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The Sword and the Pen: Violence and Silence in the Levant

Posted in Lebanon, tagged Beirut, Hitchens, Silence, Tueni, Violence on December 20, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Writing’s a pleasure. But it isn’t always easy—not for me, at least.

It’s downright vexing to be a writer. (Again, perhaps that’s just me.) Creativity drains. Energy runs low. Originality and truth struggle in the mind. A host of commitments interfere. Distractions—women, wine, and especially women armed with wine—do too.

And then there’s risk. All of us have ideas, opinions, or analyses. Writers share those, and their own secrets, with the world. Rarely secure in their own labor, they’ll face the disapproval, dissent, and scorn of others. Unsettling.

Many toil in relative obscurity. (Many of you, for instance, don’t know or know of me—and probably couldn’t care less. Anyway, you’re the lucky ones.) These writers relish experiment, words, and sparring (intellectually, of course).

Others also receive creative recognition and financial gain. The lucky become portals to the world, enjoying its charms and sharing their experiences with readers intimate and unknown.

A precious few risk much more: Life. Their voice invites praise. Their self-assurance attracts and alienates. And the weight of their words draws harm.

Gebran Tueni comes to mind.

The son of Ghassan Tueni, a titan of pre-war Lebanon, the younger Tueni inherited the family business in the early 1990s. (The indefatigable Ghassan died earlier this year, aged 86.) While others in a similar position inherited bakeries, law firms, and sovereign states, Tueni took over An-Nahar, a popular and liberal Arab-language daily based in Beirut. Generally unburdened by political responsibility, Tueni wrote brazenly about the illegal and unjust Syrian occupation of Lebanon.

Behind the scenes and in public, Tueni was active in the Cedar Revolution that led to Syria’s withdrawal in 2005. On December 12 of that year, Gebran ignored the usual warnings and returned to Beirut from Paris, where he’d been in temporary, self-imposed exile. He never made it home.

Like many Lebanese of a certain view, Tueni died in a car-bomb explosion. At the time, half of Lebanon was high on the Cedar Revolution and the other half was cowering in its shadow. The critics were quiet.

In the years since, however, vultures have nipped at Tueni… His views weren’t shared by everyone. Sometimes rabid, he could lose a perfectly valid point in the excess of his expression. Though prestigious, his newspaper remains a family heirloom. And he ignored the warnings.

Irrelevant.

By historical accident, Christopher Hitchens—who died a year ago—also comes to mind now. His life a spectacle, Hitchens lived spectacularly. An atheist, rascal, and wordsmith, he provoked and grated—but was fun about it.

Hitchens had his taste of Lebanon in 2009, when he visited the country to speak at the American University of Beirut (AUB). While in Beirut, he bantered, drank, bought shoes, and took two beatings: One was figurative and appropriate; the other was literal and ultimately undeserved.

AUB’s crowd roughed him up first. Well, he roughed himself up. While fielding a question, Hitchens identified Walid Jumblatt—neo-feudal chief of Lebanon’s Druze and head of a centuries-old political dynasty—as one of the Middle East’s “true revolutionaries.” (Jumblatt does wear jeans, and did so even before the Soviet collapse.) He drew the appropriate scorn, effectively admitted he was wrong, and moved on.

Hitchens later suffered worse. Walking down Hamra Street, a bustling place that had by then recovered some of its old cosmopolitanism, he ran into the Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP). Once a sophisticated political movement, the SSNP now merely consists of garden-variety thugs masquerading as members of a sophisticated political movement.

Hitchens spotted one of the many SSNP signs that dotted—and, last I checked, still dot—the area, protected by party partisans and allies embedded in Hamra since their assault on Beirut in 2008. Apparently, Hitchens didn’t care for the party’s insignia: the zubaiyaa. (The zubaiyaa’s basically a spinning swastika. However, party intellectuals claim it invokes the cross and crescent of Lebanon’s spiritual families. Never mind the party’s name!)

His sensibilities offended, Hitchens began defacing the sign. He’d completed the “C of a well-known epithet” before SSNP youths assaulted him—slapping, scratching, punching, and kicking him—and nearly dragged him away for questioning in broad daylight. Hitchens survived, but their intent was clear.

In a superficial way, those who take risks deserve their fate. Tueni probably should have stayed in Paris. He should have argued nicely. Hitchens should have researched Lebanon better before speaking at AUB. And he was arrogant—and plain stupid—to deface an SSNP sign in a neighborhood dominated by its thugs. Who could question that self-contained logic?

Nonsense.

At a deeper level, the surrounding environment—in Lebanon, a pervasive climate of permissive injustice that engenders and allows violent responses to expression—matters most. Writers and other dissidents aren’t the problem. Those who fight thoughts with bullets, confront words with bombs, and reward dissent with death are.

At AUB, Hitchens was in a public forum where he had agreed to speak and defend his convictions. (He later admitted, in a way, that he was fair game.) Tueni routinely engaged his counterparts on television screens, in backrooms, and in public squares. He won some rounds; he lost others.

By contrast, the thugs that killed Tueni and assaulted Hitchens used violence to gain silence. Tueni died because he, perhaps haughtily, said Lebanon wasn’t theirs. Hitchens was mugged because he, perhaps unknowingly, said Hamra wasn’t theirs.

Without an intimate knowledge of the Levant to burden him with baggage, Hitchens put it best: Those in Lebanon “who inconvenience Syria by their criticisms are bad liabilities from the life-insurance point of view.”

Not much has changed since he wrote those words. Not yet, at least… In Lebanon, where the anthem celebrates the nation’s “sword and pen” as the “envy of the ages,” the sword all too often silences the pen.

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Sweet Nothings: Lebanon, from the Space Race to the Hummus War

Posted in Lebanon on October 16, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

Felix Baumgartner reminded us about the wonder of space. He jumped; we dreamed.

Growing up near Florida’s Space Coast, with NASA’s Kennedy Space Center a short drive away, I always thought space was my backyard. Each shuttle launch was magical and, yet, routine: a serene countdown, a powerful blast, an arc of light and smoke, a deft turn, a tricky release—mankind in unfettered ascent.

As we watched shuttle launches (and landings), my father would tell me about science and space; I was curious, and he was glad to dodge incessant questions about the sordid Middle East. “Here we are, in America, reaching for the stars,” he’d rant, with little provocation. “And our people are killing each other over a slice of land smaller than Connecticut.” Once, when the two conversations dovetailed, my father told me that Lebanon had a space program: “Before the war, some professors and students developed the Arz [Cedar] rocket, which could travel as far as Cyprus.”

My mind exploded with adolescent musings:

Was my Zahlawi father exaggerating? Was this space program just a bunch of drunks armed with bottle rockets?

How did Lebanon have a space program? I mean, we don’t even have a metro. And if we built a metro, nobody would ride the damn thing.

Why do we name everything “Cedar?” Were we burning cedar planks to fuel these missiles? Seriously.

Does the space program prove we’re Phoenician? That spacefaring impulse must have emerged from a latent seafaring gene unique to the Eastern Mediterranean. Wait, the project’s godfather was Armenian? Well, he’s still not Arab! And why does this matter again? Whatever.

Why put Cyprus within missile range? Their hummus isn’t that good. Same goes for Israel, Syria, and—oh, that must be why the program fell apart.

In truth, the Lebanese “space program” was a fascinating story. In 1960, professor Manoug Manougian and students at Haigazian University began experimenting with rockets and rocket fuel. By the mid-1960s, the “Lebanese Rocket Society” had developed a relatively sophisticated missile program. The Arz 4 missile, for instance, reached an altitude of 145 kilometers (fellow geeks, that’s in the “thermosphere,” where the International Space Station orbits).

Of course, a missile program in the Middle East—at the height of the Cold War, no less—attracted foreign attention. The usual intrigue followed: “The” Israelis, Syrians, Egyptians, Americans, and Soviets each monitored the program and involved themselves to various degrees. The scientists eventually abandoned the project, though it’s unclear whether foreign pressure or resource constraints drove that decision.

It’s tough to be cynical about the Lebanese Rocket Society. The project epitomized a Lebanese Myth, that rare narrative shared by all communities: During its gilded age, Lebanon was a place to be—but the world could not let it be.

Few are under the illusion that pre-war Lebanon was free from corruption, elitism, sectarianism, emigration, economic imbalance, or foreign intervention. But many believe that the Lebanese—and, more importantly, Lebanon—once had a place under the sun. For all its faults, Lebanon provided space for aspiration; in turn, the Lebanese aspired for Lebanon. However, foreign interests and Lebanese acquiescence derailed the country, just as they derailed the Lebanese Rocket Society. The dream was lost.

Today, while many Lebanese excel around the world, they’re hard-pressed to aspire collectively. Decades of war exacerbated the natural consequences of large-scale emigration, driving entrepreneurs and enterprises abroad; decades of occupation drove nationalism and liberalism underground; and decades of corruption and incompetence kept Lebanon suspended.

Since then, national dreams have been more modest: stability, a representative parliament, an opera house, and—maybe, just maybe—a functioning power grid. And, so, their symbols are more modest too: a World Cup berth, an American beauty queen, and—maybe, just maybe—a plate of hummus.

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Feel the Flow: How to Play the Game in Beirut

Posted in Lebanon, tagged Beirut, Flow, Game, Lebanese Man, Lebanese woman, Marriage, Sex on May 20, 2012 | 5 Comments »

Returning to Beirut isn’t easy.

