The Spanish edition of this book was presented as an offering during the ceremonial mass commemorating the 32nd anniversary of the slaying of 6 Jesuit priests by the army during El Salvador’s civil war.
You can watch Brian Murphy interviews Andrés McKinley here.
From his home in El Salvador where he has lived over four decades, the author shares an intimate personal and political memoir that follows his remarkable journey from the comfort and security of a picturesque New England town to a stirring and heroic engagement in common cause with the struggle for peace and justice in El Salvador.
After four years as a Peace Corp worker in northern Liberia beginning in the late 1960’s, followed by a stretch back in the United States as a street worker in the ghettos of North Philadelphia, McKinley finds himself in Central America as an aid worker in 1978. He quickly becomes engulfed by the political violence of the region and engaged with the people and their struggles against five decades of military dictatorship, centuries of poverty and exploitation. The story is marked by terror, adventure and courage, by trials and tragedy redeemed by the beauty and transcendence of people in struggle.
Originally based in Guatemala heading up a Catholic relief agency, his commitment to the struggles for change in the country attracts the attention of the military, and his own government, forcing him to leave the country in late 1980. He moves to El Salvador where he begins a gradual incursion into the revolutionary struggle of this country, in a commitment that will last the rest of his life.
Interwoven with this personal journey, is the story of Teresa Rivas, her husband Antonio, and their five children, a peasant family whose commitment as catequists with the Jesuit, Rutilio Grande, led to their eventual incorporation into the guerrilla forces of the FMLN after Grande’s assassination in 1977. The book describes the circumstances under which the author meets Antonio Rivas and family in the war zones of El Salvador, falls in love with them and their cause, and commits to accompanying their struggle through its darkest hours during the most violent years of the war. It also describes their life after the war, with resettlement in the lowlands of Guazapa where many ex-combatants were building a new life.
Interwoven with these stories, is the epic of a decades-long people’s struggle for economic justice, human rights and authentic democracy in El Salvador. The book lays out the social, economic and political origins of the armed struggle that caught fire in the 1970s, and the experiences of a people in desperate pursuit of non-violent options for democratizing their country and assuring a dignified life for the impoverished and marginalized majority of its population. It explains in detail the gradual emergence of the objective and subjective conditions for revolution in El Salvador, including the difficult choice for the use of violence as the only available option for transformative change in the country.
The book also details the challenges of reconstruction after the Peace Accords that end the war in 1992, and the tragedy of opportunities lost during the immediate post-war period in the face of the ongoing resistance of traditional opponents to reform. The author—himself deeply involved during these years in support of non-violent political organizing and advocacy—describes the efforts to sustain peace and to resolve the issues that continue to threaten the country with political violence. One of these is the water crisis that threatens the viability of the nation and life itself, and the book reveals the processes of organizing behind the ultimately-successful 17 year struggle to ban metallic mining—an historic victory in 2019 approved by a vote in the National Assembly, and without precedent in the world.
As the memoir closes, the author reflects on his choice to be in El Salvador over the past 43 years, and the country as he finds it in these changing times; on the family with whom he has shared love and life there; on his continuing relationship with Antonio Rivas and his surviving family; and his gradual reconciliation, from a distance, with the country of his birth.
With a Foreword by Charlie Clements, author Witness to War (Bantam, 1984) and Former Executive Director of the Carr Center for Human Rights Policy at the Harvard Kennedy School.
Andrés McKinley has penned a beautiful, moving love story – a stunning tribute to his family and country of birth and to his family and country of re-birth. Read it also as a tribute to a generation whose best and brightest members seized the opportunity to be a part of the social justice movements that were unfolding around the world. Theirs was not a journey for fame or for fortune. Baby-boomers, read this book to remember; others, read this to understand not only the sacrifices made but, more importantly, the fulfillment gained. May others follow Andres’s path to love, wherever it may take take them. — Robin Broad (Guggenheim Fellow) and John Cavanagh (director, Institute for Policy Studies), coauthors
of The Water Defenders: How Ordinary People Saved a Country from Corporate Greed (Beacon Press, 2021).
