Overheard in Europe
The other day, I was in a café in a European city with three female Arab writers, when I overheard them talking about Arab poets and novelists in a way that I could've never dreamt of.
Their jeering sentiments took a tone reminiscent of the writings of Muhammad Al-Maghout. These grown-ups, who sounded more like teenagers, held nothing back. They flayed their peers and referred to them in ways that pushed the boundaries of modesty and decency.
All of this, with no thoughts spared for their right to privacy.
If these writers had even an inkling of what was being said about them, they wouldn't have been in a rush to exchange pleasantries the next time their paths crossed at a book fair.
"Habibti" no more
I used to have a habit of addressing my loved ones with the common Arab term of endearment habibi (for males), or habibti (for females).
That is, of course, until I became a source of amusement for the late dean of Yemeni journalists, Saleh Al-Dahhan, due to admitted overuse.
But after meeting these three female writers, I tried to retire my use of the word "habibti" for good.
If I ever slip up, I quickly follow it with the phrase "I love you for the sake of God". (It's something I learned from TV muftis, who used it as a response to female inquirers who would similarly say, "We love you for the sake of God, Sheikh!")
My self-censorship comes down to the fact that these "gossip" sessions can range from harmless to outright hostile.
It's the kind of antagonism that has no place in "literary wars", which are renowned across the world and, according to Abu Hayyan Al-Tawhidi, can lead to thought-provoking conversations.
Instead, it's underlined by envy and bad blood. Rivalries become a race for spoils and awards, proximity to power and good old fame and prestige.
This bleeds into national battles between authors, too, as each writer fights to represent their country at whatever festival or award ceremony. In some countries, this mentality is increasingly common until "enough" writers emerge to achieve sufficient representation on the world stage.
Death of nuance
Yemen has become famous in recent decades thanks to poets Al-Maqaleh and Al-Baradouni. So strong is their presence, many would struggle to name any other Yemeni writers.
However, a hidden animosity between them was common knowledge in their close circles.
Nobody in the cultural scene dared to criticise them. Al-Baradouni, known for his literary provocations, remarked in the mid-1990s that the new generation of writers lacked culture.
Spurred on by this, I published a series of articles in "The Cultural Republic," beginning with a piece entitled "The Death of the Vertical Poem!"
Al-Baradouni received it well, with a combination of amusement and approval. Meanwhile, some of his admirers saw it as an attack, despite my clear admiration for him within the text.
But I digress. This was in the past. As for the present, the war in Yemen has left little room for any literary battles other than those fought in Facebook bubbles. Everyone is expected to be on one side or the other, with no tolerance for any criticism, neutrality, or even silence.