What's Next?

By Christopher Robbins

One of the most disturbing problems with Lebanon is the outlook of the people here. Whenever you ask about the future, the answers are predictable – war, whether from Israel or within, and then a period of rebuilding.

I can’t blame the people here for feeling that way. Since 1920, Lebanon has only had 17 years of peace. Here we are eating like kings and drinking like a fish on the battlefield of the Arab world. That may be why the Lebanese favor big meals and strong drinks, they never know when the tenuous peace will collapse and their country will slide into another conflict.

What you don’t often hear when asking Lebanese about the future is any plans – no plans for infrastructure. No plans for the advancement of civil liberties. No plans for secularization.

Lebanon lives for today.

Lebanese leaders are so busy trying to solve the problems of their confessional system and trying to remain engaged in the politics of the Middle East that very little attention is paid to where Lebanon is going as a country.

Apparently it has been that way here for a long time. The roads are choked with congestion. Adel Nayfeh, our guide, driver and friend, described being stuck on a highway for 4 hours just to travel 27 miles. Beirut’s narrow, crooked streets are bumper-to-bumper madness for allof the day and most of the night.

Lebanon’s density and small size make it ideal for passenger rail. The city of Beirut itself is starved for a functional bus system, light rail or a metro. Either of these systems would take cars off the road and reduce air pollution.

Clearly the Lebanese and the foreigners here are spending money, almost every block has a construction project where a new state-of-the-art building is going up. Even in the mountains and the Beka’a, new residential and commercial developments are going up almost everywhere you look.

No zoning laws control where and how these buildings are erected. Green space is disappearing rapidly and many families occupy structurally unsafe houses and apartments.

Lebanon may be weak, but it is far from a poor country. No disincentive exists against doing things cheaply and poorly.

People here can pay taxes to fund Lebanon’s future - money seems to flow freely here.

But a lot of people don’t bother to pay, and there are few enforcement mechanisms to follow up with Lebanese citizens who owe. No disincentive exists which motivates people to pay.

The water system is deficient – water from the taps is untreated and undrinkable, often salty because of the proximity to the sea. In  small towns well water is generally drinkable, and some mountain villages have fresh mineral water flowing from natural springs through fountains.

In Beirut and along the coast clean water and the disposal of wastewater are problems. Wastewater is often dumped directly into the ocean. There are few laws governing the safe disposal of waste products, and the ones that exist are poorly enforced.

There are police here but it is not clear what their function is beyond clearing a lane in the road for government officials and visiting dignitaries to drive down. Occasionally an officer might be seen writing a ticket for double or triple parked cars, but generally the police are nowhere to be found. Security for government officials is provided by the army.

Lebanese drivers even ignore traffic lights.

Beirut will never resemble Dubai or Doha, Qatar as long as the government does not take responsibility for coordination and regulation.

How do you plan for the future with so few and such weak institutions of state?

It is no wonder that Lebanese people are reluctant to talk about their future – war could come at any time as sectarian conflict and oligarchical powers regularly deadlock the government. Yet Lebanon survives.

It doesn’t progress. It just survives.

Past, Present and Future

By Ashley Westerman

Yesterday our group finally made it downtown to see the National Museum of Beirut. As the key museum of archeology in all of Lebanon, our group thought it best to make a point to see it before we left and I have to say that it was well worth the trip.

The museum was only two stories; the third floor was currently under renovation but it hosted a certain aura of grandeur that demanded our respect regardless of its size. In comparison to, say the Smithsonian Museums in Washington DC,  this museum held very few artifacts. I had respect for this museum; as I do with with most but this was different. I’ve seen many museums throughout the United States and throughout the world, but I particularly liked this one because of its simplistic displays and easy navigation. But in retrospect, I would much rather spend an hour or two in the National Museum taking the time to read all of the signs and awe at the “few” (only 1,300 objects of its 100,000 collection) ancient artifacts than breezing through the 100s of clusters of exhibits in the Smithsonian in fear that I may not get to see all of it in one day.

The National Museum definitely had a good mix of artifacts both big (sarcophagi, mosaics) and small (jewelry, weapons). I think my favorite floor of the two was the first floor that had all of the larger stone artifacts such as statues and thrones. My favorite statue, Colossus, was in the Egyptian-inspired section:

The upper floor housed the smaller artifacts. I really liked a lot of the jewelry, figurines and other small objects archeologists have discovered within the borders of Lebanon over the years.

For more pictures of the National Museum – as well as pictures of Moukhtara Palace, home of Walid Jumblatt – click HERE.

Before we left the second floor of the museum, one of my classmates pointed out a very interesting display that required I take a second look. Inside the small glass case appeared to bit bits and pieces of different artifacts sloppily fused together; these were some of the artifacts that were damaged during the Lebanese Civil War. After further investigation, I learned that the National Museum lay on the actual line that divided the waring factions – called Museum Ally – and was actually very badly damaged during the war. Many of the artifacts had to be removed, while the heavier ones were eventually encased in wood and concrete to protect them from the shelling and bombing happening around the museum. In 1991 after the Civil War, the restoration of the museum was headed by the Ministry of Culture and Higher Education.

Currently collection on the floor is only about 1,300 objects as mentioned above. However, the museum is divided neatly into the following sections: Prehistory, Bronze Age, Iron Age, Hellenistic Period, Roman Period, Byzantine Period and the Arab Conquests. I like my museums to have a bit of organization so I really enjoyed being able to “step” through history. The basement is scheduled to open up in November of 2010.

I am very glad that we took the time to get to see the museum and I’ve always had deep respect for those who wish to preserve the past. I also think that the National Museum is a symbol of the nationalism that Lebanon strives today to achieve. Even the rhetoric used on the signs in the museum conveys a sense of nationalism, a wanting to be united as one Lebanon despite the current political situation. I will admit that it has been very difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea that Lebanon has a future as, well, one Lebanon, as a unified state where the people are more proud to be Lebanese than Christian or Muslim or Druze. And I think the museum is a good way to see that even from different pasts – as most countries come together from – Lebanon can still be united now and for the future.

IN OTHER FASCINATING MIDDLE EASTERN NEWS…

It has recently been discovered in my own dorm room that present-day Egyptians are still connected so deeply to their ancient Pharaoh roots that they tend to sleep like this…

Look familiar?

**Thank you to my beautiful and wonderful Egyptian roommate, Noha, for being such a great sport about this post. 

Learning from Language

By Katie Perkowski

A couple days ago when I went to pay to enter the AUB beach, the man working at the entrance saw me hand him a 20,000 bill (it cost 3,000 LBP for a day) and started asking me something in Arabic. I’ve only learned a handful of basic words, greetings and phrases since being here the last few weeks, and of course, none of the things he was saying to me sounded familiar. I figured he was asking me if I had any smaller bills, but I didn’t know for sure, so I just stood there looking helpless and stupid because I didn’t know what to say to figure out how to solve the problem. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man who I hoped could help me.

