If you still think of English as belonging to the British or the Americans, it may be time to reconsider. Over the past few decades, a quiet but enormous revolution has taken place in the world of linguistics: non-native speakers by a staggering three-to-one ratio. Of the nearly two billion people who use English worldwide, only about 400 million are native speakers. As linguist H. G. Widdowson argues, English is no longer a “product” exported from a western center; it has become a global resource, continuously reshaped bypeople from different cultures to meet their own communicative needs. This remarkable transformation raises a fascinating question: if English belongs to everyone, does it still belong to anyone? And as new varieties continue to emerge, will English eventually evolve into distinct localized languages, or will globalization keep it united?
English is a West Germanic branch of the Indo-European language family that took shape in early medieval England. Its name derives from the Angles, one of the Germanic tribes that migrated to Britain after the fall of Roman Empire. Over the centuries language underwent enormous transformation. The Norman Conquest of 1066 marked a turning point in its history: thousands of French words entered the language, giving rise to Middle English. Later, during the Renaissance and the era of William Shakespeare, English absorbed a great many new words from Latin, Greek, French, German, and Dutch. At the same time, a phonetic shift known as the Great Vowel Shift fundamentally changed the language’s pronunciation. By the late seventeenth century, the foundations of modern English as we know it today had been laid. But this was only the beginning of its most fascinating journey. Today, English has long since expanded far beyond the borders of Britain or the United States. It is used as an official, administrative, or cultural language in nearly ninety countries and territories, and has become the primary means of connecting people of different nationalities in education, science, business, diplomacy, and technology. With close to two billion users, English is the most widely spoken international language in the world. What is most striking is that the majority of its users speak it not as a native language but as a second or foreign language. This means that most communication conducted in English today takes place between people for whom English is not their mother tongue.
This shift has transformed English from the property of any single nation into a global language used by the whole world. As a result, distinct varieties of English have emerged in countries such as the United States, Britain, Canada, Australia, India, Nigeria, and Singapore. Each variety reflects the history, culture, and worldview of its respective people.
To account for this linguistic diversity, linguists have put forward the term “World Englishes.” This concept recognizes the many legitimate and independent varieties of English that have formed under the influence of different societies and cultures. While the term “World English” refers to the language’s role as a vehicle for international communication, “Global Englishes” emphasizes its worldwide expansion driven by globalization. “World Englishes,” by contrast, signals that English no longer exists in a single standard form, but is continuously being enriched and developed by the millions of people who use it.
Today, English is no longer governed by any single country or standard. As it has spread across the world, different societies have adapted it to their own needs and cultures, creating new varieties of the language. This is precisely why linguists today prefer the term “World Englishes” rather than simply “English.”
The English used in India, Singapore, Nigeria, Australia, and many other countries is not simply a copy of British or American English. Each has its own pronunciation, vocabulary, and modes of expression that have developed over the course of history.It is precisely this diversity that, rather than weakening English, makes it a richer and more adaptable language. The social function of English also varies from country to country. In India and Nigeria, for instance, English is an essential part of education, governance, and everyday communication. In countries such as Uzbekistan, by contrast, it is studied mainly as a foreign language that expands opportunities for international education, business, travel, and global communication. Because millions of people use English every day, it continues to evolve constantly. New words, new expressions, and even entirely new hybrid forms — such as “Hinglish,” a blend of English and local languages — keep emerging. This clearly demonstrates that English is no longer the sole property of its native speakers, but the shared wealth of everyone who uses and develops it.
Saymurodova Madinaxon Zohidjon qizi, 2nd-year student at Uzbekistan State University of World Languages, majoring in Foreign Language and Literature, Uzbekistan
“I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse.”
This famous quote, attributed to the multilingual Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, reflects a belief that has endured for centuries: that every language has its own unique personality. Even today, French is often described as romantic, Italian as musical, and German as harsh or rigid. Japanese is widely associated with politeness, while English is seen as direct and practical. These descriptions have become so familiar that many people accept them without question. But how accurate are these perceptions? Do languages truly possess personalities, or are they simply reflections of the attitudes we attach to them?
At first glance, it may seem obvious that languages sound different and therefore create different impressions. However, linguists argue that our emotional responses to languages are influenced by much more than pronunciation or grammar. The way we judge a language is closely connected to the way we view the people, culture, and society associated with it. In other words, our opinions about languages are often social rather than linguistic.
According to sociolinguists, the appeal of a language has far less to do with its grammar or pronunciation than with our perceptions of the people who speak it. Dr. Vineeta Chand of the University of Essex argues that when we admire a particular country or culture, we often transfer those positive feelings to its language. Likewise, languages spoken by socially or economically marginalized communities are frequently perceived as less attractive—not because of their linguistic features, but because of the social status of their speakers. This demonstrates that language attitudes are deeply influenced by society and are rarely based on objective linguistic facts.
This pattern is clearly visible in the modern world. The growing popularity of Mandarin Chinese, for example, stems largely from China’s economic influence rather than from its sounds or grammatical structure. English, meanwhile, continues to dominate international communication because it provides access to education, business, science, technology, and countless professional opportunities. For millions of learners, English is more than just another language—it is a bridge to higher education, international careers, and global connections. In many cases, people are not evaluating a language itself; they are evaluating the opportunities that language can provide.
