Lebanon- A whole other level of 2020 by Natalie Ashkar

For our generation, 2020 has been an unprecedentedly overwhelming year with its chaos, crises, confusion, and changes. Back in January, the dawn of the new year brought with it a looming threat of WWIII after the assassination of top Iranian General Qassem Soleimani. Tensions between Iran and the US rose amidst President Trump’s impeachment trial, while fires raged across the world in Australia, displacing thousands and killing over a billion animals.

Around one month after the world was faced with the shocking death of NBA legend Kobe Bryant, the World Health Organization announced COVID-19 as a global health crisis, and lives were turned upside down. Countries across the world declared nationwide lockdowns and mandatory social distancing regulations in an attempt to lessen the infection rate and subsequently ease pressure on medical institutions. Although coronavirus cases kept rising well into summer, Americans waged war against another, more silent pandemic: systemic racism. Black Lives Matter protests and demands for racial equality swept the nation and the world after the murder of George Floyd, proving that not even a pandemic can hinder the fight for justice.

However, while Western media documented international events with the spotlight largely on the United States and Europe, anger raged in a third-world country, a mere 10,452 km2 on the east coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Lebanon reached its tipping point after 30 years of indignation and frustration since the end of the Lebanese Civil War in 1990.

Unsustainable government borrowing had widened the gap between the elites and the lower class, leaving around 50% of the population below the poverty line, and resulting in the third highest debt-GDP ratio in the world. The country had been drained of the ability to provide basic public services such as water, electricity, and healthcare, or tackle social and environmental crises; one cannot omit the 2015 garbage crisis or dangerously high air and water pollution rates.

2019 saw the value of the Lebanese lira decreasing compared to the US dollar, devastating living standards in a country highly dependent on imports. Bakeries and fuel stations threatened to go on strike due to the inflation, and unemployment increased as businesses were forced to shut down.

Finally, as if the Lebanese people were not already drowning in injustice and stress, wildfires surged across the country in October, burning down forests, wildlife, and homes, and when the government failed to react and instead proposed a WhatsApp tax to compensate for losses, that was it for the Lebanese. On October 17, 2019, hundreds of thousands swarmed the streets of Beirut (peacefully) demanding a better government.

Among all of these issues there is but one common denominator: corruption. The current political system in Lebanon epitomizes nepotism, negligence, and corruption, with sectarianism being a controlling factor in elections and decision-making. Banks are primarily owned by government officials who benefit from the high-interest rates of loans. Politicians have either stolen money that was given to relief efforts by international parties, and / or have been swayed by Hezbollah, the armed Iranian militia bordering South Lebanon.

Lack of transparency, poor communication, and corruption all contributed to the gross misjustice on behalf of the citizens of Lebanon, but nothing measured up to the events of August 4th. On a day like any other, 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate exploded in the Port of Beirut, yielding 170 casualties, thousands of injuries, over 300,000 displaced, and total devastation of the capital’s infrastructure, primary shipping dock, environment… 1 tenth of the intensity of Hiroshima’s nuclear bomb, and far bigger than any blast from a conventional weapon. Even more infuriating: the fact that the government was aware of the storage of ammonium nitrate in the port, and their lack of immediate action to protect the people of Beirut.

The blast shook the country and reverberated across the sea to Cyprus. Beirut, a beautiful and unique city, was in ruins, but the hearts of all 4.5 million people living in Lebanon as well as its diaspora of 12 million, were even more shattered. It was predictable yet ceaselessly disappointing that the unscrupulous and dishonorable government failed to react. Instead, the youth of Lebanon, along with NGOs, were the primary responders who handled injuries, cleaned up the rubble, and offered free housing, medical services, food, clothes, sanitary products, and more…

In a nation ironically characterized by sectarianism and conflict, the country (including 18 different religious sects) is united, with thousands helping their brothers and sisters in the mornings, and then protesting for the resignation of the government that murdered its own people in the afternoon.

One might remark that the pandemic is not over despite the explosion, but the Lebanese people, be it financially or emotionally, simply cannot afford to stay at home.

As a Lebanese teenager, my lockdown experience was not highlighted by baking banana bread or debating the ethics of wearing masks. Our TV channels were not showing The Last Dance or The Tiger King. It was not the need for haircut appointments or toilet paper that urged us to leave our homes.

My lockdown experience was instead characterized by a revolution that carried on in spirit despite the order to social distance. Instead of studying for the SATs, applying to colleges, or thinking about the future, Lebanese teenagers were calling their friends and family to make sure they were alive. They were organizing food drives, picking up glass, carrying debris, and scrubbing the blood off of walls and floors in Beirut. “They have made our youth carry brooms instead of books”. A sad but accurate truth.

We have all lost a piece of ourselves this past year, but still, we dream through the anger, the indignation, the loss, the PTSD, and the survivor’s guilt.

Because for Lebanon, it has never been about the size of the country in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the country, and no one has more strength, resilience, or spirit than the Lebanese people.

Lebanon is 10,452 km2 of unwavering fight, of brotherhood, of solidarity, and of hope. Lebanon is 3000-year old cedars and red-tiled roofs, and it is also skyscrapers, nightclubs, and festivals. It is a mosque and church standing next to each other, and the ability to ski and snorkel on the same day. Lebanon is my friends’ jokes and family’s hugs, my Teta’s tabbouleh, and the extra third kiss on the cheek. It’s when I realized I didn’t want to have to leave. Lebanon is open doors and open hearts, a fire that never burns out, and a song that never fades. "لبنان ما “رح يرجع, because لبنان ما راح; it lives in all of us more strongly than ever.

To non-Lebanese readers, our experience shows the importance of unwavering resilience and brotherhood in the face of injustice, conflict, and corruption. Never before has the solidarity of the international community been more important, and its vitality will remain critical as we navigate more eminent threats: climate change, social equality, poverty… The fight for justice persists, and although the end goal is not yet in sight, it is only together, that we can begin to see it.