The Absurd Beauty of Lebanon
I am sitting, typing these words in a small café on the outskirts of the Omani capital of Muscat. Thumbing through the menu, I notice that one adjective repeats itself on almost every page: Lebanese. Lebanese kebabs, Lebanese cocktails, Lebanese sandwiches abound. Here in Oman – as in every country that Lebanese culture has touched – the unique soul of the country of the Cedars shines brilliantly.
It is often difficult for those who truly care about the plight of Lebanon to maintain a sense of optimism when faced with the ceaseless dysfunction of the country’s political system. For every sliver of news that produces some hope for a permanent, long-term solution to the chronic diseases afflicting the country, another problem emerges to smother it. Thus, it is necessary from time to time to take a step back from the ceaseless march of doubts and insecurities that plague the nation to admire the absurd, senseless beauty of the country.
In “From Beirut to Jerusalem”, Thomas Friedman’s stellar account of the Lebanese Civil War, the journalist often discusses the strange resilience of the average Lebanese citizen in the midst of near-constant artillery strikes, car bombs, and sniper exchanges that pockmarked the land for 15 long years. While civilians in other nations may have quickly resorted to nihilism and defeatism in the face of such continuous trauma, the Lebanese would dance and throw parties while shells exploded outside. My father, who endured the brutal Syrian siege of Zahlé, used to speak to me of tense daytime hours listening to SAA jets screech overhead, followed by nights of arak and argileh where the problems of the daytime – while always present – would fade in the company of close friends and the soul-satisfying food that has defined Lebanon in the eyes of millions around the world.
Here, we see the senseless magnificence of a country that has not had a truly proper, functioning government since the childhoods of its now-elderly citizens. Here, we see the reason that no Lebanese, no son or daughter, grandson or granddaughter of Lebanon should ever abandon the cause of the Middle East’s most splendid nation. The useless rhetoric of Lebanon’s major parties may drone on like static in the background of a room, but the heart and soul of the country does not, will not, ever rest in their hands. These politicians can bicker and whine, pound their fists on the tables like teary-eyed children in the midst of a tantrum, but they can never steal the brilliant pride that illuminates the hearts of those who have seen firsthand the potential of the nation.
I have walked through the streets of Byblos, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city, and gazed in wonder at the marks left by some of Earth’s mightiest civilizations. I have winded my way through the verdant slopes of the cedar forests, where King Solomon once dispatched his subjects to collect the wood to build his mighty temple. I have danced in Beiruti nightclubs with what seems like members of half of the world’s nations, basking in the lights and sounds of a city that refuses to extinguish its fiery soul. I have looked in the verdant hazel eyes of my grandmother – a woman born when the country truly embraced the title of “Switzerland of the Middle East” (although that name in and of itself is doing Lebanon a disservice; the country can stand on its own without being compared to any other land) and who has since witnessed some of humanity’s most shameful deeds perpetrated on her homeland. I have listened to the crooning, sultry voice of Fairouz and the biting, sarcastic wit of Ziad Rahbani and I have realized why I will never abandon the cause of Lebanon.
No bomb or blast, no governmental collapse or even foreign invasion will ever alter the identity of Lebanon. At times, I feel a deep sense of fatigue when I contemplate the myriad, endless problems that the land of my father will face for years to come. When I read the constant stream of headlines that foreshadow more and more heartache for its people, I find it difficult to avoid burying my head in the sand and giving up on the almost surreal nature of the issues that Lebanon must overcome. But here I sit, reading this menu, and I am moved from the deepest, most personal corners of my heart. I am filled with a pride that no one will ever be able to take from me. Through the haze of a thousand failures, a million bullets and a billion gasps of breath from the proud people of the land of the Phoenicians: Vive le Liban!
Claude Khalife
I am sitting, typing these words in a small café on the outskirts of the Omani capital of Muscat. Thumbing through the menu, I notice that one adjective repeats itself on almost every page: Lebanese. Lebanese kebabs, Lebanese cocktails, Lebanese sandwiches abound. Here in Oman – as in every country that Lebanese culture has touched – the unique soul of the country of the Cedars shines brilliantly.
It is often difficult for those who truly care about the plight of Lebanon to maintain a sense of optimism when faced with the ceaseless dysfunction of the country’s political system. For every sliver of news that produces some hope for a permanent, long-term solution to the chronic diseases afflicting the country, another problem emerges to smother it. Thus, it is necessary from time to time to take a step back from the ceaseless march of doubts and insecurities that plague the nation to admire the absurd, senseless beauty of the country.
In “From Beirut to Jerusalem”, Thomas Friedman’s stellar account of the Lebanese Civil War, the journalist often discusses the strange resilience of the average Lebanese citizen in the midst of near-constant artillery strikes, car bombs, and sniper exchanges that pockmarked the land for 15 long years. While civilians in other nations may have quickly resorted to nihilism and defeatism in the face of such continuous trauma, the Lebanese would dance and throw parties while shells exploded outside. My father, who endured the brutal Syrian siege of Zahlé, used to speak to me of tense daytime hours listening to SAA jets screech overhead, followed by nights of arak and argileh where the problems of the daytime – while always present – would fade in the company of close friends and the soul-satisfying food that has defined Lebanon in the eyes of millions around the world.
Here, we see the senseless magnificence of a country that has not had a truly proper, functioning government since the childhoods of its now-elderly citizens. Here, we see the reason that no Lebanese, no son or daughter, grandson or granddaughter of Lebanon should ever abandon the cause of the Middle East’s most splendid nation. The useless rhetoric of Lebanon’s major parties may drone on like static in the background of a room, but the heart and soul of the country does not, will not, ever rest in their hands. These politicians can bicker and whine, pound their fists on the tables like teary-eyed children in the midst of a tantrum, but they can never steal the brilliant pride that illuminates the hearts of those who have seen firsthand the potential of the nation.
I have walked through the streets of Byblos, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city, and gazed in wonder at the marks left by some of Earth’s mightiest civilizations. I have winded my way through the verdant slopes of the cedar forests, where King Solomon once dispatched his subjects to collect the wood to build his mighty temple. I have danced in Beiruti nightclubs with what seems like members of half of the world’s nations, basking in the lights and sounds of a city that refuses to extinguish its fiery soul. I have looked in the verdant hazel eyes of my grandmother – a woman born when the country truly embraced the title of “Switzerland of the Middle East” (although that name in and of itself is doing Lebanon a disservice; the country can stand on its own without being compared to any other land) and who has since witnessed some of humanity’s most shameful deeds perpetrated on her homeland. I have listened to the crooning, sultry voice of Fairouz and the biting, sarcastic wit of Ziad Rahbani and I have realized why I will never abandon the cause of Lebanon.
No bomb or blast, no governmental collapse or even foreign invasion will ever alter the identity of Lebanon. At times, I feel a deep sense of fatigue when I contemplate the myriad, endless problems that the land of my father will face for years to come. When I read the constant stream of headlines that foreshadow more and more heartache for its people, I find it difficult to avoid burying my head in the sand and giving up on the almost surreal nature of the issues that Lebanon must overcome. But here I sit, reading this menu, and I am moved from the deepest, most personal corners of my heart. I am filled with a pride that no one will ever be able to take from me. Through the haze of a thousand failures, a million bullets and a billion gasps of breath from the proud people of the land of the Phoenicians: Vive le Liban!
Claude Khalife