Yet stereotypes remain remarkably persistent. French is still considered romantic, Italian melodic, and German harsh. Linguists, however, argue that these qualities are not inherent characteristics of the languages themselves. Instead, they are social perceptions shaped by history, culture, media, literature, films, and our experiences with the people who speak them. Because these images are repeated over generations, they eventually become accepted as common sense, even when there is little evidence to support them.
How do such perceptions emerge? Language attitudes refer to the beliefs, opinions, and emotional responses people develop toward a language and its speakers. These attitudes may be positive, negative, or neutral, but they are never inborn. Rather, they are gradually formed through family, education, media, cultural influences, and personal experience. As societies change, so do these attitudes. Throughout history, some languages have gained prestige while others have lost it. Consequently, the value we assign to a language often reflects changing social realities rather than any intrinsic quality of the language itself.
Research also supports this perspective. A study highlighted by BBC Future explored how speakers of twenty languages described colors, smells, tastes, and shapes. The findings offered fascinating insights into the relationship between language, culture, and human perception. Rather than proving that one language is richer or more expressive than another, the study showed that different communities develop specialized vocabularies according to what is most important in their everyday lives.
English speakers, for instance, showed remarkable precision when describing colors and geometric shapes. The Jahai people of the Malay Peninsula, on the other hand, possess an exceptionally rich vocabulary for describing smells. Speakers of Persian, Lao, and Cantonese demonstrated greater precision in describing tastes than many other language communities. Researchers concluded that these differences arise not from the complexity of the languages themselves, but from the environments, lifestyles, and cultural experiences of the people who speak them. The language people use naturally reflects what they experience, observe, and value in daily life.
Ultimately, language is far more than a means of communication. It reflects the ways people perceive the world, the aspects of life they consider important, and the experiences that shape their daily lives. Perhaps languages do not possess personalities of their own after all. What we perceive instead is the history, culture, and worldview of their speakers. French is not inherently romantic, German is not naturally harsh, and Italian is not born musical. These are not qualities embedded within the languages themselves, but perceptions we have constructed over time. Understanding this helps us appreciate languages not as collections of stereotypes, but as living expressions of the diverse communities that speak them.
Saymurodova Madinakhon Zokhidjon kizi, student of UzSWLU, faculty of foreign languages and literature
This poem is an Uzbek nazira (a creative poetic response and homage) to the famous patriotic masterpiece “O‘zbekiston” by the Hero of Uzbekistan and People’s Poet, Abdulla Oripov. Written in traditional stanzas, the work connects Uzbekistan’s rich historical legacy—referencing luminaries such as Avicenna (Ibn Sino), Al-Biruni, Tamerlane (Amir Temur), Imam Bukhari, and Mahmud al-Zamakhshari—with modern reflections on identity, national pride, and peace. The English translation preserves the stanza structure, rhythm, and classical imagery while ensuring cultural nuances remain accessible to an international readership.
UZBEKISTAN
(A Nazira to Abdulla Oripov’s poem “Uzbekistan”)
I wrote a ballad all about love, I sang a song of passion true. Yet, since I tasted no stranger’s bread, I had not shown my love for you. Today I write of you, my Homeland, Perhaps no heavier verse is known. When soul parts from the dying body, Mother Earth claims us as her own. Yet feeble is this pen of mine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. With tulips blooming in her embrace, A land of gardens, vast and bright. Where golden sun shines soft as silk, My Uzbekistan sheds its light. A sacred garden, pure and fine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Along your borders stand your braves, Guardians of your sacred soil. If I but touch a branch by chance, The trees bestow their fruitful spoil. My mother nation, soul of mine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine.
A cradle holds a child so calm, Lulled by a soft and tender strain. No traitor springs from such a cradle, No room for war on this domain. The world became a garden fine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. How graceful are the Uzbek maidens, Dreaming as Zulfiya once dreamed. A modest maiden’s noble mother Is virtue’s spark, so pure, esteemed. You are my honor, pride divine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Cross over the bridge if you give cheer, The clear streams ripple in Qarshi’s light. And should you visit in Ramadan, The crescent smiles upon the night. Rich with gold, a precious mine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Mahmud of Khwarazm brought such pride, “Jarullah” was his Mecca name. When such great souls have walked this land, God blessed this home with holy fame. My ancient roots, a sacred sign, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Ibn Sina held the soil dear, Gathering herbs across the land. This healer born in Afshona Healed four continents by his hand. I claim today, he is part of mine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Amir Temur cast swift justice On traitors who would sell their birth. Beruni’s knowledge lit the West, And lifted men above the Earth. I hold a grievance in Columbus’ time, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine.
The proudest soul of Muslim faith, Whose heart knows true humility, Imam Bukhari penned Hadiths In the Prophet’s own purity. Faith’s joy is what I hold divine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine. Call them proud if you so choose, The souls of Turon earn their praise. Follow the ancestors, descendants, And rise to great and holy ways. My freedom, pride, and praise divine, Uzbekistan, true Homeland of mine.
Ishq haqida yozdim ballada, Muhabbat haqida kuyladim qoʻshiq. Musofir nonidan totmaganim-chun, Oʻz yurtimga boʻlmapman oshiq. Bugun seni yozyapman Vatan, Balki boʻlmas bundan ogʻir she’r. Jondan ayro qolganida tan, Oʻz bagʻringga olding Ona Yer. Faqat ojiz qalamim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Quchogʻida lolalar ochgan, Gulistonim bor mening. Quyosh zarrin ipak sochgan, Oʻzbekistonim bor mening. Nomi qutlugʻ gulshanim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatananim manim. Chegarangda paxlavonlaring, Qoʻriqlaydi tuprogʻing orin. Tasodifan bir tegib ketsam, Daraxtlaring toʻkadi borin. Ona xalqim, jon-tanim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim.
