domestic workers in Lebanon

More than one female migrant worker dies in Lebanon each week, most of them are either pushed to suicide by abuse and confinement or fall from great heights while attempting to escape these conditions. October alone claimed the lives of eight, according to HRW. The problem has attracted enough attention from NGOs that the authorities in Lebanon have started pretending to do something about it. General Security started a half-hearted attempt at raising awareness through media campaigns. The Ministry of Labor has introduced a standard work contract, but it still refuses to amend the labor law to include migrant domestic workers — which would insure them maximum work hours and a minimum salary and days off. Implementation would still be a problem, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it.

In the meantime, a blogger has taken it upon himself to address the problem and document suicide and other incidents in a new blog: Ethiopian Suicides. Despite the name, the blog is concerned with migrant domestic workers in general and it is the initiative of a concerned citizen. Please, check it out. (hat tip: Moussa Bashir)

 

a word or two about the new government

As most followers of all things Lebanese know, a unity government headed by Saad Hariri has been formed after five months of… well, formation. Ziad Baroud is going to retain his position as Minister of Interior (president’s share) and that is good news. But there is even better news: The Free Patriotic Movement has chosen no other than economist, activist, and intellectual Sharbil Nahhas for the post of Minister of Telecommunications. To those of you not familiar with Sharbil Nahhas, his website (trilingual) gives a good idea of his qualifications. Nahhas is a reformer in spirit with a fundamental critique and understanding of our sectarian system. Over the past two decades, Nahhas has put together several proposals, such as a strategy for social development and a law proposal for a pension scheme, that, needless to say, never made it through the system. As the inside man, there is reason to hope a little.

Other than Baroud and Nahhas, there are actually some good choices in this makeup (by “good” I mean people who are actually into “governing” while in government). Rayya Haffar al-Hassan (Future Movement) came in as first Lebanese female minister of Finance ever and one of two women in the unity government. No fundamental change is going to come from these quarters. She has been schooled by Hariri and Sanioura and, as she herself has declared, she intends to follow similar financial policies. But to be realistic, she is competent and one can hope this will reflect on the ever ballooning public debt. Fadi Abboud (FPM, tourism) and Hassan Mnaymnah (Future Movement, education) are also promising choices. As for Amal, Hizballah, and Junblat, they have mostly exhibited characteristic lack of creativity in their choice of ministers.

There has also been a lot of focus in the media on Hariri’s snub to the Kataeb. The Gemayyel party has been dealt what is regarded in Lebanon as a third rate ministry, namely Social Affairs. There are two things to note here. The first is that far from being a shock, this comes as the culmination of the problems Kataeb has been having with March 14, not just Hariri. The second point is summarized succinctly by Khaled Saghiyah in today’s al-Akhbar: “The government to Hariri is like the weapons to Hizballah; you can support it as an ally but you cannot partake of it.”

Next on the agenda, a Hariri pilgrimage to Damascus to be followed by a Junblat chaser.

 

wall? what wall?

I was still a child when the Berlin wall came crashing down, but I clearly remember the images — some of which are replaying today — when they first appeared on TV in 1989. They made a huge impression on those of us living the last few years of a civil war, which at the time seemed to have no end in sight. The fall of the wall was an emblematic moment which helped many imagine a possible future when east and west could come together in a warring Lebanon as well. When the war ended and people met each other across the Mathaf crossing in Beirut, comparisons with that Berlinesque moment were inevitable. The lingering effects of the division on Germany notwithstanding, the images from 1989 continue to inspire. Here is to the day this other wall comes crashing down!

Nilin, Palestine (Bernat Armangue, AP)

Qalandya, Palestine (Yannis Behrakis, Reuters)

 

local history and epidemics in Beirut

Abd al-Latif Fakhuri, one of my favorite local historians, has an article on the history of epidemics in Beirut in today’s Annahar. Local histories of the various quarters in Beirut are very interesting — if also sometimes inaccurate. In this genre, I find Fakhuri’s work the most interesting because he does serious research in periodicals and literary works to complement other sources. In this article, he goes through a list of epidemics that have struck Beirut in the past, tying into the narrative local beliefs, quarantine measures, epidemic-poetry, advertisements, etc…

It is all written in the spirit of the flu season and, if you are historically minded (and read Arabic), it makes for a very interesting read. I found the local name given to the flu when it first struck in 1889 rather funny: the goat’s nose. anf ‘l-3anza. Inf ‘l-uenza.

