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]

Privilege

34.Privilege (29 Apr. 2020)

The neighborhood getting disinfected…  every now and then.
(28 Apr. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

I’m going to miss these crystal clear mountain vistas.

            Now that the country is pushing itself to get back to work, the stillness we (who can afford it) have enjoyed is starting to recede into the mist – or the smog – of resumed auto traffic and factory output. The occasional whiffs of rotting garbage will be overtaken by a continual stench of dumps and slaughterhouse aromas. The big fish that a few weeks ago were sighted swimming in the Beirut River will go far, far away, as that waterway resumes its obligatory burden of carrying away toxic and untreated waste into the Mediterranean Sea from small and large riverside operations. The nighttime quiet, interrupted by the occasional passing car or motorcyclist flouting the curfew, and the darkness undisturbed by the garish glare of electronic billboards, all thankfully switched off to minimize advertising expenditures, will likely end all too soon. I will miss hearing the variety of birdsong that heralded the sunrise and celebrated the sunset, creatures praising their Creator, without the din of steel-belted radials on asphalt. It has been a privilege to experience, even for a moment – a fantasy suggestive of how Lebanon once was, or might have been, and could be, only if…

A crisp view looking southeast toward the high-rise hotels in
Sin el Fil. You can actually see the contour of the hills.
(22 Mar. 2020 – Qobaiyat - Beirut)

            But the bane of too many cars and too much construction, of appropriation of public land for personal use, of noise and air and sight pollution will make its all-too-soon return, of that we can be sure, as Lebanon struggles back to its feet. And as warmer weather continues its steady encroachment on the cool, pleasant spring air of Lebanon, the heaviness and seriousness of a nation in crisis will present itself once again to a country much worse off due to this compulsory quarantine. Now, we will get back to an awareness of the hunger and the despair and the crashing and burning economy, and the protests that never really went away. A “post-corona” world for this and other second- and third-tier nations across the globe will reveal itself as a yet-deeper and ongoing nightmare, a dark and fearful status quo. Yet for wealthy nations who are able to bounce back from the current economic crash of this year’s corona-life, it will eventually become just a fading memory from which they will want to “learn lessons”.

A “socially-distant” visit is nearly as enjoyable as a video
conference for people who need to hug when they see
each other. (25 Mar. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

            Lebanon has been showing up in some international news outlets recently. It has been highlighted as a country that has managed the pandemic quite well, despite being in a disastrous economic state. The Prime Minister recently noted that the effort expended to slow the pace of this virus has diverted the cabinet from dealing with the very real, immediate and long-term perils of the country. Nearly half of the population is currently facing hunger, over half is unemployed, education is in a shambles, and the anger of the people, simmering since the curfew was imposed, has boiled back up. Rock-throwing, burning banks, blocking roads – albeit with masks and gloves – has resumed. The pound is now worth about a third of its previous value, and with each new day its worth is even less. As an Armenian community we wonder what the fate of our schools and institutions will be, with no money to operate them, no ability to generate income, and no easy way to utilize monetary gifts from abroad. All of this concerns basic needs, not privileges: food, employment, education, health care, and cultural identity.

A candle of remembrance on our balcony, on the eve of
Armenian Martyrs’ Day. (23 Apr. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

            The “Centennial+5” of the Armenian Genocide was commemorated amid the unusual restrictions of these days. All the massive gatherings that characterize April 24 the world over were transformed into an evocative silence. Absent were the massive crowds ascending the hill to the monument in Yerevan, Armenia, “Dzidzernagapert” (which translates to “Fortress of Swallows”), and it practically became once more the haunt of birds. The creativity of Armenia’s organizers came out, though, as a series of musicians and singers took to a stage on the walkway leading to the eternal flame and performed throughout the night – for eight hours – while people throughout the world watched from their homes. Here in Beirut, as in many Middle Eastern cities, the observance was markedly different than other years. In the windy night air we lit candles at our balconies and listened as church bells were rung for 10 minutes, honoring the lives lost and the lives rebuilt. Somehow, with all of these obstacles and circumstances, or perhaps because of them, this year’s Armenian Martyrs’ Day seemed to matter more. It was a privilege to stand outside in the cold and see flickering candles of other Armenians, children and grandchildren of survivors, on windowsills in Khalil Badawi and Nor Marash.