Alla eshitadi bolang beshikda, Bunday bola bo
ʻlmas yurtpurush. Boqsahamki yovlar teshikdan Bu Vatanda bo
ʻlmaydi urush.
Dunyo bo ʻldi chamanim manim, O ʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Nozanindir o
ʻzbek qizlari, Zulfiyaning hayolin surar. Hayosini saqlagan qizning, Onalari asli mastura. Sensan nomus va shanim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Rag ʻbat bersang ko
ʻprikdan kelib, Mavjlanadi Qarshingda zilol. Ramazonda buyursang tashrif, Oqshomlari jilmayar hilol. Tuprog ʻi zar, ma’danim manim, O ʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Xorazmning faxri Mahmudga, Makka ahli dedi Jarulloh. Shunday bashar o ʻtgan bo ʻlsa bil. Yurtga nazar solibdi Alloh. Olis tarix qadamim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Ibn Sino tuproq ardoqlab, Giyohlar-u nabodat terdi. Afshonadan chiqqan bu tabib, To ʻrt qit’aga tabobat berdi. Aytgum, bu kun, u manim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim. Vatan sotar xoyinpurushni Amir Temur tortdi jazoga Beruniyning tahsilin olib, Gʻarb millati uchdi fazoga. Kolumpda bir alamim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim.
Musulmonning ulugʻ magʻruri Xushu boʻlmoq asli dilida Hadis yozdi Imom Buxoriy Soʻnggi Paygʻambarning tilida. Iymon zavqin tuyganim manim Oʻzbekistin Vatanim manim. Kiborli deb oʻylang mayli Turon ahli tahsinga loyiq. Ajdodlarga ergashing avlod, Siz ham boʻling buyuk mashoyiq. Erkim, faxrim va madhim manim, Oʻzbekiston Vatanim manim.
(c) Rushana Shomurodova
CONTEXTUAL & CULTURAL NOTES Nazira: A classical Eastern poetic genre where a poet composes an artistic response/homage to a celebrated masterpiece, matching its rhyme scheme or thematic tone. Abdulla Oripov (1941–2016):** Hero of Uzbekistan, National Poet, and author of the Uzbek National Anthem. His poem “O‘zbekiston” is one of the most iconic works of modern Uzbek literature.
Zulfiya (1915–1996): A prominent Uzbek poetess and cultural icon who symbolizes fidelity, grace, and feminine poetic tradition. Qarshi: Capital city of the Qashqadaryo region in southern Uzbekistan, historically known for its iconic 16th-century vaulted bridge over the Qashqadaryo River.
Jarullah: An honorific title meaning “The Neighbor of God,” granted by Mecca scholars to the great Khwarazmian scholar Mahmud al-Zamakhshari (1075–1144) for his monumental linguistic work on the Quran. Ibn Sino (Avicenna, 980–1037): Universal scholar born near Bukhara in Afshona, recognized worldwide as one of the most influential founding fathers of modern medicine. Beruni (Al-Biruni, 973–1048):** Polymath who calculated the Earth’s radius with remarkable precision and predicted the existence of an inhabited landmass across the ocean long before Columbus. Amir Temur (Tamerlane, 1336–1405): Renowned ruler, military strategist, and founder of the Timurid Empire headquartered in Samarkand. Imam Bukhari (810–870): Islamic scholar born in Bukhara, compiler of Sahih al-Bukhari, the most authentic collection of Hadith in Sunni Islam. Turon: Historical term for the ancient Central Asian region encompassing modern Uzbekistan.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Rushana Shomurodova is an Uzbek poet, medical scholar, and writer based in Uzbekistan. She pursues her medical degree at Turon University while actively contributing to modern Uzbek literature through bilingual poetry and lyrical works. Her poetry frequently explores themes of national identity, historical legacy, spiritual devotion, devotion, and youth perspectives. She writes in both Uzbek and English.
Success has always been one of humanity’s most fascinating topics. Thousands of books have been written about it, countless seminars have been organized, and millions of people spend their lives searching for its secret. Although there is no single formula for success, the lives of highly accomplished individuals reveal a common pattern. More often than not, success is built on discipline, consistent habits, and perseverance rather than extraordinary talent.
Many people believe that success depends mainly on natural ability or luck. While talent may provide an early advantage, it does not guarantee long-term achievement. History has shown that individuals who continuously improve their knowledge, develop new skills, and remain committed to their goals often outperform those who rely solely on their natural gifts. Daily effort and self-discipline create opportunities that talent alone cannot sustain.
The digital age has also transformed the meaning of success. Today, a person’s background matters less than their willingness to learn, adapt, and embrace change. Online education, artificial intelligence, and global communication have made knowledge more accessible than ever before. As a result, continuous learning has become one of the most valuable qualities for anyone who wishes to succeed in a rapidly changing world.
Another essential element of success is the ability to respond positively to failure. Many people give up after experiencing setbacks, viewing failure as the end of their journey. However, successful individuals treat failure as a valuable learning experience. Every mistake provides insight, strengthens resilience, and prepares a person to make wiser decisions in the future. In this sense, failure is not the opposite of success—it is an important step toward it.
