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Khalid Mukhtar

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Bartering Our Souls For “Peace” – Srebenica Twenty Years On

Khalid Mukhtar · July 5, 2015 · Leave a Comment

As we mark twenty years since the brutal killings in a Bosnian town of over 8,000 Muslim boys and men ranging from ages 12 to 77, we are faced with emerging evidence bringing into focus the unfortunate role of the free world in the commission of what has been called the “worst massacre on European soil since the Third Reich”. Details around how a safe area came to be presented to the Serb death-squads are chilling, no doubt.

Photo courtesy guardian.co.uk: man praying at the gravesites of Srebenica
Photo courtesy guardian.co.uk: man praying at the gravesites of Srebenica
But there is something even more disturbing than the actual genocide itself. This was clearly not the first time an act of ethnic cleansing had shocked the world. If we restrict ourselves to a simple game of numbers, the killing of 8,000 boys and men is a drop in the ocean of genocide that the twentieth century alone has seen. (Wikipedia List of genocides by death toll.) No, the numbers are not interesting. But the politics is.

It is one thing that the Serbian killing machine had overrun Srebenica, and the likes of Mladic had personally overseen the separation of boys as young as twelve and their fathers and grandfathers from their mothers, sisters, daughters and wives. While the women and girls were sent off to “Muslim territory”, a collective term for the horrors that awaited them as they were delivered to their new homes, the boys and their fathers and their grandfathers were transported to the lush fields around the town and cut down by soldiers, men who were beginning to reel under the fatigue of playing executioners.
Killing is hard work, even with guns. To send metal flying at over twice the speed of sound, tearing open the chests and heads of twelve and thirteen year-old boys can take a toll on the sickest of hearts.So, yes, that is all one thing.

But it is another thing for a massacre on a scale of this magnitude to not just occur, but flourish on the watch of a group that was instituted for the very purpose of preventing such oppression, an institution called the United Nations that is held as the positive culmination of the great lessons learned from World War II. Sure, there were hostages – 30 soldiers of a Dutch contingent – whose lives were threatened if Srebenica wasn’t handed over quietly. But now we read of this:

According to declassified US cables details of the killings reached western intelligence and decision makers soon after they began on 13 July; CIA operatives watched almost “live” at a satellite post in Vienna. From that day, spy planes caught what was happening. “Standing men held by armed guard. Later pictures show them lying in the fields, dead,” according to one cable.

A senior state department official insists: “All US partners were immediately informed.” Yet the slaughter was allowed to run its course, no attempt made to deter the killers, or to locate the men and boys, let alone rescue them.

The next day, 14 July, the UN security council said it feared “grave mistreatment and killing of innocent civilians”; it said it had received “reports that 4,000 men and boys have gone missing”. But the diplomats continued business as usual.

…

…

Pauline Neville-Jones, then political director at the British Foreign Office, argued as late as 2009: “It still remains to be established whether the Serbs had a long-range intention to do just that [massacre men and boys]. Serb forces engaged in an ethnic cleansing campaign to rid Srebrenica of its Muslims [which] eventually became genocide when the decision was made to separate men targeted for extinction.”

Jean-Claude Mallet, the director of strategy at the French defence ministry, says in an interview: “I had no illusion that atrocities would be committed. We had reported that. But never such as the ones that occurred.”

The International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia rejects these views, ruling that the killings were premeditated well in advance. In the conviction of the Bosnian Serb general Radislav Krstic for aiding and abetting genocide at Srebrenica, the court ruled: “Without detailed planning, it would have been impossible to kill so many people in such a systematic manner in such a short time, between 13 July and 17 July.”

The International Court of Justice would rule in 2007: “It must have been clear that there was a serious risk of genocide in Srebrenica.”

France’s foreign minister at the time, Alain Juppé, says in an interview: “We all knew the men would be annihilated, or at least that the Serbs were not sparing the lives of prisoners”. 

Source: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jul/04/how-britain-and-us-abandoned-srebrenica-massacre-1995

And this:

But a new investigation of the mass of evidence documenting the siege suggests much wider involvement in the events leading to the fall of Srebrenica. Declassified cables, exclusive interviews and testimony to the tribunal show that the British, American and French governments accepted – and sometimes argued – that Srebrenica and two other UN-protected safe areas were “untenable” long before Mladic took the town, and were ready to cede Srebrenica to the Serbs in pursuit of a map acceptable to the Serbian president, Slobodan Miloševic, for peace at any price.

