Speaker's Corner and Newsweek Brilliance

Okay, it is now the next day, and I am sitting in the apartment of another friend of a friend (this time Heather's friend Abdul). Abdul is lovely and Kuwaiti and cooks delicious food. He has already forcefed me chicken and rice today that tasted a lot like Iraqi food (duh, again) and is planning to feed me meat later. He just started cooking it. Uh oh.

Last night Heather and I spent the night at Sandra's again, which meant more couch sleeping. I was on this thing until about 4:30 and then couldn't go to sleep until I noticed that the street light had just turned off because the sun was rising. That was about 6 am, so that's good. We wound up wasting pretty much the entire day again, but that's okay. Tomorrow we are leaving on our beautiful trip at 6:30 in the morning. Huzzah.

Yesterday was extremely exciting though, because we went to Speaker's Corner, which I don't think I mentioned in that first entry that I wrote last night. It was pretty much the coolest thing I've ever been to and makes me want to move to London so that I can go every Sunday. Basically it's this thing in Hyde Park all day every Sunday where people just get up on their soapboxes and talk about whatever they want and people can respond to them or call them shitheads or be constructive or whatever they want. So we heard one guy talking about how if everyone realized that Islam and Judaism are really similar religions everything would be okay, then we heard another guy talk about how if we all realized that nothing matters in the grand scheme then we would achieve inner peace, and we watched a huge argument in Iraqi Arabic that was difficult to understand because everyone was yelling at each other on top of each other and I already have to concentrate to understand that stuff, and even then I don't understand anywhere near all of it. And there was this little tiny English guy who was talking about how to pick up a girl with all these gigantic black guys and then they decided to use Heather as a guinea pig. Basically all they wound up demonstrating was how NOT to pick up a girl. We also learned that it's important to know how to touch and how to smell a woman.

The meat smells good. Damnit Abdul.

Actually the most interesting thing about Speaker's Corner was that even the people who were talking about nothing that had to do with Lebanon or the Middle East wound up mentioning the situation in Lebanon at some point during their talk. It's on everybody's mind, no matter what. It's very surreal that I was just in the middle of a situation that is at the top of everyone's mind and on the front page of every newspaper.

Today I bought Newsweek, which was probably one of the biggest mistakes that I've made in awhile. I've been generally avoiding American news sources and sticking to the BBC/not reading the news at all in hopes that it will all just go away (not the most productive way of going about things, I know). But Newsweek just looked so exciting so I picked it up. I've never seen such masters of spin. These people seriously know how to make words say what they want them to say. They have this graph of the death tolls of the conflict, and they clearly report that many many more Lebanese than Israelis have died. And the caption reads:

"Though the number of Lebanese deaths has been difficult to determine, the Israeli military estimates that some 200 Hizbullah fighters have been killed since the fighting began on July 12. Other sources place the figure around 35."

Genius. I mean, honestly, who are you going to believe, the Israeli military, which has a clear stake in demonstrating that the deaths have been mostly soldier-esque people, or every other source ever (including, though they don't mention it, the Lebanese government and the Lebanese Red Cross). In a word, oy.

Okay, must go clean the bathroom, but I promise I'll write a serious play-by-play of things that happened in Beirut when everything started when I'm through.

Read this if you'd like to cry

One of the last copy-pastes, I swear, at least for a little while. Just wanted to get all this out there. This article was emailed to me by my mother, who I think got it from our also Lebanese family friend. It is basically better than anything I could ever say (or that I would ever have any right to say, considering that I did leave). If you must read only one thing in this blog (which I would not blame you for...oy I tend to go on forever), read this.


