william nassar writings

Were they really comrades?
 
The Gitane's cigarette was the closest friend to Issam, and Issam was a "struggler" in the PFLP. He was the one, who saw everything, although he was the shortest. 
He was the more radical among us; he was the one who saw, although he was the shortest.
 

Years later, after the last sign and the last demonstration, Issam lost his voice. However, he got it back to discover that it might be a good idea to invest his voice in a restaurant as an amateur singer. It wasn’t long until Issam quit singing to work as an artist's agent, he, who was once an agent for demonstrations and strikes.

Now, the cigar replaced the Gitane's cigarette, and from the Cuban cigar to the pipe, and instead of carrying the flour's sacks to the poor he is carrying the cocaine envelops in his pockets.
 

He was the one who used to know everything; he was the one who used to talk about the class struggle. Now the class struggle is replaced by the Heroine needles, while the social justice is crushed under the pressure of addiction.
 

In a small room, in a basement, the same room where we used to hide from bombs, Issam was in the darkness telling me about Faten, the amazing belly dancer, and how she is going to be the bomb of the season.
 

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Were they really comrades?
 
Ahmed fled al Nabateyeh(1), to Beirut to imitate our greatest hero Che Guivara. 
Comrade Ahmed considers himself as a great thinker in dialectic and the historical necessity of struggle against religions.
He was the atheist, to the extent his nick name was "father of god .
 

Once he said to me after more than five cups of coffee: "comrade William, we should uproot the mosques, and extract the churches and melting their bells".
 

Ahmed used to laugh at me when I swear to God, he always used to tell me: "comrade, you are not Marxist, you need a long time to be communist. Years passed when we met again, the same beard was on his face, but a quite organized, and his voice was calm like a stream while his eyes were looking at the floor.
After having more than one cup of tea he took the first step and asked: "why you don't believe in God, are you still communist?"
 

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Were they really comrades?
 
Sami abandoned his aristocratic family, cursing his father s companies, insulting the rich banquets and the English Gin, French wine and the Scottish whisky while praising the Soviet Vodka.

Sami, the traitor of his class was the loveliest comrade in the party. He was the one who put another nail in the coffin of Capitalism?
 

Sami left his hair and beard to grow in order to scorn the capitalism culture, and he used not to take showers to the extent he became the most disgusting creature I had ever seen. 
And Sami my dear children who are going to be comrades in a communist party someday, used to reprimand me for my bourgeoisie way of eating, dressing and smoking.
 

Ten years were enough to meet "comrade" Sami, who became the sole agent of the Cuban cigars, Bulgarian wood and the Russian Vodka, in addition to the companies that he inherited after his father s death.
By the way, I forgot to tell you that he is married now to "comrade Bernadette" who used to be proud of her sexual freedom and her antagonism to men and aristocratic families, and always open her legs to the Proletarian comrades and uses sexual terms in her insults.
 

Note: The meeting was in the Pizza restaurant, which was once the Soviet Cultural Center, and the conversation between me and "comrade" Sami was about an idea in his head, which is: "the Russian women are less expensive than women from the Philippines, and he is thinking seriously to open an agency to import some housekeepers from the country of old comrades.
 

What annoyed me so much was his wrist's golden watch, for it reminded me by comrade Lenin's hairless forehead who said once: WHAT SHOULD BE DONE?
 

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Were they really comrades?
 

Kamal, who adored the labor class and their struggle against Capitalism. Kamal disappeared after the death of the Lebanese National Resistance Against Israeli Occupation, (Jammoul), he was not dead, and I have met him ten years after the liberation.
 

 He was running a small restaurant for grilled meat where justice was resting under the butcher's knives, while the choppers prepare the Imperialist goat’s meat for the rich and the Proletarian Beef meat for the poor. 
There were no pings, rather there was a frozen chicken crackles over the fire, and the masses were no more than charcoal bags at the corner of the restaurant.
 

I forgot to tell you that Kamal was wrapping the sandwiches by old leftist newspapers.
 

At night Kamal invited me to spend a good time in a new cabaret called the "Red Star".
On the cabaret Kamal said: "do you know comrade, a new group of whores arrived from Poland?".
The cabaret was near the seashore.
On the sand there was a tent for a Russian Circus, and there were dancers and clowns sponsored by the imperialist drinks Coca Cola and Starbucks Coffee.
 

It is important to mention that the red flags have been sold to a fashion house in Europe to transform them into sexy underwear.
 

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Were they really comrades?
 
I am the one who witnessed the disaster.
I am the one who is reading now old issues of Al Nidaa paper and feel frustrated and angry.
 

But, why they were not my friends?
Why did comrades change?
Why comrades did not remain comrades?
Why comrades did not become friends?