It's what the Dutch did with Melkert and Ayaan Hirsi Ali

In an opinion poll conducted by an international information company, Lebanese people were asked what they thought would be the best way to protect their politicians from assassinations. No less than 40.3% was of the opinion that for the politicians to emigrate / leave the country would be the best solution.

Imagine that: "Today's session of the Lebanese Parliament will be held in... Luxembourg!" At least it would finally bring an end to the lie (as recently restated by the Italian minister of Foreign Affairs, when discussing the Lebanese presidential elections with his French and German counterparts) that "the Lebanese future is decided in Lebanon".

It would be funny...

… if it weren’t so damn tragic. Today is the last day of the current president’s term. This means that if the current government (pro-Western) and the opposition (pro-non-Western) do not agree on a new guy, by midnight tonight Lebanon will not have a president. Unless, of course, the current president illegally extends his term (yet again), or appoints a military government. The thing with these two ‘solutions’ is that the government and their supporters will not accept that. If the president does nothing, the power is automatically transferred to the prime minister, who can then elect a new guy together with his ministers. The thing with this 'solution' is that the opposition and their supporters will not accept that.

(And here we haven’t even mentioned all the solutions that are unacceptable for the Arab League, Syria, France, Iran or the United States, because apparently they all have to agree on a new Lebanese president too.)

Sietske thinks a power vacuum that will occur because of a lack of president might not be such a bad thing. She writes:

Personally I don’t think this would be a great loss; it would make the current government illegal, and thus we are a country run illegally. This would suit the Lebanese spirit just fine. You may argue over the ‘run’ fact’. I don’t think Lebanese are easily ‘run’. We thrive on ‘lack of rules’ and so no president won’t be that big of a deal. We (the Lebanese) will just keep the show running, president or no president, government or no government. We probably do better without. Let’s see.

I beg to differ. Everyone I know is either ignoring politics entirely (the ostrich-approach: head in the sand and hope it will all go away) or completely stressed out. The Lebanese population pretends to thrive on chaos and hardship, but there is no country in the world where anti-depressants and tranquilizers are standard fare in every household and often available from the pharmacy even without a doctor’s prescription.

As I wrote before, many Lebanese even boast about how good they are during war, how they ‘hold on’ and withstand the crisis, but, as May Kahalé, press secretary and advisor to then-president of the Republic of Lebanon, phrased it: ‘Ironically, I believe this solidarity among the Lebanese people prolonged the war because we proved too adaptable. To survive, we accommodated ourselves too adeptly to each twist and turn that the war took.’ If only for once they would accept that they cannot deal with all the chaos and instability, they might finally stand up against their war-lording politicians and demand some real ‘running’ of the country.

Regen, knipperlichten en verkiezingen

Het grote regenen is begonnen. Dat betekent niet alleen dat de electriciteitsdraden het begeven, maar ook dat het wegennet een geheel andere aanblik krijgt. Elk gat en elke kuil in de weg (en daar zijn er nogal wat van) staat direct vol water, de snelwegen veranderen na een flinke bui zonder uitzondering in brede banen zwart ijs (en ja, dat is precies wat je je daarbij voorstelt) en als de weg niet bergaf of –op gaat, dan is de kans groot dat ie helemaal blank staat omdat al het afval dat zo vrolijk uit het raam gegooid wordt alle afvoerputten verstopt.

(Ik was vanmorgen héél even in de waan dat de Libanezen plotseling om (hun) milieu waren gaan geven, toen ik een paar mannen grote bergen zwerfvuil uit de goot naast de snelweg zag scheppen. Later zag ik dat de weg 30cm diep onder water stond: putje verstopt. Begreep ik ook weer waar die bezorgdheid om het afval vandaan kwam.)

Na de eerste dagen regen, waarin iedereen zich nog aan de ‘gewone verkeersregels’ houdt en auto’s op grote snelheid op elkaar inglijden en in de berm belanden, beginnen de chauffeurs hun gedrag aan te passen. Sommigen gaan langzamer rijden – met een slakkengangetje kom je er ook, anderen gaan ineens hun knipperlichten gebruiken. Op zich geen slechte ideeën, ware het niet dat de vertraagde chauffeurs gewoon op de linkerbaan blijven rijden (of, bij gebrek aan ruitenwissers, vol goede moed de middenstreep volgen), en dat die knipperlichten meestal wel aan, maar niet meer uitgaan. Best gezellig, als de hele snelweg tegelijktijd aangeeft naar links of naar rechts te willen.

Verder? Verder is het vandaag de dag van de Presidentsverkiezingen. Of morgen. Of vrijdag – wie weet hoe vaak het nog uitgesteld gaat worden. De opperbevelhebber van het leger heeft in elk geval aangekondigt dat eenieder die geweld zal gebruiken in de komende dagen zonder pardon als landverrader neergemaaid zal worden. Dat geeft de burger moed. Behalve dan als je zo’n geweldige legertruck op de kop in de berm ziet liggen zoals ik gisteravond zag – dan moet je weer gaan hopen dat het niet regent tijdens de verkiezingsdagen.

Marriage proposal (type 2)

I’m seated third row in a mini-van to Sour (Tyr), on my way to work in South Lebanon. Behind me a veiled grandmother with what could be her daughter or granddaughter, a girl in her twenties; behind them another young woman, also veiled. I hear the girl on the last row ask the old woman if she knows how to get from the last bus-stop to the NGO I work for (which is very well-known and enjoys a huge support among the mainly Shi’ite inhabitants of the region). I turn around and say in my best Arabic: - "I know how to get there, I have to go there too." The grandmother turns to me, with prying eyes: - “What are you going to do there?” - “I work there.” - “Oooohh! You work there?!? What do you do?” - “I make their website and take pictures of the projects." She claps her hands excitedly, for a while all we do is smiling at each other. Then she asks me: - “Are you married?” - “Yes, I am.” She seems a little disappointed, but then cheers up. - “Oh. It doesn’t matter! Do you want to marry my son?” The granddaughter shakes her head, points at her grandmother and says in English: - “She’s funny.”

Ordinary things

I never thought I would get used to things like these, but strangely enough they have become normal: • that when I try to make a phone call and the call doesn’t get through because the network is jammed, my first thought is ‘oh, they probably blew up another politician’ • that every morning when I wake up, I go to the bathroom first to see if there is water to take a shower or flush the toilet (one day out of two) • that there is a guy in a green or grey camouflage suit on almost every streetcorner, a heavy machinegun dangling in his hand, his finger on the trigger • that I hear people on the street greet each other with ‘Hi! How are you? So, when will the war start?’ • that when we hear rattling sounds coming from the hills between our office and the Israeli border, my colleagues shake their heads and say ‘It’s nothing, just some anti-aircraft fire.’ • that I make sure not to use the elevator to my apartment on the 7th floor around 9am, 12pm or 3pm, because these are the times at which the daily 3-hour electricity cut can start • that half of the roads around my house are completely barricaded with concrete blocks at night and turned into zig-zag tracks by day because they are close to one- or another politician’s house • that on my way to work I pass by at least 4 tanks, strategically positioned on major crossroads in Beirut, with a guy on top loosely aiming his machinegun at passing cars • And lastly, that guys start singing when I walk past them.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be worried that these things no longer shock, anger or surprise me….