As the first autumn rains reach the town, I find myself wanting to summarise and reflect on what has emerged from these first few weeks. It’s not easy to organise one’s impressions. What criteria should I use to distinguish between an impression, a piece of information, and something that’s already a certainty? A provisional summary:

Taking (the) time

The other day, when I told someone I’d been here for a month, she replied, ‘Oh, that’s not long!’ Once again, I was struck by the difference in the perception of time. Back home, staying in one place for a month is already considered a long stay. Time isn’t just more elastic here; it’s also slower. Yet everyone is constantly bustling about, always on the move. But things repeat themselves; they don’t progress at the same pace. Nothing is ever definitive. “Maybe!” You often have to start again. Or wait. Or change tactics to get there, take a detour. Or give up for the time being until the next opportunity comes along…

Moving on

During a group discussion, just as someone had been given the floor, another participant stepped into the circle and started talking to someone whilst standing in front of the person who was speaking. The facilitator reacted and tried to reason with this person, to no avail. A brief altercation ensued, and this person left the group immediately. The following evening, one of the group’s most respected participants recounted that he’d had the chance to speak to that person again and had asked him whether he recognised that he’d been in the wrong to behave that way. The person refused to admit any wrongdoing. The older student then had an expression that struck me as very typical of the attitude of people here when faced with an unsolvable problem or frustration: he smiled slightly as he looked up and said, ‘When I heard that, I thought to myself: “skip”’ (ignore it and move on), with an eloquent gesture.

Another recounts the events of 8 April this year, when Israel carried out a hundred air strikes in ten minutes across the whole country, including Beirut. ‘A few hours after the first wave, it was time for our daily walk with my wife. So we set off on our usual route, without giving it a second thought, amidst the ambulance and fire engine sirens and all the commotion. Suddenly, there were more explosions in the distance. My phone started ringing: ‘Where are you? Come and take shelter quickly – they’re at it again!’ ‘But come on, it’s time for our walk!’ was his reply.

Helplessness

The country’s political and economic collapse, the responsibilities that caused it, or the solutions to remedy it are not discussed in informal, ‘coffee-shop’ style conversations. There’s no need; people experience it on a daily basis and these topics are constantly in the media headlines. On the contrary, people like to find something that brings them together or that is new and (perhaps) promising. ‘Lebanon has no place on the international map’; this is how one analyst summed up the political and military situation in the south of the country. But this takes its toll on people’s spirits. The loss of the ability to trust, the sense of betrayal and shame, only serve to intensify feelings of anger and apathy. Weariness and despondency do not take long to convince someone in this frame of mind to leave the country as soon as possible.

Dignity

Yet one of the pleasant surprises so far has been discovering the existence of a very strong, vibrant, creative and active civil society and network of organisations. Whether in the field of migrants’ rights (refugees, daily or domestic workers, etc.), human rights (women, children, education, etc.) or the environment, a great many initiatives are making up for legislative or social shortcomings. Most are funded primarily by private foundations or regional sources. This is in addition to the significant mechanisms of neighborhood solidarity and those within each of the eighteen religious communities that make up the country.

‘Fair weather’ as a system

Certain aspects of how the state functions are reminiscent of Switzerland, in particular this system of 18 states (the communities) within the state, which have the final say on major changes and, ultimately, on any initiative or proposal put forward by a mathematical majority of the population. Or the ‘mandatory’ presence of three rival or even opposing groups in the three highest offices of state. This can only work when the going is good. Yet it is the system that was more or less explicitly put in place by the main players after the civil war, during which those very same parties tore each other apart for fifteen years. A system, therefore, designed not to function harmoniously. Those who waged the war were put in power to stop the war and are still in power today (!). Those who waged the war follow those who made them wage the war. It is hard to imagine that the Lebanese, after all these years, have been masochistic enough to voluntarily choose such a system. The interests of immediate neighbors (Israel and Syria foremost) but also those further afield (France, USA, USSR/Russia), not to mention the economic interests of other, domestic players, prevent far-reaching reform through consensus. But for how long, and at what cost? How will the next generation of leaders act?

These are all questions that were already very much on my mind before I arrived here, and which will continue to fuel my interest in anything that might offer a possible key to opening up a different path. The ‘imperial’ position that religions hold within the political apparatus and system is certainly part of this. Are the Churches also part of the problem? Probably. All the more so as their standing amongst the population itself is undergoing the same erosion and pluralisation as elsewhere in the world. The representation of their members in parliament is no longer as strong as it once was.