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Human Rights

In the modern era, especially after the Second World War, the rights of individuals to all aspects of human dignity were recognized in the UN Charter of 1945. From the preamble through to Article 68. Three years later, and thanks to Eleanor Roosevelt, the UN General Assembly adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. Though a declaration, it gained gradually the status of customary law, through citations in documents and references in testimonies. Customary law indicates that each State observes it in accordance with its ways of governance and its basic laws (or constitutions). Between 1945 and 1948, the Nazi military trials in Nuremberg (1945) and the Tokyo military trials (1946) both established one general principle: A combatant in any armed conflict should not abide by orders which violate the human rights of individuals. This led to the formulation of the Geneva Conventions of 1949. These conventions dealt largely with the strict observance of the protectio
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Egypt's Field of Dreams

Egypt, the state of 7000 years, should never know despair. It is home to more than one third of the Arab world. Its deserts, both east and west, are full of natural resources are akin to a credit card with no expiration date. From Halfa south of the Nile valley to Port Said and Alexandria in the north, overlooking the shiny Mediterranean. West of the Nile Valley, there is now the New Valley. Its oases (plural of oasis -a word of Egyptian and Greek origin) are fertile areas amidst a parched desert. Signaling hope of life eternal. The deserts await water to burst forth with greenery and life. The sea nutrients are there left by a receding Mediterranean Sea which separates Africa from Europe. The oases seem to beckon the Egyptians to leave their congested cities for the spacious expanse. And with drip irrigation, the new settlers can grow their crops, feed their animals and themselves. Government subsidies are enticing the bold of heart to move. Go West; Go West!! And suddenly, huge f
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In the Trump's Dark Era: The Sin of Quid Pro Quo

Arabic/English dictionaries have a concise explanation of that Latin phrase. They reduce its meaning to one word: compensation. Dogged by an avalanche of character accusations of political import, Trump is vociferously denying his engagement in "quid pro quos." His denial rings hollow. As vouched for by his own utterances, his whole life draws its blood stream from quid pro quos. This is the premise of his "Art of The Deal ." His minions vainly attempt to rescue their false prophet (or is it profit?) from the annihilating consequences. Unable to deny it, they re-interpret it. They call it "transactional." That is although a theft or a big lie is also transactional. The victim loses; the offender wins. Voila!! Transactional!! A few examples might be illustrative: A carpenter in our Long Island neighborhood alleges to me that Trump stiffed the Carpenters Union. The Union performed on Trump's projects in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Trump refused to pay
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Al-Baghdadi Was A Confirmed Criminal, Trump Is An Inflated Hot Air Balloon!!

Some understanding of the Arab mind should here provide the context. That mind is shaped over centuries around this ethos: When your enemy falls down, don't gloat. Pray over their dead bodies as an act of healing. That tradition has been shaped by the rules of war in tribal societies. One of these rules calls for your praying over the body of your fallen enemy. You have won your battle; now show some humility. But Trump's DNA shows no trace of magnanimity. His cowardice factors in; so does his fanciful lies about Al-Baghdadi crying and cowering like a dog. Trump makes up these scenarios all the time. He is a bully. And inside each bully, there is a coward. That coward, who we now have as president, hopefully a one-term Chief Executive, has never seen public service throughout his charmed life. Trumpeting the death of Al-Baghdadi as if it were as important as the Normandi landings against the Nazis, may entice other Baghdadis to claim that dubious honor. Trump's search f
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Street Lawyer For The Poor

The title of this commentary describes who I am. From $1,000 per hour for a vast US news organization, to $0 for the poor. This huge drop is in fact an elevation. Or an elevator to the power of morals. This possesses an intrinsic value that is germane to the core of human empathy for the down-trodden. Connecting reflexively with those who have a cause, but do not know how to define it, much less how to resolve it. It all began for me by sheer accident. At the age of 63, I was coaxed by a friend, Dana Belcher, Esq. to go to law school. At that time, I had a Ph.D. in international law and organization from New York University. My Ph.D. thesis which had to do with anti-colonialism had already been published in the Hague, the home of the International Court of Justice. But without a J.D. and passing the Bar, I could not practice as an attorney. So I applied to Cardozo Law in New York City, and was promptly admitted as a "returning student." Forty years separated between my ag
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Life With the LIRR (The Long Island Rail Road)

In 1952, I hailed from Egypt as a Fulbright in the US; and in 1972, I discovered the LIRR. A discovery that was occasioned by an invitation from Stony Brook University to teach international politics as an adjunct professor. That discovery saved my wife's time, 4 hours daily, driving me from our apartment in Manhattan to the university and back. There was an added value to this commute. While on the train, I was able to review my notes, grade papers, sum up complex issues. All in the comfort of those well kept train cars, and the availability of accessible and clean bathrooms. And because I had a regular and predictable schedule, LIRR personnel took to greeting me, humoring me, and even asking about my not showing up when I was on vacation. "A camaraderie on wheels" has become for me a cherished value. It developed on the Port Jefferson Line (one of the LIRR eleven lines) which shuttles me weekly between Manhattan and Stony Brook. It was by sheer chance that I noticed
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The Arab Family Is The Deep State

Call it what you will: The mysterious stabilizer in the Arab world is The Family. It could consist of 2 or 2000. But that link is the most enduring. Economy is not a decisive factor. Blood is. I for one, could trace my family linkage, as far as 450 years. Father's origin: Hejaz (Saudi Arabia); mother's: Anbar (Iraq). One streaming North, the other streaming West. Two streams meeting in the land of the Nile. These facts of history intermingled with geography, encapsulated into a well-defined Arab/Muslim culture source of personal strength!! Call it belonging; call it personal pride. But it pulsates with inner strength, and intrinsic ethos. The responses to these facts are reflexive. You don't need to think hard about which road you choose when you come to the fork. The choice is predestined. No effort in choosing the obvious. The Arab village is a historical habitat; the city is almost an after-thought. In the village, everyone knows everyone. They greet; they wave; they
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