Jubaihi’s ill intentions or to defend Hashid; rather, I write from my personal perspective on the matter, grounded in my own convictions. I will analyze the points of scrutiny that the author pursued, which reveal his subjective aims and objectives based on the critical methodologies of autobiographical literature. These aims are inherently tied to a political and ideological context.

I will summarize my observations as follows:

There is a significant portion of Al-Jubaihi’s article where he addresses the writer’s pains and years of suffering related to childhood, family, education, and the broader human experience of emotion and sentiment. This section is well-executed in its treatment and presentation, and I have no comments or additions regarding it.

The author of the article skillfully navigates the subject, as its elements and data are largely resistant to political and ideological exploitation. It seems that he aimed to create a space for agreement with the authors of “A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird” and with the readers of the article as well. However, this agreement is fraught with a series of sequential goals that exploit this field to assert condemnation and reinforce political and ideological narratives. Al-Jubaihi selectively addressed political issues and events, extracting them from the public sphere and using them with a cunning political agenda to condemn the author—not only within the context of his work but also throughout his political struggle and leftist ideological inclination. This approach even goes so far as to attempt to condemn political experiences based on selective aspects of what Hashed wrote.

Al-Jubaihi began by discussing the dedication of the book to him by the author, remarking that the author exaggerated in this regard and that he believes the dedication to be sincere, despite their differences. At first glance, in this typically emotional space of dedications, which is often governed by sentiment and social niceties, Al-Jubaihi seems to stray from impartiality. This initial approach, which I find puzzling, detracts from the objectivity he should maintain when discussing the book and its author. However, this early misstep reminds me of a saying among Arabs, which I hesitate to mention, as it suggests that Al-Jubaihi deserves to be excused for this early blunder. Nonetheless, it raises the idea that his stance might imply, “The wrongdoer almost says, ‘Take me.'” He is above such a situation, even if he early on declared his political and ideological approach to the autobiographical work.

Al-Jubaihi attempted to frame his article by referencing the experience of Taha Hussein, the dean of Arabic literature, in his book “The Days.” He preceded the mention of Hussein by the phrase “may he rest in peace,” which reveals an early ideological bias and a misstep that detracts from the author’s objectivity and neutrality. The phrase “may he rest in peace” does not reflect a spontaneous, innocent faith; rather, it explicitly indicates that Al-Jubaihi belongs to a generation that opposed the ideas of the dean of Arabic literature. This, too, is an early revelation of Al-Jubaihi’s mindset, which is deeply entrenched in a religious ideology that views everything outside of its framework as condemned and erroneous.

In an early selective approach, Al-Jubaihi appropriates positions from others to construct an indictment against “Ahmed Saif,” particularly regarding the independent newspaper he published. In this instance, Al-Jubaihi is not discussing Hashid’s writing style, which he describes as simple yet profound. Instead, he aims to draw our attention to the journalistic experience of Hashid and remind us of the opposing and rejecting stances toward that newspaper and its experience at the time. This is part of his strategy to introduce a new element into his carefully constructed indictment.

It is important to note that the author of the article did not need to reference the newspaper to support his claims about Hashid’s writing style; the book in question provides sufficient context. Mentioning the independent newspaper serves to assert that it once faced significant backlash against Hashid, although this backlash was primarily expressed by the writers and followers of the Reform Gathering Party and the Salafist groups to which the author belongs. In contrast, the more aware public and elite intellectuals recognized the objectives and importance of that newspaper, which, through legal experts and verified sources in public prosecutions and police departments, exposed the social issues leading to behavioral deviations.

The newspaper presented these findings to the public and decision-makers to address the structural imbalances in community relations causing such deviant behavior. This type of journalism is well-known in all democratic countries and civil societies.

Al-Jubaihi also mentions Hashid’s decision to change his children’s names from Fidel to Fadi and from Yasar to Yasra. He employs this detail in a tenuous and peculiar attempt to demonstrate a shift in Hashid’s political and ideological stance, sarcastically questioning what these children must feel. This matter is a personal and familial aspect and does not serve as material for an objective reading of political positions or ideological beliefs. Instead, it seems aimed at poorly veiled ridicule, casting doubt on Hashid’s political consistency.

