The Wayward Orientalist

So, from the beginning I have been thinking about a catchy title for this blog, something that could sum up what I want to convey here, and, lacking inspiration, I had settled temporarily for the most obvious way to describe what I was going through: In Beirut.

I have been struggling with what I should write here. How do I sum up my experience? There are many clichés and easy generalizations to make about Beirut or Lebanon, and while they might contain a kernel of truth (which stereotype doesn’t?), I can’t help but bristle with annoyance when I hear “They” statements:

“They are very religious”

“The women here, They are very superficial”

Yes, religion is a very important factor here in public life (although not always in the ways someone uninitiated to Lebanon might expect);

Yes, you will see many women here whose perfectly manicured nails, heavily drawn eyebrows and suspiciously plump lips will attract stares;

“BUT…,” I want to say, each and every time. But that’s not all. There is so much more to see, but if one chooses to believe heartily in these clichés—Beirut the bigot; Beirut the party girl—then one will only register the facts that fit their vision, and leave satisfied that Beirut conforms to the image they have of it.

It seems so silly to argue back with platitudes such as “Lebanon is a land of contrasts” or “there are as many ways of being Lebanese as there are Lebanese people.” These are painfully obvious statements you could utter about any place on Earth, and, with enough grave conviction in your voice, you could pass them off as deeply insightful thoughts.

The fact of the matter is: Beirut, Lebanon, the Middle East are too complex to be summed up with neat vignettes. Yet, isn’t that what this blog is implicitly trying to do? By offering up my experience to you, am I not in some ways perpetuating some of these easy stereotypes? By choosing to share with you terrible tales of Arab bureaucracy, am I not deciding that this is an easy, digestible aspect of my Middle Eastern life fit to show the rest of the world?—when the truth is, these very same stories could undoubtedly have happened to me in France (with an extra layer of grumpy unhelpfulness, may I add).

So yes, I am also guilty of perpetuating negative images of the Middle East. After all, I am an orientalist, whether I want to or not. No matter how hard I might try, by virtue of being a Western individual born and raised into adulthood in Occidental cultures, my framework of understanding will always be occidental.

The best I can do is keep in mind that my outsider status does not magically translate to a neutral point of view; I am not conferred any particular brand of wisdom for trying to live in a culture different from my own.

The best I can do is listen to individual narratives and not forget that they are just that—individual experiences which may or may not coincide with a vast number of other individual experiences here.

The best I can do is also not falling into the trap of only depicting the positive aspects of Lebanese culture. It would not do the country justice to only show the fun, light, saccharine side of Beiruti life. Truth, as always, lies in the middle.

So I am still not particularly certain of how I can avoid the pitfalls of prejudicial Western thinking. In truth, I probably won’t be able to, not all the time. I can only aim to be a contrarian, a wayward orientalist of sorts.

So there you go. Wish me luck.