She stood at the edge of the abyss, the blinding darkness engulfing her, enticing her. It would be easy to let go, to wither away and join him. Her arms felt numb, and her powerful legs were weak. Violent tremors traveled up and down her body. A small compelling hand, wet with tears, tugged on her arm. “What will we do now?” a quavering voice whispered. She opened her eyes. The sky was a cerulean blue, and the blazing sun was beating on her torn straw hat, casting a slender shadow on the spring green rice fields. Her rapid heart was calmed by a wind that caressed her cheek. To her dead husband, to her children, to Vietnam, she dropped the condolence letter, and with her feet firmly planted on the ground, said, “We will live.”

To say it was easy is an understatement. Raising five kids as a single mother, in a country where women are expected to be docile, seemed infeasible. “I was taught at a young age that men were the head of the household, they were the heroes of the family,” Diep Ngo, aged 80, recalls sadly, her eyes distant. “I felt helpless. My brothers were charting new paths, while I was still, unable to move.” With a suppressed sob, Ngo recounts that at the twilight hour, she would drown with dark thoughts, but every morning when the sun rose, they would be vanquished. The roosters were the reveille that awakened her slumber, her empty stomach was the battle cry, and the last words of hope from her departed beloved, the mantra that carried her on. 

The war took its toll on the civilians of Vietnam; it was a disease that plagued families with deaths and injuries. Young girls were jailbirds, kept busy looking after their younger siblings, torn rags their striped attire and restrictions the bars of their prison. Dreams were locked away, replaced by the basic needs crucial to survival. Even so, when asked if she would take part in the war that claimed her husband, Ngo, her mouth in a straight line and her eyes ablaze, adamantly nodded. Raising both arms until her fists were level with her head, she mustered a grimace. Her nose crinkled and teeth bared, but her eyes sparkled with humor. “Do you think anyone would’ve thought twice about taking me on?”

Scraping bits and pieces of broken memories from her childhood, Ngo recalls that the only freedom she truly had was that from the pressures of education. “I never did well in school. Women were not expected to accomplish anything, so it was highly unusual for a women to achieve higher education.” Now, it seems clear that this supposed freedom transformed itself into another burden upon her shoulders, for she had to take on menial tasks when drafted into the position of “man.” For the first time in her life, she left the cage built by the patriarchal society and refused wealthy suitors. “They were bloated with pride… I would never submit to any man like that.” Ngo was ridiculed by her neighbors as a result, but she felt a strange sensation, absent from her life ever since the fateful, disappointed sigh that accompanied the doctor declaring her gender 80 years ago: the jewel of independence.

“As their father was gone, I had to step into the role of the provider. Oh, what a burden it was, but the power and purpose it gave me fueled the sleepless nights.”

Before the age of 30, her long, black hair turned a platinum gray, and impending wrinkles scarred her face as the war robbed her of youth. A moment to weep or reconcile with memories of loved ones was lost in the present.

“Losing my husband was truly hard, but myself, and other women of Vietnam, had to choke back grief and look to the future,” she remarked. Leaving the house militarily before the sun rose and coming back well after the crescent moon silently loomed in the sky, the only thing Ngo regrets is not spending as much time with her children. But, what she had to do was necessary, as every day was a battle. Even so, how could she explain to them the rough calluses on her hands, which toiled tirelessly, tending the infested wounds left after the hungry bullets pierced the heart of Vietnam? How could she explain yet another outline of a large palm on her red cheek, this time from an angry customer, unsatisfied by the knee-length trousers she had spent all night mending?

Through it all, she remained an eternal warrior, whose struggles rivaled those of men fighting raging wars. Diep Ngo battled gender inequality and injustice, all while leading her family through desperate times. An old poem by Xuân Diệu filled her thoughts as America, the land of rebirth and opportunities, slowly emerged on the horizon: “Your feet have hardly tread round this way… Open your arms to clasp the spring, then from your hand let there be light” (translated by Thomas D. Le). And for the first time since her husband’s death, she welcomed the moist tears, for the valiant soldier’s burden had been lifted. Her dauntless mission was complete. 

I’m forever grateful for her valiant decision to bypass social stereotypes and become a sort-of soldier, leading her family to survival, to new opportunities, to an education, to happiness, to America. It’s a natural, humane feeling that is respectful of the wisdom, the strength, and the sacrifices of the old. Every evening, after the tiring cycle of school, I retreat back into my place of comfort: my grandmother’s arms, and for the past 17 years, her past life was but a false, beautiful painting, rid of pain and hardships and suffering. That one night, under a blanket of softly twinkling stars, I retraced her hands, touching them, caressing them, tracing her old, calloused, scarred fingers and her bulging veins, to finally realize the truth: that there was so much I didn’t know about my hero.

We woke at the thud, panicked.

My wife and I had been dozing in bed, squeezing the last seconds of sleep out of our pillows before the inevitable onslaught of little people. It’s something of a delicious defeat when you hear the door creak open and steps on the carpet. You know you’re trading something so precious to you (sleep) for someone so precious, who you just wish would be precious elsewhere. But then they’re all warm and soft and tousle-headed and snuggly and saying things like “daddy, can we have special cereal?” and poking their knees into your side and sitting on your face with a full diaper and sticking cold toes into your armpits.

This morning they didn’t get to do all those precious, horrible things to us because we woke up to the sound of something thwacking against our window. After shaking off the confusion (no, it’s not a child on the roof; they can’t reach the window), I recalled why I knew the sound. It was a bird. And from the sound, a pretty sizable one.

I said as much to my wife, as I tried to open my eyes but managed only a half-squint. She half-muttered sympathy, as if she cared deeply inside but couldn’t get past the early morning fog. I added that since it was a big bird, it probably got away a little dazed, no harm done. I tried to find her to give her a reassuring pat, but I was too drowsy and missed completely. I also couldn’t pry my eyelids open still; they ached a little, as if I hadn’t used them for a week instead of approximately six hours.

I’ve read that birds, reptiles, and some mammals have something called a nictitating membrane, a third eyelid that acts as a translucent shield when they are diving or flying. They can draw it horizontally across each eye to moisten and protect it. For instance, many birds use it when they are regurgitating food for their kids so they don’t get their eyes poked out by little beaks.

I think of things like this when I’m abruptly disturbed from sleep. Things like this, and demonic children’s songs that will not be exorcised for hours.

We turned over and buried ourselves in the blankets for three more minutes before the precious, horrible people came and got us.

Nadia was playing hopscotch out on the sidewalk later in the morning when she found the bird. Robins are always the first birds my children encounter and remember. It was easy for her to name the body she stumbled upon, one story below our window, and quite dead. We had a little flurry of don’t-touch-that’s and daddy-is-it-going-to-be-okay’s, and I managed to deposit it into a small terrarium for them to look at. Animals can die of diseases communicable to humans, but this one died upon impact, and it was still warm. So the kids and I examined it carefully.

