An Unusual Tale of Love: May Ziyadah and Kahlil Gibran

By Mrinalini Pandey

Gibran wrote in Sand and Foam, “only an idiot or a genius breaks man-made laws; and they are the nearest to the heart of God” (Gibran, 2019, p. 656). This article examines how a unique relationship between two thinkers – Khalil Gibran and May Ziyadah – questioned societal norms through love and intellect. They were companions who, although separated by thousands of miles, remained intellectually and spiritually united. 

Gibran’s name is not unfamiliar in the Arab World, he was one of the greatest writers of the Twentieth Century, who became immortal after writing The Prophet. Born in Bsharri, Lebanon in 1883, he, along with his family, immigrated to the US when he was twelve years old. While he was already in school, he developed an ardent interest in literature and art. When he was just twenty-two, a renowned Boston photographer, Fred Holland Day, organised Gibran’s painting exhibition. The year 1905 saw the publishing of his first book, Al-Musiqah (Music), by the end of 1908 he earned the reputation of rebel after his book Al-Arwah al-Mutamarridal (Spirits Rebellious) was published. In 1912, his much celebrated book, The Broken Wings was published, after which he got in touch with Ziyadah, and their correspondence lasted until Gibran’s death (Bushrui, 2012, p.11). However, it was The Prophet that overshadowed many of his previous works and people began considering him as the third-best selling poet of all time, behind Shakespeare and Laozi. “The Prophet sold more than 9 million copies in its American edition alone…The Prophet has been recited at countless weddings and funerals” (Acocella, 2007).

However, little is known about his unusual and unconventional, yet platonic, literary  relationship with Ziyadah. It is often believed that when it comes to love, society tends to abide by its own unwritten laws which few dare to defy. Gibran, in describing the courage it takes to break the shackles of convention,  says “What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man’s iron chains” (Gibran, 2019, p. 594). He shared a special bond with May Ziyadah for over nineteen years, a time during which they never met, keeping their friendship alive through the exchange of letters. 

As if straight out of a fairy tale, May Ziyadah and Kahlil Gibran shared a relationship nothing short of fantasy. In the English translation of Gibran’s Self Portrait, Anthony R. Ferris quotes Dr. Jamil Jabre while writing about Ziyadah’s relationship with Gibran: “it is difficult to imagine a man and a woman falling in love without having known or met one another except by correspondence. But artists have their own unusual way of life which they themselves can only understand” (Ferris, 1959, p.37). “Gibran’s relationship with May Ziyadah differed in many respects. It is impossible to define such a love, though it included spiritual and platonic elements” (Bushrui & Jenkins, 1998, p.208). 

Although Ziyadah’s name is well respected in literary circles, she remains unknown to much of the wider reading public. She was a Lebanese-Palestinian writer and poet and one of the prominent figures of the Nahda (Arab Awakening) in the early twentieth century. Though her  Christian name was Mary, she preferred May, finding it  to be more poetic. She was born in Nazareth but left for Cairo at the age of twenty-two and enrolled herself at the Egyptian University where she studied Classical Arabic Literature. 1911 saw the publishing of her first collection of poems titled Fleurs de reve, published under the pseudonym Isis Copia. 

Throughout her literary career she remained vocal about several issues concerning women, such as their status in society and the women’s movement in Egypt and the broader Arab world. She remained forthright in expressing how women were forced by their families to marry men they did not love (Aytac, 2002, p.72-74). In one of her most acclaimed works, Woman with a Story, she goes into great lengths to narrate the predicament of a woman who falls prey to patriarchal societal norms, gossip, and slanders (Muttairi & Khatri, 2022, p.41). In addition to writing poems, novels and essays, May penned the  biographies of three pioneering women writers: Warda al-Yaziji; Aisha Taimur; and Bahithat al-Badiyya (pseudonym of Malak Hifni Nasif). Bahithat al-Badiyya, Ziyadah’s biography of Malak Hifni Nasif, was especially noteworthy because it was the first book written by an Arab woman about another Arab woman (Mowafy, 1999, p.61). Nasif herself went through a troubled marriage, finding out after her marriage that her husband had another wife, polygamy a common practice at the time. As a consequence of that, she took it upon herself to write about the predicament of women through her writings and continued to raise the issue of women’s rights throughout her career. Ziyadah likened Nasif’s pain to a “sacred fire” which burned within her and motivated her to work towards the cause of women (Kader, 1987, p. 65). 

