The Folly of the Christians
“We are Christian”, read the first line of the pamphlet shoved into my hands by a supporter of Michel Aoun as I walked through Byblos. It was the middle of July, and in less than a week Lebanon’s waste management company would cease its nationwide daily garbage collection over a conflict with the central government, leading to the largest wave of popular upheaval since the Cedar Revolution. These new protests – along with the rise of the youth-led “You Stink” movement – would grow to overshadow the demands of Aoun supporters, who had taken to the streets over the inability of Lebanon’s ministers to select a president from a small pool of the country’s Christian elites.
Yet Lebanon’s deep societal and political problems cannot only be seen in the haze of rotting trash, nor the crush of protesters gathering in front of the Grand Serail. One of the country’s fundamental flaws can be gleaned just as well from the fact that one of the country’s most important political parties chose to advertise their Christian identity over the common Lebanese heritage they share with all their brothers – whether, Sunni, Shi’ite, or Druze.
This flaw is a Christian flaw. It manifests itself in the inability of Christians to unite behind one candidate, to put aside their opposing political views and reach a compromise, to do away with the aging warlord politicians who ravaged this country for decades, and who – like the wider Christian population – are almost entirely incapable of taking responsibility for their shortcomings, instead looking to blame any and every one of the Middle Easts’ usual bogeymen – the Saudis, Israelis, or Iranians – in lieu of themselves.
The plight of the Middle East’s Christians has been well documented in recent years; from Egypt to Iraq, some of the region’s oldest ethnoreligious groups (Copts, Assyrians, and Chaldeans, among others) have been pushed from their ancestral homes by Islamic fundamentalist groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and ISIS in the Levant. While Lebanon –the Arab world’s strongest bastion of Christianity – has fortunately been spared from the vast majority of such sectarian violence since the end of the Civil War, Lebanese Christians (and Maronites in particular) have managed to disenfranchise and isolate themselves due to forces that originate in large part from their own communities.
Unlike the rest of the country’s religious groups, who have managed for the most part to unite behind a sole leader, Lebanese Christians are deeply fractured. While decades ago, the populace found hope and unity in the words of Bachir Gemayel, today its members are split between support for politicians whose family names were just as important during the Civil War as they are today. It is absurd to reflect on the fact that these same leaders, who once tossed thousands of Lebanese Christian men to their deaths in vain efforts to seize the mantle of the “resistance” away from each other, are now expected to find common ground on such contentious issues as Lebanon’s response to the Syrian Civil War, the role of Hezbollah in national politics, and the ever-growing plight of Syrian refugees within its borders.
In 1980, Bachir Gemayel’s Lebanese Forces massacred scores of Danny Chamoun’s Tigers in the Massacre at Safra. Two years before that, Phalangiste gunmen headed by the Gemayels murdered Tony Franjieh, his wife, three year old daughter, and dozens of his armed supporters at Ehden. These are brutal crimes, massacres that – no matter which justifications Maronite apologists may continue to use to defend the actions – reflect very well the barbarity of the 15 years of war Lebanon’s people were forced to endure. Yet today, these men who murdered each other over petty internal squabbles continue to dominate the political scene. Those who have died – whether from old age, or just as likely, assassination – have had their legacies carried on in their sons.
Michel Aoun is 80 years old. Already 40 when the Civil War began in earnest, Aoun spent the next 15 years fighting for what in his mind was the protection of the Lebanese Christian population; in light of this, it is not a surprise that the old man, now set in his ways, would accept the words “We are Christian” being written first and foremost on top of a campaign brochure. Yet what is incomprehensible is that men and women half or a third of his age still accept the casual sectarian pandering that these words play to, in lieu of their larger national identity.
I was baptized into the Maronite Christian faith, and thus have a vested interest in seeing the continued preservation and success of the ancient Christian community in Lebanon. It is for this reason that the self-perpetuating divisions among the community come as such a disappointment. Lebanon is at a crossroads: Islamist groups on the Syrian border threaten the nation’s security, while the internal upheaval caused by the trash crisis is reaching a tipping point. Will Christians ride this wave of popular frustration to a brighter, more prosperous and united Lebanon? Will they do away with their obsession with the aging warlords of the past, cease dreaming of some Lebanese Christian Golden Age that never truly existed, and instead look to the future? Will they stop fretting whenever a mosque is built near one of their towns, and instead embrace their shared heritage with their Muslim and Druze brothers? They must. If not, the Middle East’s strongest Christian community will crumble, in what will be a death blow to one of the region’s most ancient groups. Unless a compromise is reached, a president elected, and a new wave of capable politicians voted in not because of their last names, but because of their intelligence, motivation, and patriotism, Christians must abandon their claim to the office of the presidency; currently, it is them more than any other group who are making a mockery of the position.
