Saturday, June 05, 2010

Petikan dari 'Wainuiomata' - buku 1 Trilogi a0tear0a

"Belajar di New Zealand merupakan antara pendidikan terpenting dan memori terindah dalam hidup saya. Buku ini elok untuk teladan pembaca dan generasi muda. Bacalah untuk turut serta mengalami cerita kehidupan belajar di luar negara"
YB Datuk Ahmad Maslan, Timbalan Menteri di Jabatan Perdana Menteri Malaysia".


Akan dipasarkan tidak lama lagi....terbitan Oasisbuku!

(sedutan dari Bab 14 - Mongrel Mob)

Tiba-tiba sekali lagi ketukan dan tendangan bertalu dari pintu.

Kesemua kami bingkas bangun, ada yang menuju ke dapur, rupa-rupanya ada yang mengambil pisau, termasuk sudu dan garfu. Bersiap sedia, ada juga yang rupanya termakan ‘propaganda’ aku mengenai keganasan kumpulan Mongrel Mob. Walau sekadar kesimpulan dari hearsay, berita yang belum sahih. Sahlah pagi itu, Hearsay dan berita bohong boleh menimbulkan kekacauan kalau diulang-ulang sebagai berita betul, seperti kata-kata keramat tukang propaganda Hitler, Joseph Goebbels yang diceritakan oleh Mr Scott; "Jika anda berbohong secara besar-besaran, dan mengulangi pembohongan itu berkali-kali, akhirnya orang akan boleh terpedaya untuk merpercayainya!”

Zulkifli perlahan ke pintu. Mengisyaratkan bersedia.

“Kita belasah sahaja mamat ini, OK?”

Kesemua sudah bersedia di posisi masing-masing.

Tendangan yang kuat memecahkan bawah pintu.

Zulkifli membuka pintu.

Seorang Māori berbadan besar, dengan tatu memenuhi muka yang bengis, mata merah, mulut berbau alkohol, tanpa berbaju dan badan juga bertatu, sekadar seluar pendek hitam yang comot dan koyak rabak.

Dan dia dengan bengis dan gaya mengancam, menghunus sebilah pisau belati yang bersaiz besar. Berkilat. Berkilauan dari cahaya lampu.

“Apa masalah kamu?”

Zulkifli bersuara dalam terkejut melihat pisau belati. Mukanya pucat, suaranya kedengaran gementar, tetapi mungkin sudah terlepas cakap besar sebentar tadi, terpaksa mengawal macho.

“Bising bangsat! Berapa kali aku beritahu, tolong diam, aku mahu tidur!”

Mukanya semakin bengis, menghunus pisau belati ke muka Zulkifli.

Dua tiga orang yang tahu bersilat, nampak terhenti dari membuka silat. Menanti arahan Zulkifli yang nampak gabra, tentu tidak sekali menyangka si jiran akan datang untuk menghunus pisau belati.

“OK! Relaks! Kami semua masuk tidur!”

“Kalau bising lagi, aku bunuh kamu semua!”

Zulkifli menutup pintu. Suasana sepi dan masing-masing segera mengemaskan ruang, untuk tidur. Satu tindakan bijak untuk mengelakkan insiden yang tidak diingini, baik tidur sahaja, lagipun sudah awal pagi. Lupakan sahaja permainan jin rami yang juga tidak membawa apa-apa faedah, selain keseronokan. Lebih baik solat tahajud.

Aku terus menggigil dalam selimut, trauma melihat pisau belati dan muka bengis bertatu Māori yang dalam fikiranku memang geng kumpulan Mongrel Mob. Trauma dalam membayangkan kalau si Māori yang mabuk itu terus menyerang sebaik pintu terbuka. Terus mengamuk dan menggila setelah dua kali amarannya tidak diendahkan.

Lebih dari itu, jauh di sudut hati, aku bertanya diri sendiri. Mungkinkah si Māori mabuk itu adalah utusan yang dihantar Tuhan ke rumah sewa Zulkifli, untuk kami menilai semula, berfaedah atau tidak, aktiviti main terup dan aktiviti menonton wayang maraton yang membuang masa dan tidak berfaedah untuk diri sendiri, agama, bangsa dan negara.