After looking from me to the employee and back again, he realized we could not communicate with each other, and then translated the Arabic to English for me. Then I told him I didn’t have any change and to ask if I could get the change later. The unknown translator said something to the employee, handed him 3,000 LBP, and walked in the beach as the employee waved me in too. I still don’t really know if the translator paid for me or if the man let me in for free, because the translator walked in so fast that I couldn’t thank him or ask him what he said.

Either way, this experience taught me how important it is to learn different languages.

In high school, for some idiotic reason I took three years of Latin. If you asked me to say anything in Latin, the only thing I could say is “semper fi,” and I could maybe translate a sentence or two from a first-year book. So as you can see, it did a world of good for me. When I came to college, I signed up for Spanish 101 but quickly became overwhelmed because we had translating assignments in the first couple days and I didn’t even know basic vocabulary words. I quickly opted out and took two semesters of linguistics (which proved to be very interesting and enlightening) instead.

This summer I have done study abroad trips to India and Lebanon, and have been to stops in between on layovers, and I must say that I have often times felt very little and stupid because I only know one language. I have heard people speak three different languages within a span of five minutes. When I ask them why they know so many languages, they always say it is abnormal to not speak at least two. Now I know in the states it is different because we are not surrounded by a bunch of different countries and different languages, but I think to gain a better international education and understanding, and to also better-equip students for future business endeavors, a stronger emphasis needs to be placed on foreign language — earlier and longer in America’s school systems.

Of Surface and Substance

By Ralph Schoellhammer

One of the most striking first impressions of the city of Beirut is its modern, almost Western appearance. Sure, traffic is chaotic and traffic signs are not more than friendly suggestions, but that is just about the same in every Italian city south of Rome. If we see Americanization as the strongest form of Westernization, Beirut is even further ahead than some European cities. Try to find a Dr. Pepper, a KFC or even a single doughnut in Vienna and you will realize that it is a futile endeavor. Not so in Beirut, where they sell them at every corner and you literally cannot walk for more than two minutes before finding yourself in front of some US fast food-franchise. Some people like the New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman see this development as the emergence of a global society that on the long run will usher into a new peaceful world order. Warming up to his theory, Friedman created the “Golden Arches Theory”, stating that no two countries which have McDonald’s franchises have ever gone to war with each other. But even before the ink was dry, the Kosovo crisis lead to a NATO air-campaign against Serbia, rendering the “Golden Arches Theory” meaningless.

The existence of a McDonald`s in Belgrade did not make the country more Western, just as the existence of Dunkin Doughnuts in Tel Aviv and Beirut did not prevent the war of 2006. The idea that equal consumption behavior will lead to equal political behavior is as tempting as it is flawed. It is a superficial deception that seems to absolve many contemporary observers and columnists to look deeper into the issues at stake.

If you fly from New York to London and then continue to Berlin you will again have the Beirut experience: The same pop music, the same jeans, the same Cheeseburgers. And yet Europe might be only second to the Arab World when it comes to anti-Americanism. The American model of “Imperialism” (for the lack of a better word) was deliberately based on this superficial deception. It is quite peculiar that the United States never saw a problem in its attempt to change the dinning culture of entire nations, but backed off almost every time when it comes to deeper things like the form of governance or questions of liberty.

The United States became an empire by accident, unwilling to fully take up the responsibility that comes with being the world’s strongest state. The British Historian Niall Ferguson remarked that the US is “an empire that lacks the drive to export its capital, its people and its culture to those backward regions which need them most urgently and which, if they are neglected, will breed the greatest threats to its security. It is an Empire, in short, that dare not speak its name. It is an empire in denial.” It only exported the easy, superficial parts of its culture: Food, music, movies. But those things are the result of American culture, not its precondition. And indeed, this neglect, as Ferguson describes it, has “breed the greatest threats to security”: On 9/11, 15 out of the 19 hijackers were from Saudi Arabia, a country that had a friendly relationship with the United States since the 1930s and, in fact, owns its independence to the patronage of the US. In 1946 Colonel William Eddy was the first United States minister to Saudi Arabia. In his first meeting with Ibn Saud, the country’s founder, he was told: “We will use your iron, but you will leave our faith alone.” Compare this to the story of British India: In the early days of British rule there was the widespread tradition of “suttee”, the burning of widows together with their dead husbands. The British general Charles Napier was observing this tradition and decided not to leave their faith alone: “You say it is your custom to burn widows. Very well. We also have a custom: when men burn a woman alive, we tie a rope around their necks and we hang them. Build your funeral pyre; beside it, my carpenters will build a gallows. You may follow your custom. And then we will follow ours.”

It was an obvious feature of British Imperialism to export its vision of justice and government, and there can be no doubt that modern India is better off without suttee. The political correct mind would probably argue that this is an imperialistic view, but at its time it was called “cultural confidence.”

When the United States, on the other hand, came to Saudi Arabia, they decided to provide 20^th century technology to an 8^th century ideology. And, contrary to the American model, the Saudis do use their oil money to spread their ideology or show “cultural confidence”. Look at the numbers: In 1974 Saudi Arabia’s exports were to 91% oil-related. In 2004, it was still 91%. So what did they do with all the oil revenue? They train and finance Imams, build mosques spreading the Wahhabi version of Islam, fund the OIC and its attempts to make a public discourse of Islam impossible.

Even those institutions that were built by Americans to teach and educate moved into the backwater of Anti-Americanism. Don’t believe it? Well, in 2004 Professor Galal Amin, a professor at the American University of Cairo, wrote in Egypt's Al-Ahram Weekly, that "there is still doubt that the September [11] attacks were the outcome of Arab and Islamic terror.... Many writers...suspect that the attacks were carried out by Americans." This seeming to be an important observation at AUC, Prof. Amin was seconded by his colleague Abdallah al-Ashal, professor of international law and political science who said during an interview in 2008: “I claim that since the events of 9/11, which were created by Sharon and Bush - the two of them shared a secret.” The idea, of course, that the mere existence of schools and better education will eliminate radicalism, terrorism and political violence is regularly contested by reality. The Wall Street Journalist Daniel Pearl was beheaded by a graduate of the London School of Economics, the London subway bombers were university students and fully integrated into the British society – fans of Fish’n Chips, Cricket and soccer. You can loathe Western society and still enjoy the seductions it has to offer – from pornography (the main preoccupation of Mohammed Atta besides plotting the 9/11 attacks) to Pepsi and Rod Stewart (the passion of Mullah Omar). But while it is understandable that the more radical Islamists denounce the West and try to spew their propaganda, it is surprising that the West itself does not seem to realize the problem at all. It is nice when the US-Ambassador in Beirut proudly announces that the US is the largest donor to UNRWA and builds schools throughout the Near- and Middle East, but, unfortunately, has no influence on the curriculum of these schools. Sure, I forgot: Lebanon and all these countries are sovereign nations and they do not want foreigners to interfere in what they teach at school. Fair enough, so the United States is not a sovereign nation? Ever heard of the Islamic Saudi Academy in Virginia? Or its most well known graduate, Ahmed Omar Abu Ali who tried to assassinate the US-President in 2005? Probably not, because all major news outlets from the AP to the New York Times declined to mention some background details on the school that turned Mr. Abu Ali into a radical. Described as a mere “high school” by the New York Times, a closer look might have revealed additional information. For example that the school describes itself as “subject to the government of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia” or that its classes are based on “the curriculum, syllabus, and materials established by the Saudi Ministry of Education.” Luckily for the school’s pupils, the Saudi Ministry of Education offers a straight forward curriculum concentrating on Wahhabi history and “Islamic values and the Arabic language and culture” and, of course, “the superiority of Jihad.” Part of this educational experience is that in 11^th grade students are taught that on the final day of judgment Muslims will kill every Jew on the planet, and one can only guess how beneficial the view of the “Saudi Ministry of Education” is on Christianity and the West, given that even the possession of a Bible constitutes a crime in Saudi Arabia. In other words: While America finances schools in the Arab world that teach the loathing of the West, Saudi Arabia finances Schools in North America that teach the loathing of the West. To a certain degree, one is reminded of the old cold war joke where the American tells his Soviet friend: “This is a free country; everybody is allowed to criticize our president.” His friend answers: “Same here, in the Soviet Union everybody is allowed to criticize your president.” In a certain way, radical Islam has been a more successful export product than McDonalds: Pakistan adopted Islamic Law in 1977, Iran in 1979, Sudan in 1984. In 1960, Nigeria had English Common Law, now half of the country is under Sharia law, fighting a bloody war with the half that is not. Even in NATO-occupied Afghanistan a person trying to convert to Christianity has to face death threats. It is not the caves Tora-Bora that threaten the success in Afghanistan; it is in the classrooms of Kabul where the outcome of this conflict is decided. The Duke of Ellington famously said that “the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton,” if so, the battle against radical Islam might as well be lost in the backyards of the madrassas. If the West is not willing to present and defend an alternative ideology, more and more people will start looking for one elsewhere.