This mannequin will be safe from the virus.
(20 Apr. 2020 – Nor Marash - Bourj Hammoud)

            “Privilege” is a fairly sensitive term these days, especially in a country like the U.S., which continues to struggle with the issue of racial and economic disparity, starkly visible to those on the lower edge and nearly invisible to others inhabiting higher levels. I’d rather not call it “white privilege”, but rather “inherited privilege”. And it makes me wonder if those in Turkey realize they are the beneficiaries of the Turkish form of “inherited privilege”. So much of what they enjoy is as a result of those who were branded enemies of the nation, expelled from their homes and towns, driven to their deaths, and their properties and goods appropriated by those eager to enjoy what they perceived as “Armenian privilege” (can you say, “Incirlik”?). The words of politicians ring so very hollow, when they attempt to commemorate the Whatever-you-want-to-call-it Day, merely in order to avoid having to hold the feet of the privileged to the fire, so as to avoid offending an erstwhile “ally” and lose their privileges. Such a strange effect this “privilege” thing has on people.

            Too much ruminating for one post, of course.

LebCat 34: This creature actually looks quite accustomed
to the whole social distancing thing. (8 Apr. 2020 –
Khalil Badawi - Beirut)

            But something wonderful has emerged from being forced to minister to Armenian Evangelical Churches via the Internet – we came to the preparation of Sunday morning broadcasts, with songs, scriptures and sermons. This has happily drawn our churches, pastors and people together as a single audience, spanning seven Middle Eastern countries, plus Armenia, plus France, plus the U.S. and Canada, to enjoy the message of hope in their mother tongue, Armenian. I am grateful to God to be here in Beirut, playing a part in all of this, and to hear testimonies of people who have been (for a number of reasons) far from the worshiping community now being drawn into Christian fellowship. It’s almost as if God knew something like this was going to happen, no?   [LNB]

Raise Your Voice

18.Raise Your Voice (29 September 2018)

First day of school at the Armenian Evangelical College, one of
the network of schools in Syria and Lebanon run by the Union.
Haigazian’s Philibosian Student Center (formerly “Webb”
building) is in the left background. (25 Sept. 2018 – Kantari,
Beirut. Photo courtesy of Rev. Hrayr Cholakian)

            Adjusting to a new environment takes time, and events around you or within you force you to admit that you are not “there” yet. If you are really smart, you’ll accept the fact that you will never get “there”, no matter how you define “there”. And you’ll do so sooner rather than later.

            The better part of adjusting consists of knowing how to keep your mouth shut, and continuing to observe and learn. But there are always a few things that perhaps you shouldn’t adjust to, that may be worth opening your mouth about.

            As I was trying out a new eatery (nothing to get excited about, sorry) a couple of days ago, the cashier directed me to their air-conditioned “eating room” (a separate storefront from the “ordering room”). I stuck my head inside the eating room, sniffed once, and

decided to cast my lot with the hot sun at a sidewalk table. The cashier eventually brought out my food, and asked, “It’s hot out here. Don’t you want to eat inside?” I responded with “Ma3lesh” (It’s nothing), although I did want to raise my voice in complaint to her about the cigarette stench in the eating room. O, Arabic lessons, why have I forsaken you?

A beautiful, old building that was being refurbished last year
collapsed before they were able to support its structure…
revealing another beautiful, old building. You can see the
remnants of the balconies lying askew on the ground.
(11 Sept. 2018 – Gemmazeh, Beirut)

            So, as I was eating (and sweating) on a sunny Ashrafieh sidewalk, watching cars go by, I noticed an older man (i.e., my age) on a motorcycle pulled up next to a driver’s window of a car that had stopped in the middle of the street. But he wasn’t asking for directions. He was yelling at the driver for several traffic infractions, including driving the wrong way on a one-way street, and probably almost running over the motorcyclist (who was not a traffic cop). I can only hope that he takes care not to break the same laws when no one is looking.

            I was pleased to see him making a nuisance of himself in this way, because people so often just shrug their shoulders at much of what goes on here when they should be speaking up. “Haideh Lubnan.” I hear it all the time, from friends and strangers. “This is Lebanon.” But although speaking out will never result in instantaneous or lasting changes, though it won’t turn those accustomed to decades and decades of ineffectual government and self-centered living into conscientious, law-abiding citizens. He was lighting a candle and cursing the darkness.

This is how the Union headquarters looked before
improvements began. It’s behind the trees, in case you
missed it. (6 Sept. 2018 – Geitawi, Beirut)

            Oops. I forgot that I’m not supposed to say anything but compliments about the government, as well as all other governments, save for one in particular that happens to border Lebanon. That’s what I put my signature to each year, when renewing my residence permit. But even without signing such a form, we are all facing similar pressures to keep dissent to ourselves (or, alternatively, to be loud and arrogant about our dissent and close our ears to other dissenters). This does not just concern the country of my birth, the U.S.A., for the past 17-plus years. In Armenia, post “velvet revolution”, the message being broadcast, is one, simple, unchallenged refrain: “The bad has left, the good is here; come to Armenia. ” Few dare to raise a dissenting voice concerning the “new”, save in private, or else risk ostracism. Even though they, too, care for Armenia’s well-being. It seem that criticism, especially self-criticism, is rare in today’s world, no matter what the side.

