The idea of the book, Together……Apart was born from the desire to highlight humanity at its darkest hour to unite people, even as they remained physically apart. The narratives, articles, poems, artwork, and stories from around the world that were chosen from the global call for submissions exemplify the very real and raw human emotions that defined the first few months of the COVID-19 pandemic: fear, hope, uncertainty, love, depression, faith, loneliness, and gratitude. They demonstrate how the this time has forced us, in so many different ways, to challenge the status quo and to question our concept of ‘normal’. Though the future before us remains a mystery, we hope that this book becomes a testament to the human spirit and how, at our darkest moment, we remained connected. We built the foundations for countless moments of light — small gestures of compassion and acknowledgements of gratitude that allow us to show who we are, how we want to live, and what matters to us. Together……apart, we will remain unified.
Hamad Bin Khalifa University Press P O Box 5825 Doha, Qatar www.hbkupress.com
Cover art by the artist Bilal Bassal (bilalbassal.com) “Windows of the World” Acrylic on Canvas, 2016. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by HBKU Press or the author. First English edition in 2020 DOI: https://doi.org/10.5339/togetherapartbook2020
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Introduction In late 2019, the first whispers of a highly contagious virus started to make headlines around the world. By early 2020, the world as we knew it ceased to exist. The mysterious COVID-19 virus has spread around the globe at an alarming rate affecting millions of people worldwide. Our language changed. Words and phrases like pandemic, isolation, quarantine, social distancing, flatten the curve, stop the spread, and mask up dominated our conversations, and pervaded our thoughts and minds. Flights were grounded. Traffic stopped. Grocery store shelves were emptied as panic took over. Museums, parks and places of worship were closed. Schools shut their doors. People around the world were told to retreat indoors and shelter in place. Time stood still. As the world was facing the unknown, humanity stood on the precipice: would society as we know it break down, or would we rise up and face these new challenges with determination, optimism, and a will to, not just survive, but thrive? The idea of the book, Together……Apart was born from the desire to highlight humanity at its darkest hour to unite people, even as they remained physically apart. The narratives, articles, poems, artwork and stories from around the world that were chosen from the global call for submissions exemplify the very real and raw human emotions that defined the first few months of the pandemic: fear, hope, uncertainty, love, depression, faith, loneliness and gratitude. They demonstrate how the COVID-19 pandemic has forced us, in so many different ways, to challenge the status quo and to question our concept of “normal”. Though the future before us remains a mystery, we hope that this book becomes a testament to the human spirit and how, at our darkest moment, we remained connected. We built the foundations for countless moments of light — small gestures of compassion and acknowledgements of gratitude that allow us to show who we are, how we want to live, and what matters to us. Together……apart, we will remain unified.
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The Virus When it all falls apart…
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Gratitude in the Age of Coronavirus
Lying in my cozy bed, staring at the ceiling while sniffing and hugging my friend, Camo, tears trail down my cheeks, blurring the whiteness of the ceiling. Camo is my closest friend since I moved to Doha, Qatar, from Gaza. He is a good listener – and the only one who listens to me now that we’re stuck in quarantine together. He’s the only one I’ve been in contact with all this time. We have been friends since December, when I decided to buy him during a visit to the Museum of Islamic Art. Camo, my faithful, fluffy, stuffed camel. I don’t know if I will ever be close to another human again. I never thought that touching humans, even shaking hands, would be considered unsafe and unhealthy. Being stared at for not wearing a face mask surprises me as well. Face masks are now the norm, and shopping is considered challenging and risky. It seems that life is teaching us an age-old lesson: We should never take anything for granted. My journey with COVID-19 started with flu-like symptoms that lasted for about three days, followed by almost a week of complete loss of smell and taste. The first day I lost my smell and taste drove me crazy. I was eating my Iftar meal when I became aware of a weird sensation: I could not smell or taste the food I had waited all day to eat. I squeezed drops of lemon juice in my mouth, nothing. I fanned my body to get a whiff of my cologne, body spray, face cream, shampoo … anything. It was all in vain. Frantic, I left my meal and I chopped up an onion and peeled garlic to taste and smell. My nose and mouth were completely numb. I silently begged my senses to wake up, but still they slept. I felt like I was about to collapse but held tight to my kitchen sink. I wished Mom or a family member or even a friend could be there to give me a hug. A hug. Would that ever happen? I was lonely. But, as I recalled the date of this holy month, I knew I was not alone. Perversely, my strength and resilience were boosted by the notion that all I had was God and myself.