The Soviet Union failed in the end because the majority of Eastern Europeans wanted to live like their Western brothers and sisters. In the view of Poles, Czechs, Bulgarians and all the other formerly Communist nations, Western Democracy was the future, not Soviet Communism. In other words, it was the battlefield of ideas that in the end brought down the Soviet system. The question now is, how are we doing on this battlefield in the Muslim World? Not so well, I would guess: If we look at current trends, a large number of people between Morocco and Indonesia see their future in an Islamic society under Sharia law. A view that is, by the way, shared by an increasing number of Muslims living in the West. The difference is that in the 80s there actually were several institutions from the Catholic Church to NGOs like Helsinki Watch (now known as human rights watch) who actively promoted Western values. Nowadays, however, every attempt to do the same in the Muslim World is denounced as Imperialism, Colonialism or even Racism.

According to the UN’s demographic division in 1974 the Muslim World represented about 15% of the global population and the Western World accounted for approximately 30%. In 2004, both are at an almost equal 20%, with the latter in population decline while the former shows strong population growth. So I would suggest that the political views and philosophical principles the strongest growing demographic group on the planet ascribes to might have some impact on what the world looks like a few generations down the road. History is usually made by the most determined, and not the so-called silent minority. Neither the Nazis in Germany, nor the Bolsheviks in Russia ever won a majority in an election. Their determination, however, brought them to power anyway.

To leave the field to the radicals in the Muslim World, no matter under which name they appear, would mean to abandon all those millions of believers who just want to go on with their daily lives, raise their children and have a sense of security. In light of the most recent decision by Western governments to abandon Afghanistan in 2014, we might want to rethink the signals we are sending to the world. If we are not willing to defend our values and beliefs, why should they.

Back Into Purgatory, Part 3

By Christopher Robbins

Muhammed abu Sayd lights a cigarette and takes a long drag off of it. His lightly wrinkled face and bald head give testament to long years lived – he came to Lebanon from Palestine at the  age of 4 months, but still his heart yearns to return. Everyone I meet in Bourj al-Barajneh shares this wish.

We sit in the courtyard/dining room/living room of his home on plastic patio chairs around a plastic patio table. We are served strong Arabic coffee and breakfast and have a polite political conversation, asking questions about Palestinian civil rights and the infrastructure conditions at the camp.

After an hour abu Sayd lowers his voice and asks us what we think. My co-explorer, Noha, is speechless so I make an attempt to fill the void.

“I think I am ignorant – I have heard a lot, I have been taught a lot, but seeing these conditions with my own eyes has changed my perspective,” I say.

“In America, on Fox News and CNN they think the land is not ours and that we are all terrorists,” saays abu Sayd.

“Not everyone believes what they’re told,” I say.

Abu Sayd puts out his cigarette and looks at me with a smile, eyes narrowing. The heat of the day is descending upon us like a wet blanket – I see beads of sweat collecting in the wrinkles of his face.

“In 1982, when the Israelis came, I fought them,” says abu Sayd.

He then lays  a whole story of horror out on the table before us, a banquet of the ugly truth right where we had just shared breakfast and coffee. He took up arms to resist the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, a campaign that was largely directed at Palestinian militants and civilians living in the camps in Lebanon.

Abu Sayd was wounded in action and taken prisoner by the Israelis. He was taken to a hospital for treatment but his wounds were not closed. He points to scars on his arm, on his face, and a dent in his balding head.

“Here is where they shot me,” says Abu Sayd.

As a wounded prisoner, before being taken to the hospital, he was kicked and beaten by the soldiers. He describes arguments between the soldiers, debating whether they were doing the right thing. One of the soldiers trying to defend him from the savagery gave him a cigarette after his beatings.

In the hospital bed he was drugged and questioned repeatedly about militant activity in Lebanon and the Palestinian resistance against Israell. His wounds were left open and Israel intelligence men prodded them, twisting muscle and sinew with scissors and other instruments in an attempt to produce the right amount of pain to make him talk. He points again to the large scar running up around his bicep into his arm pit. They tried psychological measures, too, threatening to abduct his wife, his sister and his children and rape them in front of him.

After three days of interrogation, the Israelis took all of his statements and destroyed them, accusing him of lying. Blind in one eye, writing in pain, he said he would tell the Israelis anything they want.

Abu Sayd had no information to give the Israelis.

They then gave him an injection, meant to be lethal, and threw him outside to the dogs.

“I got lucky,” says abu Sayd. “They traded me for dead bodies, it was arranged by the Red Cross.”

I ask him if he hates Israel, if he hates Jews.

“I don’t hate Jews, I hate the Israelis,” says abu Sayd. “We lived in harmony and peace with Arab Jews for many years. They were our friends and our neighbors, but these Europeans and Russians came and stole our land from us and killed our people. With Jewish Palestinians, we are like cousins.”

“Anyone is obliged to carry a rifle and go get his land back. No matter what age.”

That seems to be the prevailing opinion among the residents of the camp. It is a kind of purgatory where these people wait amidst their suffering, frozen in time for 62 years pining for their land and their rights to be restored, enduring tragedy after tragedy.

Deeper into the camps, we meet Amina Hassan Banat, a careworn woman in a small but beautiful home. She has a heart condition so we do not stay long, she shows us her medications, Plavix, Lopressor – costing her over $100 a month after assistance. She receives some assistance from the Martyrs Association and other Palestinian organizations.

