Dear reader, I have this overwhelming urge to lie to you, and then claim that I rarely do so. However, the last day of the year leaves me perplexed, affects my calm demeanor, and hides the observer that lives in my brain. How do I deal with this day? Should I call it the last crutch of the year that is readying itself to commit suicide? Should I call it the last bullet held by an exhausted warrior amidst darkness? I feel puzzled to be at the edge of the upcoming year, the edge of expatriation, the edge of the homeland, the edge of civil war, the edge of the eroded state, the edge of blood and revenge, and the edge of the darkness that swallows books and eyes, cities and the countryside, TV stations and universities. I have an urge to lie to you like we were lied to when we used to believe. The journalists who removed the bridles, the writers who smuggled dreams to their readers, the poets who rebelled against the murky dictionaries, the thinkers who said that retrogression, declination, and deterioration are not the product of fate; that the Arab house will not remain open; that the nation will awaken from its inattentiveness; that our schools will not be prisons of imaginations; that our universities will not produce blind armies; and that the coming days are better than the bygone times. I have an urge to lie to you, and repeat the game of those who lied to us, and tell you that tomorrow is going to be better than yesterday; that Arabs will not take part in a conflict if it lures them. They will not turn against their neighbor in the same district, city, or country; they will not allow the language of yesterday to trap their children; they will not let themselves be led to killing and suicide bombings; they will not consider the other as an enemy; they will not consider that any difference is an opportunity for clashing; they will not allow deadly illusions to flow through their veins. The Arabs will not consider the cities of others to be an aggression on their existence, or their universities to be a violation of their own peace of mind. They will not consider everything that is new to be a dagger or a conspiracy. I will not exaggerate in lying to you. I will not say for instance that complete concord will prevail over inter-Arab relations, and that the skies will be swarming with pigeons carrying messages of love. I will not say that the factories of blind armies will shut their doors, that charlatans will find themselves unemployed, and that fortune tellers will stop taking viewers for imbeciles. I will not say that cities will drown in coexistence and solidarity, that scores of tourists will gather around fountains, that fanatics will not drown in the blood of innocent people, that gun silencers will retire, and that assassinations will become a thing of the past. I will not lie to this extent. I know, dear reader, that you know, and that disappointments have uprooted your dreams, and that you believe that every bottom pushes us to another bottom; every slope takes us to a steeper slope; and every abyss throws us in an even deeper abyss. I know that you do not ask for more than some bread, drinking water, an acceptable job, a just police force, an honorable judiciary system, and institutions that protect you from the storm instead of aligning it against you. I know that you do not demand more than the minimum necessary in order to avoid the humiliation of waiting in line in front of embassies or fleeing in the boats of death. Despite the above, I feel that what is coming cannot be more blatant. Maybe it is because I believe that we have reached rock-bottom; that the journey of decline has been going for a long time; that the spirit of the nation cannot keep on staying away; that new generations will ask new questions and will interpret the tragedy in a manner that will allow them to get out of it; and that the questions of honor, freedom, and truth in life, progress, and interaction will lead in the end to open a window in the wall of darkness and injustice. On the last day of the year, I recall the front pages of Al Hayat, and I feel the urge to apologize. Explosions and funerals were always present. We have poisoned the days of readers with thousands of corpses, from Sa'dah to Waziristan, as well as many other stages. I attempt on this last day to atone the sins of the messenger, not the perpetrator. Hence, we shall try to light a candle, even if the reader will accuse us of lying to him.