Staying On
Why I'm not evacuating Beirut.By Faerlie WilsonUpdated Friday, July 21, 2006, at 2:36 PM ET
Evacuees arrive in CyprusBEIRUT, Lebanon—
From my balcony this afternoon, I watched as French, British, and American evacuees boarded chartered cruise ships in Beirut's port about a half-mile west of my apartment.
And over the last few days, while bombs and artillery pummeled the southern part of the city, I made the decision not to leave Lebanon. Explosions rock my building even as I write this, but I'm staying put.
I'm not crazy, and I harbor no death wish. This is simply the rational decision of someone who has built a life in Lebanon, who believes in this place and its ability to bounce back. I choose to bet on Beirut.

After five visits to Lebanon over as many years, I moved to Beirut from California this February. I'm a 24-year-old American with friends but no family here. But Lebanese hospitality makes it easy to feel at home; it's a warm society that exudes and embodies a sense of interpersonal responsibility. Live here for two weeks and then go out of town, and you'll get a dozen offers to pick you up at the airport upon your return.
So although I'm not Lebanese by blood, I have become Beiruti. There are plenty of us who fit that description, foreigners who fell in love with the place and its people. One friend, an American college student interning for the summer with a member of the Lebanese parliament, called in tears en route to the northern border to tell me her parents had forced her to leave.
"I'm going to stay in Syria as long as I can," she vowed. "In case things settle down and I can come back."
Until the war broke out last week, this was to be Lebanon's golden summer—last year's tourist season having been dampened by the brutal car bomb that killed former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in February 2005.
This summer started off strong, with concerts by major Western artists that allowed the Lebanese to hope their country was returning to the prewar days when everyone who was anyone—icons like Ella Fitzgerald, Marlon Brando, and Brigitte Bardot—made regular stops in the country. Ricky Martin and 50 Cent performed in May and June, respectively, Sean Paul was on deck for July, and negotiations were under way to bring Snoop Dogg later in the summer. But the most anticipated concert was set for late July: the three-night return of legendary Lebanese diva Fairouz to the Baalbeck festival, where she first earned her fame in the 1950s and '60s.
The after-party for 50 Cent was typical over-the-top Beiruti, held at city's most decadent nightclub, Crystal. Lamborghinis and Ferraris crowded the parking lot; plasticated Lebanese girls in short skirts and spike heels danced on tables as waiters navigated the dance floor balancing trays laden with sparklers and magnums of champagne for high-rolling Saudi tourists, while Fiddy free-styled and openly smoked a joint.
Tourists from the Arab world, Europe, and North America flooded the streets of cities and villages throughout the country. Gulf Arabs in particular have been drawn to Lebanon, especially in a post-9/11 era when they felt unwelcome in the West (and often had trouble obtaining visas). Lebanon offered many of the same attractions as Europe, but in an Arab setting: temperate climate, good shopping, plenty of tourist activities, and most important, heady nightlife and a liberal social atmosphere. Tourists partied till dawn, stormed the sales at Beirut's designer boutiques, and visited sites like Lebanon's ancient cedar groves and the Roman temples at Baalbeck.
Now those magnificent ruins are surrounded by newer ones: The city of Baalbeck, long a Shiite stronghold, has received a heavy share of the Israeli bombardment.
Falling bombs erase entire villages, fire and smoke cover the horizon, and visions of that promised summer have, in just over a week, evaporated. On the beaches of Damour and Jiyeh, the foreign visitors aren't European sun junkies but Israeli missiles. And the cruise ships docked in the port aren't bringing tourists to Lebanon, they're taking them away.
The contrast between Beirut today and Beirut two weeks ago is so stark, it would be unbearable if it weren't so surreal. This isn't my Beirut. This isn't anyone's Beirut. The frantic, vibrant city has shrunk into a sleepy town, with empty streets and only a handful of restaurants, bars, and shops open for business.
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to living under siege. We've taped our windows, stocked up on supplies, and settled into a perversion of normal life. Electric generators succeed where embattled power stations fail. I've learned what times the electricity, water, and Internet connection usually cut out, and I plan my days accordingly—an old Lebanese ritual from the days of the civil wars.
Candles we bought as decoration are scattered throughout the apartment, half-burned down from long nights without electricity. An Israeli propaganda flier dropped on a university soccer field sticks out of my roommate's copy of the now-obsolete July issue of Time Out Beirut, marking a page listing exhibitions at art galleries that have since boarded up their doors. The magazine only launched this spring, and it was easy to see it as yet another symbol that Beirut was finally being recognized as one of the world's great cities. Travel and Leisure magazine listed Beirut as the ninth-best city in the world for 2006. In this part of the world, fortunes shift very quickly.
Smaller explosions and the rushing of Israeli fighter jets overhead don't startle or frighten me anymore. We are exhausted and have to save our emotional energy for the moments where panic is needed. Still, when larger blasts rattle my windowpanes and make the apartment shudder, I rush to the balcony to figure out which part of my city is being hit. Sometimes, it's an easy game: Three days ago, my roommate and I watched as Israeli warships struck Beirut's port.
I know I'm reasonably safe in my corner of Beirut, and I have a place to go in the mountains if that ceases to be true. Unlike people in many other industries, I still have a job: The magazine where I work decided to publish an August issue—although it will lose money—as a sign of resistance and resilience.
There is painfully little we, the ordinary people of Lebanon, can do to help the situation. So, instead, we do what we can to help each other by donating food and supplies, opening our doors to friends and strangers, and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. We aren't giving up.
After the foreigners are gone, local wisdom predicts that the fighting will only get worse. At the very least, there will be less protective padding—a fear of foreign casualties that may have restrained Israel to some degree. Evacuating Beirut would feel a lot like abandoning it. I know that my staying won't keep the Israelis from intensifying their attacks, but at least I won't be complicit, seeing events unfold on a TV screen from the comfort of Cyprus.
So, I'll watch those ships pull away without regret. Lebanon has given me more than I ever could've asked: a home, a sense of belonging, an almost indecent number of happy memories. But aside from any debt to Lebanon, I won't leave because I know how miserable I would be watching the war ravage my country from the outside. As long as my feet are firmly planted on Lebanese soil, I somehow know the country will survive.
People ask me if I'm scared, and I am—but for Lebanon more than for myself. This place and its people deserve far better than what they're getting.
There's a sad, unstated "what will become of us?" question floating around the Lebanese who are left behind. I need to stay here, if only to learn the answer.