After prayer she invites us in to sit on comfortable couches. In her hands is a picture of 4 young men, her sons. Her living room is covered with pictures of her sons.

One morning in 1982 her family finished eating breakfast when there was a knock on the door. After being forced to leave Palestine they settled in the Sabra and Chatila refugee camp in Beirut, Lebanon. It is there, on the morning of Sept. 17, that the soldiers came for them.

Mrs. Banat tells her story through a torrent of tears and sobs. The soldiers, who spoke Arabic with a Lebanese accent, entered the house and asked what their nationality and religion were. Upon being told they were Palestinian Muslims, the soldiers collected the 4 boys and their father outside onto a truck. It was the last time Mrs. Banat saw her children.

Over the years stories came from freed prisoners about her children, but none confirmed their survival. She still lives in hope that they are alive somewhere. Mrs. Banat keeps a picture of them in every room in her house, so she is always by their side.

Noha and I try to ask her about electricity, about Palestinian rights.

“My mind is not with politics at all – it is with my chidren!” exclaims Mrs. Banat.

It has been 28 years since she has seen her children.

The eldest one, Aziz bin Faisal Dirawi was 31 years old

Ibrahim bin Faisal Dirawi was 25.

Mansour bin Faisal Dirawi was 22.

Ahmed bin Faisal Dirawi was 13 when he disappeared.

They shot her husband in the head.

We leave Mrs. Banat to her tears, and her pictures on every wall of every room of her house. We walk out past murals of al-Awqsa mosque and anti-Israeli graffiti. Faded pictures of Former PLO Chairman Arafat smile at us from almost every building. Here in Bourj al Barajneh, the smiles are fading…

…and after 62 years, time is running out for those who remember when there actually was a Palestine.

OHHHHH...C-A-T-S! CATS! CATS! CATS!

By Ashley Westerman

The ladies add a little Wildcat flavor to Byblos.

A Long Way to Go

By Kelsey Thomas

We have done so much on our trip thus far. When I think back about what we have managed to squeeze in over a few short weeks I'm impressed. Now the time has come to focus more on our projects. Mine has been an interesting journey. 

I actually got motivated to write today because of a movie. As I sat watching “Rent” I began to think long and hard about my story. About the individuals affected. 

I am working on understanding the acceptance (or non-acceptance perhaps) of homosexuality in Beirut. It many ways it reminds me of home. The men I have talked to are nervous. They wish to remain anonymous, which I understand completely. They are struggling from the same things people in the gay community at home are. They fear acceptance from their families and the communities. They fear for job security. They fear they will not find love. But, in Lebanon, some things are very different.

There is still a law intact that outlaws homosexuality. Actually, Article 534 outlaws any sexual act that is “unnatural”. I'll let you draw your own conclusions...

I think it is absurd there is so much noise over gay civil marriage in the U.S. Who would have thought in 2010 it can still be illegal? The law may not so much be enforced today, but it is still present. In fact there is speculation that just recently a producer was killed for being gay. 

This does not mean that progress has not been made. There is a gay nightclub, and some other gay locales that people can feel comfortable. However, the fear is omnipresent. On October 15-18th this year the IGTLA will be bringing a group to Beirut. 

For me all of these facts and figures fall to the wayside. It is the individual person that has to deal everyday. It is the young man from a conservative religious family that fears for his acceptance. It is the young man who just came out that feels like he is in limbo. That when he starts to feel comfortable with himself he is shot back into reality. The reality that the freedom to be open and honest may never come. His fear that if he goes into a certain neighborhood he may be arrested, beaten, or killed. 

I admire the great courage of the people that have talked with me. I cannot imagine being outlawed. A huge part of who I am being illegal. I cannot imagine having to walk in the shoes of someone who feels like they are never walking in their own. Someone who feels like they are constantly acting. I also admire those men and women that have come out and are proud. There has been gay pride parades. I admire the club and restaurant owners who allow people to express themselves freely. 

I have hope that Beirut can be a wheel to help put in to motion the rest of the Arab world. What I did not understand before I came here is the way this part of the world functions. People here are just practicing their religion, and sometimes the way they interpret their religion prevents forward movement. Sometimes religion is used as a guise over personal beliefs or gains. The religious parties here are conservative in many ways, but change is not impossible. 

Everyday I am meeting new people and learning more about the gay community. It may be 50 years before two men can walk down the street together as a couple. Maybe longer. But when they can I hope I get to come back and see the people I have interviewed hand-in-hand.

We came here to learn about the people. To see the good, the bad, and the ugly. (I know cliché) And we have. I think the good has outweighed the bad, and the people of Lebanon have good hearts. Anywhere on earth people are still just people, and eventually we will have to learn to accept all people.

Beirut Through the Haze

By Katie Perkowski

My time in Beirut makes me very thankful for the fact that in restaurants and facilities in the U.S., it is illegal to smoke inside. I’ve never been a smoker, and the last time I remember it being legal to smoke inside a restaurant, I was in early grade school. Everywhere we go, I’d say at least five people are smoking inside the establishment, and it’s starting to get obnoxious because I’m noticing it so much.

I can’t even imagine being a pregnant woman in Beirut or someone with asthma having to deal with secondhand smoke everywhere I went. It is impossible to go a day here without inhaling some type of secondhand smoke — whether it is from Hookah (called Sheesha here) or just ordinary cigarettes.

A smoking ban inside public places is supposed to take effect within a year, according to local media outlets’ reports, and the American University of Beirut is a smoke-free campus (even though I’ve seen people disobey it openly like at UK). When the smoking ban takes place, it will be interesting to see how it pans out and how long it takes people to follow it. In any case, I will be thankful to return to smoke-free restaurants and bars at home.

Back Into Purgatory, Part 2

By Christopher Robbins

I continue to ask about Palestinian right-to-work. Mr. Ahmed Mustafa, of the DFLP-PLO holds Walid Jumblatt, the leader of the Druze sect and the Progressive Socialist Party, in high regard for recently proposing legislation to give Palestinians the right to work. He does not hold out any hope for such a measure to pass because it might disturb the delicate sectarian balance that Lebanese Christians especially try to maintain.

The rights of foreign workers in Lebanon mirror the rights of Lebanese workers in foreign countries – as an American I would be extended the same rights here that a Lebanese person seeking employment in the USA would. For the Palestinians this is a serious problem – having no state, they have no rights. No rights to employment. No rights to social security. No rights to own or rent property.

When Mr. Mustafa and others went to the Labor Minister, a Mr. Boutros Harb, they were told that the Lebanese economy could accommodate a small number of engineers, doctors and other professionals, but that in the future the Palestinians would steer all their children into those lines of work and take Lebanese jobs away. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Still some find work in the Lebanese market under the table as day laborers in construction and farm labor. Local social parties within the camps employ Palestinians in developing and opening projects within the camps – schools, sewers, new infrastructure. Palestinians have also taken their fortunes into their own hands by opening iron and aluminum shops, electronics stores, groceries and bakeries. There is still room to grow, the services offered within the camp are not enough for its 22,000 residents.