The voice is simple, authentic, articulate, and consistent and coherent throughout. Given the unique and dramatic personal story that Andrés tells, it is actually understated and quiet—restrained intensity is how I might describe it. What really sets it apart, though, is the intimacy, care and respect with which he describes and tells the stories of the Salvadorans with whom he shared life and struggle throughout these years (and for that matter the villagers in Liberia in his early Peace Corps years). … It is a work of great humility, even as it tells a heroic tale without flinching, and in great detail. Nor is he romantic about the course that the struggle has taken; he is unflinching in that as well, and so leaves history open-ended but blessed with the grace of those who struggle. — Brian K. Murphy, writer and organizer, former policy analyst at Inter Pares, who writes at MurphysLog.ca
This is a very impressive book which tells a truly remarkable personal story, without the story becoming purely personal. In fact, there is a great deal of political history in the book, which I can confirm as I also studied as well as lived through some of the Salvadorean civil war. The truly incredible Salvadorean peasants who stayed in the war zones despite army incursions and US backed aerial bombing, are just as he describes them. They led me also to a lasting respect and love for them, even with- out the long term depth of experience of the author. The way the author brings us so many personal stories is very powerful. We get to know the friends he makes and then to feel as he did, when they lost their loved ones in this horrendous violence un- leashed on the Salvadorean poor and their allies by the Salvadorean wealthy elites, their military and US backers. — Jenny Pearce, Research Professor, Latin America and Caribbean Centre, London School of Economics
Andrés McKinley’s book For the Love of the Struggle is a moving and personal account of his involvement in the fight for justice in El Salvador during the civil war of the 1980s. But more than the events he describes, with great detail and political insight, it is his love for the people of El Salvador that sets this book apart. From working with church related organizations, to joining the guerrillas in the liberated zones, to his work along the communities opposing metallic mining, it is his relation- ship with the people, particularly the humbler ones, which stands out.
Most books that deal with the civil war in El Salvador end with the signing of the Peace Accords, which put an end to the armed conflict and laid the foundation for a more democratic and just El Salvador. As important as the Peace Agreements were, they did not solve all the problems and conflicts of the country. When several rural communities were threatened in the early 2000s by the efforts of trans- national gold mining interests, they rose in defense of their rights through social organization and peaceful opposition. In spite of the repression they suffered, after 17 years of struggle they finally prevailed, showing how people united, can bring about change.
This belief is particularly important now, at a moment in which our democratic insti- tutions are being threatened precisely by those who should be the first to protect them. It is the role of organized civil society to defend what we have conquered and McKinley’s book is an excellent and timely reminder that this is something possible and necessary to achieve.— Francisco Altschul is a former Salvadoran Ambassador to the United States
Daraja Press
http://socialistreview.org.uk/438/youre-not-here
Set in and around Manchester, You’re Not Here is informed by Mehmood’s experience of growing up a working class Pakistani in northern England, combatting racism on the streets and being arrested. The novel explores the British Asian experience in the context of the “war on terror” and Islamophobia. “I have lived and fought against various waves of racism in Britain, but the current Islamophobic one, the new racism, is far more insidious and divisive than those which preceded it,” says Mehmood in his blog.
This novel is a sequel to You’re Not Proper, which explored, in the author’s words, “what it is to be a Muslim teenager in the west today”. While it featured two teenage women’s search for identity and belonging — one with a Pakistani father and white Christian mother, the other her Hijab-wearing school friend — Mehmood’s sequel is, interestingly, told from the point of view of a white working class British youth.
Jake’s father was in the army. His elder brother is missing in action in Afghanistan. Jake is in love with a Muslim girl. We are introduced to diverse Asian characters and to white racist friends of his brother, and to the tensions both within and between the two communities, through Jake’s eyes.
While the novel reads like a pacey thriller, the teenage love story is treated with convincing tenderness. And there is sympathy for British soldiers. One scene features physically and mentally scarred ex-soldiers discarded by the state, and Military Friends and Families Against War make an appearance.