It is equally important to understand that success should not be measured only by wealth or fame. Genuine success is reflected in personal growth, meaningful contributions to society, and the satisfaction of achieving one’s goals with integrity. Financial achievements may come and go, but knowledge, experience, and a positive impact on others leave a lasting legacy.
In conclusion, the secret of success cannot be reduced to a single strategy. It is the result of clear goals, consistent effort, lifelong learning, resilience, and the courage to continue despite difficulties. Success is not achieved overnight; it is built through small, purposeful actions repeated day after day. Those who remain committed to growth and never stop learning are the ones most likely to achieve lasting success.
Maftuna Rustamova Ruslan qizi, 30th school 10 class
Pulling into the parking lot of Walgreens, I sat in the driver’s seat of the paratransit bus I piloted for the county’s elderly and disabled citizens, waiting as my latest fare, Appearing as if by magic, Ray struggled up the four steps, handed me his token and walked to his seat. He leaned heavily on an ancient, non-descript wooden cane.
“Mornin’,” he greeted me.
“Hi Ray,” I responded in kind. “Straight home, right?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
I waited as he eased down the aisle of the small bus, empty now but for the two of us. Eventually he found a seat and plopped down into it.
Waiting until he secured his seatbelt, I put the vehicle in gear and we rumbled away. My passenger lived but a mile distant. Elderly and disabled, he couldn’t travel more than 50 yards under his own power.
As I sped down HY 111 en route to ninth st., where Ray’s modest clapboard home reposed, we enjoyed a companionable silence.
Suddenly he spoke up. “A guy yelled at me today,” he told me.
“What?” I asked, incensed. Why would anyone yell at such a pleasant and harmless fellow? I wondered.
“Yeah,” said Ray. “I was sittin’ outside the pharmacy, my back against the wall, waitin’ for you, when I saw this couple walk past, aroun’ 30 feet away. The woman this guy was with was a real looker,” he continued. “The guy wasn’t much to look out, but she was fine.”
“Why did he yell at you?” I asked. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw Ray shrug.
“I dunno. Because I looked at his girlfriend, I reckon,” replied Ray. “I mean, my tongue wasn’t hangin’ out or nothin’, and I didn’t say nothin’ to her and I certainly never touched her. I just sat on the sidewalk and looked. Liked what I saw, too” he said, remembering.
“What did he say to you?” I asked.
“Asked me how I’d like to get my ass kicked,” replied Ray. “An’ I said, ‘thank you, no.’ ” Ray chuckled.
“Then what did he do?” I asked.
“He yelled some more. I couldn’t unnerstan’ what he said,” said Ray, “but he started walkin’ in my direction, until his girlfriend grabbed his arm and pulled him back. As she took hold of him, I could see her smirkin’.”
I looked in the mirror again and saw Ray shake his head.
“She got what she wanted, I’m thinkin’. But lemme ask you, what kinda girl wants to fire her man up with jealousy like that? I mean, I’m forty years older’n that guy. They both insecure,” he said.
“I don’t know, Ray,” I said, shaking my head.
“Apparently, I still got it,” he said brightly.
“You do,” I agreed.
“Lucky he didn’t tangle with me,” said Ray. “I wouldn’ta been gentle,” he promised.
I looked in the mirror once more, to observe Ray. At five feet, six inches tall and perhaps 115 pounds, he had a formidable demeanor. I smiled.
“Uh…” Ray said, “…what’s your name again?” He asked me this every Thursday when he rode on my bus. His faulty memory was a product of his nascent dementia.
“Rolanda,” I told him again.
We pulled up in front of Ray’s modest cottage on ninth street.
“Home again, home again,” sing-songed Ray, struggling to his feet.
“Have a good one, Ray,” I said.
“Be cool, Yolanda,” he replied, then sidled to the sliding door.
Suddenly he turned back. “I know it’s Rolanda,” Ray said, then added. “Sometimes it’s best not to give ever’thin’ away.”
He limped to his front door, waving and smiling at me.
Residents and civil defense teams conduct search and rescue operation under the rubbles following an Israeli attack on Al-Wawi family building in Nuseirat Camp, Gaza Strip, on December 30, 2023. Photo by Naaman Omar\ apaimages
The stone…
The identity of the legitimate Palestinian resistance
Dr. Reda Abdul Rahim
Professor Mustafa Bahgat Badawi says in his book “talk about us and about Israel”: As I always say, Israel is not only a threat to the entity of Palestine, but it represents a real danger even to the smallest house in the most remote village of this entire Arab homeland. The conclusive evidence is what happened in Beirut, in Sidon, and what could happen in any other location or village in any part of the entire Arab homeland with an Israeli” infiltration adventure”. Hence, the Arab countries should give the gift of one man, settle their differences and prepare –rightly and diligently – to confront their bitter enemy. The Stone play written by Dr. Ahmed Asaker revolves around the legitimate Palestinian resistance against the Israeli entity that usurps our lands, and any Palestinian resistance is an important and necessary thing for Arabs as a single nation suffering from an existential threat due to this cancer that has been planted on its land.
In the first and second chapters, Dr. Ahmed Asker, in an intelligent interview that is not devoid of psychological connotations, presents the vision of each party in this continuous and eternal conflict, the Israeli entity puts forward its future plans through a discussion among its members, and we know from it how to use America as a cudgel to crush us, and the implementation of all its plans, which has already happened.
Marzel: the most powerful country in the world right now is America, followed by Britain, and the Arab countries around us, the most powerful of which are Egypt, Iran, Syria and Iraq. – What?!