Despite the multitude of literary guises she capably assumed, what made her even more unique was her relationship with Kahlil Gibran. Their correspondence began after Ziyadah read Gibran’s Broken Wings in 1912. She unabashedly expressed her opinion about the book in a letter that was addressed to him. Though she admired his style of writing, she was unable to empathise with the protagonist of the story:

“…I do not agree with you on the subject of marriage, Gibran… I am in full accord with you on the fundamental principle that advocates freedom of woman. The woman should be free, like the man, to choose her own spouse guided not by advice or aid of neighbours and acquaintances but by her own personal inclinations. After choosing her life partner, a woman must bind herself completely to the duties of that partnership upon which she has embarked… Why can’t a married woman meet secretly with the man she loves? Because by thus doing she will be betraying her husband and disgracing the name she has willingly accepted, and will be lowering herself in the eyes of the society of which she is a member… Suppose we let Selma Karamy, the heroine of your novel, and every woman that resembles her in affections and intelligence, meet secretly with an honest man of noble character; would not this condone any woman’s selecting a friend, other than her husband, to meet with secretly?” (Ferris, 1959, p.37).  

This marked the beginning of a nineteen-year-long relationship which continued until Gibran’s death in 1931 – a relationship that thrived on intellectual companionship and a spiritual connection that transcended any physical aspects. They were never destined to meet, yet their letters are testament to their  emotional proximity. In one letter Gibran writes, “May God forgive you, you have robbed me of my heart’s tranquillity and had it not been my steadfastness and obduracy you would have robbed me of my faith” (Bushrui & Kuzbari, 2015, p.102). Once, when Gibran asked her to visit him in  New York, she refused by claiming that she was not allowed through customs. 

Nevertheless, Gibran stood by her side through all the ups and downs of life. When her father died he wrote to her, “ I learnt today that your father has travelled beyond the golden horizon and has reached the goal towards which we all make our pilgrimage. What am I to say to you? Mary you are far too sublime in thought and in your choices of words, you wish to hear for soothing platitudes of consolation. But in my heart there is a strong desire to stand before you, and a longing to hold your hand in mine in silence, feeling all that fills your soul, inasmuch as he who is near to you and yet still a stranger is able to share in what you feel” (Bushrui & Kuzbari, 2015, p.158). 

The letters Gibran wrote to Ziyadah were compiled and given the form of a book titled Blue Flames, edited by Salma Haffar al-Kuzbari and Suheil Badi Bushrui. Their correspondence embodies the  messages of love, friendship, and the importance of connecting with someone on a deeper level – for when you do so, you embark on a path of self discovery, and “search [for] God in the heart of the other” (Aslani & Amirian, 2019, p.132). 

References

Acocella, Joan. (2007).Prophet Motive: The Kahlil Gibran phenomenon”. The New Yorker.

Aslani, S., & Amirian, Z. (2019). Religious viewpoint of Kahlil Jubran (Kahlil Gibran): A Critical Review, Al-Adab Journal, 129.

Aytac, B. (2002).  “The Question of Women in the Works of Selma Riza and May Ziadeh”. Ankara Universitesi Dil ve Tarih-Cografya Fakultesi Dergisi, 42 (1-2).

Bushrui, S., & Gibran, K. (2012). The Prophet, A new annotated edition. London: Oneworld.

Bushrui, S., & Jenkins J. (1998). Kahlil Gibran, Man and Poet: A New Biography. London: Oneworld.

Bushrui, S., & Kuzbari, S.H. (2015). Love Letters. London: Oneworld.

Gibran, K. (2019). Complete Works of Kahlil Gibran: All Poems and Short Stories. General Press.

Kader, S. (1987). Egyptian Women in a Changing Society: 1899-1987. Lynne Rienner Publishers.

Mowafy, W.M.A. (1999). A Study of character portrayal in the works of Egyptian biographers of the first half of the Twentieth Century, with special reference to literary biography. Ph.D Thesis, University of Leeds.

Muttairi, B., & Khatri, J.A.H (2002). “Metaphor, Creative Representation and the Self: A Semiotic Analysis of Selected Arab Short-Stories by Female Writers”. Sanglap: Journal of Literary and Cultural Inquiry, 9 (1).

Veganism in the Middle East: Traditional Movement or Tech-Investment?