Since we are on the topic of local history, there is a small museum worth seeing in `Ayn al-Mraysah. A certain Ibrahim Najem, a diver/fire-fighter of the neighborhood, damaged his legs during decompression many, many years ago. He has since taken to collecting things that most, in utter fascination with “the new,” would have thrown away. The three rooms that constitute this “museum” are a heap of objects many of which are commonplace. But the gems scattered indiscriminately among them and the pleasure of meeting the wonderful Ibrahim make this trip definitely worth it. Contact details can be found here.

 

the art of censorship and the work of memory

In the 1990s, when the Lebanese civil war was still a fresh memory, cultural products accused of “disturbing civil peace” began to disappear from the Lebanese scene. It proved to be a very flexible and useful category that included almost anything that touched on the war. I remember Robert Fisk’s Pity the Nation disappearing overnight from Beirut’s bookstores. Many blamed it on Syria at the time, but the heavy hand of censorship continues to strike today in Lebanon, the Middle East’s “only breathing space.”

This year’s Beirut International Film Festival promised to be the event of the year for film buffs. It kicked off with no less than Francis Ford Coppola coming to Lebanon to launch his latest film, Tetro. But the atmosphere soon soured when General Security prohibited the screening of two of Paolo Benvenuti’s films. The reason: they offend the church of the Middle Ages. The church here being the Catholic church, of course, because General Security based its decision upon consultation with the notorious Catholic Center for Media (المركز الكاثوليكي للاعلام), also behind the banning of Da Vinci Code.

But the story goes beyond the Catholic Center. Using the worn-out weapon of “safeguarding civil peace” — as if we needed the cinema to whip things up — General Security is now undermining the work of a promising young talent, Simon al-Habr. They have censored a crucial part of his documentary Samaan bil-Day`ah, which deals precisely with the memory of the civil war — a war we are allowed to commemorate but not to allowed to remember. The director has put the censored bit on youtube, so you can see for yourself how threatening it is (includes English subtitles).

In today’s al-Akhbar, Pierre Abi Saab rightfully points out the hypocrisy of the so-called “liberal” “intellectuals” in Lebanon who were quick to jump the gun when the censorship concerned Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, but remained silent about the undermining of local works such as al-Habr’s documentary and Mark Abi Rashid’s Help.

But I think there is another side to this. This censorship, like most censorship, is not only about the content. It is more about who is allowed to do the utterance. For what is utterly ridiculous about censoring al-Habr’s documentary in the name of “safeguarding civil peace” is that the censored recollection of the mountain war is nothing compared to the venom regularly spewed by Lebanese politicians when they evoke the civil war. And those politicians who wield violence, ironically (or not), seem to have more right to the molding of a collective memory of the war. What this kind of censorship effectively does is strip only us, the citizens, of this right.

 

MFL is back

After a long (very long) and mysterious absence, Marxist from Lebanon is back in the blogging business! He blogs on Lebanon, Palestine, Israel, and much more. But there is one quality about MFL’s blogging that I particularly value: when crisis hits again, as it surely will, he will dissect it and blog it and it will be a soothing balm. So, there he is if you have not checked him out already.

 

for the love of France

It is a slow season, so here is a little something from the archives. The accusation of the love of France is popularly leveled at those who came to eventually monopolize it: the Maronites of Lebanon. But this here is a sweet request for a scholarship written (so it says) by a boy from Damascus:

Je suis un jeune chrétien de Damas; j’ai dix ans; j’ai sucé l’amour de la France avec le lait de ma mère [...] Un mot de votre Excellence à M. le Comte de Sercey et mon bonheur sera assuré! Que Dieu protège la France et la rende de jour en jour plus puissante! C’est le voeu d’un jeune Français de coeur. Damas, 17 juin 1904

I am a young Christian from Damascus. I am ten years old. I imbibed the love of France with my mother’s milk [...] A word from your Excellency to Mr. le Comte de Sercey [French consul general in Beirut] and my happiness will be assured! May God protect France and make her more powerful with every passing day! It is the wish of a young French at heart. Damascus, 17 June 1904

Source: Archives diplomatiques — Ministère des Affaires étrangères, Paris. Correspondence politique et commerciale, Turquie.

