“Prayer for a blind oak, sleeping woman, a lesson in Naomi Wolf’s
promiscuities and an open space where poetry matters””
By Abigail George

Shut the door. Shut out the quiet light. Tell yourself to swim away
from the tigers with arms pillars of smoke. One day I will find myself
in a forest without men, without huntsmen and warriors, nomads and
ghosts that burn all hours of the day and night. One day I will dazzle
and fizz like a champagne virgin. I will laugh in all their faces. I
will weave and thread stories, braid hair and dwell in possibility. My
mother taught me that. White Knight you jewel. The bluish sky falls
off you. I prefer the word ‘solitude’ to ‘loneliness’. White Knight
you jewel of Hollywood. One day I will shut the door. One day I will
shut out the quiet light. One day I will tell myself to swim away from
the tigers. My tingling arms pillars of smoke.

What a pale and beautiful creature you are (you once were upon a time
now we’re worlds apart) but are you happy? You went on to paradise and
wrote and wrote and wrote and won prizes and planted flags. My
beautiful creature as cold as some things that come from the life of
the sea, lover of love, of pictures of health. I have bits and pieces
in memory of you of other peoples’ keepsake stuff. Angelic mouth with
eyes like dew. I knew at the end of it you would still have a
soul-consciousness to come home to. Alas the same could not be said of
me, dude in black, urban-cowboy in black. To yearn for love, to live
in that paradise again is a wish granted to a chosen few, the chosen
ones and what happens to the others?

Others live to exist for their families, raising their children or for
themselves, for their ego. If there is no love, no culture, reality to
feed you, nurture you, caress your tired or grief-stricken face at the
end of the day then I imagine that there are people out there who
sometimes feel as lost as I do. What can loneliness communicate to
you? It can also be a lovely feeling. You’re freer in a way than other
people are. But who is there for you to talk to at the end of the day?
People need companions. People need friends and family, loved ones and
acquaintances. People need contact, closure, and relationships. There
are people who build empires on these kinds of things. And then there
are people who need, want, desire love as wide as rivers.
You’re the Pacific.

And then there are people who turn their back on that and embrace a
life guided by the pulse that tells them to be brave. And to turn
their back on a world that calls them an Outsider, a loner, strange
with strange ways of doing things, a strange way of thinking. And you
just have to have the courage of your convictions if you are this sort
of person. I am this sort of person. So weirdly out of sync with the
rhythm of other women my age. So good am I am at this thing, this
sly-odd movement that I have won prizes for it. It feels like a bird’s
wing in spasm in the air. It feels like a rush of warm, sweet air into
the beautiful red ribbons of your heart, a cry in the dark, a promise
that you make to meet up with someone at heaven’s gate
next to a deathbed.

Someone dear and truly loved who has passed on from this world into
the hereafter. What’s eternity anyway? A more novel, adventurous
dimension because it becomes lovely when you think of it in that way.
Not meeting up with strangers but meeting up with familiar faces. The
faces that you knew, loved and cherished since birth. They were people
who were always a part of your world in one way or another. So, I say
one day we’ll all meet in heaven. We’ll make our way there from all of
our other destinations that we ‘lost’ a little self, worth and
identity in. Everybody is married in some way to his or her soul and
every bit
of our soul is intended for and to be hitched, hooked, stitched to God.

Whether you want to believe that or not is entirely up to you but to
me it makes sense. I love the useful wonder in thinking that. And then
there are those fuzzy and lukewarm questions that tug at the puppet
strings of the heart. Not floating, suspended by nothing but an
existential breeze in the air, not drowning, just there, behaving
mysteriously as if they had all the right in the universe to be there.
When I was in love, I wanted to know everything about him and nothing
at the same time. Falling in love, head over heels, sweeping flaws
under the carpet did not come with instructions. I did not know how to
correct something I did wrong. Everything was new and pretty. To love
someone since you were a child is a very long time.

Illusions, they do not come with flaws and they cannot love. They’re
too much in love with themselves. People do not ask, ‘What were you
like in the womb?’ Men do not say with a great amount of insight, ‘You
seem to have been a fish with the spirit of a lioness even then.’
They’re answers for the volcano dreamer. The last battle won for me
was ‘keeping in touch’. My sister and I had a conversation and it went
something like this. We ended up not really saying anything at all
like most of our conversations these days.