But as they considered granting Srebrenica to the Serbs, western powers were also aware, or should have been, of the Bosnian Serb military “Directive 7” ordering the “permanent removal” of Bosnian Muslims from the safe areas. They also knew Mladic had told the Bosnian Serb assembly, “My concern is to have them vanish completely”, and that Karadžic pledged “blood up to the knees” if his army took Srebrenica.

Robert Frasure, a US diplomat working as an international representative, reported to Washington that Miloševic would not accept a peace map unless the safe areas were ceded to the Serbs. His boss, Anthony Lake, the US national security adviser, favoured a revised map that ceded Srebrenica, and the US policy-making Principals Committee urged that UN troops “pull back from vulnerable positions” – ergo, the safe areas.

France and Britain agreed, with UK defence secretary Sir Malcolm Rifkind arguing that the safe areas were “untenable”, as defended in 1995. As Mladic’s troops advanced on Srebrenica, the west failed to heed warnings of the town’s imminent fall. Once it had, says General Van der Wind of the Dutch defence ministry, in an exclusive interview with the Observer, the UN provided 30,000 litres of petrol, used by the Serbs to drive their quarry to the killing fields and plough their bodies into mass graves.

As the killing hit full throttle, top western negotiators met Mladic and Miloševic but did not raise the issue of mass murder, even though unclassified US cables show that the CIA was watching the killing fields almost “live” from satellite planes.

The shocking findings of high-level willingness in London, Washington and Paris to cede Srebrenica were collated over 15 years by Florence Hartmann, a former Le Monde correspondent, for a book, The Srebrenica Affair: The Blood of Realpolitik. Hartmann worked as a spokeswoman for the prosecutor at the international criminal tribunal for the former Yugoslavia between 2000 and 2006.

Source: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jul/04/west-true-role-in-srebrenica-massacre-bosnia

I can’t speak for the British and French roles in all of this. But as an American, my respect for the law of this land, and my faith in its immense potential for goodness, empower me to hold my government to a level of accountability commensurate with its unique position in the world. When words of grief are spoken in Srebenica next weekend, it would be an obscenity at the very least for America to not acknowledge its inaction to attempt (not succeed, but just attempt) to use the intelligence and certain knowledge it had to stop that tragic massacre.

We all tear up when Peter Parker hears the words of his late uncle echo in his mind. “With great power, comes great responsibility.” It is time we own up to the values we espouse, to end the hypocrisy and take ownership of our failings. We must not be wary to go on record and acknowledge such failure. That would be cowardice and against everything we believe in. Rather what we must be wary of are the long term consequences of a silence that makes no sense in a nation that prides itself upon making some noise. It is a silence that will surely undermine and mock our current and future efforts to navigate the bloody oceans of world peace. Let’s show some backbone. Let’s be the proverbial grownup in a house full of children, and stand for the justice we are committed to as a nation.

The souls of the boys and men that perished in the violence of Srebenica twenty years ago may well be alive and at peace. What should keep us awake at night is whether we who are left behind, in our drunken pursuit of a perception of peace at any cost, have lost our souls.

Moment

Khalid Mukhtar · July 1, 2015 · Leave a Comment

There is a moment in the still night air
That passes by a pair of swollen feet,
A moment when each heart submerged in prayer
Breathes in the sweetest fragrance of retreat,
When all of space is folded in a tear,
And time compressed into a Word Divine,
It is a moment cool, compact and clear
Like drops of shiny dew upon a vine.
You seek this moment fervently without
And speak of it at every chance you win,
But all that ever matters is about
A silent search entirely within.
There is a moment in the still night air,
A moment that is you submerged in prayer.

Inspired by Shaykh Amin’s profound words on Laylat-ul-Qadr.

Love, Returning

Khalid Mukhtar · June 24, 2015 · Leave a Comment

The recent talk by Shaykh Amin on the life of Lady Aasiyah brought me to compose this. And I write it now to celebrate the birth of my niece, Aasiyah Fatimah Mohajir. Congratulations to her parents and grandparents.

I welcome you, O Aasiyah
And wish for you all good
In faith and health and happiness,
As all, who love you, would.

But do you know, O Aasiyah,
The Aasiyah of old,
Who lived by gardens of delight
In palaces of gold.

Was married to a mighty king;
She raised a prince who fled
Into the wild, returning as
A Messenger instead.

And when she heard his message, she
Submitted with her all,
Yet carefully concealed it lest
The Messenger may fall;

But when her husband set to slay
The noble Messenger,
Her actions, all his burning wrath,
Diverted, as it were:

She showed her faith before the king
She loved with all her heart,
But all of love and mercy did
His countenance depart.

