I wrote this text on the first of May.
I sent it… and it was not published.
And this — alone — is enough to be an honest introduction to everything that will come!
Today is Labor Day.
We are on holiday…
And they are at work!
The timing didn’t fail.
The meaning did!
Two hundred and ninety dinars.
It's not a salary.
But the exact distance between living… and not dying!
They gathered. They decided. They closed the file until 2027.
But no one closed the fatigue.
They left the worker open… on a never-ending day!
The one who builds your house — doesn't own a door.
The one who sews your shirt — doesn't have time to wear it.
The one who cleans your day — doesn’t own a day.
They are not the exception.
They are the rule… which we don’t want to see!
The builder doesn’t know that today is his holiday.
Because if he stopped… he’d fall!
The sweat droplet that falls from his forehead is not water,
but a living signature stating:
I am here… so that everything doesn’t collapse!
The driver does not wait for a speech —
He waits for the end of a never-ending day.
The domestic worker doesn’t wait for congratulations —
She waits to be seen!
The factory worker doesn’t wait for a holiday —
He waits not to be erased easily.
In the Haymarket event in Chicago,
workers didn’t go out to celebrate.
They went out because life was too constrained… even for eight hours!
They paid with blood.
So we turned it into a celebration.
And we turned the celebration into a holiday.
And we took the holiday… and left them!
Karl Marx said with the coolness of a scientist:
The worker sells his day… to buy a chance to sell another day.
And Ahmad Fouad Negm shouted with the heat of the wound:
They build… and they do not reside!
Two centuries passed.
And the sentence did not change.
The only thing that changed… is that we now quote it instead of listening to it!
Every city stands — on the shoulders of those who do not stand.
Every house that protects us — was built by those who find nothing to shelter them.
Every road we take — was worn by labor we do not see.
This is not an exaggeration.
This is the truth… when told without adornment!
The holiday is not a break.
The holiday is justice!
But justice is costly…
So we invented a cheaper alternative:
A day off…
A picture…
And a word: Happy New Year!
Cement is still on the shoulder.
The steering wheel is still in hand.
And fatigue is still in a body
that cannot afford to collapse.
The only difference…
Is that we named it a holiday!
The first of May was not created to be celebrated.
It was created to disturb!
But we tamed it.
We turned it into a picture.
And a picture — no matter how beautiful —
does not feed the hungry!
We are not celebrating the workers.
We are celebrating our ability… to forget them!
As for the real holiday,
It is not a day in the calendar.
The real holiday is the day
when the worker wakes up…
and does not find the world standing on top of him!
That day…
has not yet come.
Not because it’s impossible,
but because we — simply —
have not decided for it to come!
The last truth?
We don't forget the workers…
We remember them… then we continue our day!
And for this…
Every year…
and the fatigue is well!