Daraja Press
Tariq Mehmood’s new novel is uncompromising but hopeful in its portrait of the impact of the war in Afghanistan on a northern city in Britain, finds Sarbjit Johal
https://www.counterfire.org/articles/book-reviews/20045-you-re-not-here-book-review
Sarbjit Johal December 20, 2018
mehmood_novel.jpg
Tariq Mehmood, You’re Not Here (Daraja Press 2018), 238pp.
‘I feel her words more than I hear them’.
Tariq Mehmood’s latest novel, You’re Not Here, is set in Boarhead, an imaginary town in the North of England where the main character, seventeen-year-old Jake, lives and works with his Dad, who is a traditional white working-class carpenter. However, Boarhead is a place where people defy all stereotypes and devise creative ways to survive, a place where people
who have for too long been left to their own devices, to defend, protect and look after themselves. So, when the British Army goes into Afghanistan and starts killing Muslims, and destroying their homes, while the bodies of dead soldiers start coming back home, the tensions in Boarhead erupt out into the open. Young Muslims become angry and upset, and the white youth start giving their support to this horrific war, and start calling the Muslim youth ‘traitors’ for not supporting the British Soldiers.
While Jake’s brother, Dexy, goes to fight in Afghanistan, Jake falls in love with Leila Khan, an Afghan girl living in Boarhead. It is through this contradictory thread that Tariq Mehmood explores what it means to have a national identity, to be a real man and to really belong in a country which is always waging wars. From the name of the town Boarhead (pig’s head) to the names of roads and buildings (St Enoch’s Road, the Queen Victoria statue, and the cafe where the menu lists Vindaloo Porky to Trotter Tikka (opened by Curly, who can neither read nor write, and spent most of his life on the dole), Boarhead is a place facing economic decline where race, racism and present-day war shapes everything.
The novel raises questions about what is culture? What is Asian, and what is English? What happens when people do not fit their stereotypes? And how to create a people’s culture of resistance? It shows how war strengthens racism, how it affects who dies, who lives, who gets a job and who doesn’t, who belongs, who doesn’t and what happens when people dare to defy orders, refuse to follow the duty forced on them and decide to determine their own lives.
Surviving destruction and loss
It reveals the struggle of people whose lives once destroyed by war are again wiped out in the West, like the maths professor from Iraq, who is a taxi driver in Boarhead. His university in Iraq was bombed to bits and in Boarhead he is seen as a Pakistani, when in actual fact he is a Christian Arab. You’re Not Here refers to all those loved ones who are gone or missing, and in Jake’s case it refers to his mother, brother and the longing he feels for Leila. You’re Not Here shows the things people hold on to when everything else is falling apart and nothing makes sense. For example, Jake’s father starts reading the Bible when he loses his job.
The people in Boarhead have cast and recast themselves in a constantly changing backdrop. This is a place where old Victorian mills have been knocked down to be replaced by shops like Asda and new private flats for sale, and the only place where you can have any privacy is a graveyard in an unused church.
Whether it’s food, clothes, language, looks, nothing here conforms to any static idea of culture. The chapter, ‘Doris’s Kebabs’, where Jake meets Leila’s father, is absolutely hilarious. Leila’s father, who has green eyes, introduces himself as Peter but Jake finds it difficult to see him as a ‘Peter’ and keeps calling him ‘Sir’. Reading this reminded me of a close uncle who used to be a wrestler in Punjab. After coming to Britain and working in farms and factories in West London, he would insist on being called Peter Singh when his actual name is Pritam Singh.
Jake is also surprised to see Peter drinking alcohol, drinking so much, and drinking it so fast. Whereas Jake, who is expected to drink, doesn’t drink alcohol at all. Peter’s comments on the kebabs he eats, ‘Even my wife can’t make them like Doris’, the way he speaks a mix of English and his own language, give space to a dynamic culture. Peter’s words even challenge the Hindutva fascists in India who portray Muslims as people who kill cows. Peter laments the large number of animals killed in war and expresses his sorrow at the murder of a cow in his village in Afghanistan. A cow which Peter himself had named, a cow whose mother his father had raised, a cow which had been the envy of the village.