It was larger than any bird I’d seen this close. The wings were tucked in beside its impossibly light body. Many of its bones were hollow, for ease of flight. The neck was at a weird angle, a wrong angle. The death in front of me was at a wrong angle. It always has been, but it just felt much more wrong suddenly, because it was also in front of my children. Blood speckled its beak, a dark decoration above the warm red tinges on its chest.

I realized that it was a young one, probably a teenager in robin years. Its feathers were perfect, straight and sleek, pinions just slightly larger and smaller on each side, forming beautiful strong wings. And the roses on the sides under the wings were just barely forming up into a speckled breast. It was about the size of an adult but without the experience, which is why it probably hit our window.

One eye was slightly open and looking like black jelly, like it would spill out of the socket as liquid if you tipped the bird over slightly. The other eye was closed. This teenage robin had eyelashes on the under-lid. It had whiskers. Its feet were curled and delicate.

It was too beautiful. It was too sad.

Nadia was watching me. She told me she was sorry that it died because she could see the sadness in my eyes; but I wasn’t really mourning after the bird. We touched its wings, feeling its perfect form beneath our fingers: the surreal softness, the preciousness of a young fleeting life snuffed out. Not a sparrow falls but that He sees it. God saw this.

Woodpeckers will close their nictitating membrane, then tighten it a millisecond before they hit the tree so that their eyeballs don’t fall out on impact. Perhaps we need similar shields.

Only a few days earlier we had discovered a young robin hopping around the pine tree down in the yard. We took pictures. The kids enjoyed watching it hop around. There was a hawk above, circling around, and I like to think we saved that little robin’s life. There was a little one then, alive and bouncing, and then a bigger one, dead and stiff.

God saw this.

What is it about seeing that is comforting? Wouldn’t catching the sparrow be more comforting? Wouldn’t solving the problem, ending the great horror – death – wouldn’t this be a more lasting comfort? You see me, God. You see my children. But if you were to let them fall…

Sharks close their third eyelid when they attack. This way they can see their victims without getting blood in their eyes.

Kai got out of the house when he was only one year old. We noticed when it was too quiet. He had slipped out the screen door moments after I arrived home from work, and neither Linnea nor I had seen him. I locked the door. It was five minutes before we noticed he was gone, and in those five minutes he was down the outer stairs of the apartment building and toddling along the street.

The terror in my heart: I was running down the sidewalk in my dress slacks, socks, and undershirt, desperately looking for my son, expecting to see him lying in the street, expecting to be one of those parents we pray for, expecting to live with the knowledge that we didn’t see him, we didn’t see him, and then it was too late to see him…

He liked stairs, so he had kept to the house side of the sidewalk, and a kind and observant couple had pulled over and were with him four houses down when I ran up. The man was on the phone with the police, and I heard him say, “Oh never mind, it’s okay. The father’s here.” I thanked them, breathless, and held my son, and held him walking back, and held him up the stairs, and held him for another hour until he didn’t want to be held anymore, promising him I would see him, always, I would see him.

God saw this. How can I say it differently, to ease the pain? God sees… me?

If we mourn this way, how must God mourn at all He sees, at all the flickering lights snuffed out, the bruised reeds broken, the sheep silent before the shearer? Death is nothing new to Him, and in fact, He knows it as an old friend, an old foe, better than us all.

Today, this day, my children are alive and real, perfect in form and surreally soft. They are the preciousness of young life, fleeting, and my God sees them. Lest you think me morbid, think on why this is precious, why as a parent, as a child, as a human I am determined to cherish this thing we call life, why I must defend it for those I love, why death is such an aberration and a destiny and a defeated foe. The thought of death is morbid, maybe, but so is the thought of life without the thought of death. For now, we need both. And God sees us, in both.

God sees us.

Peregrine falcons see too, because as they dive at over 200 miles per hour, they blink their nictitating membranes repeatedly to clear away the debris and clean each eye.

In the midst of holding onto my family’s break-neck life, I find that I am unable to bring myself to accept such a thing as death, and yet… I know that it’s what I must do, for we will all encounter it, sooner or later. This dark thing I wish to dismiss by forgetting, or fighting, or examining on the operating table of a small terrarium: Death will come for us all.  I know, in my spirit, it is good – a gift given so that our difficult, fallen lives will not last forever, but it will never lose its dread, even when it has lost its sting. And perhaps I will embrace it as a friend when more years have passed beneath my feet, or perhaps I will embrace my Savior, and He will carry me through it into the place where it cannot enter.

And my heart holds its breath for all the times I must try to prepare my children for that moment – the one I feel certain I will never be fully prepared for, the one that God sees. I know I am actually only trying to prepare myself. I know it is not up to me, and I wish I could take more comfort in that. Perhaps someday I will. Every day is another reminder that I am not in control, and death is the great Out-of-My-Control.

But I know this. Each day that I walk in the sight of God, He will train my eyes, and my sight can be strengthened by seeing life and knowing it itself is but a shadow of the life to come.

Nadia, my little avian maven, knows that birds need nests. So she settles herself in a patch of fragrant clover and picks flowers as a pillow for the bird. She is kneeling in her pink flowered dress, a lily ringed with gingham, examining the ground and plucking appropriate stems carefully, precisely, preparing for burial. Perhaps, preparing for flight.

And I blink back a tear.

What makes this event unique compared to other attempts at bringing people together to celebrate our heritages, our cultures, and our languages? For me it is the spirit of the philosophical rationale underpinning the organizers of the event: the Horizon Educational Trust, the Gauteng Provincial Department of Arts, Culture and Recreation of South Africa, the South African-Turkish Business Association, and the Turquoise Harmony Institute. What do they share in common that helps them to run a festival of diversity?

First, the festival is deeply focused on the “the diamonds” of the show: namely, the youth, who are students from a range of Turkish schools across the globe who came to showcase their experiences of dialogue, sharing the riches of their own cultures while embracing the opportunities for self-growth, discovery, and development as they learned to speak a common language of respect and value. Yes, there were the perfunctory speeches from dignitaries and sponsors. Yes, the organizers emphasized the role of Turkey offering not just bilateral South Africa-Turkey relations, but also access into the worlds where Turkish conceptions were sowing seeds across the international community. Yes, there was a nod to providing awards to the Mandela family in recognition of his contribution to world peace. But these speeches did not dominate the program; it was clear that the unexpressed agenda of the organizers was directed not towards scoring political points or grandstanding. The event was an opportunity to learn from others through appreciating difference and viewing “others” not as potential threats, a waging of supremacist ideological battles, or the harmful promotion of political factions. We, as the audience, were spectators of a new world in gestation.

The simplicity and genuineness of the hosts came through on multiple levels, but especially in how they promoted the view that cultural dialogues are easily communicated beyond linguistic specifics. The universal languages of arts, music, and dance speak volumes. The festival program directors marked each individual presentation with an evocative introduction translating the songs they rendered and offering connection with the message of the colors of a rainbow world, enriched by our diversity. Whist they hinted at the countries of origin of the performers, they were careful not to set any one up as “exotic others” against some normative hegemony, or in a competitive ascendancy. Each performance was afforded a dignity in its own right and the young stars rose spectacularly to the occasion with confidence and committed expertise. They exuded that this was a festival, not a competition; a celebration of dialogue of selves, not egoistic performances.