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I didn’t finish my Iftar meal and skipped Suhoor. Once I calmed down and accepted the fact that I may be sick, I began Googling the symptoms. I read a few articles stating that mine were symptoms of COVID-19. I freaked out. I quickly contacted a few doctor friends and they said the same. They told me that the symptoms differ from one person to another. They all advised me to eat well, drink hot beverages, lock myself inside and get the COVID-19 test. I decided to wait for two days and see if I got better. I didn’t. On the third day, I called the Qatar Foundation (QF) clinic and talked to a doctor. He “examined” me on the phone so he could avoid exposure. He asked me if I had a direct interaction with anyone infected with the virus and asked a few questions regarding my symptoms. I didn’t have a cough, fever, or sore throat. My symptoms were only that I had no taste or smell, had a runny nose, and felt occasional fatigue and tightness in my chest. Fortunately, since I had no major symptoms and had been in self-isolation since it was mandated by the government early on, it seemed like I may have been lucky with a mild case. The doctor decided we could skip the COVID-19 test and prescribed a nasal decongestant. He told me to call him in a few days if I had not recovered. I called QF transportation to send a car for me, so that I could secure the medication from the campus clinic. It must be said that I am blessed to have access to free healthcare as a QF student and could afford themedicine, unlike many others in this unjust world. I took the prescribed medicine regularly until I started to recover. My smell and taste are now coming back, gradually. I was ecstatic when I grabbed my perfumed body lotion and detected a hint of a smell. Did I ever think that being able to smell my body lotion or soap was a blessing? I am not sure if I was indeed infected with the virus, but what I do know is that COVID-19 has taught me not to take anything for granted. We say that we shouldn’t do this but how many of us, in our once-normal daily lives, actually appreciate the little things like taste, touch and smell?
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I feel blessed each time I smell the tang of an orange. I feel happy every time I taste the rich sweetness of chocolate. I feel uplifted each time I drink my tea and can tell whether it needs another cube of sugar. I had greatly anticipated Ramadan in Qatar. I had heard wonderful things and missing my first Ramadan here still breaks my heart. And I can’t deny that loneliness is tough. I almost forgot how it feels to break my fast or share a meal with someone I love. But my brush with COVID-19 made me appreciate every single healthy moment in my life. I used to complain about quarantine, but not anymore. It is true that I am isolated, alone, and more than a thousand miles from my family and friends. But I am locked down in a safe, comfortable dorm room in Education City with a monthly stipend, free meals and access to care, 24/7. What would my experience be like if I were quarantined in unsafe and unhealthy conditions? If I had no access to medical care? If I were locked down in my house due to bomb raids overhead instead, as was the case many a time in my hometown of Gaza? So many have much less and have faced a fate much worse than mine. At least now I can rest in peace in my comfy dorm studio room without hearing the scary sound of explosions, without waking up to the shaking of my house. I can sleep peacefully without having nightmares of dying with my family under the rubble. It’s a blessing that the virus does not knock on locked doors. I feel privileged and blessed when I think of the world’s homeless refugees and all those who currently live in war zones such as Palestine and Syria. It reminds me of prisoners around the world, caged in dark cells for years. It also makes me think of those quarantined at home with no food and income. I wish the deteriorating situation for those people could be sorted out by washing hands, social distancing and staying at home. The coronavirus has shown me that happiness is my choice. It comes from the inside, from your heart. Happiness to me is lying in bed reading a book and sipping black tea with cinnamon sticks or sitting on my couch eating popcorn and watching Netflix.
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Happiness is Facetiming with my family and friends. Happiness is sitting in front of my laptop screen and writing (or “bleeding” as Ernest Hemingway believes) or watching YouTube videos to learn how to play the guitar. Happiness is listening to music, dancing, drawing, learning new languages and cooking. Happiness can be created when not found. Let’s all vow to take nothing for granted once things get back to normal, whatever that will look like. Ali Abusheikh, 26, earned his BA in English language and literature from Al-Azhar University in Gaza, Palestine. He is currently studying for his Master’s degree in digital humanities and societies at Hamad Bin Khalifa University (HBKU) in Doha, Qatar.
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Why I Was Not a Frontline Hero During COVID-19
I’m a registered professional nurse and seeing the coronavirus ravage hundreds of thousands around the world pains me. Having been a part of medical teams caring for the sick, I also know that the symptoms of this aggressive virus are brutal, and recovery is a slow and painful process. Life under the COVID-19 pandemic often feels surreal, more and more like those worst-case healthcare scenarios we lightly joked about as students. I have good friends who are holding down exceptionally difficult professional responsibilities as some of Australia’s important frontline workers. I truly salute them and admire their courageousness in the face of the grave risk to their own health from this aggressive virus. In this the International Year of the Nurse and the Midwife declared by the World Health Organization – I salute their vocational commitment to saving the lives of others. But I couldn’t join them to become a frontline hero during COVID-19. I studied towards a Bachelor of Science and finished with a BSc in nursing. The degree opened up many opportunities and after graduating I got my experience at the Red Cross War Memorial Children’s Hospital in Rondebosch, Cape Town – a prestigious tertiary pediatric hospital. Those first months in the neonatal intensive care unit (ICU) were sobering and heartbreaking. I got too attached to those tiny fragments of life – newborn babies who often weighed little over 100 grams and who battled to take air into their not-as-yet formed lungs. When one of the babies died, I realized that, at 23, I was maybe too young to be confronting the fragility of human life day in and day out just yet. I took a job at the King Fahd Medical City Complex in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, instead. The hospital workforce was a vibrant and tightknit expat community from the Philippines, Ireland, South Africa, Malaysia, US, Indonesia. Many of themwere “lifers,” putting upwith on-the-job stressors like long hours, difficulty
