{"id":712,"date":"2021-10-18T21:12:40","date_gmt":"2021-10-18T18:12:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fawwaztraboulsi.com\/?p=712"},"modified":"2025-03-03T10:11:37","modified_gmt":"2025-03-03T08:11:37","slug":"variations-on-an-andalusian-theme-undated-letters-to-etel","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/variations-on-an-andalusian-theme-undated-letters-to-etel\/","title":{"rendered":"Variations on an Andalusian Theme – Undated Letters to Etel"},"content":{"rendered":"

Variations on an Andalusian Theme<\/strong><\/p>\n

Undated Letters to Etel<\/strong><\/p>\n

Fawwaz Trabulsi<\/strong><\/p>\n

I<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

I guess that I had to follow in your steps in order to begin answering your letters. Tomorrow, I\u2019ll be off to Spain for a lecture on \u201cDemocracy in the Southern Mediterranean\u201d at the University of Malagua, the city in which Picasso was born.<\/p>\n

My French companion confessed to me, with much embarrassment, that he had never visited Granada and wanted to profit from his Andalusian visit to spend a day or two in the city of the Al-Hamra and the Generalife. More embarrassed than him, being an Arab, I admitted that I was in the same situation and we quickly agreed to take the trip together.<\/p>\n

Have you ever been to Granada?<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll write to you from there. Meanwhile, find enclosed my review for Le Monde <\/em>of the French translation of Fares Chidyaq\u2019s La jambe sur la jambe<\/em> , maybe it will encourage you and Simone to read this great writer, feminist, satirist and social critic, if not in the Arabic original at least in the French translation. That is, if Simone can take her eyes away from Ibn Arabi. Could you imagine: an Arab male who wrote that he had been metamorphosed into a woman while writing his book in praise of women and the Arabic language? And when? In the middle of the last century!<\/p>\n

Love to both of you.<\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

I should confess to you that I have long been obsessed with Granada. My childhood was haunted by the specter of a maternal uncle, a romantic poet, who died young and left, among other things, a play in verse entitled \u201cThe Fall of Granada\u201d. My next encounter with Spain came in student days. That time, it was the Spanish revolution which obsessed us. Hardly a day passed in the Ras Beirut caf\u00e9s without us recalling a famous saying by the Passionaria, or one of the innumerable stories about the heroism of the defenders of Madrid, not to speak of George Orwell\u2019s anecdotes on Barcelona\u2019s anarchists rushing to the front only to discover, once arrived, that they had forgotten to bring their rifles with them. At night, with the help of a few beer bottles, the nostalgia of those glorious revolutionary years in the thirties would overwhelm us as we recite the poems of Lorca and Neruda, raising clenched anti-fascist fists among the bewildered, yet complaisant, waiters of \u2018Uncle Sam\u2019s\u2019 and \u2018Sheikh and Cousin\u2019, shouting with full voices No passaran! <\/em>before sinking into a `ashura<\/em> of wailing over the betrayed and defeated revolution …<\/p>\n

I have often wondered why did the Spanish civil war affect me so much. Perhaps, it boiled down to this: I could never be reconciled with the fascist celebration of death in Viva la muerte <\/em>!<\/p>\n

Yet, who would have imagined, in the Beirut of the Golden Sixties, that the Spanish revolution cum-civil war would be reenacted in our tranquil Phoenician metropolis? When the fighting broke out, in 1975, it slowly dawned on me that my glorious Spanish revolution was also a bloody civil war. The sniping, abduction, indiscriminate bombardment, sieges, slayings \u2018on the identity card\u2019, etc. released from my sub conscience their Spanish precedents: the workers in Madrid burning churches and their comrades in Barcelona disinterring the corpses of nuns to play football with their skulls!<\/p>\n

III<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

Your letters bathe in the Spanish sun. Life is an unending afternoon, you say. On my first visit, in 1961, I came from foggy, or better: smoggy, Manchester on a summer vacation, lodged in a hotel overlooking a large square. Afternoons lingered endlessly until they were slowly dispelled by the breezes of the first hours of the evening. Rapidly, the square swelled with swarms of widows clad in black. These widows were the only relics left of that war that inspired our imagination. Martyrs were indeed glorified, but there were victorious martyrs and vanquished martyrs. On a mount, not far from Madrid, was a collective grave for the dead over which stood a huge cross. Its victims had been reduced to those of one side, the only grave that stood out was that of the patron of the victorious martyrs, the founder of the Phalanges\u2019 party.<\/p>\n

