The lights go down, and the audience falls quiet. But instead of actors taking their place on the stage in front of us, we hear a melody rising in the dark--a melody that is rarely heard in Europe, but which any resident of Egypt knows by heart.
The (...)
I was on the jury of the fourth Brussels Arab Film Festival, which concluded last week. This is my behind-the-scenes diary.
Wednesday. The Festival gets off to a rousing opening in front of a huge crowd of dignitaries, invited artists, film lovers, (...)
By Peter Snowdon and Hamid Lallami
The homeland that I burn for
The mountain where I was born
I want you there when I return
So I can dry your tears and mine.
I cannot wait to see you again,
The peace of my soul depends on you,
If you are happy, I (...)
By Peter Snowdon
The obelisk of the Place de la Concorde must wish it had never left Luxor. Adrift on a dark sea of petulant Renaults and indifferent Citroens, it recently welcomed a host of unfamiliar visitors, a regiment of steeplejacks intent on (...)
By Peter Snowdon
It wasn't difficult to get in touch with the Betar. I'd imagined that any organisation which went round Paris shouting racist slogans and issuing communiques claiming responsibility for beating up Arabs must be relatively low (...)