Nothing Is Ever Finished

 I learned today that the Holy Koran says "Nothing is ever finished." I was thinking that -- for my sister Laurie, whose memory is failing fast due to a neurological condition and who does not have letters, photos and diaries -- I would write some pieces about life and events in 1965 and 1966 when my family lived in Bahrain. Those were very important years in her life and mine, the memories of which are deep and lasting. For her, it is the story of her star-crossed relationship with your good friend at the time, Farouk Algosaibi, now gone, may he rest in peace. For her, that story is not finished and there may be parts which will surprise you.

Of course such an ambition to write again quickly led to thoughts of you, and of our young love and the years of love which followed, and of the fact that there seemed to be a war in West Asia, aka the Middle East, in between the times we resumed where we had stopped due to our circumstances and of being star-crossed lovers. I wrote journals during all those years, as a historian, but unpublished. Nothing is ever finished.

It is now 44 years since I've seen you in person and 60 years since we fell in love. Wars have abounded. Wars never finish, really. They are re-fought in military colleges. They resume on land and sea, although boundaries may change while the grudges linger on.

There was a 12-day war in June this year when Israel and the U.S. attacked Iran and were surprised by the strength of Iran's response. Trump sat on his gold toilet tweeting about it during the nights while Netanyahu begged him to declare a ceasefire after Tel Aviv suffered a few serious strikes, let alone the blow to egos.

There is an ongoing Israeli genocide enabled and supported by Biden and Trump, their European allies and with the aid of the cowardly Persian Gulf dictators like you, betraying the Palestinians and Palestine. The horrific, unspeakable genocide is daily murdering your Arab brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teenagers, little children, toddlers, babies and the unborn still in their mothers' wombs. 

Isn't the death of a family in a tent set afire in the night by a missile or drone as unconscionable as Nazi's poisonous gas pumped into a closed room? Isn't the starvation and denial of water and medical care of 100s of 1,000s of your Arab brethren as unconscionable as the Nazi experiments on Jews and gypsies and homosexuals? Have you once looked at the photos of the children blackened by the soot running barefoot in the rubble to escape a Jew with a sniper rifle or a tank? At the photos of children with their limbs hanging? Of the little girl thrown against a concrete wall by a shell, her dead body stuck on that wall? Of rows of dead infants left to die in incubators after the fucking Israelis killed the doctors, nurses and staff, then shut off the electricity? Of the 100s of blue plastic bags filled with dead children waiting to be buried?

Do you want the baby killers to own Gaza, the West Bank and Jordan and parts of Syria and all of Lebanon and maybe a chunk of Egypt and the part of Arabia named by the Al Sauds? 

Do you think Bahrain is going to escape unharmed if the fucking Israelis use nuclear weapons in Iran because they've got away Scot free while most of the world hates them for what they have done and are still doing? Scientists in Bahrain are already testing the air for nuclear fallout from the bombs dropped on Iranian nuclear sites by Israel and Trump. (According to expert nuclear physicists not owned by the U.S. deep state or the Zionists, Israel has already used small nuclear weapons with very low radiation when it bombed Beirut Port and Tartus in Syria and possibly in Yemen. As you know, they have impunity for all their crimes.)

While you've ignored the deaths of over 10,000 children, your own spawn follow in your footsteps. Your oldest son, television cameras pointed at him, microphones lined up in front of him, in his quaint British accent and a serious look on his smarmy face, condemned the Palestinians who cut through the undefended Gaza siege fence, then set about capturing Israeli military personnel and illegal colonial settlers. He did not condemn, not one word of condemnation, of the filthy pigs mass-murdering Palestinians in Gaza or setting villages on fire in the West Bank.

Why did the Palestinian militias carry out the most brilliant military operation of this century? To bargain the release of the Israelis they'd captured for the release of 1,000s of Palestinians, many innocent and not charged with any violation of code or law, being violently abused and tortured in the horrid jails and secret camps of the murderous thug Zionists. 

Accept this fact: Palestinians have the legal right to use arms for Resistance to the Occupation and Siege. 

Did you truly fall for the atrocity pornography spread by Biden and Netanyahu? Palestinians did not behead babies or bake them in ovens. They did not engage in mass rape of settler women. They fought and killed during their escape and while taking prisoners, but the Israelis killed many more Israelis under their Hannibal Directive than did the Resistance. The Israelis admit using helicopter gunships to shoot at 100s of young people trying to escape from a music festival on the Gazan border. The Israelis admit to using tanks to blow holes in houses. Palestinians had no gunships, had no tanks.

Your son Salman was so proud of himself for condemning the acts of Palestinians who'd escaped the fences built around them, escaped momentarily the siege, the withholding of food and medicine and water and building materials, who were often killed as sport by the Satanic demons with whom you signed a silly document and gave land and residency on the island of Bahrain. Salman's pride never ends, does it? 

Are you similarly proud? Do you think your abject betrayal of humanity for a bit of gold and silver from the Jews and protection of your neck by the U.S. military is worth the price you and your kids pay? Do you have a plan to spend Bahrain's wealth to build a Trump hotel or casino on the Gaza shore?

I've loved four men in my life. Three of them are dead, including the father of my only child, a man who refused to recognize her, never supported her in any way, but you, the first, are still alive. 

I ask God why has He let you live? Why do I still think about you? While my love for you was deep and long, I despise what you've become even more than I despised you for your lies, your broken promises as if you believed it honorable to break them, for the wretched way you treated me in the end, for being guided by the treacherous Khalid. 

Why do I feel that our relationship is unfinished? Is it because God wants me to complete a task set over 40 years ago? Must I tell and publish the stories at long last, bring out the unfinished books I've written about you, your uncles, your parents, your brothers, the history and events surrounding the personal stories woven in the threads connecting our lives? 

I recently sang, in public, a song I wrote about you long ago and hadn't sung for over 20 years. After I sang it, two other musicians declared that it seemed to have come out of a musical theatre production. I told them that I'd actually intended it to be a part of play that I had begun writing over 40 years ago, when I was living in the grotty garret on Duke Street, St. James's, in the West End of London, maybe 20 minutes walk to our old hangout at the Dorchester.

I told them part of the story, how I'd talked with you in Fort Leavenworth after the death of King Edward VIII who'd abdicated the British throne to marry his love, Wallis Simpson. My song is called "Abdicate." Do you recall the conversation, sitting at the graduation dinner with me and others including Paul Raetz from the Command and General Staff College? Nothing is ever finished, says the Koran.

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