In other Arab countries like Syria and Jordan, Palestinians have full rights as citizens. In Lebanon they have no rights at all.

Mr. Mustafa believes that eventually the Lebanese parliament will provide some reparations and limited rights to the Palestinians living within their borders, if only to say that they did something to address the problem. However, he does not think it will happen.

“Until we have the right to go back, we need conditions to improve on the ground so we can live like human beings,” said Mr. Mustafa.

“We want to live in dignity.”

Muhammad abu Sayn is our guide Adel’s cousin living near a back gate of Bourj al-Barajneh. He has spent all but 4 months of his 62 years living in Lebanon, but not always in the camps. Since he came to the country in 1948 special exception was made for him to rent property, however he still did not have the right to work and was unable to pay the high rent for his family to live in a 1 bedroom apartment, so he moved into the camp.

If Mr. abu Sayd wanted to buy property now, he would be doing so illegally. If he wished to work outside the camp, he would not be allowed to work as a licensed professional by Lebanese law.

After some parliamentary maneuvering and a united opposition from the right-wing Christian parties in the Lebanese parliament, Mr. Jumblatt was forced to withdraw his proposal from consideration and the matter was referred to a committee. Neither Jumblatt nor any Palestinian I have spoken with believes that reform will come this summer.

“I put forth the measure because there had been serious talk about it,” said Mr. Jumblatt. “But when it came up for debate all the old devils came out.”

Despite his frustration, Mr. Jumblatt believes that something must be done to extend more rights to Palestinians living in Lebanon.

“They’ve been here 63 years and unless there is a Palestinian state they will continue to be here,” said Mr. Jumblatt. He added that he does not believe that there will be a Palestinian state in the coming years.

Badoor Muhammad Habit is a 70-year old woman in a simple white hijab living near the center of the Bourj al-Barajneh camp. Her husband operates a small market here, she offers me water and bread as I sit on a comfortable couch in their home.

“Our situation is very bad,” says Mrs. Habit. “We have no civil rights here. Our children are not allowed to work with Palestinian IDs, and we have no hope for reform because Christians are rejecting this case.”

“We are dying slowly.”

9 Days to Go: Running out of time and Conditioner

By Ashley S. Westerman

Cross-posted from http://ashleysu.wordpress.com/2010/07/27/9-days-to-go/

I can’t believe that we only have 9 days until we leave Beirut and return home to the United States. It seems like just yesterday, I was eating my last “American meal” at Steak and Shake – fries, burger, banana/chocolate milkshake, yummy! – before boarding a plane bound for Istanbul. As mentioned in previous posts, around about the 1-month mark (July 17th for me since I came over about 2 and a half weeks earlier than the rest of my group), I was beginning to feel a little homesick. But now it seems as though the tides have turned and I am suddenly craving more days here in order to finish my Journalism project.

I would like to think that the reason I am playing some major catch-up on my project is because my original topic fell completely through due to lack of responses from potential interviewees and such. However, I do know that I could have done a little more to be more prepared for something like that to happen. Over the last week I have constructed a brand new project thanks to our lecture and visits to the Faculty of Agriculture and Food Sciences.

My new story will be about the proposed Tobacco Control legislation that several notable organizations and institutions – including AUB and Lebanon’s Ministry of Public Health – are advocating for. The current law in Lebanon is the following (from the Ministry of Public Health’s National Tobacco Control Program):

“Tobacco control in Lebanon is currently limited at both policy and implementation levels.

Ministerial decision number 1/213 issued on 2/3/93 and law number 394/95 issued on 12/1/1995 relate to second-hand smoke, prohibiting smoking in hospitals, infirmaries, pharmacies, theaters, public transport services, health clubs, and all schools, universities and in the elevators.  However being ministerial decrees and not state legislation, there is no implementation mechanism for these decrees, therefore most infringements go unchecked by authorities.

Law number 394/95, which is an amendment of the decree number 101/83 issued on 16/9/1983, also stipulates the need for a label warning on all smoking packages including cigarettes and cigars, as well as warnings on smoking advertisement through the media. The warning should read as” The ministry of health warns you that tobacco use leads to dangerous and deadly diseases.” The law also requires that, in regards to televised advertisement, such a warning be present at all times during the advertisement time. Label area has to cover 15% of the main display area of a cigarette pack or advertisement, and writing should be in clear font, readable by the naked eye. Law number 394/95 also bans the distribution of free cigarettes or promotional material to all persons under the age of 18 years, whether at concerts, festivals or social gatherings, sports events, educational events or any other. However, as can be often witnessed, this aspect of the law is often broken by tobacco industry, without any consequence. Misleading terms such as “light”, “ultra-light” and “mild” are still being used with no legal deterrent. There are no legal requirements for the testing of tobacco products by health officials, nor on reporting of cigarette constituents by tobacco manufacturers, as well as no specified limits for nicotine or tar content.”

The new law has 3 major facets: The first being the banning of all tobacco advertisements (the US did this back in 1970 with the Public Health Cigarette Smoking Act); the second promotion and sponsorship of pictoral warnings on tobacco packages; and the last is the banning of smoking in public places.

The last topic is the one I am most interested in and definitely the most striking difference. Especially having spent the last 4 years in Lexington where all in-door smoking is banned, coming into a place where smoking is allowed inside was a bit difficult. Not a regular smoker myself nor someone that regularly hangs out with a lot of smokers, I sometimes even forget people smoke at all because those who do must step outside to do it. I had some co-workers at Parks and Recreation that smoked but yet again, I rarely realized it because they were required to step outside to do it.

Another thing that I find interesting about this legislation is that it attacks the use of the nargileh or hookah/water pipe as well. Now, I don’t want to reveal all the goods parts of my story or anything but I have some across some information that proves that nargileh smoking is just as bad, if not worse, for a person to smoke than regular cigarettes. I am very interested to conduct these interviews I have set up for the coming week about this because I actually do enjoy smoking hookah every so often.

Yet again, as per usual, I think I have way to many sources but I think that too many is just enough. I simply CANNOT leave Beirut without securing all the information necessary to write the story because once I leave here…I’m out of luck.

In the following week I have an interviews set up with Dr. Rima Nakkash, AUB professor in the Faculty of Public Health and head of the Tobacco Control Research Group; Dr. Georges Saade, Tobacco Control Project Coordinator at the Lebanese Ministry of Public Health; and Dr. Jad Chaaban, professor and head of Tobacco Research at AUB’s Faculty of Agriculture and Food Sciences. I will also conduct some interviews with business owners whose businesses may (or may not) be effected if the legislation passes. I am very excited to talk to these people on this issue, even as a non-smoker. I think it will be very interesting to see how the world’s largest consumer of tobacco products per capita will deal with such legislation.

Lastly, project aside, I am officially running out of conditioner. This is a sad state of affairs for me considering I packed 8 bottles of my must-have Aussie conditioner and I am coming up on my very last bottle. They don’t sell Aussie here in Lebanon and they didn’t sell it in Turkey either. I sure hope it can last me until next Thursday. Perhaps I will shower less? LOL.

