Salwa the Writer

What shall I write about Salwa? Shall I write about that literature I leafed through in her book "With Life," in which I found an original strain of letters, or about those volumes still in her pure hand, not yet printed, which she had wished to title "Along the Paths"? Or shall I write something of those articles her gentle hand composed, demanding woman's political and social rights? Or shall I sing of the valuable lectures she delivered the day she represented Lebanon at the Women's Union congress at UNESCO in Beirut, and the day she attended the Social Studies Seminar for the Arab states of the Middle East in Cairo? Or when she represented the League of Lebanese Women's Organizations at the General Arab Women's Union Congress held in Baghdad? Or shall I take up her delightful, sweet talks, with their limpid music, which she broadcast on the radio from time to time? Or shall I speak of her as an orator who stood on the platform, touched on all manner of subjects, and regaled the public with the magic of expression and the breadth of learning God had bestowed on her? Or shall I recall those articles and talks her kindly fingertips composed in The Woman's Voice over its twelve years, and in the magazines "The New Woman" and "Child Care" and other daily papers — defending woman's political rights, setting out Islam's position on woman's political and civil questions, singing of religious occasions, magnifying the lofty virtues? Or shall I speak of her as a virtuous, wise educator who helped to form a new generation? Or shall I speak of her and of her sweet everyday conversation, which was itself a kind of literature?

Truly, to speak of Salwa, the true and truthful friend, is delightful: it bears incense and spreads perfume; it is a pleasure, for in her words we always touch enjoyment and delight. How could it be otherwise, when her speech was a mirror of her character, an interpreter of her feelings, and pictures of all that distinguished her: a sound mind, delicacy of feeling, precision of thought, far-sightedness, and goodness of heart and of conduct.

She wrote at a time when woman did not dare to write — thirty-three years ago, that is, in 1925, when she was still among the veiled women. She wrote in defense of woman and her rights and published her article in the magazine "The New Woman." In that article her feeling showed in every line, with all its emotion and reproach, for it pained her to see one of the daughters of her own sex — a woman in the front rank of lawyers — say, "Keep the women confined" (holding that woman's entry into the battle of life weakens the feeling of motherhood in her and multiplies her fancy and her selfishness). Salwa grows angry and answers her: "If your new life does not please you, Madam, you may go back to the chains. Why does the sight of woman not gladden you, as she contends at man's side and shares with him in bearing the burdens of life? Is there anyone more able than she to wipe away the mind's weariness and lift the weight of life from a husband's brow?" And she warms to her theme and says further: "Have we not had enough of submissiveness? We want renewal. We want the free life. We want to make war on every fetter that condemns us to sleep and to slavery." Until she says: "Why would you have the body of our whole people be slaves, one half of it sound and the other half palsied and maimed? Do not suppose that I mean by this that woman should leave her house and neglect her children and her husband to go out to the market to work; rather I want her to be capable of work and of earning should necessity require it, so that she does not let her children die of hunger if the man is kept from work by some misfortune or calamity — and how many are the misfortunes and calamities of time! I want her to be a living, feeling being, not with trifling sentiments and perishable emotion, but with what benefits her people, enriches them, and makes them happy."

Among Salwa's literary production are exquisite tableaux and splendid social subjects drawn from the very heart of reality, representing our society truly and picturing it in the most exact sense. The reader may sense this through the title, which points precisely to its meaning — "With Life" — a book of tales brimming with wisdom and pulsing with life. In its introduction she says: "With life we walk, hurrying, and rush headlong down the appointed path.

Toward what? Toward the unknown! We walk, and events pass by us or we pass by them; the days try us and we try them... Here we grapple with those who grapple, and we clamor and resound with life along with the clamorous and the resounding. So we give to many things more of our souls' longing than they deserve, and we leave shreds of those souls upon a mirage. Here, on this turning planet, lie tatters of souls lost in vain."

How can I read this book without offering the most beautiful and sincere praise for these sweet chapters, which she pictured so splendidly, and in which the reader finds so much delight and pleasure?

Indeed, how can I set this book down without marveling greatly at the splendid, concise phrases with which she introduces her stories, in which she pictured life most skillfully. She introduces the story "Hajja Hanifa" with the words: "Few are those who give and do not take." In this story she drew a picture of the life of proud souls who will not carry on their shoulders the debt of a favor, nor accept to be the creature of anyone's kindness and charity.

In her story "Adele" she tells us the life of a poor, ignorant servant girl who endured hard living and toiled among the toilers. Fortune smiled on her: she traveled to America to marry a rich man. Not ten years pass before she returns to her homeland, Lebanon, enthroned upon prestige, splendor, and wealth. High society then speaks of her as a genius of the age and one of its greatest writers — and more than that, the mother of benefactors.

