[LCM Articles] "Why I'm not Evacuating Beirut"

[Abdallah Jabbour]

I have learned from top secret sources (wink wink) that Faerlie Wilson
will be on CNN's Larry King Live (by phone from Lebanon) tonight at 6:00 PM
PST/ 9:00 PM EST (2nd half of the show).

We should all watch it!

Abdallah



*Staying On*

>   *Why I'm not evacuating Beirut*
>
> *By Faerlie Wilson*
> Updated Friday, July 21, 2006, at 2:36 PM ET
>
> * *
>
> BEIRUT, Lebanon—From my balcony this afternoon, I watched as French,
> British, and American evacuees boarded chartered cruise ships in Beirut's
> port about a half-mile west of my apartment.
>
>
>
> And over the last few days, while bombs and artillery pummeled the
> southern part of the city, I made the decision not to leave Lebanon.
> Explosions rock my building even as I write this, but I'm staying put.
>
>
>
> I'm not crazy, and I harbor no death wish. This is simply the rational
> decision of someone who has built a life in Lebanon, who believes in this
> place and its ability to bounce back. I choose to bet on Beirut.
>
>
>
> After five visits to Lebanon over as many years, I moved to Beirut from
> California this February. I'm a 24-year-old American with friends but no
> family here. But Lebanese hospitality makes it easy to feel at home; it's a
> warm society that exudes and embodies a sense of interpersonal
> responsibility. Live here for two weeks and then go out of town, and you'll
> get a dozen offers to pick you up at the airport upon your return.
>
>
>
> So although I'm not Lebanese by blood, I have become Beiruti. There are
> plenty of us who fit that description, foreigners who fell in love with the
> place and its people. One friend, an American college student interning for
> the summer with a member of the Lebanese parliament, called in tears en
> route to the northern border to tell me her parents had forced her to leave.
>
>
>
> "I'm going to stay in Syria as long as I can," she vowed. "In case things
> settle down and I can come back."
>
> Until the war broke out last week, this was to be Lebanon's golden
> summer—last year's tourist season having been dampened by the brutal car
> bomb that killed former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in February 2005.
>
>
>
> This summer started off strong, with concerts by major Western artists
> that allowed the Lebanese to hope their country was returning to the prewar
> days when everyone who was anyone—icons like Ella Fitzgerald, Marlon
> Brando, and Brigitte Bardot—made regular stops in the country. Ricky
> Martin and 50 Cent performed in May and June, respectively, Sean Paul was on
> deck for July, and negotiations were under way to bring Snoop Dogg later
> in the summer. But the most anticipated concert was set for late July: the
> three-night return of legendary Lebanese diva Fairouz to the Baalbeckfestival, where she first earned her fame in the 1950s and '60s.
>
>
>
> The after-party for 50 Cent was typical over-the-top Beiruti, held at
> city's most decadent nightclub, Crystal. Lamborghinis and Ferraris crowded
> the parking lot; plasticated Lebanese girls in short skirts and spike
> heels danced on tables as waiters navigated the dance floor balancing trays
> laden with sparklers and magnums of champagne for high-rolling Saudi
> tourists, while Fiddy free-styled and openly smoked a joint.
>
>
>
> Tourists from the Arab world, Europe, and North America flooded the
> streets of cities and villages throughout the country. Gulf Arabs in
> particular have been drawn to Lebanon, especially in a post-9/11 era when
> they felt unwelcome in the West (and often had trouble obtaining visas).
> Lebanon offered many of the same attractions as Europe, but in an Arab
> setting: temperate climate, good shopping, plenty of tourist activities, and
> most important, heady nightlife and a liberal social atmosphere. Tourists
> partied till dawn, stormed the sales at Beirut's designer boutiques, and
> visited sites like Lebanon's ancient cedar groves and the Roman temples at
> Baalbeck.
>
> Now those magnificent ruins are surrounded by newer ones: The city of
> Baalbeck, long a Shiite stronghold, has received a heavy share of the
> Israeli bombardment.
>
> Falling bombs erase entire villages, fire and smoke cover the horizon, and
> visions of that promised summer have, in just over a week, evaporated. On
