God only knows how hard I have tried to brush away the scarce fanatical dust particles I had on my shoulders when I was growing up within my non-political, non-fanatical family. When the war broke out in the seventies I always refused to surrender to demarcation lines (at the expense of my own well being) and new found notions of different class systems based on religion. Admittedly I was never, what the church could label a true Christian, for I was always brought up to believe in God the benevolent and in the goodness of man. In 1984 and after a few bad experiences and mistakes; I decided to look for greener pastures. Overnight I left family and loved ones, took a plane to England (how green and damp can you get?) were I spent 16 years. I thought, upon my return that my tolerance, my acceptance of others had grown stronger; I thought that I was part of this new generation that constitutes the salvation of this holly land of ours. I started looking for those who, at a time left seeking enrichment and now are back; in order to feel a sense of belonging and possibly make a difference. I found none.
I was alone.
10 years later, I came to understand.
I came to understand that I cannot call a brother he who denies his roots. I left before the Hizbullah’s phenomenon (and I thank my lucky stars for that, for if I had I would not be writing today) showed its ugly face. Do not misunderstand me, I am not naive, for I have seen what ‘’Fath’’. Sa3ika’’, ‘’Jibhat Al rafed’’, ‘’Mourabitoun’’,’’Amal’’,’’Mortazaka’’,’’Kataeb’’...etc did during 9 nightmarish years I lived before my self inflicted exile.
I came back filled with hope and aspirations, not only for me, but for my son and my country as well. Sad to say that I regard my return from my safe heaven (England) as the biggest mistake I ever did. A mistake bigger than when I took up arms thinking (falsely) that it was my duty as a Lebanese.
I am the proud son of the south (although Christian on my Lebanese ID card, but Lebanese at heart), I still cannot (and never will) relate to the Hizb’s propaganda. For the south was always mine (as a Lebanese), for I have shared the hardships and the neglect from all governments past and present, for I have never sold out my Lebanese identity; and those who follow the Hizb have.
To those veil, sandal, beard, turban wearing sold out fucks I dedicate the following song.
To those fucks I say : ‘’Yes you are heavy, and you are no brother of mine’’
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4 comments:
ça me fait mal de voir que tu regrettes tant de ne pas être resté en Angleterre. je continue à m'autopersuader que le Liban vaut la peine de se battre (sans armes ni barbes) pour lui. et vive Sainte-Almaza!
@David
I use to share your vision not so long ago, but now I tend to agree with one of our crooked politicians when he said that he would rather live and work as a garbage collector abroad.
Vive la Siante Almaza Pure malt !
Brothers or family members are, in one way or another, ‘heavy’… to say the least. What about ‘compatriots’ whose values and ideology are, not only different from ours, but at the very opposite of what we believe in?! I was ashamed of my Lebanese nationality the day Kantar was acclaimed ‘hero’ of the day and COUNTRY. I still am today.
As for your decision to come back to Lebanon, and despite my self-proclaimed anger and disgust above, allow me to ask you one simple (?) question. Why dwell on the past? What you did then you cannot undo. But what you can still strive for is the Lebanon you dreamt of. All I wish you today is that you dreams come true.
@ Aurora,
Welcome.
I think every TRUE lebanese was ashamed the day our rotten political class welcomed Kuntar.
It is situations like that that make me think back (not dwell, but reflect). In life there are many crossroads, sometime we make take the right direction and sometimes we don't.
I tried to amek a difference in many ways, but unfortunately my fellow Lebanese are still blinded by rethoric and false promises.
Thank you for your wishes !
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