Tag Archives: Lebanon

What’s Greater Than Lebanon?

You can’t really blame the ministry of tourism for keeping its hopes up against all odds. After all, the country cannot function without a summer of tourists. They have, therefore, launched a new TV ad, enlisting the help of several Lebanese celebrities, to help boost tourism, gloriously titled: What’s Greater Than Lebanon?

Come on people, we have awesome food and awesome nightlife and beaches… Why wouldn’t you want to come here?

So just because you may have not heard of those touristic qualifications several times already, here’s how a trip to the great land of Lebanon can go:

  • Land in Beirut and keep yourself busy as you course through Beirut’s Southern suburb and its slogans.
  • Marvel at the wonders of Downtown Beirut only from afar. It’s unlikely – unless you’re super rich – that you’d be able to afford anything there. But isn’t that Rolex store beautiful?
  • Wander around Achrafieh. If you start to wonder why a lot of people are speaking French, don’t worry – that’s what happens around that place. Look at the beautiful Lebanese mansions while getting lost in the narrow streets that will soon be no more. Then, when you’re bored, do as everyone does where you come from and go to ABC.
  • You can also visit Hamra, which can also be called Beirut’s hipster central. Activists, militants, politics, hypocrites… You’ll find it all there. You can visit the local universities there for your daily dose of Lebanese elitists as well. Visit one of the pubs – they’re more expensive than where you come from, if where you come from has alcohol, but aren’t they just unique?
  • Your second day should include a visit to the South. Be careful not to cross the Litani river or you might have to answer to Hezbollah militants who get offended by your existence. I’d recommend visiting Saida but you cannot be certain clashes won’t kill you there so no Saida for you. Bummer… That marine castle is beautiful.
  • I hope you’ve been saving up money because today is beach day! Hurray? Well, we cannot go to any public beach because they are a reflection of how people act in this country: garbage everywhere. Odds are you’d get septic shock. So private beaches, which are also illegal, are where you’re supposed to go… Except entry will get you broke. Manage the pros and cons and decide as such.
  • Or you can use beach day to go North. The beaches are much nicer there and much cheaper. But I could be biased – that’s where I come from. You can visit the Cedar mountains and see our national symbol – all 20 left trees of it. You can listen to your friend or guide tell you about how this proximity between the mountain and the sea is unique and about how it actually snows – it’s best if you pretend to be super shocked by now – in winter here.
  • While up North, visit the Qadisha valley. Lebanese Christians use the remnants of this valley as proof that they were the original inhabitants of the country. So if your guide or friend is Christian, be prepared for a round of religious pride. But don’t worry, it’s not the kind with which you might end up dead.
  • You can visit Tripoli as well. They are the most underrated city in the country. They have a Crusade citadel, cheap and awesome food and several hundred bearded men roaming the streets to express their Sunni anger at the current situation of their compatriots in the country. But they’re going to heaven anyway because they don’t eat pork and drink alcohol. No Tripoli for you too… And don’t you dare go more North than Tripoli. Akkar is not a place we want tourists to see… Poverty, poverty everywhere.
  • Don’t worry though. It’s not all morbid. We have super awesome food. The tabbouleh they do where you come from is obviously subpar. How could it not be? The parsley we use is grown in trab el arez yalli aghla men l dehab.
  • You can visit the epic ruins of Baalbeck. The area is being bombed by the Free Syrian Army but don’t tell them I told you that. So instead of going there, just stay in Zahle and call it a Bekaa day. It should be enough.
  • Don’t forget to visit Harissa. The area sure is over-urbanized going up there with all those ugly buildings eating the mountain away but isn’t the view majestic? And make sure you drop by Jeita – our current national treasure, obviously robbed for the 7 wonders of nature.
  • On your last night here, you have got to go party. Don’t look at me – I’ve never been to Skybar. But there are plenty of decent (and expensive) places where you’ll dance the night away. Don’t get your hopes up for sex though. Our women are all sex but no sex. If you’re a woman… Good luck. May whoever you believe in be with you.

    • The greatness of a country isn’t in its mountain being proximal to its beaches and in the awesomeness of its cuisine. The touristic greatness of a country is in what unique aspects it can provide its tourists.
    Say what you want about Parisians but their food and city are brilliant. Turkish people may be the most non-hospitable I’ve seen but I was told they have mountains plunging into the sea as well. And they’re a stone’s throw away. Americans may be the big bad devil but they can probably throw better parties than us.