Notably, the program was also consciously planned to bring different performers onto the same stage in simultaneous coupled or multiple-group renditions, showing that it is not uniqueness alone that is to be valued, but one’s ability to stand alongside, and in concert with, other perspectives and points of view. We saw Romanian and Georgian songstresses hold back-to-back performances with South African backing vocals. We were mesmerized by a heartfelt Whitney Houston song, “I Am Nothing Without You” performed by an Australian teenager wearing traditional Islamic dress. We witnessed the choral singing of Turkish and South African songs by enthusiastic students on a full stage. A duo of a lanky African American and a suave South African Durbanite executed a spirited “Stand By Me” performance. An elegant impersonation of Adele’s “Someone Like You” by a Catholic girl from the Philippines sent shivers down one spine and brought tears to most eyes:

I wish nothing but the best for you…

The penetrating, almost operative gusto of “Je t’aime” by a pint-sized French lass celebrated the wonderful potential young people possess. Mozambican sisters, and Netherlander siblings, and Madagascar soloist performers continued to show the spirit of the festival by singing in Portuguese, Dutch, and Turkish. Audience members fervently waved randomly distributed miniature flags from all participating countries. Each member of the audience was randomly assigned arbitrary custodianship of these nationalistic symbols. The “We are the World” popular mantra brought all solo performers alongside the whole starry cast in a memorable display of togetherness. A South African dance group exhibited their pot pourri of traditional Turkish folkdances. Local variations of kwaito music and gumboot dancers culminated in a costumed celebration of all performers: North, South, East, and West in a rousing reinterpretation of the Southern anthem, Shoholoza. A tribute from the whole student group to both Mahatma Gandhi (in Gurathi) and Nelson Mandela (in isiXhosa) demonstrated the lessons of these international icons of harmony and commitment to social justice, through quiet, yet powerful engagement and dialogue. The celebratory pictures of their historical lives, presented in a back-to-back sequence, were a tribute by themselves. What a collage of possibilities peppered with the spice of smiles!

The music genres spanned both traditional and modern forms. It was quite evident that the star performers (ranging in age from early to late teens) were selected as exemplars of exceptional artistry. Each performance was reinforced by graphic slides depicting scenes from the performers’ home countries. Natural fauna and flora, cultural and architectural monuments, and significant people or groups formed the worldwide educational tour via the panoramic backdrop visuals. Some graphics told visual stories of evolving forms and features of the worldwide community. The program saw the presentation of singers performing their own and other cultural languages. They adapted costume styles from different settings outside their home countries. The kaleidoscope that emerged was a festival of variety: where people of different groups exchanged dress styles, languages, and dance choreographs to communicate the possibility for the dialogical space that a new cultural movement can embrace.

South Africans are perhaps skeptical of this kind of multicultural celebration due to apartheid. In such a form of cultural celebration, different cultures are placed alongside each other as enclaved entities, highlighting the “boundaries” of one’s beliefs, a celebration of otherness. Such divergence produced a “multi-cultural” endeavor that promoted a political hierarchy of perspectives which took on racialized proportions with disastrous effects.

In present times however, many proponents of the “new era” of cultural affirmation in post-apartheid South Africa see cultural celebration as an attempt to assert a new regime of hierarchies with one cultural form replacing the previously powerful forms. This is also more often associated with the representations of political power which silence those who differ from the majority perspective, the new master narrative, or dominant worldview. How different is this from multi-cultural apartheid?

By contrast, the Turkish school movement inspired by the international Hizmet philosophy of “service to humanity” is characterized by a worldview that celebrates the interdependent common ground across all cultural expressions. Their outward manifestations may differ, but cultural representations highlight the similitude of our humanity, and our quest for dialogue, love, and tolerance. This is embodied by the writings and teachings of a key founder of the Hizmet Movement: Fethullah Gülen. In this version of “inter-culturalism,” the attempt is to develop individuals who are conscious of their own self and their heritage, but not in service of a protectionist or preservationist agenda. From this firm position of self-strength, one is able to reach out to the world of others. We see in others, too, our agenda for our common quests. Our reaching out is a service to realizing peace and harmony – which is a goal sorely needed in a war-torn, politicized and ideologized world, which often uses religious beliefs as rallying points for promoting hostility, supremacy, and divergence. Sometimes these separatist agendas are disguised econometric plots, too! Cultural affirmation is not a hearkening to a fossilized past, but a recognition that our habits and routines can mutate and extend through dialogue and exchange; our borders can be more inviting and more welcoming.

A third kind of cultural engagement is “juxta-culturalism” which merely tolerates different groups walking alongside each other, never interconnecting. This is sadly the lived experiences of many who pursue only a narcissist nationalistic myopic agenda, seeing only the boundaries of geography and politics as the border of their selfhood. This produces expressions of xenophobia which does not recognize the inherent commonality of all human beings. We are all created equal in the eyes of God. Our nationalist identity is only a man-made demarcation, dividing one set of people from another. It is more commonplace that many individuals in our modern global society, live outside the borders within which their forefathers were born. We may draw our cultural roots from one geographic space, but live in another context altogether.

Human history has been replete with stories of crossing borders, migrations due to the ravages of political, economic, or natural disasters. Not all of these journeys are tales of joy. More likely, the fragile settled communities interpret the visiting migrant culture as undercutting the nationalistic goals of their society. Open hostility is unfortunately sanctioned as the appropriate response to keep the outsiders from penetrating our “safe world.” So, which version of cultural affirmation did the festival of language and culture promote?

I think that a version of “trans-disciplinary culturalism” emerged as the young stars of the show interacted to generate a positive energy of harmony by crossing over to the other side. Their own past matters; they remained rooted on their own river banks. But they were confident enough to swim across to the other side. The young performers were firmly grounded in the here and now of the present 21^st century, with all its influences: technology, media, and new musical and art forms, which they transported across the global village. And they dared us to dream of the possibility of building a new, shared cultural world. Their message was simple: we are simultaneously of the past, in the present, and eager to create the future. This movement across time and space, culture and geography, history and identity, are not threatening but enriching.

One of my lasting impressions was the emotional image of students embracing each other at the end of the show: this was the world in dialogue with each other. They had made a connection with those around them that would live on in their lives for many years. They will become the ambassadors of the new world order. The official festival song reverberates:

I saw a luminous future in my dream one night.
Lights were silent pouring down everywhere.
It was like a harmoniously working clock.
Dark nights had gone away.
A new world!
A new world!
They were building a new world.
Everywhere sparkled like the skies.
They were building a new world.

After the ceremony, I chatted with a young 12 year-old Albanian youth to congratulate him on his commanding and welcoming stage performance. He simply smiled broadly.

“No English. Me speak no English.” He smiled and held my hand, clutching his Albanian costume in one hand, his proud flag in another, and his infectious energy pouring out. Despite his lack of English skills, he was able to communicate via his open-hearted spirit.

