A special place

Ihave always found the comparison troubling and a remnant of colonialism. Beirut is not the Paris of the Middle East. It is just Beirut — an ancient city of vibrant culture, art, and remarkable history. It does not need to be compared with any other city in Europe or elsewhere to elevate its appeal.

It is also a city that has taught me so much. From the first time I went there five years ago, to my trip earlier this year, I have learned about resilience, love, and hope from its people. It is the city that allowed me to formulate my thoughts on my own research on refugees, helped me start new academic programmes, and in whose cafes I wrote big chunks of my book. It is a place where — despite my poor Arabic and tendency to get lost — I feel safe in. It is a home of some of my most thoughtful and kind friends. It is a city — that despite its complexities and contradictions — I love deeply.

It is also a city that is hurting today.

The explosion in Beirut last week unnerved me in ways I did not expect. I am not from Beirut, and despite the fact that I go there every year, I am still getting to know the place, one trip at a time. Yet, the loss felt deeply personal. Perhaps it came at a time when anxieties are already high in the city, when the hope for a better tomorrow was stretched beyond capacity. When I was in Beirut in January, right after the tensions in the region were highest they had been in years due to the death of General Soleimani, there was a deep sense of unease. It was a period of lull after weeks of demonstrations against a corrupt, ineffective elite in power. The economy had just started to crash (though the writing on the wall had been there for quite some time) and the new government was trying to find its footing. Things have gotten much, much worse since then. The stories of people bartering their most prized possessions for diapers or powdered milk are too frequent to ignore, and too heartbreaking to read. The economy is in free fall, and life much more difficult for the average person. Academic institutions that stayed stable even in the worst of the civil war are wondering whether they will be able to exist for much longer. The pandemic has cracked open the cracks of inequality that were there before, but were veiled by weak band-aid measures. The explosion last week is not as much a reminder of the fragility of life itself, but of the corrupt system that has made life fragile for so many people who have not done anything wrong.

Yet — like countless times before — Beirut’s citizens have shown that you can be both angry and kind at the same time. Angry at the government for its failure, kind to strangers in picking the pieces to rebuild a life. The citizens have shown that you can both demand and provide. Demand accountability and provide care. From the doctors who worked non-stop for 52 hours in the ER, to the university employees who are working around the clock in providing free consultation whether a building is safe to move back in; from the migrant workers taking care of children while putting their own lives at risk to the ordinary folk using brooms to wipe shattered glass from the street, the citizens of Beirut, even when hurting, are showing that they are quite special.

Their kindness, generosity, care, consideration, love and support doesn’t need comparisons with any European city. The city and its people are an institution and inspiration on their own.

Published in The Express Tribune, August 11^th, 2020.

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