Today marks the end of the 4th week of the Revolution. It’s been 29 days.
Since day one, I’ve had so many things to say, and couldn’t find the words to. But I’m gonna try.
Three years ago, I left Lebanon to study abroad. Before that, I was counting the days until I’d leave it. I hated Lebanon. I hated its people, its narrow-mindedness, its politics, its corruption.
I arrived to a big city with big dreams. I met a lot of people who all seemed cultured, educated and open-minded. It felt so good. I got easy access to education, to healthcare, to transports, to telecommunication, to public spaces, to my rights, as a woman, as a human. Everything seemed like the future. It wasn’t. It’s just the way things are supposed to be. Civilized.
Time passed, and I started to miss Lebanon. I started to miss its food, I started to miss its weather, I started to miss my comfort zone, I started to miss the warmth of the people, I started to miss its music, I started to miss my friends. I started to miss my family.
Time passed, and I actually started to enjoy going back to Lebanon for holidays. But then again, I kept telling myself: “Lebanon is amazing for holidays, but I could never live here forever again.” And you know what the worse part is? The worse part is, I didn’t even realize how wrong that was. Why would someone who likes his country never want to live in it? In its own country! I guess I had really lost all hope.
Then, on Monday 14th of October 2019, I was on my way to class when I first read about the fires burning all over the country. It broke my heart. I spent the day on my phone, trying to follow the news, hoping the fires would stop, not understanding why we didn’t have more tools to extinguish them. However, I was very moved by the solidarity of Lebanese people in these hard times.
On Wednesday 16th of October 2019, I was talking to a friend that was in Lebanon, and I said:
“I don’t understand why people aren’t all protesting already. Everybody hates the government and nobody is doing anything about it. It’s driving me insane.”
She just answered: “ It’s useless. Everybody is complaining on social media, but no one is willing to do anything about it.”
On Thursday 17th of October 2019, I was having dinner with some Lebanese friends living in the same city I do. One of them left the table and only came back half an hour later. When he came back with a totally shocked face, I made fun of him. Until he said: “Guys, you’re not gonna believe what’s happening. My uncle just called from Lebanon. People are protesting on the streets. A revolution is starting.”
You can only imagine my face when I heard that, only one day after the conversation with my other friend.
I didn’t know how to feel about this.
I was excited and happy but scared and stressed at the same time.
I said: “It’s not gonna last, people are gonna protest for a day or two and that’s it.”
But I kept following the news 24h/24h. Deep down, I was truly wishing the protests wouldn’t stop, at least not until things changed a bit.
The distance was heartbreaking. I spent my days following what was going on through social media. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t socialize, I couldn’t sleep. I was constantly tied to my phone. And for once, it was for a good cause.
For the first time in my life, I’ve felt proud to be Lebanese. For the first time in my life, I’ve had hope for my country’s future. For the first time in my life, I’ve thought: “If things change, I wanna live in Lebanon forever.”
I couldn’t be there instantly, but my soul was constantly with my people and my country. As the days passed, I started to realize this was something big. I cannot count the times I had to hold my tears in class, in the subway, in a bar… while watching a video showing unity, love, support, awareness amongst Lebanese people. It was the most beautiful and unbelievable thing I’d ever seen.
I needed to go back to Lebanon.
I felt useless. I felt like I had failed my country. I felt like I abandoned it. This revolution had always been my dream, and I couldn’t even be there to see it come true.
Despite my parents being doubtful about it, I took plane tickets to go back home as soon as possible to fight for my country, with my people. I just couldn’t bear the heartbreak of knowing all that was happening, not being there, and not even being able to talk about it with foreigners because I’d seem annoying, overly patriotic, or they would just don’t care.
For the first time, I went to the airport, really excited to go back home. When the plane took off, I cried. When we landed, I cried even more. Seeing Lebanese people all around me never felt so good, so comforting.
Although I’ve been going to every protest abroad, it wasn’t the same. So I headed right after I landed to the streets. The Lebanese streets. The streets that were filled with hope, anger, and ambition. Walking in Beirut never felt so good. The people. The generosity. The hospitality. The art. Revolution never looked so good.
I talked to army soldiers, they thanked me for coming all the way to protest and were begging us to keep protesting, because they can’t. I cried. Again. I told them I could only be there for 5 days, so there wasn’t anything to thank me for, I thanked them, and asked them to keep the people safe. They promised they would, as much as possible.
And so I spent 5 days protesting, seeing things I never thought I would, meeting people I never thought could exist, feeling a power I never thought I could feel.
I’ve always been quiet nihilistic. Nothing never made much sense to me. Everything was pointless in the end. But for the first time in my life, it wasn’t. For the first time in my life, I felt hope. My perspective on everything changed in only five days. My perspective on art changed, my perspective on politics changed, my perspective on people changed, my perspective on every other country in the world changed, my perspective on Lebanon changed. In only five days, my perspective on life changed. In only five days, I’ve learned more than I did during the rest of my life.
The following days, while I was protesting, a man called my name from a distance, I turned away, and I saw one of the army guys I had met the other night, coming to me only to say hi. Out of all faces, he recognized me. Out of all names, he remembered it. Then, a bit further, I saw all his friends that I had also talked to, and they all waved hands with a huge smile on their face to say hi. It may seem like nothing, but it made my day.