Claude Khalife
“We are Christian”, read the first line of the pamphlet shoved into my hands by a supporter of Michel Aoun as I walked through Byblos. It was the middle of July, and in less than a week Lebanon’s waste management company would cease its nationwide daily garbage collection over a conflict with the central government, leading to the largest wave of popular upheaval since the Cedar Revolution. These new protests – along with the rise of the youth-led “You Stink” movement – would grow to overshadow the demands of Aoun supporters, who had taken to the streets over the inability of Lebanon’s ministers to select a president from a small pool of the country’s Christian elites.
Yet Lebanon’s deep societal and political problems cannot only be seen in the haze of rotting trash, nor the crush of protesters gathering in front of the Grand Serail. One of the country’s fundamental flaws can be gleaned just as well from the fact that one of the country’s most important political parties chose to advertise their Christian identity over the common Lebanese heritage they share with all their brothers – whether, Sunni, Shi’ite, or Druze.
This flaw is a Christian flaw. It manifests itself in the inability of Christians to unite behind one candidate, to put aside their opposing political views and reach a compromise, to do away with the aging warlord politicians who ravaged this country for decades, and who – like the wider Christian population – are almost entirely incapable of taking responsibility for their shortcomings, instead looking to blame any and every one of the Middle Easts’ usual bogeymen – the Saudis, Israelis, or Iranians – in lieu of themselves.
The plight of the Middle East’s Christians has been well documented in recent years; from Egypt to Iraq, some of the region’s oldest ethnoreligious groups (Copts, Assyrians, and Chaldeans, among others) have been pushed from their ancestral homes by Islamic fundamentalist groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and ISIS in the Levant. While Lebanon –the Arab world’s strongest bastion of Christianity – has fortunately been spared from the vast majority of such sectarian violence since the end of the Civil War, Lebanese Christians (and Maronites in particular) have managed to disenfranchise and isolate themselves due to forces that originate in large part from their own communities.
Unlike the rest of the country’s religious groups, who have managed for the most part to unite behind a sole leader, Lebanese Christians are deeply fractured. While decades ago, the populace found hope and unity in the words of Bachir Gemayel, today its members are split between support for politicians whose family names were just as important during the Civil War as they are today. It is absurd to reflect on the fact that these same leaders, who once tossed thousands of Lebanese Christian men to their deaths in vain efforts to seize the mantle of the “resistance” away from each other, are now expected to find common ground on such contentious issues as Lebanon’s response to the Syrian Civil War, the role of Hezbollah in national politics, and the ever-growing plight of Syrian refugees within its borders.
In 1980, Bachir Gemayel’s Lebanese Forces massacred scores of Danny Chamoun’s Tigers in the Massacre at Safra. Two years before that, Phalangiste gunmen headed by the Gemayels murdered Tony Franjieh, his wife, three year old daughter, and dozens of his armed supporters at Ehden. These are brutal crimes, massacres that – no matter which justifications Maronite apologists may continue to use to defend the actions – reflect very well the barbarity of the 15 years of war Lebanon’s people were forced to endure. Yet today, these men who murdered each other over petty internal squabbles continue to dominate the political scene. Those who have died – whether from old age, or just as likely, assassination – have had their legacies carried on in their sons.
Michel Aoun is 80 years old. Already 40 when the Civil War began in earnest, Aoun spent the next 15 years fighting for what in his mind was the protection of the Lebanese Christian population; in light of this, it is not a surprise that the old man, now set in his ways, would accept the words “We are Christian” being written first and foremost on top of a campaign brochure. Yet what is incomprehensible is that men and women half or a third of his age still accept the casual sectarian pandering that these words play to, in lieu of their larger national identity.
I was baptized into the Maronite Christian faith, and thus have a vested interest in seeing the continued preservation and success of the ancient Christian community in Lebanon. It is for this reason that the self-perpetuating divisions among the community come as such a disappointment. Lebanon is at a crossroads: Islamist groups on the Syrian border threaten the nation’s security, while the internal upheaval caused by the trash crisis is reaching a tipping point. Will Christians ride this wave of popular frustration to a brighter, more prosperous and united Lebanon? Will they do away with their obsession with the aging warlords of the past, cease dreaming of some Lebanese Christian Golden Age that never truly existed, and instead look to the future? Will they stop fretting whenever a mosque is built near one of their towns, and instead embrace their shared heritage with their Muslim and Druze brothers? They must. If not, the Middle East’s strongest Christian community will crumble, in what will be a death blow to one of the region’s most ancient groups. Unless a compromise is reached, a president elected, and a new wave of capable politicians voted in not because of their last names, but because of their intelligence, motivation, and patriotism, Christians must abandon their claim to the office of the presidency; currently, it is them more than any other group who are making a mockery of the position.
Claude Khalife