[LCM Articles] "My Lebanon Experience" by Rabeh Ghadban

[Zeina Saab]

Dear All,

This article was written by a young Lebanese-American friend of mine, Rabeh
Ghadban. Please take a few minutes to read what he has written about his
experience in Lebanon during the recent civil unrest.  I have reproduced it
below and it is attached as well.

Best,
Zeina

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Dear Friends,

As many of you know, I have spent the last year in Lebanon working for a NGO
and pretending to get better at my Arabic.  However, the last few weeks of
events and my personal experience with much of what has gone on here, both
in the mountains and in Beirut, pushed me to write about the
disturbing transformation I underwent during the week fighting - from a
reformist to an armed man.

For those of you that are Lebanese, I hope this piece invokes some questions
about our new found settlement and the future of our state of affairs.

Best Always,

Rabeh Ghadban

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A collective apathy that will continue to kill:
My introduction to war and why Lebanon may never prosper

I had prepared to write a piece on the strategic outlook of Lebanon's near
future. One that tried to make sense of the confusion that has clouded the
recent events in Lebanon.  My parents grew up in this country and I returned
here a year ago to pursue a professional career, hoping that I would better
understand my attachment to this unpredictable state.  I spent the previous
year before my arrival in Beirut writing a thesis about Lebanon, studying the
need to incorporate Hezbollah and Shia aspirations more appropriately into the
confessional system.

I argued the need to implement reforms, such as a new electoral system and a
cooperative plan for security to gradually move away
from our intransigent sectarian framework. To me, it seemed easy. A gradual
shift was needed away from confessional power-sharing toward a system where
elected representatives would also be responsible to a national electorate
rather than just a sectarian enclave. This would help diminish the monopoly of
power by zu'ama and be a constructive first step toward creating a collective
Lebanese national identity - something that is largely absent beyond rhetoric,
and in fact is a necessary precondition of our system of governance, known more
widely as consociationalism.

My research made me believe I was aptly prepared to assess current events and
contribute to the progress of this country.  Accordingly, I actively engaged in
civil society and began work at a reform institution, but I was still uncertain
of the effectiveness of my efforts. The shameless developments of the past
week, however, have forced me to question all that I wanted to believe to be
true.  The dangers of Lebanon's subversive political paradigm and its
inevitable invitation of conflict have been brought to the fore, only to be
eclipsed by a state of insouciance, as euphoria has swept through the country
upon news of a peace accord and the election of a new president. This
concomitant interplay of these improbable opposites has proven to me what I was
too afraid to admit: Lebanon suffers from a clear case of a "memory for
forgetfulness."

With the memory of the war seemingly forgotten, the Lebanese population and our
political leaders yet again will almost fail to learn from price of conflict,
taking the dangerous risk of leaving the question of sectarianism open-ended
and without a clear solution. My personal testimony through the recent conflict
shows that although tensions have been pacified by the illusive edification of
the Doha Agreement, sectarian identity will supersede Lebanese statehood so
long as the population remain vacillate toward calls for change.

The emotional rollercoaster that has accompanied the recent events has turned me
away from the foggy strategic forecast that I had started to write and that many
academics have engaged in the last week, each one contradicting the other in an
imbroglio of analysis without any concrete steps forward. It disposed of the
blind idealist in me, which would normally not justify acts of violence and
appose the use of arms. It purposely leaves out the editorial that has framed
blame in a context of power politics between the United State's regional
objectives and the nascent Shi'a crescent. And it definitely doesn't
pretend to understand, nor compare, the government's sudden decision to alter
the status quo against Hezbollah and actively confront its mounting influence
against the violent actions of the Party of God and their sanctified call to
maintain their weapons. My story does, however, invoke a question that everyone
in this country must ask themselves if there is to be a future of coexistence.
What are you willing to do to prevent the next round of conflict?

As chaos erupted, I found myself disconnected to what was unfolding in the
streets just below my apartment. Silence was only intermittent, broken by the
sound of gunfire and explosions, confirming that Beirut had once again slipped
back into civil war. This usually bustling city was brought to a standstill and
tormented by masked men and young juveniles who, bereft of the memory of the
previous civil war, were trigger happy and looking for a fight.  Questions
raced through my head.  Could Lebanon really exist as a single entity or would
be better for us to admit defeat and retreat back into separate enclaves? Can
the silent majority really forge a country free of proxy battles and
unaccountable political elites that incite communal fear? In this moment of
uncertainty, as the fate of the country was tested, my faith in its future,
too, was put into question.