The week I was in Lebanon, some peaceful protestors were attacked by some guys supporting a certain political party. It broke my heart. How could you just attack people who’ve been fighting for their dreams for the last two weeks, and destroy everything they built?! How could you be so evil? Two hours after the attack, the protestors were already building everything all over again, and fighting for their country. It was beautiful.
Leaving Lebanon had never been so hard.
I cried, once again, when the plane took off, and when we landed. Since then, I’ve been back to following the news 24h/24h through my screens. My eyes are dried, my nerves are tired, but I can’t help it. I cannot bring myself to do anything else. Everything else seems pointless. The only ideas I get at college are about the revolution, all my art is being about the revolution, all my writing is being about the revolution. It’s like I found something meaningful in my life, for once. I’m not a religious person, but everything that’s been happening have really been like a religion to me: it made me wanna be good to others, it made me wanna help others, it made me wanna love others, it gave me hope for the future, even on the bad days of it all, it still fueled me with hope. And if that isn’t a religion to you, your definition of a religion is wrong.
4 weeks later, our government still haven’t managed to solve it all. I know things take time, but when will they wake up? Will they even ever really wake up? Through all the love and joy, I still was sane enough to see and be disgusted by how careless our government is. They don’t care about us. Not even a bit. And for those who think they do, tell me: does your political chief even know you personally exist? What has he personally done to you? How does it feel to support someone despite it all who isn’t even aware of your existence, and won’t ever, EVER, do anything to help you personally through hard times? Tell me: if you were about to fall off a cliff, do you think your political chief would run to help you, or would it be another Lebanese citizen? Let that sink in. Because all we got is each other. As Lebanese. Not as religious people, not as politically oriented people. Dear people still supporting any political party, have you got access to water, electricity, decent WiFi, food, education, healthcare, public spaces, public transportation, all the time? Does your wife, your daughter, have all her rights as a woman? Is your air fresh, your sea clean, and your land green? If so, then go on with supporting your political party, but if it is so, we must be living in two different countries, or at least 2 different illusions.
Wake up. They don’t care about you. They just use you as tools to stay empowered. You are puppets.
Wake up. The same people have been governing for more than 30 years.
Wake up.
Whatever the president’s intentions were, at no point, AT NO POINT IN A DEMOCRACY, is he allowed to invite his people to leave their own country. THEIR country. Let me take this back. We’re not his people. We are the Lebanese people. And we are no one’s people but each other. And we are free. Seeing the President’s speech from abroad really broke my heart. “If people aren’t satisfied with any of the decent leaders let them immigrate.” Really? Seriously? Don’t you see most of us already did? And you know what? More than ever, you make us wanna come back home to fix all the wounds you and your colleagues did to our country. Maybe you’re the one who should me emigrating, dear Mr.President. Because you know what emigration feels like, right? You must know what homesickness feels like. You must know what being away from your loved ones feels like. You must know. Unless you’re really heartless. Unless you’re really a monster. So how dare you say that? How dare you?
A man lost his life following your speech. A kid saw his dad die right in front of him. A woman saw her husband die right in front of her. Children lost their dad. A family’s life have changed forever. A family’s gonna have the same nightmare all over again for the rest of their lives. A family’s whole psychology is changed for the rest of their lives. For what? This could have been avoided. It was free violence. It was inhumane. Every time I went through social media today and saw something about it, I’d end up tearing up. The worse part is, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t do anything to help. Last night, i couldn’t even sleep because of the fear of not knowing what would happen next. Fearing a war could begin at any moment, and not even being with my family, with my friends and loved ones.
Is this a joke to you Mr.President ? Is this a joke to any of you filthy pigs pretending to govern our country when all you do is ruin it and turn it to ashes? You’re all a disgrace to humanity. Monsters with no souls and no feeling. How could you let all that happen? Do you know anything about empathy? Because it seems like you don’t, and it’s about time you learned a little lesson.
Imagine all this happening to you. Imagine not having permanent access to water, to food, to electricity, to a way of communicating, to transportation, to warmth during winter, to education, to healthcare, not having MONEY (bet that one scared you the most, right? You filthy money-eating machines). Imagine swimming in the sea, amongst the ordures of thousands of people you don’t even know, instead of swimming in your own pretty private swimming pool. Imagine seeing your dad dying in the worst possible way right before your eyes. Imagine having nightmares of it for the rest of your life. Or the other way around. Imagine your wife seeing you die in the worst possible way right before your eyes. Imagine your family, the days after, the months after, the years after, struggling to survive in this jungle called Lebanon. Just imagine. Just put yourselves in their shoes for one second. It only takes one second.
Dear Mr. President, dear Government, I doubt any of you wants that.
Actually, no human being wants that.
Dear Mr.President, dear Government, is it really blood and death that you want?
Dear Mr. President, Dear General,
When in the army, your vows were to fight for your country, fight for Lebanon, fight for your people. Not against it.
Where do you stand now?
Also, to the Lebanese people not hitting the streets, not joining the protests, what’s your excuse? We still have so much work to do. If you got lucky enough not to suffer from all these issues throughout your life, it doesn’t mean you can’t fight for your fellow Lebanese citizens to have the same luck you did. Remember, if you were to ever fall off a cliff, who would help you?
Another Lebanese citizen, just like you. If you would hold and hang on to their hand, I’m sure you can do that now too.
Dear Mr. President, dear Government, dear people still following any political party,
You are a disgrace to human’s rights. You are a disgrace to humanity. You are a disgrace to Lebanon. You are the filthiest scums in this world.
Prove us otherwise
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