Nobody wanted to talk about the war. The tourist guide, in the bus that took us to Toledo, brushed off my inquiries. All that I could snatch from him was an explanation why the road to the airport had been lined with kilometers of walls on both sides. He admitted it was to hide the miserable shanty towns behind them from tourists. The man in the Madrid bookshop gave me a strange look when I asked about Lorca\u2019s poetry books. Of Toledo, I only remember El Greco\u2019s arab-style house and the visit to the Alcazar. The choice of the site was not innocent. The guide submitted us to the official story about the heroism of the commander of the fort\u2019s garrison who preferred to let his hostage son be killed by the Republicans blockading the fort rather than surrender.<\/p>\n

What was left for me on that visit was to make do with what is prepared for tourists: drinking wine from a sheepskin, wandering in the streets of Madrid and watching a bullfight in which beginner matadors fought beginner bulls in what is closer to a massacre than to a corrida, while tourists awkwardly launched their \u2018ol\u00e9s\u2019 as the officiniados <\/em> kept silent: they knew better…I finally left Spain with a souvenir laden with symbolism: a matador\u2019s sword which the pretty and kind hostess diligently camouflaged from the French customs. Thus, I made my first entry into Paris with a bouquet of artificial flowers on my arm hiding the deadly blade of the matador…<\/p>\n

IV<\/p>\n

Spain: a quarter of a century later. In Valencia to attend the Third Congress for the Mediterranean Writers, convened on the theme \u201cThe Intellectual and the Struggle for Democracy\u201d. With Mahmoud Darwish, Elias Sanbar and Farouk Mardam, we decided to spend a couple of days on the way to visit Barcelona. Immediately fell in love with the city which I fantasmed about as an idealized Beirut. Phoned Nawal and told her to prepare herself: we will settle in Barcelona.<\/p>\n

The scene you related about the naked woman pushing her way through the throngs on the Rablas evokes in me the epic scenes from Yankso\u2019s films. Only the naked body means freedom. No wonder Spanish anarchists vowed such a cult to nudism.<\/p>\n

I did not encounter a naked woman on the ramblas of Barcelona, I witnessed Spain finally breaking the self-imposed silence on its civil war. Side by side with the photos of the Caudillo were issues of the daily Diario 16 <\/em>serializing Hugh Thomas\u2019 classic on the Spanish civil war. Finally, the Spaniards can now know about their war what others in the West and the rest of the world had known for decades.<\/p>\n

The city of Valencia, last republican bastion to fall in the hands of the Frankists, is the only city which is officially commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the civil war. Not an easy task anyway. It was imposed by the left faction of the ruling Socialist party, in control of the local government. During the reception at Valencia municipality, we are greeted by the frail figure of the poet Juan Gil Albert, a companion of Lorca and Machado, one of the last witnesses of the war generation.<\/p>\n

The Congress itself reveals the plurality and richness of the cultural scene in democratic Spain where there are three semi-official languages in addition to the Castillan: Galecian, Catalonian and Basquian. A writer explains to us that after the extensive decentralization, Spain\u2019s unity as a nation still holds thanks to two institutions: the Crown and the Army. Most of the Catalonian delegates insist on delivering their speeches in their native tongue, which sounds like hyspanized French. The prevailing mood among writers is resumed in the saying: language is the only remaining homeland for writers.<\/p>\n

On this April 14th, the great tenor, Amancio Prado, sings Lorca\u2019s \u201cBallad of Secret Love\u201d. The force of the unavowed overwhelms us during fifty captivating minutes. Juan Goytisolo, leading us in a stroll in the city whose center strangely resembles that of pre-war Beirut, shows us the Victoria Hotel where Lorca lodged during his visits to the city and where he wrote the Ballads we just heard. Juan relates how, after Franco\u2019s death, he and a group of friends tried to dislodge Franco\u2019s statue in the city center. It took them days. Not only was the statue guarded by Phalangist loyalists with whom they had to engage in fights, it was well anchored by metal shafts buried deep down in cement. So much for the deep anchored Frankism in Spanish earth.<\/p>\n

Antonio Gades and his flamenco troop mount a version of Carmen (already put on the screen by Antonio Saura) in which Bizet\u2019s opera is completely recuperated and hispanized. Gades retained only a few couplets of the original opera. You know, the famous \u201cTarattatiii tarrattataaa\u201d… about love, a bohemain child. The rest is expressed by the language of the body. Spanish friends reflected that Arabs are perhaps the only people, in addition to Spaniards, who can appreciate the flamenco. I am no so sure. In fact, no Arab dance comes close to reproducing the craze of the gypsy soul. The language of the hands and fingers in the Flamenco may be likened to the Samah<\/em>, the Andalusian collective women\u2019s dance based on the muwashshat<\/em>, a tradition still preserved in Damascus and Aleppo. But our Arab dance is more melodious and gentle compared to the violence and fury of the flamenco, a dance of passion, defiance, violence even death. Our guide, Carmen by name and a committed socialist, insisted that the violence of the flamenco reflects the violence of the class struggles in Spanish history.<\/p>\n

