What I’ve learned from Noam Chomsky

As news of Noam Chomsky’s failing health makes the rounds, I share some learnings from my interactions with a trailblazing public intellectual whose moral compass has impacted the world


PERSONAL POLITICAL
By Beena Sarwar

Noam Chomsky in Pakistan, 2001. Screenshot from VPRO news report by Beena Sarwar.

I once asked Noam Chomsky how he manages to remember so many facts and figures and hold audience attention. He replied that he didn’t convey any new information, that his talks are based on materials already in the public domain, and that he simply joins the dots – providing context – and repeats the information consistently and in different ways.

His response was typical of his humility as well as his courtesy towards a much younger person to whom he owed nothing.

Chomsky teaches us that it is not necessary to be loud and sensationalist in order to be heard. This, together with the clear and courageous moral compass he has provided over decades, is a most valuable lesson.

Noam Chomsky was already a legend when I first met him over two decades ago in December 2001 when he visited Pakistan for the inaugural Eqbal Ahmad Memorial lecture series.

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Boston area: Anja Niedringhaus exhibit opening today

A tribute to the spirit of Anja – and the courage of journalists

The story behind a poignant photo exhibition that opens at Harvard today featuring the work of the late photojournalist Anja Niedringhaus who covered Afghanistan and Pakistan at the height of the war between the Taliban and the USA. The show, and its accompanying book, are co-curated by the reporter Kathy Gannon who was injured in the attack that killed Anja.

Pakistani journalist Raza Rumi at the exhibit opening at the Bronx Documentary Center last month. Photo: Beena Sarwar

PERSONAL POLITICAL 
By Beena Sarwar

An exhibition of powerful images from Afghanistan and Pakistan by the late Pulitzer-prize winning photojournalist Anja Niedringhaus opens in the Boston area today.

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How a decades-long connection led to a new collaboration

I have known Rob Vreeken for over 30 years, since we met in Amsterdam in the early 1990s. He worked at the leading Dutch daily newspaper De Volkskrant, that we visited — women journalists from Pakistan, Sri Lanka, India, and Indonesia, in The Netherlands on a month-long fellowship. I have lost contact with the other fellows but Rob and I stayed in touch on email.

The last time we actually met was when he traveled to Pakistan as a foreign correspondent, soon after my daughter was born. He visited our home in Karachi and met my family, thoughtfully bringing along a baby gift. He has also been very supportive of my ventures, from Aman ki Asha, to the Southasia Peace Action Network and Sapan News, , the media outlet I started in August 2021.

Since ‘retiring’ from De Volkskrant a few years ago, Rob has been the paper’s Istanbul correspondent. After the Oct. 7 attacks, he also reported from Israel and the West Bank.

November 11, 2023: Rob Vreeken with Palestinian activist Saleh Diab in East Jerusalem. Photo by Faiz Abu Rmeleh

In November, he shared some photos which I thought would be interesting for my students at Emerson College, where I taught a Global Journalism course last fall. He subsequently shared his experiences with my students, who really appreciated his insights – like, it’s okay to say “I (or we) don’t know” rather than rushing to provide opinion or information, and the importance of acknowledging mistakes that we as journalists and human beings make.

I’m sharing Rob’s first piece written specially for Sapan News. It is a clear and fair analysis of the ICJ hearings at the Hague that he watched live from Istanbul.

You can see the photos I shared with my class in a slideshow embedded in his piece at the Sapan News website. The article, like all our features, is available for syndication with due credit to Sapan News – http://www.sapannews.com.

Read: What Israel fears above all – a Sapan News syndicated feature

Lawyer Vusi Madonsela (left) of the South Africa legal team; looking at him Tal Becker (right), head of Israeli team. Photo by Rob VreekenIstanbul.

“The Occupation kills us all”: Israelis in Tel Aviv protest Netanyahu’s attack on Gaza

Banner: “The Occupation Kills us All”. Israelis protesting in Tel Aviv against Netanyahu’s assault on Gaza (Thanks Farrukh Abbas for the share). Photo: Haim Schwarczenberg, Israeli photographer living in Jaffa, taking part in the Palestinian struggle against the Israeli occupation and oppression https://www.facebook.com/schwarczenberg