There is no measure of the pain
Her body did endure,
Yet in belief she did remain,
Immaculate and pure,

Beseeching Allah for a home,
A mansion by His Throne,
To roam the Garden, lofty, high,
And as she thought, alone.

But little did she know the Lord
Would gather all her love,
And destine her for marriage in
The heavens up above.

For do you know, my dear child,
Khadeejah did rejoice
At who would be fair Aasiyah’s
Companion of choice;

That Paradise around the Throne
Shall feast and celebrate
When AbulQasim takes the hand
Of his beloved mate.

And that, my dear Aasiyah,
Was Aasiyah of old,
Who lives by Gardens of delight,
And beauty manifold.

Such beauty, manifold.

On Hearts That Grow Fonder

Khalid Mukhtar · June 24, 2015 · Leave a Comment

You’ve been away for longer now,
I cannot count the ways
That I, my dear, have missed you. How
I’ve missed you all these days.

The morning sun inspiring
The twitter of the birds,
The peace the starry nights do bring,
And my pathetic words

All grieve the absence of your smile
That livens up the air,
While gentle scents of chamomile
And lavender declare

My never-ceasing love for you,
My treasured company;
In every little thing I do,
And every thing I see,

I see the mercy of the One
Who so my heart inclined,
That in my weak affection, His
Vast Mercy is defined.

It’s true, the heart grows fonder,  now
I long to see your smile
And happily forget just how
I’ve missed you all this while.

Sahoor

Khalid Mukhtar · June 21, 2015 · 1 Comment

Inspired by Shaykh Amin’s talk on sahoor from a couple nights ago.

There is a moment magical
When day breaks free from night,
When seed is split and life begins,
Witnessing Allah’s Might.
But when the hand of man does it,
It fashions pain and strife;
It takes the Hand of God to split
And manufacture life.
The use of magical here is deliberate. Shaykh Amin pointed out that the Arabs observed the magic in daybreak, giving rise to sihr and sahoor stemming from the same three-letter root. Fascinating!

I’ll Have A Guest

Khalid Mukhtar · June 16, 2015 · Leave a Comment

One more day… 
I wrote this for the kids. If anyone out there has stanzas to contribute, email me or add in a comment below.
—-
Let’s tidy home and break the oud
And set its fragrance free,
Let the money flow, and the faces glow
With smiles of charity.

    ‘Cause I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To stay by me through the midday heat,
And to quench my burning thirst
With a drink of Quran to help defeat
Myself when I’m at my worst.

    I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To carry me on a wink of sleep
Through the night until the dawn
And to teach my eye to swell and weep
Before my guest is gone.

    I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To taste that sweet remembrance, comes
In a cool and timeless night
When the wakeful eye of a slave becomes
Awash with eternal light.

    Oh, I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

Let’s tidy home and break the oud
And set its fragrance free,
Let the money flow, and the faces glow
With smiles of charity.

    Oh, I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

Poetry Potluck & On The Spot

Khalid Mukhtar · June 14, 2015 · Leave a Comment

I entered On The Not So Many Things I Cannot Stand into the poetry pot luck and Bryce J. nailed it.

The On-the-spot prompt was Good Advice Gone Bad.  I couldn’t come up with any advice, so I decided to call my father before the first event began and asked him to blurt out any advice that came to him. I managed to contrive a Shakespearean sonnet, but I think it lacked the punch needed for a winning performance. I should have gone with a rap.

My father, bless him, always used to say,
“Son, always mind the company you keep.”
I took it in a literal sort of way,
Not bothering to wade the waters deep.
And so I hung with folks of manner mild,
Avoided rubbing tattoo-laden shoulders
And chose to steer clear from the wild,
Preferring peace among the office folders.
And this was how I navigated years,
Assuming good was good and flocking to it,
Until my poor judgement fell in tears
Reminding me how terribly I blew it.
I should have listened closer when my Dad
Advised me how to tell the good from bad.

The Tale Of Frantz Fernandas And Morgen Myna – A Lousy Love Story

Khalid Mukhtar · June 14, 2015 · Leave a Comment

Frantz Fernandas von Anoplura,
A grandiose name for a louse,
He lived in the hairs of a callous old dame,
And often reclined on her blouse
In search of a dwelling befitting his name,
A filthy yet classier house.