I’ll definitely miss the food and the city…but I’m ready to be home.

Changing Perspectives

By Katie Perkowski

 

            A couple days ago we visited and took a tour of the AUB farm. I’ve decided to do my project on agriculture and how interest in becoming a farmer is declining in Lebanon. The manager of the farm, Nicolas, talked to us about farming and then gave us the tour. No more than 40 students live there at a time, and they spend up to two semesters there studying, depending on what major in the agriculture department they are.

            The farm was peaceful and beautiful mountains surrounded it. Compared to the humid, thick atmosphere in the busy city of Beirut, the air around us was breezy and relieving. We visited cows, goats and sheep, and even got to hold a baby sheep and baby goat. We walked through the creamery where employees and students work to make milk, cheese and yogurt. After the tour we got to eat lunch in the cafeteria and ate some of the freshest and juiciest fruits (I think they may have been plums, but I’m not entirely sure) I’ve ever sunk my teeth into. But the one thing that stood out to me the most about our visit to the farm was my interview with an agriculture student.

            I talked to a girl about the same age as me, and I asked her a few introductory questions. Then I asked if she would stay in Lebanon to work after graduation or find a job abroad. “Of course I’ll stay in Lebanon, it is my country,” she said. The whole time we’ve been here, we’ve noticed how divided the country is and how there is a lacking sense of nationalism. A lot of the time, people find identities in their social or religious group. But here I was talking to a girl who it seemed considered working outside of Lebanon abandoning her country. 

            When she asked what I thought of Lebanon, I told her I have enjoyed my time here very much and that it is a beautiful place and I wished I could spend more time in it. She cocked her head to the side, looking so surprised and so pleased with my answer, especially since she knew where I am from. While it made my happy that I could show her how much I’ve enjoyed her country, it made me sad that she was so surprised someone from the U.S. would say that. I hope to help get rid of some of the negative stigmas against areas of the Middle East when I get home. 

Back Into Purgatory, Part 1

By Christopher Robbins

I took another trip into the camp of Bourj al-Barajneh this morning with our guide and guru Adel Nayfeh, whose cousins live there among the tenements and squalor. Joining me was Noha El Maraghi, a fellow journalism student who wanted to ask about electricity and services to the camps. I was there to ask about Palestinian workers’ rights.

Adel’s cousins invited us into their home and served us Arabic coffee and breakfast called mantoushe, Lebanese flatbread covered with cheese or thyme. Their hospitality amid the tough conditions of the camp was more than friendly and helpful, it was incredibly kind – I had not eaten breakfast yet or had any coffee so I gratefully obliged myself to their offerings.

While there we met Ahmed Mustafa, a member of the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine responsible for assisting in the management of the camps. Mustafa acts as a go-to guy, when services in the camp are lacking or residents have a grievance he is someone who they go to.

The essential problem with the camp, said Mr. Mustafa, is that it was built to hold 400 to 500 people, but an estimated 22,000 currently live within its walls.

The Palestinains have no right to own propey and are limited to the kind of work they can get outside the camp. Some jobs are available to Palestinians – farm labor and construction were given as examples – but these were hard jobs that break men educated to be lawyers, doctors and professors. Within the camp there are opportunities for work, but educated professionals often settled for jobs as grocers or shopkeeps.

The electricity problem within the camps are tied to it’s overcrowding. Currently Bourj al-Barajneh depends on 4 power stations for its electricity, but it needs at least 7 to make do. As a result power outages are constant throughout the day. One resident told us that they could not keep perishable food on a day-to-day basis, whatever they ate had to be bought close to meal times to make sure it did not spoil.

In the summer it is more difficult as residents need more electricity to try to cool their homes and keep their food. Often one of the power stations is damaged by overuse and the suffering of the camp’s residents is exacerbated.

The infrastructure within the camp is built in a haphazard and dangerous manner. Water lines run next to electrical lines just barely overhead. An exposed wire could mean death for passersby. Our guide showed us a poster of a Palestinian child killed by such a short, electrocuted in his early teens by a simple lack of planning and resources.

Until two decades ago the sewers in the camp ran in trenches along narrow alleyways sometimes no more than 1 meter wide. Though UN aid helped to bury the sewers, they run very close to the surface and in some places flood the walkways when it rains. Even during the dry season they are close enough to smell.

Currently, planning is going on to improve the infrastructure within the camps. I ask what was the impact of US aid to UNRWA, the United Nations agency in charge of overseeing assistance to the camps. Mr. Mustafa says that US aid totals only $4 million – and there are 400,000 Palestinians living in Lebanon. That comes out to $10 per person, hardly enough to undertake the massive infrastructure project needed to make their homes safe and livable. Nevertheless, Mr. Mustafa says he hopes such projects are completed or under way in 18 months.

At midday trash piles up outside of the houses, where a UNRWA employee is supposed to come by and collect it. It has sat there all morning waiting for collection, and the residents shrug when asked whether they expect collection to come.

Hope hangs by a thread here, even in the most menial of issues.

Tap Dancing on the Third Rail

By Christopher Robbins

 

I fear for the future of my journalism career. Even now I feel the duct-tape of political correctness and editorial bias hampering my ability to tell the truth about what I see.

It is often said that social security is the third rail of American politics, by the same token Israel is the third rail of American journalism. Most Americans clearly see the need for social security reform but no politician would touch it – old, active voters depend on their monthly assistance, and middle-aged voters do not want to see the system they have paid into for most of their lives dismantled. Journalists, on the other hand, can’t write about the Israel-Palestinian issue in a clear and honest way because they are limited by a divided and hostile population.

A traditional pro-Israeli media elite has the power to hire and fire journalists based on the perceived slant of the stories written on the issue.  The majority Christian religious establishment in the US is also oriented toward Israel to protect the Judeo-Christian tradition.

Much of the younger generation has sympathy with the Palestinian cause. In the coming years the international news copy that my audiences will want will speak clearly on what has happened in the Palestinian territories and cannot be obfuscated by pro-Israeli rhetoric. As the Muslim world becomes more important to the future of our planet, young Americans will also need professional journalists to speak honestly and authoritatively about Islam, its sects and its politicization over the years.

Unfortunately it has progressed to the point where journalists can no longer say certain things about the Israel-Palestine tragedy. This means that the American electorate can not be accurately informed and cannot choose good senators and presidents for lack of information on foreign policy. We are shooting our democracy in the foot.

Just this month Octavia Nasser, a Lebanese-American foreign correspondent for CNN was fired from her job not for speaking bad of Israel but for speaking well of the late Ayatollah Syed Hussein Fadlallah in a comment on a blog. None of what she said strayed too far from the truth. She was fired for CNN for her comment.

Helen Thomas, the stalwart New York Times op-ed columnist who had become a fixture in the White House press corps was dismissed and forced into retirement after a 50-year career because of an off-the-cuff remark that strongly criticized Israel.

I am not writing to criticize Israel, though I understand there are plenty of valid criticisms I could come up with. I am writing to criticize the lack of open debate we can have about the state.

