This article first appeared in issue 1714 of Al-Hadaf magazine on Saturday, June 23, 2001—25 years ago. A quarter of a century later, Beirut—the capital of Lebanon once celebrated as the ‘Switzerland of the East’—remains largely the same. Lebanon is still under the control of a ‘presidential trinity’.
Although the faces may change, one thing remains: Lebanon, specifically Beirut, continues to suffer, as if the nation is cursed. The situation has not changed since then. The only notable change after 25 years is the emergence of a new president and a new prime minister, while Nabih Berri continues in his role. Let us ponder on what I observed in Beirut 25 years ago. Beirut is a city whose identity has been marred by the conflicts instigated by its own youths.
People from distant lands arrived, and Beirut, true to its welcoming spirit, greeted them with open arms, saying, “Welcome... smile, you are in Lebanon.” Thus, the newcomers smiled and established their lives in the city. Some expressed gratitude for this opportunity and maintained their smiles, while others rejected it— choosing instead to spread corruption and disfigurement throughout this beautiful city, leading it into mazes it never intended to explore. Or perhaps, it willingly ventured into these traps, lured by a perilous game—a game it ultimately cherished only to pay a heavy price for such a forbidden desire. Every stone in Beirut seems to exude a palpable tension.
The city is enveloped in an all-consuming restlessness. Its inhabitants are even more burdened than the city itself— each nurturing aspirations and dreams that remain unfulfilled. In the quaint shops of Beirut, when locals perceive that you have some knowledge, they inquire about the economic climate, the future and what it may bring.
They console themselves by projecting confidence, insisting that the future will be bright, that Beirut will remain beautiful, and its people more beautiful still. I am reminded of a lovely woman who once told me:
“My husband divorced me because of the tension that hangs over this place. He left me—me, a beautiful woman, perhaps even the most beautiful of them all (if I may say so, without sounding vain).
“I found myself without a home, forced to sleep in my car for a week. I had no shelter, no money, and my pockets were almost empty. Unscrupulous men—’wolves’— attempted to lure me into selling my body to those who profess to adore Beirut, strolling its streets with smiles, while the city’s own residents live in a perpetual state of grim tension.
“I turned down their propositions,” she said, “but they persisted: ‘Payment is upfront—in dollars. ‘ And honestly, who would not feel tempted by that? “I rejected their advances and opted to stay in my small car, spending my nights there and using it during the day with the few Lebanese pounds I had left—definitely not dollars.
“Some of my friends—those who were not among the ‘wolves’—showed me compassion, having faced the same crisis themselves. Among them were remarkable women who had gone through similar struggles, each finding her own way to cope. I do not judge what happened to them or the decisions they made in their lives.
“I clung to my dignity as I observed the turmoil in my country during these harsh times. Perhaps, it was the design of the Creator and Architect of this universe.” Listening to this remarkable woman share her story, I was reminded of a documentary I once watched about the Indonesian island, Bali. On that island, turtles are sometimes sacrificed in temples, yet paradoxically, there is a restaurant that serves turtle meat as a luxurious delicacy. They take a turtle, turn it onto its back, and while it is still alive, cut open its belly with a knife. The creature endures immense suffering, its pain almost unbearable to witness. The sharp blade continues to slice into the turtle’s belly until its insides are extracted, prepared for cooking. It is even said that some consume the meat raw. In a way, Beirut endured a fate similar to that turtle— slaughtered while still alive, yearning to act, but completely powerless. And just before the turtle takes its final breath, a tear forms in its eye—for it is not a child of the sea and the sea is not salt.
The unfortunate ‘girl’ meets her end, and those who indulge in pleasure consume her remains—whether raw or cooked, based on their daring appetite. As I immersed myself in the story of this innocent young woman—who spent countless nights in her car, evading those determined to take her life—I was reminded of the Balinese turtle. A warm tear flowed from my eyes, as dark and rimmed with kohl as those of an Arabian oryx. Beirut, as I noted, is fraught with tension. Its citizens look at President Lahoud, President Hariri and President Berri never fully certain who has the key to their deliverance, or if it might rest in the hands of all three leaders collectively.
Each leader presents a glimmer of hope, pledging ‘manna and quails’. For President Lahoud, this promise is political—cloaked in humble rhetoric about the supposed desires of the Lebanese people. President Berri contributes a little more than the formulation of laws, skillfully shifting the burden of complex issues onto others. Caught amidst various factions and an external mediator, President Hariri bears a profound unexpressed sorrow—made even more poignant by the high expectations that Beirut has of him. The city longs for an end to the slow agonizing dissection— reminiscent of the cruel slaughter of a living turtle. It is hoping he remembers that, historically, when conflicts in Lebanon intensified and spiraled out of control, they ignited a civil war that lasted more than 15 years. I reiterate that Lebanon is fraught with tension, embedded in its very stones. The nation’s spirit craves tranquility and must cleanse itself of numerous impurities, yet amidst this turmoil, Lebanon possesses the beauty it knows how to reveal. The Lebanese people have a knack for celebrating beauty.
The nights in Lebanon are full of energy, and as the hours on, individuals strive to set aside their anxieties. They gather in the city’s nightlife spots. We join them, seeking a brief escape and momentarily forgetting our burdens—only to awaken the next day to the harsh reality of the turtle being skinned alive and the haunting memory of its salty tears. Each member of Lebanon’s presidential trio has his own followers and supporters, yet they all converge on one pressing question: When will prosperity return to Lebanon? I arrived at Beirut Airport clad in traditional Arab garb, meticulously detailed. After navigating the formalities—which were all quite simple, I went out to find dozens of people waiting at the exit, there to greet loved ones returning to Lebanon for the holidays. They were gathered, exuding elegance. I could overhear their murmurs: “Here come the visitors from the Gulf... here come the Arabs.”
Their eyes were locked onto me, perhaps they confused me for a traveler. Lebanon’s Prime Minister, Rafic Hariri, is a figure marked by exhaustion yet fueled by a relentless ambition and a deep yearning for achievement. The question remains: Will fortune and timing favor him? It is heartbreaking to witness a young woman, full of potential, reduced to sleeping in her car for five nights due to the lack of shelter and financial means. She stands firm in her self-respect, not every wealthy man—even if his image is that of Abraham Lincoln — meets her standards, either in character or in presence. Lebanon’s foremost need today is for its citizens to cultivate a genuine sense of belonging, as this is essential for gaining the trust of others. To achieve real success, Prime Minister Hariri must first boost the confidence of the people in Lebanon before reaching out to anyone else.
