Puppets, bread, and circuses
Muddled thoughts after the November ceasefire and my return to Kfarkila
In January, I went on a hike in Daher el Baydar, mainly to see the dilapidated train tunnels that still weave in and out of the mountains that cradle the Bekaa Valley. Wayn kina w wayn sirna. Where we were and where we are now. I overhear someone say that line every time I walk among relics of our past. In the same breath, the guide credited the French for the construction of the tunnels and blamed the Lebanese for ruining them.
This is an example of a miniscule moment that makes me disconnect from my compatriots. Even though his explanation isn’t wrong exactly, his delivery and omission of more context made me agitated for the rest of the hike.
We have a new president, prime minister, and cabinet after years of stagnation. The people joked that they were “not used to good news” given the sudden post-war efficiency. I’m a killjoy that finds this momentum suspicious. On top of that, although I know much more was sacrificed to get to the circumstances of the present day, I feel like the South was left on the altar of Israel so that this new Lebanon could be born. Individuals and municipalities paid for posters congratulating the stabilizing duo (the president & PM) while the South continued to be bombed and occupied. As a country, we did not mourn this war together for various reasons—one of them being that Israeli fighter jets are still terrorizing us so it doesn’t feel over. Another more insidious reason is that this loss for some was an opportunity for others. It isn’t a stretch to think that some Lebanese see Israel’s victory as their own, especially if having the U.S. decide our fate going forward is their idea of a sovereign Lebanon. Throughout 2024, we were told that southern Lebanon is part of Lebanon just like Dahiyeh is part of Beirut and yet, the southern border villages were being bombarded continuously after the ceasefire of last November. Whatever was agreed upon enabled the Israelis to finish turning the border into a barren buffer zone.