Letter from a broken (he)art Teklal Neguib

Letter from
a broken (he)art

Text :
Teklal Neguib
Written 2015 01 07
Published in L.ART en Loire 8 (February 2015)
Photography (previous page) :
From “Tombe la nuit” series by Talulah Naakre (published
in Céréales & Tubercules issue Manioc (September 2018)
Teklal Neguib :
Known too as Lamena Lahgo and Talulah Naakre, Teklal Neguib is a writer, poet,
artist and the former EIC/founder of L.ART en Loire (average c. 100 000
read./issue//2013-2018).
Published in various magazines such as Internet Poetry, Minorites, Artefact,
Queen Mob’s Teahouse, BonjourPoesie, Bloganozart, lorem_ipsum, L.ART en
Loire/Céréales & Tubercules, VoiceIn Journal, and books (MACRO an anthology of
image macro, The Twitter biography of Matthew Britton), some of her art was
part of the online exhibition “Listen Audioselfies !” a group show curated by May
Waver, and part of the exhibition “Nature insolite en ville” (group show, curated
by Ville de Saint Nazaire, L’Atelier).

Tonight, I am writing to you from a country in tears, in tears of
mourning and horror, a country who has seen 12 of its people dying
for drawing cartoons. Bullets for cartoons. No comment.
Since Wednesday, I have spent my time crying. My body shaking, not
from fear, but because of emotions, overwhelming emotions.
Thoughts, shock, knock together. My heart is broken. Cartoonists,
columnists, policemen, a cleaner, a proofreader, a festival founder
are dead. Dead for France. Dead for an idea, a beautiful idea, one of
the founding ideas of our democracies: freedom of speech.
Our ancestors of blood and arts fought before, and for some died for
it, for us now. XVIII° century philosophers, rest in peace. Such
freedom, such right, so dearly obtained, Wednesday was flouted.
Murdering Charlie has murdered the Revolution. Murdering the 12 has
murdered Voltaire. Murdering them has murdered French people,
these people the Revolution told "all free man is French". Our hearts,
our bodies and our souls vandalized by bullets and the blood of our
dead. Our hearts are broken and our souls shattered. We are touched.
All the country, the World, together behind Charlie, whatever we may
have thought about it before. Get behind it, because it’s not time … no
time to criticize. It’s time to be ONE, one people, one soul, one heart,
with our decimated family.
Because it’s an important part of our family that we have lost, a part
of what makes us who we are, we, this generation raised in the 80’s
and the 90’s. Charlie Hebdo represents the part of irony which is so
important to us, which built us as humans and now as adults. Our

generation has lost part of what educated it. But the question is how
will this generation of irony act and react ? out of sincerity, out of
cynicism, out of hypocrisy and out of naivety, this generation which
had been described as metamodernist. A generation born in crisis,
nurtured in crisis, living an adult life in crisis. Living in a crisis
culture. Living this days a transitional crisis moment. What will we do
with this time? This event? Which part at the crossroads will we
choose? More irony, in this time of the murder of irony? The increase
of cynicism as a complete fall in faith for the future and for humanity?
Could sincerity win, after these events? Or naivety as all the
gatherings seem to show? Or, perhaps, a sort of balance will appear.
Our generation is at the crossroads of which ways humans envisage
the world and future.
In 10 or 15 years, we will reach in masses the levels of power:
political power, economic power, artistic power… Some of us will
become leaders. But how will this metamodernist generation use its
power? What will we do with the World, with our siblings? What
leaders will we become? This event is such an important moment,
which impacts not only France, but the whole world, citizens of all
countries, members of our generation all over the world, that we may
say it will have an impact upon what sort of humans we will become,
we will decide to become. Perhaps we will do nothing following this
event (which is yet doing something). Perhaps we will do something,
perhaps it will empower us. For the moment, it’s much too early to
know, to answer the questions, but the next weeks, months and years
will teach us a lot about our metamodernist generation, and what it
will become. This event is such an impacting moment because the
dead were our fathers, our brothers and sisters, and we are the
depositories of their legacy, of this murdered irony. They died for
freedom of speech. Because of a war, a war declared on art,
politically correct or incorrect. To fall on a battlefield should not have
to exist for paper and cartoons.

