Double Vision in Beirut
Double Vision in Beirut
BEIRUT: How, exactly, does democracy march? According to White House Spokesman Scott McClellan, it walks like the Lebanese. As the so-called "Cedar Revolution" (a cedar tree being the emblem on the Lebanese flag) rolls toward its fourth month, having toppled Beirut's pro-Syrian government and driven Syria's longtime military presence out of Lebanon, it seems that much of the West can't get enough of the "Cedar Revolution" as democracy's poster child. Today Beirut, the bumper sticker might run, and tomorrow the world.
The Lebanese street sounds a different note. Like Scott McClellan, the remarkably unified Lebanese opposition is thrilled at their uprising's success in spurring the Syrian withdrawal. But the movement's local brand name-- "The Independence Intifada" – is telling. While the West celebrates the Lebanese quest for "democracy" through "revolution," the Lebanese mantra is one of "independence"-- from all foreign intervention and designs. "Cedar Revolution" versus "Independence Intifada": a semantic distinction between two interrelated concepts? Perhaps. But the branding of the movement affects the way the uprising is viewed in a wider context – either as evidence of the winds of democracy sweeping the developing world, or as part of an extensive movement against historic domination by outside powers. The disparity between brand names suggests that within the larger framework, the two sides may still not be hearing each other.
By any moniker, Lebanon's political transformation since February 14 has been extraordinary. The enormous bomb that killed Lebanon's former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri triggered a historic popular outcry, and an unprecedented unification of politicians of differing religions and ideologies, all opposed to Beirut's pro-Syrian government. Syria was widely blamed for having a hand in Hariri's assassination, a claim that it denies. The resultant two months of street protests and opposition political assertiveness, echoed and bolstered by international pressure, finally prompted the resignation of pro-Syrian prime minister Omar Karami and his government, and the official withdrawal of Syrian forces from Lebanon, where they have been since 1976. With a temporary "national unity" cabinet now in place, parliamentary elections – finally free from Syrian tutelage – have been slated to begin May 29.
Almost as soon as the extraordinary political movement began, so did the inevitable race to label it. Names inform popular understanding of an event, and Western governments and media immediately seized upon the label "Cedar Revolution" to promote their view. The term suggests the recent "Orange Revolution" in Ukraine and "Rose Revolution" in Georgia – both popular uprisings in response to alleged electoral fraud that succeeded in unseating corrupt governments. The term reinforces the Bush administration's warm embrace of the winds of democracy seizing the world.
But back on actual Lebanese soil, the term "Cedar Revolution" is underutilized at best, and offensive at worst. On hearing the movement's putative name, Lebanese often profess amusement: "CNN can't get enough of that," says one business student. Although some local media have begun picking up the term (or using the hybrid "Cedar Intifada"), some citizens express concern that the term "Cedar" is not a unifying national icon – rather, it has long symbolized two Maronite Christian right-wing parties, the Phalange, and the Guardians of the Cedars. "It's a very sensitive word for me," says Haitham, a computer engineer, "because it reminds us of the inter-sectarian fighting that perpetuated 15 years of civil war here." To be sure, the cedar graces the Lebanese flag, which has been embraced by multitudes during the "Beirut Spring". But some Lebanese are troubled that the flag itself is descendent of an 18th century Maronite flag and the French mandate-era Lebanese Legion, a reminder of the historic dominance of the French-favored Lebanese Maronite Christians.
Meanwhile, the term "Independence Intifada" echoes among the opposition politicians, billboards, and citizens of Beirut. The chant "Freedom! Sovereignty! Independence!" has become the movement's hallmark. Ubiquitous bumper stickers proclaiming "Independence '05" in Lebanon's three languages – French, Arabic and English – grace seemingly every vertical surface in the capital. "We just want a true independence," one activist told me. His signboard made a pun at the expense of Syria's president, his "independence" mantra accentuates that Lebanese are tired of all foreign interference. Further, the word "intifada" harkens to another, ongoing struggle: the Palestinian uprising against Israel. It's a defiant word from the viewpoint of a country that views Israeli and American interests as nearly synonymous. This uprising, the term suggests, is not confirming any American foreign policy grand scheme.
