But Will It Make a Difference?

67. But Will It Make a Difference? (24 February 2026)

Billboards everywhere, anticipation 
abounding for Christian and Muslim alike 
(2 Dec. 2025 - Autostrade Bourj Hammoud)

For several weeks in November an unusual air of excitement wafted through the air as the country realized that the rumors of Pope Leo XIV visiting Lebanon were true. The more optimistic among the population imagined that this visit would herald a complete cease-fire from the near daily Israeli bombings. Those more realistic surmised that the papal visit would merely bring a respite from drone and warplane attacks for the duration of his time in Lebanon. Nonetheless, there was a pervasive sense that, for a change, something positive would happen in Lebanon. It buoyed the spirits of much of the country, not unlike that of children awaiting the arrival of Papa Noël.

Armenian school students lining the Pope's 
path to the Beirut Port Blast site (2 Dec. 
2025 - Autostrade Bourj Hammoud)

            It seems that Lebanon – that is, the people of Lebanon, merely by virtue of residing in this land, are compelled to pass their days in the no-man’s land between anticipation and reconstruction. It might be anticipation of the outbreak of war, civil unrest, or terrorist attacks; or perhaps anticipating possible steps toward reform, accountability for criminal acts, or enforcement of equal treatment under the law. Some might envision environmental cleanup, or affordable food, housing and health care, or even the country putting the common good before self-interest.

Artsakh women are making a 
difference with their artisanship
(30 Dec. 2025 - Gemmayzeh)

            And on the opposite border of this no-man’s land is reconstruction. This is something that Lebanese are constantly doing, or planning to do: spending emotional, mental and financial energies gathering the pieces of their lives torn apart by regional or international conflicts, internecine local struggles, or pervasively poor governance, reinforced with each election cycle. And when they attempt to rebuild their homes, villages and orchards, predictably our “neighbor’s” war machine grinds into action and destroys bulldozers and building equipment, preventing the Lebanese from recovery. At the same time, this “neighbor” is haunted by real or imagined threats, while they rebuild their homes, illegal settlements, watchtowers and walls, largely unmolested, justifying their racist actions as “self-defense”.

            The Holy Father’s visit itself, from Nov. 30 to Dec. 2, 2025, came together smoothly, appearing to the casual observer to have been the result of months of planning. In reality, it came together in a matter of weeks, and it included meetings with Lebanon’s officialdom, a pilgrimage to the St. Charbel shrine, an interfaith gathering in the city center, a massive youth rally at the Maronite Patriarchate, a visit to a mental care facility, a prayer at the scene of the 2020 Beirut Port explosion, and an open-air mass for thousands at the Beirut seaside, in addition to private meetings. Pope Leo’s message was consistent in each instance: to highlight the people’s longing for peace with justice, calling people and leaders alike to play a positive role in making that peace a reality. It expressed the theme of his visit, namely, Jesus’ words “Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matt. 5.9). The Pope repeatedly, even scoldingly, stressed this to local and regional leaders: “Listen to the cry of your peoples, who are calling for peace!”

Making a difference in my nourishment  
with my favorite grilled liver sandwich!
(31 Dec. 2025 - Nor Hadjin)

            So, will leaders take up the challenge? Will they cooperate with each other for the sake of the people, and develop an ethos of service and trust? Will young Lebanese – Arab and Armenian, Christian and Muslim, villager and city-dweller, take the Pope’s challenge to them to heart and choose the hard path of staying in Lebanon, and be “artisans of peace”, active in changing the present culture of strife and selfishness to a culture of caring and constructive engagement? The country, along with the region, waits in anticipation of the outcome of the reflection to which the Pope called his audiences; translating thought into action.