As a journalist I could easily be critical of Egypt’s wall keeping supplies out of the Gaza strip. I could write a story criticizing the conditions of the Palestinian refugees in Lebanon or criticizing the subtly racist policies of the Jordanian Hashemites or the Assads of Syria. In the United States these stories would be published with little debate.

But I could not be critical of Israel’s security barrier walling of the Palestinians into the West Bank, I could not point an accusing finger at the blockade and enforced misery of the Gaza strip and I could not call Israel’s ever expanding settlements on Palestinian territory into question without jeopardizing my career. I could even be branded an anti-semite when it is not even semitic or Jewish peoples that my stories would portray in a negative light but the behavior of a nation-state.

If journalists feel this much pressure from the pro-Israeli element in the United States, imagine what our politicians feel every day as they try to make the right foreign policy decisions for our future. How can men like George W. Bush and Barack Obama pretend to be capable as arbiters of Middle East peace when they can’t even guarantee that they are free from this influence? It is no wonder why the US have had trouble getting Arabs and Palestinians to the negotiating table, they have no reason at all to trust Americans.

I am about to sell myself into this hypocrisy – one in which I will undoubtedly have to speak with Arab leaders from as objective a position as plausible. My compromise with myself is that I will test this third rail whenever possible because my people deserve to know the truth about how their foreign aid dollars are spent. Perhaps someday the political climate will be one that an honest debate of the facts will be possible. Until then, American journalism is about as trustworthy as American politicians. Good night and good luck.

The Ag Issue: AUB Farm in the Bekaa Valley (w/ PICS!)

By Ashley S. Westerman

cross posted from http://ashleysu.wordpress.com/

Today we took a day trip to the American University Beirut farm- the Agriculture Research and Education Center - in the Bekaa Valley. The trip was sponsored by the AUB Dean of Agriculture, Dr. Nahla Hwalla, a good friend of my uncle that he helped me get into contact with. It took about an hour and a half to two hours to get there; we even passed Zehele – where we stayed in the 5-star hotel – on the way.

When we arrived to the 250-acre farm, we were greeted by the farm manager, Nicholas El Haddad. He showed us to his office where we were offered coffee and tea. As a group we talked with him in his office for about an hour about various Lebanese agriculture-related issues; unfortunately, Haddad painted us a rather grim picture of the sector’s current situation.

Apparently the Ag industry in the country has taken a recent dive, with little hope of real revival in the near future. Haddad spoke of the fertile farm land in the Bekaa Valley that is being sold to contractors for urban development rather than being used to grow much-needed crops for the people of the country. He said that Lebanon’s Ministry of Agriculture gives the farmers no subsidies and does not help them regulate their land, crops or use of chemicals. Haddad also told us that their student enrollment at the College of Agriculture at AUB has taken a hit in recent years and now they only have about 42 students a year that live, work and learn on the farm. In addition, Haddad explained to us that even though AUB has a leading agriculture educational facility in the country, they are still losing students to other school because of tuition increases. The farm is currently running on an annual budget of $1-million (USD) but next year, he must find a way to cut down the budget to about $800,000. He also said that the farm usually only gets a new piece of machinery every 5 years that is paid for out of an appreciation deduction that is automatically taken out of their budget before the fiscal year even begins. He mentioned that because the AUB farm was a non-profit organization, they couldn’t sell any of their products off the farm or off of AUB’s campus in Beirut where they apparently have a mini-grocery store located inside of the Agriculture Faculty building. Shaking his head, Haddad admitted that he knew that students were only coming to AUB for agriculture because they wanted to be able to land jobs outside of Lebanon. According to him, starting a career in Agriculture in Lebanon will only earn someone about $800 per month while starting a career somewhere else – such as in a Gulf Country – would pay someone about $8,000 a month. Haddad said that AUB only recently added the Agriculture Business and Veterinary Sciences majors to their school. He said he hoped that these new majors would help attract more students.

When asked why he himself went into Agriculture, Haddad said that he did it because he loved the work and that he came from a family of farmer’s right in the Bekaa Valley. He said that his home was actually not far from the AUB farm, where he now lives and works.

When the question of organic foods vs. non-organic foods came up, Haddad said that he personally didn’t think organic food was any healthier for the body. He did, however, say that pesticides needed to be controlled in Lebanon and that this was one of the only ways that the farmers were going to start producing quality crops again that the people were going to want to eat. He said that even though regulations have been set, they are rarely followed. I was quite surprised when he told us that most of Lebanon’s vegetables and fruits are actually imported from Syria, Jordan and Europe. I just wouldn’t have imagined considering that everything that I have eaten here seems so fresh.

After we wrapped up our conversation, he took us on a 45-minute tour of the facilities and grounds – see the PICTURES here. We saw many things and learned a lot of really interesting and new – at least for me – information. We got to see the student-run orchards, a plant nursery, classrooms and labs, the chicken slaughter house and the AUB seed bank (with giant deep-freeze storage units). Each plot of the farm is planted with something different (pure seed only, though), whether it be corn or another crop or even hay to feed the animals. In his office, Haddad said that they were currently experimenting with the sweet corn imported from the United States. My grandfather grows this corn in his garden and has for years, so I thought it was really neat that they were just now getting the deliciousness over to Lebanon. Haddad even offered to send us some in Beirut in the coming weeks which, of course, excited all of us.

We also got to go inside of their on-site hatchery to see the rows and rows of chickens laying eggs. Other livestock on the farm included dairy cows, sheep and goats. We got to see a baby calf only 4 hours old as well as a kid goat only a day old. We also got a tour of the farm milking parlor and creamery. In the creamery a man was making up a fresh batch of mozzarella cheese…yummy! I especially found it interesting that almost everything in the farm was automated. For example, each dairy cow has an electric transponder embedded into their ear tags that tell the computer now only what cow she is, but also all of her stats and conditions. Such as if the cow is sick, how much milk she has been producing, etc. etc. So if a cow that is on antibiotics goes into the milking parlor, the computer will read that she is on medicine and the machines will know automatically not to milk her – even as the other cows around her are being milked. 

As we wandered through the farm machinery on the way to the cafeteria, we got to see for ourselves the $150,000 combine that was mistakenly bought for the farm…

 Haddad said that it was just too big to harvest the small plots of fields on the farm but that he couldn’t seem to sell it anywhere else – not even to other farms in Lebanon or even contractors in Syria or Jordan. So basically they were stuck with it. However, when I laid eyes upon it, I almost had to laugh because in reality, the combine was actually quite small. Almost laughably small – I couldn’t believe that they didn’t have enough field space to use one of the smallest combines I have ever encountered in my life. This story brought into prospective to me just how small the farms in the Bekaa and throughout Lebanon where. Haddad said that unlike in the United States, the family-owned farms in Lebanon were very small, mostly because few families have the money to buy machinery and most of the farming is done by simple plow pulled by an animal such as a donkey or a horse.

Our lunch was absolutely delicious. I think the idea of knowing that everything I was eating was literally grown without a ten minute walking distance from the kitchen it was made in. Haddad ate with us and told us that no pesticides had been used on any of the ingredients as they were being grown. Lunch consisted of freshly whipped egg-plan with olive oil, keba, fresh juice, bread and the most scrumptious plums I’ve ever tasted. Needless to say, we were all quite full and sleepy when we reloaded the car and headed back to Beirut.