Resistance and dissent, great and small
The book is littered with laugh-out-loud moments. The challenge to conventional right-wing culture comes from unconventional places. In one chapter, Abu Khalid, a religious leader criticises the owner of a shop called ‘Paradise Foods’ for displaying his tomatoes and cucumbers in a ‘rude’ way. He asks: ‘How can you do this when there are sisters around,’ and then goes on to accuse the shop keeper of ‘promoting sex and temptation’. Abu Khalid is then confronted by an old Pakistani woman who picks up a cucumber and asks him, ‘Shall I show you what I can do with this?’ Later in the story we learn that this religious leader is linked to some ‘powerful people in high places.’
The story of another character, Ali, is of an Asian shopkeeper who is determined to keep going despite the daily onslaught of racist abuse and armed raids, in an area where there are very few non-white people left. He has even opened a photo-booth inside his off-licence to keep the business alive. Ali is tall, has a six pack and owns a huge Alsatian dog called Twinkle with whom he speaks in Punjabi.
Jake goes to ‘Ali’s Offy’ to get a photo for a visa to Pakistan and to buy a bottle of whisky for his dad. Jake’s dad either drowns his emotions in alcohol, or in his work. When he’s working, Jake’s dad looks like a totally different person, much younger and full of energy and when times get tough, his solution is to work even harder.
For Jake’s father, this pride in the work ethic, this pride in a respectable ‘soldiering’ family is also tied up with how he sees himself as a man. For example, at home, when he cooks, Jake’s dad always manages to burn the food. His opinions of what he thinks of men who cook are made clear in his comments to Jake, who enjoys cooking: ‘You’ll make someone a good wife one day’.
Leila and Jake are both outsiders in their own way. Leila is very articulate and confident in public and constantly challenges Jake, but she comes across as being more deferential in the family. However, Leila does not aspire to be a ‘respectable’ Muslim woman, and Jake does not want to be a ‘respectable’ working-class man. He doesn’t drink, smoke, and is not ‘macho’.
Dexy is the older, protective brother who has Rambo posters in his bedroom, who’s ‘all emotion one minute and off his head the next’. He wears gold rings, hates Muslims and refers to hijabs as tents. But everything is never black and white, and that’s what makes this book interesting. Some soldiers come back from the war with very different perspectives than with which they departed. The novel has a hopeful aspect, even as it highlights destruction and suffering, as some of the characters find unexpected connections and solidarities in growing disillusion and opposition to imperialist war.
The ending is great, but just like real life, it is not a ‘happy ever after’ ending. It would have been interesting to hear more about Ali and his background as well as about Leila’s brothers and mother. Another criticism is that, at times, Jake, the central character, just seems ‘too perfect’. However, the story, the characters, the way the novel is structured, all makes this a really brilliant read.
There are so many powerfully realistic scenes. For example, the passage where Jake goes to find out why his friends have turned against him, really made me empathise with Jake’s pain. This is a singular feature of this novel, the ability to bring together people who are supposed never to meet. Then there is the section where Jake is cooking a stew and you follow the whole process from the chopping stage up to the eating stage, and the tension builds right up. Then there is the bus journey with its details of bus tickets and bus stops along with the ‘policing’ of young people by drivers, which all comes alive as you read it.
There are also some very interesting facts too, like the link between a Scotch Whiskey Brewery and Pakistan, or that there are the soldiers who go to fight wars, and when they die no one ever hears about them. An important and unforgettable feature of this novel is the way in which Tariq Mehmood uses language. There are the funny names like the Mucky Duck pub, Go-East Go West travel agency, and Kurly’s Kurry Kabin. Then there is the technique of joining old words to create new ones like the ‘ohgoddoIhaveto’ look or the ‘Pleasepleaseplease’ and the ‘dontyouworryson’ smile.
Although the novel is aimed at young readers, this book speaks to adults too. It dares to give space to that humanity which connects us all. And it screams out loud:
‘No to Racism,
No to Poverty,
No to War!’
Daraja Press
The narrative is packed with authentic voices, often humorous observations and insights, The novel reads like a thriller. It reaches an action-packed and moving climax, but, unlike a thriller, we are left uneasy about what may happen next.
Helen Goodway, Red Pepper, Summer 2019