Making a truly Beiruti Christmas  
from old tires, rather than 
burning them... (16 Jan. 2026 - 
Mar Mikhael)

            Pope Leo considered his visit to Turkey and Lebanon as efforts toward “religious diplomacy”, using his physical presence to express the moral authority of the Vatican, such as it is, in the pursuit of justice, mercy, and mutual acceptance for the good of all. In a world that is intoxicated with the pursuit of self-enrichment while malevolently nurturing a culture of destruction and oppression, it is up to the individual to become convinced of this call to be a peacemaker. It may not make a difference immediately, but it will grow in strength and influence as those individuals become a tribe and focus their influence to compel leaders to change.

            When the people pray to God for deliverance from their sojourn of misery in this no-man’s land, they, knowingly or not, are appealing to God to change each human heart. As Ebenezer Elliott’s poem, “When Wilt Thou Save the People?” so plainly expressed, “From vice, oppression, and despair, God save the people!”

LebCat 67 - Keeping watch over 
comings and goings at the 
American University of Beirut 
Medical Center! 
(22 Jan. 2026 - Beirut)

            Cynically, within an hour of Pope Leo’s departure for Rome, the “neighbor’s” drone overflights and bombing resumed. Peace would not come that day, or that month, or even that year. So, we await with faith the transformation of this world, and we heed the Lord Jesus’ call to live as agents of peace, nurturing hope for the renewed earth that God has promised to the blessed peacemakers.   [LNB]

(apologies for the 2-1/2 month delay in posting)

Listening for Joy

66. Listening for Joy (31 August 2025)

Trust the Lebanese to find humor in the 
threat of bombing. (5 July 2025 - Antelias)

It almost never fails. From a nearby balcony on Sunday afternoons I can hear the sounds of children laughing, playing, splashing, arguing, making up, and the occasional sound of adult intervention when needed. I’ve never seen these children, but I know that they are an integral part of the soundscape around our Geitawi apartment on Sundays. It seems that this family does not go up to the cool mountains, like so many Beirutis do, but content themselves with their apartment (I don’t even know which building they are in!) and their games on the balcony. I can tell that one of them is a boy, because since I’ve started innocently eavesdropping a couple of years ago, one of the voices has started to get deeper and gruffer. The joy of their play brings me joy, as well as a bit of longing to be able to witness firsthand their innocent and fierce childhood interaction.

Adding some color to the usual drab 
concrete - not a bad idea. 
(2 July 2025 - Geitawi, Beirut) 

            How is it that they are able to be so carefree, when Lebanon, the region, and beyond is in such turmoil? Isn’t it because they are children, and they have not yet been burdened with the cares and woes of adolescence, youth and maturity? Nearby are their protectors, the elders of the family, and there is no need to think beyond the moment. It is as it should be.

            Since returning from the U.S. this summer, each night my mind has been occupied with the antithesis of these children’s world: the security situation in the country, the threats from Lebanon’s erstwhile “neighbors”, with their warplanes and their self-justifications. Images of children and adults being deliberately starved and bombed for no particular objective other than to create misery and usurp their homeland. Additionally, my mind is crowded with reports of the actions of the elected leaders of “our homeland” (as we Armenians like to call the land which has never been “home”), ceding the past, future and present of Armenia to those who have repeatedly betrayed us; relying on smiles, promises and handshakes; increasingly suppressing dissent from current governmental policies and proclamations. Add to this the careless rush of so many individuals and people groups toward a more mechanized, inhuman and technology-ruled future…

Works perfectly, as long as there is no 
emergency. (18 June 2025 - AUH, Beirut)

            The cacophony that occupied my jet-lagged mind in those weeks contained no joy. Though my jet-lag has mostly passed, but the inner cacophony continues, since the present, tragic condition of this world shows little evidence of substantial improvement or hope. Enduring nightmarish nights, I eventually realized I must seek joy elsewhere, after the morning’s light, when I could intentionally focus on life and hope. And intentionally do the same during my evening prayers, making the nights more tolerable. To focus on the joy that I can discern.