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securing vacation, emotional exhaustion and very demanding patients, to send money home to their families, pay off mortgages or put their nieces and nephews through university. I count many of the men and women I met there as lifelong friends. Two years later, after a spirited farewell, I split a cargo container with a fellow South African andwe headed for Australia. My postgraduate degree from the University of Melbourne and tons of excellent opportunities in mental healthcare pulled me away from clinical nursing practice but honestly I have never missed the grueling 12 hour shifts, the dreaded “7-7” rotation or the long night shifts. Since my second daughter was born, I work reduced hours as a case worker and counselor, which gives me the time to balance my home responsibilities. I’ve continued to see a handful of clients in their homes during Melbourne’s two-month lockdown. The majority of them have a limited social network and families who unfortunately don’t know how to meet their needs. During COVID-19, I find myself talking with them through anxiety about getting sick, being even more isolated and constantly checking for signs that they are in good mental health. I’ve had many calls asking if I’d consider being part of one of the frontline medical teams. In the state of Victoria, we’ve had over 15,000 positive cases to date. I had to weigh up my responsibility to my husband and our two daughters – Chloe, who’s eight, and Zara, who’s three years old. I’m part of a small clan, not one of those people with tons of brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. We’re both immigrants – he and his parents from Scotland – and my mom and I from South Africa. I have a twin sister who lives and works in Qatar and she is married with no children. Her husband has no nieces and nephews. As for my husband, he has no brothers and sisters. When I look at the two girls and I picture them at 16 and 17, ready to start their own lives, I think they are slightly disempowered by not having a vast support network to embrace them and create a web of opportunities they can fall into. I know they will create their own and, come on, who among us has not had moments when they feel daunted by the unrelenting burden of
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responsibility for their family members? But for now, we are all they have. Could I really take the risk of shrinking their little clan even more? We are all grappling with sacrificing individual freedoms at the moment – the right to practice our religion in church, the right to walk around in parks and in public places, the right to visit our elderly parents who don’t live with us or travel to other countries to see our families – and these are for the communal good of the wider society. I see this choice – of not using my professional skills and experience for the betterment of the country and its healthcare sector – as yet another sacrifice, and this one’s for my family. In my case, they are the greater good. Carol-Ann Scahill is a former registered nurse living in Melbourne, Australia. She is passionate about her role as a mental healthcare counselor and as an activist for greater community support for mental health.
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Our Own Bubble
February 29, 2020 Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Ashhaduan Laa ilaha ilalah…
Adhan Al Fajr, the first prayer of the day for Muslims. Going to the mosque renders an obligation forme as aMuslim. After getting up, performing ablution, doing the two rakaat Sunnah prayers and then heading to the mosque for the obligatory prayer define my primary task of the day. I am living with my family in an apartment building that is old, yet quiet and simple. The building does not have an elevator and our apartment happens to be on the second floor of the building. I take at least 200 steps from our door to reach the mosque, 500 steps in approximate summation coming back home. When I reach home, my wife and children are still asleep. I, on the other hand, must prepare for work. March 23, 2020 Dear Mr. X, In these uncertain times that we are experiencing due to COVID-19, I am asking your permission to allow me to work at home. My wife has lupus, a rare disease involving the immune system that makes her very vulnerable to any transmittable diseases… I do not wait for his reply to work from home. My wife was diagnosed two years ago. She is still receiving medical treatment and frequently visits her doctor. Her condition means that her immune system is hyperactive and attacks normal, healthy tissue. Getting the virus will put her life in danger. Our apartment has three bedrooms: the master bedroom for my wife and me, our daughter’s bedroom and the boys’ bedroom. The living-dining room is approximately 30 square meters where the dining table for six persons is prominently visible in one corner. This table now serves as our office/school table.
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I usually sit on one end of the shorter side, while my wife occupies the opposite side. We do normal office work as if we were working in our regular offices. Unbearably, the first few days are chaotic; my wife is talking to a colleague on the phone while I am doing the same thing. On the sofa, the children are having Zoom conferences with their teachers. Our voices overlap, each other’s voices rising as if competing for dominance. Yet we adjust over a week and manage the chaotic traffic in the living room very well. The walls of the living-dining area are painted off-white and have two big windows. Below the windows is a long shelf where I stock my book collection. The living- dining area is our favorite spot to work in because it is where the internet switch is fixed. Each of us needs a strong internet connection for our online activities. The pandemic has brought everybody home and doing business is only possible via the internet. April 5, 2020 My youngest child asks me to go to a barbershop to trim his hair. He is 11 years old. I remember when I was the same age, my father used to take me to the barbershop only on Sundays. A coincidence? It was a lively atmosphere, I recall. Scissors snipping away hair as the incessant chatter of words blended to form an almost musical melody. I would sit in the chair, swiveling around as I waited for my turn, listening to the cacophony of sounds as I watched myself in motion, my image multiplied by all of the mirrors. I am brought back to the present when my son pulls my arms and asks again. No, I tell him. He stubbornly pouts. I try to explain that the municipality has closed all non-essential shops and that includes the barbershop. I share my memories with him in a story-like manner because I am still in a state of dreaming. He listens to me and is amused as I narrate the events of so long ago. When the story is over, my son’s hair still needs a trim. I go out and buy a hair trimmer. The living-dining area turns into a barbershop on that Sunday. I sit my son down on a high stool with an apron tied around
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his body. He sits perfectly still, smiling in amusement at this turn of events. When we were teenagers, my brother and I used to trim our hair in turn with a hair clipper. But it has been a long time since I have held a hair clipper. With a steady hand, I begin. And though it takes much longer, though we do not get to enjoy the symphony at the barbershop, my youngest child seems happy with the trim. May 11, 2020 Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Ashhaduan Laa ilaha ilalah… 3:43am. I slept well last night. I will not go to the mosque. I will not go to work. I lie in bed and thank God for another day. In our own bubble, my family is apart from the world. But we are together. Healthy. Safe. The pandemic, I guess, will linger a little more than we have expected. But that’s OK, I guess. We have lost many things but in it we have revived the art of gratitude and appreciation for small things, for everything.