By Theo Detweiler

On behalf of the Oxford Middle East Review, I sat down with Seb Alex, Lebanese animal rights activist and founder of the Middle East Vegan Society (MEVS). As a vegan myself, I spoke with Alex to learn more about the current state of the vegan movement in the Middle East and North Africa region. Though Alex has been a vocal animal rights activist for half a decade, he started MEVS in early 2022 because, “there’s amazing activists, but no organization doing specific work with animal rights” across the region. He attributes this to the lack of accessible locally-produced information on plant-based eating and animal rights, since most online content on veganism is catered to a Euro-American audience. Thus, the work of MEVS is twofold. First, the group’s members volunteer to spread awareness about veganism and create content in a “relatable way for Middle Eastern people”. Secondly, MEVS advocates for more vegan options with restaurants and food businesses based in the region. Such a project can rely only on “local and traditional dishes and recipes that already are plant-based”, rather than trying to “veganize” meat-heavy dishes. Whereas an English-language content creator might post a recipe for a vegan “tuna” salad, Alex thinks such recipes are both ineffective and unnecessary when so many regional dishes are already plant-based.

Even so, a challenge remains that little vegan content exists in the languages of the Middle East. For now, the group’s website is available in English, Turkish, and Arabic. However, translation and creation of plant-based content has its challenges. Alex — who grew up in the Armenian community of Beirut — spoke of the difficulty of translating “vegan” into Arabic. The word nibātī (literally “plant-ist”) is commonly used by vegetarians, while some vegans have proposed the neologism khaḍrī (derived from khaḍra, meaning “greenery”). Alex finds both words insufficient since they are “very diet-based and don’t necessarily base themselves on animal ethics”. Of course, the same is true of the words “vegetarian” and “vegan” in English. Yet, getting around the restaurants of Beirut, Alex does not use either word. He suggested, “Lebanese Christians actually eat fully vegan diets throughout the [Lent] fast in March or April. Most restaurants — whether they’re Christian or Muslim — know what the diet consists of. This is an easy way for vegans to explain their diet. You say, ‘I want it as if it’s for fasting’”.

Alex therefore sees the religions of the Middle East as compatible with plant-based diets and ideas of animal welfare. This extends not just to traditionally Christian groups, but the larger Islamic community in the Middle East region. He cited a hadith from Imam Bukhari’s Al-Adab al-Mufrad. In Hadith 373, a man tells the Prophet, “’Messenger of Allah, I was going to slaughter a sheep and then I felt sorry for it. He said twice, ‘Since you showed mercy to the sheep, Allah will show mercy to you'”. By tracing the discussion on animals in the Hadith, Alex reads the passage as a prime example of concern for animal welfare in Islam. Granted, despite passages like these, Islamic law specifically outlines the permissible slaughter of animals in dhabīḥah. Likewise, the holiday Eid al-Adha is commonly celebrated with the ritual slaughter (qurbān) of animals and the sharing of meat with all members of the community. Thus, though the Qur’ān and hadiths contain passages on animal welfare, Islamic law nonetheless permits the sacral slaughter of animals. Muslim members of the MEVS team recently started the “Vegan Islam Initiative” to open a dialogue among plant-based Muslims about how their diet fits into their religion. For example, to celebrate Eid, some Muslim vegans share their plant-based cooking with the community.

Thus, despite often being targeted with the claim that veganism is a foreign diet, Alex emphasizes that plant-based eating is compatible with Middle Eastern cultures. In fact, he claims veganism arose in the Middle East, mentioning 11th century Syrian poet Abū al-ʿAlā al-Maʿarrī. In a famous poem, al-Maʿarrī wrote,

“Do not unjustly eat what the water has given up, and do not desire as food the flesh of slaughtered animals,

Or the white (milk) of mothers who intended its pure draught for their young, not for noble ladies.

And do not grieve the unsuspecting birds by taking their eggs; for injustice is the worst of crimes”.[1]

Crediting al-Maʿarrī as history’s first vegan, Alex remarked, “if this man more than 1000 years ago in the Middle East was an outspoken vegan, for someone to come and say now that veganism is a Western thing is to erase the history of this man and his work”. Indeed, al-Maʿarrī’s concern for animal ethics is not an anomaly. The poet’s contemporaries in Abbasid Baghdad, the esoteric Islamic society known as the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā (Brethren of Purity), showed similar concern for animal welfare in their epistle, “The Case of the Animals versus Man”. In the story, a rabbit laments that humans, “drink the milk of cattle as they drank their mother’s milk and…use animals’ wool and fleece for coats and upholstery, but in the end they slaughter, flay, disembowel, and dismember them”.[2] Reacting to the humans’ oppression of animals, one jinn even suggests that “to help the oppressed and free the enslaved is the best thanks for God’s blessing”.[3] While the Ikhwān do seem to imply that all humans were vegetarian prior to their expulsion from the Garden of Eden, their epistle does not call for mass abstinence from meat nor an end to the subjection of animals. Still, their work corroborates Alex’s point that the Middle East has a rich literary tradition valuing animal welfare.