God can keep your soul. Let me bury you there in paradise. In no
particular place in paradise. In your claustrophobic world where you
were so cold. You, white knight death cutie on parade. It’s the little
deaths in pixels from childhood that is as nutritious and forgetful as
dreaming. These days everything is crisper. Images are sharper and
brighter. The ‘less is more’ syndrome is in a minority. Even refugees
and the Masai seem to agree with me with their toothpick limbs and the
wounded sensibility they look at me with. ‘I am not responsible I want
to say,’ but I want to say something, anything really to make this
dark, dark feeling go away when I see these scenes. It’s just not fair
and then the world seems to agree with me but not enough.

(And now what about the men). Of course, the men are in secret code so
they can never be discovered out. In a mirror I see a wife (always a
fretful wife with screaming, crying babies). ‘Poor babies,’ I enjoyed
saying and why didn’t he love his beautiful wife more and why was I
the chosen one. I couldn’t really see why inexperience was so sexy.
There is nothing barren about this man’s ego. But his hands always
felt cold. He had dark, dark hands; skin like velvet and even his eyes
were dark. They were always so full of concern for me. I pretended it
was wonder. Living your life and moving forward is the easy part. It
is the forgetting that
is the hardest. I can put a face to a name, city, and occupation. I
remember. It is all in the details.

I don’t want to meet these men in heaven or in any place else. The men
with all that sadness, rage and perfect-wonder in their eyes. All
their faces look the same to me and after all this time I did not step
back from the picture and say I forgive this and I forget that. They
look at me and as if to say, ‘You too had a role in this. A part to
play in all that drama.’ The drama felt quite useless to me on the one
hand and like banana jazz in my head on the other. ‘You’re quite mad,
you know.’ One man told me but he couldn’t exactly look me in the eye.
So, I bravely posed in mask after mask after mask. Another man
preferred ‘the girl’. Well, that was his thing. He didn’t want
educated, intelligent or smart. He didn’t want cute. He wanted
‘the girl’.

He wanted a pure, angelic face in tight jeans. He wanted obedience. He
wanted to be put on a pedestal and worshiped. And so, I did all that.
I couldn’t quite understand why because I could make conversation but
he never wanted to talk and understand how claustrophobic I felt
sometimes just being in his presence. It felt completely otherworldly
to me. This thing called love or rather, ‘the affair’. It didn’t
exactly feel like romance to me. No, there was nothing romantic about
it. I feel a great deal of shame because I did not listen to my heart.
A heart that was telling me his wife meant a great deal more to him
than I did and even on a certain primeval level his wife’s body meant
a great deal more to him. She had given him children.

Any woman who can do that is a queen. Queens do not keep secret
diaries and Croxley black notebooks with red spines detailing
seductions and dalliances with the opposite sex. Sometimes I love
those notebooks. I have them. I have kept something back, a part of
their spirit and their joy for living and maybe they kept a part of my
spirit too (oh, I know that is wishful thinking). And this is what a
female writer, any female writer does. Ah, she thinks too much for her
own good. She has memories to write up into stories, laughter that she
has kept spirited away for far too long because no one has been there
to make her laugh and there’s poetry too. Perhaps not easy on the eye
because it is meant for people who actually enjoy reading sonnets
out loud for fun? What are memories for if not for assassinations, pretend?

And he had built the house they all lived in (the one, big, happy and
boisterous family). But since this is my secret diary it is just
between you and me. Nobody else has to know especially my father. I
don’t want him to think differently about me and the life I chose give
or take a few years ago because I am not that person anymore. And I
don’t believe that time heals. When people say that it is as if
there’s something specific to time. There’s nothing specific about
time and even clarity doesn’t even figure into it. I can ask my
ancestors why I’ve never been lucky in love. Why I’ve failed so
dismally in that department (much too much of a
daddy’s girl)? I can say I will never give my heart way again but I
don’t believe that.

I usually fall in love up to three times a day or more. Men move me.
Delicate men move me even more. This generation of youth, of women
wastes love. They fail to see it as a commodity, as a spiritual
property
and gift.

In the mornings when I am hungry, I have my breakfast, usually toast
spread with margarine. And I make myself some tea. Just toast (brown
bread toasted in the oven like in the old days). I smile when I think
to myself that I am from the old days now. I wake up earlier and
earlier and go to bed later and later. It feels good to be thirty-two.
I don’t feel it (old, stale, as if I was coming into a rut, the state
of the nation, the world my generation found themselves in) when it
was my birthday. Now that the next one is around the
corner I am feeling it.