What a festival of cultures and languages! Not essentialized, but harmonized. It was an expression of joyous humanity.

And there we found our God.

But now I think: was he from Albania or Afghanistan? Why do I not know these countries and their foreign flags? But does it matter?

His heart sparkled.

Reflections on the “13^th International Festival of Languages and Culture”
www.iflc.co.za
“Colours of the world”
18 March 2015
Nelson Mandela Theatre, Braaamfontein, Johannesburg

Michael Anthony Samuel is a professor of education at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, School of Education, Durban, South Africa.

If young adults are educated before and throughout the marriage process, relationship deterioration can be prevented in the long run.

Marriage is a common and significant life event that has serious ramifications for prosperity. Since it is a more complex phenomenon than it looks, a significant percentage of marriages end with a divorce. Even though, recent statistics show that divorce rates are going down in the United States, this is due to the fact that young couples, unfortunately, are no longer taking the oath of commitment, resulting in distorted familial structures in our society. To combat this issue, scholars have put forth premarital education programs that dramatically contribute to healthy marriages and decrease the likelihood of divorce. Researchers report that “premarital education is significantly correlated with higher levels of marital quality, lower levels of marital conflict, and lower divorce rates” (Doss, Rhoades, Stanley, 2009).

As mentioned, spending a life with a stranger, and more importantly, cooperating with him or her to fulfill the promise of being a human is a much more complex task than it looks. Individuals take on much longer preparations for far simpler undertakings, such as getting a driver’s license or taking a college test. Thus, it is only fitting that couples seek premarital counseling before stepping into one of the more intricate roles in their life. One of the documented benefits of these premarital education programs is improving partners’ communication skills. Most of the marital problems stem from lack of awareness between couples, which can be improved with better communication. Because communication is a soft skill, it is often taken for granted and individuals do not take time to fine tune their communication skills. Pre-marital education programs partly focus on couple’s ability to communicate. When each partner is aware of the other’s needs and character, communication improves. According to a recent study analyzing 23 studies on the effectiveness of premarital counseling over the past 30 years, couples receiving counseling scored 30 percent higher on tests that rated communication effectiveness and marriage satisfaction (Carroll and Doherty 2003).

Based on the existent literature, the ultimate goal of premarital education is to guide youth and adults before they decide on marrying someone. That is, once a person contemplates on the idea of marriage and before deciding on the candidate, he or she should start meeting with a counselor. The completion of the education program will further help candidates in shaping their thoughts about the necessary commitments for a considerate marriage. Young people should consider both their hearts and minds when seeking a life partner. The individual’s choice of partner’s values is crucial to know and to take into consideration in this important decision process. Also, counseling could certainly enhance the characteristics needed in the marriage such as trust, loyalty, and faithfulness.

Another benefit of premarital counseling education is that individuals gain a better understanding of how to deal with conflicts that will inevitably occur in a marriage. For instance, economic and emotional difficulties are often probable and cause problems for couples. If young adults are educated beforehand and throughout the marriage process, relationship deterioration can be prevented in the long run.

Religious perspectives on marriage

From a religious perspective, marriage could be seen as one of the most important stages in a person’s life. For instance, many Muslims believe that marriage is essential and a strong tradition of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). Some even say that “marriage is half the religion” (Maqsood, 2000).

The value of marriage is emphasized in the Qur’an as follows: “And among His signs is this, that He created for you mates from among yourselves, that you may dwell in peace and tranquility with them, and He has put love and mercy between your (hearts): Verily in that are signs for those who reflect” (Qur’an 30:21). In this divine remark, not only is the power of marriage highlighted, but so is the equality of humans. In order to have a peaceful marriage, both partners need to be aware that they are created from the same source, and each partner has their own responsibilities to build a long-term union. Thus, verses in the Qur’an, and the main principles signified in other Holy Books, provide a foundation for prosperous marriages. The Bible also reflects the value of marriage in the following verse: “That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh” (Genesis 2:24).

Different forms of premarital counseling

There are many approaches to premarital education, but as Madison and Madison (2003) mention in their research, good premarital education should include 16 levels: life style expectations, friends and interests, personality match, communication, personal issues, religion/spirituality/values, problem solving, parenting, sexuality, extended family, financial issues, readiness, covenant/commitment, key problem indicators, families of origin, and dual careers.

The Prevention and Relationship Enhancement Program and Relationship Evaluation Questionnaire is a great example of a resource that helps enable partners to carry out successful marriages (PREP; Stanley et al. 1999). The authors surveyed 400 churches about marriage preparation. The counselor meets the clients privately and applied four personality scales which included assertiveness, self-confidence, avoidance, and dominance. Participants in this study also answered questions regarding the quality of their parents’ marriages. The results showed that conflicted couples are reported to have the highest divorce rate (Fowers et al. 1996).

In another study, couples completed the PREPARE assessment and ended up with greater improvement in relationship satisfaction (Druckman et. al. 1979). The studies all show that couples who applied their skills learned in premarital counseling had healthier marriages. As a result, educated couples experience less issues with miscommunication and are also not as prone to divorce.

The selected studies provide three important implications for counselors to emphasize in premarital programs. Accompanied with these programs, couples are given the opportunity to improve the communication skills necessary in problem solving, working as a team, and learning to forgive one another. Men and women could also bring these communication skills to their daily lives. Such programs can also help participants focus on the ultimate purpose of marriage. Often times, especially in the modern era, young people marry for purely physical reasons. But physical considerations alone are not sufficient to sustain a long lasting, healthy relationship. And, the ultimate purpose of marriage should be helping each other to fulfill the ultimate purpose of life, which is connecting with the Creator, knowing and worshiping Him. In conclusion, couples need to dedicate themselves to work together as a team, and work on the important milestones to strengthen their marriage. Comprehensive premarital counseling can help prepare them to do this work.

References

• Carroll, J. S. and Doherty, W. J. (2003), Evaluating the Effectiveness of Premarital Prevention Programs: A Meta-Analytic Review of Outcome Research. Family Relations, 52: 105–118.
• Druckman J. M., Fournier, D. G., Robinson, B., & Olson, D. H. (1979). Effectiveness of five    types of premarital preparation programs. St. Paul, MN: Family Social Science, University of Minnesota.
• Doss, B. D., Rhoades, G. K., Stanley, S. M., Markman, H. J., & Johnson, C. A. (2009) Differential use of premarital education in first and second marriages. Journal of Family Psychology,23, 268-273.
• Fowers, B. J., Montel, K. H., & Olson, D. H. (1996). Predicting marital success for premarital couple types based on PREPARE. Journal of Marital & Family Therapy, 22(1), 103-119.
• Genesis 2:24
• Madison, James K. and Lynda S. Madison, (2013). A review of Research-Based Interventions on Marriage Preparation. NY, 2013
• Maqsood, R. W. (2000). The Muslim marriage guide. Beltsville, MD:Amana Publications.
• Quran, 30:21.
• Stanley, S. M., Bloomberg, S. L., & Markman, H. J. (1999). Helping couples fight for their    marriages: The PREP approach. In M. T. Hannah (Ed.). Preventive approaches in couples therapy (pp. 279-303). Philadelphia, PA, US: Brunner/Mazel.