For Lebanon, the "independence" being invoked is an economic imperative as much as a political one. Hailing from a country of merchants, Lebanese citizens complain loudly that the Syrian occupation enabled Syrian politicians' corrupt business interests, as well as the multitudes of Syrian guest workers, to ravage the Lebanese economy. Hariri's dramatic assassination dealt a huge blow to Lebanon's emerging tourism industry; meanwhile anxiety and mourning after the bomb meant that Lebanese citizens checked their own entertainment spending. Three months onwards, Lebanese widely affirm that while politics may take some time to sort itself out, Lebanon's businesses needed business. The sister of Hariri and the wife of opposition leader Walid Jumblatt jointly organized a week-long "Unity Festival" to lure consumers back to Beirut's downtown, featuring everything from a "Waiters' Marathon" to a national farmers market, with plenty of celebrity singers alongside. Advertising rhetoric frequently calls upon citizens' sense of patriotism: "Show your love for Lebanon," reads one ad. "Eat sandwiches at Lina's."
Beside the cacophony of slogans proclaiming "independence!", both economic and political, the term "democracy" scarcely raises a peep. For one thing, Lebanon has had a form of democracy for decades. Its major shortcoming, in many eyes, is the particular Lebanese "confessional" system that allocates political positions according to religious sect – a feature that will still be intact for next month's election. Additionally, many Lebanese hope that the electoral system's other weakness, Syrian foul play, was made moot by the Syrian departure.
But further, the word choice indicates a wide Lebanese suspicion towards the facile labeling and forceful insertion of "democracy." Some feel that the dogged American insistence on the democratic mantra has made the term a cliché: "They gave Iraq a delivery democracy, like a pizza," Bashir, a manager of a clothing store, tells me. "The Iraqis have no experience with political parties and real opposition, so of course the democratic process will fail." Ziad, an electricity company employee, agrees. "There's war in Iraq now, and there will be another dictator soon."
Lebanese also profess that democracy is too complex an institution to become a policy sound-bite. "We want true democracy, free from foreign intervention, but if it happens over night it will be a mess," Nour tells me. Besides, it seems that the US is hardly a credible democratic champion. "Elections are never fair, not even in the US. Look at Al Gore," Bashir says.
Does it matter that the T-shirts on Lebanese streets proclaim "independence" and "intifada," not "revolution"? So what if amongst all the cries of reviving the "economy", no one in Lebanon is chanting "democracy" nearly as fervently as the White House? The disparity between Lebanese and Western rhetoric could just be question of semantics: After all, independence implies self-determination, which promotes democracy.
But this difference in naming signifies a deeper disparity in the ways the West and Lebanon understand the past three months' events. This dissimilarity may only increase with time. As an episode recedes in history, terminology often gives meaning to events, not the other way around: Just ask any southern American who has heard about "The War of Northern Aggression", or any Vietnamese who has studied "The American War."
Brand names provide a mental shortcut. The "Cedar Revolution" is a quick mode for the West to classify Lebanon's movement alongside the uprisings in Georgia and Ukraine: popular campaigns, inspired by Western models of free speech and authentic democracy, to unseat corrupt political structures. For a White House bemoaning the former Lebanese government's acquiescence to the demands of Hizbullah and its catering to a rogue Syria, it's a great image (and too bad about the Cedar icon's controversy). On the other hand, the omnipresence of the Lebanese slogan "independence" reinforces a very Lebanese notion of Lebanese exceptionalism. And "Intifada" conjures up another struggle – this one not a feather in the American policy machine's cap.
Both sides, Lebanese and West, can genuinely celebrate this spring's historic developments. But as the details begin to fade, the two very disparate labels will enable two incongruent recollections of the movement. On one hand, it was an event that confirmed the American promotion of worldwide democratic revolution; on the other, it was an event that embodied the Arab aspiration of independence from outside oppression. With this discord, how can the "logical next step" for both sides possibly be harmonious?
Frances Z. Brown is a teacher in Beirut. Her articles have appeared in The Washington Post, The International Herald Tribune, and The Christian Science Monitor.