It’s feels like an effort this morning to make a hardboiled egg or one
scrambled into bits. I have my toast with jam this morning. I think of
him and everyday it doesn’t hurt less, it hurts more. I’ve given up on
humanity. What I see on the news or the little I read in the
newspapers terrifies me. It scares me half to death. The suffering
children in Asia, Africa, (they’re just babies), unemployed youth,
strikers protesting, marching. I see the desolation of poverty. How it
isolates people from the mainstream of society. What is relevant to me
in society is not relevant to the media. They write what sells and it
is usually salacious material. Here today, gone tomorrow or the next
week until it comes back as an update or haunts you when you least
expect it.

It is funny how the mind can play tricks on you especially when you’re
over thirty, reaching that point of middle age. The news often pins
down the status of refugees, painting the women with their children,
food aid flown in from abroad, white tent after white tent in a field
of white tents and again there are stories of orphans. It never seems
to end. We’re capable of many, many things. God can keep your soul and
man will take and take everything else.

Magical Realism, Tough Issues, and the Graphic Novel Form

In this brief essay, I would like to share about two books that have recently been published that struck my interest. I love how, in the middle of a perfectly mundane narrative that initially feels like a typical text, creative authors and artists interject unexpected characters and moments to take the story to new places.

One example of this is the graphic novel, Lizard in a Zoot Suit, written and illustrated by Marco Finnegan (Graphic Universe, 2020). The book is set to be released May 5 in the United States and features a canary yellow motif that carries through its panels. The story is set in the early 1940s and brings the sense of place to the read, in part by the way characters are depicted, but also in part by the way language takes shape around ethnicity. This includes what the author calls “animosity toward Mexican Americans,” (p. 137). In the midst of this racial tension, a character enters the scene who serves as a kind of help or guide.

Of course, given the title of the graphic novel, that character happens to be a lizard, who is often drawn in a zoot suit. The fanciful addition to the story helps the author take on a critical topic and do so in way that is illustrative and unexpected.

Working in a similar yet different fashion, artist and author David Jesus Vignolli has recently published the book New World (Archaia, 2019). The color scheme of this book begins in a style that almost resembles parchment and alludes to a historic time period and realistic figures. When a character encounters the new world, we see it blazing in green in his eyes in a series of panels that close in like camera frames.

By the time we reach the next page, the colors of this new world have exploded in a rich spread and soon enough we realize that, though the themes of captivity and imperialism are present in the book, the inclusion of elements like a giant parrot which the characters can ride on lends a fanciful sense to the text.

Ironically, both of these books take on issues of tension and racial oppression, and do so in a way that invites elements that open the reader up to the central message of depicting a history of ill treatment of groups of people. What is accomplished with the inclusion of magical realism does not, at least for me, deaden that message, but rather seems to say:

See what a world this is? See how people have treated one another, and continue to treat one another? This world is different, but it is also our own.

It’s a message that I appreciate in this visual medium, and it is both textually and ethically compelling.

From Puerto Vallarta to the Next War

By:  Norman J. Olson

Monday, March 2, 2020, Mary and I walked one block down McKnight Road to where the 74 bus runs.  We caught the bus around 8 am and made it to the airport to catch the direct flight from MSP to Puerto Vallarta… a good friend was getting married there on Friday, March 7, and we wanted to spend a few days enjoying the warm Mexican sun…  we stayed at a small hotel near downtown that wound up being a lot of fun…  it had lovely clean and well maintained rooms and a nice bathroom…  the reviews on line said the beds were comfortable and breakfast was included, so in the morning before we left for the airport, we booked the hotel… 

Puerto Vallarta is in the same time zone as MSP, even though it is on the Pacific coast of Mexico and flying in over the green and lush looking Sierra Madre mountains, the big jet swoops down over the coastal plane, over scattered squares of fields and lands at the smallish Puerto Vallarta airport… leaving the airport is a mad crush of people, nervous tourists, intense time share sales people, taxi touts, bus touts, and assorted waiting people… turning to the left from the airport building, it is just a five minute walk to the bus stop…  for ten pesos (about $.50), the bus goes the short 4 or 5 miles, past the cruise port, past the fancy shopping mall, past Walmart and Sam’s club to the area where the fancy resort hotels start…  and after a half hour or so of bumpy cobblestones, we got off the bus two blocks from our hotel…  the hotel had a tiled lobby with a small reception desk…  we got to our room with the help of an ancient bell person and found it very nice if a bit small, just as the reviews had said…