Bayangkan kalau Tuhan mengkehendaki si Māori itu dalam kemabukannya, terus menyerang kami dengan pisau belati besarnya. Satu tragidi yang boleh mengubah satu perjalanan seorang budak Melayu Felda Keratong di bumi Aotearoa, bumi bangsa Māori sebagai pribumi yang kehilangan sebuah negara atas nama demokrasi dan ketuanan British.

Ah! Aku tidak sanggup untuk membayangkannya. Lantas begitulah kehendak Tuhan, malam bulan Mac tahun 1983, siapa menyangka, dalam dengkuran kawan-kawan yang bersilih ganti, dengan pelbagai nada dan ada yang setinggi suara ‘pitch’ Kiri Te Kanawa, di sebuah rumah sewa usang di Newtown Wellington, aku bertaubat dibawah selimut hapak!


Europe's Thirst for Young African Footballers


By Christoph Biermann and Maik Grossekathöfer

William Daniels / Panos Pictures

Part 5: Broken Dreams and Greedy Agents

There are many possibilities for African players who want to go to Europe, but no certainties. Jean-Claude Mbvoumin knows this. He is familiar with Karaboué's odyssey, because he helped him register with the welfare agency. In fact, he is familiar with hundreds of other cases like Karaboué's, cases that consistently involve broken dreams, greedy agents and the complicity of clubs.

Mbvoumin, 42, has a sharp chin, is clean-shaven and keeps his hair cropped close to his head. He is from Cameroon, where he played on the national team eight times. He has been living in France for 16 years. Ten years ago he founded the non-governmental organisation Foot Solidaire, which assists the victims of the trade in African players.

"Once, at the Cameroonian embassy, I saw an entire team of 14-year-olds, all boys, who had been abandoned by their agent," he says. "That was the impulse to do something." He talks quickly, probably because he doesn't want to lose any time in getting his message out.

'Africa Will Explode'

This month, Mbvoumin launched another campaign against child trafficking in football, a program supported by the African Union and France's national Olympic committee. But the money they provide still isn't enough. Foot Solidaire doesn't even have its own office, and Mbvoumin works from home.

He is convinced that he will have even more work on his hands after the World Cup. "Africa will explode," he says. "Even more people will want to go to Europe because of football."

To address the problem early, he is about to embark on a trip through the continent, giving talks in Senegal, Mali and Ivory Coast and handing out brochures in Ghana and Cameroon. He wants to explain to young players and their parents that Europe is not paradise. He wants them to know that there are agents who take advantage of players, just as human traffickers do with refugees, and he wants them to understand that a trial training period doesn't automatically lead to a contract, and that they shouldn't sign anything that they don't understand.

Mbvoumin faces an uphill battle. About one in two sub-Saharan Africans lives on less than $1 a day, and the flow of young football players hoping to reach Europe isn't subsiding. The clubs, for their part, are becoming more and more ruthless in scouring Africa for the next season's jewels.

'Neocolonial Exploitation'

Since 2001, when FIFA expanded its transfer rules to include an article on the "protection of minors," an age limit of 18 has applied to players being transferred to another country -- unless, that is, the parents accompany the player.

But the clubs are constantly trying to circumvent the rules. For example, the Danish first division club FC Midtjylland tried to add six Nigerians to its lineup, all of them 16 or 17 years old, by bringing them into the country as guest students.

"The human trafficking trade changes every time the rules are changed," says Mbvoumin. The football academies in Africa are the biggest problem at the moment, he says, because the children are given false promises, because foreigners take advantage of their poverty and because the players are exploited as if they were raw materials.

For Paul Darby, a British expert on the sociology of sports, it is the more professional projects that involve collaboration with European clubs or Western investors that are an example of "neocolonial exploitation." Their only objective, Darby says, is the "procurement, refinement and export of natural resources, in this case, footballers."