            Like a child beginning to walk learns by walking and experimenting with the best way to keep his balance, I am finding a way out of the funk of each day by squinting expectantly in this direction or that. Something is bound to suggest to me that, yes, there is joy to be found.

Mirrors and mosaics at the refurbished 
"Jim's Steaks" (5 Aug 2025 - Philadelphia)

            To start with, I am learning to watch and listen for joy amid the noise, and not wait for things to improve in order to shift my focus. Here is some of what I found.

            Recently at a school program I had a friend’s three-year-old on my lap as we waited for the program to start. I was enjoying interacting with her, perhaps a bit too much. Soon I realized that I was undermining the careful guidance her parents had instilled in her. I also realized that I was relishing the moment too much to help her behave… or to behave myself! But it was a potent injection of joy!

Somebody has some wild ideas for a new 
sidewalk design. (19 Aug. 2025 - Geitawi)

                              When visiting elders at the Armenian Sanatorium, a few of us pastors went into the room of a bedridden woman, and heard her singing, unprompted, the very same song of assurance that we had just been singing outside. It was a message from God that he was present in her room before we showed up, reminding us of his care. Another influx of joy and peace!

            Driving back from exercising one night I noticed red and blue flashing lights. In my (North American) experience that could mean only one thing: an emergency vehicle, perhaps a police car, or a fire engine, or an ambulance. I should be pulling over and letting it pass as quickly as possible, right? However, this is Lebanon, and as I approached the flashing lights, I realized that the “emergency lights” were something else. A taxi, with its shiny chrome accessories and colorful garlands around the windows, either picking up or dropping off a customer. It could have also been a water delivery truck, or even a coffee van, both of which make use of those red and blue strobes. I used to be bothered by this “misuse” of emergency lights. Now I just smile and shake my head. Smiling is not a substitute for joy, but it helps calm things down inside.

LebCat 66 - Keeping a watchful eye over 
shoppers on Arax Street. 
(22 Aug. 2025 - Bourj Hammoud)

        On a recent night when I was taking the trash to the dumpster across the street I was taken aback by the illumination on our building’s usual pitch-black section of the street. I looked up, and on the utility pole was a brand-new, solar-powered street light! Whirling around to the other end of our building I saw a second street light, shining in the darkness! For some reason, the municipality finally replaced those two lights, which had been burned out and covered with overgrown trees for at least as long as we’ve been here in Lebanon. Fortunately, I wasn’t so disoriented that I forgot to dump the trash.

            The other week I was alone on the balcony mid-day, with the sound of traffic, and horns, and trash trucks, with the hammering and yelling from a nearby construction site, and the incessant rumbling of private generators all around me, when I heard… the laughter and chatter of children’s voices. Could it be? It wasn’t a Sunday, but like a bird chirping in the middle of a rainstorm, there it was! A moment of joy, a vicarious participation in the carefree play of those neighbor children.

            So perhaps those glimpses of joy are always there, and what I need to do is to calm down and pay attention so as to hear or see these points of joy, and then to be refreshed and encouraged to carry on. And to realize that when I continue my work in a positive and loving frame of mind, I can provide others with a glimpse of joy to see and be encouraged by.

            I think I’ll make this a habit.   [LNB]

A Soapless Shave

43.A Soapless Shave (12 April 2021)

One more crumbling building in the
port area, swathed in scaffolding,
awaiting rescue.
(7 Apr. 2021 - Karantina-Beirut)

Last month, while the country was still in the throes of a total lockdown in order to stem the spread of the coronavirus, I made a sneak visit to the barber. As if conducting an illicit transaction, I walked towards his shop and happened to see him (or rather, he saw me) in his parked car. He rolled down his window. “Kiifak! I have to run an errand. I’ll meet you there in 10 minutes.” Since I know that “10 minutes” is not to be taken literally in Lebanon, I showed up in 20 minutes. Looking this way and that, he lifted the rolling shutters (the “daraba”) of his tiny shop, just high enough for us to fold ourselves in half and scurry in, then pulled it down behind us. He did his standard men’s haircut (the only one in his repertoire), and finished with a scissors-trim of my beard, and a scraping off of the unwanted hairs outside the “beard zone”. And did so with a straight razor, of course. With water.