Yet, the contemporary vegan movement in the region, like its counterparts in other parts of the world, lacks a cohesive philosophy. Activists like Alex see veganism as a movement for animal welfare — not just a diet. For others, the turn away from animal products is informed by ecological or financial interests. In fact, in the Gulf, veganism is growing into a multi-million-dollar, state-backed corporate industry. In March 2021, the Qatar Investment Authority (QIA) — the state’s sovereign wealth fund — led a $200 million investment round for Eat Just, a plant-based food company based in California. A few months later, the company finalized a deal to build a production facility in Umm al-Houl, which the Qatari government designated as a special economic zone in 2019. The QIA holds a $450 billion portfolio, including a 10% stake in the Volkswagen Group, a 20% in UK supermarket chain Sainsbury’s, and the football club Paris Saint-Germain. It seems strange that the Qatari state is interested in a company whose principal product is a 350ml bottle of liquid vegan “eggs”. Yet, Eat Just is more than a food company. Headquartered in Silicon Valley, its industry is as much food as it is biotechnology. The company’s facility in Umm al-Houl will not be a farm but a “cultivated meat” facility, growing edible chicken meat from a cell culture without ever requiring the killing of an animal. Thus, for Qatar, investing in plant-based foods is an investment in the bullish sector of agricultural technology and a bet on the future of food.

The most noteworthy investor in plant-based foods in the Gulf region is Saudi prince Khaled bin Al-Waleed Al-Saud. Since going vegan in 2017, Khaled has built a plant-based empire. Through the company he founded and named after himself, KBW Ventures, his investments include the restaurant chain, Veggie Grill, Beyond Meat, and the media company, “PlantBasedNews”. In a partnership with American celebrity chef Matthew Kenney, Khaled has launched a series of vegan restaurants in Bahrain, Doha, Dubai, Kuwait, and Riyadh, all at the Four Seasons — the luxury hotel chain partly owned by his father, Prince Al-Waleed. Like QIA, Khaled’s focus is what he calls “cell-ag”, i.e., meat grown from a cellular culture — a far cry from Alex’s emphasis on the region’s heritage foods. KBW Ventures is invested in a cell-grown chicken company, a cell-grown seafood company, and a company making pet food that is “brewed, not farmed”. Where companies like Beyond Meat use plant ingredients to resemble meat, these companies apply cutting-edge science to produce actual animal tissue from an initial cell culture. This meat might be called “vegan” since it was not slaughtered — but it is not “plant-based”.

Seb Alex (top) and Prince Khaled (bottom). Courtesy of Alex and KBW Ventures

For Prince Khaled, “cell-ag” is the future of food.  Explaining his investments in 2020, he told CNBC, “the third most impactful industry is the animal-agriculture industry. And we have to just find a better way to source protein for people”. In the Middle East and North Africa, more than 50 million people are undernourished, and food insecurity is projected to grow in the coming decades with climate change, desertification, and increasing population. Alternative meats could be the solution to this growing threat in the region. The prince thinks that cellular agriculture facilities, like that in Umm al-Houl, will inevitably outcompete and replace industrial livestock production. Eventually, growing meat in a lab will likely become more ecologically and economically efficient, even if consumers might be averse to such an artificial product. Though the Prince’s vision is driven by environmental concerns — not animal ethics — his investments are nonetheless furthering the Middle East Vegan Society’s mission in the region. Indeed, while the focus of the MEVS is to encourage people in the region to cook more heritage plant-based recipes in their kitchens, the group also pushes for more corporate solutions like the Prince’s.

Still, the Gulf countries’ investment in vegan products raises practical and ethical questions. While locally made vegan products certainly exist, the firms in which QIA and KBW Ventures invest tend to be Californian biotechnology companies whose products are sparsely sold in the Middle East and North Africa. While access is growing across the region, vegan products remain expensive and impractical, particularly outside of the hyper-wealthy Gulf countries. Even so, vegan meat products — whether plant-based or lab grown — raise questions about the application of kosher and halal dietary guidelines. Likewise, one might see these Qatari and Saudi investments as another instance of “greenwashing” their intensive oil production and obscuring the monarchies’ ongoing abuses of human rights with an eco-friendly or moralistic vegan face. For instance, NEOM, the planned smart city of Saudi Crown Mohammed bin Salman, includes a project to build the future of food and “foster a shift to alternative proteins to create healthier and more sustainable eating habits”. Yet, the megaproject has already garnered criticism for evicting and executing members of the local Howeitat tribe. Similar concerns exist in Israel, which hosts a burgeoning vegan industry including cellular agriculture companies Redefine Meat and Aleph Farms. On their YouTube channel, the Israeli Defense Forces proudly pronounces itself the “The Most Vegan Army in the World”. Likewise, such moralizing of the military’s treatment of animals seemingly obfuscates its own violations of the human rights of Palestinians. Such strange weaponization of animal rights and plant-based eating in Israel and the Gulf could certainly induce scepticism among Middle Easterners about the motivations of the local vegan movement.

