Literature from the Axis of Evil

First up, thanks to my reader A for recommending "Literature from the Axis of Evil," a Words Without Borders anthology of writing from Iraq, Iran, North Korea, Syria, Libya, Sudan and Cuba.

"Enemy" or not? Protesters in Pakistan

The 'axis of evil' rhetoric has always wound me up: it has to be about as derisory and damaging as the labelling of Christians and Jews as monkeys and apes.

Both can be excused as metaphors, or explained away in terms of historical context, but both have helped set the scene for astonishing acts of callousness: the twin towers, Abu Ghraib, 600,000 dead Iraqi civilians.

It's dumbing down at its manipulative worst: don't clarify who or what you're opposed to in concrete, rational terms, just lump them all together as enemy nations, an inchoate target for aggression.

This rhetoric is the reason that, whenever we invite reader comments on Iran or North Korea, some enlightened individual will reply that we should "nuke 'em all", without any apparent grasp of why, or what "all" constitutes.

Literature is anti dumbing-down, and pro-empathy – which is precisely where this anthology comes in. As the editor's note eloquently puts it:

Is the 'enemy' a particular leader, or a more pervasive ideology? A system of government, a people, a social group? Our intention has never been to present a naïve apology for tyrannical regimes… Rather, we aim simply to stimulate international conversation through literature, with all its complexity and nuanced insights into the ideas, beliefs, daily lives and articles of reference of other cultures, who are thinking and writing in languages other than English." 

The book is aimed at an American audience, drawing attention to the sad demise of literature in translation which counted for less than 0.5 per cent of available books in the US in 2003 and the fact that publishers need a license to bring out a work by an "enemy nation" author:

It seemed contradictory to say the least that a publisher in a country fiercely proud of its tradition of free speech should have to apply for a government license to translate, say, Iranian human rights activist and Nobel Peace Prize winner Shirin Ebadi.

As a means of redressing this, I reckon this book should be on the reading list of every school in the US and Britain.

The literarary extracts themselves feel at turns strange, familiar, moving and disorientating. Among my favourites was a poem, Baghdad My Beloved, by the exiled Iraqi writer Salah Al-Hamdani, which contains the memorable stanza:

Baghdad, my beloved,

You did not stand shivering in the doorway of the ruined says

A whole civilisation geared to killing

Has robbed you of your innocence.

Baghdad, you who never submitted to Saddam, the brute

You have no reason to groan

At the simple revelation of that iron fist

Those who busy themselves about your agonising body,

Those "liberators," become his henchmen.

As well as poetry, universal themes such as coming-of-age are poignant and easy to appreciate – whether in the Iranian Houshang Moradi-Kermani's story about a bright young pupil tackling his philistine teacher, or the Syrian Hanna Mina's tale of a poor boy earning his first wage by stencilling letters on sacks of grain.

There was a greater cultural barrier with the heavily stylised, propagandistic offerings from North Korea. A story by Lim Hwa-won describes how, pretty much as a direct result of imperialistic foreign influence, a beautiful young Russian woman ends up a one-legged prostitute. As a westerner, it's hard to take it seriously. But as a means of understanding the pervasive oppression of the North Korean regime, it's an intriguing insight.

All of the extracts testify to struggle of one sort or another writing under oppressive regimes, coming to terms with exile, or indirectly just trying to  provide a clear translation of a work from an alien culture. It's now worth struggling to make sure this kind of book is widely read.