I’m sharing below a slightly edited Facebook comment by Syed Farrukh Abbas, a blogger and a student of media studies, based in Pakistan, that he posted with the photo above. Farrukh is also one of the administrators of the Laal Facebook page, which is where I know him from. To his words below, I just want to add: Respect and salute to, and solidarity with, all those in Israel who stand up and protest Israeli atrocities – including all those I know personally who’ve been doing this consistently for years, termed ‘traitor’ and ‘agent’ by the Israeli right-wing (sound familiar, anyone?). Here’s Farrukh’s note: Continue reading

Tomdispatch site and Ortiz: ‘A moment of silence before I start this poem’

Emmanuel Ortiz protests in front of the Minneapolis Federal Building against the U.S. bombing of Sudan and Afghanistan - August 21, 1998 (http://www.cpinternet.com/mbayly/facesofresistance1.htm)

Emmanuel Ortiz protests in front of the Minneapolis Federal Building against the U.S. bombing of Sudan and Afghanistan - August 21, 1998

1. A must read: Tomgram: Rebecca Solnit, 9/11’s Living Monuments
http://www.tomdispatch.com/ (thanks Dr Ehtisham)

2. I remember reading this powerful poem before; thanks to Shahzad Nazir Khan
for posting it again

Photo from: Faces of Resistance

A MOMENT OF SILENCE, BEFORE I START THIS POEM

By EMMANUEL ORTIZ, 11 Sep 2002

Before I start this poem,
I’d like to ask you to join me
In a moment of silence
In honor of those who died in the World Trade Center and the
Pentagon last September 11th.

I would also like to ask you
To offer up a moment of silence
For all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned,
disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes
For the victims in both Afghanistan and the U.S.

And if I could just add one more thing…
A full day of silence
For the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the
hands of U.S.-backed Israeli
forces over decades of occupation.
Six months of silence for the million and-a-half Iraqi people,
mostly children, who have died of
malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year U.S.
embargo against the country.

Before I begin this poem,
Two months of silence for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,
Where homeland security made them aliens in their own country.
Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Where death rained down and peeled back every layer of
concrete, steel, earth and skin
And the survivors went on as if alive.
A year of silence for the millions of dead in Vietnam – a people,
not a war – for those who
know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their
relatives’ bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos, victims of
a secret war … ssssshhhhhhh…
Say nothing
we don’t want them to learn that they are dead.
Two months of silence for the decades of dead in Colombia,
Whose names, like the corpses they once represented,
have piled up and slipped off our tongues.

Before I begin this poem.
An hour of silence for El Salvador …
An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua …
Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos …
None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.
45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas

25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans who found
their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could
poke into the sky.
There will be no DNA testing or dental records to identify their remains.
And for those who were strung and swung from the heights of
sycamore trees in the south, the north, the east, and the west…

100 years of silence…
For the hundreds of millions of Indigenous peoples from this half
of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek,
Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears.
Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the
refrigerator of our consciousness …

So you want a moment of silence?
And we are all left speechless
Our tongues snatched from our mouths
Our eyes stapled shut
A moment of silence
And the poets have all been laid to rest
The drums disintegrating into dust.

Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence
You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won’t be.
Not like it always has
been.

Because this is not a 9/11 poem.
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem
This is a 1492 poem.

This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.
And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:
This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.
This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977.
This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York, 1971.
This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.
This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground in ashes
This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told
The 110 stories that history chose not to write in textbooks
The 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
This is a poem for interrupting this program.

And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?
We could give you lifetimes of empty:
The unmarked graves
The lost languages
The uprooted trees and histories
The dead stares on the faces of nameless children
Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.

If you want a moment of silence
Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines and the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights,
Delete the instant messages,
Derail the trains, the light rail transit.

If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window of Taco Bell,
And pay the workers for wages lost.
Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the
Penthouses and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July
During Dayton’s 13 hour sale
Or the next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful
people have gathered.

You want a moment of silence
Then take it NOW,
Before this poem begins.
Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
In the space between bodies in embrace,
Here is your silence,
Take it.
But take it all…
Don’t cut in line.
Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
But we,
Tonight we will keep right on singing
For our dead.


Emmanuel Ortiz is a third-generation Chicano/Puerto Rican/Irish-American community organizer and spoken word poet residing in Minneapolis, MN. He currently serves on the board of directors for the Minnesota Spoken Word Association, and is the coordinator of Guerrilla Wordfare, a Twin Cities-based grassroots project bringing together artists of color to address socio-political issues and raise funds for progressive organizing in communities of color through art as a tool of social change.

(Note: This is the information that came with the posting I received – have been unable to find any more information on Ortiz; if anyone knows more eg a website or blog, pls do let me know. thanks)