Of course, veganism is not limited to the technological investments of MENA’s wealthiest states. Among Palestinians in the Occupied Territories, veganism looks starkly different, relying on heritage foods rather than hedge-funded laboratories. Khaled Safi, for example, opened a vegan bakery in the al-Jalazone refugee camp in 2016. His brother, Ahmed, who founded the Palestinian Animal League in 2011, asked The World, “What good is it if an Israeli soldier is vegan and wears leather-free boots if his gun is aimed at Palestinians?”. For the Safi brothers, vegan food is not a technological innovation or a financial investment, but ultimately a project for animal rights. Thus, they reject the plant-based eating of the IDF by instead reorienting towards more politically engaged animal activism. The current state of the vegan movement in the region exposes these frictions. The movements for human and animal rights can be aligned or incongruous, but perhaps also re-aligned. And the label “vegan” itself is increasingly up for debate — caught between plant-based foods and advancing cellular agriculture.

Animal rights centre in Sin al-Fil, courtesy of Seb Alex

Certainly, the scope of the Middle East Vegan Society straddles these two visions of veganism — one based on grassroots animal activism and the other on corporate investments in agricultural technology. While the group’s work is just beginning, and their focus is animals, they have worked at the intersection of animal and human rights. In the aftermath of the 2020 Beirut explosion, Alex assisted the Lebanese Vegan Social Hub in opening an animal rights centre in Sin al-Fil, just outside the city. The centre offers free vegan meals to those in need, while also staging educational workshops on animal rights. The project particularly seeks to feed refugees and migrant workers who are often overlooked by non-profits whose work is often limited to Lebanese families. Likewise, during the recent earthquakes in Turkey and Syria, MEVS has used its platform to help support the rescue and care of affected animals. Alex sees these movements for animal and human welfare as complementary, not contradictory. Likewise, while motivations of vegans do not always line up — whether monetary, ethical, environmental, religious, or otherwise, the Middle East Vegan Society works to bridge these differing motivations to promote animal welfare and plant-based diets however it can. As a frequent lecturer on animal rights in Europe, Alex says his critics often remark that veganism is not an important movement when “people are dying in the Middle East”. Of course, he notes that these same critics are often unaware that Alex is from the region himself. Instead, he asks, “who are you to use our struggles to justify what you’re doing to other animals?”.

Special thanks to Seb Alex, Dr Febe Armanios, and Dr Fitzroy Morrissey


[1] Nicholson, Reynold. Studies in Islamic Poetry. England: University Press, 1921. 134.

[2] Goodman, Lenn Evan, and Richard J.A. McGregor. The Case of the Animals versus Man before the King of the Jinn: An Arabic Critical Edition and English Translation of Epistle 22. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. 14.

[3] Goodman, 130.

Non-Hierarchical Revolution: Grassroots Politics in the First Palestinian Intifada

Jack McGinn

This article seeks to outline the non-hierarchical characteristics of the first intifada, using as examples the decentralised healthcare networks, labour unions, and women’s movements which were formed in the years preceding the uprising and provided a structure and backbone to the resistance. Such a focus on three distinct, but interdependent, forces behind the intifada is informed by a belief that each operated primarily on a deliberately horizontal basis of organising, thus highlighting the common motivation that activists felt towards a model of democratised resistance. The article concludes with a discussion of the town of Beit Sahour, where pre-existing networks of solidarity helped to produce a resilient campaign of tax resistance, coordinated by popular committees.

Jack McGinn is a PhD candidate at the London School of Economics Department of Sociology and the Communications Coordinator at the LSE Middle East Centre. He received his MSc in Arab World Studies from the University of Edinburgh, and subsequently worked in Jordan and Palestine as a translator and editor. His doctoral research at LSE focuses on decentralised anti-hierarchical organising in the Syrian revolution.