The orientalist Pedro Martinez likes to reduce everything Spanish to the Arabs:<\/p>\n

– Regionalism in our country is inherited from the Arabs. Do you know how many Kings of the Ta\u2019ifas were there in Arab Spain?<\/p>\n

-…?<\/p>\n

– well, 17 kings. And do you know what is the number of the Spanish regions today?<\/p>\n

– …?<\/p>\n

– 17 also…<\/p>\n

My turn now.<\/p>\n

– and you, do you know how many official Ta\u2019ifas (confessions) are there in present-day Lebanon?<\/p>\n

– how many?<\/p>\n

– 17!<\/p>\n

– Can I ask you what were you doing during the war?<\/p>\n

My question is addressed to the little man with whom I much sympathized and who has come to bid us farewell:<\/p>\n

– everything, came the answer.<\/p>\n

Presently, he is advisor to the minister of Culture in the government of the autonomous region of Valencia. Sitting around the table in our hotel caf\u00e9, he reluctantly reveals himself: he ran the underground organization of the Spanish Communist Party in Valencia under Franco. A friend of his tells me that he lived in hiding for ten years with a family in a one-room flat and that he had to hide in the cupboard everytime somebody came to visit them. He left the SCP after the famous Khrustchev speech in which the Soviet leader denounced Stalin\u2019s crimes. Presently, he is an independent, close to the socialists.<\/p>\n

– They say my family name is of Arab origin, and goes on enumerating localities in the Valencia named after Arab tribes.<\/p>\n

The most important thing for him is that the situation in his country does not degenerate into armed conflict. After all the pains of Frankism, our most valuable achievement is democracy, he insists, even if that happens at the expense of other achievements. Does he regret anything from his experience? Most of all, having to kill an anarchist leader in Valencia, on orders from the Party. He does not want this to recur ever again.<\/p>\n

His turn to submit me to a number of precise questions on Lebanon. I do not find it difficult to explain, by reference to their own experience fifty years ago. He admits that he doesn\u2019t understand much of what is happening. Jokingly, I said that I feel the same. More seriously, I tell him to imagine that the Spanish civil war lasted well into the forties, the splinters and divisions inside each of the original two camps would have resembled much those of today\u2019s Lebanon. On taking leave, he says: we\u2019ve grown old, maybe we\u2019ve become too pessimistic, my advice to you of the younger generation is hope.<\/p>\n

– Not to worry about that, hope is our incurable malady.<\/p>\n

A stop in Madrid on the way back to Paris to meet Guernica <\/em> in person. I found it much bigger than I had imagined, but the colours are impressive: I hadn\u2019t guessed that the painting contained so many shades of blue and grey. The initial shock of the encounter is much attenuated by the innumerable reproductions I had been working on, studying and analyzing every detail. The magic touch of the first encounter isn\u2019t there. It\u2019s too late, my Guernica manuscript is already under print. Further, the bullet-proof glass cage that protects the mural and the Guardia Civil soldier standing on guard beside it, kept on distracting me from being completely absorbed in the masterpiece, constantly under the impression that the painting is a well-guarded political personality.<\/p>\n

I had always imagined Guernica exhibited in a public place. In this annex to the Prado, it figures as the last witness of the civil war: you wonder whether the painting is being sheltered from oblivion or whether it is condemned to seclusion because it evokes so many sad memories that the Spaniards of today want to simply forget…<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

How does one forget a civil war?<\/p>\n

V<\/p>\n

Again in Valencia to attend another commemoration, that of the International Congress of Anti-fascist Writers which was held in the city in 1939. We suffer a severe jet-lag. Still thinking of civil wars, while most of the intellectuals of Europe and the America, including the few survivors who had attended the initial congress like Stephen Spender and Octavio Paz, are delivering their mea culpas <\/em>: if the enemy in the Thirties was Fascism, now the enemy to combat is Communism, is the gist of what they are saying. A recycled Cohn Bendit joins the older generation in delivering a similar message. The panel on Arab-Spanish relations under the Republic and the Civil War must have made us look from another age. Vargas Llosa could not bear even to listen to the our interventions: he opened a newspaper and started reading into it.<\/p>\n