Marzel: we will sow discord between America and one of these countries that I mentioned, and we will make the American president, who is a strong ally of ours, and a precious catch, head towards one of them, let it be the state of Iraq, this is the one I want now.( Pp. 18: p. 33) The writer went on to reveal their evil plans, which are currently being implemented on the ground towards Egypt and the entire Arab nation, we read:
Marzel: Egypt was strangled from the south, we strangled it with Sudan and water, and here we are strangling Sudan and strangling it from the south from which we are kidnapping it. We surrounded his West and separated him from it. Then we have treaties that we will not break now. Egypt is not now. It is Syria and then Iran that I want, and also I don’t care from the first and from the second, and if it were up to me, I would take the two countries together. They are from the countries of the axis of evil that we have created, and let’s call them state sponsors of terrorism (P.27).
While the resistance leaders are mired in disagreements and talk about the past that is useless behind it, standing on the ruins is a pure Arab heritage, we Arabs pay a lot of attention to the past, and we rarely look at the future, and I do not say we plan for it. And this is what the writer wanted to clarify in the second chapter: Platoon leader: for fifty years, sir, they have been spreading murder and slaughter among us as if it were their eternal chant. Have they not yet seen, Sir, from the rivers that flow and the seas that run for the blood of our men and our leaders all these years-all this praise – I mean sacrifice? -! Abu Al-Qasim: they want to take us out of here.
They are stealing our ancestral past, destroying it, they want to uproot us, and as our resistance movement intensifies and grows stronger, we call for their peace (pp. 36: p.49). Abu Al-Qasim (the second scene of the second chapter): we are peace. Our religion is peace. No, boss. They are the advocates of war, the opponents of peace. Their hands are still stained with the blood of innocent people in the cities and camps of Deir Yassin, Sabra, Shatila, Qana and others. Sheikh Mujahid Al-Qaid Ahmed Yassin appears in the third scene of the second chapter to put his hand on the reasons for the division between the leaders of the battalions and the leaders of the Palestinian factions, which also applies to the countries of this great Arab homeland, we read some of what he said: Sheikh: don’t you see, leaders and leaders, that we have divided into many peoples and many teams. Abu Mustafa: yes, Sheikh. God has many divisions and many people. Shaykh: and don’t you see, leaders and leaders. That our enemy is all one! Voices: yes..Yeah The sheikh: so why is this band? -! Why the band Why the band is often and always why, leaders! Voices: it’s always the band, Sheikh. Sheikh: rather, it is a search for personal glory, for false heroism to support our cause.
Not to establish our state and to support our people or peoples (pp. 56, 57). The Palestinian people were and still are in need of a real leadership that would be vigilant and the magnitude of the danger it faces, and when such leaders emerged, they would mobilize the national feeling behind them quickly and effectively, as happened in the case of Sheikh Izz al-Din al-Qassam, who was only a legitimate authority in Haifa but believes in the importance of an organized revolution to prevent the establishment of a Jewish national homeland in Palestine. The Palestinians must rely on themselves first in their struggle against Zionism. Sheikh al-Qassam started his revolution with just ten of his men, each with only a rifle and a small amount of money.. They decided to direct their revolt first against the mandate Authority, which was arming the Jews. Then al-Qassam was martyred with his men in an unequal battle against the British authorities on November 20, 1935. But this martyrdom inflamed national feelings in Palestine to a huge degree..
The masses refused to march ten kilometers to mourn the body of the martyrs, which was a natural prelude to the comprehensive Palestinian revolution in 1936. Returning to Sheikh Al-Qaid’s refutation of the significance of this conflict, we read: Sheikh: they want us in a permanent conflict, in a conflict with our enemy, in a conflict with each other, with ourselves. May the bleeding of the land, wealth, agriculture and our blood remain, May the bodies of our martyrs remain. May our blood and oil continue to provide the West with prosperity and progress, well-being and wealth In the third chapter, the writer limps back to the history of the Jenin Camp massacre, opening his conversation with the question of who made a profit on Jenin If we have touched the difference between their thinking and ours, and Sheikh Al-Qaid put his hand on the causes of division in the second chapter, then through this chapter he refers to another disease that has afflicted the nation, the disease of betrayal – which he was one of its victims-until one of the soldiers in the fifth chapter shouts: the number of traitors, Sir, exceeded the number of the enemy..
They are many, and another says: their danger is greater than the danger of the enemy(P .138). Shaykh: we are monitored, father Al-Qasim.. The enemy is monitoring our movements. He sees us and knows the steps of our guys, and I think that’s the accuracy with which our leaders hunt. That skill he shows in assassinating them, only an internal betrayal of elements belonging to us..Their Apaches could do nothing in heaven if only one on Earth was guiding them and illuminating their black vision(P.83). If the massacre of the Jenin camp shows the ugly face of the Zionists; those who were killed unarmed and buried in mass graves, it also shows that this ugliness befell everyone who prevented weapons from reaching the people of the camp .And whoever this damned woman supplied Israel with all these modern weapons. In an intense bitter dose, the fourth chapter witnesses the martyrdom of Sheikh Al-Qaed, the daughter of Jenin, and the daughter of the Resistance leader Abu Al-Qasim, so the writer paints us a very dark painting that sheds tears, and her chest boils, yes.
