Yesterday, The Guardian published a story I wrote that, prompted by the closure of landmark Lebanese restaurant Abdul's, charted the history of what was known as 'Little Lebanon': a pocket of Surry Hills and Redfern where early migrants from Lebanon settled and built food, clothing, wholesale and manufacturing businesses. And today on Substack, I write about why that particular commission was so important to me, reflecting on my teenage years as a voracious consumer of news and current affairs, crushed by the moral panics instigated against Lebanese people in the nineties and noughties. I have built my entire career as a writer, researcher and literature advocate determined to challenge the narratives of that era, the effects of which cause ongoing harm. From my early essays as a university student and my discovery of writers like Edward Said and Ghassan Hage, to my articles reflecting on faith and culture for newspapers and magazines, to my novels and now my research work, I have always championed my community, knowing they were so much more than the sensationalist headlines of my formative years. It was so, so hard in the start, but in time, I saw a community within a community begin to form, and all that trash talk only made me more determined to shine a light on who we are. Thank you to
@Alyxgorman for the commission; and to Dina, Hiba, John and Eleanor, who took me back to the good old days of Little Lebanon, which I really wish I got to see. Abdul's was founded by a Lebanese Muslim family, who among others, were serving the community of Christians who had built three churches in the area in the late 19th and early 20th century. As 91-year-old John told me: there was no animosity between them, and they shared and cooked for one another with the signature Lebanese hospitality. I don't care what anyone says: ูู ุงูุดุฑู to wear the cedar on a chain around my neck, and have it permanently etched upon my heart.
