The Paradox of Lebanese Existence

Lebanon, a land of contradictions. A place where the deepest joys and the most intense sorrows intersect, where unity and division coexist, and where vibrancy thrives amidst profound pain. This is the paradoxical reality of Lebanon.

For those out of the loop, Lebanon has been struggling with a severe political and economic crisis since October 2019. Our currency's value has nosedived, and inflation has skyrocketed to levels beyond measure. The country seems to be on a steep cliff, rocking towards collapse. But is this the whole truth?

Take a Sunday stroll through Zaytouna Bay or along the Beirut Corniche. You will find restaurants bustling with customers and streets alive with the laughter of families. The city pulses with life, an evident contrast to the economic crisis narrative. This begs the question: How do Lebanese people, including myself, manage to carry on with our daily lives, finding enjoyment in a country struck by one of the worst economic crises in history?

I don't have all the answers, but it is clear that numerous contradictions are at play in the Lebanese way of life. Behind the façade of familial happiness and economic buzz, there is a deeper, more somber reality. For every busy street, there are countless others deserted; for every family out enjoying themselves, many more are longing for such simple pleasures. Our perception of Lebanon is skewed by a selection bias, focusing on a minority and overlooking the wider suffering.

This raises a critical question: why isn't there more effort to change our situation? In recent years, we have developed a kind of emotional numbness. The COVID-19 pandemic, now seemingly a distant memory, has turned us into detached observers, weakening our ties to community and social values. Repeated exposure to suffering has bred a concerning indifference, one that stops us from seeing the gradual decline of our situation.

Lebanon's history is rich with disaster and conflict, and the general response has been to adapt rather than revolt. We cope with our hardships in ways that sometimes seem poetic in their contradictions. For instance, grand weddings in the Keserwan mountains during the civil war, or the recent trend of using humor in response to earthquakes on social media. Our typical coping strategy, humorously summed up as "منزبّطها", which directly translates to “we’ll figure it out”, has its price. We often resort to easy fixes, such as bribery or nepotism, which has fostered a reliance on a clientelist system. This way of life, while providing temporary comfort, obstructs the path to genuine change and reform.

Even with a significant portion of the population affiliated with political parties promising reform, these institutions often serve as mere improvisations, sustaining a lifestyle that's more about survival than change. In essence, we are caught in a cycle that reinforces the status quo.

Changing these ingrained coping mechanisms and clientelist tendencies in Lebanon seems impossible. Nonetheless, it is a challenge we must confront. By becoming numb to our trauma, we are trading our future for a fleeting present, ignoring the underlying issues that are only worsening with time.

If we continue living in this state of numbness, we risk losing more than we realize. Our community bonds, our institutions, and our very hearts are at stake. The realization might come too late, but the need for change is more pressing than ever.