Part 6: 'For African Children, Football Is Everything'

Sitting at a laptop in his office in the Blue House in Bamako, Jean-Marc Guillou fumes when asked about his critics. "I am doing more for African football than FIFA. It's good that an organization like Foot Solidaire exists, but why do such dramas happen in the first place? Because FIFA doesn't give African children a chance." His voice almost cracks, he is so angry. "For African children, football is everything. If I didn't exist, Arthur Boka might be selling shoes by the side of the road," he says, referring to the Ivorian defender who plays for VfB Stuttgart.

It has become more difficult in recent years to export African players to Europe, with the embassies of many Western European countries no longer issuing visas as easily as they did in the past. Nevertheless, Guillou is expanding his operation. He is building an extension to the Bamako academy that will include another six rooms, with a total of 24 beds, as well as a restaurant with a rooftop terrace.

In two or three years, when the first Mali graduates are of age, Guillou plans to invest in another club in Europe. A second-division club in France would be good, he says. "Preferably in Île-de-France," he adds, because the region surrounding Paris is so centrally located, and therefore accessible for agents and scouts. He feels confident that he will find a club, because, as he says: "I don't show up with money like some Russian billionaire. I come with good players that will cost the club nothing and are worth a lot of money."

He opens a file on his computer. It is a forecast for the future development of his business. "I assume that of all the students in all the academies who were born in 1992, five will make it to Europe. Of those born in 1993: three. In 1994: four. In 1995: 29."

Imitating Their Role Models

Amadou Kéita was born in 1995. He is just taking out the garbage from his room, which he shares with three other students. This month, it's Amadou's turn to make sure that the room is clean and that all of his roommates hand over their mobile phones to the janitor on time. Calls are only allowed between 6 and 9 p.m. The purpose of the task is to teach the residents to take responsibility and lead the others like a team captain.

"I don't care if Monsieur Guillou makes money with me," says Kéita. "He is a friend, a second father. I want him to make me as famous as (Argentine footballer) Lionel Messi." Then he turns around quickly and walks over to his fellow students.

They are sitting in front of the television, their hair still wet from showering, watching the Champions League. Whenever they see a footballer playing well, the children jump up, cheer and imitate the movements of their role models.

The boys are wearing jerseys with bright colors that stand out in the dim light, for clubs like Real Madrid, AS Roma and Manchester United.

Amadou has his red-and-black striped AC Milan jersey on again. It's as if he hoped that by wearing the clothing of his hero, he could somehow acquire his strengths. As if this were a way to become a new person. A professional footballer in Europe.

Maybe.

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan

Saudi Arabia: The Islamists and the Liberals

Elitist ambitions and the reality of Saudi society

(© AFP PHOTO/ MARWAN NAAMANI/Getty Images)

Saudi Liberals, one of the two competing factions in Saudi society, remain an understudied group. The term liberal is relatively new in Saudi parlance, although there had been earlier occurrences of secular activism in Saudi Arabia. The liberal movement was born in opposition to the Sahwa movement and, for years, it had no clear project of its own. In the early 2000s, a split occurred between what can be referred to as social liberals and political liberals. Today, although claiming to speak for a “silent majority,” these liberal voices continue to represent an elite group with no strong connections to society.

Contemporary Saudi society is usually described as torn between two competing factions—the Islamists and the Liberals. Yet, while the first group has been the subject of numerous studies, the second group remains paradoxically much more mysterious, in terms of who those Saudi “liberal” voices are, what their background is and what they want.

The term liberal is relatively new in Saudi social parlance. By all accounts, it wasn’t used before the 1990s. This doesn’t mean, however, that there was no secular activism in Saudi Arabia before that period. In the wake of World War II, some Saudi students who had traveled to Egypt, Lebanon or Iraq for their studies came back to the Kingdom under the influence of the leftist and Arab nationalist ideologies that were so popular in the region.

