When Poetry Becomes a Double-Edged Sword

A Pause

Poetry, especially among Arabs, is one of the most significant and enduring elements of soft power. Since ancient times, it has served as a repository of memory, the voice of tribes and nations, and a platform for defending values, dignity, and identity.

Its importance multiplies during times of crisis and security challenges, because peoples do not protect their homelands through arms and alliances alone; they also protect them through words that unite rather than divide, and that build awareness rather than incite base instincts.

Not long ago, I wrote an article about my visit to the “Slavia” café in Prague, which was frequented by the great Iraqi-Arab poet Muhammad Mahdi al-Jawahiri during his years in exile. I noted that he composed some of his most beautiful poems there, which expressed his deep longing for Iraq, and that poetry remained linked to homeland, freedom, and justice for him since he lost his brother Jaafar in the “January Uprising” of 1948, immortalizing him in his famous poem whose opening lines are:

“Do you know, or do you not know

That the victims’ wounds are speech?”

I had assumed the article would not attract much attention, given that people were preoccupied with the dangers and threats facing our region. However, it drew the interest of several intellectuals and readers, and I received comments addressing al-Jawahiri, his poetry, and his political stances from various perspectives, some of which were critical and harsh.

Some commentators placed him among poets who did not always adhere to the values they extolled, but instead moved between rulers and regimes, praising those who drew them close and satirizing those who kept them at a distance.

They argued that al-Jawahiri worked for a period in the Iraqi royal court, praised figures of the royal era, and then welcomed the July 14, 1958 revolution that overthrew the monarchy in a bloody scene, praising its leader, Abdul Karim Qasim, before falling out with him and leaving Iraq. He later returned during the “Ba’ath” era, establishing ties with several of its symbols, including Saleh Mahdi Amash.

Among the verses attributed to him in this context are:

“A Ba’ath built from skulls and blood,

In which the world crumbles, but it does not.”

However, research reveals that attributing this verse to al-Jawahiri is incorrect; it is attributed in circulating accounts to Saleh Mahdi Amash, and in others to the Iraqi poet Abdul Muhsin Aqrawi. Therefore, we cannot hold al-Jawahiri responsible for a verse whose attribution to him is unproven, regardless of our views on his political fluctuations.

But clearing him of this verse does not mean entirely absolving him of using poetry to incite severity and repression. In his poem “Settle Your Passengers,” which he recited before Abdul Karim Qasim after the fall of the monarchy, he said:

“Advance, for you are naturally inclined to advance;

Inflict cruelty, for you are capable of persecution.”

Then he said:

“Tighten the rope and strangle them firmly,

For perhaps loosening it may cause harm.”

These lines cannot be read today without pausing at their harsh language and their explicit call for repression and persecution, even if the poet believed, in that historical context, that the fledgling republic was facing internal and external conspiracies.

However, understanding the circumstances does not justify the content; the poet, no matter how angry he becomes, remains responsible for his words, especially when he holds a status and influence like al-Jawahiri’s. The words of a great poet do not remain confined to the page; they transform into a public stance and may become literary cover for revenge, exclusion, and violence.

Here lies the paradox in al-Jawahiri’s experience: he who spoke on behalf of the victims, and immortalized freedom, justice, and the homeland, was the same one who, in a moment of intense political tension, resorted to language that contradicted some of the human values he had defended.

This contradiction reveals the predicament of the Arab intellectual when power approaches him, or when ideological fervor sweeps him away, turning him from a conscience advising the ruler into a voice inciting him.

In the most delicate stages our region is going through, we are in greater need than ever of poetry, culture, and media that strengthen society’s resilience and unity, far from incitement and revenge. Poetry is a double-edged sword: it can be a bridge of love and awareness, or it can become fuel for hatred and violence. The true greatness of a poet lies in making his words a champion of humanity, not a justification for oppression.

— Former Bahraini Minister of Labour and Social Affairs