we strolled around the area a bit and looked at the shops on our way a couple blocks to Pepe’s Tacos which was said to have excellent tacos al pastor…  we found Pepe’s to be a small unpretentious local eatery with a huge al pastor roll on a rotisserie in front of a fire and so, we got the tacos al pastor which were delicious along with a plate of onions grilled in a salty sauce (soy sauce??)…  the young men serving were friendly and full of good humor and it was a super fun meal…  we went back twice during our visit…    as we have gotten older, travel sort of wears us out, so we were ready to sleep after our amazing dinner…  the next day, we did some shopping and walked to the fancy hotel that we were moving to on Thursday, just to see what it was like…  nobody seemed to care, so we spent the afternoon sitting in their beach chairs looking at the ocean… 

in the downtown area, restaurants were everywhere and every one we tried was very good…  Mexican food is one of the world’s great cuisine and even in modest restaurants, the Mexican people seem to enjoy making and sharing their specialized spicy and delicious dishes…  one night, I had a lovely red snapper fresh caught and grilled over a wood fire with rice, vegetables and amazing fiery salsa… and we spent one evening on the Malecon which is a waterfront embarcadero that faces the sea and runs for about a mile across the front of the downtown area…  locals and tourists mingle to watch the sunset and patronize the many bars and restaurants that look out over the beach… 

on Thursday, we moved to a much larger and fancier resort hotel and our two daughters joined us…  from the eighth floor room, we had a gorgeous view of the entire Bahia de Banderas which is a large semicircular bay bounded by blue green mountains with Puerto Vallarta in the middle…  the fancy resort hotel was a large beige tile, open air lobby leading out to brick paths through the landscaped grounds of rich tropical plants and palm trees to an enormous sprawling series of swimming pools surrounded by very nice restaurants and bars and ending with a couple dozen large thatched umbrellas in a roped off area for residents (like me LOL) to lazy to do anything else, to sit in the shade, watch the surf roll in and read, or in my case work on drawings…  I have been told that all of the beaches in Mexico are open to the public so that the hotels cannot have their roped off, private grounds extend closer that about 67 feet from the high water mark…  so, as you sit there in the shade, there is a constant parade of people with all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs to sell…  but they are not allowed on the hotel territory, so  they walk along outside the ropes…  many of them will have cases full of fake silver jewelry and you will see hawkers holding up all kinds of table cloths, blankets, sarongs and sombreros… 

on Friday, we walked to the even fancier hotel where the wedding was…  we had arranged a day pass so we could attend the wedding and hang out with our friends who were there…  the wedding was beautiful, on a paved courtyard next to one of the swimming pools and looking over the beach…  the bride was lovely in a creamy dress and the groom seemed calm in a blue guayabera shirt…  we then had a nice dinner at the buffet topped off with tres leches wedding cake…  the next day we also spent at that resort visiting with our friends although I actually slipped away to a shady spot on the beach to finish my drawings…

Sunday, we spent back at the resort where we were staying with a meal at another amazing restaurant just a few short blocks from the resort…  on Monday, we flew back home… 

this is a week where all the news in the US is about the spread of the Coronavirus…  we did not see any sign of it during this trip…  usually, I avoid political comments altogether… but, this pandemic seems to have such a large political dimension, that it requires comment… also, I worry about all of the workers in the US and around the world who are losing their incomes due to the spread of this disease and the lack of tourism which is the main income for people in many parts of the world…

whatever the outcome of this particular pandemic, it seems to me idiotic that it caught the United States so completely off guard that as a I write this, all the news is about how we are scrambling to get together materials and resources which we may need if the epidemic gets seriously worse in the United States…  it seems to me that our governmental priorities are pretty much wrong and that a few simple changes would make this a much better place to live and vastly improve our ability to deal with threats to our health and well being…  they say that you get the kind of government you want and deserve and neither party in the USA seems to me to be headed in the right direction…

if it is true that our public money is limited, as most politicians claim it is and must be, then the roll of our elected officials is mostly to determine what that limit is and then allocate the public money available to our prioritized needs…  the United States’ military budget is in the neighborhood of eight hundred billion US Dollars per year…  people seem to have no problem with spending this vast amount of money to see that we have an enormous military force available if we should need it…  even though, generally, we do not need to use much of it and what we do use of it is often wasted on controversial and not very productive campaigns…  forty million dollars of that military budget is now allocated to a space force, on the vague possibility that we are somehow militarily threatened from space… 