Basal ganglia subcircuits distinctively encode the parsing and concatenation of action sequences.
Jin et al. Nature Neuroscience, Jan 2014.

When we learn to play a musical instrument – say the guitar – first, we have to learn notes, scales and chords; only then we will be able to play a song. The very same rule applies to our basic functions. For example, when we learn how to read, we first learn the alphabet and the rules of grammar, and then we start making sense of sentences. Neuroscientists have been intrigued by this process for many years and they have wanted to understand how our brains efficiently perform complex cognitive functions by connecting separate elements to produce a unique meaningful sequence. A recent study shed some light on this very important question. Scientists found that a specific area of the brain, the basal ganglia, can signal the integration of individual elements into a behavioral sequence. Scientists designed an experiment where they first trained mice to perform gradually faster sequences of lever presses. This behavioral test is very similar to a person learning to play a guitar solo at an increasingly faster pace. Then, they recorded the neural activity in the basal ganglia of mice performing the task and discovered that basal ganglia neurons treat a whole sequence of actions as a single behavior. This mechanism is called “chunking,” which allows the brain to efficiently organize memories and actions by integrating individual sequences. It seems like the basal ganglia implement the “chunking.” The basal ganglia are known to include two major pathways, the direct and the indirect. Scientists found that these two pathways show similar activities during the initiation of movement, but show differential activations during the execution of behavioral sequences. Interestingly, basal ganglia circuits are implicated in Parkinson’s and Huntington’s disorders, in which learning of sequences are compromised. Further studies will reveal a more mechanistic understanding of sequence integration in the brain and potential interventions to enhance it in neurological disorders.

Single Gene Separates Queen from Workers

Ubx promotes corbicular development in Apis mellifera
Medved V. et al. Biology Letters, Jan 2014

In a hive of honey bees, the queen and worker bees have very different jobs. A new study shows that a single gene called Ultrbithrox (Ubx) separates a queen from worker bees. The Ubx gene was previously known to control leg and hindquarter development in bees. Interestingly, researchers now identified three functions for Ubx specific to worker bees. First, Ubx promotes the development of a smooth spot on the hind legs where the “pollen baskets” are located. Second, Ubx directs the formation of eleven perfectly spaced bristles on the section of the leg called the “pollen comb.” Third, Ubx mediates the formation of the “pollen press” which is a protrusion that helps pack and transport pollen back to the hive. Essentially, the Ubx gene promotes the development of three different physical structures on worker bees so that they can collect and transport pollen. Researchers confirmed these findings by silencing the Ubx gene genetically in worker bees and found that specialized leg features, including pollen combs and pollen presses, completely disappeared in the absence of the Ubx gene. Moreover, analyses of other bee species in the region revealed that the size and complexity of pollen baskets are directly correlated with the social behaviors of the particular bee species, suggesting that pollen baskets have yet-to-be-identified roles on the social behaviors of bees. Furthermore, the pollination of 35 percent of the world’s crops (with a $216 billion market value) depends on bees carrying pollen from one flower to another. This study might help us to develop new genetic approaches to make bees better, more efficient pollinators and to ultimately combat the worldwide pollination problem.

Molecular Switch in Aging Blood Cells Discovered

A canonical to non-canonical Wnt signaling switch in haematopoietic stem-cell ageing
Florian MC et al. Nature, October2013

Every single cell in our body ages over time. The aging of a cell is typically characterized by the progressive loss of physiological function and increased vulnerability to death. The aging of our cells/tissues/organs is the primary risk factor for any human diseases. One critical cell type that dramatically changes its properties during aging are blood stem cells, aka Hematopoietic Stem Cells (HSCs). Young HSCs have the capacity to differentiate into the diverse lineages of erythroid, lymphoid, and myeloid cells. Young HSCs are polarized (asymmetrical) cells, in which distinct cytoskeletal proteins (also called the “polarity complex”) are asymmetrically distributed within. However, the aged HSCs are mostly apolarized (symmetrical) cells and they differentiate only into lineages of myeloid cells (including, red blood cells, macrophages and monocytes) rather than lymphocytes (white blood cells in the immune system). The molecular changes in aging HSCs have largely been unknown. A recent study published in Nature shed some light onto the molecular identity of the ageing HSCs. Scientists showed that ageing HSCs have higher levels of a secreted protein called WNT5a, whereas the young HSCs have almost no WNT5a protein expressed in the cell. Moreover, the increased levels of WNT5a are found to attenuate the levels of the “polarity complex” proteins in HSCs and thus result in apolarized cells, which resemble the aging HSCs. Furthermore, transplantation studies revealed that increased WNT5a levels cause aging-related phenotypes and low Wnt5a levels promote a rejuvenation process in mice. These findings show that Wnt5a is the key molecule that controls the shift between young and old HSCs. Therapeutic approaches using antagonists of the Wnt5a molecule could potentially alleviate aging-related pathologies in the patients with a variety of blood diseases.

However, it is not my husband, but rather my son, whom I want to talk about now. The anniversary of my son’s death was yesterday. It is probably in vain to talk about the last days of his life, because people already know that part of the story. He was part of an incredible story, but unfortunately he was on the wrong side.

My son learned at an early age how to become a man like his father, one who was devoted to his work and driven by success. His father did not spend much of his time with his family, but on those occasions that he did, he spent most of the time talking about his successes and the growing influence of his business. It was easy to tell that my son was captivated by his father’s success. To him, his father was an angel who had descended from heaven to tell him stories of miracles and wonders.

Unlike his father’s business obsession, my son developed an interest in machines. He dissembled and re-assembled all sorts of machines from a very young age and was able to combine different objects to come up with his own primitive inventions. Before he went to elementary school, he invented an automated knife that would spread butter on his bread and a machine that would bring him the remote control when triggered by pulling down on a string. Often, I found myself worrying about my son’s future education and wondering what this kid could possibly learn at school.

Unfortunately, within the first week of school, my worries about his education came true when my son was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) and quickly became an outcast at school due to his hyperactivity. My divorce from his father during the same year only made things worse. I didn’t know what to do. Although it was not the best solution, I still thought it was best for my son to continue to study at a normal, public school.

In his second year, a fan club was formed to celebrate the superheroes that made this planet a better place to live. Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Frozone, Gazerbeam, Superman, etc., were all invitees of this club during their biweekly activities. My son, having grown up with the example of his successful father, soon developed an interest in this club. There, my son had found an excellent replacement for his father, whom he deeply missed since our divorce.

One day he returned from the club’s activities and was not the same person that usually returned from school. I hardly recognized him. The angry-looking, hyperactive outcast was gone, and in his place was a child who was destined to follow his dreams. During dinner, I asked how his day had been. He talked about a man that I “better marry,” because he wanted him as his father. Guess who it was: Mr. Incredible.

“I asked and he said he was single and he loved children,” my son insisted.