Unintentionally, ARAMCO also played a major role in this movement of secular politicization, because it hosted Arabs from all neighboring countries, many of whom were under the influence of those same ideologies. As a consequence, Marxist, leftist, Nasserite and Arab nationalist clandestine groups appeared in Saudi Arabia. It is true that they were confined to the elite, and never represented a mass movement—and yet, they were seen as a threat, especially after some of their members became politically active.

The government reacted strongly against those activists who had crossed the line, while limiting their potential social base by offering graduates from abroad high-profile jobs in an ever-expanding administration. They were soon found at key positions in the ministries—to the extent that some of them later, and obviously after having demonstrated their loyalty, became ministers—and in some media institutions.

As a consequence, from the mid-1970s, most secular activists maintained a distance from politics. A few of them, however, became active in a new field, which was developing quickly at the time: the literary scene. There, they started calling for the modernization of Saudi literature—a modernization that would not only involve form, but also content. Simultaneously, the critique was directed, implicitly, at Saudi social norms, which they aimed to liberalize. They were soon joined by a number of novelists, poets and literary critics, the most prominent of whom were Abdallah Al-Ghadhdhami and Sa‘id Al-Surayhi. An intellectual trend was born, known as modernism.

Again, this was a development that mainly had to do with a certain intellectual elite and remained at the surface of society. At the same time, however, a much deeper-reaching evolution was taking place in the Kingdom. From the 1960s, the Sahwa (from Al-Sahwa Al-Islamiyya, the Islamic Awakening), a grassroots Islamist movement, had been growing as a result, among other things, of the influence of the Muslim Brotherhood activists who had found shelter in Saudi Arabia.

The Sahwa’s base was the educational system, through which it had access to all layers of society. More importantly, in a conservative society, the Sahwa’s discourse was well-understood—and well-received. By the mid-1980s, the Sahwa had reached a critical mass, and it started seeing the modernists’ monopoly over certain media outlets, especially the literary supplements of the major Saudi newspapers, as a provocation. A wide-ranging campaign against the modernists was organized, and many of them were soon dismissed from their positions. The Sahwa, apparently, had won.

In August 1990, the threat of a potential invasion of Saudi Arabia by the Iraqi army, right after the latter had invaded Kuwait, convinced the Saudi rulers to request the assistance of Western troops. This prompted a wave of unprecedented debates in the Kingdom—with demands coming from all sectors of society. The first individuals to take action were a group of women’s rights advocates, who organized a spectacular event: In November 1990, 49 women drove cars in the streets of Riyadh, explicitly challenging the ban imposed on women’s driving.

From early 1991, however, the Sahwa members—who had been outraged by the women’s demonstration—became the most salient voice in Saudi society. Through a series of petitions and sermons, they called for the implementation of their social and political project, which aimed, among other things, at increasing the control of the religious establishment over Saudi society, and at giving religious figures a more prominent role in the political system.

However, both the authorities and the liberals saw the momentum gained by the Sahwa as a threat. The authorities reacted by silencing the most prominent figures of the Sahwist opposition, while secular activists of all backgrounds—leftists, communists, modernists, advocates of women’s rights, etc.—started to coalesce in a group, which, soon after, informally took the name liberals (libaraliyyun).

These liberals had a very simple program: countering the Sahwa’s project and worldview. This would remain the main weakness of the Saudi liberal trend for the years to come: It was born in opposition to the Sahwa, and had no real—and, even less so, coherent—project of its own. It is true that, in the 1990s, some brilliant thinkers such as Turki Al-Hamad attempted to inject intellectual flesh into the liberal project. But Al-Hamad’s effort was relatively isolated, and many of those claiming the liberal label didn’t even identify with it.

The weakening of the Sahwa, however, gave the liberal trend a first impulse: Liberals soon reclaimed the positions that some of them had earlier occupied in the media, and they re-established their influence at the elite level. The emergence of salafi-jihadi terrorism, and the events of September 11 gave liberals a second impulse: The fact that 15 of the 19 hijackers were Saudi and the media campaign against the Kingdom in the West opened a phase of self-introspection in Saudi Arabia. Presenting themselves as an alternative to the Islamists—while explicitly assimilating Sahwis and jihadists—the liberals undoubtedly took advantage of the situation. Another factor played in favor of the liberals; the emergence of a group of mutahawwilun (literally “those who have changed”), former Islamists who had become extremely critical of the Sahwa and other forms of Islamic activism.