I could do a long and detailed analysis to show that three fourths of this budget is totally unnecessary in today’s world and seems to exist for no other reason than to give military contractors big fat contracts…  indeed, we spend more on military than most of the rest of the world put together… 

presumably all of this military readiness is to protect us if a war should come…  and we are willing to pay for it even if there is not a big war going on and hasn’t been one in seventy years because we somehow believe that this bloated military prevents war (I would argue that military spending leads to, if not big wars, at least endless small wars)… 

anyway, I would suggest that most of this money wasted on the military be diverted to spending on domestic projects to make Americans happier and healthier…  including a vastly upscaled medical establishment to provide extra capacity so that when we are again threatened by medical catastrophe, we will be able to mobilize a vast army of care givers to fight against disease and the privations disease causes around the world…  we can do better and we should do better…

amidst the horror of a World War I battlefield, a poet named Wilfred Owen wrote a poem about the soldier’s acquaintance with death and finished on a hopeful note that I think we should take to heart… 

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier’s paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed, – knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

(Wilfred Owen was killed in action 7 days before the armistice that ended that horrible, brutal and unnecessary war)  the “greater war” is here now…  we have had 101 years to learn the lesson taught by Mr. Owen’s poem…  can we rise to the challenge?  can we put aside greed and fear and proudly fight together as human beings against our old enemy death “for lives, not men for flags…”

Si…! Animals are Companions Too!

I had moved into my own beautiful apartment… the cleanest and the most modern I ever had… Finally my own place…! as I dreamed to have.  It was spacious with great natural light… and often a quiet place.

Silence, silence was my companion after every busy work day…

Silence, Silence, silence began to invade my emotions creating a sense of loneliness

My dream apartment! My favorite place without people… and without animals… Surprisingly, it became occasionally a place of sadness!

Then came Tito…! And soon later Chiquis…the most playful and noisiest Chihuahuas I ever met… the silence, the seldom sadness and the sense of being physically alone soon disappeared.

 Si…! Animals are companions and a special gift… Silence… became none existent… and after 8 years silence is often a wonderful opportunity.  

Announcements: Synchronized Chaos Magazine will have a presence at the upcoming Association of Writing Programs conference this year in San Antonio, TX. We’re hosting a panel discussion with Kristen Caven, Terry Tierney, Martha Clark-Franks, Jessica Delgado and Kenneth Garcia on how shared reading experiences can spark societal conversations on how to live in a changing world. This takes place Thursday March 5th at 6pm in room 311 of Our Lady of the Lake University and will be followed by an open mic.

Also, we are putting out a request for information on paying venues that could publish nonfiction essays from our regular contributor Chimezie Ihekuna. He’s got a piece on his journey to become a writer and another on self-love and body image issues related to those with disabilities. He’s raising cash to order a computer to type up and publish another book.

In this issue, Christopher Bernard reviews Cirque Eloize’s show Hotel, which suggests that a circus is like a hotel, with strange characters coming and going at different times in various places.

According to Buddhist teacher Venerable Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, our bodies are like guest houses for our minds. We know that bodies are impermanent – we don’t stay alive forever and new creatures are always being born. On another level, our minds can be thought of as guest houses for various thoughts, ideas from the world around us or from within ourselves.

Several contributors grapple with ideas that enter our minds and how we process them.

Mark Young’s poems reflect the way we think. They begin with quotes from famous people and move to a free-association phase, with subsequent lines loosely reminiscent of the topic or style of the quote.

Samantha Melamed’s poetry poses the question of how we’ll respond to the weight of our many human feelings. Mahbub depicts passions within nature and the human heart and points to religious faith as a mediator, calming the feelings by providing an external focus.

Chimezie Ihekuna’s relationship column conveys his resolve to practice chastity before marriage to prepare himself to have the discipline to respect the boundaries of his eventual relationship. He’s made a decision to accept and live by the teachings of his faith, for personal as well as religious reasons.

Abigail George offers up an emotional response to Sola Osofisan’s short story collection Blood Will Call. Her review draws out the visceral nature of his themes and the characters’ perseverance despite suffering, while asking the open question of why the global literary world hasn’t noticed the male Nigerian luminaries alongside the few women from the country who have become famous.

