A couple of days ago there was a big fight in the street,
just outside of my building. I
heard screaming and a big commotion and when I went to the balcony, I saw about
12 guys going at it. Swearing and punches and a lot of yelling. I quickly moved
away, as I thought that someone might be armed.
I looked around and saw all my neighbors in the buildings in front
of mine in their balconies, just watching the “show”. No one seemed ready to
intervene or even to try to call the police. And that’s when it hit me… There
is no police to call in Lebanon.
I mean there is a police. And an army. And sometimes army
guys stand outside private houses as guards. Or tell you not to park somewhere.
While the police is coordinating traffic, but sometimes the army is. Listen, it
is very confusing. I wouldn’t even try to understand who does what.
But that was what alarmed me the most. Without clear roles,
in a moment of stress, I didn’t know who to call. The fight ended up
eventually. But the feeling of vulnerability didn’t leave me. Who would I call?
Who do Lebanese call?
I sat down for lunch the following day with a Lebanese
colleague. I shared with him the experience and he just smiled. And then he
told me “You call your uncle. He will call his friends. And in 15 minutes, you
have 30 guys at your house ready to help”.
He continued “ In Lebanon you call your people when you need
help. You don’t rely on the government, or on your neighbors. Your people are
the only ones you can count on for your safety, for survival. “
As things get tense in Lebanon these days, these words
resonate more and more in my head. That is probably what happened on my street that day.
Two people had a problem, and they called their people for the fight. And when
we see the ongoing fighting in this part of the world, although at a different
scale, it is not that different. People fight for their own, and against the
“other” because there is no common identity, institution or sense of
citizenship that binds them together. My family, my friends, the people of my
same religion, sect, tribe, group are my people. The other ones are outside. I
fight for my own because if I don’t a) no one will protect the people I love
and b) the group won’t be there when I need them.
Looking at it from this perspective, the conflicts that
comprise the every day struggle of the Lebanese make a little more sense. And
it also overwhelms me. Where do you start building unity? How can one trade a sense
of group, safety and survival when no one else will have your back?