Clarence Dosdos is an architect from the Philippines and is currently based in Qatar, where he lives with his wife and four children.
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Frontline Warriors
Examine every aspect of me in relation to the world, discover the underlying, recognize the unspoken. Examine every aspect of me in relation to your culture, discover the implicit assumptions, recognize the explicit identities. Examine the connection between me and my duties, discover the unprecedented, recognize the normal. Examine the darkness, but don’t forget to notice the light, discover the passion, recognize the hope. Daniah Farooq is valedictorianof theClass of 2020of VirginiaCommonwealth University School of the Arts in Qatar, graduating summa cum laude. She won the Best Honors Dossier Essay Prize and curated an exhibition titled Jinnah: The Resilient at the Art and Design Library in VCUarts Qatar. “The poem is not addressing the people of any specific geography or culture; rather, it’s bringing the entire world together under one umbrella. It’s all about our common heroes and warriors. Do we have a different army? No, this time we all have a similar army – our doctors. We have become ‘one,’ and who knew it would happen this way? We are apart, miles apart, but united – together fighting the same battle.”
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Covid Dreams
are not unlike the dreams of a people mythmaking, my ancestors willing an uncertain future into being. In mine no one says to drink bleach, to wash hands with boiling water, to shine a killing light inside. Instead I dream of exalted valleys and the shore, of the corrugated Sound calling me safely home. When I wake
there are only bodies, breathless, spoiling, risen to glory. There is no place
like the one I dreamed, perhaps it never existed. Perhaps it waits to be born.
Danielle Ellen Jones attended Columbia University, where she graduated with a degree in neuroscience, and Oxford University, where she completed her Master’s degree in creative writing. Danielle lives and works in Qatar. “Since the beginning of the crisis, people have reported strange dreams. Likely brought on by stress and shared trauma, these dreams have been unusually vivid.
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I wrote this poem after listening to President Trump provide the unusual advice of using disinfectants and UV light to kill the coronavirus. There was also a rumor that he told Americans to wash their hands with boiling water. I took the idea of pandemic dreams and married it the Dream Speech that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. gave during the March on Washington in 1963 for civil rights in America. Dr. King’s speech is a direct repudiation of the type of racism and hate that led to Trump’s presidential election. If not for racism, Trump would not have been elected, and the US wouldn’t be suffering under mismanagement and corruption in this time of crisis. In this poem I also argue that racism and American ideals are mutually exclusive. The United States began with slavery and genocide. It’s 2020, indigenous communities are crowdsourcing for pandemic funds and a black man has just been lynched. Racism pervades every aspect of America. Therefore, while the ‘idea’ of America does indeed exist – in songs and movies and slogans – in reality perhaps it never has. Nevertheless, the Black Lives Matter movement has led to an awakening and a chance to make real systemic change. Pushback and reprisals have been ongoing and violent, but where there is positive change there is hope.”