Many people of Lebanese origin split their time between Beirut and other towns (anywhere you can find a Lacoste store). Folks in my cohort - single, male, Lebanese twenty-somethings with some disposable income, dual-residency, and a penchant for disregarding the old adage that “nothing good happens after 2:00 a.m.” – face a peculiar challenge: Adaptation.

The truth is, each city has a pulse, a preferred conversational approach, ritualized itineraries, and certain quirks. A young man must adapt to the city’s wants without losing sight of what sets him apart. (As Thomas Jefferson said: “In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand firm like a rock.”)

And we ~~pray~~ write…

The Flow: A Basic Introduction to the Concept of Positive Energy

Hopping between two cities is a bit more problematic than jet-setting. A jet-setter is in vacation mode for most of his life, shedding his inhibitions, reveling in anonymity, playing the tourist card, and skipping town just before “consequences” begin to materialize.

Meanwhile, dual residents must deal with all the cautions of home while enjoying only some of its comforts. Cautions: That pretty girl by the bar? She could know your sister – or worse, your ex-girlfriend. That random “Tuesday night” walking down your side of the street? She’s likely gone through a stable of your friends. That sweet innocent librarian type who won’t let you hold hands in public? One word: Chalet.

Comfort is trickier. When should we head out? Where should we start the night? Who do I know that can get me past security in my scuffed shell-toe sneakers? And how should I manage a conversation? By the time a man rediscovers “the flow,” it’s time to head back to the other city.

“The flow,” by the way, is an inner serenity arising from the knowledge that you’ve mastered a city’s quirks. A man who’s settled into a flow begins exuding what appears as confidence. That flow, or lack thereof, interacts with external elements – the city’s habits or patterns – to shape the night.

You may find yourself effortlessly engaging in banter that is somehow both casual and meaningful. You may suddenly find ladies smiling at your every gesture and laughing at jokes you know aren’t funny. Perhaps you’re telling ladies exactly what you’d like to do to them – consequences be damned – and discovering that they’re happy to oblige. That’s flow.

(Note: friends have suggested “groove,” “mojo,” “vibe,” “routine,” “game,” “aura,” “mystique,” and “interoperability.” Indeed.)

Conversely, if you find yourself awkwardly standing around, fiddling with your wrinkled shirt, interjecting at the wrong times, and mechanically plodding through every conversation, then you’d better go home. (We’ve all been there. Much like Lebanon’s political system, I spent about two years in a suspended state of dysfunction.) Not only are you not succeeding, but you risk thwarting your friends. The flow is a sensitive, nuanced energy. Don’t be selfish. Walk away.

Back to the Basics: Six Steps to Rediscovering the Game in Beirut

To play the game in Beirut, you must prepare for the PAS MAL test, a popular metric based on the following six issues: Profession, Access, Sema’a (Reputation), Mobility, Ambition, and Location. (Full disclosure: I spent far too much time figuring out the ‘S.’)

Muscle past the inevitable phalanx of fist-pumping male “friends,” most of whom couldn’t date her three years ago and now hover around to complicate your life. Talk to the female friends. They hold the key to her castle. (Beware. Usually, a woman will have two friends – or, two types of friends – that could undermine the whole enterprise. One will be jealous and judgmental. The other will be a flirty distraction.)

Once you’ve managed to earn some unstructured time with her, dispense with the intricate introductory routine – name, school, common friends, sectarian affiliation – and enter the labyrinth of her mind. Success: Having listened and talked to you for about twelve minutes, she gives you the “pas mal, pas mal” look. Then, and only then, order drinks.

Profession: Shoo btishtighel?

Be prepared to describe your job in fifty words or less. For instance: “I’m a doctor. [PAUSE, let it register.] I considered neurosurgery and pediatrics, but now I’m interested in plastic surgery.”

Dr. Anonymous accomplishes three things with that statement. First, by concisely describing his job, the good doctor demonstrates command of self. It’s natural to question, perhaps constantly question, your own path. But she doesn’t need to hear it all on the first night; it’s not her fault.

Second, in a subtle manner, the doctor’s checking the right boxes. By indicating that he could have been a neurosurgeon, the doctor is letting people know just how smart he is. By noting his interest in pediatrics, the doctor has endeared himself by showing how much he loves kids. (YAY, shoo cute!) And as a potential plastic surgeon, he’s offering a service in high demand – after all, he’s in Beirut.

Third, by being brief, he’s giving her the chance to ask more questions, continue talking about herself, or begin ignoring him in a ploy to make him want her more. In any of these scenarios, the doctor can expend less energy on initiating conversation and spend more time understanding her.

If you’re not a doctor, engineer, or lawyer, some creative resume-building will help. If you’re a sales executive at a hotel, try “account manager specializing in hospitality and leisure.” If you’re a bartender, try “silent partner and mixologist.” If you’re a spy, try “journalist,” “political consultant,” or “development advisor.”

Speak the truth, with some seasoning.

Access: Yi, Ma’ak Passpooooort?

The term “access,” to be brief, is a euphemism for “passport(s)” and shorthand for “ability to get me the fuck out of here.” From a practical standpoint, of course, there’s nothing wrong with seeking stability or prosperity. But women are increasingly blunt about their desire for this sort of access – almost as blunt as the men they deplore for their open pursuit of ~~sex~~ intimacy.

Fellas, the next time you meet a girl at a bar, just brandish your passport(s) – Lebanese, French, Canadian, American, or some combination thereof – and ask: “How you like me now?” If she slaps you, she’s a genuine girl. If she starts shamelessly pursuing you, just enjoy an “intimate” night.

Reputation: Who’s Your Daddy?

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, family ties matter. Lebanese men, having spent their twenties trying to plow through every girl in sight, typically want a girl from “a good family” or “good home.” The ladies simply want a guy who’s “connected.” On balance, that’s fair.

Mobility: Shoo Ma’ak Siyyara?

Like a scene from Swingers, young ladies may ask you whether you have a car. They’ll also ask you what type of car you drive. A friend of mine, having traded in his BMW X5 for a Seat Ibiza, was stunned when a date told him “she wished he had a bigger car.” (The way I see it? At least she wasn’t complaining about the size of his other “attributes.”)

Just be honest. You probably can’t buy a new car on the spot, but you’ll be able to gauge what type of girl she is. Information matters.

Ambition: What’s Your Five-Year Plan?

I’ll never forget the day a girl asked me what my five-year plan was. Initially, it seemed like a cute conversational foray on a typically tentative second date. However, she kept pressing for an answer, smugly informing me that men who stayed in Lebanon were simply “boring,” “unintelligent,” and “unambitious.” She didn’t want to date guys who “stuck around.”

She was looking for a ticket out of Beirut. And I was the fucking ticket.

To be fair to her, she was probably frustrated and a bit jaded. If men find it difficult to parachute into a city and connect with people, women undoubtedly feel trapped by what they see as the playground antics of dual-residents and the collective apathy of those who remain.

But this girl had no credibility. Here’s her plan (seriously): Spend days tanning at Lazy B. Spend nights drinking a hole in daddy’s wallet. Spend every waking hour prowling for a man who’ll buy her illicitly-gotten trinkets for the next fifty years.

I explained what I do for a living. Entering the semi-sarcastic phase that precedes rage, I also explained that “my plan” was to remain open to the “signals the world was sending me.” The subsequent events were marked by angry versions of a popular activity. And that was that.

(The general advice? Determine the nature of her inquiry on a case-by-case basis and respond accordingly.)

Location: Where do you live?

Don’t tell her you live in Beirut.

You’re just visiting, perhaps for thirty years or until your prospective kids “find their roots” and graduate from college. You’re a consultant in Abu Dhabi who visits twice a week. You’re a restauranteur in Johannesburg who’s bringing a Nando’s-Mhanna fusion concept to the Mediterranean. You’re a pilot for Etihad. You’re a journalist from Cleveland on a temporary assignment (but you’ve lived here for six years). You work for the U.N. (no way to actually verify that, so have at it).

If she asks whether you’d like to return to Beirut “for good,” be honest. If you’re not sure, be vague. (Don’t lie. There’s no telling what she thinks.) As discussed, many women would love nothing more than a ticket out of town. On the other hand, many others are charmingly hell-bent on raising their kids in a city that’s a New York Times piece waiting to happen. (Check the World page during war. Check the Travel section during peace.)

Anyway, the truth is none of us live in Beirut. Beirut lives in us.

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Confessions for a New Lebanon (Revisited)

Posted in Lebanon on March 2, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

(In the winter of 2010, deep within the confines of Gelman Library at The George Washington University, I was studying late into the night to make up for yet another four-month stint of procrastination – I believe the kids call these things “semesters.” Never mind that I was a law student and Gelman was undergraduate turf. Never mind that I was shamelessly listening to Diddy-Dirty Money’s “Coming Home.” And never mind that all these GW ladies were out in their patented (Or is it trademarked? Or copyrighted? Damn, a lawyer should know this.) “Sugar Swirl”-stamped pants.

That night, a piece of reading got me to writing.

You know how it goes… International human rights law leads to tangential reading; tangential reading brings you the case of South Africa; the case of South Africa, while compelling, reminds you how much you love Rugby League (not Union, you twats!); thoughts of League lead you to watch Youtube clips of Aussies, Saffers, and Lebos clubbing each other; clips of great hits and brawls remind you that you’re cooped up in a Burgundyesque “glass cage of emotion.” Then, suddenly, you’re watching Invictus for the millionth time! Of course, Invictus closes the circle by reminding you that neither Morgan Freeman nor apartheid is a joke and that you probably should start reading again.