Moreover, this name change may have legitimate personal reasons that Al-Jubaihi is unaware of—reasons unrelated to politics or ideology. I personally recall an incident from my childhood in the mid-1980s when the education department refused to register the children of some National Front activists, one of whom was named Fidel. His name was changed to Faiz, while another named Che Guevara was renamed Giab, and a girl named Luba was renamed Alaa. In 2017, I faced a similar issue in Sudan when trying to register my youngest daughter, Angela, in government schools in Khartoum, which rejected her name. I eventually registered her in a private school after convincing them, with the help of a Sudanese teacher who had worked in Yemen, that the name was common there.

These experiences highlight why some leftist activists may have felt compelled to change their children’s names. However, those who insist on naming their children “Saraqah, Hamzah, Jaafar, Aisha,” etc., may find it difficult to understand this situation. It is clear that the policies of religious groups and their dominance over the educational sector at that time were significant factors driving some leftists to change their children’s names as a necessary step for acceptance in schools.

In each paragraph of his article, Al-Jubaihi increasingly reveals his regressive Salafi methodology, even if he occasionally appears moderate with his deeply-rooted Ikhwani mindset. He returns to critique Ahmad Hashid, suggesting that Hashid’s work reflects the influence of certain atheist writers and his adoption of a stance similar to that of Ilya Abu Madi in his famous poem questioning existence. Al-Jubaihi persistently seeks a political and ideological condemnation of Hashid that paves the way for his excommunication. His use of the phrase “May God guide him” serves only to affirm this intent and implicitly accuse Hashid of disbelief and misguidance.

Al-Jubaihi’s arguments remind us of the debates and intellectual clashes between Salafi advocates and rationalists from six or seven decades ago, who were known at that time as the Traditionalists and Modernists. He demonstrates that religious thinking is incapable of absorbing the complexities of evolving life, and that the revolutionary knowledge witnessed globally has surpassed such futile, Byzantine debates. Humanity has reached a stage beyond utopia, where sciences—both human and natural—have become practical and service-oriented, diminishing the relevance of grand dialectical questions concerning the Creator or existence, and shifting the focus of all sciences to what exists.

Thus, Al-Jubaihi, with his religious ideology, portrays the believer as an existentially disconnected being, living outside historical progression, even as he comments on a narrative by a writer.

Regarding Al-Jubaihi’s remarks about Hashid and his reference to Sheikh Al-Ahmar, he frankly accuses Hashid of lying. I have no information or explanation regarding this matter, but what concerns me is that Al-Jubaihi’s defense of Sheikh Al-Ahmar and his accusation against Hashid affirm my earlier point about his ideological positioning within a politically observant framework. In doing so, he exposes his organizational affiliation with the Islah Party, which is his natural right. However, it is not his right to use Hashid’s book, “A Space Too confined to Accommodate Even a Bird,” as a narrative tool for political attacks and condemnations. It is also unbecoming for him to hide behind his writings, which demonstrate knowledge and insight, while using them to obscure and deceive for narrow partisan and political needs that require him to express them through a political stance and critique, rather than within the context of literary criticism.

Furthermore, Al-Jubaihi’s treatment of Hashid’s writings about the events of 1986 leads him to a climax of exposure, revealing the unraveling of his decorum as he fails to clarify his ill-intended objectives in his article. He shows a bold and arbitrary stance in reading political history through the lens of literary narrative. He naively attempts to judge and analyze the Yemeni left based on excerpts from a leftist writer’s autobiographical narrative. While any writer, including Al-Jubaihi, has the right to critique the Yemeni left and the events of 1986 in Aden, this should be done from a politically objective standpoint, during a political occasion, or in the context of discussing a book on political history.

This is what some leftist writers, such as Qadri Ahmed Haidar and the late Nasser Mohammed Nasser, have done with courage and objectivity in critiquing their own leftist experiences, which are not without mistakes and shortcomings.