 

the even darker side of prostitution in Lebanon

After I wrote a post last month touching on the issue of prostitution, this blog has been receiving hits from searches such as “beirut AND prostitute.” And while “russian prostitutes lebanon” is an expected search term, “beirut indian prostitutes” might come as more of a surprise — and both searches have led here. But these search terms are two faces of the same coin.

Most reporters on prostitution in Lebanon “venture” to Maameltein or to Hamra and many end up unwittingly marketing prostitution rather than shedding light on its problems. This Meow Lebanon article, for example, makes human trafficking sound almost benign. A better researched report from Executive magazine (via Qifa Nabki) deals with some of the problems of semi-legal prostitution of the super nightclubs, such as the practice of withholding women’s passports and restricting their movements. But with its artsy photographs (many from Amsterdam!) and its detailed description of the logistics, it feels at points like something out of a tourist guide. The fact that it does not venture beyond Maameltein and Hamra either contributes to the relatively “rosy” picture of the business.

The darker side is very dark. There is a certain hierarchy to prostitution in Lebanon, topped by the super nightclubs and their well-off clientele. Lebanese, Egyptian, and other Arab sex workers come next, many working the seedier places such as the older bars of Hamra. Further down the ladder lie the less known facets of prostitution. A recent article (h/t: Antoun) begins to scratch the surface by touching on forced and family aspects of the business. Far less common are discussions of under-aged prostitutes, both boys and girls. As one descends the prostitutional ladder, leaving Maameltein and Hamra behind, the value of the human body drops radically. The markets of Khaldeh and Sabra Palestinian Camp offer bodies as young as 14 for the equivalent of $6.5-$20.

A very fragile and invisible group occupies the lowest rung: female workers from Africa and Asia. Though some light is being shed on the abuse domestics in Lebanon are subject to, not enough is being said about the destitution and deception that leads some to prostitution. One can only imagine how fragile the position of a domestic worker would be if she ends up out of cash and living illegally in Lebanon. And there is no dearth of people willing to take advantage of that. I know from a friend who is active in human rights that some who come to the country as domestic workers end up offering sexual services in Ouzaii, Khaldeh, and Dawrah for as little as $6.5. Others are deceived into coming to Lebanon for the sole purpose of prostitution, as is the case with Burundi and undoubtedly many more.

The Lebanese authorities are complicit in all these various forms. Whether in the semi-legalized glamor of Maameltein or the desert of human rights of Palestinians and foreign laborers, the hand of the law is there: overlooking, encouraging, taking bribes, setting visa categories, and perpetuating the depraved conditions that make the oldest profession in the world a flourishing business in Lebanon. As far as reporters go, however, the lower down the ladder one goes, the less sexy the topic becomes. So do not expect to see photographs of the brothels of the poor adorning the pages of a glossy magazine.

 

protesting the branding of Israel

Attempts at branding Israel have accelerated after the war on Gaza, Blue Star PR being one example. But the attempt goes as far back as at least last summer when the Israeli government, together with Canadian partners, started the “Brand Israel” advertising campaign, aimed at changing Canadians’ view of Israel. Briefly put, the campaign entails doing nothing about the reasons why Israel is under constant criticism and doing everything about changing her image. Same product, different packaging. It is, after all, brought to you by the same people who branded Lebanon.