            But anyone who has handled a razor knows that one must also use a thing called “soap”. But not this day. Could it have had something to do with the lockdown? I’m not sure. Perhaps if a policeman had come along, banging on the daraba, demanding to know if barbering was happening inside, the barber could have legitimately said, “No, I am not barbering,” since one does not shave without soap, right? Because if you are shaving someone without soap, your intent is to inflict as much pain as possible on the hapless person draped with a sheet and confined to your barber chair (i.e., me), and not to produce a smiling, satisfied customer.

The frustration, disillusionment and hope
expressed in graffiti on the barrier wall
at the port. (7 Apr. 2021 - Beirut)

            I was, in fact, experiencing on my own skin the oft-used proverb spoken by Western Armenians (and in Turkish, of course): saboun-souz terash (սապուն-սուզ թրաշ), meaning “a soapless shave”. Its meaning is not self-evident, whether in Turkish or in translation. It is not a reference to the pain such a shave induces, but rather to one who does not use all that is required for a task. It conveys a range of meanings that include “insincerity”, “hypocrisy”, “deceptiveness” and, ironically, “buttering up someone”. Hey, I would have even settled for butter to compensate for the missing soap!

            Shaving without soap is something existing all around us, especially when the subject is politics. The claims of Lebanese politicians, each the servant of some wealthy, unseen master locally, or in the region, or in powerful states, fits this phrase. One of them insists that he is honest and concerned for the suffering of the Lebanese people, while another says that no, he, not the other, is the one who truly has the people at heart, and on it goes. (And if you don’t like my use of the generic singular pronoun, I encourage you take a closer look at Lebanese politics.) Their concern for the poor is touching, except that none of them know the pain of those families who are reducing their daily meals to two a day, and then to one. None of them (no, not one) know the misery of those who sell their household possessions, piece by piece, in order to pay school or university tuition. Or the shame of having to receive handout after handout from NGOs, while the heads of the banking association and the Central Bank governor, in their grotesque charade, waste day after precious day pointing fingers at one another while the Lebanese Pound continues its downward spiral, and hyperinflation its upward spiral. A shave of the head as well as the beard, without any soap.

A traditional ibriq made of recycled
glass recovered from the Aug. 4 blast.
(27 Feb. 2021 - Geitawi-Beirut)

            The phrase is also clear in the pronouncements of the leaders of the countries that organized and conducted the latest episode of their genocidal program to eliminate Armenia and Armenians from existence. (This is not hyperbole, nor “Armenian hysteria”, but an old, cold-blooded agenda.) Turkey’s president recently spoke in support of the Armenian Prime Minister when cries for the latter’s resignation swelled in the past few months. It was indeed surreal: a neo-sultan who claims to be the keeper of peace and stability in the region, who also guaranteed Azerbaijan’s dominance in last fall’s war on Artsakh, also claims to wish to have “normal” relations with Armenia. Meanwhile, it pursues territorial advances in the Caucasus and encourages its “little brother” there to desecrate and destroy Armenian culture, just as it did in historic Armenian lands in the century since the Armenian Genocide. A shave that produces bloody wounds, over which world powers express sympathy, but are unwilling to stop.

A biblically-appropriate house built upon the
rock, with a beautiful view of Lebanon's
true beauty. (8 Apr. 2021 - Hammana)

            Not only all this, but the saying is further evident in the endless venting of rhetoric of various Armenian leaders, in and outside Armenia, in order to justify themselves and rally their supporters. No evidence of depth or far-sightedness shows, no plan or vision for mature state-building emerges; all one sees is the appearance of love of country, without substance. This posturing is a daily feature in the country and the Diaspora, while emigration continues unabated. Little did we know three decades ago that today the Armenian people would be so far from having a strong homeland; farther in many ways than their condition during the Soviet era. A barber who has forgotten that one needs soap in order to give a shave without injury.