And that’s when I wrote “Confessions for a New Lebanon,” a list of twenty-five truths to commemorate my twenty-fifth birthday. Now a dusty ol’ twenty-six, I’ve decided to add a confession a year until I croak. Or until I develop carpel tunnel syndrome. Whichever comes first, right? Anyways, with a few minor edits, I’ve kept the original confessions and just tacked one to the bottom. Humor aside, I wish more folks would do this – even in laughter, you’ll find out quite a bit about yourself when you write shit down.

Yalla, hope you enjoy!)

——————————-

A central part of post-apartheid South Africa’s journey in from the wilderness involved the creation of a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission,” a non-judicial body empowered to bear witness to and remedy the crimes of the preceding era. Because of Lebanon’s blanket amnesty measures, which have held strong despite less-than-equitable implementation, such an open process of reconciliation seems doubtful.

Perhaps that’s for the best, considering that more than twenty years have passed since the end of the Lebanese Civil War. But in the interest of transparency, and as a step towards a better tomorrow, it might be useful if all the Lebanese folks offered up a list of confessions:

Here’s my list (U.S. law enforcement officials, I only note that all these confessions relate to sentiments, actions, and omissions that occurred in the Republic of Lebanon.):

I did not take a driving test to obtain my Lebanese license;
I have driven dangerously – too fast, too drunk, too angry – and have allowed others to do the same;
I have (probably) insulted you in traffic;
I have repeatedly taken the Lord’s name in vain, and have also:
- Taken your Lord’s name in vain;
- Cursed your “family;”
- Cursed your “village;”
- Cursed “the road that leads to your village;”
- Cursed “your ancestors;”
- Cursed “your harem;”
- Cursed “the ‘person’ who gave you your driver’s license;”
- And so on and so forth (I’m from Zahle, give me a break);
I voted blank during all student elections, except for one, at the American University of Beirut:
- (Note 1: I still resent some of my friends’ blatant political jockeying.);
- (Note 2: To the attractive young lady of my sophomore year, your smiles and sass did not actually convince me to vote for anyone. I did appreciate the attention, however, and thank you for that. Stay classy.);
I occasionally enjoy electronic music (it took about 10 years in Beirut, but it’s happened);
I have not visited my family as often as I should;
I believe Hizbullah should be disarmed, and do not share its vision for Lebanon;
I believe the Future Movement has botched things up time and again, and must learn to accept criticism of the late former Prime Minister Rafic Hariri and his son, current Prime Minister Saad Hariri;
I believe Walid Jumblatt is a man of many regrets, but probably does not regret enough;
I believe Lebanon’s various Christian parties are stuck in the past, have no present, and fear the future;
I do not believe money should be spent on a “National Dialogue” that is nothing but a glorified sham;
I do not believe that secularism is a cure for Lebanon, but I’m not sure there is one;
I would kill to defend my country, village, family, and friends, but sometimes question whether I am willing to die;
Women often annoy me;
I fail to understand how Lebanese men wish to enjoy their twenties, but insist on marrying virgins;
I unabashedly support the hummus war between Lebanon and Israel (food fights never killed anyone. That said, I think we can all agree that Lebanese hummus is better!);
I do not like baba ghannoush and think falafel are overrated;
I have never partied at BO18 (see Confession #7);
I have judged Francophone Lebanese based on the mere hint of their voice;
I never focused in French class, but still list French as a language on my resume;
I immersed myself in Arabic by listening to Melhem Barakat, my father’s Zahle twang, and my mother’s refined Beiruti accent, all of which explains my failure to communicate with 99.7% of the general public (98.6%? 89.7%? What’s the Tyrant Standard Vote these days?);
I love watching Don’t Mess With the Zohan.;
I do not like being called an “Arab,” but I do not know how to navigate, sail a boat, write without vowels, work with glass, or dye cloth purple. As such, “Phoenician” doesn’t exactly fit either. If you insist on a label, “Lebanese” will do just fine. Fill in the blanks as you see fit;
I wonder, sometimes, whether Lebanon is worth the pain;
I openly and notoriously drank a beer in Sidon, Lebanon, last year.

Put a pen to paper. I’m sure your list will have a lot in common with this one, but if not… “You have your Lebanon, and I have mine.”

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Mr. Hitchens Goes to Beirut: Lessons on Violence and Silence in the Levant

Posted in Lebanon, Levant, Syria, tagged AUB, Beirut, Dissent, Hamra, Hitchens, Lebanon, SSNP, Syria, Violence on January 26, 2012 | 8 Comments »

About a month ago, Christopher Hitchens, one of the great English-language essayists of our time, passed away. In the time since that unfortunate loss, a flood of obituaries has honored the man. According to the standard accounts, Hitchens was a writer, a rascal, and advocate possessing a remarkable talent for provoking and alienating others – even when he was right.

Hitchens had the unique opportunity (and responsibility) of providing people with a glimpse of the world. Writing for a spate of widely read publications, he tackled everything from “Why Women Aren’t Funny” to “The Case for Humanitarian Intervention,” controversially urging the latter before and during the American war in Iraq.

And his prose – erudite, elegant, and evocative – was remarkable. Simply put, the man could write.

Even so, Hitchens had two glaring weaknesses. First, like many intelligent people, Hitchens was too confident in his opinions. As a consequence, he was susceptible to cloaking ideological presumptions in the garb of observational commentary – a common charge, but true nonetheless. Second, though this may have been inevitable given the breadth and pace of his work, Hitchens was often wrong about the facts. So while he was a powerful observer, Hitchens could get in his own way.

Take the lesson of Lebanon, where Hitchens traveled in 2009.

Sponsored by a Lebanese pro-democracy foundation, Hitchens visited the tumultuous country to give a talk at the American University of Beirut (AUB). Like many others who’ve set foot in Lebanon, Hitchens took a beating (figuratively and literally).

AUB is one of the more prestigious universities in the Middle East, with a rich intellectual history including on-campus crises surrounding a late-19th century debate on Darwinism and a mid-20th century controversy over Arab nationalism and Westernization in Lebanon. In short, despite its dysfunctional administration, AUB has been a hotbed for debate and activism since its inception in 1866.

Perhaps unawares, Hitchens expected a friendly reception on campus, with the polite and deferential questions one might hear at a policy event in Washington, DC. The crowd roughed him up; he roughed himself up, really. Most disastrously, while fielding questions after his talk, Hitchens identified Walid Jumblatt as one of the Middle East’s “true revolutionaries.” Of course, as Hitchens knew perfectly well, Jumblatt was and is the neo-feudal leader of the Druze community and head of a centuries-old political household in the Levant.

Hitchens would later suffer worse at the hands of the Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP), a bunch of garden-variety thugs masquerading as members of a sophisticated political movement. Walking down Hamra, a bustling street that once was one of the more cosmopolitan places in the Arab world, Hitchens spotted one of the many SSNP flags and signs that have hung over the area, protected by embedded party partisans, since 2008.

As Hitchens details in “The Swastika and the Cedar,” the zubaiyaa – the SSNP insignia that resembles a spinning swastika, but which party intellectuals claim invokes the cross and crescent of Lebanon’s spiritual families – offended his sensibilities. He began defacing the sign, barely getting through the “C of a well-known epithet” before SSNP youths assaulted him and nearly dragged him away for questioning in broad daylight.

On the details, Hitchens deserved every beating he took. He was profoundly mistaken in equating Jumblatt, a survivalist par excellence, with the Lebanese activists at the heart of the Cedar Revolution or with revolutionaries that have emerged during the Arab Spring. And it was foolish and arrogant – just plain stupid – to deface an SSNP sign in a neighborhood dominated by its thugs.

At a deeper level, however, people’s response to Hitchens matters more. At AUB, Hitchens took an academic beating in a public forum where he had agreed to air his views and defend his convictions. In his writing, he practically admitted that he was fair game. In Hamra, by contrast, members of a political party (or gang) almost beat him to a pulp on a public street – a main thoroughfare, in truth – which they regard as their private playground.

The Hamra incident was symptomatic of a problem that Hitchens recognized, though he expressed it poorly. Despite lacking an intimate knowledge of the Levant, or perhaps because he was not burdened with such baggage, Hitchens saw clearly that “those [in Lebanon] who inconvenience Syria by their criticisms are bad liabilities from the life-insurance point of view.”

Not much has changed since he wrote those words – not yet, at least. In fact, the scope of dissent and countervailing violence has only broadened.

At home, where nearly a year of dissent has not swayed the entrenched elite, and in Lebanon, which the Assad regime still regards as a runaway coastal province, a Levantine clique of cabals fights thoughts with bullets, confronts words with bombs, and rewards dissent with death. Most troublingly, sandwiched between corrupt regimes and dynamic Islamists, ostensible Arab liberals – including Lebanon’s March 14 coalition – are increasingly compelled to accept the logic of violence.

Though he was often wrong and though he deployed an alienating sort of polemical fury, Hitchens died in his bed of illness, perhaps a product of his own excesses. He did not, thus, die at the hands of those he disagreed with.

It was a spectacular life and a quiet death. The converse awaits Lebanese and other regional public figures, as they live in fearful silence and self-censorship or die from violent acts engendered by disagreement. Until intellectuals, activists, and politicians are willing and able to live or die on their own terms, the Middle East – especially the perpetually unstable Levant – will not see a better tomorrow.