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Virus on 6Z …
January 27 – May 1, 2020 At the office today we’re silent, wearing masks and staring at computer and phone screens. The news isn’t reassuring – slack screening at the airports – but still only one reported case in Sihanoukville. Just three students have come to the office this afternoon and the building feels empty. We’re subdued, filled with dread. It’s normal for Sreymom and Sovy to wear masks whenever they have a “change of season” cold or want relief from traffic pollution. For me it’s an imposition. I don’t like wearing a mask as it feels like giving in to worry. When I woke up this morning, even though I wasn’t wearing one, I felt the imprint on my face. 6Z is a 70-meter, one-car-width cul-de-sac off Mao Tse Tung Boulevard with side-by-side French colonial villa copies. Since the end of the Vietnamese occupation, the villas have been carved and re-carved into apartments and rented at inflated prices to expat teachers and NGO staff. One of the bottom floors has been converted into a kindergarten, another into a retail space for handcrafted silks, another into an eating area. Each high villa gate, padlocked and topped with razor wire, hides a small yapping dog used to chase feral cats. The old women here are up at 5:30am laughing, exercising with each other, walking and swinging their arms, and before school, kindergarten children kneel at the feet of three chanting monks while their teacher offers bananas. And overhead a mynah squawks from her palm tree. Sreymom went to Aeon Mall Thursday evening and felt afraid – many Chinese, most not wearing masks, and very few Cambodians. Chinese New Year is low key. I wear a mask in all my classes now. Who knows where these kids have been? Where their parents have been? Brothers? Sisters? Thailand? Malaysia? Whose room did they sleep in last night? And I’m in a classroom with them for three to four hours. I know the bad press but … no mask, no deal … it protects me from them and them from me – works both ways. In the early days of the panic, most students wore masks but now it’s six or seven, sometimes fluctuating with news reports. I went to an IELTS workshop
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on Sunday with Sovy and Sreymom and we three plus a woman from Poipet and one Khmer staff member were the only ones wearing. None of the Westerners wore them. It’s that Western expat invincibility complex. The sensation comes – I’m waiting for it to find and kill me. I take my temperature every morning … and wait. Feeling doesn’t last for long but is sick scary. 6Z sounds busier this morning. Usually I walk to work but for these past 17 days I’ve taken a tuk-tuk because construction has ripped up the sidewalk. And now, I avoid workers, street vendors, drinks sellers and other walkers. I’m reducing contact, wearing a mask all the time, and listening closely to my body – breathing, coughing, sneezing, headache, temperature, achy joints – for anything weird. My lungs are poor, nothing gravely serious – no meds – but if this serpent bites, it’ll be touch-and-go. I don’t want to get sick in a developing world medical system I neither know nor trust. Vanessa and I are sitting in the urban flora outside Brown Coffee. “We should be looking at an exit plan sooner rather than later. This is getting bad,” I say. “If it’s last-in, first-out at the uni, that’s not good news for me. You’re safe.” “I’m staying … I think.” “I’ve about 15 minutes to make a decision to get out of this country and if I don’t, I’m stuck. And what do I do for money?” “Vanessa, you’ve gotta move if you’re gonna move.” “Has anyone told you anything about me? Will they keep me or not?” “We’re barang … always an afterthought … last to know.” “So … what should I do?” “Your decision. You know what’s best for you.” “You’re no help.” “Sorry.” “I dunno what to do. Will I get a class or not?” “Dunno … sorry.”
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Went to Bread Talk, a bakery, to buy some product and a staff guy was taking the temperatures of other staffers. So ... I paid my bill and had MY temperature taken … Good news … 36.5 … not dead yesterday. Outside the pharmacy and the Thai Huot grocery store there were tables with sanitizer and guys to take your temperature before you enter. Eerie dystopian world. I bought a box of 50 masks (disposable/single use/one-a-day) in late January for $8.50. Last week I bought another box (different brand, similar quality) and paid $19.50. My investments have tanked – retirement postponed for another three years. Feel like a worm squirming on a dollar hook. ‘Course I could die as I’m in a higher risk age group and that solves that … so bought Royal Bank of Canada (RBC) on the TSX as it now pays a 5% dividend, better than the money market. RBC survived 2008 and 2009 without cutting its dividend ... so it’s reasonably safe (I hope) and 20% off its high is a good pick up. For the next A Canadian teacher at Canadian International School (CIS) tested positive and over the weekend the government closed K-12 schools including CIS in Phnom Penh. Canadian went to Thailand. Took his children. Who travels these days? Three Brits from Saigon cruising north on the Mekong tested positive and are in hospital about 100kms north from here. Travel bans on US, Germany, Italy, France, Iran and Spain. Schools are still closed in Siem Reap. Universities and colleges are operational. I continue to work. So … good to hear from you and you’re well and life goes on where you are. Me? Borders are closed with Vietnam, Laos and Thailand, and flights out are restricted, so even if I wanted to exit, I don’t have many options. And airports and planes are corona labs. Here for the duration. No longer a choice … although Vanessa considered busing to Saigon and trying to catch a fishing boat to anywhere. several months ... oof … who really knows? Oh … and the NHL hockey season is on pause. I’ve felt safe since the beginning when we had the one case in January and another in February, but we’ve had a recent spike in Phnom Penh and around and I worry more. As of today, 114-plus cases, no deaths, and more than 40% have recovered. Half the cases are foreigners. Shopping is close by and I’ve
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arranged with a driver for longer trips. There’s no panic or panic buying here and the city isn’t locked down but we’ve been living with this threat since January ... using sanitizer and wearing masks ... except Westerners ... you really wonder about those guys. Last night at about 9pm our staff goes into panic overdrive when somebody reports a Chinese in the building after hours. Immediately Telegram lights up with strategy: find the guy, test him; lock down the building for the morning (Monday) and disinfect classrooms, bathrooms, stairways; lock down for the day and disinfect; “cancel classes” … “but what about final exams?” … “they were supposed to be finished” … “I have to do a make-up day” … And on it goes for about 40 minutes. Then some video turns up … and we know the guy – a Chinese PhD student who’s been here for over a year. Fell asleep in one of the classrooms. Telegram heaves a sigh of relief and everyone signs off. Whew! Crazy. Classes are finished for this semester. Looks like (not confirmed yet) that my IELTS classes will pause/be postponed for a while or maybe get cancelled ... will find out tomorrow or later in the week … or …? Planning is fluid now. The new term will begin as normal, but does that mean in class or online? Nothing’s clear. I worked yesterday but not today. Don’t know about tomorrow but am adopting a bunker mentality as I assume work will dry up – K-12 schools are closed and there was a directive yesterday about post-secondary – and soon it’ll be just a daily trip to the market and home again. 6Z is strangely silent … can’t hear much ambient traffic noise, horning, or whistling … the world seems quiet. David Etheridge is a Canadian teacher currently living in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. He has taught in colleges and universities in Canada, Hungary, the Republic of Georgia, the United Arab Emirates, the People’s Republic of China, and Qatar.