A few of the hundreds of olive trees newly
planted on the Armenian Evangelical Church
campus, next to the Christian Endeavor Hall.
(2 Apr. 2021 - Ainjar)

            Maria and I had forgotten what the world looked like outside of our concrete home in our concrete neighborhood of our concrete city. The opportunity came thanks to the COVID-19 vaccine, for which we traveled 40 km (25 mi) to Azounieh last week. Trees! Wildflowers! Mountains! Snow! Villages! Fresh air! Orchards! Goats! Narrow, old streets! Speed bumps! It was almost too much to take in at one time. But we took it in, and enjoyed every moment, despite the presence of a pair of contrails far above our heads, evidence of daily airspace violations over Lebanon in order to raid Syria. Both Maria and I received our first shot, and since then already got notification for the follow-up shot in a few weeks. We'll take that, hoping for as few side-effects as we experienced this time, and enjoy a welcome reprise of our “natural” Lebanon tour.

A traditional and oft-seen do-it-yourself
parade through our neighborhood. Literally,
a Good Friday Caravan (get it?).
(2 Apr. 2021 - Geitawi, Beirut)

            Actually, for me it was the second time in one week that I was able to escape the city, having traveled to Ainjar to lead the Armenian Evangelical Church’s Maundy Thursday communion service. Something about springtime buds appearing on fruit trees fills you with wonder and even hope. And seeing so many boarding school youth in attendance, along with walking around to note new developments on the church & school campus (and being with the pastor and his family) impacted me positively as well. On the trip back to Beirut on Good Friday I even saw snow falling, for the first time in four years! Turns out it’s the same as I remember it.

            A few days ago I took a walk back to the site of the port explosion. Seeing the quantity of repair and restoration yet to be done is staggering. And the Lebanese are feeling it all the more as lengthy, daily power cuts pile on top of the crashing economy, the political intransigence, the pandemic, and the social despair. It has been difficult for me to think during the past few months, difficult to know how to express myself, as evidenced by my lack of writing.

LebCat 43: It's spring, and kittens are in bloom.
Mom and her three future LebCats.
(6 Apr. 2021 - Qobaiyat, Beirut)

            But we celebrated Easter! Yes, it was an online service for us (we’re being very cautious), though many others went in-person, ostensibly with official permission. Remembering Christ’s victory over the enemies of sin and death is a great encouragement in places and times such as this. A few of our church youth succinctly captured the “upward call” we have towards the Lord Jesus in a short video they created in place of the traditional Easter sunrise service at KCHAG conference center. Our hearts continue to long for the day when we can come together to proclaim the resurrection; but even that inward longing within us can shine a light outward, and bring healing in the dark and pain-filled places of this world.   [LNB]

Walking on Diamonds

38.Walking on Diamonds (23 September 2020)

A ruined building not far from the destroyed grain silos
at the Beirut port (31 Aug. 2020 - Karantina, Beirut)

When walking around the nearby streets in our still sunny weather of the past weeks, glints and glimmers from the ground invariably would catch my eye, and prompt me to go over to investigate the reason for the unusual reflection of sunlight. Might it be something valuable? Some lost treasure? The sensation, especially when the sun is at a low angle, is that I am walking on cut diamonds, treading on treasure. And my reflexes would tell me to stop and pick them up. 

Broken glass gathered together to state clearly,

"We are still here" (31 Aug. 2020 - Mar Mikhael)

            Yet nowadays, in post-post-blast Beirut, the phenomenon of glittering asphalt and pavement has become so common that I hardly notice it. So much broken glass, so many tiny shards have been scattered everywhere that I no longer have that same reaction of walking on jewels, as in the days immediately following August 4. The glass has not decreased (because the winter rains have not yet washed them away); rather, my perception has adjusted to this reality, and I tune it out.