However, a careful reading of Al-Jubaihi’s article quickly reveals that his underlying implications expose a paralysis in thought, stance, and vision, inherited from his party experience, with all its flaws, contradictions, and opportunistic bipolarities.

After finishing Al-Jubaihi’s article, it struck me that “A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird” is not an autobiographical narrative; rather, it reads more like a research classification addressing the historical experience of the Yemeni far left.

The problem with the religious intellectual immersed in the historical experience of political Islam is that, no matter how extensive his knowledge and experiences become, he remains hostage to two main issues. The first is his inability to reconcile with those who differ from him, as his foundational consciousness and upbringing are based on unhealthy, adversarial concepts. Anything outside his group and ideology is seen as deviant, misguided, or conspiratorial.

The second issue is a sense of utopianism and an extreme nihilistic belief in monopolizing truth. Consequently, he recognizes no one but considers them foolish or mistaken; he regards any thought or experience outside his own as heretical. This confinement within such a narrow frame undermines the bridges of shared humanity in his consciousness, conscience, thinking, and propositions. Thus, engaging in dialogue with him, the religious intellectual, exacerbates divisions in awareness rather than fostering understanding.

For a person to have the capacity to critique others, he must first be liberated from the unconscious bondage to political and ideological centers.

This is something no religious intellectual can achieve, from Muhammad Amara and Fathi Yakan to al-Ghannouchi and al-Jubaihi. Hence, this closed, imitative thought only spreads among social classes burdened by poverty, ignorance, and a consciousness enslaved to the supernatural and superstition.

At this grassroots level, the devout individual appears active, engaged, and interactive. However, at the rational, conscious, and enlightening level, the religious intellectual transforms into a passive being harboring malice and hostility, obsessed with endless cycles of malice, psychological illness, hatred, and spite. These underlying issues quickly reveal themselves in the religious individual’s frantic quest to achieve his goals. Of course, I am not speaking specifically about al-Jubaihi but about religious intellectuals in general.
“You are guilty, Abu Fidel, I mean Fadi.” With such mournful phrases, al-Jubaihi continues his discourse in “A Space Not Fit for a Bird.” Is there not a clear translation of the overall characteristics and unhealthy psychological inclinations I mentioned regarding the religious intellectual in this statement by al-Jubaihi? Despite his attempts to conceal them, the outpouring of his unrestrained language reveals that he, in that very sentence, strips himself of the attributes of an intellectual, let alone a politician or a writer. He instead exposes his true self as a religious figure who monopolizes truth and usurps the authority of both heaven and earth simultaneously. He has created a decree and applied it to condemn Hashed of wrongdoing, then pardoned him. While such matters pertain to a deferred authority of God and an immediate one of legal judgment—not to the writer, critic, or intellectual—it is no surprise that this stems from his foundational, knowledge-based, and mental structure, which is enslaved to coercive beliefs asserting that anything outside his group and ideology is false.

When you see a devout person entrenched in these extreme, unhealthy concepts that shape his memory and poison his consciousness, making them difficult to deconstruct or uproot, it becomes futile to engage with him in cultural exchange or discussion.

You are already condemned by his coercive beliefs, nourished by his obsession with the historical and political grievances he believes have befallen him, without realizing that this is a pathological condition in his consciousness, giving rise to elements of provocation and a loss of trust in others.

Therefore, I chose in this brief response not to address the details, facts, and positions presented in al-Jubaihi’s article. Instead, I aimed to focus on the mental and ideological mindset of the religious intellectual and his religious discourse. At the same time, I find myself somewhat sympathetic to this devout individual, as his knowledge and cognitive structure, which hinder him, are the result of prolonged, oppressive upbringing and unhealthy inputs and propositions imposed on him from the beginning. Consequently, he has become a product of these rigid, coercive accumulations from which he finds it impossible to liberate himself, no matter how much he or we might try. Even if his culture, knowledge, sciences, and life experiences expand, they all revolve around the orbit of a fixed, coercive rigidity.

