War and remembrance

What’s not to remember about our wretched “civil” war. One of my earliest memories consists of a flying formation of anti-aircraft bullets in the sky above me in the shape of a man. “What is that, baba?”, I asked. “Khattat, baba. Don’t worry.” Less than a decade later, my baba got kidnapped by Bashir’ Gemayel's thugs after a false “dazzeh” (tip) by one of his "enemies" led to a “friend” of his escorting him out of the East Beirut hotel we were hiding in during the Israeli invasion. My baba survived the kidnapping thanks to the Patriarch’s intervention at the time, but many others didn’t. As for me, events like the above would soon pale in comparison to others I lived to tell about. 

As a West Beiruti, I grew up to fear Christians. What happened to me during the invasion, seeing Beirut burn from the comfort of a “Christian mountain“ gave birth to an unacknowledged grudge that fortunately died out as I and my views matured, but that nevertheless accompanied me until we were told that the war had ended. “Haydol el Christians ma baddon Kheir lal Balad”, “those Christians want no good for the country” is a sentence I heard too many times. It didn’t help that the first Christian boy I met in Damascus of all places shrieked when he heard me swear by the Qur’an. Roy was his name. I never saw or talked to him again.

Growing up I saw many horrors. But it was one that I didn’t see that stuck in my mind. When one day in 1982 we decided nowhere in Lebanon was safe anymore, we took a taxi to Damascus with the intention to fly to Paris. This was early August and "Christians" and "Druze" were massacring each other in the mountains. Our smoky taxi took us up and down the narrow and frightening Karameh road and passed through a ravaged Christian village. My father ordered me not to look, so I hid my head in my mother’s lap but I could hear the awfulness of what they saw: Mutilated corpses dug up from graveyards were put on display on rooftops, declaring to the world their guilt of being Christian in Lebanon. The village had a sweet smell that I would recognize later, even when my nostrils were miles away. The mental torture by the Syrians at the border had little effect on us after that episode. And then there was Sabra and Shatila, the events of which would one day take over my life.

My first encounter with Israeli soldiers was in Jounieh. I still remember my fear when we saw them shop in a Dora supermarket. This came right after I was told that my dad’s new public name was George, which was diametrically opposite to the name I knew. I would later meet the Israelis in Bhamdoon, but I didn’t directly experience their horror until 1989, when they shelled Nabatiyeh’s Monday market after a hit and run Hizbullah operation. My family had decided the south was safer than West Beirut, which was being “liberated” by Michel Aoun at the time, with a little help from Samir Geagea, and a few controversial contributions by the Syrians. They were wrong. That was one of the worst years of my life that left deep scars and taught me to resent Aoun, Syria, Israel and Hizbullah. I had too many close calls that year, and I still cannot believe that I made it in one piece.

The following is an excerpt from a screenplay I wrote during my many years of postwar self-therapy. It’s semi autobiographical though the main location was changed to Nabatiyeh from UNESCO in Beirut for the purpose of the script, which was about a family moving to the south after Aoun's liberation war. I was at the station the day Aoun began his war, so what is described below is based on a real event, though the location was changed. Akram is Nader (17) and Karim(10)’s father. They are driving to the market…

EXT. AKRAM'S CAR -- LATER

Majida El Roumi sings "Beirut, Mistress of the world" on Akram's car radio.  Nader is in the front seat while Karim is in the middle of the back seat, his neck extended forward.

KARIM
(singing along)
Rise from the under the rubble.. like a flower of almond in April...

Nader rolls his eyes and attempts to change the station.

KARIM (CONT'D)
No leave it.
(he continues singing)
Rise in honor of the forests.  Rise in honor of the rivers.  Rise in honor of mankind.  Rise, O Beirut!

Nader can't take it anymore.  He changes the station.  Another song comes on.  Karim instantly joins the singing.

RADIO AND KARIM
We refuse to die, tell them we're here to stay.  Your land, and your houses, and the people who labor..., those are ours... O beloved south...

Nader gives up and turns to the window.  The car drives on.

EXT. NABATIYEH MARKET -- LATER

Akram and the kids arrive back at the car encumbered by the weight of the grocery bags.

AKRAM
We need gas.  Let's go fill up the car and wash the car while we're at it.

KARIM
(thrilled)
Yes!  Dad, can we go to an automatic washer?

AKRAM
I don't think they have those here Karim.

Nader has finished loading his bags into the truck and is already waiting in the car, looking tired.

EXT. NABATIYEH FULL SERVICE GAS STATION -- LATER

The gas station attendant is pumping gas into the car.  Karim is out watching the meter and enjoying the smell of gasoline.