    You want a great touristic season? You need less political hypocrisy, less half-assed security measures, more stability and less pretentiousness when it comes to how valuable touristically Lebanon is.
    Until then, we can keep begging for tourists to come us much as we please. As it stands, we are giving them absolutely no reason to come…. But our ministry of tourism is in touristic Lala land anyway.

    And yet, despite it all, we are still expecting tourists to grace us with their presence in the Great Republic of Lebanon.

    Medicine in Lebanon: The VVVVIP Patients

    The following are bits and pieces of things several of my medical student colleagues and I, at many Lebanese hospitals across the country, have lived over the past few weeks. 

    “What do you mean I have to deliver in third class? I DON’T DELIVER IN THIRD CLASS.”

    Beautiful thing to wake up to in the morning, right? Well, such things are not fiction – they are every day reality in Lebanese hospitals. The woman in question was very very pregnant to say the least. She was also very very angry. Why? Because two emergency C-sections had taken up the first class beds she was promised to welcome her bundle of sunshine into the world.

    “We couldn’t help it,” the nurse pleaded. “Those two women just came here in labor!” The nurse was almost begging as I stood there watching.

    “I don’t give a shit.” The woman shrieked. “I want first class – I am not a person who can deliver a baby in third class. Take them to third class, they already delivered.”

    A few phone calls later, that woman got her way. I guess some vaginas are more precious than others. Literally.

    The separate classes in the Lebanese social hierarchy also reflect in its hospitals. There’s really very few things that hospitals can do. They accommodate what they can given how messed up and archaic our health sector financing is. What is bad, however, is the sense with which some people view medicine in this country: it’s not a human right that should be guaranteed to everyone. It’s a privilege, a luxury that only they should be entitled to.

    “My ovaries hurt.” I was staring at the face of a supposed emergency condition who had just presented to the emergency room. I could see sunscreen all over her body. She was definitely tanning a few minutes earlier.

    “How are your ovaries hurting you exactly?” I had no idea how ovaries could actually hurt a person, not to mention how a person would know where their ovaries actually are. When had the pain started? Well, the pain had happened 6 months ago and had died since but she wanted to know why that pain happened then… now. Bref, there was absolutely nothing urgent with her. But she knew enough people and had enough resources to take away physicians from places where they could be needed and keep them busy for a couple of hours in order to make sure her ovaries are perfect.

    And then there are those patients who are so important they book two first class rooms because, you know, what if they got visitors? Can you imagine hosting them in one first class room? They are the patients who are so revered their treating physicians would drag themselves out of bed at times they shouldn’t be at the hospital just to do an exam that I, as a medical student, should be doing – just because it’s that particular patient. Those are the patients who are even treated differently in operating rooms just because they can enforce such levels of fear: “be careful with her… she’s important.” They are the patients on whom we don’t learn simply because they would get “too annoyed” to have that many students in their room. So no one enter please.” That vagina glows of gold, I was told.

    Those are the super duper very very important patients that come to Lebanese hospitals: patients whose medical cases are nothing more than mundane, simple and even boring… patients who can turn those cases into a matter of national security. And there’s nothing you can do but smile and the most professional individual that you can be be while you secretly hate on the system that hammers hospitals and medical education alike.

    The Lebanese Army We’re Required to Love and Support Unconditionally

    They say a picture is worth a 1000 words. How about a video?

    And the man was unarmed.

    This is the other side of the Fadel Shaker video in which he, disgusting as he is, was proud of killing two army men.

    This is to those who believe the Lebanese army should be beyond reproach, beyond questioning, beyond any form of accountability.

    This is to those who believe Lebanon should become a military state because military rule is what we need.

    There’s nothing that can justify the behavior in the above video. Absolutely nothing. There is a minimum of human rights that are guaranteed to every human being, whether that person was actually fighting with Al Assir or not and by the looks of it, the person in this video was not.

    What’s next? Army men coming after us because they don’t agree with our brand of politics? Because we are not the people who immediately change their profile pictures and “like” the countless army support pages to express gratitude?