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“It’s Time to Finish the Job:” Biggie’s Take on the Region (Christmas Conversations, Volume II)

Posted in Hizbullah, Lebanon, tagged Arab Spring, Christmas, Iran, Lebanon, Oil, Steve Jobs, Syria on January 19, 2012 | 2 Comments »

As if the advice and probing questions of “Guest” weren’t enough, I’ve had to sift through hours of tape to bring you the best of “Biggie’s” take on the region. While that’s not a problem from an entertainment standpoint, it’s a little frustrating to listen to successive barbs directed towards you in what amounts to a verbal spanking. (In the Middle East, or at least in my family, arguing is a lot like Gladiator. It doesn’t matter who’s right; what matters is that you “win the crowd!”)

Biggie has that stereotypically clear view of politics you might find in engineers, particularly any of Middle Eastern descent who’ve spent considerable time in the West. Take it as a rule of thumb, these guys are the backbone of the hard-line parties and of the hard-line factions within all political movements in the region.

In Biggie’s world-view, “politicians are crooks, citizens are fools, and regional and international players are conniving self-interested pricks. They’re all bastards.” And that’s that. Not that he’s wrong, or anything, but Biggie’s Christmas outlook is something like: ”Nuance Don’t Live Here No Mo!” This year, he was firing on all cylinders. (Look, a vague engineering reference!) In a series of blistering, beautiful rants, Biggie reminded us all just what it means to be a Zahlewi.

Here’s a (relatively) clean version:

“The problem in Lebanon is that nobody went all the way. We keep repeating the same mistakes: we fight a little bit, but are too scared to take the big risk; we make amends a little bit, but are too scared to trust each other fully. Make war, not feuds. Otherwise, just stay at home and let us live in peace.”

(Instantly, Biggie galvanized a debate on the history of political violence in Lebanon. The consensus, forged by Biggie’s sheer determination, was that the Lebanese have a tendency to settle for half-measures, even during apparently catastrophic wars. It’s a good point, though it’s obviously difficult to argue that the answer is more violence. Think of it as the Levantine version of the Powell Doctrine.)

“Forget Syria. You know Steve Jobs was Syrian. Would he have turned out the same had he not been given up for adoption? [Listens.] OK, fine, his family was relatively successful. Answer this: How many others like Steve Jobs might there have been had the place not been some oppressive shit hole?”

(Quietly agreeing with the observation, at least in essence.)

“And where do you think most folks here [the Middle East] send there kids to school, if they can afford it or otherwise get the chance? IRAN? SYRIA? No. They’re all in France, Canada, Australia, and – yes, oh, yes – the U.S. of A. I’m not saying those countries are perfect, but if we’re all honest it’s not even a close call as to where they’d want to be. So forgive me if I don’t buy this rejectionist shit!”

(Biggie’s made this same point, which I also believe to be valid, for years. Each year, he gets more colorful and animated. I can’t wait for 2015.)

“Who gives a shit about Hizbullah? Really. They’re like a rash that won’t go away.”

(A few people do care, though that’s probably what set Biggie off to begin with!)

“Lebanon’s a joke. Everybody here’s happy to have some politician stroke them. They’ll never learn…. What? No, ya Tannous, I don’t know who George Carlin is.”

(I spend the next ten minutes extolling Carlin’s virtues.)

“I’m suuuure he’s funny, but how does that help us here? Anyways…”

(At this point, I’m dejected. You can hear the silence of defeat on tape.)

“The Arab Spring? Now that’s funny. Do you think Qaddafi, Mubarak, and Asad – the whole lot of ‘em – came from Mars or something? We’re going to get the same bunch of folks with a new coat of paint to cover up the shit we’ve been smelling for decades. And when the oil runs out, the West will probably nuke this piece of shit region.”

(Still dejected. Merry Christmas. Truly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.)

“All I’m saying is that Israel will not stand by and let Iran get the bomb. Does that mean Israel can prevent the Iranians from getting it? I don’t know. But it won’t be for lack of trying… The Israelis can’t but view this as existential. How long do you expect them to wait? It’s time to finish the job.”

(I can’t make up my mind. Part of me believes that Western, particularly American, pressure on Israel will keep things in check for the foreseeable future. While it’s true that Iran probably can’t block oil shipments for more than a few days, if at all, there’s no telling how the markets will react. Although the capacity to supply oil hasn’t been a problem for some time, global supply is – or is perceived to be – precarious. Alongside the sustained dollar devaluation and growing Asian energy demands, security premiums due to Middle East instability have been responsible for the past decade’s high prices. On the other hand, part of me agrees with Biggie. Sometimes, it’s just about survival. What will the Israelis do?)

That’s all for now. Stay tuned for more later this week.

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“Go Back to America:” The Guest Strikes Again (Christmas Conversations, Volume II)

Posted in Lebanon, tagged Arab Spring, Christmas, Conversation, Lebanon, Steve Jobs, Syria on January 13, 2012 | 4 Comments »

Year after year, “Guest” has entertained the family with his worldly take on politics and culture. He’s an experienced traveler who’s done business in all kinds of places.

In our conversations, Guest has developed a new international relations discipline that I’ll call “Realist Conservative Conspiratory Casual (RC3).” For the most part, his speculations are merely amusing, but he tends to predict Saudi foreign policy machinations in Lebanon rather well.

Perhaps that’s because RC3 is tailor-made for Beirut’s politics, where Gulfis substitute money for policies and the Lebanese substitute money for convictions. Anyways, here’s the best of Guest for Christmas 2011:

“Go back to America… Or Europe. Hell, go to Brazil! There’s growth potential there. Lebanon’s just a big resort; I really don’t understand how anyone would want to live here before he’s 50.”

(Same as usual, except last year “Vietnam” had growth potential.)

“The Christians here keep pussyfooting around. I remember when [former Palestinian Liberation Organization leader] Yasser Arafat first popped up on the scene here, wearing that damn kaffiyeh. Even Palestinians generally didn’t wear that thing at the time… At this rate, we’ll all be wearing Bedouin garb within a decade!”

(I’m not exactly a fan of Arafat’s style – or his substance, for that matter. I’d be a little more careful in phrasing things, but maybe I’m just “pussyfooting around” too!)

“Steve Jobs… Jobs… Jobs… Jobs! He was the number 2 at Microsoft, mish heik?”

(Not exactly. Same industry though. Kudos for that one.)

“I’m telling you, ya Antoun, [Lebanese Forces leader] Samir Geagea will be Lebanon’s next president. I said it last year; I believe it now. The Saudis want it, and with things getting out of hand in Syria, they may be able to put their man in place.”

(If you recall last year’s conversation, I was skeptical about this point. For starters, I argued then, Syria and its allies in Lebanon would never allow it. Moreover, many Lebanese Christians – the reservoir from which Geagea must draw – continue to detest the man, his party, the war-era legacy, and current policies. But who knows? With ongoing shifts in Syria and Lebanon, and with the impact of Saudi factionalism on foreign policy still uncertain, a Geagea presidency seems more possible now than it was last year. It’s a hard sell, though.)

“Have you met any nice ladies here? ***Listens, listens, listens*** No, I mean ladies – not girls, OK habibi? – that you can settle down with. ***Listens, listens, listens*** Yeah, you’re fresh out of luck kid!”

(Thanks. Not everyone is a transcontinental player with exceedingly distinguished grey streaks in his hair and a perma-tan to boot. Son of a…actually hurt my feelings!)

“Iran… So what?”

(Er, I don’t know what to make of that. This one happened verbatim. I wonder if Guest, who’s getting on in years, thought I was talking about that salty yoghurt drink you get with meat pies in the morning.)

“Merry Christmas? For what? When’s the last time you went to Church?”

(I’ve dealt with my share of Catholic guilt. Leave me alone. If you’re not of the faithful persuasion, take it as a fucking expression. You know, like “Bless You.”)

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading and happy holidays to all!

[NOTE: Apologies for the delay. I've had to listen to hours of conversations to organize each person's best comments. It's like the "25 Days of Christmas" all over again."]

[NOTE 2: In trying to capture the essence of this guy's humor in Arabic, I've embellished a little bit. The suggestive has become the bombastic... English is a slightly more reserved tongue, so forgive me. Don't file a lawsuit or anything.]

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Christmas Conversations, Volume II: Introduction, Arab Spring, and Steve Jobs

Posted in Lebanon, Levant, tagged Arab Spring, Beirut, Christmas, Conversation, Lebanon, Steve Jobs on January 2, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

Forget about winter merriment. As well as challenging waistlines and livers across the country, Lebanon’s Christmas season offers no respite from intense political debate. Indeed, with members of the family back in town, the holidays are closer to a prolonged political brawl – with breaks to eat and drink, then eat and drink some more – than to a religious celebration. “Or maybe,” in the words of D.L. Hughley, “that’s just my house.”

For over a decade, members of my mom’s family, their in-laws and friends, and a revolving group of guests have gathered in Achrafieh to celebrate Christmas Eve. Perhaps expectedly, Christ’s birth and Santa’s generosity are mere sideshows to the spectacle that is Lebanese politics. Going through the motions with a few carols and a token attendance of Mass, the family ramps up for the evening debate on the intricate disputes (read: petulant behavior) of Lebanese leaders. It’s a stunning transformation from forced civility and cheer to genuine bonding through political mudslinging. And we wouldn’t have it any other way!

