Now they raise questions about a mother grieving for her son
twelve years after his death in the war. Well, I have a story to tell in this
regard. It is the kind I like to keep private, but the circumstances are so overwhelming,
I can no longer keep it in the family.
I have gone by the name Fred for nearly 52 years since we
came to Canada ,
but I was born Farid (French spelling) or Fareed (English spelling). My parents
– actually my mother – named me Fareed for a reason. It is that she was
pregnant with me when her younger sister died. That was my aunt whose name was
Fareeda, the feminine version of Fareed.
My mother was so grief stricken; she vowed that if I turned
out to be a girl, she would name me Fareeda. Well, I turned out to be a boy, so
she named me Fareed. Two years later, my mother had a girl, and so, she named
her Fareeda. Me and my sister are alive and doing well but getting on with age.
Every time I check into a hospital, and they see that I listed Fareeda as next
of kin, they assume we are twins. I say no we're not, they puzzle, I explain
what happened, and they say what a beautiful and touching story.
It is touching, but there is something even more touching
than that. For a period of 40 years after my birth and 38 years after the birth
of my sister, my mother could call us by our names but could not pronounce the
name Fareeda when talking about her sister without choking. It is that her
grief over the death of her sister had never ended. Instead of Fareeda, she
would call her el-Ghalia which means the dear one. My mother kept referring to
her sister by that name till she died.
What surprises me is that people defending Donald Trump dare
to suggest that 12 years are too long for a mother to grieve over the death of
her son in the war. Where have these people been? Do they not see 80 year-old
soldiers weep on Remembrance Day for the death of buddies that were killed 60
years ago? Do they not see 90 year-old soldiers weep for the death of buddies
that were killed 70 years ago?
Yes, this is surprising. But what is totally
incomprehensible is Donald Trump equating his own sacrifice with that of a
soldier who got killed defending his country. But what sacrifice does Trump say
he made? Well, it is that he created jobs, he says. Did he lose a limb or die
creating jobs? Oh no; none of that happened to him. In fact, he created jobs
doing what he likes best, which is pursuing his dream: that of life, liberty
and happiness.
But how did Donald Trump get to be so privileged? Well, you
know how it is. There are people who put their lives at risk to make the
country safe for people like Trump to live a full life and pursue their dream.
Yes, it is true that Trump has created jobs, but that's no sacrifice. That's a
measure of his success. In fact, the more jobs he creates, the more successful
he proves to be, which means the happier he must be.
In effect then, what it all boils down to is that Donald
Trump is equating the death of the soldier defending him, with the success he
is having in life. There sure is equivalence here, but it is an inverse
relationship. It means that the happiness of Trump, who made a fortune, is
equal to the sadness of the mother who lost a son. These are equal in weight,
but they point in opposite directions. How can someone be so confused about
this reciprocal relationship?
Trump's happiness is the gift that the dead soldier gives
him every day he is alive. And yet, Trump sees fit to mock the mother that bore
that soldier, nurtured him and raised him to be the fine person that chose to
die to save the men under him, and to secure the happiness that Trump is
enjoying so much.