He witnessed the innocent act of a thief
That brought his unsavory mistress
A child, for the want of a rampion leaf,
A beautiful creature in distress
Confined to a tower, much to his relief.
But Frantz had his eye upon this tress

For here in the forests of sunshine and gold,
There thrived a louse nation of splendor,
Amongst them a creature of beauty untold,
A lausmaid of opposite gender,
Who captured the fancy of Frantz by the fold
Of her palpus attractive and tender.

And thus he left witch for golden-haired wench
And traveled for long on that head,
Till came he to face in all of that stench
The lausmaid he wanted to wed,
The sweet Morgen Myna, oh nothing could wrench
Him ‘way from the charms that she spread.

So Morgen and Frantz, they married and had
The happiest moments together
And how they rejoiced, especially glad
For times when Rapunzel sent nether
Her tresses to help that most elegant lad
To climb up in every weather.

But one afternoon, on the edge of a hush,
Frantz scoured a follicle bare
When voices in anger preceded the rush
Of a shear that cut through the hair,
To send Frantz Fernandas down into the brush
On the face of a mighty king’s heir.

But what shocked poor Frantz was the prince’s dull wit
To up and just wander away,
“The tower, good fellow,” he sucked and he bit,
“Oh, at least you can manage to stay.”
But the prince wandered off in his blindness to sit
In the shade of an ash on the way.

They mourned, man and louse, for the loss of their love,
Sweet Rapunzel and fair Morgen Myna,
While fragrances princely that fell from above
Obligated poor Frantz to divine a
Grand means of escape, but a flutter of dove
And the gentlest of breezes were sign of

Love returning. The voice of Rapunzel they heard,
The prince ran toward it with glee
They met; how she cradled his head with a word
Bearing grief that her man couldn’t see,
As her tears fell, Frantz clambered up undeterred
On a lock of her hair by her knee.

The prince found his sight, as Frantz madly sought
Morgen Myna, and found her indeed
By the follicle whence he had left, she had brought
Forth their nits, Anoplura of breed.
Then they all lived together and died at the spot
Where Rapunzel’s first bath was decreed.

Letter to Friend On His Upcoming Wedding

Khalid Mukhtar · June 14, 2015 · Leave a Comment

My Epistle entry at the June 12 Pentathlon.

My Dear Friend,

Tell me: can you see that keen bumble bee
Alighting itself on a flower,
And pray, do you see the flower when she
Looks up in that early dawn hour;

Yes, you’ve seen the skies through your weary eyes,
How clear and blue they come bowing
To kiss well the trees and the edges of seas
Whenever the weather’s allowing.

Well, forget all that!

You’ll be married in a fortnight, it will never be the same,
So be merry now and let your heart to sing,
When you see that blasted bee, trust me, all that you will see
Is a buzzing blob of yellow with a sting.

And each flower that is born is a reason for a thorn,
And the early morning air won’t be so still
When you see your day is planned, you’ll be putty in her hand,
Losing every day a kilo of your will.

When you look up at the sky, you’ll invariably spy
Clouds of grey and every other darkness form,
And the trees, they will (it’s true) be those things that block the view
While the seas become an omen for a storm.

Then you’ll tell yourself it’s love that takes all of the above
And just blends it all into one toxic smoothie.
Drink it up, you poor fool; do it while it is still cool,
Every drop you drink will die proclaiming you the

JACKASS!

But now, if you hang in there, you will see the day you swear
That the jackass in you is a broadway act,
For there comes to every man that approaches half his span
Knowledge of this one invaluable fact:

Be her destiny, her love, be her “all of the above”,
All it costs you is one stinkin’ ounce of tact.

Kindest Regards,
Khalid

P.S. CONGRATULATIONS!!

The Wilderness Within

Khalid Mukhtar · June 14, 2015 · Leave a Comment

This was my pantoum entry at the June 12 Pentathlon. It is about inspiration. Note that the 2nd and 4th line of each stanza are the 1st and 3rd line of the subsequent stanza with the exception that the 2nd and 4th lines of the last stanza are the 3rd and 1st lines of the first stanza. I know, cool yet crazy.

I sense a clear drop of dew,
Upon a dry and thirsty leaf,
Announce the start of something new.
I love a cloud that rains relief

Upon a dry and thirsty leaf
Within this wilderness I know
I love: A cloud that rains relief
To help me pay the debt I owe.

Within this wilderness, I know
Of wind and rain and songs of birds
To help me pay the debt I owe
My sanity. Returning words

Of wind and rain, and songs of birds
Thus grace my forests now. And then
My sanity returns in words
Each day, and every moment when

Disgraced. My forests now and then
Announce the start of something new
Each day and every moment when
I sense a clear drop is due.
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