Today, following years of delay, I have decided to offer a sincere apology to the Sri Lankan domestic worker in our country. Please refrain from cleaning our homes. Clean our conscience, for its coat is thick and its mouth is thick. Put the iron aside and stop for a moment to pet the colt. Pass the iron over our patriotic consciousness, which is covered in deep and stubborn stains. Don’t wipe the dust off our windows. Wipe him from our fear and our dullness with the towel of freedom. You are from the island of Ceylon and we are from the islands of Lebanon. You went out of your skin to yours, and we went out of the lions’ den into the chicken coop.
Allow me to tell you that an oppressed and deprived people like you who storm the seat of power deserve us, who believe in the universe that we are geniuses in everything, worthy of a bow and a hat. We, my dear, did not enter a residence except for three: gossiping regarding others, chanting praises with others, and making piles at others. We accept the oppression of the tyrants over us if they empower us to tyrannize those who are below us. The system hatched harmful insects in the form of beetles, frolicking and frolicking on the leader’s rug. You in Sri Lanka inhale the scent of freedom, while in Lebanon we breathe naphthalene.
Give us a guide on how to get to the palaces of tyrants. How many men and women do we need to demolish a palace and build a country? How many martyrs do we need to color a flag? Share with us the method of preparation and ingredients, even in Sri Lankan. Our colloquial and standard languages are teeming with the past participle, while the subject is forbidden from the past participle. We have been cooking for fifty years, a homeland that has only come out of our pots with charred charred bread. Nothing is fresh in my country but the meat of the poor. Let me serve you today, madam. I’ll make you breakfast. I offer you an extra cup of Ceylon tea. You are an icon and I am your follower.
Your Sri Lankan revolutionary brothers stormed the official seat of power in Colombo. No doubt you watch it from your little room and weep for joy thousands of miles away from the anguish of your kindred. Your friends swam in the headquarters swimming pool. They dipped in their clothes. They added to the chlorine of the aquarium that kills bacteria the chlorine of their sweat that kills slavery, so the water became humanized and became suitable for the baptism of freedom. A swimming pool used to bathe the satiated visitors and forcefully urinate champagne bottles following midnight. In the palaces of despotism, bottles of wine urinate more than people. My Sri Lankan lady, your compatriots slept in the official’s bed and took a selfie on his quilt. They locked him in his bedroom, ate in his dining room, and distributed his belongings.
The official ran away. The protection teams that surrounded his headquarters might not protect him from his people. Hundreds of thousands entered the main gate and the official fled from the back gate. When will the thief escape the back gate of his house in our country? Colombo taught us that no one is stronger than his own people. When will Beirut teach us? As soon as the mass of one country turns into a unified people, its rule becomes stronger than the rulers of the entire world.
Today, our domestic worker, you can become a role model. You lead us. Teach us how your people rose up in revenge for their dignity. How the loaf turned into a gear, and the apple into a pomegranate, and how silence became a sound, the rattle a scream, weakness a might, lethargy neighing, and fear a courage. With a wet mop and a pail of morning water, we wet our mornings with a wipe that cleans us. For a long time, we dreamed of the pleasure of swimming in the chief’s pool. Taking a selfie on his bed. In confiscating the shoes of his mermaids, his wives and concubines, and gifting them to the feet of our pure women. Taking off his treasuries, counting his millions, and encircling our wrists with the watches of his hand. For a long time in Lebanon we dreamed of removing the cordon. Provide us, my honorable Sri Lankan lady, with a basket of mangoes and pineapples, from which we can make free juices that loosen our collar.