How strange of you to say: \u201cI like what is happening now in Spain. Neither poor, nor rich, it\u2019s a \u2018worker\u2019s world\u2019 as communism dreamed of, but could not accomplish\u201d. While in Spain, it suddenly struck me that this country could be the best model of development for the Arab World, neither the U.S.A nor the U.S.S.R. Industrialized, yet with a large agricultural sector. Urbanized yet so anchored in tradition, united yet so decentralized and respectful of national, linguistic, regional and cultural diversities. Hard-working people yet so lively, especially the young. Democratic but with a keen sense of social equality.<\/p>\n

VI<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

If cities were women, then Granada is a city.<\/p>\n

Much that I hate this worn out comparison between cities and women, you cannot escape it in Granada. \u201cIf you consent, Granada\/ I shall be your man\u201d, proposes Don Juan in the Spanish Romancero<\/em>. Granada replies: \u201cI am with husband, Don Juan, \/ married and not widowed \/ and the Arab who possesses me \/ loves me with a great love\u201d. After a lengthy visit to the Al-Hamra and the Generalife, spontaneously sat silent on the stone steps in the garden next to a small pond, just meditating. Tourists passed by. Tourists amaze me with their habit of comparing what they see with what is drawn on maps or written in guide books. Ever anxious, until they discover that the information in the guide or the detail on the map matches with what is in front of their very eyes. As if a site, a monument, a painting or a statue would not exist unless it appears in the book or on the map!<\/p>\n

Still musing in the garden, I jot down a few disconnected words in my notebook:<\/p>\n

Granada, architecture of shade<\/p>\n

gypsy pomegranate<\/p>\n

water narcissus,<\/p>\n

traces of the Soul on stone<\/p>\n

Slowly, dawned on me what made my visit to Granada so special. No other sight would have been more appropriate after the Gulf war. One had to feel that he belongs to a people who has done something after that catastrophic electronic beating. Yet, a crazy thought kept on nagging: What use is it to belong to a nation loaded with such a glorious past? It could well console you after national defeats. But what else? To begin with, you acquire such a sense of satisfaction, conceit and self-fulfillment so that you do very little about your present or your future. You spend your time telling people, the West in particular: you misunderstand me, I wasn\u2019t like that, I am the inheritor of a great civilization. A glorious past fixes you premanently to that Past, the dead control the living. Not only that, it infests you with the dream of a millennium which will magically reenact that past intact and project it in your present and future. Satisfaction turns into cosmic frustration…<\/p>\n

Wherever you are on this fortified hill, you look down on the Albaicin quarter (al-B\u00e2\u2019ic\u00een<\/em>, in Arabic). I translate the word to my companion: \u201cthe wretched\u201d. What a strange relationship between the Al-Hamra on top and the Albaicin below. Al-Hamra and the Generalife are the paradise as imagined by the Arabs. As if the inhabitants of the castle had just to look down on the poor underneath in order to be confirmed that they were living in paradise. Conversely, you should take a seat in one of the cafes that lounge the river in the Albaicin, in order to experience what it meant to be on that other side of Paradise. Especially at night, when all the beauty and awe of Alhambra castle is revealed under the floodlights. From their quarter, the Andalusian al-b\u00e2\u2019ic\u00een <\/em> could very well imagine this as the paradise they have been promised, yet dissimulated and forbidden behind its formidable walls, towers and huge trees. Offered, promised and unattainable at the same time. Ever present, yet invisible like Iram Dhat al-`Imad. Now I understand what Lorca meant when he said: \u201cMysterious Granada, enigma of what could never exist \/ and yet, does exist\u201d.<\/p>\n

At times, the poor of the Albaicin quarter would revolt. Their last revolt was against Abi `Abd Allah, last king of Granada, last monarch of Arab Spain. He remained entrenched in his castle until the revolt was bloodily crushed by the soldiers. At that time, Granada was already besieged by the army of Isabel and Ferdinand. The fall of Granada signaled paradise lost for the Arabs, to quote Lorca once more. The Arab who lost it sneaked out from the castle\u2019s back-door so that nobody sees him. He was crying. \u201cCry like a woman \/ a realm he could not like a man defend\u201d.<\/p>\n

Cannot evade the comparison between Abi `Abd Allah and Saddam Hussein: both weak vis-\u00e0-vis their enemies, strong only against their own people; both surrendered to their enemies but massacred their own people in revolt. Yet Saddam is devoid of the feminine that Abi `Abd Allah had in him. I doubt if Saddam ever shed a tear in his life…<\/p>\n