The Department of State is observant

So in like eighth grade my friend Freya (yes, weird having to qualify "Freya," but I guess at this point not everyone knows each other) used to tell me how observant I was when I would (honest to God) make comments like "Oh, the sky is blue today," or "That guy on that bicycle is wearing a pink shirt," for almost no apparent reason. (Actually come to think of it I still do this almost all the time.) So apparently I picked this up from the habits of the Department of State, which sent what I imagine will be one of its final emails to me and everyone else who was in Lebanon this morning. Har har. Apparently it is wise to "avoid travel to Lebanon." Thanks. For your viewing pleasure:

The U.S. Embassy in Beirut advises Americans in Lebanon that, following the July 28 departure of a ship for Cyprus, we do not anticipate further ship departures. Most Americans who wished to depart Lebanon with U.S. government assistance have done so. The Department of State urges American citizens to avoid travel to Lebanon and Americans currently in Lebanon to leave.
The U.S. Embassy is continually assessing reports of a small number of remaining American citizens who may still need assistance with departure. Americans should monitor the local radio (105.5 FM), local media, and the Embassy internet website (http://lebanon.usembassy.gov/) for updates and future guidance. The U.S. Embassy, with support from the U.S. Department of State, will do everything possible to facilitate the departure of American citizens from Lebanon. American citizens who have not already done so may register with the Embassy online by visiting https://travelregistration.state.gov/ibrs.
The U.S. Embassy is able to advise Americans in southern Lebanon on a case-by-case basis depending on their specific location and circumstances. American citizens in southern Lebanon who require U.S. government assistance in departing Lebanon should remain in contact with the U.S. Embassy for further guidance. Family members in the United States of these individuals may contact the Department of State if they have information on their specific location.
Due to the ongoing security concerns in Lebanon, the U.S. Embassy in Beirut has been granted ordered departure status, which means family members and non-emergency American employees have been ordered to depart Lebanon. The Embassy is maintaining normal hours of operation in order to carry out vital political, humanitarian and consular duties. The U.S. Department of State continues to work around the clock to ensure the safety and well-being of its citizens. The Department of State urges anyone with information on American citizens remaining in Lebanon to contact the U.S. Embassy in Beirut or the Lebanon Task Force in Washington, DC at 1-202-501-4444 (if calling from overseas) or at 1-888-407-4747, if calling from the U.S. and Canada.