    Will the officer and his subordinates in the above video be held accountable? Obviously not because even basic human rights are a matter of relativity in this country. There are many who believe the man they were busy stomping on shouldn’t get any.

    The above behavior is expected from the likes of terrorists without morals and code such as Fadel Shaker and Ahmad el Assir. But is it acceptable to be emanating from a respectable institution tasked with protecting all of Lebanon’s population in similar ways?

    Human Rights Watch published a 60 pages report on the behavior of Lebanon’s armed forces. Add this to the growing list of disgusting behavior that’s documented.

    We will never know what really happened Sunday with that filth of an existence called Ahmad el Assir. The tough questions that have to be answered cannot be asked. Not that it matters anyway – all will be forgotten in a day or two.

    One thing to say though is this: tfeh.

    Update: the army men in the above video have been arrested.

    Awaiting The Rise of Assir 2.0

    This is Lebanon. Picture courtesy of Cheyef 7alak.

    This is Lebanon. Picture courtesy of Cheyef 7alak.

    Ignorance is bliss.

    Today, Lebanese bliss is illustrated in justified celebrations of the army’s victory over Ahmad el Assir’s gang in Saida. The celebrations aren’t just about our army adding a second victory to its list of victories in this country. They are also about the supposed downfall of Ahmad el Assir and with whatever he represents.

    A lot can be said about Ahmad el Assir. A phenomenon is one. A bigot is two. A nauseating existence is three. A byproduct of the current times is four. A hypocrite is five. A lone case born out of immaculate conception is not six.

    There are pertinent reasons as to why something like Ahmad el Assir existed. You can celebrate all you want that he was defeated and made to flee to who knows where because it makes you sleep better at night. You can extrapolate the battle with the army all you want to convince yourself that your hypocrisy towards the Syrian war is justified because it makes your brand of politics sound much nicer. You can call Ahmad el Assir and his gang terrorists and ridicule their existence as much as you like in order to further convince yourself that they are the only problem around this place.

    I, however, am simply waiting for the rise of Ahmad el Assir 2.0 who, we can only hope, is not more extreme, not more prepared and better good-looking. Ahmad el Assir 2.0 is only a matter of time. At the rate things are going, the when may have just been given a catalyst because those same reasons that brought the original Ahmad el Assir into existence are still here, flexing their muscles left and right.

    I remember when Ahmad el Assir first went on TV. He was portrayed as an irrelevant sheikh of some mosque in Saida no one had heard about. He had some serious allegations to say about Hezbollah. And the media listened. The second time he spoke, the media listened even further and decided they wanted others to listen as well. Slowly, he was given a halo. His life was turned into a reality TV show. His trips to the beach were documented. Journalists were taking personal tours around the city in his BMW X5. Even his outing to ski got turned into a national crisis.

    Today, Ahmad el Assir is a lunatic – which he is – who dared to be the only entity in this country to attack our army, which he isn’t. The difference between Ahmad el Assir attacking our army and others is that the attack of those others comes with a big * to explain. It’s not all set in stone.

    Samer Hanna was killed.*

    *By an individual, not the party.

    Nahr el Bared is a red line.*

    *The civilians, not the armed men.

    Excuses, excuses. Explanations, explanations. Ahmad el Assir’s abomination of an existence is simple: there is something else in this country that is even worse than he is and which most of the people panicking over the lunatic in question and the battle that took our infinitely-weak army one day to finish not only wholeheartedly accept but adore and chant for: Labbayka [insert name], labbayka [insert name]*.

    *Name not inserted because.

    Terrorism is not set in stone. It’s a matter of perception. Ahmad el Assir is a terrorist. Others who do similar actions are not.

    Hezbollah is the main reason people like Ahmad el Assir exist in this country, the reason why his demented rhetoric resonates, the reason why he is able to find equally weak-minded people to recruit and the reason why he finds support.

    When you have an entire party with arms in the country that are no longer used for their original purpose (in fact, they are being used for everything but that purpose lately), how can I tell someone like Ahmad el Assir who sees nothing but his sect being targeted that you’re not allowed to procure weapons?

    How is the existence of Ahmad el Assir non-sensical when those arms are used to demolish the politics of moderate Sunnis and create a sense of Sunni weakness that is shared by moderate and extreme Sunnis alike, a weakness that the lunatics like him know how to milk?