There is no state that has been wrapped up by a night like the night of Palestine, like the death of Palestine .. Funeral after funeral, martyr after martyr. And if the first chapter recognized the consistent pattern of resistance thinking by using stone as a weapon of resistance with which they intimidate the enemy of Allah and their enemy, and resorting to qualitative and individual operations, Abu Al-Qasim Our resistance is no longer limited to a man blowing himself up in a car, a tank, or a few soldiers for them (P.162). The writer promises us that the advice of the martyr Sheikh Al-Qaid has come to fruition, and that the legitimate Palestinian resistance has changed its way of thinking, it will not wait for the enemy’s attack on its land, but will transfer the battle on its land and inside its settlements.
From the first moments of birth, Israel has embraced the offensive doctrine in the war, allowing it to always keep in its hands the military initiative, which provides it from the very beginning many advantages against any Arab party it faces. Since the first truce that was reached with Israel, it has always been the one that initiated the violation of the truce against the Arab side, at a time when the Arab side believed that the international character of the agreement would deter Israel from breaking it! Thus, in light of this sudden violation of the truce, Israel increased the area of the lands it captured, so that at that time it became 77% of the territory of Palestine, while the partition decision guaranteed it only 55%. Israeli Defense Minister Moshe Sharett said that I would prefer that we attack the Arabs and the world condemns US. It’s about waiting for the attack and the world supports us. ..
We read: Abu Al-Qasim: I promise you that after cleansing our house, ourselves and our people from traitors and agents. They never came back to hack us again… This is my first and most important task in my next stage and I will not fight… And I’m not going to wake up to an infection until I’m done with it. I will destroy their houses as they destroy ours and I will scatter them as they have scattered US… I will change our tactics, plans and war with them… Those whose hearts are different and we count them as one… I’ll make them different… I’m gonna hit them in their backyard.. I’m going to throw our missiles at them and our catapults… The one who will cut their backs… And the Katyusha that will melt their skins (P. 158). The third scene of the last chapter explains a commando operation known as the snake’s head, in which Abu Al-Qasim was targeted by a group of Zionist soldiers and their commander, an operation that Israeli newspapers described as the day of panic, the day of sorrow.
Abu Al-Qasim returned from it, wounded, martyred and joined the processions of martyrs, dreaming and we are with him: I want to see this today. The one where one of our cubs is raised…The flag of Palestine fluttered high on every hillock… And he raises it at every foot of our slopes. I want to see this boy who comes by day and takes away from us this night (p. 173).
My rights have been explained to me and are fully understood. I wish to give my statement in Russian. I require neither counsel nor an interpreter. I am not registered with a psychiatrist or an addiction clinic, and I have never been prosecuted in Russia or anywhere else. I am unmarried, alert, and in reasonably good spirits, though none of that appears relevant. Born in 1995.
Regarding the allegations against me, I can state the following. It began about a year ago, when members of the public started calling and demanding that I provide them with legal advice free of charge. What follows has, with the investigator’s permission, been copied from my notebook and diary in order to preserve both the chronology and what remains of the narrative logic. I ask that it be treated as the only reliable account.
The phone is ringing again. Or perhaps it has been ringing continuously and I have only just noticed. Either way, someone has got through. This is the ninth call today, and it is barely one in the afternoon.
I would not mind so much if anyone paid me. I still have no idea why the public decided that my number belonged to the legal profession’s branch of the Red Cross, but the calls kept coming. I did not even try changing it. Whoever was posting my number would no doubt track down the new one with the persistence normally found in debt collectors and minor government agencies. All in all, the phenomenon supplied me with two months’ worth of extraordinarily varied practice: divorces prompted by threats from mistresses, complications arising from the construction of a morgue, and everything in between.
My usual office was a compartment on the second-to-last commuter train out of Moscow. During the short journey I could dispense advice to seven, sometimes ten, questioning “souls.” Having opened a travelling franchise of goodness and justice in the rear carriage, I guided my uninvited clients into the previously undiscovered world of statutes, deadlines, and official fees. That was when I began writing down every request and everything I did afterward. Organising one’s practice is not merely satisfying. It may later prove useful during questioning.
I did not know these people, yet I felt responsible for them. Responsibility is difficult to avoid when someone addresses you as though you alone are the court of final appeal, a Roman praetor, and the last trumpet of justice rolled into one. There is a catch, of course: it is difficult to be the last trumpet of justice when you have only the faintest idea where you yourself are going.
There was, in fact, an obscure sense of obligation behind the whole affair, which is probably where I should have started. It was never clear who owed whom more: the callers, or me. Sometimes the voices demanded advice as if I had borrowed a large sum of money from them and could repay it only through this peculiar setoff. At other times their apologetic tone made me feel as though I were speaking to the debtor. When the train reached my station, my office hours ended.
That evening a special taxi was waiting for me. Its number plate read NOT 666.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve that plate,” the driver began. “People keep cancelling. Makes it impossible to work.”
“Why? It says not 666,” I replied with a small smile.
The driver laughed.
“Exactly. And I take priests to morning service. I only picked you up because I thought a man might freeze standing out here at night.”
“Where are you headed after this?”
“Vnukovo Airport.” After a moment he added, “Now those people will have a real dilemma: cancel because of the number, or miss their flight.”
“Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “A dilemma.”
The symbolism was, frankly, vulgar. A taxi promising not to take you to hell; disembodied voices calling to ask about justice. Even then I felt the whole story reeked of cheap paperback mysticism. I am getting ahead of myself, but cheap paperback mysticism was exactly what it turned out to be.