Flying glass daggers - now there's a gaming
challenge (8 Sept. 2020 - Geitawi, Beirut)

             Much as the windowpanes of some 300,000 homes in a 2 km radius were shattered that Tuesday evening, something else very important was shattered and scattered on the ground: the ability for people to see far, to envision, to dream, and to trust. They have eyes, but struggle to see; minds, but only partially perceive; hearts, but are afraid to hope. But unlike those glass shards in every crack and crevice of these streets, those battered thoughts and dreams are still diamonds, still of immense worth. And unless all of us move carefully, we will continue to treat those diamonds within peoples’ hearts as merely collateral damage, and carelessly tread them into the dirt of despair.

The view from our balcony after (another)
huge post-blast fire broke out at the port
(10 Sept. 2020 - Geitawi, Beirut)

            My outlook may not be a majority view. In fact, as the vehicle called “the Lebanese State” continues to happily barrel off the roadway toward ditches and cliffs, my outlook may well have sunk yet farther into the minority. Nonetheless, I consider the people of Lebanon, as well as the Armenian population here and across the Middle East, as diamonds. There is little regard for what has fallen to the ground. We hear energetic defenses of this or that community, for the ultimate good of their politico-religious or religio-political followings, and not for the reviving of the country as a whole.

             The Bible urges believers in God to pray for their leaders regardless of what country in which they reside (I Timothy 2.1-2). Interestingly, the prayers are not supposed to be for long life or extended terms for the ruling class, but for a peaceful, dignified and godly life for the people. With a thick wall insulating leaders of every land from the people in that land, I am not sure how easily those in authority can grasp that sacred task of serving their people. It’s what we prayed for two days ago (Republic of Armenia’s 29^th Independence Day), and it most definitely is what we continually pray for Lebanon.

A sidewalk prayer station outreach from a
nearby church (4 Sept. 2020 - Mar Mikhael)

            The true diamonds of Lebanon, the people you love to meet and talk to, in villages and cities, have simple needs, needs that those in authority find hard to grasp: the simple desire to live in some semblance of dignity and peace. That sort of environment would reawaken a drive to create and flourish in this land. It would remove the desire to flee halfway across the world to find some soil, somewhere, in which to place undisturbed roots and yield fruits.

Homeowners and shopkeepers are determined not to
be driven out (14 Aug. 2020 - Mar Mikhael, Beirut)

            But the drive to create and flourish has not vanished, as others (some inside, some outside Lebanon) have pointed out to me. It has helped me clear some of the funk enveloping my brain. There are some who are using their media platforms to share individual stories of hope and despair, showcasing the determination of some to rebuild and the needs of others for loving hands to support them. The beautifully-restored Sursock Museum with its delicate stained glass and hand-crafted interior, which was turned into splinters and glass powder, hosted a fund-raising concert in its gardens as an act of defiance, declaring, “I’ll be back!” The innovative Armenian band Garabala, which has been losing its members to emigration, one by one, prepared a most tender and even rejuvenating music video for the “For You, Beirut” online event. Friends who left Lebanon early in the year recently chose to return, knowing full well that they would be facing formidable challenges in their everyday lives. The middle-aged owner of what is arguably the best Arabic ice cream in Beirut, leaving his blast-damaged store of 71 years (it was his father’s before he took over) in an

Our living room/dining room, almost ready to move
back into (23 Sept. 2020 - Geitawi, Beirut)

already crumbling house, has decided to open at a new location and keep innovating. A young couple realized that if they wait for the “right time” to have their wedding, set for 2021, it might never happen, so they held a simple and elegant church service and reception this month. So many diamonds, here and there, and I’m training myself to see them, hold them up to the light, and rejoice in the hope that each one represents. This does not minimize the pain of saying goodbyes on a regular basis to people we treasure. Nor will it necessarily alter the plans of those who have decided to seek their fortunes elsewhere. But it reminds us of our calling to care for those right around us.