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My 1,000 Loved Ones
OnMarch 12, 2020, Boris Johnson, the primeminister of the United Kingdom, states in an address to the nation that, “Many families in Britain will lose loved ones before their time.” 1 This is not a casual remark but rather an official statement from the person holding a position that has existed for 300 years, the longest continuous political office in the world. At that moment, the intensity of global events escalates. The intensity of my concern for my loved ones weighs on me. They number 1,000. I have 1,000 people who I am personally responsible for. I am afraid of losing any one of them to this vicious virus. Just who are my 1,000 loved ones? As a diplomat in the Office of the Cultural Attach é in London, my 1,000 loved ones are the 1,000 Qatari students currently living and studying in the UK and the Republic of Ireland. My responsibility is to ensure their successful educational journeys by establishing strong relationships with the universities they attend in order to ensure that they take full advantage of their opportunities abroad. To be honest, I do not know them all personally, nor have I talked to all of them face-to-face, but now I am essentially responsible for their lives. With some, I am an older brother-type figure, with others, I am a person to email with standard questions about their institution and education. But now, I am acutely aware of the life-or-death role I play in their lives amid a global pandemic. We are in the midst of a global emergency that may be larger than our emotional capacity as humans; one that goes beyond our imaginative abilities of what we consider to be a crisis. At our office, we come up with an action plan and subsequent recommendations quickly to manage the potentially deadly risk. Measures are put in place to protect all Qatari students in the UK and Ireland. I am a member of the crisis management team and we work together very closely 1 https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-51862282/coronavirus-pm-says-more-to-lose-loved-ones-before-their-time
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with other colleagues, day and night, to ensure the safety and well-being of every one of our citizens. Governments, including regions within the same country, all had different practices and policies to save lives, to stop the spread, to prevent the failure of their healthcare systems, to “flatten the curve.” Authorities all over the world were, and are, quickly learning from one another about how to deal with this new, unknown emergency. At the beginning of the crisis, Ireland announced that its international students could leave, while the UK did not, and their universities remained open. Now, we hear the question many times: What should I do? Should I wait for further directions? Or should I take my own decisions? Officially, we take the decision to recommend that Qatari students should go back to Doha, regardless of the universities’ position. We have complete faith in the British and Irish authorities. But being at home with their families during such unsafe, challenging and uncertain global times for our younger citizens is surely the right course of action. From my professional experience at the Office of the Cultural Attach é , when any student has had the misfortune of experiencing an emergency abroad, nothing can compare to the level of support they receive frombeing in physical proximity to his or her family. But even with this decision in place, we also determine that it is best to empower the students themselves, as well as their families, to make the decision they feel is right for them. We ensure that whatever the decision, it will not have any impact on their government-funded scholarships. Our kind state has shown the care it gives towards its citizens by bearing the responsibility for students’ scholarships during this pandemic, even if this decision might involve additional costs. After all, the people are the state’s most valuable asset. Still we hear the questions: Should I stay? Should I go? Should I stay?
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Should I go? The UK and Qatar are equally safe and secure places. Ultimately, it is each student’s choice. This dilemma has brought to my mind the work of the eminent French psychologist and sociologist, Gustave Le Bon. He wrote about how the behavior of an individual changes when he or she is part of a group. 2 It seems that many students are just not able to decide what to do and want to base their decisions on those of the majority. To help solve this problem, I create a small questionnaire to use when they call me. Are you afraid? What does the university say? Where would you feel most comfortable being in case you caught the virus? If the airports were to close in the UK or Qatar, where would you prefer to be? We are trying to help them think about all of the possible scenarios so their decisions are well thought out and based on their rational thought and emotional reasoning. I lose count of the endless daily phone calls. Hundreds per day. Myself and my colleagues receive them with pleasure and with a deep desire and willingness to help our countrymen and women. The Qatari community is small and we are all we have on this side of the world. We start to identify those with underlying health issues. I make the suggestion that we are of course fortunate the UK has one of the world’s best healthcare systems yet people in this category might wish to consider returning to Doha as the population there is smaller: God forbid, should they need care, the number of dedicated hospitals would be under less strain and could potentially better meet their needs. Some students heed this advice, some do not. Ten percent of our students decide to stay in the UK. I call each one of them individually to assure them that they are not alone. We have group calls and
2 Gustave Le Bon, The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind , Dover Publications, 2003
