Thursday, March 17, 2005
Lebanon for the Lebanese
Jax
Monday was officially the last protest, at least for the opposition. Politicians and, to a certain degree, ordinary people agree that Lebanon needs to get back into its regular weekly rhythm. With shops and schools closing and streets blocked off on days of each protest, life has been incapacitated, as if by a massive but short attack of hiccups.
I asked one protester what she felt about what might be the last hurrah for the opposition: "Well, we have to get on with our lives", she said.
As for the outcome, she echoed what many think: "We are here for our independence and our freedom. We are here for a united Lebanon, and I hope we can achieve this. But, I don't know. I hope." She pointed to the back of her head, "There always the fear, a doubt. But I hope."
Pointing to the back of the head is a new tick in town - the new gesture that expresses doubt about a positive outcome. The same fear also resounds in the story of a young bartender I spoke to, who was just about to open his own business in Beirut, when suddenly he decided to leave. His brother will be following shortly after. Emigration, not uncommon prior to Hariri's death, may be accelerating into an exodus as economic downturn and insecurity unveil themselves.
When I asked why he was leaving, the bartender smiled uneasily and said that things were not as well as they seemed.
In a typically Lebanese way, tangled in paradox and contradiction, the fear is both real and irrational.
The country, while divided over precisely what to do with the Syrians and the government, generally adheres to a new Lebanese nationalism shaping itself on the streets: regardless of the differences, the voices of both camps at least agree on the idea of Lebanon for the Lebanese. It is the birth pangs of this consensus that are exciting the population and terrifying it at the same time.
As I got closer to the heart of the protest it started to feel like a giant street fair, with people milling around with children; soldiers lounging and chatting on sunny benches; the odd group of 20-year-olds chanting as if for a football team. The streets weren't barricaded. It was a glorious spring day.
The whole downtown area had been taken over by protesters. The closer one got to what seemed to be the centre, the more difficult it was to move as each inch of free space was filled with bodies. It came to the point where buildings got in the way of people, driven onward, at least in part, by the need to show the pro-Syrian demonstrators of the previous week that size does matter.
As one protester said in a perfect West Virginian accent, picked up after 27 years abroad: "We gotta show them who's the boss."
The protest was so large, that it seemed only natural that it be the last. No one could sustain such an escalating competition without bringing the country to a standstill, or worse.
But what was remarkable and shocking to the Lebanese as much as to the onlooker, was that in the crush to get to the heart of the protest, there was no aggression and very little tension in the crowd. As if four weeks of demonstration have made people more comfortable and confident in their fight for democracy and with each other. And it is the comfort zone which is creating unease. How long will it last? And is it real or will it all fall apart if there is a political stalemate in the upcoming elections?
There are unnerving currents moving through town. There are rumours: that the Mukhabarat - the secret police - are everywhere; that people are heading to the Palestinian camps to buy weapons; that old quarrels are being reignited. And if this is true, the question arises of who would turn on whom? There is a unifying mood on the street. Where would the conflict begin?
The stones that pave Lebanon's road to democracy are unsteady. They could easily by torn up and thrown in anger to destabilize the process. There have been flashpoints. Sparks near the tinder, like the fight last week near Martyr Square where opposition members beat up two pro-Syrian lads in retaliation for a shooting that took place ten days before. The heat of the sun chases the rain away, but it also dries the kindling for starting fires.
One protester told me: "I wish I was born in Sweden or something. The problem is that this region is about conflict and has been so for the past 2000 years ... It is an emotional place but I hope we can make it." (Link)