    What excuse can be given when those arms, supposedly being used to fight Israel, were employed in the clashes in Saida yesterday with a list of casualties that was propagated by news sources of different allegiances?

    What excuse can be given when those arms are dragging the entire country to war in Syria because they’re somehow fighting Israel over there, a rhetoric their die-hard supporters eat up like a fat kid in a mountain of snickers, with a regime that decimated Lebanese for years, headed by the best anti-Israel dictator that Israel could hope for?

    You want to stop Ahmad el Assir? You stop empowering the lunatics on all sides of the Lebanese equation. You stop using the argument that they are the only ones who can protect us from Israel as the status quo you don’t want to change and work on empowering our army so they become the only people to protect us from Israel. You stop being a hypocrite towards weapons that exist outside the jurisdiction of the state. You stop empowering the movements that disempower moderation and secretly empower extremism. You stop justifying the extremism that suits you.

    Extremism is extremism. Terrorism is terrorism. You want a decent country for yourself and your children? Entities such as Hezbollah and Al Assir have to be removed. But, you know…*

    *comes up with an excuse to justify the existence of one over the other and sleeps at night soundly.

    When I Decided To Become a Lebanese Expat

    “The last time I was this scared was 2006,” she told me this afternoon, moments after she crossed into the Northern part of a city ravaged with battles. I guess that’s saying something given that the person in question spent a good part of the war that year in a 3×2 ditch that her family calls a shelter.

    The matter to immigrate out of Lebanon was always a matter of if with me. Today, becoming an expat is no longer a matter of if. It’s simply matter of when. And with each passing day, that “when” doesn’t seem to get here soon enough.

    I tried as much as I can to disassociate myself from what was happening in my country lately. It was time not to be constantly negative, I said. I’m better off than most people in this country, I convinced myself. But then I realized that the standard of living in this country is just not good enough. And by the looks of it, it will never be.

    “I always cried at the idea of you leaving here,” my best friend’s mom told him. Then, as she dried her eyes and looked him straight in the eyes she said: “Do your best to leave.” My best friend is currently unable to go back home because the roads leading back to his bedroom (and cat) are cut off due to gunfire and protests.

    Welcome to the safety of the republic of Lebanon, post-parliament mandate extension. Weren’t things supposed to get better, theoretically?

    Being in Lebanon today means being in the same country as people like Ahmad el Assir who, a few years ago would have never ever dreamed of catching a spotlight. Today, they enjoy modest popularity and incredible funding that enables them to launch full blown attacks against the Lebanese army and threaten cities that are dubbed the capital of their region.

    Being in Lebanon today means living with the likes of Hezbollah who, proud as they are of being on terrorist lists everywhere, resort to arguments in the form of zionism and Israel whenever the going gets tough. And the argument works every time because it sure sounds beautiful to be fighting Israel all the way in God knows where.

    Being in Lebanon today means being nothing more and nothing less than a number in a Christian game of empty slogans, fancy billboard wars, fiery television shoutouts and no tangible work whatsoever. It means members of the side you once supported thinking you’re switching allegiance and shutting you out while those on the other side thinking you’re as one-sided as they are. It means not fitting in within any of the rhetoric being spoken – and being accused that you are of the same mold anyway.

    Being in Lebanon today also means being in the land of a Lebanese army that knows nothing but to call on moral support whenever its members get killed. “Support us against those who want to cause mayhem in this country” is the typical line of the same army which, in recent days, beat up peaceful protesters in one part of the country and stood by watching as the same militias killing it today passed by its members in their tanks.

    Being in Lebanon today is living in a land where men of cloak have power that grows proportionally to their beard’s (sometimes mustache-less) length. It means feeling less and less empowered as the days move forward. It means feeling less and less safe. It’s become living in a place where there are so many red lines floating around you never know which red line you crossed when you’ve seemingly done nothing wrong: the red lines of religions, the red lines of religious militias, the red lines of politics, the red lines of sects, the red lines of bigots and the red lines of those living in their own version of Lebanese la-la land.

    Being in Lebanon today means living with people who think there’s nothing wrong, whose reply to this is simply: “you go ahead and leave, stop bitching and spare us some breathing space,” who marvel at the beauty of some fireworks and somehow use them as an argument to convince themselves that tomorrow will be a better day. I know those people because I was one of them. And I tried as hard as I can to remain one of them. But it just didn’t work anymore – I can’t live in la-la land anymore.