Talking of victors and vanquished, you cannot evade the comparison between the palace of Charles the Fifth and the palace of the Nasserides. The Arab palace, open to all directions, represents the most intricate and sophisticated attempts at breaking down the barriers between outside and inside, between nature and culture, between the arch and water, between stone and spirit. By contrast, Charles\u2019 palace, built to commemorate the victory against the Arabs, is the Reconquista\u2019s architectural massacre. Huge blocks of stone seem to weigh personally over your very heart: the voluminous square building, with a round piazza inside it, representing a circle inside a square, is the absolute symbolism of repression and containment: a dead end, with is no outlet except upwards, through the circular opening, towards the sky.<\/p>\n

Two kinds of spirituality contrasted: one ethereal, intricate, in which the arabesque of the Spirit thins out stone; the other, the crushing geometric weight of spiritual mass over men.<\/p>\n

VII<\/p>\n

Dear Etel,<\/p>\n

I had wanted to write to you about Yemeni women in Aden and their long struggle for their rights. But, I\u2019ll have to stop for now. I was putting my letters into English when the new Blood Wedding was celebrated in Cana. The Lebanese now want to believe that Cana of Southern Lebanon is the same as the Cana of Galilee in which Jesus attended the famous wedding. Whatever, water in Cana was not transformed into wine. Blood simply turned into blood.<\/p>\n

The Israelis are the only people in the world who commit mistakes. Others peoples commit assassinations, crimes, terrorism, genocide, ethnic purification, crimes against humanity, what have you. Only the Israelis commit mistakes when they kill civilians. But one should admit that they are capable of such neat surgical mistakes. They kill on the map. The mistakes they commit are misreadings of maps. Or do they misread? Mistakes or no mistakes, this cruel unjust world still treats this spoiled brat nicknamed Israel as one who is only capable of committing… mistakes.<\/p>\n

Just back from Cana. A procession of some 300 intellectuals observed five minutes\u2019 silence and sang the first couplet of the national anthem, then, each in turn, laid a red rose on the mass grave. A TV cameraman asked me to repeat the movement of laying my rose on the grave so that he can film it. I obeyed mechanically. Bending down I noticed a picture of the Virgin Mary put there for the Christian woman from Cana who was killed with the rest of the 108 Muslim victims. In fact, I would have repeated the movement indefinitely. I still imagine myself laying a red rose on the mass grave of the women, children, elders and men of Cana. Yes, men. Why shouldn\u2019t we cry over men too? They say we should not, because men are capable of defending themselves. Who can defend himself against a cluster bomb that falls upon his head in a tin-covered barracks at the UN camp in Cana?<\/p>\n

Thought of you.<\/p>\n

On the way out, I was telling someone what a neat surgical mistake it was, when, beside me, Joseph Samaha, hesitantly muttered \u201cwhy?\u201d and immediately retracted: \u201cwhat a silly question!\u201d<\/p>\n

Love,<\/p>\n

Fawwaz<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Variations on an Andalusian Theme Undated Letters to Etel Fawwaz Trabulsi I Dear Etel, I guess that I had to follow in your steps in order to begin answering your letters. Tomorrow, I\u2019ll be off to Spain for a lecture on \u201cDemocracy in the Southern Mediterranean\u201d at the University of Malagua, the city in which […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_wp_rev_ctl_limit":""},"categories":[],"content_type":[530],"themes":[408,305],"country":[337,2804],"language":[66],"archive_type":[113],"archive_author":[246],"media_type":[],"keywords":[582,599,625,628,644,706,845,1662,906,914,955,1592,1111,1143,1267,1271,1679,1451],"ft_dossier":[],"ft_categories":[],"published_in":[],"class_list":["post-712","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","content_type-memoirs-en","themes-art-literature-en","themes-history-en","country-lebanon-en","country-spain-en","language-english","archive_type-by-ft-en","archive_author-fawwaz-traboulsi-en","keywords-ahmad-faris-al-shidyaq-en","keywords-andalusia-en","keywords-arab-heritage-en","keywords-arab-identity-en","keywords-arab-nostalgia-en","keywords-beirut-en","keywords-etel-adnan-en","keywords-european-history-en","keywords-george-orwell-en","keywords-granada-en","keywords-history-of-al-andalus-en","keywords-latin-america-en","keywords-literary-essay-en","keywords-mediterranean-en","keywords-picasso-en","keywords-poetry-en","keywords-religion-en","keywords-spain-en"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/712","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=712"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/712\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=712"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"content_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/content_type?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"themes","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/themes?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"country","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/country?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"language","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/language?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"archive_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/archive_type?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"archive_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/archive_author?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"media_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media_type?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"keywords","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/keywords?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"ft_dossier","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/ft_dossier?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"ft_categories","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/ft_categories?post=712"},{"taxonomy":"published_in","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fawwaztraboulsi.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/published_in?post=712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}