A Political Landscape

Even if the Lebanese history books are devoid of references to the civil war, halting their account in 1965 due to the impossibility pf writing a story that all parties involved can accept, it is impossible to entirely forget it. The war has shaped not only contemporary Lebanese politics, but more strickingly the landscape. Those traces are, as you will have noticed by my constant references to them, what shocks me the most in Beirut. They are a constant reminder of the tragic history of the country.

Every street corner is dominated by a building with holes for windows. gun shot impacts for decorations and waild vegetation for inhabitants. Most impressive is the yellow house near Sodeco square that I cross when going to Universite St-Joseph where I'll be taking Arabic classes. In better days, the house must have been one of those luxurious villas inspired by both the European and the Middle Eastern architecture with arched windows, spacious rooms, high ceilings and yellow-painted walls. Nowadays, many of the columns that gave it it's distinctive cachet are suspended from the ceiling, hanging by a thread. It's a miracle that the building is still standing. Recently, the house has been surrounded by workers. Rumors circulate about the possibility of either restoration or reinforcement, sponsored by the City of Paris. The latter would be intended to make that house a war memorial. Another powerful reminder of the civil war is the Holiday Inn hotel which towers the skyline. Given that this building was at the border between East and West Beirut, it was the scene of some of the most intense fighting between the militias. It has since remained untouched, spreading its dark shadow on the city. Whether or not these buildings are left decayed and abandonned intentionally is up for debate. A Lebanese law states that no private property can be seized by the government, even if its owners are long gone. It is up to them, and their descendant, to decide whether they want to keep their home in hopes of better days or sell it.

When given the chance, previous administrations, especially that of late Rafiq Hariri, have spent much time and money trying to improve the image of Beirut. In the center of the city lies Solidere neighborhood. Meant to be highly symbolical of rebirth it stands out amidst the war ruins. Almost entirely destroyed during the civil war, every remains of the area straddling the Green Line in the city center was bulldozed and leveled to make way for luxurious fountains, pompous roundabouts, fancy appartments and offices, hip clubs and gourmet restaurants. Despite its on paper appeal, Solidere is deserted. Too expensive for Beirutis, it is also seen by many of them as a betrayal, as bad government spending (especially that access to water, electricity, heating, education, healthcare and social security are major daily concerns) and as a destruction of the country's heritage. For a tourist, Solided could be a paradise amidst all the scenes of poverty and destruction that makes us so uneasy. However, its emptiness, its lack of authenticity and its constrast with the rest of the city makes the area to surreal to enjoy. At any moment we expect all the buildings to fall, be removed like a movie set, revealing the ugliness that is war's legacy. Yet, some still believe that Solidere is a model and holds the key to Beirut's revival as the Monte Carlo of the Middle East, a place of relaxation, leisure and decadence.

Soon, when the rain stops, I hope to take pictures doing justice to this landscape. A lanscape where every building is political, is historical. Whether it be an abandoned house that tells the tale of a family that had to fled the country in haste or sophisticated complexes which represent, without doubt, the desire to forget, and move on.