“But I’ve never met him!” I replied, smiling.

“I’m sure you’ll love him,” he said.

I was so happy that, after two years of misery and distress, we could have a dinner like mother and son.

The dream went on for a few months, until one night when he came home from a friend’s house, looking very distraught. I thought perhaps he had a fight with his friend, but it wasn’t that. He had tried to tag along with Mr. Incredible as his sidekick but had been kicked out of his car, because Mr. Incredible found him too young and didn’t want a sidekick. After all, Mr. Incredible always worked alone. Eventually, my son was able to accept the situation and he realized that what Mr. Incredible said was true, that he actually was too young. However, his awe of Mr. Incredible never faded. He always sought ways to get Mr. Incredible to accept and appreciate him.

By the time my son was in middle school, companies began to purchase his inventions. He was already well on his way to becoming as successful as his father had been. I frequently asked myself what this boy would accomplish in the future. He already had achieved what most people never would in an entire lifetime. Flying boots were his latest invention. He thought this would catch Mr. Incredible’s attention because flying would greatly improve Mr. Incredible’s ability to fight crime.

One night, he was brought home by the police. I literally freaked out. I thought he had done something horrible with one of his crazy inventions. Apparently, he had tried to help Mr. Incredible at the scene of a robbery, but everything had gone wrong and Mr. Incredible rejected him as a sidekick once more. Being an adolescent undergoing puberty he had difficulty in facing this latest rejection from his hero. He not only craved acceptance and appreciation but he needed them. From that day on, all the Mr. Incredible posters, stickers, and T-shirts were gone from our house. Instead, my son started putting up posters of villains and he started to idolize them.

I couldn’t tell anyone, but I was terrified when I found a paper in his room that said, “Revenge of the Bad Guys.” I hoped this was a sort of adolescent fury that would go away in time. And it did – at least I thought it did.

After he completed his university degree, my son started a company that focused on the research and development of defense systems. Because of his genius, he easily achieved immediate success and purchased two islands in the Pacific: one as his home to live with his fiancée and the other as his base of operations. I was a happy mother because after so many years of hard work and worries, I thought my son had finally overcome his difficulties and was moving on with his life.

My dream did not last long. After the government grounded all the superhero activities due to public unrest towards the superheroes, my son started popularizing his inventions that mimicked the abilities of these superheroes: flying boots, a machine that made any shape by freezing the humidity in the air, a never-ending rope that never broke, etc. I never thought that what he was doing was simply a disguise to hide his true goal: discovering Mr. Incredible’s secret identity and getting revenge for himself and for all those whose parents or spouses were hurt or killed by the superheroes. I found out about this from one of his journals that was later given to the police by his fiancée.

You know the rest of the story. My son was struck by a car that Mr. Incredible threw at him and was finally killed by the very jet engine he had invented and built. Mr. Incredible had once been my son’s hero and was now his murderer. What can I say? Congratulations, Mr. Incredible on another job well-done! I hope you can enjoy dinner with your family tonight as I’m writing these lines in sorrow …

It was on one of these sunny days that I had a guest. He was a generous young man. Soon after he came nearby, he served his blood to the mosquitos. Considering all the things humans pick from nature, their blood is the fruit that nature can pick in return, right? Anyway, the reason that I called this guest generous is that he did not kill the mosquitos while they were sucking his blood. He sat near me, and started pondering over the nice valley below. I didn’t know at first if I should talk to him. The snail creeping on me preferred to keep silent too. So I decided not to speak to him.

Soon after, a friend of this young man arrived. They started talking about finding water here. I thought “How do you think water can be found at this height of the hill?” But they started digging with the special equipments they had. I had heard about these things when a group of students had come on a field trip. They talked about the different kinds of rocks and the minerals in them, their story of formation through the depths of the earth or under deep water, and how one could find invaluable fluids by digging through them. Seeing these two young men, I better understood what they meant.

Anyway, after a few hours of extreme noise, I felt the wetness that touched me from below. The water was indeed rising in the well the two young men had made, and soon they were screaming from joy. As they indulged in their celebration, I was engulfed by that uncomfortable feeling I had when they’d arrived. After all, this was my place, and they had invaded it.

As if this invasion wasn’t enough, the man who had arrived first stepped on me and spread a cloth. I was enraged at the thought of this man celebrating his victory over me. But my rage stumbled upon what I saw as I watched him. He started offering thanks and praying. It was then that a sense of warmth seeped between us, and I began talking to him everytime he came. During his visits, he used to drink some fresh water, sit on me looking towards the valley, and delve into reflections and prayers. I thanked God for giving me this flat surface so that someone could pray on me. Our relationship became so special that when he was not around, I used to pray for his return.

Years passed by. Things didn’t change much with me, but the man changed a lot. His once smooth face now looked like the wavy ocean surface. His body was bent like trees on steep hills. Things were changing incredibly fast for humans. I felt pity for this man who was troubled by his daily affairs. I prayed that I could be closer to him to help relieve his pains. My prayers were accepted and this respectable man spent more and more time on me. Sometimes lying, sometimes sitting, but always contemplating or praying.

At times, he brought his grandchildren. These kids did not enjoy being here as much as their grandfather. They constantly kept looking at the glasses in their hands that entertained them. But sometimes, they had funny talks with their grandfather. For example, this one time they talked about putting the stones in water or burrying them in the soil so that they can grow like plants. When I heard those words, I thought about my genesis through the ocean beds and the inferno compartments in the earth. My life story was so naively and elegantly put into those few words of the children. It is curious how the little ones can formulize complex things so easily.

Those times of amusement used to make me think about myself. I was a mature rock, and I wanted to have youngsters around me. I prayed to have little ones that were eager to “rock ‘n’ roll.” But perhaps those little ones would not show up as soon as they did for the humans, and they would not be as rambunctious as their human peers. Anyway, with my innate desire, I kept praying to have them around.

Strange enough, my prayers were answered sooner than I thought, and I started seeing these little pebbles parting from me. In my maturity, I had the blessing of giving birth to children all around me. Now, whenever the old man came with his grandchildren, they played with mine, and that gave me immense pleasure.

At last one day, I saw a group of people coming near by with a wooden box on their shoulders. Yes, that was him, brought to meet his Lord… He was burried in the cemetery at the peak of the hill.

…

You know, it’s not easy to lose someone you love. It’s feels like burying a part of your heart before you actually die. I cried a lot, and I still do, silently, in my own way. I don’t want my sorrow to assume the form of a complaint against the decree of our Lord. Yet, I cry nonetheless. Maybe this grief is what has made me so weak nowadays. I am feeling that my end is near, too. The increasing number of little ones all around is making this message impossible to ignore. But at the same time, I am developing a hope of continuity; because the water that is springing under me penetrates into my pores, and water means life.

