Lebanon: from tears to rage
Has it already been four days? I haven’t processed this yet, haven’t accepted the reality of our disaster, haven’t digested this foul meal we’ve been force-fed by our so-called leadership. It all makes me sick.
Leadership is not about power, position, or politics. It is about modeling the kind of behavior that inspires others, it is about galvanizing the collective toward a common goal. It is about doing the Right Thing.
When I see pictures of people cleaning their own streets I think our politicians do not deserve us. They are not leaders. They are cowards.
Please show me a politician with a broom – perhaps I’ve missed those pictures?!
For five minutes I forget what has happened. And then I relieve the nightmare. Refresh my Twitter feed for more more more. But – I am not there. I could have been there. Should have been there. Should be there. Should go there. I am an emergency person after all. And this is our very own emergency.
In 2002, when I told my parents that I was moving to Afghanistan, my mother said: Why do you want to work in someone else’s war zone when you have your own war zones?!
It took me 13 years to move to one of my warzones (the other is Palestine – and that’s a whole other tragedy). I spent four years in Beirut. Did I do anything useful? Am I doing anything useful now?
The curse of the diaspora is pain plus paralysis. We hurt. But we’re impotent. Money is all we can do. We do it – but then what? It’s never enough
Because this was senseless. Stupid. Preventable. The government murdered its own people. And we can’t blame anyone else this time.
Today Lebanon is shattered glass, bloody streets, and broken hearts. And righteous rage.