How do you even start talking about tragedies? How can you write personally about events that take lives, shake some people's worlds intensely and intimately without sounding callous, cold, or even reappropriating them by talking at length about your personal feelings on the matter?
I have been trying to think of how I can possibly discuss the car bomb that happened almost two weeks ago near Sassine Square in the east Beirut. How the immediate aftermath was one of panic, incomprehension and solidarity, before once again falling prey to the ugliness of political divisions.
It's during moments like these that I hate politics the most—the indecency of politicians tripping over themselves to get on television first and try to spin death and destruction to their advantage. When it was revealed that the attack targeted Wissam al-Hassan, dread set in the pit of my stomach. There was no escaping the political now.
I have already spoken of the confusion and fear following the events of May, but this time, I actually felt that weariness that I couldn't understand before. Violence, followed by more retributive violence, and within a few days, dust dissipates and life goes back to normal. This twisted cycle seems endless, and the same people benefit from it each and every time: the political class. It's hard to believe in the earnestness of a Saad Hariri mourning the loss of a supposed close friend, his eagerness to regain premiership barely disguised. Proper investigations have only barely begun their work, but the culprit has already been decided upon in the public square; it must be Syria, so why bother analyzing facts?
Those who yield political power thrive on the divisions of Lebanese society, and have no incentive to change the status quo and make this country a better place for everyone in it. They are the ones pulling the strings, deciding when, where and if people will go down in the streets. They welcome opportunities to vilify other political factions and present themselves as the sole defenders of their constituents. But these are all distractions from the everyday issues that make life difficult for the Lebanese. There are movements like Take Back Parliament which are trying to shake things up, but as long as the Lebanese can't overhaul the system completely and get rid of these remainders of the civil war (and their offspring), I'm not sure how we can guarantee that tragedies like this one won't happen again.
I have been trying to think of how I can possibly discuss the car bomb that happened almost two weeks ago near Sassine Square in the east Beirut. How the immediate aftermath was one of panic, incomprehension and solidarity, before once again falling prey to the ugliness of political divisions.
It's during moments like these that I hate politics the most—the indecency of politicians tripping over themselves to get on television first and try to spin death and destruction to their advantage. When it was revealed that the attack targeted Wissam al-Hassan, dread set in the pit of my stomach. There was no escaping the political now.
I have already spoken of the confusion and fear following the events of May, but this time, I actually felt that weariness that I couldn't understand before. Violence, followed by more retributive violence, and within a few days, dust dissipates and life goes back to normal. This twisted cycle seems endless, and the same people benefit from it each and every time: the political class. It's hard to believe in the earnestness of a Saad Hariri mourning the loss of a supposed close friend, his eagerness to regain premiership barely disguised. Proper investigations have only barely begun their work, but the culprit has already been decided upon in the public square; it must be Syria, so why bother analyzing facts?
Those who yield political power thrive on the divisions of Lebanese society, and have no incentive to change the status quo and make this country a better place for everyone in it. They are the ones pulling the strings, deciding when, where and if people will go down in the streets. They welcome opportunities to vilify other political factions and present themselves as the sole defenders of their constituents. But these are all distractions from the everyday issues that make life difficult for the Lebanese. There are movements like Take Back Parliament which are trying to shake things up, but as long as the Lebanese can't overhaul the system completely and get rid of these remainders of the civil war (and their offspring), I'm not sure how we can guarantee that tragedies like this one won't happen again.
I don't think you need to worry too much about (wrongly) appropriating violence by talking about your own experience / reaction to it. If you don't, then the politicians will own the narrative -- and that wouldn't be any better, yeah?
ReplyDeletePlus, if everyone agrees that they're not allowed to talk about a tragedy that didn't personally affect them in a very, very specific way, then very few people would be 'allowed' to talk about tragedy. The silence would be even worse, I think, than some disingenuous appropriation.