Since 2005, when the assassination of former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafic Hariri redefined the country’s politics, a single conversation has literally unfolded over six years of winter gatherings. The “plug and play” discussion includes everything from sophisticated, calm analyses to incendiary outbursts that would make a sailor blush (the Zahleweh faction of the family is to blame for that). Favorite topics have been Lebanese Christian political history and intra-Christian divisions, the Sunni-Shiite divide and its impact on minorities in the Arab world, the broader regional configuration, America’s place in the world, Hizbullah and Iran, and the Special Tribunal for Lebanon (STL).

Occasionally, seasonal issues bring some extra flavor to the debate. Two years ago, the family was wondering how President Obama’s regional approach would affect their lives – because, of course, they rate their own strategic portfolio at the White House. Last year, WikiLeaks catalyzed a rather lively conversation about how to handle Julian Assange and a “bunch of imperial stooges dressed up as resistance leaders.” This year, of course, the “Arab Spring” and the death of Steve Jobs provided fresh fodder. Jobs, I discovered, is a proxy for all that is right in the West and all that is flawed in the Middle East.

As usual, instead of obtaining their prior consent, for fear of dulling the conversation, I’ve opted to conceal people’s identities. Hilariously, a few folks were particularly verbose this year, citing their desire to make the final cut! Starting tomorrow, I’ll devote a daily post to each speaker’s comments over the coming week (I’m still dealing with sporadic food comas, so forgive my lazy approach). Please enjoy the holiday selection of this year’s most entertaining and controversial Christmas quotes.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays in General, and a Happy New Year!

(This introduction is a modified version of last year’s opening salvo.)

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The Botox Revolution: Appearances, Activism, and Beirut’s Socialite Reformist Scene

Posted in Lebanon, Levant, tagged Beirut, Botox, Electoral Reform, Socialite, Women's Rights on December 19, 2011 | 2 Comments »

There’s no easy way to say this. Lebanese women are exhibitionists. And I love them for it.

At a recent electoral law reform conference, a female panelist went out of her way to argue that the general public, or perhaps the male public, unfairly accuses Lebanese women of “exhibitionism” and “an obsession with appearances.” She then went on to stress that the attributes of “beauty” and “elegance” are not incompatible with “active social and political roles for women.” (True. But that statement opens the door for comment on aesthetics and society.)

I’m not especially ashamed to admit that I laughed, much to the dismay of a reserved policy analyst who had invited me to the event. I apologized to those around me, but it was just too much to handle.

First of all, there was enough Botox in that room to replicate the Millennium Dome. And, of course, the women were dressed in their best Mediterranean chic attire, consisting of tight jeans, fiercely sexy boots, and an assortment of silk, leather, and fur accessories. (For the record, let me congratulate the event’s organizers for their foresight. Handing out pamphlets and brochures was a smart move. I was distracted, to say the least. I’m now reading up on the merits and faults of proposed reforms.)

What’s more, in some ways augmenting and in other ways obscuring her natural beauty, the young lady had clearly nipped and tucked a few things herself (nose, lips, possibly the rear-end). She had probably spent about three hours meticulously applying eye-liner, mascara, lipstick, blush, hair extensions, and nail polish. With that time, she could have held eight meetings, appeared on a couple television shows, drafted a few policy briefs, had a business lunch, or done some valuable reading. Hell, she could have put together another, more accessible policy event across town. Or she could have taken me out for dinner. Just a thought.

Now, let’s get a few things out of the way. To one extent or another, and regardless of what they tell you, most people are concerned with appearances. That’s what “style,” or what in America passes for “style,” is about. In Lebanon, additionally, that concern explains regal dinners, flashy cars, garish watches and other such phenomena.

Anyways, aside from how commonplace the practices are, there’s nothing wrong with maintenance or enhancement per se. For instance, believe it or not, I brush my teeth, shave my head, and occasionally hit the gym. I shave my beard too. (That’s a losing battle if there ever was one. David Petraeus was tasked with devising a Counter-Permanent-Five-O’clock-Shadow strategy. He chose to tackle Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Central Intelligence Agency instead.) I pluck away my unibrow-in-waiting. I carefully select my suits. I do NOT wax my chest hair–damn prairie flowers – but the point is that the desire to modify one’s appearance is normal.

That said, and though people should have the right to do a great many things to their own bodies, it’s clear that many folks get carried away. The lady in the seat next to me, who I’ll later talk about more, was pushing sixty. Her skin was so tight you could play a drum on it and her nose looked like a coke addict had tried to fix a deviated septum with a Napoleonic Era bayonet. My friend pointed out another woman, also above fifty, who was rocking spandex pants, stilettos, and powdering her face.

I didn’t know what to think. Initially, the Catholic guilt, a remnant of early schooling, set in: I was angry at Lebanese men, including myself, for constantly seeking out shallow Mediterranean vixens and then being surprised at what our incentive structure hath wrought. Another part of me reminded the guilty part that “self-esteem” is, as one comedian put it, short-hand for “esteem of self.” And yet another part of me was happy to just gaze at the pretty ladies.

All things considered, there seems to be a difference between plucking a few hairs and employing a shady Eastern European plastic surgeon who’s previous work experiences include a stint with the Italian mafia and the Terrorist International. Is there a hard line or a looser demarcation zone between acceptable modifications and dehumanizing alterations? If so, where does it fall? Tucking away a few pounds, lifting away a few wrinkles, augmenting a few curves or muscles… And does any of that even matter?

I take the point that the lady was trying to make. It’s possible to look good, or think you look good, and raise a family, pursue a career, and/or contribute to your society. She can’t be faulted for her opinion; she’s a living example that it’s possible, indeed desirable, for women and men to excel in substance and in style.

Even so, facts often distort what’s true in theory. And what’s true for those with dedication is not necessarily true for paper revolutionaries.

As the lady explained the various mechanisms for increasing women’s representation in government, the two girls in the next row were checking each other’s make-up. (Never mind how I was privy to that information.) The older woman next to me, who was one of the sharpest people I’ve ever met, kept caressing the fur lining of her jacket and texting her friend “Clarissa” about another lady’s outfit, obviously not listening to the presentation. Most distressingly, a lady two rows from the front kept disturbing events by strutting around in 12-inch heels, tipping and tapping the speaker’s words into oblivion.

“That’s why I’ve stopped going to these events,” said one earnest friend, who edits a news website. “Civil society events have always been a little annoying here. And now [the events] are basically another social gathering for people to dress up and show-off.” She was overstating things, as I’m prone to do as well, but is definitely on to something.

Time and money. They reveal what matters to people. Time spent primping, shopping, partying, and chasing diaspora doctors is time not spent on thinking, reading, writing, or building. Money spent on plastic surgery, flashy trinkets, and gargantuan New Year’s Eve parties is money not spent on research, materials, coalition-building, and advocacy. Opportunity costs are a bitch, no pun intended.

For most people, these questions may not matter so much – nor must they. To do what one pleases is, in an important way, a rather natural understanding of liberty. But it’s also a luxury of private life. (For now, let’s set aside the question of balance. To each his own. To each her own?) Here, the very people seeking to shape public affairs are blissfully unaware that they’re part of the problem – or, at least, not contributing much to the solution.

Empty-nesters, elite socialites, divorcees, and younger ladies with time on their hands are a great reservoir for activism. That’s a fact. But they won’t be an effective spearhead, as they’re very capable of becoming, until they prioritize more effectively. If you’re in the business of public causes – such as correcting Lebanon’s deplorable human rights regime, including a deficient women’s rights framework – then spend more time actually doing something. (Just, please, don’t cut us off. That would be blatantly disproportionate.)

As the lady said, with your beauty, intelligence, and talents, the rest will fall into place.

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The Big Cat’s Out of the Bag: A Moment of Truth, a Lifetime of Duplicity from Bashar al-Assad

Posted in Israel, Lebanon, Levant, Syria, tagged Arab Spring, Assad, Duplicity, Syria, Violence on December 13, 2011 | 1 Comment »

Syrian President Bashar al-Assad keeps making all the wrong moves. In a recent interview with ABC’s Barbara Walters, the former doctor sounded more like a butcher – and a heartless one at that. He lied and deflected questions. He made light of a dire situation. He rejected international conventions and global standards on news reporting, fact verification, human rights baselines, and political legitimacy. He refused to accept responsibility for any of the bloodshed, citing a lack of control over the military and other state institutions, but inconsistently claimed that his stewardship would be an indispensable part of tomorrow’s Syria.

At one point, with a slip of the tongue, Assad told the truth. That was his greatest blunder of all.

“It’s just a game we play,” Assad said, trying to explain why Syria participates in the United Nations when his regime believes the organization lacks credibility. Assad unwittingly revealed much more: the duplicity that is – and always has been – at the heart of his fragile regime’s world-view.

Of course, all policy involves some level of duplicity (certainly at the United Nations). Leaders around the world use misinformation, diplomatic gymnastics, rhetorical techniques, and outright lies. In theory, duplicity is a tool that sometimes allows leaders to pursue broader, ostensibly noble, objectives. For example, a leader might lie or conceal truths while preventing a terrorist attack, deploying armed forces, or preserving the integrity of the financial system or banking sector. When the livelihood of millions hangs in the balance, and regardless of policy choices, duplicity may be necessary.

In Assad’s Syria, however, duplicity is the essential – and, sometimes, only – aspect of an insular cabal’s survival strategy. The ends are not noble; the means are not varied. Time and again, in various settings, the Assad regime’s games have had destructive consequences for millions of people, not least of all in Syria itself.