I spent much of the first night listening to the piercing crackle of gunfire and
woke up in the morning to a live battle taking place a block away.  I watched
intently, missing only popcorn and candy, not wholly able to believe that I
this was not just a movie.  Captured by the sound of gunfire, my relatives
decided it was time to make our way up to my home village of Aley, located east
of Beirut in the Chouf mountains.  Here I thought I would be much safer because
it is strategically located, assuming the mountains would be unfettered by the
conflicts of Beirut.  I arrived to Aley to find my calculations to be
incorrect.  Within hours, fights broke out in town and I was forced to spend
the night in the kitchen as gun shots and heavy weaponry had been fired less
than 50 yards away from my home, as the deafening reports reverberated through
the house.

A few hours of quiet, a couple skipped heart beats, and a night of clutched
hands between family members.  It was official - the movie was over and I had
survived my first war experience.

One day passed with relative calm, but the following day, a Sunday, did not
prove to be as peaceful.  The fighting was resumed on the mountain, this time
on multiple fronts that ranged from Choueifat up to Aley, to Bayssour and
Kayfoun and also later that night in Al-Barouk, encompassing both borders of
the Chouf mountains. It became clear that there was a real threat and I
unwillingly found myself stuck between two ideals. One that is informed by my
educational background and upbringing which taught me to use logic and reason
over violence, and the other which recognized that my home, my family and my
people were under attack and it was my duty to defend my land.

It was a disturbing transformation. I came to Lebanon as a reformist and
threatened to leave it a militiaman.   I had reached a crossroads.  I was told
I may have to kill the very opponents I had advocated to entrust greater
participation.  I was scared.  That night the situation appeared irreversible.
I was a fighter in a civil war, militia vs. militia, and I didn't have a
choice.

My dream for a new a Lebanon, where sectarianism would not supersede the
interests of the state, disappeared. I realized that if war continued, I only
had my community and my za'im to protect me.  The army was impotent, the
government were helpless, and I had lost all faith in the very state
institutions I had so vehemently defended up until this moment.  On this
unforgettable night, I placed aside everything that I knew to be right and
contemplated my capacity to kill.

Thankfully, the answer to that daunting question was left unanswered, as news
came that the attack was called off and an agreement had been reached.  But if
the attackers had come to my home, what would I have done? Would I have picked
up a pistol and shot?  This point of cognitive dissidence will undoubtedly
haunt us for a long time.  To think that I may have picked up arms reveals the
desperation I felt, left alone and unprotected by the state, selfishly hoping
that army?s call to disarm the mountain would fail. To think that night, for
that one moment, I was willing to exchange so thoughtlessly my humanity and
aspirations of reform for a weapon.

My transformation is a chilling prospect.  It embodies the exact repulsion that
will inevitably resurface with the passing of time and our willingness to
forget.  That night I found my self standing up for my co-religionists, my
sect, before the interests of a collective people.  I found myself with the
exact obtuse mentality I was disgusted with when I first arrived. I found
myself consumed by dissent for this country, enraged that it had forced me to
become a product of hate.

Now I ask myself: where do I go from here?  I can only hope this question is
being asked by each and every citizen of this country.  However, I fear it is
not. The often celebrated Lebanese spirit - one that is credited for its
persistency to endure difficult circumstances and is known to keep on living
even in the face of uncertainty - seems to be no more than a façade.  To
believe such fallacies will only prove to disappoint, as to praise our
misgivings to be an act of courage and resiliency only perpetuates a
superficial and a defeatist truth.

The silent majority who want change and a life free of conflict, no longer
dependant on communal nepotism, remain mute and unwilling to take action
against our crooked political dynasty.  For this reason, Lebanon's potential
to prosper looks grim and difficult at best.  For this reason, I have begun to
lose faith in my homeland.  Disappointment shrouds my thoughts; not of the
oft-blamed politicians but of the people of this country.  Instead of speaking
out against our misfortune, we have accepted it as an unchangeable truth, a
necessary tax on our love for this country.

Lebanon has lived a lie for too long, marked by apathy amongst the majority of
the population and a devious willingness by the minority in power to manipulate
our trust. Without standing up and demanding reform and expecting accountability
and responsibility in governance our freedom from violence will be short lived.
Without recognizing that a state away from sectarianism offers our best hope for
mutual security, people in Lebanon will increasingly be faced with same dilemma
I experienced this week: either pick up arms and fight or escape this reality
by leaving the country. When the safety of latest agreement erodes and this
decision presents itself again, remember my plea for action, because it will be
too late to blame anyone but yourself.
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