Determined to understand the strange sense of debt that came with the calls, I began prodding at it. Trial and error established one thing: the debt was not financial. It became most acute just before sleep, when I had not yet fallen into dreams and was sliding along the edge of consciousness. The debt, or perhaps the credit, appeared to me as a dark marble sphere threaded with white veins. It may not have been entirely marble. It may not have been marble at all. That is not important.
What mattered was that this marvel of metaphysical thought hung directly above me, held back by nothing I could see from falling onto my already unfortunate head. Naively assuming that anything in the world could be paid off, I settled every debt I had. The stony chill above my scalp did not retreat. A desperate turn to charity achieved nothing either.
And then I was hired.
Well, not exactly hired. That would be inaccurate, and calling it a job would be generous. What happened was this: I stepped out of my flat one morning and found an envelope under the door, addressed to me by the Federal Public-Private Office of Celestial Administration and Associated Afterlife Matters, hereinafter “the Celestial Bureau.”
The level of vulgar mysticism, already exhausting, continued to rise. All that remained was for me to walk into a strange fog and emerge somewhere in the Moscow Region in the 1930s. I could then explain the virtues of a fair and honest trial to a three-man tribunal, which would presumably sentence me to death for obstructing the administration of justice.
Back in our own reality, the envelope contained an employment contract bearing my signature and a congratulatory letter from “the best company in the world.” It promised a “competitive salary,” praised my “invaluable contribution to the proper development of society,” and thanked me warmly for agreeing to become Junior Assistant to the Senior Specialist of the Legal Department.
The fact that complete strangers possessed my signature did not especially surprise me. Nor did their knowledge of my name and address. What baffled me was the method of fraud. They could have taken out a loan in my name or forged a power of attorney. Instead, they had chosen to stage some elaborate nonsense involving an employment contract and a welcome letter.
After some thought, I decided to visit the address. They were clearly not planning to beat me up; it would have been far easier to wait for me somewhere along my already known route. Besides, jobs for lawyers – especially jobs so determined to hire one – are not always easy to find.
At the address stood a vast Soviet building in a particularly heavy strain of Brutalism, a place where no human foot seemed to have ventured in years. I walked around the hulk, tried several locked doors, and eventually found a staircase leading down to the basement. Beside it was a brass plaque engraved with the words FEDERAL PUBLIC-PRIVATE OFFICE OF CELESTIAL ADMINISTRATION AND ASSOCIATED AFTERLIFE MATTERS: THE CELESTIAL BUREAU.
I descended the steps and squeezed through an unlocked door that appeared to be barricaded from the inside by something heavy. The interior suited the building: an old Soviet office with narrow corridors and plank floors. The letter instructed me to attend a “welcome interview” in Room 3.
Inside, a fat man in a grey jacket was waiting for me. On his lapel was a badge showing a quill from which a long wing had sprouted. His face seemed fixed in a state of permanent dissatisfaction, as though I had interrupted important work and had also had the poor taste to arrive with a stupid question.
“Mikhail,” the man said by way of introduction. “Were there calls?”
“There were calls. Anton.”
“A pleasure.” Mikhail held out his hand. “The letter?”
“The letter. A pleasure.”
“With the contract?”
“With the contract.”
At this point, an idiotic idea took root in my mind.
“Passport,” he said.
“Passport,” I repeated.
The man sprang up and slammed both hands onto the desk, although given his weight it looked less like a blow than an abrupt lowering of the arms.
“No jokes in here. We’re a fucking serious institution with centuries of history, powerful market positioning, and a corporate culture.”
I tried to explain myself, but apparently the outburst had merely been his chosen prelude to orientation.
“You think I do this for fun? First I have to find you, then I spend half the day in this miserable office asking you these questions?” His voice shifted into command. “Listen carefully. We follow the Stanislavski method here: whatever you give me, I give back with full conviction. So far, all I’m getting from you is aggravation. Once I’ve accumulated enough, I’ll start returning it. Questions?”
“Yes. What is this almshouse, exactly?”
“You’re the almshouse. This company existed before anyone had even considered producing you. Granted, we only acquired formal legal status and state funding under the tsar, but that in no way diminishes our proud standing or our great mission. The various suffixes came later, depending on the historical period.”
“And what is the mission of this enterprise?”
“We help people who have left this world put their affairs in order. Mostly documents. We correct inaccuracies…”
“Restore justice?”
“Justice should not concern you too deeply. Your job, as a junior assistant, is to receive an assignment and complete it properly, and above all by the deadline set by management. Don’t even think about screwing up, dodging the work, or simply ignoring it. With our connections, I can load your name with so many morally questionable transactions that you’ll lose your fucking mind. And it won’t stop at a dildo delivered without discreet packaging, if you understand me. That’s all for today. You start tomorrow.”
It would have been foolish to assume that tomorrow might fail to arrive. On the way home, answering calls, I found myself accepting everything on some automatic level. Yes, organisations sometimes hired people by strange means. Yes, I had been given a vague account of a great mission and an ancient history. The same could be said of almost any enterprise.
That night the sphere was waiting for me as usual. In the hope of reaching the kingdom of Morpheus more quickly, I imagined rolling it down a bowling lane, scattering stacks of paper covered in complicated legal terminology.
The Bureau’s daily schedule was an incontrovertible force, apparently designed to waste employee time in the strangest way possible. It began with a stand-up meeting, halfway through which I barely managed to arrive. For some reason, the meeting had started before the working day.