This is with the exception of the thinker Abdullah Al-Qasimi, who managed to free himself from the shackles of oppressive religious thought. What enabled him to do so was his lack of connection to the political experiences of Salafi groups. When Salafi ideology intertwines with a political experience rooted in a set of interests and mechanisms, the religious intellectual, from a humanitarian perspective, becomes a heart-wrenching case, and from a practical standpoint, a time bomb.
Moreover, the psyche and mentality of the religious intellectual often reveal tendencies of hatred, malice, and mockery towards those who are not part of their group. Unable to confront or oppose others with the tools of science and knowledge, this religious intellectual exists outside the inevitability of history and is incapable of engaging with knowledge-based discourses and political discussions. Faced with this sense of impotence, malice and political hostility furnish the conscience and beliefs of such an individual.

They also find in violence and weaponry their preferred means of confrontation. If there are any agreements between religious politicians and some other party, these agreements reflect nothing more than a strategy for mutual benefit, and once these interests are fulfilled, they will renounce and condemn the other. The experience of the Brotherhood in Yemen with the late President Saleh serves as a prime example of this.

Returning to the previous point about the mentality of the religious intellectual in the context of Al-Jubaihi’s article, we find him describing Haseed’s book, “A Space Too Confined to Cradle Even a Bird,” in several places as mere “chitchat.” In language, “chitchat” refers to excessive and inconsequential talk.

This characterization reveals, at the very least, a political malice towards the author, as it also uncovers a disconnect in the personality of the article’s writer and a contradiction within himself.

He initially described the book’s language as “simple yet profound” and stated at the beginning of his article that he does not write about published works or books gifted to him unless they contain something worthy of reading in general. What a contradiction and psychological dissonance this presents! Would it not have been more appropriate for our esteemed professor Al-Jubaihi to leave the book on his shelf if he considers it mere chitchat with no value? If he indeed found something worth his attention, on what grounds does he describe it multiple times in his article as chitchat?

This reflects the mentality of the extremist Salafi who hides a shameful contradiction beneath the guise of awareness, knowledge, and culture. This mentality, in the face of its creative impotence, seeks to undermine the achievements of others and diminish their creative significance. It is the clearest explanation for such an approach!

Occasionally, I find myself sympathizing and assuming good intentions on the part of the article’s author, such as when he remarked that he wished Hashid had adhered to a chronological narration of historical events, avoiding the temporal overlaps and flashbacks within the chapters. Here, I see in Professor Al-Jubaihi a natural critic, even though his critique is limited, as Haseed’s book is not a research work on political history but rather a narrative genre of a personal memoir that does not adhere to a strict temporal and spatial structure.

Nevertheless, he soon reveals, in his subsequent arguments, that his political mentality and ideological affiliation dictate his criticism. His intent is to condemn Haseed as a heretic, misguided, and guilty, denouncing his political experience, all for opportunistic ends, the least of which is the psychological satisfaction derived from fabricating sins for others and presuming their errors and deviations in the course of their lives.
Al-Jubaihi describes Hashid as part of the ruling elite.

He discusses Hashid’s mention of carrying a weapon in 1986 for self-defense, asserting that Hashid is trying to evade responsibility. Al-Jubaihi claims that those who carried weapons echoed similar sentiments, implying that Hashid is guilty, even if he hasn’t harmed anyone. It is unsurprising that a religious politician would view weapons, according to the philosophy of extremist believers, solely as instruments for killing. The notion of self-defense does not align with the ideologies of the extremist mindset.

When Al-Jubaihi criticizes Hashid for this, he should recognize that Hashid himself initiated this conversation. Al-Jubaihi did not hear it from others; Hashid concealed his motives to allow Al-Jubaihi to accuse him of evasion. Moreover, Hashid stated that his weapon was for self-defense, while Al-Jubaihi distorts this context by asserting, “Since you carried the weapon, Abu Fidel—Fadi—for specific tasks!” Where did Al-Jubaihi derive these specific tasks, which Hashid did not mention? This reflects the violent mindset of the politically motivated religious intellectual, which has flourished within the violent framework of his religious group and its political experience.
Al-Jubaihi’s subconscious implies, “We are not the only killers; you leftists are killers too!” Yet, he shies away from stating this directly, opting instead for a veiled political insinuation fueled by his bitterness.