The honorary place Israel will be receiving at the Toronto International Film Festival is the culmination of this campaign. The festival’s new City to City program will be kicked off by a focus on Tel Aviv. As a sure sign that the pre-Gaza’09 world is not the post-Gaza’09 world, however, this has elicited a reaction that goes beyond the usual fringe group:

The emphasis on ‘diversity’ in City to City is empty given the absence of Palestinian filmmakers in the program. Furthermore, what this description does not say is that Tel Aviv is built on destroyed Palestinian villages, and that the city of Jaffa, Palestine’s main cultural hub until 1948, was annexed to Tel Aviv after the mass exiling of the Palestinian population. This program ignores the suffering of thousands of former residents and descendants of the Tel Aviv/Jaffa area who currently live in refugee camps in the Occupied Territories or who have been dispersed to other countries, including Canada. Looking at modern, sophisticated Tel Aviv without also considering the city’s past and the realities of Israeli occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza strip, would be like rhapsodizing about the beauty and elegant lifestyles in white-only Cape Town or Johannesburg during apartheid without acknowledging the corresponding black townships of Khayelitsha and Soweto.

You can read the open letter and list of signatories here. The great surprise was seeing Jane Fonda among the signatories. The same Jane Fonda who entertained Israeli troops in east Beirut during the siege of 1982 and expressed her identification with Israel’s struggle — which got her on the Lebanese Internal Security’s list of banned movies (pdf list courtesy of Sean).

 

private reason, public passions, and the predicament of the political elite

Ghassan Su`ud has an article on elite marriages in Lebanon with a fascinating list of who is married to whom. It is interesting that a lot of these marriages cut across not only regional and local political divides, but, as the article points out, also sectarian ones. The latter is the case with the recent marriage between Nayla Twayni, recently elected member of parliament and daughter of assassinated Jubran Twayni, and Malik Maktabi, host of the show Ahmar bil Khatt al-`Arid — a recent episode of which provoked the ire of Saudi authorities into shutting down the LBC office in Jaddah. Since the Twaynis are a well-known Orthodox family and the Maktabis are Shiite, the marriage was cited by some as a living example of coexistence in Lebanon.

Rather than testify to some evasive form of Lebanese coexistence, however, these intersectarian marriages point to a double standard in the lives of some elite. Though her choice of spouse would lead one to expect a political career free of sectarian jingoism, when Nayla Twayni was campaigning in Ashrafiyah last spring, she more than once responded to attempts at undermining her “Orthodoxness” with counterattacks stressing al-`asab al-urthuduksi. The expression translates to “Orthodox vein,” which signifies a sense of belonging to a group. But the Arabic word `asab has a heavier thud to it, sharing its root with words such Ibn Khaldun’s `asabiyah, `asabi (nervous or quick to anger), and ta`assub (fanaticism). It remains to be seen, though, whether the same `asab will be struck with the electorate when the politician in question is a female entering into wedlock with a man with whom she will be spawning Shiite children.

If the recent election and marriage of Nayla bring some flagrant contradictions into relief, they are by no means unique to her. One is left wondering: is this a simple case of the elite cynically and hypocritically catering to and exploiting mass sentiments? Perhaps. But the use of this double standard of identification does not separate the elite form the masses as much as it separates the elite from themselves. The sort of individualism that we normally associate with European liberalism — the freedom to make one’s personal choices — finds an echo only in the personal aspect of the lives of the elite. In their public lives, however, their perpetuity remains bound to a system that reproduces them as an elite. This entails not only reproducing them as a category of the population — and hence the vigorous patriarchy — but also reproducing the communities that make them relevant as political leaders. The political significance of, say, the Pharaon family would be put to the test if there were no electoral body to be summoned as an “Orthodox” body to vote for members of the family as representatives — lack of political acumen notwithstanding.

As such, this public aspect of the political elite cannot be reduced to a cynical mask, for it is an integral aspect of their existence and probably even self-image as leaders. This dichotomy — between the personal and the political — is an ironic reversal of Hannah Arendt’s ideal types of the public and private spheres. With a suspicion of the private — the sphere of necessity, constraint, sameness, and passions — Arendt saw in the public realm as exemplified by the Greek polis the place for the exercise of decision, freedom, difference, and reason. In the case of the Lebanese elite, private lives are open to the virtues of the public sphere, as Arendt sees them, while their public lives are entangled in a most murderous web of political passions.