Squeezing into a room with a round table, I appeared to have entered in the middle of a monologue by a large and angry executive.
“That is why you must exercise the greatest caution when alternating rapidly between carrot and stick. Subject a person to too much of that and the mind may shift right out of place. You there.” Like a heroic worker on a propaganda poster, he thrust an open palm in my direction. “Do you have the faintest idea what we do here?”
At that moment it became clear that I could not produce a meaningful answer on my own. Mikhail, seated to the chief’s right, came to my rescue. Yesterday’s phrase surfaced in my mind.
“We help people put their affairs in ord-“
“What affairs?” The chief brought his outstretched hand crashing down on the table as though cleaving an invisible enemy. “The fucking genius who invented that piece of shit ought to be put on the first flight straight to hell.”
He paused, exhaled heavily, and continued in a calmer voice.
“Once again, for those who have plumbed the deepest depths of our positioning, and for those who have yet to plumb them, I repeat. As the classics observed, the trouble is not that man is mortal. The trouble is that he is suddenly mortal. And when he suddenly goes and gets himself dead, he leaves behind an unfinished matter. Sometimes two.
“Since we are simultaneously a private company, a state corporation, and at times a fucking travelling circus, we answer to owners who are shareholders, legislators, and spectators all at once. It is in their interest that every unfinished matter left by the departed should reach its proper conclusion.
“Document Control.” He leaned forward and turned to his left. “That conclusion must be reached competently. Not like your last performance with the national property register, when you couldn’t tell a house from a shed.
“For the hundredth time today: the state’s overriding interest is the stability of civil commerce. No confusion in ownership, transactions, or obligations.” He leaned to his right, toward Mikhail, and raised his voice. “Can the Legal Department hear me over there, with all its legal entities and articles of law?”
“We hear you,” the Legal Department replied gloomily.
“The corporate rats, meanwhile, do not want shares, ownership interests, corporate rights, and all the rest of that rubbish passing unexpectedly from hand to hand. As happened in…” He stopped as if he had nearly said something indecent over lunch, then rose from the table. “Well. You all know the case.”
An awkward silence settled over the room. The chief looked down on everyone, smiled, and declared, “Onward with a song, ladies, gentlemen, and comrades. Let us lead our branch to decisive victory in the international arena. You are dismissed.”
Mikhail seized me by the arm and whirled me in a waltz through the corridors, hissing in imitation of the chief.
“Can the Legal Department hear me? Can the Legal Department hear me? We hear you! With hours like these, you’d confuse your taxpayer number with your corporate registration code, never mind your prick with the handle on a tram.”
“What is our interest in the circus?” I thought it prudent to change the subject.
“Where?”
“The state makes sense, and so do the corporations. I mean the part where we’re a travelling circus and there are spectators. What does that mean?”
“That part is relatively simple. As you’ve probably gathered, we have three classes of client. The first send us routine, standard assignments in ordinary envelopes through the Russian postal service. They’re forever late with payment, but that is Accounting’s problem. The second send unusual, complicated assignments in pleasant-smelling document envelopes from foreign courier companies, and they pay in advance.”
“And the third come here themselves?”
“Come here themselves? What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice rose. “Communication is strictly one-way. Our commitment to customer service is second to none. The third group has no consistent system of delivery or payment at all. We used to send their cases back. Then we started throwing them away. Then international agreements reclassified the entire category as petitions from members of the public, and now we’re legally required to consider every one within thirty days. That will be your area of responsibility.”
I needed time to digest what I had heard and seen, but the volume of information had done nothing to reduce my number of questions. Meanwhile, we passed various offices and utility rooms and arrived at a substantial black door. Behind it lay a room renovated with obvious care.
Everything about it suggested an entirely ordinary modern office. Most surfaces were white or grey, which soon began to tire the eyes. The wooden desks helped. Each held standard office equipment: an all-in-one computer, a printer, a keyboard, and a mouse. Beside them stood neat stacks of folders and stationery.
Full-length mirrors faced the workstations, making both the department and its staff appear far larger than they really were. There was some subtle allusion here. Perhaps one was expected to work for two; perhaps the mirrors represented the spacious horizons of unfettered thought. My own thoughts, still recovering from the meeting, had no desire to take flight, and I quickly lost the sacred meaning.
In answer to my unspoken question about why the Legal Department looked so different from the rest of the Bureau, Mikhail explained that some contracts, no matter how ingeniously one manipulated statutes, penalties, liquidated damages, and the allocation of funds, still left behind a few crumbs within the limits of mathematical error. In theory, those crumbs could be spent on a great many good deeds.
A call on the internal line prevented him from finishing. I had little difficulty guessing that, in the right department and among the right people, theory aligned with practice exactly as it was supposed to.
At my desk I noticed one difference from the others. Beside my monitor lay a single lonely folder, too thin even to boast of containing many pages. Mikhail, already retreating deeper into the office, tore himself away from the phone long enough to explain, briefly but colourfully, that I was not to touch or distract the other employees. My assignment consisted solely of whatever lay on the desk. Once it was finished, I could stamp it and go home.
For the record, I will list the documents contained in the folder.
The passport of a man born around 1965; I do not remember the exact year. The photograph showed the face of someone just beginning his advance into that respectable, almost caricaturally glorious condition known as old age.
The passport of a woman born around 1990, again approximately. One detail stood out: both passports bore marriage stamps dated the same day, but the woman had kept her own surname.