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we’ve all gotten to know each other much better. The calls provide a safe space for the students to talk about their feelings and ideas aloud. It is interesting to note that many say that they will leave only when the Qatari government decides to evacuate its citizens. What they do not understand is that other countries gave evacuation orders because either their own airports/ airlines or that of countries where their citizens were located were closed, and so these people were unable to fly back home. The Qatari government has not closed the airports and Qatar Airways, to this date, is still operational. They are providing a valuable international service helping people get back to their homes around the world. As time progresses, and the situation does not seem to change, half of the students who have decided to stay, leave. For the final five percent, Qatar Airways is still running and they always have the option to go home. And now: what about myself? In addition to my role as a diplomat, I am a student as well! I am a first-year PhD student at Oxford University. My work and studies continue, and I am proud that my university is playing a leading role in the effort to find a vaccine for COVID-19. But during the final two weeks of the last term, in the middle of what is a period of intense pressure, I am overcome with fatigue. Not normal fatigue – something more. I go to the emergency department because I have never felt so bad in my life. They giveme antibiotics and adviseme to rest for a week. I leave the hospital with three things on my mind: I still have the last two weeks of compulsory classes for my PhD to attend at Oxford; I have my last meeting of the term with my supervisors for which I have to prepare; and I have to organize myself for a flight I had already booked to go home to Doha to see my family. All of these have had to be cancelled except my supervisors’ meeting. The online meeting with my supervisors goes well, but now I am stuck in the UK. I have been advised not to leave my house. Is it COVID-19? I do not know. A senior colleague with underlying health conditions had been advised to leave in the best interests of his welfare, but he refused. He felt that it was his duty to stay and oversee our support in this operation. Most of the students
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have left the UK, which is what makes him finally agree to leave. Sadly, on his arrival in Doha, during the airport test for COVID-19, he tested positive. This came as an awful shock to all of us. He was immediately admitted to a hospital, where he is receiving the necessary treatment. A colleague in Paris has also contracted the virus and is now in the intensive care unit. There is wall-to-wall coverage of COVID-19 in the media. The saturation of information adds to our pressure while managing the situation with students. Eventually I stop following the news about the virus – I don’t need that added strain right now. I am fortunate to live in one of the greenest capitals in the world, with over 3,000 parks and green spaces. 3 Parks are kept open and so I start running outdoors for the first time as I have always been told what a great experience running is in an incredible city like London. I try to focus on my diet and learn more about maintaining a healthy outlook. It seems there are positive sides of this crisis: it is a special opportunity to productively use the valuable time that we have been given. I have played four roles at the same time: father, husband, diplomat and PhD student, all while my family is far away from me in Doha. Last year, I had concerns about finding a balance between all of the “hats” I wear, as well as the social expectations of being based in Londonwhich has a large community of Qataris. COVID-19 caught us totally unexpected and it was added to that mix. As the saying goes, when it rains it pours. I am grateful for the life I have and am appreciative of what I have achieved so far. “It always seems impossible until it’s done.” 4 Though it’s not done just yet, my 1,000 loved ones are safe, thank God, and hopefully we will all come through this well and the better from it. Fahad M. Al-Kuwari is a Qatari diplomat accredited to the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland within the Office of the Cultural Attach é at the Embassy of Qatar in London, a role he has held since 2016.
3 http://www.infrastructure-intelligence.com/article/dec-2018/london-ranked-most-sustainable-city-world 4 The words are usually attributed to the statesman and Nobel Peace Prize winner Nelson Mandela. https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/21879487-it-always-seems-impossible-until-it-s-done
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Fighting the Current Pandemic: Deploying Linguistic Resources is the Key
Multilingualism – the use of two or more languages within a polity – is often seen by governments as an impediment, if not a threat, to nation-building and national identity. In promoting official language(s), many governments, therefore, discourage, even oppose, the use of minority languages. The hostility towards the use of Spanish in the US, 5 lack of government support for Cantonese in Hong Kong, and the state-led suppression of Urdu in India 6 exemplify this ideology. The spread of COVID-19 and themeasures to tackle it, however, challenge the monolingual ideologies and practices of governments because the degree of success in fighting the outbreak depends substantially on the dissemination of correct information in different languages. Many governments, which otherwise have aggressively implemented monolingual policies, have taken recourse in minority languages to spread awareness about the pandemic. The availability of knowledge in the languages of the people ensures that the message is not misunderstood due to a poor command of the official language and also creates trust, which increases the likelihood of acceptance. Roots of Monolingualism The roots of the monolingual state ideology trace back to the 19th century European nationalism in which language, nation (as a cultural unit), and country (as a political unit) were considered coterminous. Until the arrival of guest workers after World War II and more recent migrant and refugees from Asia and Africa, European countries such as Germany, Spain, France and England were “good” examples of this model in which language, the people, and the country coincided. In order to give authenticity and credibility to such a conception of a nation-state, histories of languages were created to show that they have existed for centuries. 7 An example of this is the use of the term 5 https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-50550742 6 https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/renaming-india-saffronisation-public spaces-181012113039066.html 7 https://theconversation.com/back-to-the-19th-century-how-language-is-being-used-to-mark-national-borders-66357