What did we think about the cartoons? Most of us appreciated them a
lot, and some of us were shocked. Does that still have any
importance? They are dead for us to have the right to agree, or not,
for us to have the right to think, to question, about ourselves, about
others, about everything. They are dead for us to be free. They acted
without hate, and that is the essential. Because today, they can’t
publish anything, even things which could make us moan. And that,
that makes us moan even more. Because what is the use of having
the right to moan if there is no-one to moan against? What is the use
of having the right to laugh if there is no-one to make us laugh?
Never forget that they are dead for us to have the right not to agree
with them. Because, it would be better to moan, to grumble, to be
angry, instead of seeing them all dead, all twelve of them, fallen for
France and for freedom of speech. Dead on their own battlefield.
Because being a journalist, a cartoonist, but also an artist or a chief
editor seems to be dangerous professions. How could we imagine
that with our paintbrushes, our pencils, our pens, our photo-cameras
and our film cameras, our bodies, our canvases, we could risk our
lives, our safety, while we live in democracies? Our goal is never
hatred, our goal is the instillation of thought within our fellow
humans for a more peaceful coexistence, for all of us to reflect upon
the world we live in. Because it’s the vocation of art and newspapers,
even they are ironic or the complete opposite to make people reflect,
question, effect self-analysis, widen their perspectives. How will the
artists of our generation act and react? Art and newspapers are a
richness, and an enrichment for each of us, as citizens, as artists, as
humans.
How can art and newspapers play a role, a key role in the creation of
contents, creators of thought? How may we participate in the
emergence and vitality of our cultures in situations where sometimes
there is not a lot of safety, and at worst no safety? Yet, culture, art,
knowledge construct us as humans, and as citizens. They are our
souls, which help raise us, touch us and sometimes appal us. They

can unsettle us, but always they educate us, show us the way, give us
faith in humanity, even in the most dreadful moments.
So our weapons are our drawings and cartoons, our canvases, our
novels, our poems, ours haikus, as our short texts, our essays, our
magazines, our films, our happenings, our dancing and our music.
Our art is our shield. Our "wars" don’t kill anyone, because our fights
are for love, and faith in humanity.
Among the Charlie Hebdo dead, there is one who particularly touched
me. It was Cabu. Cabu, for the french of our generation (described as
at the crossroads of irony, sincerity, hypocrisy, and overt naivety) was
our father. As The Simpsons, and South park, our father in irony. He
educated us to caricature, to the press cartoon, with tenderness and
love, with patience and respect. Cabu? We waited for that moment, in
front of the TV, when he was going to draw in our favorite kids TV
show. For me, it was like waiting for a sweet, a long awaited moment.
And I remember seeing him on TV.
Oh my god, no, it was not bullets I wanted to send him. Certainly not. I
remember, when I saw him, I wanted to kiss and hug him. When we
saw him, it was only tenderness and love we wanted to give him, to
share with him, and nothing else. I was young, it was long time ago,
but I never forgot this great Cabu with his sweet and funny cartoons.
Father has passed, our generation is orphaned.
His cartoons were an emotion because art is emotion. And emotion
creates us as human, as being. Emotion and tears are beautiful. They
are our hearts’ art, the bloody tears of our wounded bodies. Wounded
to unspeakable depth by the death of our fathers, our brothers, and
sisters. About the gatherings, some said it was beautiful, but of no
utility. I answered that beauty is yet useful by itself. It shows the unity
of a nation, a people, behind this idea of freedom of speech, and its
corollary, freedom of opinion (for agreeing or disagreeing). It shows
this solidarity, this shared mourning, this support we give each other,

for staying on our feet. It’s a great moment of naivety. But sometimes,
naivety is necessary. Believing in us, having faith in humanity is what
the world needs, what human beings need, to have trust in the future.
In France, in foreign countries, this seen support is a caress to our
afflicted and teary hearts, a sweet caress of reassurance in this time
of mourning and pain. It is a little soothing, a way to show to our dead
what they meant to us, what freedom represents for each and
everyone of us.
Caresses to the soul, caresses to the heart are so important in these
moment, a calming cure. Sometimes, what makes you feel good can
take peculiar ways. The day of the twelve's murders, an artist had
published her last song, and the video of it. It’s Sia, and I can say, at
that moment, my mind was not in listening music mode. In the end, I
decided to listen to it (for permitting me to think about something
else). It was no deception. Both the song and the video are absolutely
splendid, very emotional. But more, it was a shock. The music and the
video spoke to me about myself, my feelings, after the attack. About
my emotions, various, contradictory, savage, violent or sweet. A
desire for revolt, a desire for crying, breaking everything, hiding
myself away, being angry, being with the other, needing him or her, a
desire for tenderness and rendering tenderness back.
The music and the video have no link, of course, with the event, but in
the end, they accompanied me in my process of mourning and shock.
Because the music of Elastic Heart is the symphony of my emotions,
the video the mirror of my pains. They are my music for Charlie, a
music video I spend my time listening to and watching. And I cry…
Because emotions are music. And music is emotion.
We always come back to (he)art…

He was named Cabu
He was named Ahmed
He was named Charb
She was named Elsa
He was named Tignous
He was named Franck
He was named Wolinski
He was named Michel
He was named Bernard
He was named Frédéric
He was named Honoré
He was named Mustapha
For Charlie Hebdo
For the 12 For the 17
For freedom of speech
For newspapers
For art
For we, all.