I found today really interesting and important because I think we needed to learn something else about Lebanon besides its tumultuous political issues. I think it is very important to know that the agriculture sector of this country is essentially going kaput because the politics are too focused on their sectarian divisions and the Palestinian/Israeli issue that they are pretty much ignoring a whole sector of the country’s economy. In addition, I think it’s really sad that the country would rather build on fertile ground than produce food for their people.

Perhaps I am deeply invested in this because I grew up on a farm and my family has always been heavily invested in agriculture, but regardless, I think the entire group learned a lot today. It also felt really good to get out of the busy city and into the country where the spaces are a little wider and life moves a little slower. I’m glad we went today because I came to this country with the goal of learning to appreciate as many aspects about it as I could and if the agriculture sector is in this much of a decline, I think it’s worth investigating why. I really couldn’t imagine a place anywhere in the world that doesn’t take pride in its own, homegrown products – but that does not seem to be at the forefront of minds here, no matter how hard people like Haddad fight. Unfortunately, with all the development going on in the country, it seems like a losing battle.

I’ve always had a deep appreciation for those who have learned to live off the land and those who have learned the ways of nature to such an extent that they can naturally obtain almost anything they want out of it for survival. But without a healthy agriculture sector, especially the support of farmers and domestically grown produce, I think any country or place is clearly losing sight of and love for the only thing that lasts: LAND.

“Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worth dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.” – Gerald O’Hara, Gone with the Wind

Finding Faith

By Katie Perkowski

            I have been a terrible blogger and have only written one post compared to the several that my classmates have posted. The past week or so has been indescribable, and I think I was (and still am) having trouble putting everything I’ve experienced into words.

            Within the past week we visited two Palestinian refugee camps in Beirut, we’ve taken a day trip to Damascus, Syria; we’ve visited the Roman ruins in Balbeek, and we’ve visited the cedar trees in the mountains surrounding the Bekáa Valley. Surprising to me, the one thing that stood out to me the most during all these experiences was the presence of God — or rather, a greater being. I think this is one of the reasons sitting down and writing out a post has been difficult for me.

            I went to Catholic school for 13 years, but throughout college I’ve been mostly uncertain about a lot of things I learned during that time. I have strayed from going to any type of church at all — except of course during the major holidays when I’m home and I go to make my mom happy. But when we visited the Sabra and Shatila Palestinian refugee camps where the 1982 massacre occurred and we stood in front of the memorial, I immediately started reciting the Hail Mary in my head over and over until we left. I don’t remember the last time I involuntarily went into prayer.

            When we visited the cedar trees near the Bekáa, as I looked around at all of the gigantic and aged trees, I began to have a childish moment of wonder and awe. “How insane is it that a tiny seed can produce this huge tree trunk and then all of those huge branches?” I asked among laughter from the rest of the group. As we walked off the trail of trees, I saw an archway ahead and wandered into it. I saw a beautiful and unique chapel and called the others in. Then all of us peacefully wandered to different pews and sat in silence. I felt the calmest I have in a long time, and it probably sounds hoaky, but I felt something bigger in the room than just the group of people I was sitting with.

            I’ve learned more on this trip so far than I have learned in any classroom. But in a country that is filled with so many different religions and threatened by violence, the most surprising thing I’ve discovered is a little bit of my faith. 

An Endangered Heritage

By Christopher Robbins

Today, on my second trip to the Bekaa, I saw yet another side of Lebanese culture. Though we were visiting an academic farm at the invitation of our hosts at American University of Beirut, it was interesting to view a little bit of the agriculture here.

The AUB farm – called the Agricultural Research and Education Center (AREC) is a teaching and experimental facility in the Bekaa valley, a sunny strip of fertile land nestled between the Lebanon and Antilebanon mountain ranges. Because it sits in the rain shadow of the towering Mount Lebanon, the area only gets around half a meter of rain a year. However, the farms that still exist there do well thanks to an aquifer sitting beneath the valley floor. Fed by melting snow from the mountains, it is this water that feeds the farms of Lebanon.

Olives, grapes, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber and okra all grow well in the Levantine climate. Orchards of fruit trees like apricots, peaches, plums, and apples are also common throughout the valley. AREC is working on new methods of irrigation and cultivation, for the aquifer that the Bekaa depends on becomes lower every year. As the climate warms more water is lost to evaporation and the snow-pack on Mount Lebanon becomes less and less.

Climate change is not the greatest risk to Lebanese agriculture, however. There is a very clear apathy on the part of many Lebanese youth and the government itself toward farmers’ issues. Though there is a Ministry of Agriculture in the Lebanese government there are no farm subsidies to speak of. Tending to crops and livestock is very labor intensive, not the kind of work the trend-setting younger generation envisions for itself. Finally, sprawling development encroaches on the fertile lands of the Bekaa from all directions. Land that could be prime farm land is becoming villas, shops, apartment complexes and industrial sites. As one generation ages into retirement there are few young people left with the interest or ability to work their family’s land – this land then becomes real estate to be developed.

All of these problems trouble Nicholas El Haddad, the farm and facilities manager at AREC. He does not know what the future holds for agriculture in Lebanon. While AUB’s facility is capable of training a new generation of agricultural engineers, most of the knowledge imparted there is taken overseas. He has to tread a fine line between providing up-to-date knowledge and equipment for his students and dealing with a steeply reduced budget.

There are deeper cultural implications for the decline of Lebanese agriculture – one thing my friends and I have noticed while enjoying the cuisine here is the freshness of the food – the tomatoes have that vine-ripened texture and the heirloom flavor. The cucumbers are too crisp to have been refrigerated for long periods of time. Cheeses and yogurts are perfect – never too sharp, never too mild. The olives are orgasmic.

Almost all of the classic dishes here are entirely dependent on fresh and raw ingredients. If there are fewer and fewer farms in Lebanon to provide fresh ingredients for the cuisine, then Lebanese cooking cannot go on as it has for centuries.

Our lunch was served cafeteria style, and I did not expect it to be very good until I began to sample the food. Among the items available to us were three fresh plums just plucked from the orchards of AREC. I was shocked at the sweet juices that poured forth from the fruit when I first bit into them, dripping over my chin and staining my shirt. I had never had a plum so perfect.

I think back to my readings of Wendell Berry, a man convinced that simple agriculture is the ultimate link between a people and a place. I think back to my basic sociology, where I learned that the source of all culture in the world was the development of agriculture and the surplus that allowed people to break free from the subsistence lifestyle and diversify their duties.

Remember that the Bekaa valley was once the breadbasket of the Roman Empire. Ruins like the towering Temple of Jupiter in Balbeck stand as witnesses testifying to its importance. The fruits of its harvest are the key to one of the greatest culinary traditions I have ever encountered. The Lebanese government – and the Lebanese people – should be doing more to ensure the continuation of their agricultural traditions. This is an endangered heritage that is worth protecting, just like the Cedars of God, just like the ruins at Balbeck.