Most tragically, the Assad regime has duped its own people and “informed observers” by portraying Bashar as a young reformer held hostage by a corrupt and stifling old system. How absurd. The man inherited an entire country and has killed thousands to keep it. He rose through the ranks because of nepotism, maintained a support base because of corruption and an unseemly marriage of political and business interests, and trumpeted secularism as a cloak for Alawite rule.

Glaringly, for a regime that sells itself as a laboratory of Arab nationalism, military resistance, and rejectionism, Syrian duplicity has resulted in a peculiar relationship with Israel. In Syria’s parliament and in front of the domestic press, Assad has routinely blasted the “Zionist entity,” touted outdated notions of “strategic parity,” and proclaimed his country’s desire to liberate the Golan Heights “by force if necessary.” All the while, of course, Syria has engaged in peace talks with the Israelis, knowing full well that diplomacy is the only path forward.

In short, Assad is unable to confront Israel and unwilling to commit to peace. Why? Because war would expose Syria’s weakness abroad and peace would expose its weakness at home. In truth, the Assad regime has benefited greatly from Israel’s occupation of the Golan Heights. With nothing to offer in terms of innovation, economic development, or political reform, the regime has cultivated fear of an Israeli bogeyman, made periodic noises about the Golan, and staved off dissent under the banner of resistance.

Syria has been especially duplicitous with its neighbors, Lebanon and Iraq. In Lebanon, the Assad regime used assassinations, beatings, jailings, and “disappearances” to intimidate the Lebanese people. With tens of thousands of troops and intelligence operatives in the country, the regime monopolized Lebanese foreign policy, exploited lucrative real estate, banking, and “semi-formal” sectors, and put a lid on political pluralism that it viewed as a potential source of dissent in Damascus.

After of decades of occupying the place, Syria was forced out of Lebanon in 2005. Since then, while promising to respect Lebanon’s sovereignty, the Assad regime has continued to facilitate Iran’s arming of Hizbullah, refused to delineate any borders, interfered in local politics as a matter of right, and done nothing to reassure the Lebanese that it no longer views their country as “the alleged entity.”

The Assad “games” in Iraq have been just as harmful. This is not to ignore the devastating consequences of the U.S. invasion of 2003, but to say that the Syrian response was disingenuous and equally damaging. Professing a desire to cooperate on borders, insurgents, and the Lebanon file, the Assad regime actively derailed progress on those issues. The regime blatantly did nothing to secure any of its borders, may have allowed guerillas and terrorists to train in Syria, and certainly granted insurgents passage through the country to Iraq. (Conveniently, Iraq and northern Lebanon provided Syria with avenues to rid itself of many Islamists it saw as threatening to the regime.)

On the international stage, as Assad basically admitted, Syria has been thoroughly two-faced. Trumpeting its participation in international organizations, the Assad regime has disrupted and dodged two ongoing probes into suspected behavior in clear violation of established international law. First, the Assad regime has repeatedly stiff-armed a judicial investigation into its suspected involvement in the assassination of former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafic Hariri. (Hizbullah, too, may be involved.) Second, the Syrians have dragged their feet on an International Atomic Energy Agency investigation of a covert nuclear reactor project in northern Syria. (Incidentally, the Israelis bombed the facility, which they allege was a nuclear reactor, without so much as a peep from the Assad regime.)

At present, the regime must contend with the reality that most Syrians have rejected the status quo. To be sure, the Assad regime may cling to power for a while by crushing the opposition, persisting amid local and regional challenges, or emerging as a key actor after a protracted conflict. Be that as it may, the illusions are gone.

After decades of playing with house money, the regime appears to be losing. But at what price?

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Keepin’ Busy: Articles on Independence and the LF, Apathy in Casablanca, and Egypt on the Horizon

Posted in Lebanon, tagged Apathy, Casablanca, Egypt, Elections, February20, Lebanon, Morocco, Tahrir, Update on November 26, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

Last week, in part to prove to my friends that I actually write once in a while, I was fortunate enough to publish a couple pieces in NOW Lebanon (some readers might think that an unfortunate event but, politics aside, they’re a creative and accomodating bunch).

One piece, “The Beirut autumn,” was an observational commentary of sorts. It was a cri de coeur, in keeping with my tendency to write those once in a while. (I thank the kind journalist who’s pointed that out and encouraged me to write in that tone more often. However, I do think that the style is more effective in moderate doses, rather than in a barrage of editorials and op-eds.)

The second article, “A day at the Doctor’s,” examines the Lebanese Forces party amid the broader Christian and Lebanese contexts. It’s not meant to deride or praise the party, but to observe and critique the movement and its position in Lebanon.

As for this week, I’ll be in Morocco and Egypt to “chase elections.” Thanks for reading and I’ll keep you posted on what’s happening. If you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out some negotating tactics for a Casablanca cab to the airport. These guys are good.

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Life in Lebanon: An Update on the “User’s Manual” and “10 Resolutions” for Lebanon

Posted in Lebanon, tagged Beirut, Diaspora, Grade, Lebanon, Life, Rant, Resolutions, Tourism, Traffic, User Manual on November 20, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

Earlier this year, while battling the bar exam blues, I put together a list of resolutions – doubling as a ”user’s manual” for others – that I hoped to live by upon returning to Lebanon. I’ve been in Beirut since the end of August and will be heading back to the U.S. sometime in January, so an interim review makes sense.

For ease, I’ve just copied each resolution, written a little explanation on my practice, and graded myself using the traditional A-to-F scale. The results were mixed, to put it mildly.

1. I Will Not Revert to Archetypical Lebanese Behavior Upon Boarding the Plane (Or Disembarking, Or Leaving the Airport)

I’ve been surprisingly resilient on this front. Fending off the barbarian hordes, I’ve managed to quietly stand in line at the movies, at sporting events, and in night clubs. Similarly, I’ve consistently obeyed traffic lights and I’ve paid every one of my parking tickets on time.

At times, I’ve even risked my own physical safety to uphold the rule of law and broader standards of human decency. For instance, in the bustling and congested neighborhood of Hamra, I’ve clashed with cab drivers who believe car horns are adequate substitutes for brake pedals. I’ve almost fought with street corner fools who think it’s fine to drunkenly serenade women in my circle of friends. (I may have overreacted. Sue me. Wait, the court system is in shambles; let’s resort to more established dispute resolution techniques.)

Finally, I nearly slapped the fuck out of a valet attendant who, in the presence of other people, felt entitled to scold me – a customer - for not giving him at least 10,000LL. In his words, he “parked the car right next to the door.” In my words, nobody “asked him to park my goddamn Volkswagen near the door like it was some goddamn Ferrari and he’s lucky I don’t press charges for the numerous bumps and scratches his fine company’s been kind enough to impart on my car over the years. Kol khara!”

All in all, despite the occasional flare-up, mostly owing to the indescribable horror of Lebanese traffic, I’ve held on to civilized behavioral patterns. Not bad.

Grade: B+

2. I Will Spend (Significant and Meaningful) Time with Family

I’ve improved my performance, but nowhere nearly as much as I should have. There’s still time left, and I’ll try to make things right. Bottom line.

Grade: B-

3. I Will Not Go to Gemmayze Six Nights a Week

Utterly disastrous. I believe the kids would call my efforts here an “epic fail.” Although I’ve branched out to Hamra’s night scene and rediscovered the charm of Monot Street, the point is that my friends and I still go out quite a bit. Compounding the problem is the fact that I tend to write in Gemmayze’s cafes, making me more likely to linger into the night (severe traffic on the route home also creates an incentive to stay in the city).

At this point, I’m just going to let this one ride.

Grade: F

4. I Will Not Go to Edde Sands or Any Over-Priced Beaches

For the most part, I’ve avoided the beaches here successfully. To be fair, I arrived in Beirut at towards the end of summer, which certainly made things easier. To my credit, however, I haven’t been to Edde Sands once. Similarly, I’ve only been to La Plage a couple times – including once for “research.” I’ve been dragged to the beaches south of Beirut more often, but nobody’s perfect. Good effort, if I do say so myself!

Grade: A-

5. I Will Not Watch the News

Excellent job. I haven’t watched an entire news broadcast once. It’s been tough: the news finds you in Lebanon and, confoundingly, one particularly attractive weatherwoman has complicated things. Even so, I’ve done just fine aside from the occasional glance.

With the Jeita Grotto losing out on its Seven Wonders bid – the agony! – it’s probably for the best.

Grade: A-

6. I Will Not Watch Kalam al-Nass

I don’t know where it all went wrong. Despite my best efforts, I’ve become even more of a political talk show junkie! Kalam al-Nass was just the beginning, as I’ve become a regular fan of Bi Mawdouiyeh, Beirut Today, Al Fasad, and other such shows.

With politicians bickering and brawling, anyone with a fraction of my inclinations would have trouble turning away from the TV. My bad.

Grade: D-

7. I Will Resist Xenophobia and Reject the Hierarchy of Races

Never was a problem for me. I know, but also hope, that it never will be. A lot of Lebanese people are just plain racists. It’s truly unfortunate.

Grade: A+

8. I Will Not Drive Like a Maniac or Asshole (Unless You Drive Like a Maniac or Asshole First)

My only thought here is to reject responsibility for the maniacal driving of others and accept responsibility for my admittedly crazy standard response. As much as I love the liberties afforded by driving in Lebanon, a widely acknowledged increase in congestion has simply made everybody that much more aggressive.

Go ahead Caramel-Schumacher, make my day.

