Save Beirut before it is slaughtered like Bali's turtle

25 Years Later, the Lebanese Capital Still Lives Through the Same Details

The presidential troika, despite the changing faces, remains the only constant.

A city whose face was marred by the wars of its own sons when strangers entered it.

Some gave thanks for the blessing, while others denied it, beginning to spread corruption.

Every stone in Beirut feels tense, and it is not just the people.

My husband divorced me because of the prevailing tension here and left me.

On the island, there is a restaurant that serves turtle meat as a luxurious meal.

The Lebanese body wants to calm down and needs salvation.

This piece was published in Al-Hadaf magazine, issue No. 1714, issued on Saturday, June 23, 2001, which was 25 years ago. A quarter of a century has passed, yet Beirut, the Lebanese capital, which was once the "Switzerland of the East," has not changed. Lebanon is still governed by a presidential troika despite the changing faces, but the only constant remains that Lebanon and Beirut continue to suffer, as if a curse has befallen this country.

The details have remained the same since then. The only certainty is that after a quarter of a century, there is a new president of the republic and a new prime minister, while Nabih Berri remains in his position. Let us return to what I saw in Beirut 25 years ago:

Beirut is a city whose face was marred by the wars of its own sons. Strangers entered it, coming from every deep chasm. Beirut welcomed them, as per its hospitable traditions, saying to them, "Welcome... Smile, you are in Lebanon."

Of course, the strangers smiled and lived in Beirut. Some gave thanks for the blessing and remained smiling, while others denied it, beginning to spread corruption and desecration in this beautiful city, leading it into labyrinths it did not wish to enter, or perhaps entering them out of a casual disregard for a dangerous game that it seems to have later fallen in love with, paying a heavy price for this forbidden love.

Today, every stone in Beirut feels tense, for the city itself is tense in every aspect. The people are even more tense than their city, and each one dreams and hopes, yet neither dreams nor hopes have been realized.

In Beirut’s sweet shops, people ask you when they notice you understand something, about the economic situation, the future, what it holds for them, and what will happen. You see them in advance comforting themselves by expressing confidence in this future, telling you that it will be promising, that Beirut will remain beautiful, and that its people will remain even more beautiful.

Here, I remembered that sweet shop owner who said: My husband divorced me because of the prevailing tension here. He left me, and I, who am beautiful, indeed the most beautiful, if I am not boasting, found myself outside my home for a week, sleeping in my car, with no home, no money, and my pockets nearly empty. Many wolves tempted me to sell pleasure to those who desire it, those who love Beirut and smile in it, even though its people here are tense and frowning.

I rejected these wolves' offers, but they told me: Payment is upfront and in dollars. How happy and blessed I would be. I rejected the offer and chose to live in my small car, sleeping in it at night, and driving it around during the day with the remaining Lebanese pounds I had, not dollars.

Some of my friends, not wolves, showed me compassion because they had experienced the same crisis before me. Among them were beautiful women who also endured the same ordeal, treating it in their own way. I have no opinion on what happened to them or what they did with their lives. My soul was precious to me, as I witnessed what was happening in my country during this bitter time. Perhaps it is the will of the Creator and Manager of this universe.

As the beautiful woman told her story, I remembered a documentary film I had watched on television about the Indonesian island of Bali. There, on that island, turtles are sacrificed in temples. There is also a restaurant on the island that serves turtle meat as a luxurious, expensive delicacy. They bring the turtle, flip it onto its back, and slit its belly with a knife while it is still alive. The turtle suffers and expresses its pain in a way that is difficult for anyone to watch.

The sharp knife continues to pierce her belly until she is disemboweled and her flesh is extracted, then transported for preparation and cooking. It is said that some people eat turtle meat raw. The important point is that Beirut ached as it witnessed such a turtle being slaughtered alive, and tried to do something, but was powerless. Before the turtle breathed its last, a salty tear streamed from its eyes. Is it not a daughter of the sea, and is the sea not salty?

The poor creature dies, and pleasure-seekers consume its meat, both raw and cooked, according to their daring in eating it... I recalled the turtle of Bali as I heard the story of that innocent girl, who spent days sleeping in her car, far from those who wanted to slaughter her alive, and afterward shed a hot tear from her dark eyes, like the eyes of the Arab girl Maha.

Beirut, as I said, is tense. People go on some days to visit President Lahoud, on others to visit President Hariri, and on yet others to visit President Berri, and they do not know who holds the key to salvation, or whether it lies with the three presidents.

Each president hopes for them and promises them ease and sustenance. President Lahoud has his political sustenance, wrapped in dignified discourse about what Lebanese people desire. President Berri has nothing but the legislation of laws, and he throws the ball of problems into others’ fields. President Hariri finds himself caught between players and a referee brought in from outside the borders, with a lump in his heart, especially since Beirut expects much from him. She wants him to stop the slaughter of the turtle while it is still alive, and to remember that disagreement in Lebanon, when it intensified and spread, led to a civil war that lasted more than 15 years.

We return to the point: Lebanon is tense down to the smallest stone, and the Lebanese body longs for calm, needing to rid itself of many impurities, yet beauty remains in Lebanon, which knows how to highlight its stature.

Lebanese people know how to deal with beauty, and Lebanon’s nights are vibrant. People, with the long night, try to forget their worries. They meet each other in nightlife clubs, we amuse ourselves with them and forget our cares, and the next day we wake up and remember the turtle being slaughtered alive, and recall the turtle’s salty tear with its marine taste.

Each of Lebanon’s presidential trio has supporters and backers, but everyone converges on one point: the question of when Lebanon’s prosperity will return.

I arrived at Beirut Airport dressed in traditional Arab attire, in all its details. When I exited after completing procedures that were all straightforward, dozens stood at the exit gate welcoming loved ones returning to Lebanon for vacation... Dozens waiting in line, all elegantly dressed, and I heard their whispers saying: “Welcome, people of the Gulf... Welcome, Arabs.” Their gazes focused on me, perhaps thinking I was a tourist.

Lebanese Prime Minister Rafic Hariri, very exhausted, very ambitious, and wanting to succeed very much, will circumstances and days favor him, especially since no one wants to see such a sweet girl sleeping for five days inside her car because she lacks housing “and no money with her” to live on, and she does not want to compromise herself, for she too is not comforted by the fact that not everyone who pays, and not everyone whose currency bears Abraham Lincoln’s image, is comfortable for her and her body.

What Lebanon needs these days is for its sons to feel it before others trust it, and for President Hariri to plant confidence in Lebanon within the hearts of his sons before those of others, so that he may succeed very much.