            For the past three weeks we’ve been living/eating/working in a single room, the bedroom Sevag occupies when he’s here with us. We’ve been sleeping in our own bed, or at least we will until its time to repair the bedrooms. Renovations to our apartment are ongoing, and with any luck it will be completed in a week or two, along with the renovation of the Union offices (including mine) and the entire building.

LebCat 38: Is it safe to come out yet?
(9 Sept. 2020 - Geitawi, Beirut)

            Walking around the city one notices not only the proliferation of scaffolding and the constant activity of construction workers, but a fair amount of homes and businesses that have been left undisturbed since the explosion. We know it will be years before they are touched, if ever. Yet we have chosen to focus on that which is changing, and to harken to the voices of those who openly declare, “Lebanon belongs to me, and not to the criminals who allowed this to happen.” There is still a long road ahead. Rebuilding will not fix all that needs fixing here. But it’s a start.  [LNB]

The Usual

36.The Usual (30 June 2020)

Uneven stones and a gutter in the middle of the road were
replaced by a sensible street surface, courtesy of some
international funding. (13 June 2020 – Nor Marash –
Bourj Hammoud)

Imagine you, and all the people like you, got used to centuries of living your life in fear. But now your circumstances have changed. You get a chance to live in freedom. Before, you had to speak like those around you spoke, and follow the rules of the majority, the rules of the land, and not show any sign of dissatisfaction with the status quo. Now you are in a place where you are able to speak freely, build homes and businesses without worrying if they will be burned down, or whether your lives and your children’s lives will be in danger. Yes, there are some like you in other lands who still live in those conditions, but there are many more who now enjoy the freedom to flourish and grow. There have been hardships and setbacks over the years, but things are moving forward, and you feel yourself a full-fledged citizen. Still, in order to function as a minority you have to act and talk like the majority, especially if you have an opportunity to move outside your enclave.

            But recently the rhetoric in the land has changed. Some people are emboldened to speak out against you, to say that you are not full-fledged citizens, that you should limit yourself to your traditional neighborhoods. They add that those who oppressed you in the past had a right to do so, and that perhaps oppression and even attacks should be reinstituted, in order to “purify” the land, to make it more suitable for the majority. Mass gatherings are being held, and the flag of your oppressor is boldly waved as people shout praises to the names of the past, names that should only be associated with ethnic cleansing and second-class citizenship for anyone outside the ruling majority.

The revolution is on hold? Maybe, but the window washers
are not. (17 Jun 2020 – Beirut)

            Your own community cautiously raises its voice against this hate speech, and some of the majority join you in solidarity. But the winds have already fanned the flames of hate and oppression to the point of igniting open conflict, intended to draw you in to a losing scenario. Will cooler heads prevail? Or will the frustration of this “second-class” community erupt into violence?

            This is not an imaginary scenario. It is not an historical flashback to 1930s Germany, or 1950s (or perhaps present-day) America. It is not merely a sketch of the Ottoman/Turkish Empire from the late 19^th century until now; it is a description of what is happening today in Lebanon. Yet it is the same ones behind the inflammatory events, hate-filled rhetoric and Turkish flag-waving; and it is the same Western powers continuing to cast indifferent gazes, or even give an occasional wink in abdication of the defense of human rights for the pursuit of strategic interests. Additionally, it makes me wonder whether that rig being built offshore, which strangely never seems to make the local news, has anything to do with all of this.