The Basics

From BBC News, the basics on being safe during a war. Which means you will find nothing here about being hunted like an animal or being trapped in a gilded cage.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/5229912.stm


Snapshots of Lebanese family life
BBC News website correspondent Martin Asser has been spending time with an ordinary family which has taken to the hills in Lebanon, as the country witnesses some of the worst fighting in its history, between the Hezbollah militant group and Israeli forces.
REMINDER OF CONFLICT
High in the Lebanese mountains, the Bashir family have taken a summer holiday let to get out of Beirut during the Israeli bombardment which has pummelled the southern suburbs of the city.
Faraya, where the family are staying, is a well-known winter sports resort nearly 2,000 metres above sea level.
Normally, it attracts just a few summer visitors - those who want to get away from the sweltering weather on the coast.

The winter sports resort of Faraya is full of summer visitors
But this year, Faraya is packed with middle-class Lebanese putting as much distance as possible between themselves and their families and the conflict zone.
Chalets which normally cost $1,000 for the whole summer now fetch $900 a month.
Though far from the conflict, reminders of war are never far away - most obvious is the fact that Faraya lies under the flight path of Israeli warplanes flying to the Hezbollah stronghold of Baalbek.
On Friday night, the powerful engine noise of at least eight US-made Israeli F-16s rumbled through the mountain passes on their way back from a bombing run.
Mrs Bashir's sister, renting a small flat in the same building, complains that both her young son and 20-year-old daughter came to snuggle up in bed with her for the rest of the night after hearing the noise.
KEEPING IN TOUCH
The mobile phone has become an essential tool in the conflict, with news providers sending SMS messages of latest developments to subscribers and people constantly checking up on the whereabouts of friends and relatives.

The Bashirs' summer accommodation is simple but comfortable
At this time, Mrs Bashir's mother is down in south Lebanon where she has work commitments that override any possibility of fleeing the conflict zone.
Mr Bashir's uncle, meanwhile, is stuck in Syria after Israeli planes again bombed the main road between Beirut and Damascus.
In the early hours of Saturday, Mr Bashir's mobile rings five times, the readout saying "0000 calling" which indicates an international connection.
Since international businessman Mr Bashir makes a point of never answering overseas calls outside office hours, the insistent caller must wait until the morning.
But it turns out to have been a recorded message urging him to help Lebanon's government oust the "strangers" and warning him not to approach Hezbollah areas "for his own safety". The Arabic-speaking voice signs off saying "from the State of Israel".
This is normally the tool of telemarketers and vote-hungry politicians, but I suppose military propagandists were bound to pick up on it sooner or later.
LIFE GOES ON
The Faraya area boasts some marvellous Lebanese restaurants which people drive up to during the weekend to enjoy good food in the clean mountain air.