Grade: D+

9. I Will Not Be Trapped

While I’ve been mired in Lebanon’s quicksand, in pleasure and in pain, I am also in the process of realizing some of my ambitions to travel, write, revel, and contemplate. It’s too early to judge this one…

Grade: Incomplete

10. I Will Not Complain (Neither “Here” nor “There”)

I’ve been surrounded by complaints. Lebanon, to put it simply, amplifies life. Good experiences are great; bad experiences are horrid. Middling experiences occupy a thin slice of people’s time and energies here. Naturally, then, I’ve heard my fair share of complaints. I’ve certainly complained about a lot too. But, at heart, I continue to enjoy every fleeting moment here.

And, as daily events should remind us, it could all evaporate tomorrow. As always, folks, the lesson here is to move past the negative and enjoy what you can, when you can, for as long as you can.

Grade: B+

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Tell ‘Em Why You Mad, Son! Understanding Lebanon’s Uncivil Political Discourse

Posted in Lebanon, Levant, March 14, March 8, Syria, tagged Alawites, Alloush, Assad regime, Brawl, Fight, Lebanese, Politicians, Pride, Sunnis, Syrian revolution on November 16, 2011 | 2 Comments »

A few days ago, two Lebanese politicians literally went at each other’s throats on national television. Setting aside a moment of personal glee - I like a good Lebanese smackdown every now and again (see Qifa Nabki for a list of the best) - the incident was both disappointing and extraordinarily dangerous. For that reason, in contrast to my usual pattern, I found the dust-up less funny with each viewing.

The two combatants, Future Movement official and former MP Mustafa Alloush and (Lebanese) Baath Party chief Fayez Shukur, surely realize how tense the situation is in Lebanon.

North Lebanon, where both politicians have ties and interests, stands on a knife’s edge. Tripoli, a Sunni stronghold that has traditionally drawn the Assad regime’s attention, has seen political drama between former Prime Minister Saad Hariri and local bosses like Prime Minister Najib Mikati and Economy Minister Mohammad Safadi. Hariri still resents Mikati and Safadi for what he considers to be opportunism, and one party source estimates that most of Tripoli – “maybe around 70 percent” – is still seething over the toppling of Hariri’s government in January.

Meanwhile, Sunnis and Alawites stare each other down from their respective strongholds in Bab el Tabbaneh and Jabal Mohsen, where sporadically clashes have taken place for years. The rural area of Akkar, on the Syrian border, is no different. Since the Assad regime began its brutal crackdown on dissenters in Syria, a steady stream of Syrian refugees and possible Syrian Army defectors has strained North Lebanon’s already tenuous stability. And that’s to say nothing of Syrian military incursions into Lebanon.

Had Shukur and Alloush agreed to some sort of cage match, their spat could have played out as a praiseworthy attempt by elites to settle their own scores and diffuse street tensions. Indeed, I’d love nothing more than to have Lebanon’s various figureheads duke it out in a battle royale, winner take all!

But that’s fantasy. In the real world, these men brawled on a highly watched television show, at a time when many Lebanese are alarmingly prone to political violence. Both men are intelligent enough to appreciate the danger. So why fight?

According to one theory, the entire Shukur-Alloush debate – hotly contested from the outset - was a message from a Syrian regime that feels increasingly isolated and insecure. Obviously, this theory is more popular among March 14 partisans, though some Hizbullah and pro-Syrian party officials have ominously, if subtly, encouraged the notion.

As the U.N. reports, the Assad regime has killed at least 3500 people since protests began eight months ago. While such violent tactics have certainly exacted their toll, dissent continues. What’s more, reported army defections are on the rise and rebels may be arming themselves against the state security establishment.

So, the theory goes, the Syrians will pull the rug out from under the Lebanese. With unrest continuing, with the crusty Arab League showing a pulse, with Turkey increasingly less tolerant of instability on its southern flank, and with international pressure steadily ratcheting up, an increasingly desparate Assad regime may destabilize Lebanon to remind the world why it has survived for so long and demonstrate that it’s still needed.

First, sowing instability in Lebanon has been a convenient way for the Assads to amplify their strategic significance in the past (by starting the fire, then selling the water). Even if it’s too late for that gambit to work, the regime’s past experiences may give it false comfort. That’s dangerous enough. Second, the logic of retribution may take on a life of its own. One Sunni analyst in Beirut, who requested anonymity, believes “the Assad regime and its allies in Lebanon may lash out to settle scores, because they have no alternatives on their way out.” Third, and finally, pro-Syrian groups in Lebanon – not Hizbullah, but smaller parties like the Baath, the mostly Alawite Arab Democratic Party, and the Syrian Socialist National Party – may use violence to preserve their political space at a moment of great uncertainty. In this last sense, the parties may be resigned to the fact that the Assad regime will eventually collapse; the key will be preserving their own interests in the aftermath.

As a political junkie, these theories appeal to my need to find an explanation for everything. But, sometimes, it may just be a pride thing (I had planned to linger on this issue, but Our Man in Beirut cleared it up rather nicely!). People are foolish, and often lose their tempers. It’s not as if the Lebanese are known for their measured reserve! And, at the end of the day, there’s room for extensive theories and simple explanations to overlap. The fight itself might have unfolded in the heat of the moment, but the entire show had seen both men verbally jabbing at each other.

“Interesting times in our part of the world,” said the analyst, who happens to be a good friend. “Let’s talk tomorrow, unless we’ve got bigger things to worry about by then.” The alarmism, I take it, was contrived. Yet, the last thing the Lebanese need is more violence.

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The Bourgeois Pigs and Lebanon’s Leftist Elite

Posted in Lebanon, Levant, tagged Bourgeois, Cheese, Lebanon, Left, Leninism, Marxism, Pig, Wine on November 8, 2011 | 4 Comments »

In New York last week, I was fortunate enough to hang out at one of my favorite spots: The Bourgeois Pig. Don’t let the name fool you. This place is all about charcuterie, cheese, wine, and things of that sort.

Just like many people in the Lebanese Left (and the “Left” around the world).

To be clear, before developing these thoughts, I don’t mean to criticize American liberals, European socialists, or the remnants of the Arab “democratic left.” I’m honing in on the “Left” with a capital “L.” I’m also not criticizing those who live with a large degree of consistency. Whether people believe in armed struggle, ideological contests, or just maximizing profits – and regardless of my beliefs, the prevailing legal consensus on the actions in question, or public opinion – it’s refreshing to see them do as they say. In most circumstances, anyhow, there’s enough room for all of us to get along.

Of course, ideological, religious, and political movements have had a problem with consistency throughout the history of thought. In one sense, consistency is important in constructing a world-view. In another sense, consistency is important in translating those views into practice.

Hypocrisy, in its simplest form, is the gap between stated views and practice. It’s just another human taint on things. Hypocrisy is not particular to Catholicism, Scientology, Marxism, or (Classical) Liberalism. Nor is it the unique province of certain ethnic groups or individuals. We’ve all dealt with it; we’ve all been guilty of it.

But this particular manifestation bothers me, and I guess that’s fine.

Unsurprisingly, my first experience with what I call “Laptop Leftists” was in college – at the American University of Beirut, to be specific. One of my professors was always bashing the “liberal-capitalist system” and the “contemporary bourgeoisie.” He called me a “Leftist-in-Waiting,” because he thought my ostensibly moderate views stemmed from analytical disenchantment with the prevailing consensus in the West, where I grew up. We’ll see about that.

In any case, this professor sent his kids to an elite private school and signed them up for weekend chess lessons. He wore checkered shirts and expensive sweaters, carried the usual array of Apple products, and sported a potpourri of designer accessories. The dude went to “Lifestyles Gym,” a posh place that overlooks the Mediterranean with gym fees of around $200 per month! “You see any proletarians at the gym, mothafucka?!?!” Thought so.

One of my friends was a self-styled “Leninist.” Maybe he was a “Trotskyite.” That’s fine: both strands of thought are complex, ambitious, and rich in lessons both positive and negative. But as he ranted about the “material dialectic,” “class struggle,” and the need for a “revolutionary vanguard,” he jetted off to Abu Dhabi, Dubai, London, Milan, Crete, and a host of other places. He’s somewhere writing poetry now. Again, that’s lovely – nothing wrong with chasing your dreams – but these experiences were only made possible by his father’s fortune, which was earned the good ol’ capitalist way. It’s not as if he was deploying his funds to create experimental collectives in Utah or something. So spare me.

Let’s not forget about the leader of a prominent Lebanese political dynasty – one that has held sway over its community for around five centuries – who heads a “Progressive Socialist Party” that is neither socialist nor progressive. Hell, it’s barely even a party.

To reiterate, there’s nothing wrong with criticizing liberal democracy, nationalism, and capitalism. It’s also true that change rarely occurs overnight, so even the most ardent reformers might choose to operate within their existing contexts instead of challenging the system head on.

But consistency demands a minimum of action. It’s not good enough to sneer at democrats and capitalists as you just play the (coincidentally wealthy) hand you’ve been dealt. Bottom line? If your purported alternative lies in a collective system brought about by economic struggle, armed conflict, or some combination of the two, and if you’re one prone to lecturing other folks on their “wasteful lives,” then I’d rather not hear you rave about that “precious” little wine tasting event.

In other words, if you won’t put your money where your mouth is, then please shut your mouth.

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Macho-Sexualism: Understanding the Lebanese Male

Posted in Lebanon, Middle East, tagged Beirut, Crazy Fuckers, Lebanese Man, Macho-Sexualism, Manhood, Rant on October 7, 2011 | 5 Comments »

“I knew the men were Lebanese,” an American friend of mine once said, “because they were well-groomed, slightly overdressed, and just too pretty… but they looked like they had ‘disappeared’ one or two people. I didn’t know what to think, but I just knew they were Lebanese! And I was right.”

