The six-month test

I was told that, when a foreigner moves to Lebanon, he or she goes through a hard time after six months. If you can handle life in Beirut after this time, you are then capable of settling down in this country.


When I moved to what people erroneously call "the Switzerland of the Middle East," about six months ago, I could only see the spark of the city. I was amazed by the social life, namely the number of pubs, clubs and restaurants in Gemmayze. I was impressed by the cultural activities, notably the many festivals in Ashrafieh. I was in a hurry to discover the remotest places in Lebanon, from Ehden's cedars to Jbeil's beaches and Nabatieh's museum.
I have been fond of Lebanese people because they seem cheerful, no matter what happens. War can break out, they will still party in the mountains. There can be electricity shortages, they will still smile while carrying their electrogenic lamp in the apartment. What if it prevents them from working? Well, this is the way it is in Lebanon, they would say. "Just get used to it."

After six month in this country, you begin noticing details that make you feel uncomfortable. You start understanding the meaning of living in a post-war country in the Middle East.
Socially and politically speaking, you realize that it is a luxury to have instant hot water and constant electricity. You become aware that you do not know anyone (not even someone who knows someone else) who lives in the multi-million-dollar buildings in the Downtown area, which was devasted during the Civil War (1975-1990) and then modernized, simply because almost no one can afford it.

Once you understand Arabic, you realize that cab drivers always talk about the rise of fuel prices. As for the customers, they often complain about the increase of the price of basic commodities.
You can also tell that there is no real structure or organization in the society, compared to Europe or the US. For example, I just
called the Ministry of Information because I wanted to know what the documents I needed to get a press card. The man on the phone hesitated for a while and then replied that I just needed "usual documents". He added that I should stop by tomorrow and "we'll see what we can do."

A similar experience happened to me last month when I went to the Security General to apply for a student visa. I brought a letter from my university stating that I was a student and my passport. The security official complained about my letter, arguing that he did not know the person who signed it that is why I had to go to the Minister of Education to get a stamp approving the name and signature of the president of my program. I tried to be nice to him and made out stories about the fact I was in a hurry because I had classes. I also contended that I was a French female student living on my one so no one was helping. He finally empathized with me and sent me to another office to pay for the visa.

Like in many other Arab countries, verbal agreements are more meaningful than written ones. People are not used to writing down binding statements and rather negotiate verbally.

Finally and most importantly, you realize that, every time you hear the news on the radio, the taxi driver switches to music.
Though you were told that Lebanon has the most vibrant civil society and critical population, most young people are not interested in politics anymore. A lot of them would rather care about the brands they wear, the car they drive or the money they spend. Simply put, it is a lot about the way you look.

To me, life in Lebanon resembles Beckett's play "En attendant Godot" ("Waiting for Godot"). Vladimir and Estragon, are waiting for someone named Godot but he never shows up. Nothing real happens during the play. The two characters are just waiting for something to happen.
During my stay in Lebanon, I have felt that, behind people's laughter and smiles, there is a deep malaise. People look happy because this is the only thing they can do to improve their daily lives. The economic situation is terrible. The political atmosphere is tensed. Social life is what remains.

A few days ago, I was attending my Arabic tutorial with my professor at the university. Another teacher entered the classroom and my professor asked her: "how is everything?"
"We are living" (3ayshin) answered the second one, with a big smile.


Recently, Lebanon went through a political crisis. The government was overthrown when 11 ministers resigned. There were a few demonstrations. In the north of the city, in Tripoli, people burned tires. Some roads were closed. There were checkpoints from one city to the other as well as inside several cities.
Today, life goes on. Although the political pandemonium persists, Lebanese went back to work and the pubs are getting more crowded.

As a matter of fact, life in Lebanon would rather resemble Gionot's "Un roi sans divertissement" ("A king without entertainment"). The main idea of this book is that people keep entertaining themselves because if they stop for awhile, they will have to think about their lives and soon discover the existence's vacuity.

Soon, you realized how hard it is to wake up and change things and how insignificant people are when facing powerful governments in Arab societies.

Why Tunisia and Egypt's events cannot happen in Morocco

The Jasmine Revolution in Tunis, which led to the overthrow of Ben Ali’s regime, has fomented dissent in Egypt, Jordan, Yemen, Algeria and Libya. Unfortunately, it will not spread out to Morocco because there is not any viable alternative to the king's power and the corrupted bureaucratic government. Should the regime be toppled, the Moroccan population will certainly fail to foster a smooth transition to democracy because it is highly uneducated.

This is the consequence of the previous king’s iron fist rule. Hassan II deliberately launched a policy of “illiteracy”. After the March 1965 strikes and demonstrations led by high school students and teachers, the za’im (great leader) declared that “[t]here is no danger for the state as grave as the so-called intellectual. It would be better if you were all illiterate.”
From Hassan II’s early age, Moroccans’ future was set. The king wrote his Masters’ thesis about realism in politics and dealt with “The Prince” of Machiavelli. This fundamental book of politics and international relations contends that, in order to be respected and ensure the regime’s stability, a prince has to spread fear among his population and should not fear to be disliked.

What are the results?
After years of such policies, Moroccan people’s mind has been shaped to be obedient and subservient to the kingdom. Moroccan proverbs underline this state of mind. We often hear that “an unjust government is better than bad citizens” or “starve your dog and it will follow you” or “the stick is the only thing that will prevent rebellion and dissidence.” Moroccan sociologist Muhammad Guessous illustrates Moroccan politics with the following saying: “if you are going to be eaten, let yourself be eaten; but if you can eat others, then eat them…” Moroccan politics is embedded in Hobbes’ conception of human nature: Moroccans believe that they need a strong ruler in order to avoid chaos.