However, the peace that comes with this hope is always followed by the grief of losing my friend, and I am crying all my water out. To quench my sorrow, God sent me lots of people. They are all around, now that my tears are making a waterfall. But I’d rather have my friend pray on me than these people laugh with negligence at my sorrow. “Oh my Lord, my friend in the heavens… Oh my Lord, my friend in the heavens…”

Two perspectives emerge in this context to address change in society. The first perspective is an instrumental one and relies on a rationalist, goals-oriented viewpoint. The second, cultural perspective relies more on stability and depth. The two values in this perspective, stability and depth, ensure constancy in the face of changing times but could also spell society’s death knell if it turns too far inward (Christensen et al, 2007).

 “From the vantage point of instrumental logic, the institution is intrinsically inefficient because it cannot quickly adapt to changing conditions for action or new problems. Yet from a cultural perspective one could argue that it is perfectly possible for an institution to live with such historical inefficiency over time” (Christensen et al, 2007, p. 46).

Historically speaking, these two vantage points have been in conflict: Conservatives who wish to maintain the institution, on one side, and liberals who wish to change those institutions, on the other. An extremely conservative approach creates “institutional lockdown” where the organization is deprived of any opportunity to change. On the far end of the spectrum would be an excessively liberal approach endorsing revolution. These diametrically opposed concepts create a significant dichotomy.

Edmund Burke, English statesman and philosopher, was extremely critical of the revolution in France. He defended the ancien regime as he felt that the institutions of France and Europe were the result of an evolutionary process that had reached its next highest point under the noblemen/monarchs of Europe. For him, European civilization was founded upon the institutional principles of chivalry and clerical learning embodied in the spirit of the gentleman and the spirit of religion. Those who wanted to overturn the French system were to him savages who opposed all of the etiquette that had built Europe (Kontler, 1997).

Before the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, a group of revolutionaries calling themselves the “Young Turks” attempted to change the institutional characteristics of the country. One of the Young Turks named Ahmed Hilmi was more conservatively institutional in his approach to reform. The Young Turks became more anti-religious, and Hilmi wanted Islam to remain the cornerstone of the country. He was starkly against those instrumental values embodied in positivism and materialism. He felt, much like Burke, that the country evolved to that point and that it had as its foundation a spiritual orientation which should not change despite whatever transformations might be needed (Bein, 2007).

Burke and Hilmi embodied the cultural perspective and were averse to revolutionary thinking. Nevertheless, both thinkers recognized that change was needed, but their approach was more incremental and less absolute. It was for this reason that Burke vehemently opposed the French revolution and Hilmi the Turkish revolution.

Positivism/materialism that was prevalent amongst the Young Turks has been criticized by scholars such as Dwight Waldo, who noted how it took on the same characteristics of absolute thought that is often associated with religion (Waldo, 1984). Hugh Miller makes this claim as well in his discussion on Postmodernism and Neo-liberalism, where he notes how the rational quickly becomes irrational particularly with performance measurement (Miller, 2007).

Dwight Waldo states, “In both disciplines (scientific management, i.e., positivism and public administration), these anomalies (inconsistencies between environment and paradigm) and difficulties have been revealed, frequently and characteristically in discussion of the problem whether management is a ‘science’ or an ‘art’ and the relationship of the science and the art” (Waldo, 1984, p. 55).

Jonathan Swift, in his classic novel Gulliver’s Travels, includes in his story the Island of Laputa. On this island, there are scientists whose science has no benefit for human civilization and in which all previous knowledge is rejected. The result is a detached group of people who do not benefit society and are themselves actually detrimental to it. The king of this island shows little interest in culture and only cares about mathematics and music. This island in Swift’s story represents Swift’s account of those who are positivistic in thought and how their endeavors are actually not benefiting society, but rather dismantling it (Swift, 1998).

Given this perspective, the instrumental perspective is called into question and its true ability to react to change correctly. The cultural perspective is more incremental in this respect, but as Christensen, et al (2007) point out, there is a risk of historical inefficiency. Would it be safer to say that society can live with this risk? If the goal is to operate efficiently/effectively in continual adjustment with the environment, then how can any semblance of community develop given that communities often need stability to grow? If the goal is community development that depends on integration and facilitation, then how can any semblance of necessary change develop? This represents the crux of an unsolvable problem in society.

Burke and Hilmi lived in revolutionary times and applied cultural thinking to solve societal problems. The questions raised in their times apply just as fervently today in terms of needed change. Many of those who had beaten the drums to the revolutions that gave rise to modern day societies have in turn given way to conservative descendants of those movements that resist all change. Much of what was lost in those revolutions has not been forgotten by the populace, and the only way forward is to adopt a “middle way” between the instrumental and cultural perspective. Maintaining this balance is often easier said than done.

Daniel Hummel is a Research/Teaching Assistant with a focus on Public Budgeting at Florida Atlantic University.

References

• Christensen, T. et al. 2007. Organization Theory and the Public Sector: Instrument, Culture and Myth. New York: Routledge.
• Bein, A. 2007. “A ‘Young Turk’ Islamic intellectual: Filibeli Ahmed Hilmi and the diverse intellectual legacies of the late Ottoman Empire.” International Journal of Middle East Studies, 39, pp. 607–625.
• Institution. 2010. Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary. Retrieved March 30, 2010, from www.m-w.com/dictionary/institution.
• Kontler, L. 1997. “The ancien regime in memory and theory. Edmund Burke and his German followers.” European Review of History, 4 (1), pp. 1–15.
• Miller, H.T. 2007. Postmodern Public Administration (rev. ed.). Armonk, New York: M.E. Sharpe.
• Swift, J. 1998. Gulliver’s Travels. New York: Oxford University Press.
• Waldo, D. 1984. The Administrative State (2^nd ed.). New York: Holmes & Meier Publishers.

Turning to the path that Bosnian identity has followed in the New World, we must first recognize that ethnic identity and religion can intersect at different angles. Over the course of my encounters with members of the Bosnian community, I have come to observe that Bosnian refugees consider themselves Muslims in a cultural sense, a sense they said was generally devoid of actual practical content. This suggests a conception of ethnic identity perceived to be one and the same thing as religious identity. This “culture=religion” formulation may help explain, at least in part, the rather scarce presence of Bosnian Muslims in American mosques in cities where Bosnian refugees have resettled (This, however, should not be construed to mean that one can express piety only by going to the mosque; the role and function of mosques in American society would itself require another essay). The relative indifference of important segments of the Bosnian population toward religious practice is additionally due to the lack of understanding and focus on the suffering of Bosnian Muslims during the 1992–1995 war in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The influence of recent memories of not having been treated fairly by the international community-including the Muslim world-during the war, it was reported to me, plays a role in the scarce presence of Bosnian Muslims in the greater American Muslim community.

Among Bosnian refugees in the city of Syracuse, statements by both the refugees themselves and the officials of the Islamic Society in Syracuse confirm the actualization of the “culture=religion” identity formulation amongst Bosnians in Syracuse. Some young Bosnians, for example, do not attend in big numbers at the otherwise compulsory congregational Friday prayer performed in the multinational Syracuse mosque. My own observations and the remarks of the officials from the Islamic Society confirm that no more than ten per cent of the Bosnian Muslim population attends the Friday prayer. Nevertheless, these same youth convey the unease they feel when their identity as Muslims is questioned (especially by non-Muslims in the workplace, at school et cetera). Bosnians have recently launched a mosque of their own in the eastern part of the city; however, leading members of the community told me the number of attendees in Friday prayers since the facility opened about two years ago is far less than they would have liked. However, attendance of commemorative events and bajram (eid) celebrations is remarkably more sizeable.