Such talk, laden with exaggeration, is what travels from mouth to ear when fortune smiles upon a person — and the reverse likewise.

In her story "The Orphan Girl" Salwa analyzes for us the soul of that orphan — fatherless — whose mother turned harsh toward her after taking a new husband, and denied her love, affection, and tenderness once she was blessed with a baby girl by this new husband.

Salwa enters the child's life by the main door, saying: "He errs who supposes that the child does not perceive or notice what grown-ups perceive. On the contrary, children are often more sensitive, and by their nature go deeper into the unknown regions of passing events, than grown-ups."

We see that Salwa wrote of nothing but life, and wove the events of her stories from nothing but people's reality. In "The Victim" she describes for us the story of that wayward young man who abandoned every good ideal and lived pampered, the only boy among his sisters, with no obstacle standing in the way of his whims and caprices. Father, mother, and sisters obeyed him from his earliest years until he reached young manhood, until he came to believe that all other people were beneath him, that everything must be sacrificed for his ends, and that he was created to dominate, to enjoy, and to possess; duty and selflessness meant nothing to him — rather everyone must prefer him and give him what he wanted. As a result of this bad upbringing, this pampered youth brought down a poor girl who became his victim, and hers was the evil fate.

As for her articles, they brim with wisdom, pulse with life, and treat the problems of social life. Whoever leafs through the issues of The Woman's Voice will find them filled with what Salwa the writer published — articles of every kind, religious, literary, and social.

On the anniversary of the birth of the Prophet, God's prayers and peace be upon him, she wrote an article in December 1954 entitled "A Memory Ever Renewed," in which she says:

"O Birthday of the Prophet: you are the throb in the heart of life, restoring the gush of light in the deserts of consciences, among their barren grains of sand, far from the springs of generosity, love, justice, and equality.

"O Birthday of the Prophet: you are the quiver of the lips that move in prayer to God Almighty, asking mercy for infant humanity, that it may be able to crawl along its long path. And what is prayer but sincerity, selflessness, altruism, and an answer to the call of absolute good? Faith has never joined with hatred, nor selflessness with greed, nor continence with egoism; and the Prophet was sent only as a mercy from God and a guidance for mankind to the truth — to righteousness, cooperation, and charity."

On the coming of the blessed month of Ramadan, she published an article in the June 1954 issue entitled "The Inspiration of the Fast," saying:

"Ramadan — had people grasped its meaning, they would not fast it as they do; and had people drawn on its inspiration, they would not starve their bellies while their souls are glutted with vanities and their hearts filled with greed. Ramadan is a month for denying the self and giving to others, for devotion, for good, for help, service, and charity."

In that same June issue of 1954 she has a story on the life of Florence Nightingale, in which she says: "The likes of Florence will remain for us a splendid example of love, service, and cooperation. They are the symbol of the sheltering, merciful heart, and the emblem of faithful friendship — not for money, prestige, and power, nor in pursuit of gain, but for giving, sacrifice, and devotion to the wretched."

As for the article she published on Woman's Week, in the February 1952 issue of The Woman's Voice — she had earlier broadcast it from Radio Lebanon — she said in it: "Woman's Week is the week of all-embracing national dignity, for the renaissance of woman in demanding her rights is proof of the maturity of general national feeling and of its saturation with the national pride that befits rising peoples as they demand life. A nation has no dignity except through the liberation of all its members from psychological complexes that make those afflicted by them feel lowliness and inferiority beneath the members of other peoples. This week is proof of a fully matured consciousness that has awakened to the feeling that equality is due among all individuals, men and women alike, in all rights and duties; and proof of an understanding of responsibilities and of rising to shoulder their burdens."

And her article entitled "Optimism Is Strength," published in the magazine "Child Care" in January 1957, is one of the signs that remind me of the self-confidence she possessed, her faith in God, and the smile that never left her radiant lips. In this article she warns against the inner weakness that makes one's powers tremble in adversity, saying: "Anxiety and panic are among the diseases of the soul that weaken resolve just as bodily ailments weaken men's bodies; good cheer and optimism are a strength that aids serenity and a spur that kindles the individual's energy in his personal and national work. This is what we need on the road that brings us to the summit of our rising. In every stage of his life, man can benefit and be of benefit in his cheerfulness, which breeds resolve, boldness, and optimism. Among our failings — we Easterners — are quickness to anger, quickness to despair and pessimism, and violent agitation over the most trivial of causes. How cheap is the price of life lived in weariness, and how little its worth! And among the first sources of serenity, or optimism, are self-confidence and faith in God. My Lord, open for me my breast."

How sweet it is to close my words where she cited the saying of God Almighty: My Lord, open for me my breast. Salwa will remain alive among us through her living, humane literature; and there is no fear for a pen whose veins are of the veins of truth, and whose ink is of the water of life.