It's a brain thing

Similar to many people I know here in Lebanon, I don’t follow the news. I don’t read newspapers (the few available sources in English, like Daily Star and Naharnet, being of abominable quality), I don’t watch the news or listen to the radio (I still don’t understand much of the classical Arabic in which the news is broadcast), and political discussions among friends tend to go from English to Arabic in 2 seconds, making it very easy for me to tune out. Generally, my attitude is one of: if something really bad happens, I am bound to notice (wars tend to be very noisy); otherwise there is no need to get scared by the fear-inducing way of reporting that is going on. For my friends it is less easy to completely disregard the political situation: they understand the discussions and because opinions are so polarized, so black and white, so completely one-way or the other, it is hard not to join them. And so, before you know it, you are vigorously defending a political standpoint that is only remotely connected to what you really believe in, just because the politician who defends your cause said this or that. What’s worse, this politician may very well change his mind entirely, retrace his steps and seek alliance with his former ‘enemies’. As one of my colleagues said: ‘Sometimes you lose a friend because you spend a whole night fighting about a political issue, only to hear the next day that your politicians have suddenly agreed on the issue.’

To preserve friendships, it would of course be possible not to discuss politics at all. For example, I never knew the political conviction of one of my friends here, I thought he was neutral – until his girlfriend let slip that the only fights they had were over politics, she being with the government, he with the opposition. I guess that when you get this close, there is no way to hide your convictions. Or, as Rayan said: ‘You know, even when you don’t talk about politics, it is hard to be friends, because if they are on the other side, politically, and you know that, you will always wonder if there is something wrong with their brain.’

Da’s nog eens wat anders dan de zwarte herenfiets van Donner

Even dacht ik dat er vandaag toch verkiezingen waren. Maar nee, voor de 7e keer werden ze uitgesteld. Waarom dan toch de weg volledig afgezet werd op sommige plekken? Waarschijnlijk omdat de politici bij elkaar moesten komen om de Grondwet aan te passen. Dit vanwege het feit dat de enige ‘consensus-kandidaat’ (lees: onuitgesproken allemansvriend) op dit moment nog opperbevelhebber van het leger is, en er normaal gesproken 2 jaar tussen een post in het leger en een aanstelling als president moet zitten. Nood wijzigt wet, kennelijk. Maar die wegafzetting, daar gaat het me om. Zoiets wordt uiteraard niet vantevoren aangekondigd, want het gaat er nou net om de bommenleggers te slim af te zijn. Dus, wandelend van mijn ene afspraak naar de andere, mocht ik ineens niet verder. Alle auto’s, bussen, scooters, alles stond stil. De zijstraten werden bewaakt door politieagenten, het grote kruispunt door een bosje soldaten die per legerjeep aangevoerd waren. Vooraan hadden de auto’s het al opgegeven en de motor uitgezet, achteraan stonden ze nog te toeteren.

Daar sta je dan, te staren naar een lege straat. Vier banen breed, geen beweging op te bekennen (weinig voorkomend fenomeen in Beirut). Wachten. Vijf minuten. Tien minuten. Een kwartier. Ineens grijpen de soldaten hun machinegeweren wat steviger vast en heb ik geen bereik meer op mijn mobiele telefoon. Dan komen ze aanscheuren: drie zwarte, glimmende auto’s, getint glas, zwiepende antennes, alledrie hetzelfde model en hetzelfde nummerbord. Ze slingeren om elkaar heen, wisselen van volgorde om te voorkomen dat duidelijk wordt in welke auto de politicus zich bevindt. Piepende banden. Dan zijn ze alweer de hoek om. Nog een paar minuten houden de soldaten het verkeer in bedwang, tot iedereen weer verder mag scheuren. En ik blij dat er wederom niemand bij me in de buurt is opgeblazen...

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".

Marriage proposal (type 3)

I have plenty of marriage-proposals to entertain you with, so there will certainly be a number 4, 5, 6 and onwards. But number 3 is not on this blog.

Number three is here.

And this time, the answer is yes.

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.