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“Old English” to refer to the language spoken in England before the Norman conquest, which is barely comprehensible to modern English speakers. The term “Old English” created a sense of history and continuity for English, which was used to legitimize the monolingual ideology. During the Indian national movement, literatures produced in other languages such as Braj Bhasha, were couched under the Hindi language in order to give it some historical legitimacy. This European monolingual state ideology gradually spread to become part of many other state policies. In the US, where until World War I, multilingual activities including those in German, Spanish and French were accepted, English emerged as a defining characteristic of being American. This was accompanied by hostility towards other languages and English became not only a dominant mode of communication between immigrants of different ethnic origins but also an insignia of patriotism and loyalty to America. This ideology of equating language with state loyalty became quite manifest in cases of discrimination against Muslims following 9/11. For example, a passenger on a Southwest Airline flight was kicked out 8 because he uttered the Arabic expression Insha Allah, God-willing, on the plane. A very grotesque expression of equating language with patriotism and loyalty surfaced in Delhi in 2016 when some members of the right-wing RSS approached artists who were writing an Urdu couplet on a wall as part of the Delhi government’s #MyDilliStory campaign and ordered them to stop writing in Urdu and forced them to write Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s name over it. They also asked them to go to Pakistan. The members of the RSS said they could tolerate anything but the Urdu script. To them, Urdu, a language spoken in India by Muslims, is a sign of a lack of patriotism. Communicative Function of Language In sociolinguistics literature, the function of language as a carrier of social meanings such as national identity, loyalty and patriotism is referred to as indexical. The function of language to convey ideas, such as what I am doing right now, is referred to as communicative function. With regard to COVID-19, it has become clear that the best way to fight its outbreak is to make people aware of how it spreads and how it can be stopped. 8 https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2016/04/speaking-arabic-flying-160420051548323.html
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There are two major linguistic challenges in containing the spread of the virus. The first is the dissemination of information about preventive measures to all people in their own languages, i.e., mother tongues. The second is countering misinformation about its spread and prevention. The presence of multiple languages within a country could create a communication barrier with devastating consequences for the country as a whole. Many minority groups within a country may not have a good command of the official language and therefore may misunderstand the message in the official language. Hygiene and health information must therefore be made available in all major languages. Qatar, with a population of only 2.6 million, is linguistically an extremely diverse country because Arabic-speaking Qatari citizens constitute only about 10% of the population. The remaining 90% come from many countries, including a large number from India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, the Philippines and Pakistan. The official language of Qatar is Arabic, but English is widely used. A large part of the expatriate population consists of people engaged in blue-collar jobs and who do not know Arabic or English. The communication of health information therefore is quite a challenge. In addition to Arabic and English, Qatar’s Ministry of Public Health made the decision to create handouts and posters in Bangla, Urdu, Hindi, Tagalog, Tamil, Nepalese, Sinhalese, and Malayalam. 9 These handouts are available on the ministry website and social media platforms such as Twitter. Related to the language barrier is the issue of literacy. Many workers from South Asia are either illiterate or semi-literate and therefore an alternative media that they can understand was needed. In addition to the written posters, the ministry also made the message available in video format in the above-mentioned languages of the expatriates. Although a study is needed to assess how effective these measures were, there is hardly any doubt that the government made serious efforts to use multilingual resources to reach out to different language groups living in Qatar. The availability of information in the languages of the people has another positive aspect. It increases the chances of acceptance of the message. Dr. Yu Lha has shown that health information available in Chinese was
9 https://www.moph.gov.qa/arabic/Pages/covid19videos.aspx
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not helpful, 10 especially to elderly people in her village located in Tibetan regions of western Sichuan province. The community effort to translate the message into the local languages helped significantly in conveying the precautionary measures needed to arrest the spread of the virus. The second challenge in fighting the pandemic is countering misinformation circulating, inter alia, on social media platforms. In India, this has been a huge challenge as in addition to WhatsApp messages, the sources of misinformation are sometimes the elected members of parliament. 11 In fact, the Union Minister of State for Health and Family Welfare Ashwini Kumar Choubey told reporters that staying in the sun for 10-15 minutes every day could be helpful. 12 Another example of misinformation in India with severe economic consequences is that the virus spreads from poultry. This led to a plunge in the retail price of chickens, 13 which led to cases of suicide among farmers. A related effect of such misinformation was the sudden rise in the price of pulses. Both the misinformation and fake news about the virus can only be dealt with effectively by deploying all linguistic resources to reach out to the people. Whether it is the challenge of disseminating correct information or dealing with the challenges of misinformation or fake news about COVID-19, multilingualism can be used as a resource to reach out to people in languages they understand and trust. Along with other tools such as medical care, clearly language is an important and effective one in our fight against the pandemic. Rizwan Ahmad is an associate professor of sociolinguistics in theDepartment of English Literature & Linguistics at Qatar University. In his research, he studies issues of language and identity, multilingualism, language policy and writing systems. Note: A version of this piece was previously published on the Language on the Move blog on April 14, 2020. It has been published here with express permission from the author. 10 https://www.languageonthemove.com/fighting-the-coronavirus-in-local-languages/ 11 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/03/misinformation-fake-news-spark-india-coronavirus- fears-200309051731540.html 12 https://www.indiatoday.in/india/story/coronavirus-ashwini-kumar-choubey-sunlight-1657436-2020-03-19 13 https://thewire.in/economy/coronavirus-misinformation-poultry-india
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