That was five years ago. Ever since, I’ve been confronted with growing evidence – some of it self-generated – that the Lebanese male is a unique creature. And it’s certainly true that, in times of peace, he is more obscure than his female counterpart. In the Middle East, and in many other parts of the world, Lebanese women are renowned for their beauty, which isn’t always a “gift from God” (let’s keep that between us). Of course, there’s much more to Lebanese women – well, maybe not all of them – than their pretty faces. It’s also true that the beauty stereotype has many negative consequences for many women. Bottom line, though, is that the stereotype represents a uniform and parsimonious view of the Lebanese Woman.

By contrast, public perception of the Lebanese Man is a fragmented jumble of confusion. Not to fear. This is one of those wonderful situations in which a concise definition can account for complex underlying realities. In essence, the Lebanese male is a Macho-Sexual.

To understand what I mean by “Macho-Sexualism,” it’s important to look at existing typologies of the Lebanese Man, recent personal observations, and extensive field research conducted in various social settings. Here’s a glance:

Identifying Existing Typologies of the Lebanese Male

He-Man of the Arab World

Between the mountaineers, valley tribesmen, and hardy seafarers of Lebanon’s various mythologies, it’s easy to see where a reputation for toughness comes from. Most Lebanese folks have heard tales of how a relative – in my case, my father’s cousin – used to carry timber over Mount Lebanon while fighting off thieves, wolves, and rival villagers. All the while, it seems, this man was eating a labneh sandwiche and drinking arak. Or perhaps you’ve heard of how the men of yesteryear would get drunk and go brawl with Ottoman sentries, leading to their expulsion from the Empire (hello Mississippi Valley, Italy, and Brazil!). No? Maybe that’s just my folks.

I’ve certainly heard a thousand times how my grandfather, in an old mountain tradition, had to lift a mahdali over his head to ask for his bride’s hand in marriage. For those unfamiliar with the term, a “mahdali” is a stone roller that was used to flatten clay roofs or pave roads in inacessible areas. Of course, while mere mortals were content with lifting the mahdali once, as minimally required, my gramps picked the stone up three – or was it five? – times before throwing it about fifteen meters. That’s how manly he was. Booyah!

I’ve broken a sweat just looking at the damn thing. Moving on…

Pretty Boys of the Arab World

In the eyes of many other Arabs, the Lebanese male is alternatively “feminine,” “metrosexual,” or “gay.” Or maybe just “a pretty boy.” Without myself equating toughness and masculinity to sexual orientation, I’ve heard these descriptions from a scattering of people.

At face value, then, there must be something to it. Right? Or maybe there are a few alternative explanations.

First, most foreigners meet city slickers from Beirut or Jounieh, the jet-set, or what I like to call “diaspora dandies” (Full disclosure: I’d put myself in that category). Compared with the He-Man of yesteryear, who was busy moving mountains and fighting Turks, the contemporary city boy is more concerned with his shirt (button-downs or Lacoste polos, please), jeans (designer, to be sure), cologne (over-utilization is standard), and car (German make, but excluding Volkswagens).

Second, the Lebanese dialect is purportedly softer than others in the Arab world and is infused with a high dose of French and English words. As such, it may sound generally less “masculine.” Now, anyone who’s been to the mountains or the rural periphery might wonder if I’m sniffing glue. But, keeping in mind that most non-Lebanese come into contact with the more urbane men of Achrafieh and Hamra or the even tamer members of the diaspora, it’s a fair linguistic point. My response: Here. What now Saudis-in-Audis?

Third, social attitudes in Lebanon are relatively more liberal than other parts of the region. It’s not as if Beirut is actually a “Paris” or “Provincetown,” as the Ministry of Tourism and The New York Times would have it. The apparent liberalism has more to do with the fact that Beirut’s competition is almost non-existent. Riyadh, Jeddah, Damascus, Amman, Cairo? Please. Beneath the glitz, glamor, and financial ruin, even Dubai isn’t exactly the most tolerant of places.

Finally, although results vary, Lebanese men are very conscious of appearances. They’re often more put together than their Syrian, Egyptian, or Gulfi counterparts. Call it quasi-Italian, pseudo-French, faux-Midwest-on-the-Mediterranean, or just call it Lebanese: button-down shirt, designer jeans, thick belt, shoes, and gold galore. There’s also that rare form of brand mastery that captivated me at the beach some weeks ago.

Crazy Fuckers

“The problem in Lebanon,” at least one self-styled analyst believes, “is that it’s just full of crazy fuckers. It’s that simple.”

That rather unacademic view brings us to our third stereotype: the Angry-Boisterous-Caustic Man. You know him very well. He’s the guy who honks his horn at you while trying to run you off the road, even as he’s driving the wrong way with his lights off at 2:30 a.m. (True story: my neighbor). He’s the guy who hunts birds because “he just needs to kill something” and it’s “illegal to shoot anything else” (never mind that bird hunting is actually illegal too) (True story: family friend). He’s the guy who tells you to lift for mass, so “if anybody says something to you or your girl you can just smack the shit out him” (True story: my cousin).

There isn’t much to say. Even my calmest acquaintances – none of my good friends are calm – have a crazy streak that just pops out of nowhere in response to the slightest irritant. Since returning to Lebanon last month, I’ve almost brawled on account of “traffic,” “the way that guy keeps looking at our table,” “MTC Touch’s shitty Blackberry service,” “and because that fool thinks I’m funny, like I’m some kind of clown and shit.”

And don’t forget those little “discussions” we have from time to time. So, again, I just can’t think of a counterargument here.

Ego-Trippers: Jacks of All Trades, Perfect Princes, and Fat-Bellied Pimps

Finally, we have the cab drivers who double as political analysts, the gardeners who double as construction site managers, the athletes who double as energy consultants, and the barbers who double as cell phone distributors. In the past, I’ve attributed the emergence of these dual career opportunists to a general lack of specialization made worse by the need to adapt to perpetual instability.

And while that may be true, I’ve come to appreciate another theory put forth by family and friends alike. Ego. Now, I’m not a shrink and I’m not well-versed in Freudian terms, such as the “id,” “sub-id,” “ego,” and all that. Whatever. All I’m trying to say is that the “Lebanese Man” has a massive goddamn ego, as understood in the “parlance of our times.”

You’ve seen these assholes. Maybe they’re walking into a club like they own the place, paying the valet fifty dollars to park their Ferrari near the door, strolling down the street clutching two cell phones, wearing suits shinier than my kitchen floor, and bitching about how nobody in Lebanon has class anymore.

Maybe it’s the 45-year-old prancing around with a girl literally half his age or obliviously strutting about with company that’s been paid for. Really, son?

Maybe he’s the waiter who feels compelled to offer life lessons on how to “build your career.” Or advice on what women really want, which is apparently an overweight 22-year-old dude who beats his masseuse every Tuesday. Or maybe, if you’re lucky, it’s the complete fucking stranger who is kind enough to manage traffic and guide everyone’s parking activities before exiting stage right before you’ve had time to curse his nosiness.

Lebanon is Krypton. Everyone here is, or thinks he is, a superman. That explains why it can be so annoying here; but, in a way, it also explains why many Lebanese men do well abroad. If Lebanon is Krypton, then everywhere else is Planet Earth, with orderly societies based on trust and the rule of law – the yellow sun, if you will – fueling these men’s power and success.

Macho-Sexualism: A Comprehensive Understanding of the Lebanese Male

On balance, it’s easy to see why my friend took the blend of fashion (though strange) and toughness (though likely contrived) to be a marker for Lebanese manhood. So, while the “Lebanese Man” appears quite complicated, he’s really a simple creature. His personality generally rests on a simple base, which has been built up since his childhood and reinforced by encounters with similar people.

Be strong, look good, behave like a star, and if all else fails… act fucking crazy. It’s really that simple, folks.

Of course, some men are stronger than others, some look better than others, and god knows some are crazier than others. Inevitably, by design or by circumstance, men combine these aspects of their personalities differently. As the old saying goes, you have your manhood and I have mine.

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The Sword and the Pen: Violence and Silence in the Levant

Sweet Nothings: Lebanon, from the Space Race to the Hummus War

Feel the Flow: How to Play the Game in Beirut

Confessions for a New Lebanon (Revisited)

Mr. Hitchens Goes to Beirut: Lessons on Violence and Silence in the Levant

“It’s Time to Finish the Job:” Biggie’s Take on the Region (Christmas Conversations, Volume II)

“Go Back to America:” The Guest Strikes Again (Christmas Conversations, Volume II)

Christmas Conversations, Volume II: Introduction, Arab Spring, and Steve Jobs

The Botox Revolution: Appearances, Activism, and Beirut’s Socialite Reformist Scene

The Big Cat’s Out of the Bag: A Moment of Truth, a Lifetime of Duplicity from Bashar al-Assad

Keepin’ Busy: Articles on Independence and the LF, Apathy in Casablanca, and Egypt on the Horizon

Life in Lebanon: An Update on the “User’s Manual” and “10 Resolutions” for Lebanon

Tell ‘Em Why You Mad, Son! Understanding Lebanon’s Uncivil Political Discourse

The Bourgeois Pigs and Lebanon’s Leftist Elite

Macho-Sexualism: Understanding the Lebanese Male

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