Beyrouth
OK, all the metaphors, similes, and aphorisms are overused: a study in contrasts, a case of extremes, paradoxical, whatever… But the fact is, Lebanon is a place of amazing contrasts, contradictions, and conundrums (mostly political, but some of the women too—but we’ll leave that aside). The country exhibits staggering beauty—mountains, valleys, coastlines (and the women)—but some of the ugliest scenes imaginable—refugee camps, scars of war, extreme poverty.
There may be no better summary of Beirut than the 2006 photo that instantly circled the globe via the Internet. You know the one, the young and beautiful people in the shining red Mini convertible driving past the rubble left behind in the July war. While people have debated whether the picture was staged, that is immaterial—actually if it was staged, it might say even more about Lebanon.
There is no question there is a reputation to maintain, particularly in Beirut—the image of partying in the face of death must be cultivated at all cost. It is part of the Lebanese mystique. Beautiful women who seem to take all day getting made up to hit the clubs at night, and the well-dressed and well-heeled (seemingly, at least) men who pursue them are trademarks of youth culture in Beirut. And, it’s a huge part of the attraction for outsiders to visit the country—at least those who like clubs, parties, and beautiful women.
Yet, not far below the surface lurks a sense that there is a bit more to the story—perhaps a certain frustration and disaffection with the paradigm. It’s not that there’ anything wrong with the partying and fun in and of itself, but it’s the energy required to ignore, or sublimate the challenges of living here.
It can be tough soldiering on in the face of seemingly constant conflict and adversity. Whether it was the 2006 war, the following political crisis, or the recent conflicts in Beirut that saw Hezbollah turning its arms on its countrymen, the fact is, living in Lebanon can be hard work.
As I spent my first afternoon in the country walking around Beirut, I couldn’t help thinking about an inside joke my Lebanese ex-girlfriend used to tell me. She said that people would walk around the streets and flash each other the peace sign, but what they meant was “Two! Two buildings left standing.” As a journalist, I understand gallows humor as well as anyone, but as a journalist, or doctor, or whatever else, you often get to leave the darkness behind and relax. But in Lebanon, there haven’t been too many respites from conflict, instability, occupation, or the other various afflictions the country has endured.
Now, it’s worth noting that things for the people of Sudan, Congo, Burma, and a host of other places are far worse off, but the fact is, Lebanon should be above all of this. You’re dealing with a highly educated population, a generally tolerant, pluralistic society where Christians and Muslims of all variety have lived together for ages, and a place with enough resources and attributes to support a high standard of living. Yet, there are three times as many Lebanese people living outside the country as inside—that says something.
What it says is a number of things, and that’s a big part of why I am here right now—working on a radio program exploring the challenges of and to stability in Lebanon. There are many, but far from complete agreement on the order and magnitude. Start with a political system designed to please all, that often ends up pleasing few, a location between a number of countries at odds with each other, and the fact that just about every fault line in the region runs through the country one way or another. Whether it’s Israel and Syria, Iran and the US, Sunni versus Shia, moderate versus radical Islam, dog versus cat… they all run through Lebanon and play out here in ways that tend not to be so good for the quality of life in these parts.
And, it is a bit of a wake-up to see all of this first hand. Although I was well aware of the fact that Beirut still shows the scars of decades of conflict, I have to admit I was taken aback by the magnitude. Walking around Beirut is like walking through a living museum of conflict. On the same block you will see brand new buildings standing next to burned out carcasses of cement, riddled with pock-marks of 50 caliber rounds and mortar holes. There, there is the over presence of army and police in the streets. It’s downright haunting to be walking through the most liberal and educated city in the Middle East, and see such relics (and present signs) of strife. And what compounds that is the fact that the days of conflict could return again in an instant. One would hope that they wouldn’t, but the events in Beirut earlier this year, and the scene in Tripoli over the last month show that it doesn’t take much to set things off here.
To come back to my original point of departure, if I had lived through a few decades of civil war, foreign occupation, and political paralysis (punctuated by fits of violence), I’d probably have a different approach too. Sucking the marrow out of life would seem all the more important—not matter how you define marrow.