Ahmad Al-Khatat’s poetry reflects strength and determination to move forward in life despite sorrow.

Elizabeth Hughes’ monthly Book Periscope column reviews five titles about heroic journeys undertaken in response to personal or societal crises: Elika Ansari’s Seacity Rising, Jason Barden’s The Spitting Post, Glenn Peterson’s The Girl from Copenhagen and Jodi Dee’s The Little Green Jacket and The Dirt Girl. In the last titles, the journeys are a bit more metaphorical with smaller personal stakes, yet the underlying issues, and underlying people, matter.

Federico Wardal elucidates the contributions to Egyptian and international society President Mubarak made during his time in office and how he was remembered at his funeral. We’re aware Mubarak was a controversial leader and encourage comments and a lively discussion of his legacy from the public!

Shelby Stephenson’s stylized poetry celebrates words, family and romantic love, and his American homeland. He shows how ordinary life can be approached as a craft, when considered in the right way.

In hotels, guests from all over can encounter one another for chance, serendipitous meetings. Several pieces reflect ‘encounters’ of this sort, connections among different people, groups, or ideas.

Norman J. Olson’s essay about his travels through Maui and London ends with a poetic call to bridge gaps among nations and peoples through travel. Many of Olson’s essays deal with appreciating art from centuries ago, so he’s also crossing divides of time as well as space.

Michael Agee presents a wall that unites rather than dividing, a space for a mural that invites creativity and imagination.

Claudio Parentela’s artwork, which illustrates this editorial letter, depicts characters precariously balanced on wires or in unusual positions, as if between vastly different ideas.

Daniel DeCulla renders Orwell’s novel Animal Farm, about power struggles and becoming the bully one has defeated, into an illustrated fable. Humor here satirizes the unfair and absurd rather than entertaining readers, as he engages with writing from yesteryear.

Jaylan Salah’s poetry collection Workstation Blues incorporates experiences and encounters from her administrative day-job, reflecting her determination to pursue her creative projects even on a tight schedule.

J.J. Campbell’s pieces illustrate how despair can feed on itself, shrinking our imaginations so that we are even less able to conceive of alternatives to isolation and pain. Marc Carver’s pieces portray our human need for companionship and the lengths we go to in order to avoid loneliness.

Michael Robinson graces us with short pieces about human connection, memory and care inspired by his fellow patients during his visit to a nursing home last year.

Thank you for checking into this month’s issue of Synchronized Chaos! May you enjoy your stay.

The death of President Mubarak: a story that interests us all.

 by Federico Wardal

This is Federico Wardal’s perspective. We’re aware Mubarak was a controversial leader and encourage comments and a lively discussion of his legacy from the public!

 ——–

 On February 25, the former President of the Arab Republic of Egypt Mohammed Hosni Mubarak died at the age of 91.  “Commander of enormous value in the Egyptian Air Force and hero in the October war against Israel, he restored the dignity and pride of the Arab nation of Egypt.  A three-day mourning period is proclaimed across the country starting on Wednesday 26 February “(from press release by  the Presidency of the Arab Republic of Egypt).  

Mubarak has been a very important figure in our extremely complicated world history characterized by the growing speed and danger of events connected for better or worse also to the technological development of mass communication.  After the 1973 war with Israel, Egypt is in constant economic growth, tourism is flourishing as well as trade, investment, construction, industry, culture, art.  With Mubarak, the stability of the country and peace are guaranteed.  This, however, is in conflict with ten-year foreign political plans in which Egypt enters as a victim.  But the diplomatic ability of Mubarak and his staff with the great powers are genius  and in addition to safeguarding Egypt they determine an action of world peace.  

The country becomes a cornerstone of Human and Women’s and Children’s Rights thanks also to the courageous action of First Lady Mrs. Suzanne Mubarak who created new hospitals  for children and also for this reason was called   “Mubarak mother” from the Egyptians.  Moushira Khattab, in the Mubarak government, has a strict law against Female Genital Mutilation promulgated.  