> the beaches of Damour and Jiyeh, the foreign visitors aren't European sun
> junkies but Israeli missiles. And the cruise ships docked in the port aren't
> bringing tourists to Lebanon, they're taking them away.
>
>
>
> The contrast between Beirut today and Beirut two weeks ago is so stark, it
> would be unbearable if it weren't so surreal. This isn't my Beirut. This
> isn't anyone's Beirut. The frantic, vibrant city has shrunk into a sleepy
> town, with empty streets and only a handful of restaurants, bars, and shops
> open for business.
>
>
>
> It's amazing how quickly you can get used to living under siege. We've
> taped our windows, stocked up on supplies, and settled into a perversion of
> normal life. Electric generators succeed where embattled power stations
> fail. I've learned what times the electricity, water, and Internet
> connection usually cut out, and I plan my days accordingly—an old Lebanese
> ritual from the days of the civil wars.
>
>
>
> Candles we bought as decoration are scattered throughout the apartment,
> half-burned down from long nights without electricity. An Israeli propaganda
> flier dropped on a university soccer field sticks out of my roommate's copy
> of the now-obsolete July issue of *Time Out Beirut*, marking a page
> listing exhibitions at art galleries that have since boarded up their doors.
> The magazine only launched this spring, and it was easy to see it as yet
> another symbol that Beirut was finally being recognized as one of the
> world's great cities. *Travel and Leisure* magazine listed Beirut as the
> ninth-best city in the world for 2006. In this part of the world, fortunes
> shift very quickly.
>
>
>
> Smaller explosions and the rushing of Israeli fighter jets overhead don't
> startle or frighten me anymore. We are exhausted and have to save our
> emotional energy for the moments where panic is needed. Still, when larger
> blasts rattle my windowpanes and make the apartment shudder, I rush to the
> balcony to figure out which part of my city is being hit. Sometimes, it's an
> easy game: Three days ago, my roommate and I watched as Israeli warships
> struck Beirut's port.
>
>
>
> I know I'm reasonably safe in my corner of Beirut, and I have a place to
> go in the mountains if that ceases to be true. Unlike people in many other
> industries, I still have a job: The magazine where I work decided to publish
> an August issue—although it will lose money—as a sign of resistance and
> resilience.
>
>
>
> There is painfully little we, the ordinary people of Lebanon, can do to
> help the situation. So, instead, we do what we can to help each other by
> donating food and supplies, opening our doors to friends and strangers, and
> trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. We aren't giving up.
>
>
>
> After the foreigners are gone, local wisdom predicts that the fighting
> will only get worse. At the very least, there will be less protective
> padding—a fear of foreign casualties that may have restrained Israel to some
> degree. Evacuating Beirut would feel a lot like abandoning it. I know that
> my staying won't keep the Israelis from intensifying their attacks, but at
> least I won't be complicit, seeing events unfold on a TV screen from the
> comfort of Cyprus.
>
>
>
> So, I'll watch those ships pull away without regret. Lebanon has given me
> more than I ever could've asked: a home, a sense of belonging, an almost
> indecent number of happy memories. But aside from any debt to Lebanon, I
> won't leave because I know how miserable I would be watching the war ravage
> *my* country from the outside. As long as my feet are firmly planted on
> Lebanese soil, I somehow *know* the country will survive.
>
>
>
> People ask me if I'm scared, and I am—but for Lebanon more than for
> myself. This place and its people deserve far better than what they're
> getting.
>
> There's a sad, unstated "what will become of us?" question floating around
> the Lebanese who are left behind. I need to stay here, if only to learn the
> answer.
>
>
>
> *Faerlie Wilson <faerlie at aol.com>*is an editorial assistant at* Executive<http://executive-magazine.com/>
> *magazine in Beirut, Lebanon.
>
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>
>
>
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