The old fence coming down, and the new going up.
(11 Sept. 2018 – Geitawi, Beirut)

            Yet people do speak up, and not just to point out flaws that they see. Here are some ways I’ve observed people in Lebanon “raising their voices”:

1. Tending your “garden”. The headquarters where I work, the Union of Armenian Evangelical Churches in the Near East, formerly an Armenian-owned hospital (the “Christian Medical Center”), got a complete makeover, 30 years after its previous one. Rev. Paul Haidostian, president of Haigazian University, is overseeing another renovation project, that of the Webb (or Philibosian Student Center) building, the university’s original structure. Someone observing the work remarked, “Do you know how encouraging it is for your neighbors to see you making improvements because you want to improve, and not because you were forced to by someone else?”

2. Getting up and getting out. After a long summer indoors (with their air conditioners), lots of locals have donned shorts and sneakers. I see them running and jogging and panting along sidewalks and streets in the city, preparing for the Nov. 11^th Beirut Marathon. I’m not sure whether they’re aiming for the 8 km fun-run, the half-marathon, or the full 42.195 km thrill. I’m limiting myself to the gym.

A panorama of the newly-refurbished exterior of the Armenian
Evangelical church headquarters, formerly the “Christian
Medical Center” (27 Sept. 2018 – Geitawi, Beirut)

3. Speaking up about health and pollution dangers. People continue to gather to publicly protest the government’s mismanagement of the country’s waste disposal, especially after the recent decision to create three incineration facilities along the coast, while cancer rates continue to spike. Meanwhile, cow carcasses, presumably diseased ones tossed from ships before entering the Port of Beirut, are gently floating along our Mediterranean coast. Swimmers and divers are exposing these shameful scenes through social media posts.

4. Speaking up about abuse. The prevalence of non-Arab faces in and around the city points to the widespread use of southern-hemisphere workers in construction, sanitation and domestic labor. There is a robust network of organizations decrying the near-slavery conditions many of them are enduring at the hands (literally – please understand) of their employers. At least one of them per month commits suicide. Rather than let this “modern slavery” continue, they protest, they write commentary, they hold memorial services, all in an effort to put an end to the unregulated flow of hundreds of impoverished, southern-hemisphere “tourists” through the airport.

Just write “extra” on it. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
(28 Aug. 2018 – Geitawi, Beirut)

5. Opening Armenian schools for the new school year. Despite the continuing downward economic spiral in Lebanon, and the departure of many families (not just youth) from the country, Armenian schools of every kind have pressed forward in continuing their educational mission, and have started another school year. It is a powerful declaration of their will to survive, and a message to Armenians everywhere that the Diaspora has a reason to exist.

6. Publishing Western Armenian books. In a couple of weeks Haigazian University will hold another “Armenian Book” evening, presenting all of the books published in the Western Armenian dialect (and a few in other languages) in Lebanon in 2017. Beirut continues to let the world know that it is a cultural center for Armenians throughout the world, despite the past and present efforts to obliterate our presence in this region. (However, these Armenian books continue to cry out for people to pick them up and read them…)

7. Calling everything by a superlative. No matter what the item, it’s always better if you add the word “extra” to it. Or sometimes just name it “Extra”. This week I saw a man carrying a 50 kg (110 lb.) sack of flour to the nearby “manaqish” bakery. What was the brand of flour? “Extra”. Why not?

LebCat 17: All of these toilets are mine. And the boxes, too.
(26 Aug. 2018 – Nor Amanos, Baouchrieh)

            Raising your voice, for a Christian, usually means you are offering heartfelt praise to God. But it’s important to have a complete view of “being heard”. Christians must also cry out for the oppressed who have no voice, or challenge the idol-worshiping that is so much part and parcel of economic systems here and everywhere, or lift their voices in prayers of intercession or repentance, or raise a call to turn back from the paths of death to the ways of God. There is a time to be silent, but also a time to speak (Eccl. 3.7).

            Especially as an Armenian, there are so many more things about which I want to cry out, as I adjust to life here. And maybe I will. But this much for this time. [LNB]

[Note: Last blog’s “LebCat 16 & friends” was photographed in 2018 (not 2017) as they were dragging Sevag into their thrall.]