How silly of me to forget to leave my gun at home! Thanks
for the reminder. (17 June 2020 – American University
Hospital- Beirut)

            Following recent reports, locally as well as abroad from places like the U.S., has made me realize the necessity of understanding and confronting one’s own history. It is sobering to see so many people in conflict with each other, unable to read together, as equal citizens, the sad and forgotten and pain-filled pages of their own past, and then eventually reconcile to it and to one another. Meanwhile, iconoclasm proceeds apace, and not only are the statues of those deemed offensive toppled, but nearly any statue within view. It appears that in some quarters the just struggle for equal rights is being overtaken by the struggle for self-righteousness. When an offense is uncovered (and who among the human race – save for one – does not have a “past” to repent of?), the person ceases being a human and turns into a target. Soon there will be no one left to topple. Soon I fear that “history” will cease to exist or evolve as a product of dialogue, and will be relegated to “your history” and “my history”, much as we now end discussions with reference to “your truth” and “my truth” and other similar ways we avoid reflection, self-examination and growth.

Spring came and went, and we almot missed the
flowering trees! (26 June 2020 – Hamra - Beirut)

            We’re getting out and about a lot more than before. I visited what used to be called “West Beirut” for the first time in months last week, and noticed so many businesses dusty and shuttered. Strangely (or not), the curfews and what-not have not gotten in the way of construction (and destruction of heritage sites). A cursory glance around tells you that we’ve moved away from “lockdown mode” towards to the usual. I don’t say “the normal”, because so much in Lebanon needs improvement in order to qualify as “normal”. The other day as I was crossing the bridge from Beirut to Bourj Hammoud, I looked down at the Beirut River and instead of the clear stream I had been enjoying for several months, I saw once again the previously ubiquitous floating debris and waste headed to the Mediterranean. Like the rivers, roadways were also smooth-sailing these past months, but now they are back to being the usual – overcrowded – roadways. Such conflicting thoughts swirl around my mind – glad that workplaces (the surviving ones, anyway) are reopened; sad that people are back to “the usual” – polluting the natural environment.

            Despite it all, once the airport reopens (planned for tomorrow – we think) there will be an anticipated small or great crush of people wanting to come back to Lebanon for a visit. We’re all waiting to see whether the summer will bring a slight economic uptick, or will merely crown the country with a viral uptick. Meanwhile, round and round the local currency goes, where it stops (and who keeps spinning it), nobody knows. More than a few shopkeepers prefer to keep their stores shuttered rather than have to buy or sell in currency worth 1/3 of its previous value. Or was that 1/8 of its former value?

            Another thing that we anticipate when the airport is open for business again will be the departure of many Lebanese. When browsing a bookshelf full of old books being given away for free at a local Armenian bookstore, the clerk told me that more and more people are donating their libraries for giveaways. Others can now enjoy so many valuable books without charge. Sounds altruistic in this terrible economy, right? Until you ask the question, “Why?”

LebCat 36: Feline secret of social distancing: sit where
no one can sit near you. (15 Feb. 2019 – Khalil Badawi - Beirut)

            The other day I read an insightful article about the importance of the Armenian Church’s See of Cilicia in the whole dynamic of the Armenian diaspora. The author called this patriarchal center, relocated here to Lebanon after the Genocide, a resource and an anchor, something to be strategically valued by all Armenians no matter their “affiliations”. Yet one of the reactions to the article seemed to write off the Armenian community in the Middle East as if it were a “business loss”. The commenter talked about “conserving resources”, since nobody’s grandchildren would be speaking Armenian anyway. This type of thinking (sometimes overtly expressed) arises from a lack of vision, and demonstrates capitulation to the pressures of living as a minority, gasping for air because of the dominant culture’s witting or unwitting pressure on your breathing. Our desire to survive and thrive must be based on a vision of a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29.11), trusting in the One who can raise the dead.

            Tomorrow is the 174th anniversary of the Armenian Evangelical Church’s founding, and I’m once again preparing a YouTube broadcast for the church Union here. Hope and a future is what we strive for as Maria and I continue helping our church play an important part in the vitality of one small people group called Armenians. Though only a few realize the importance of even the smallest creature in nature's ecosystem, it does not diminish that creature’s need to continue for the sake of all. Just so our small nation, and our small church within that nation, and this world.   [LNB]