This letter is addressed to the Lebanese people. Not the government, not the so-called opposition, not the remainder of the political class, and not even the international community. As one of millions of Lebanese living in the diaspora because their parents deemed it better for them to grow up elsewhere, I am stuck in limbo. Heartbroken for a home that I have not lived in, yearning for a country where I can reunite with my family.
It is not with ease that I publish this letter, knowing that despite the several drafts, I could keep writing because I don’t think I will ever find the right words. But here it is anyway.
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Dear Lebanese people,
I don’t explicitly refer to myself as an immigrant. My go-to descriptor is, “I was born in Lebanon and migrated with my parents when I was a baby”. Maybe that was to absolve me of any involvement because I was too young to make such a life-changing decision and my parents were responsible for my life.
The lack of choice challenged my perception of home when I began to recognise the difference in my lifestyle compared to my peers. As if my house functioned as an embassy, I lived in Lebanon and when I stepped outside I lived in Australia.
I am a dual citizen but only have an Australian passport. I pronounce my last name according to its English spelling more than its Arabic spelling (technically Syriac). I know that many who get to know me might say I’m more Lebanese than Australian. I have been told by my family that I seem more Australian than Lebanese? Why is it when I go to Lebanon, a radar detects that foreign je ne sais quoi?
You say welcome to Lebanon, I say welcome home. You say how do you speak Arabic so fluently, I say it’s my first language. You say wow, you’ve been raised well as if raised outside of Lebanon is a sin. You say I can’t wait to leave, I say I can’t wait to come back.
To anyone who wishes to migrate, know that from then on, you will be sporadically returning to Lebanon. Your identity transforms from citizen to seasonal tourist. Visitor. You might get upgraded to a sponsor role (as in, sponsor and inject money into the Lebanese economy).
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When I wake up in the morning, it is unusual to not receive a news notification in exchange for a silent Whatsapp chat. I often send links in the chat, asking “do you know anything about this” only to be met with “shou badna nethamal ta nethamal” (what do we have left to endure).
As for me…I am safe, my body is safe, and I am able to continue my life despite the worry.
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The question on everybody’s lips: Is that Israel or an earthquake?
We say “may the earth split and swallow us whole” when we are frustrated forgetting that it could very much happen. Nature has a sick sense of humour but Lebanese people have a sickly sense of humour. You exchange sonic boom banter each time Israel breaks the sound barrier over Lebanon.
We can’t catch a break, but we can catch a party (or two) in between.
We love to divide ourselves; East, West, North, South. Maronite, Catholic, Orthodox, Sunni, Shia, Druze, Alawite. We pride ourselves on having approximately 18 recognised sects and assume that we invented diversity. Tourists, citizens, non-citizens, and refugees are living in the same suburb under very diverse conditions.
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You might be thinking, why am I painting a negative picture of Lebanon? If someone who isn’t Lebanese reads this, what would they think? We should keep our problems in-house. I think I am long past the point of what others think of Lebanon because they will never truly know it to the extent you and I do.
Call it what you want: “positivity”, “living life to the fullest”, “surviving”, but from afar, it looks like “hibernation”, “resignation” and “numbing of the pain.”
We romanticise Lebanon pre-1975, calling upon the waning memory of the golden age of the 1960s. I’m sure you have seen these photographs at every Duty Free, every home in the diaspora. It is embedded in our consciousness. Maybe that is all there is to it, an image to sell, never a reality to bring to life.
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On August 4, 2020, an explosion at Beirut port was caused by the foolish storage of 2750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate. Situated mere metres from residential areas, thousands were killed murdered. The families of victims have had their lives irrevocably altered, and the rest of their lives will be spent trying to advocate for the truth, and justice.
We were all enraged. And when people are full of rage, it’s hard to stop them. But we stopped and the anger was brought to a simmer.
I did not see the dilapidated buildings, the glass blanketing the streets, the drops of blood lining the stairs. But I did see this from afar, and I felt helpless.
Justice was promised in 5 days…it has been 4 years. We wait until every August 4 to call for justice, when that should be the case day in and day out.
Did you hear about the other chemicals that were stored in addition to the ammonium nitrate? Did you hear that eventually the Germans — who are no stakeholders — took these chemicals and exploded them elsewhere because the government did not act? Did you know that a Belgian-owned company offered to clean up the ground of the Port from chemicals free of charge and the government’s response was “what money do we get?”
We tried to have a revolution in 2019 but we let political parties wedge division and then we profited off of each other’s pain within our (mostly) self-serving NGO ventures. It’s time for another revolution. It may be naive of me but I don’t presume to know what it should look like.
It won’t get smaller unless it gets bigger, so let’s put that into practice. We have all heard Majida El-Roumi’s song ‘Oum Thadda’ because we love listening to our songs calling for revolution. Next time, listen closely because “your land is calling you, revolution, where are you?”
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Commissioned by Ramiz Barquet, a Mexican of Lebanese descent, the largest replica of the Emigrant statue was erected in 2002 at the Port of Beirut to honour Lebanese migrants living in the diaspora. Did Barquet ever think that his creation would withstand the explosion of 2750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate? I think he knew that statue would bear witness to the Lebanese experience, represent those of us abroad and sentenced to a lifetime of silence.
If the statue could speak, what would it say?
! أنا آخد موقف منكن. فالج ما تعالج
What will you say?
.كل حدث و الو حديث. ليش حاملي السلم بالعرض
I know what you’re going to say: Lebanon is tiny and so many other actors have a say in what goes on in and around it? What power do we have in the grand scheme of things? No one is asking you to change geopolitics, but you change the makeup of domestic politics.
We continue to ask the question: what has Lebanon ever done for us when it should be what have we ever done for Lebanon? We are eager to represent Lebanon beyond its borders but cower when it comes to addressing the contradictions within. Lebanon is not just a place, or a surface area of land, it is you and me.
By the end of this letter, you may still disagree with me. What we can all agree upon, is that we can never agree upon what Lebanon is, nor what it was, and what we want it to be. So while you go through all the alternative options, I know for sure that I want my home back.
Please consider my proposition. Start to think about your future in Lebanon, not outside of it. If not for yourself, for the next generation… for Lebanon. Because we all love Lebanon, right?
Yours sincerely,
a Lebanese emigrant-immigrant-migrant-expat person who happens to live in the diaspora