    “I just had the most demoralizing phone call of my life,” she told me as we snaked our way through the quiet streets of Beirut after midnight. “Did you know we are not allowed to be in the same research opportunities abroad as people who have any form of relation with you-know-where be it funding or otherwise? So here I am, working my ass off for years… Only to find out the research program of my dreams is out of the question.”

    I tried to comfort my friend by telling her things will be okay. But the question begets itself: regardless of the politics of it, why do I have to be the one always ruining my future because I’m Lebanese? Why do I have to be the one putting the questionable morals of my country first when my country has given so little back to me? Why do I have to be the one constantly on the losing end just because I am in the possession of a navy blue passport emblazoned with a golden Cedar? Why do I have to be the one passing on opportunities in order not to disappoint a country that has never managed to impress me?

    I am currently pursuing a medical degree and I thought I was getting the best medical education that money could buy and given my country’s standards, and at more than $20,000 a year, I sure am. I thought getting acquainted with hospitals around this country was exposing me to how things are done, strengthening me for a future in which I give the best standard of care for my patients while giving myself and my future family a decent living standard. What I learned, however, surpassed the pathology and the pharmacology of things: medicine in Lebanon is not patient oriented. It is pocket-oriented. And no, this isn’t about Lebanese hospitals. “If only you have any idea how many procedures being done are absolutely unnecessary,” a senior physician told my group. “They’re done because doctors get a cut off the money – not because it’s the best practice for your patients. Learn the textbook – and adapt what you learn the best way you can.”

    What I also learned was that entering the workforce over here once I’m done with my degree is going as close to hell as possible. Instead of a specialty welcoming new blood and minds into its fold in order to progress, it shuts on itself and shuts you out in the process as you try to claw yourself in. The veterans divert patients away from you. They try to sabotage you. They ruin your reputation in order to keep the golden goose all for themselves. Good thing the $100,000 spent in your education was paid for by your parents.

    “You are the future of the country,” he told me as we moved around Paris. “What future might that be?” I asked. That person highlighted a place of promise, a place that I would be proud to call home. “And do you intend to return?” I then asked again. He shook his head. Yes, our expats make us proud. Their accomplishments make us marvel at the beauty of having opportunities. Yet they infuriate me when they preach without living it, without getting it, without knowing how horrible it is to know you are living in a place of no opportunities, no future and no hope whatsoever – despite the opposite you try to convince yourself with everyday because there’s nothing better than denial to ease the medicine to be gulped down everyday.

    “If you don’t handle Lebanon at its worst, you don’t deserve it at its best,” I was told as well. What best might that be, I wondered.How long do I have to handle a downward spiral of Lebanon’s worst until the clouds start clearing? Why do I have to be a masochist, forcing myself to live in times of war that seem to never know a way to end just because, in theory, my country needs people like me? But does my country even want me?

    What about what I want?

    I want a decent future for myself and my children. I want a second passport that doesn’t require me to knock at embassy doors and plead in order to go on vacations. And I want to transfer that second passport to my parents so they can get a better life, a life where they are valued and cherished for the amazing creatures that they are. I want a place that guarantees my liberties – that allows me to curse the president, insult Jesus and categorize a political party as a terrorist group. All in one sentence for the whole word to see. And live to tell the tale. I want a place where I can pursue a career in which my input is not only valued, it is sought out. I want a place where I don’t have to screw over my patients in order to become better off financially – and still be able to repay my parents all the hard-earned money they spent in my education. I want a place where I can drive without feeling like maneuvering cattle in a prairie. I want a place that knows rules and laws are there for a reason.

    Lebanon is home. It’s a place I didn’t feel I fit but always felt I belonged. I belonged to the streets that enchanted, the people I called family and the faces that gave me reassurance that tomorrow might be better than today. Today, those streets feel desolate and foreign. The people I call family have become strangers. The faces that gave me reassurance in days past now get me worried.

    Will I miss it when I leave here once I’m done with my medical degree? Perhaps so. It’s hard not to miss the place that built me. But I think I’ll take a pinch of trab el arz, some cedar grains, plant them wherever a visa and an opportunity take me and call it home all over again.