At the same time, some Bosnian Muslims have expressed discontent regarding the prevailing formulation in which religion is perceived as a cultural décor. There are sincere efforts by some members of the Bosnian population toward an authentic religious identity filled with actual content. Included among such efforts are the weekend classes offered at the Bosnian mosque, in particular for young Bosnian children, in which the essentials of faith, practical information about prayers, and similar topics are taught. But I have also been privy to conversations in which concerns were being raised that some young Bosnians have for some time been, to use their word for it, “Americanizing”: They are not as respectful toward their elders any more, they come home late, and drink-all of which suggest to the concerned that there are dangers ahead which might arise from experiments with American notions of freedom. Though one could argue that these notions do not necessarily or always imply these behaviors, it is important to recognize that Bosnian youth are growing up in an individualistic culture that includes values and practices which parents might find to be at odds with their own upbringing back in Bosnia. Coupled with the lack of adequate parental supervision over children due to demanding work schedules, this clash of values is a cause of concern for a youth that is not given the guidance to navigate through the intricacies of becoming American. In addition, a Bosnian friend of mine, who is currently a professor of political science, reminded that the refugees will soon face another hurdle: the increasing inability of young Bosnians to speak the Bosnian language. He claims that Bosnian children in particular speak only English among themselves, raising the probability that in a generation or two, the Bosnian language may become rare among Bosnians themselves.

Refugees from Srebrenitza living in Syracuse seek to keep the memory of the Srebrenitza massacre of 1995 alive. They publish booklets in English and Bosnian languages, issue bumper stickers (‘Never Forget Srebrenitza’), and hold commemorative ceremonies on the anniversary of the event. Bosnian Muslims concerned about the future of Bosnian identity in the New World see these activities as vital in terms of constructing a collective Bosnian consciousness in America.

It seems quite clear, at least to this observer, that the hyphenated identity term “Bosnian-American” is on its way to becoming the standard description to use in relation to Bosnians in the United States. The exact referent of that term will become clearer based on certain issues including (but certainly are not limited to), on the one side, the scope, nature, and effects of their feelings toward America, and on the other, their choice between cultural or practical religion.

Fethi Keles is an Adjunct Instructor of Anthropology at Syracuse University.

Futuwwa, defined as youth and chivalry, is really a composite of such virtues as generosity, munificence, modesty, chastity, trustworthiness, loyalty, mercifulness, knowledge, humility, and piety. It is a station on the path to God as well as a dimension of sainthood, and also signifies that altruism and helping others have become one’s second nature. It is an important, indispensable dimension of good conduct and a significant aspect of humanity.

Derived from fata’ (young man), futuwwa has become a symbol of rebellion against all evil and the endeavor for sincere servanthood to God; the following verse expresses this eloquently:

They were young men who had believed in their Lord, and We increased them in guidance. And We strengthened their hearts, when they rose up and declared: Our Lord is the Lord of the heavens and Earth; we will not call upon any god beside Him, or then we had spoken an outrage. (18:14)

The verse We have heard a youth talk of them (the idols); he is called Abraham (21:60) expresses the position and influence of one who has achieved perfect futuwwa in his or her community, one who has sought to guide humanity to truth. By contrast, the young men mentioned in the verses: With him there came into the prison two young men (12:36) and: (Joseph) told his young (servants) to put their merchandise (with which they had bartered) into their saddle-bags (12:62) were ordinary young men without chivalry.

As many people have written on or talked about futuwwa since the Age of Happiness, the concept has been defined in many ways: not despising the poor or being deceived by the rich and riches; being fair to everybody without expecting fairness in return; living one’s life as a pitiless enemy of one’s carnal self; being ever-considerate of others and living for them; smashing all idols or all that is idolized, and rebelling against falsehood so as to be wholly devoted to God Almighty; bearing whatever evil is done to oneself, but roaring when the rights of God are violated; feeling remorse for the rest of one’s life for committing the smallest of sins, but overlooking others’ sins, regardless of how large they are; seeing oneself as a poor, lowly servant while considering others as saintly; not resenting others while maintaining relations with those who resent you; being kind to those who hurt you; serving God and the people before everyone else, but putting others first when it is time to receive one’s rewards.

Some have summed up futuwwa in the four virtues mentioned by Haydar Karrar Ali, the fourth Caliph and cousin of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings. They are: forgiving when one is able to punish, preserving mildness and acting mildly and gently when one is angry, wishing one’s enemies well and doing good to them, and being considerate of others’ well-being and happiness first, even when one is needy.

Ali was one of the greatest representatives of futuwwa. When he was stabbed by Ibn Muljam while leading the morning prayer in the mosque, his children, who saw that their father was going to die, asked him what he wanted them to do to Ibn Muljam. He did not order his execution in retaliation. During a battle, Ali threw his enemy to the ground and then released him. When ‘Ali was about to kill this man, the latter spat in Ali’s face, which angered him. Fearing that his motive for killing the man was now confused and sullied, ‘Ali released him. He felt sincere grief when Zubayr ibn Awwam, a leading Companion and his enemy in the Battle of the Camel, was killed. Since he always considered others first, even when he was in need, he usually wore summer clothes in winter and trembled with cold (because he would give away his winter clothes). It was said about him that there could be no young, chivalrous man like Ali, and there could be no sword like Dhu al-Fiqar (Ali’s sword). Ali lived with the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, and was raised by him. He lived a perfectly honest, pure life without any stain, and embodied God’s answer to Prophet Moses, upon him be peace, about futuwwa: It means that you are able to return your self to Me as pure or untainted as you received it from Me.

The signs of a fata’ (young, chivalrous one) are that the individual, created with the potential to accept Divine Unity and Islam, is totally convinced of the Divine Unity; this urges him or her to live according to the requirements of this conviction; that, without being captivated by carnal or bodily desires, he or she lives a pure, spiritual life; and that he or she always seeks to please God in his or her deeds, thoughts, and feelings. One who cannot be saved from the temptations of the carnal self, Satan, appetites, love of the world, or attachment to the worldly life cannot climb upward to the peak of futuwwa.

Futuwwa is a treasure obtainable by climbing high beyond
All the “highest mountains of the world”;
What business have those who fall tired
Even on a smooth road with such a treasure?

Notes

1. Ibn al-Athir, Usd al-Ghaba, 4:118.
2. Shamsaddin Sivasi, Manaqib Jiharyar Guzin, 258.
3. Al-Haythami, Majma’ al-Zawa’id, 9:150.
4. Ibid., 9:122.
5. ‘Ali al-Qari, Al-Asrar al-Marfu’a fi akhbar al-Mawdu’a (Beirut, 1986), 367.