Regarding Al-Jubaihi’s characterization of Hashid’s remarks about the officers labeled as “northerners” in 1986, I, as a leftist, agree with Al-Jubaihi that the division was not purely north versus south.

It was politically and regionally driven in the south. However, despite this agreement, Al-Jubaihi quickly returns to his previous stance, asserting, with political malice, that former northern allies now call for secession. Isn’t it ironic that he uses the term “northerners,” which he previously disavowed, even though he is correct in the context of the article?

If secession is now on the table, why doesn’t he at least hint at the reasons many are advocating for it, which has sadly become a popular demand in the south rather than a mere political one? He knows this issue represents a dirty political swamp that former President Saleh and his allies from Al-Jubaihi’s party and the Salafi and tribal components sank into during the summer war of 1994. The Islah Party has also plunged into this catastrophic mire, not just politically but also with blood on their hands from the south, undermining the project of unity—the contemporary civilizational project of Yemen—which the Houthis are now continuing from where they left off in the summer of 1994.
I do not wish to delve into the details of political events since it serves no purpose in engaging with a religious politician. My aim, as I mentioned, is to dissect and expose the pathological mindset and opportunistic political rhetoric of Islamic political groups and writers in general.

As for his question to Hashid about why he did not clarify the significant differences between the war of ’94 and the circumstances that led us to 2015, I see no need, as a writer and observer, to go into details that are evident to everyone, especially given the previously outlined coercive mindset and its unshakeable dogmas.

In conclusion, Al-Jubaihi culminates his argument and reveals his intentions by implicitly accusing Hashid of collusion with the Houthis, even if he does not state this outright. Through the clever rhetoric of a political believer, he suggests that Hashid criticizes certain groups while those groups do not retaliate against him. This implicitly indicates that Hashid’s opposition to the Houthis is within a mutually agreed-upon framework, evidenced by the absence of any action against him, such as arrest.

This question and the cunning review attempt by Al-Jubaihi to cast doubt on Hashid’s political positions are ultimately unproductive for anyone following the political landscape and possessing a basic understanding of Hashid’s stances both inside and outside the parliament.

Firstly, Hashid has no connections or channels of communication with any political factions or warring parties that could justify his arrest in Sana’a under such pretenses. His opposition to the Houthis arises from the harsh realities and grave mistakes committed by the militia, which have violated everything related to humanity, the state, history, and Yemeni identity. He has neither lied nor slandered this theocratic group.
As for the Houthi’s inability to criticize Hashid or arrest him, Al-Jubaihi fails to recognize what the Houthis realize regarding this matter. The latter wish they could arrest him and silence him, but their political cunning is sharper than that of other Sunni groups.

They understand that arresting Hashid would have repercussions, and the consequences of such a move would pose risks and damages that outweigh the dangers of his criticisms against them. After all, he is a parliamentary deputy, and Al-Jubaihi knows well the Houthi militia’s need for a member in the Sana’a parliament amid the incomplete quorum. More importantly, what Al-Jubaihi does not grasp is that Hashid has become a popular figure, rather than merely a party figure. As long as this is the case, the Houthis cannot silence him.

In conclusion, I can only express my deep respect and great appreciation for Yahya Al-Jubaihi. I want to clarify that some of the descriptions I included in this article were not intended as personal insults but were part of my analysis of the ideological discourse and foundational mentality of political Islam groups in general. It is certain that our esteemed professor is an active member of one of these groups and perhaps even a guiding figure. From the way he narrates his article, I believe he is not just a writer but a policy maker within his group or Islamist party. I apologize for the length and lack of coherence in the article, as I wrote it in haste.

نقلا عن موقع الحوار المتمدن