For the liberals, these mutahawwilun were a key asset, first because they spoke out of personal experience, and second because they had a mastery of the language of Islam that was sorely lacking among the liberals. In the 1990s, most of the liberals had no discourse on Islam. They claimed to represent universal values, and outwardly presumed that those values were compatible with Islam.

In the wake of 9/11, and with the help of some of the mutahawwilun such as Mansur Al-Nuqaidan or Muhammad Al-Mahmud, the liberals would increasingly attempt to justify their positions through Islam. This intrusion in a sphere considered alien to them reinforced the Sahwa’s hostility towards the liberals. This was especially so when, for instance, Al-Nuqaidan went so far as to call for a revival of irja’, a medieval group known for its tolerance of all religious opinions but considered deviant by the Sahwis, who had spent considerable efforts refuting their ideas.

This gave the liberals an increasing visibility, especially on the Internet where they established a significant presence. Liberal forums were created: first, Tuwaa, until 2004, then Dar Al-Nadwa, until 2006, and finally, and since then, Minbar Al-Ibda’ wal-Hiwar and Muntadayatuna (Al-Shabaka Al-Libaraliyya). This is a remarkable development: for the first time, the term liberal is used here in a formal way, marking the increasing assertiveness of its proponents. This development coincided with the increasing use of the same term by the liberals’ foes, as in the 2009 book published by the Sahwis of Al-Bayan magazine under the name Naqd Al-Libaraliyya (“critique of liberalism”).

However, the increasing visibility of the liberals also exposed their contradictions. The liberal trend grew out of its opposition to the Sahwa, but lacked a coherence of its own. Liberals wanted reform, but they disagreed on what should be reformed, and how. This produced an important split in the early 2000s, which led to the emergence of two groups, representing two radically distinct options—those who may be referred to as social liberals and those that I would refer to as political liberals. For the first group, the main problem in Saudi Arabia is social and cultural, and what is needed primarily, then, is social and cultural reform.

Many of those liberals even oppose the idea of democratization, because, according to them, any opening in this direction while society isn’t ready would only benefit their Islamist foes. They are very loyal to the regime, which they see as an ally and protector against the influence of the Sahwa. The political liberals, on the contrary, believe that no change can be achieved without an all-encompassing effort at political reform. For them, social and cultural reform is also deeply needed, but it will not happen if the political issue is not addressed first. To make this happen, some of those “political liberals” have proven ready to collaborate with any other social group, including Islamists, as long as they agree on common goals.

The resulting Islamo-liberal alliance prompted heated debates between the different groups of liberals: While the political liberals insisted on the fruitfulness of their approach, others, especially the social liberals, reproached them for becoming tools in the hands of the Islamists. As Turki Al-Hamad, who may be considered as part of the social liberal group, once put it in an interview he gave me, “Those ‘liberals’ are being fooled by the Islamists the same way Iranian liberals were fooled by Khomeini. The Islamists claim to be democrats, but if they get to power, they’ll establish a regime of the kind of what is found in Iran.”

The debate between the different groups of liberals about what liberalism truly means continues today—as does the debate between Islamists and liberals on what social and political project to implement. The latter, however, remains an uneven debate: Despite the visibility that the media boom and the post-9/11 context have provided to the liberals, these activists continue to represent an elite group, with no strong connections to society. They do claim to represent the “silent majority”; but, even if this were true, the main characteristic of the silent majority is precisely that it remains… silent. In contrast, the Islamists control a considerable number of institutions and associations, and are found in every sphere of Saudi society. In the debate, they are—and will without a doubt continue to be in the years to come—the strong side.

Stéphane Lacroix - Assistant professor of political science at Sciences Po in Paris. His work focuses on Islam and politics in the contemporary Middle East, with a particular focus on the Gulf region.