Algerian poet and novelist Ahlam Mosteghanemi once wrote an article expressing her dismay at the lackluster reception she received upon arriving at Beirut airport, claiming it was not as warm as the welcome given to an “artist.” At the time, I responded that this reaction was entirely understandable. Artists, particularly actors, singers, and performers, tend to hold a unique place in the hearts of the public, regardless of civilization or culture. Their popularity often far exceeds that of leading scientists, brilliant doctors, or distinguished writers, whose recognition tends to remain confined to their professional circles. That is why we often see the majority of guests invited to parties at the White House, royal palaces, or billionaire gatherings are not intellectuals, but entertainers like actors, singers, and musicians.

A few days ago, the renowned artist Ziad Rahbani passed away, and I wrote an elegy in his memory. However, it seems that not everyone appreciated it, including my friend Professor Saad bin Tefla, who described Ziad as “a hollow, troubled man full of psychological complexes.” He further accused him of holding harsh views and a condescending attitude toward the Gulf states, claiming this reflects the mindset of many Arab leftists, intellectuals, and prominent writers, and in turn a deeper internal crisis. Professor Saad described it as part of the crisis within the Arab world, manifested in a sense of cultural superiority held by those who see themselves as heirs to ancient civilizations, looking down on the so-called “Arabs of the desert.” What they fail to recognize is that these very Gulf countries have advanced and developed rapidly, often surpassing the so-called cradle of civilizations, whose current standard of living bears little resemblance to their historic past. I don’t think the issue is that simple, even if it reflects the truth. Those who try to obscure it do so out of ignorance. That said, the discussion about attitudes toward the Gulf and its people applies to various circles, but it is unfair to paint all artists and creatives with the same brush.

Ziad Rahbani, despite the many wise, humorous, emotional, and sometimes biased or absurd quotes attributed to him, was not a thinker, writer, or lecturer, nor was he known for being deeply educated or culturally intelligent. He was, above all, an artist who breathed music as naturally as he breathed air. For over forty years, he enriched the lives of millions with works that remain timeless. That is what he should be remembered for, not his political stances or leftist leanings.

After all, Laila Murad was Jewish, yet her voice captured the hearts of generations. The brothers Saleh and Daoud Al-Kuwaiti, who later immigrated to Israel, were also Jewish. Their different origins or religions never stood in the way of enjoying their timeless artistic heritage. The negative attitudes of some intellectuals, thinkers, and cultural figures toward the peoples of the Gulf are not isolated incidents. We should not dwell on them too long or hold every intellectual, writer, novelist, or philosopher accountable for their views. Doing so would mean depriving ourselves of a large part of the global intellectual and cultural heritage. The inferior or misguided perceptions about the people of the Gulf, and the negative attitudes toward them, are natural behavior, whether expressed by thinkers, singers, or politicians. This is part of human nature.

It means striving to become pioneers in literature, leaders in art, and guardians of culture. This goal cannot be achieved without providing an atmosphere that is rich in freedom. For years, Kuwait and Lebanon stood out as the most creative hubs in the region due to well-known reasons. But how can we truly support literature, culture, and thought when censors scrutinize every breath of creative persons, when the publication of Al-Arabi, which was Kuwait’s cultural flagship for over half a century, is suspended, and when the printing of Alam Al- Maarifa and similar publications is banned? We have succeeded in buying almost everything with our wealth, but culture and intellectual creativity cannot be purchased. They must be nurtured, cultivated, and allowed to grow; only then can we reap their fruits.

What will remain in the memory of history, dear Saad, are not Ziad’s stances on the Gulf states, his views on Nasrallah, or his support for Assad, but rather his timeless artistic contributions such as “Give my regards to him,” “How are you?,” “On the roar of the bus,” “I’m writing your name, my love,” “Miss the gazelle,” “Joy has come,” “Since he is,” and many more.

By Ahmad alsarraf
email: [email protected]