by Jonathan “Madd Cold” Azaziah
I write to y’all today, paradoxically, brokenhearted after the death of my oldest friend, yet simultaneously proud beyond quantification of his bravery and martyrdom. My beloved brother Ghassan al-Husseini, Brooklyn-bred but Yemen’s own, was wounded in a Saudi regime air raid on Saada City on August 24th and after slipping into a coma a few days later, finally succumbed to his wounds early yesterday morning. Ghassan’s lungs had been punctured by shrapnel from Al-Saud’s American-made bombs, and because of the barbaric US-UK-Saudi-‘Israeli’ siege on Yemen, the incomparably courageous Yemeni doctors could not, despite repairing his lungs, prevent sepsis from overtaking his body because they didn’t have the antibiotics available to fight it. I am… devastated. And furious. So furious. Because this shouldn’t have happened.
Since Ghassan got hurt, I have cursed the Zionist entity which orchestrated this criminal aggression, every Western power–most especially the US ZOG–which is providing the arms for this criminal aggression, and of course Al-Saud along with its marionettes for executing this criminal aggression, more times than I will ever be able to tally up. And this filth is worthy of every last curse and then some. But I’ve also cursed all the “Arabs” and “Muslims” whose silence on Yemen and its Mighty Mouqawamah is as sickening as it is unprecedented. They stood up for Afghanistan and Iraq. They’ve stood up for Gaza time and time again. Why no mass protests, why not even a goddamn word for Yemen when the project against the Yemeni people is no different than the ‘Israeli’ cancer’s project against Palestine itself? Why?!
If there was a sustained, collective outcry from “The Ummah” about Yemen, then maybe, just maybe, the war wouldn’t have gone on this long, especially considering the filthy Saudi maggots have not only failed to reinstate Hadi, disarm Ansarullah or dislodge the Houthiyeen from any of the liberated regions–excluding Aden, which stands on the brink of being reconquered by the Resistance anyway–but they have been categorically defeated on every last bleeding front. Ghassan is dead and so are at least 11,000 other Yemeni innocents because the Judaic-like Wahhabis are driven by bloodlust and hatred and they just cannot fathom the fact that Yemenis refuse to be slaves of the US-Zionist-Saudi Consensus any longer.
And that principle of rejecting despotism, that spirit of “We Will Not Bow!”, was something that my dun believed in unequivocally. It pumped in his veins and it beat in his heart all the way until his last breath. Ghassan had left BK Borough with his wife Maryam and three sons, Shareef (2), Karrar (6) and Mahdi (9), in October 2014, give or take a month after Ansarullah’s historic revolution. He went to his ancestral home, the Saada town of Dahyan, essentially the Zaydi Najaf and the birthplace of beautiful and righteous Ansarullah, in hopes of building a life for his family in a new, revolutionary, free Yemen and giving a strong sense of Yemeni-Arab-Zaydi identity to his boys–who I loved like my own nephews–that he wasn’t raised with because of the ills of slum life in the Brook. Instead, Dönmeh Al-Saud invaded Yemen mere months after Abed Rabbo Mansour Hadi’s puppet regime was organically toppled and the rest, as they say, is history.
At the end of July last year, in the midst of some of the Saudi-led tyrant coalition’s most savage bombardments, Ghassan’s family home in Dahyan was reduced to rubble and ash. Maryam and those three angelic little young ones perished in the strike. It almost crippled him… Almost being the key word. Because in the wake of that tragedy, something that no human should ever have to endure , especially not someone as pure and good as Ghassan, my homie, like a modern-day, Mouqawamist version of Prophet Ayyoub (A.S.), made it his mission to rise above his loss and to go around Yemen to snap photos of Al-Saud’s destruction of his precious homeland, with the hope of turning his work into a book whenever the onslaught ended. When Ghassan told me about Maryam and his seeds and what his next move was, it pushed me over the edge to pen my album “Felicity Of The Oppressed”. The 10-minute track “Screams Of The Slain”–which Ghassan knocked everyday–is dedicated to them. The Saudi “royals” stole the lives of my akh and his family like they’ve stolen the lives and crushed the dreams of millions of Yemen’s best and brightest. And for that, I say death to the rotten House of Saud from now ’till Yawm al-Qiyamah.
But while the monarchical Wahhabi thugs stole my brother’s life, I won’t let them steal my brother’s legacy. Like blind Yemeni orphan Moustafa Abed al-Bari–who also received zero mainstream media coverage and basically zero alternative media coverage–Ghassan al-Husseini’s story should be on the front page of every global “news” outlet. But despicably, because these paragons of “objective journalism” have long covered up Saudi Arabia’s atrocities and presented Riyadh’s genocidal invasion of Yemen as a “civil war”, Ghassan, like little Moustafa, will never make it to the CBS/ABC/CNN/NBC/Fox/BBC airwaves and basically be relegated to one of an infinite number of MSM’s Zio-Orwellian memory holes. As I said however, I won’t let my dun’s legacy be driven into nothingness. I won’t let him be another nameless martyr of another forgotten Zionist-Imperialist aggression.
I’ve seen photos of Ghassan in the hospital as well as other photos of his wounds after the air raid, not to mention the photos of the charred bodies of the innocents struck with him, but I refuse to share them. I refuse to remember my homie as a weak and broken victim but a strong, determined, martyrdom-loving lion instead. I share this picture because this was sun at his best, right before a massive rally in the heart of Manhattan in condemnation of the ‘Israeli’ Operation Cast Lead massacre in besieged Gaza. My duns who hustled called Ghassan “Yemeni Cricket” (a play on Jiminy Cricket) because he really did act like their conscience and told them–even more often than I did–to get out of that life before it consumed them. I called him “Rocksteady Yemen” because he always used to annoy the hell outta me to get our beat-making brethren to sample more Reggae songs. In the end, I knew him simply as Abou Mahdi, and was so proud of his evolution into a revolutionary, husband and father from a Marcy Projects knucklehead.
When I dropped my debut EP in October 2014, even as he was making the biggest decision of his life and making the big jump to Yemen, he made sure to tell anyone and everyone he knew to cop the record and support the Palestinian cause. He was giving. He was decent. He was a hero. He was my friend. He was my brother, the lack of blood relation be damned. He was a fellow soldier in this war for truth and justice. And I wish… I wish SO much… that I could have talked to him one just more time before his martyrdom. But since I couldn’t, I offer this humble tribute, with a song dedicated to him coming imminently.
I love you family. I’m gonna miss you. And I don’t want you to worry, because as per your request when you first went home and told me never to put down the quill no matter what may happen to you, I will rhyme, write and fight on with you burning the torch of Mouqawamah and Houriyeh in my heart. Make sure to play Rakim for the angels. And give the boys a hug and a kiss from ‘Ammo Ziah, aiight?! ALLAH yerhamak habibi. Innah lilah wa innah alayhi raji’oun. #LongLiveYemen #DeathToSaud #LongLiveAnsarullah #RestInPowerGhassan