The Faqra bridge is a breathtaking geological wonder
A determination not to allow Israel 's bombardment to disrupt this sacred tradition means the Chez Shaker restaurant between Faraya and the chic resort of Faqra is full of customers for Saturday lunch.
But there is not the usual exuberance, no music or peels of laughter, that one would expect in such a gathering.
Talk is about how long petrol supplies may last under the Israeli blockade and people's expectations of US diplomacy, with Condoleezza Rice in Israel for another visit.
Some of the family walks home after lunch, past the astonishing Faqra "bridge", a massive natural stone arch carved over millions of years by water cascading from the mountains.
I insist on clambering down with Mr Bashir for a closer look at this phenomenon. But his wife calls after us: "Don't be long. It's the only bridge left in Lebanon the Israelis haven't bombed."
BIG LOSSES
The family tries to keep the atmosphere light, and themselves sane, with jokes and quips about a situation which they see is not of their own making.
The Bashirs are one of Lebanon's inter-confessional couples, he is a Maronite Christian and she's Sunni Muslim (they had to get married abroad as a result), and neither supports the mainly Shia Muslim anti-Israeli resistance spearheaded by Hezbollah.

Chez Shakir restaurant is full but its atmosphere subdued
However, they are outraged by what they see as Israel's reckless bombing of civilian areas in the south and civilian infrastructure in the rest of the country.
The family is likely to face drastic economic losses as a result of the crisis. Mr Bashir's father, for example, expects to lose $30,000 (£16,000) this summer because of the closure of his restaurant in central Beirut, where there are no customers.
"We've had to leave our 300 sq metre flat in Beirut for this tiny chalet, but we don't know how long we're going to have petrol or be able to buy food in the mountains," Mrs Bashir tells me.
"In that case, we'll have to come back down to face the bombs in Beirut, where at least we can walk to the shops... if they still have any food."

Not Beirut

So I am currently in the apartment of a friend of a friend (Aaron's friend Sandra, who is very sweet and apologizes to me for watering flowers in her own house when I am unexpectedly asleep on her couch) in London, which is not Beirut, which is where I'm supposed to be right now. I was reading the news but found it depressing and so I stopped doing that and started drinking wine instead (which is actually not an uncommon or ineffective coping mechanism, as it turns out, though I'm not sure it's one that I would like to hold on to after this whole "adventure" is over). Right now I am drinking water though, for a change of pace.

I'm pretty sure that now is not the time to write anything particularly stimulating. Also, Heather just brought me a glass of port. It is sweet. Apparently, the name port comes from the fact that it originated in Portugal.

Okay, looks like the whole "not livejournal" (is it LIVEjournal or liveJOURnal?) thing is not working out because I am just rambling. About alcohol. Though I am capitalizing things, which is new for me.

So the point is that I am supposed to be in Beirut right now doing the CAMES summer Arabic proram at the American University of Beirut. And that's what I was doing up until the middle of July when Hizballah decided that it would be a good idea to go and steal two Israeli soldiers and then Israel decided that it would be a good idea to bomb the shit out of Lebanon. Nice one, guys. Then the US and everyone else decided that it was probably a good idea for their citizens not to be in Lebanon anymore, so we left on the lovely Norwegian ship Huac, AKA Fly Heaven. That was lovely. Before that (and actually for awhile during that), Beirut was great and beautiful and fun and pretty much all you could ever want.

I do have a more detailed and interesting account of everything that happened between the Friday before the soldier kidnappings/shit bombing and right now, but not with me at the moment so I will post that later. Also, honestly I'd really like to get to my glass of port. Also I have the dirty short skirt song stuck in my head and am hoping that Heather has her iPod with her so that I can listen to it. And there are digestives in the kitchen. England is a nice place. So there will be stories, hopefully tomorrow. The point of bothering to start this blog now, when all the real action is over, is that I will still be traveling for the next month all over Europe. I am going with Heather and Aaron (friends from CAMES/AUB) on one of those fun tour things through STA (the student travel agency) to Amsterdam, the Rhine Valley, Prague, Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, and Venice for the next two weeks, then I am going to Greece/perhaps Venice again with Katie (from home/high school), then I am going home to sleep in my own bed and get a hug (or lets be honest, about 40,000 hugs) from my mommy. And then I am moving back to Ann Arbor.

Okay, I'll be more interesting and say better things in the morning. For now, I'll pretend it isn't happening, because apparently I only have two modes: either nothing is happening to Lebanon or what's happening to Lebanon is all that's happening.