With the reopening of the legendary Bibliotheca Alexandrina, where all human knowledge was kept, Egypt returns to being the world capital of culture, as it had been until the time of Queen Cleopatra VII ( 30 b.C. ) . On 16 October 2002 the enormous ultra-modern building of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina (www.bibalex.org) was inaugurated in the presence of heads of state and royals from all over the planet and Mubarak and Mrs. Mubarak, who is its president, are acclaimed by  all.  Alexandria in Egypt returns to its former glory.  Its universities flourish.  Cultural, scientific and educational exchanges have a worldwide reach. Poetry is strongly promoted.   Bibliotheca Alessandrina reaches millions of visitors per year, but there is one very important detail: the Aswan declaration that founded Bibliotheca Alexandrina has the support of all the countries of the world, including Israel and Palestine.  Such a fact is unique in the history of world peace, dialogue, cooperation, development, civilization.

Mubarak establishes excellent relations with Israel.   Despite all this, pre-established foreign political plans are progressing and as expected for a number of years on September 11, 2001 the tragedy happens in NYC and the whole Arab world is being put in a bad light.  In reality, the global opening of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina had been scheduled in October of that same year and everything is canceled and postponed to the following year, as written.  The black clouds of NYC are programmed to spread other tragedies around the world and especially in the Arab world.  The NY tragedy is part of the “Arab Spring” program to be implemented over 10 years (2001-2011).  Mubarak continues his peace policy.  

He even acts with generosity towards members of the Egyptian aristocracy, often giving financial reimbursements for the assets confiscated from them during the 1952 revolution that brought about the fall of the Egyptian royal dynasty, dethroning King Farouk. ( As well as President El Sisi gave recently a diplomatic passport to the king Farouk son Fuad II of Egypt ) . In 2005, Mubarak, first among the presidents of Egypt, introduced Christian holidays for the benefit of millions of Egyptian Christians.  But the “Arab Spring” program must be carried out and despite Mubarak’s action for total religious tolerance, many Christians are victims of terrorist attacks.  And here in 2010 fall Tunis and its president and then Libya with Gaddafi.  The plan calls for the fall of Mubarak and Egypt.  

In 2011 there are presidential elections in Egypt and the Muslim Brotherhood is unleashed against Mubarak and the military who have ruled the country since the 1952 revolution. But without the military , peace is no longer guaranteed.  The manipulation of information, especially via Face Book, ignites, propagates and feeds the revolution in the country.  Mubarak resigns on 11 February 2011. The Muslim Brotherhood begins to kill everywhere in the country whose economy also collapses due to the sudden total disappearance of tourism.  The shops previously full of all goods are empty.  Egypt is isolated, immersed and surrounded by the neighboring and neighboring countries destroyed by the Arab Spring.  

The nights of Cairo and Alexandria, always crowded, are now empty.  Curfew reigns.  Egypt loses its face.  A permanent cordon of students defends Bibliotheca Alexandrina.  But the Egyptians are beginning to realize that the Muslim Brotherhood are just killing mercenaries and people are shouting at them: “you are not Egyptians, you are not Muslims, go away!”  A counter revolution in the revolution.  Cairo is sacked and violence, intense as never seen before, explodes.  Mubarak is imprisoned and his name removed everywhere.  Mohammed Morsi proclaims himself president, but after a year of struggle, Egypt rises up against him, because he is aware of the game that leads to the total destruction of the country and unanimously proclaims Abdel Fattath El Sisi as president, military like Mubarak on 8 June  2014.  El Sisi must rebuild Egypt and its economy and build a new arm of the Suez canal in just three months! An absolute record in history.  Egypt, in less than a year from the total catastrophe, regains its face, but the Egyptians, shocked, do not realize it.  

Some terrorist attacks against Christians and even Muslims, but heroically Egypt challenges everything and everyone and terrorism is severely repressed.  Mubarak is released and the new generations begin to appreciate the absolute guarantee of peace obtained thanks to Mubarak for thirty years.  Mubarak hasn’t changed.  He always has the kindness, intelligence and determination that characterize him at every meeting.  Mubarak above all loves his country more and more and helps him as he can, always making available his great experience.

 The country continues its growth, despite the serious economic injuries and the development programs started with the Mubarak government are being implemented as the strengthening of the metropolitan networks of Cairo (22 million inhabitants) and the creation of the immense modern New Cairo in the area of  new modern and huge international airport.  But the great news will come in June and we will talk about it extensively.  This is the opening of the majestic museum of Giza, in the area of ​​the three pyramids and sphinx.  A great contribution to this realization was given by the Egyptian archaeologist Zaki Hawass, living legend, of which we will speak soon.  President El Sisi, proclaiming three days of national mourning for the death of former President Mubarak, surely and completely met the wishes of the Egyptian people. Mubarak smiles happily at his Egypt and the world.