Today, Morocco has the lowest literacy rate of the whole Arab world. There is a brain drain because the kingdom does not provide any incentive to young people who studied abroad to move back to Morocco. As for those who do not have the chance to emigrate, they either pass away in the Mediterranean sea, trying to reach Europe’s door in Spain. Or they are too disillusioned to bring any change. There is only a small minority among the population who is angry enough to promote reforms or a revolution the way it occurred in Tunisia and is happening in Egypt.

What is utterly striking is that, despite wide socio-economic gaps, high rates of poverty and unemployment, Moroccans love the king and the monarchy. I had the opportunity to discuss lately these issues with a Moroccan teacher of classical Arabic in Casablanca. He took pride of the fact Moroccans are different from other Arabs, as he believed. According to him, Morocco's king is a strong leader because he has the title of the "Commander of the faithful" and, thus, gets his authority from God. Hence, the Moroccan regime is more legitimate than any other Arab states. His idea was that we oust presidents. Not kings. Though he was well-informed about the Algerian civil war, which opposed the government and Islamic groups in the 1990s, he proved to be blind to the social situation in his country. As for Tunisia, he pointed out that the Moroccan economy would benefit from a tourism increase because the tourists who fled Tunis would certainly come to Morocco.

In the end, this only proves that, among all Arabs, Moroccans are not the most stable but the least aware of the tremendous benefit of democracy.

To live in Beirut

Before moving to Lebanon, I was told that Beirut was the ‘Switzerland of the Middle East.’ Other friends coined it the ‘Paris of the East’ because they consider it at the crossroad between East and West.

When it comes to social and cultural activities, this vibrant and busy city is certainly close to New York or Paris. In 2009, The New York Times named Beirut the top place to visit. Indeed, there is always something to do, with someone(s), somewhere. One of the many nightlife districts, Gemmayze, gathers almost 60 bars along the street. Different atmospheres. Fancy cocktails. Westernized crowd. While bar hopping, you suddenly feel transported to the trendiest pubs of the Meat Packing district in Manhattan or the Champs-Elysées, in Paris.

Lebanese people are also very involved in art. Looking for a play in French, English or Arabic? From the eccentric Viva la Diva at Babel theater in Hamra to the moving Matriochka in Monot, Time Out Beirut will list them all. One festival just succeeds another. Last week, it was the European film festival in Ashrafieh. Just before, it was the Greek film festival that took place at the Empire Metropolis Sofil. A few days ago, I was invited to Lebanon Dances for the Rain, a surprising ceremonial dance meant to invoke rain to protect the harvest, in Downtown Beirut…

However, behind this sparkling social life hides a painful truth.

Today was the first morning I was able to take a hot shower since three days. My roommates and I had water issues and barely had water during that time. It seems that there was a problem at municipality level. My roommate even had to go shower at the gym!

Whether you live in a well-off neighborhood or in a more modest one, Beirut inhabitants do not have electricity for about three hours every single day. If you live in the mountains, you do not have electricity for six hours. Many times, I came back home from the university and was suddenly plunged in darkness.

In a country where it is night towards 5 p.m. during winter, no electricity means no television, no computer if you did not think of charging it the previous day, no hot water because you have to heat it before taking a shower, no microwave if you want to get warm food, no cold fridge and therefore rotten food, and no light if you want to read or change your clothes.

The first Arabic word any foreigner learns when he moves to Lebanon is ‘kahraba,’ which means electricity. My Polish friend Paula became interested in Lebanon when she was playing Warcraft, a computer game in which you play with other people from all over the world. She realized that every time she was networking with Lebanese people, they would all of a sudden be disconnected. She then did her research and found out that there is a daily shortage of electricity in this country.

I believe that there is a clear difference between a cheerful nation who always smiles and looks at the bright side of life and political apathy. Apathy is defined by a lack of interest, especially regarding matters of general importance. It seems to me that electricity is an issue of significant concern. I realized the extent of the laid-back attitude of Lebanese people when my cousin came to visit. We were chatting in a coffee place and, suddenly, the electricity went off. No one reacted. People kept talking, drinking and laughing while she was the only one finding this situation awkward. A situation to which I got accustomed. This can happen in bars, clubs, restaurant and all kinds of places. (I am currently writing this blog in the computer lab of my university and the electricity just stopped working!)

What strikes me is that the government can afford to build many millions-dollars buildings overlooking the Mediterranean sea, with generators. But when it comes to caring about the rest of the population, let them suffer from electricity shortage in the XXIst century…

I have wanted to move to Lebanon because I found it fascinating to mingle with people who always talk about politics, whether in a coffee place or at the university. I have felt that it clearly highlights citizens’ interest in their country. Until today, I am fond of this aspect of Lebanon.

I have no doubt that Lebanon is the most democratic country of the Middle East and an oasis of liberalism in an ocean of conservatism. There might be a lot of political issues. Yet, there are plenty of civil society movements. People do dialogue. And this is what matters the most.

Nevertheless, do you assess the effectiveness of civil society activities by their ability to mobilize? To speak up? Or to affect policy agenda?

All the Lebanese people that I met since I came here and became great friends share the same view. These university students and young professionals, the future of a nation, were interested in politics and aspired to bring change in the society. Today, they all gave up. They are all disillusioned by the current political system.