JO Magazine

Author Chris Hedges famously said that "war is a force that gives us meaning." Jibril Hambel wonders if there’s anywhere that's more true than in beirut.

Words by Jibril Hambel.

AS RAMADAN WOUND DOWN this year, rumors flew thick and fast that a war in Lebanon was in the works, most likely headlined by Israel and Hizbullah. The bombing was going to start as soon as the holidays were over; Beirut was going to get blasted back to the stone age.

But nothing happened. The mythic war gossip faded—for a moment only, of course. In recent weeks it’s surfaced once more. Border skirmishes broke out, agitprop paraded as news, and things started to gather momentum again.

First there were the recent rocket attacks on Northern Israel, which revived fears of a terrible reprisal recalling 2006—if not worse. Then, when credit for those impotent strikes was claimed by Al Qaeda-inspired fundamentalists, it seemed that governments on both sides of the border yawned and moved on to more pressing business.

But with every new headline, people here see the dice being rolled for another go on the Stratego board. There was Hizbullah claiming it had intelligence archives that embarrassed Israel. There was Israel still nursing the wounds of its 2006 invasion, when a ragtag militia fought the almighty IDF to a ceasefire. Then there was the question of an aid ship full of weapons, apparently sent from Iran to Lebanon.

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Once again, the gossip mills ran on overtime, and the word “war” was bandied about in the “when, not if” sense so common in Lebanon. Are the Lebanese, or at least the Hizbullah forces in the south, hunkering down for more hostilities? Clearly. Is Israel trawling the international press for a serious enough provocation to allow them to save face in light of the 2006 events that ended not with a bang but with a whimper? No doubt.

Plenty of saber rattling on both sides grabs headlines, and keeps people whispering about the end days a’comin’.

The newsprint spilled over such speculations in recent weeks sounds like yet another warm-up for something serious to happen. Granted, when it does, it’s usually nothing more than a 40-minute rocket barrage, a give-and-take that helps both parties save face. Yet what are we to think when the explicit threats and discussions of firepower make headlines yet again? How can we tell when saber rattling turns into unsheathed swords?

The frequency of these ritualistic war dances raises an interesting question for those of us in Lebanon. What would Lebanon be without the fear of perpetual war?

The frightening answer: it would be like any one of a number of Middle Eastern countries where a lot of nothing happens all the time.During normal times, who ever thinks about Bahrain or Cyprus or Tunisia? Or Dorset or, say, New Jersey?

Could it be that war is a tourist attraction for the extreme sports crowd? Adventure travel taken to its logical conclusion? Tourism figures in Lebanon are skyrocketing these days (no pun intended).

These ongoing but low-key border frolics keep the news ink flowing and give this tiny country a certain allure missing in less-conflicted places. It’s like bungee jumping: it wouldn’t be fun without that free-fall, verge-of-death sensation that grips your insides.

But as for the Lebanese, the question remains: Is the constant specter of war part of what it means to be in Lebanon, to call oneself Lebanese? Few places have found their names entered in the dictionary as a synonym for total and violent infrastructure collapse; but Libanisation is in French dictionaries, just as Balkanization falls between balance and balls in English ones.

In the oddity that is Beirut, you start to question the sounds of the city. Is that a helicopter, and why is it patrolling the skies of the capital? Did that sound like an MEA airliner or a jet fighter? Were those gunshots from a wedding, or a celebration of another zaim’s televised speech—or were they the semi-mythical US-and-Israeli manipulated internecine fighting between Sunni and Shi’a bursting out into the streets? (That seems to be one of the day’s more popular conspiracy theories.)

If I had to write a travel brochure promoting Lebanon, I’d title it: “Come to Lebanon and Live the Questions.” Which is sad, because Beirut in particular remains a regional cultural and media hub, and doesn’t really need to cash in on the oceans of blood spilled from 1975 to 1990.

And yet it seems we’re perpetually aware of the shadow of war, whether civil or international, just around that next corner, just over the next hill—that’s right, the same hill that overlooks the equally fabled Judea and Samaria.

It’s tempting to say let the past lie, but on a more realistic level? Something is in the works, something that will no doubt be politically expedient for most if not all involved.

We imagine war because the alternative is unthinkable: a state of peace that would make the Middle East about as interesting as Vienna. It would threaten arms manufacturers and politicians whose ballot boxes thrive on chaos and conflict. Who would all those hardware bids get fielded out to if no one felt in desperate need of weapons? What could those billions of dollars in aid support if the whole region just sat down and shut up for once?

What would homegrown politicians do without some magical external threat demanding that we remain vigilant? “Sorry about your child, ma’am, we know swine flu is a bastard, but we’re fighting terror here. Can’t you see the bigger picture?”

No doubt most Lebanese would be quite happy never to hear another gunshot as long as they live. But even so … where would any of us in Lebanon be without the threat of war, of perpetual revolution scrawled in spray paint on walls, hung from telephone poles and plastered on billboards?

We’d be in New Jersey. A fate worse than death. 

Jibril Hambel went to school in New Jersey, and knows whereof he speaks. The opinions in this piece are the columnist’s own, and do not represent the views of JO.