KARIM
(to the attendant)
Can I do it?

ATTENDANT
No.  Maybe when you grow up.

Akram hears something.

AKRAM
(to attendant)
Did you hear something?

ATTENDANT
No.

Akram has a worried look.

AKRAM
There!  Did you hear that?  It sounded like an explosion.

ATTENDANT
Don't worry.  It's Monday.  They never shell the town on a Monday.

Akram is not convinced. 

AKRAM
I don't know...  Stop.

ATTENDANT
What?

AKRAM
Just stop.  There, thanks.

Akram hands the attendant money.

AKRAM (CONT'D)
Karim, get in the car.

Nader wonders why his dad did that, but doesn't say anything.  Karim is not happy.

KARIM
Aren't we going to wash the car?

AKRAM
Get in.  Now!

Akram quickly starts the car and pulls out of the station.  The station attendant shakes his head at them.

A shell hits the station. It goes up in flames.

EXT. NABATIYEH ROAD -- MOMENTS LATER

The heat from the gas station explosion reaches the speeding car.

AKRAM
Hang on.

The two boys look frozen. It feels like they're in a video game.

AKRAM (CONT'D)
Everyone OK?

KARIM AND NADER
Yes.

Akram swerves to the left and drives down a sloping road that ends with a house. 

AKRAM
Out of the car, into the house.

Akram and Nader get out, but Karim stays behind.

NADER
Karim.  Come on!

They go back to the car to get him.  Karim is in the back seat on the verge of crying, his shirt covered with blood.  He looks confused and unable to react or move.  His lips start to turn over slowly.  His eyes wander between his father and brother as if calling for help.  Akram quickly opens the door and carries his son to the house.

NADER (CONT'D)
Is he OK?  Karim?  Are you OK?

Karim has his hands wrapped around his father's neck, barely able to cry.

NADER (CONT'D)
Where are you taking him?  We have to get him to a hospital.

Akram knocks on the door but nobody answers.  He looks confused.  It's still pouring shells and the road is not safe.

NADER (CONT'D)
We have to get him to..

AKRAM
Shut up!  Shut up!

Akram, feeling helpless, looks around for shelter.  He finally looks up towards the sky.

AKRAM (CONT'D)
(mumbling)
God.  Please, just this time.  Just this time.  Please.

Nader looks at the sky.  It's clear.

AKRAM (CONT'D)
(to Nader)
Nader, come take your brother from me.  Both of you sit in the front seat.  We're getting back on the road.

Nader, knees trembling, carries his brother to the car.  Akram backs up and returns to the road.  The shelling is still going strong.  Karim is close to sleeping in his brother's arms.

He kisses Karim's forehead.

NADER
Don't worry Karim.  You'll be fine.  I promise.

Here’s to my father for saving our lives that day and every day throughout the war. And here’s to luck and my pact with God that kept my imaginary shield impenetrable.

May it never happen again.

Comments

[hummbumm]

Imagine growing up in West beirut but not being muslim.

[lebanon.profile]

I'm speechless.

[Ghassan Karam]

Abu Kais,
That must have been a very harrowing experience.
Since I have never been even close to a war zone I ask the following question in all seriousness: Is such an event transformative or does it fade with time?
BTW, I imagine that Karim had a total recovery and I look forward to seeing the fruits of your screen play in theaters. I bet that you have a moving story to tell.

[Eve]

very touching post, Abu Kais.

[Pazuzu]

want to hear something funny, I always heard what christians had to say about muslims in lebanon and I knew that the muslims did the same too, but this is the first time that I actually hear anything about it.

[Vox P]

Very good post, with a very good conclusion.

[Vox P]

Actually, I grew up in West Beirut, but I don't remember anything. Most of my paternal family lived there, because my grandparents were not allowed to live in East Beirut.

I was born in Hamra and lived there for almost two years. What made us move to the East because of the Israeli siege in 82. The problem was that once we were on the East, my father and uncles couldn't visit my grandparents regularly. Two of my uncles were kidnapped trying to pass the green line to visit my grandparents or to go to work (one of them was kidnapped twice!), but no harm was done, even though we had to pay a ransom.

[The Perpetual Refugee]

So many of my friends have the same sort of story to tell. I'm glad to see it published from 'the other side' and here's to hoping that there will be no more other sides in the future. Being Lebanese should be the only curse & reward we carry to our graves.

[Margaret]

I am sorry you had to go through that and hope that Karim is now well.
Have you written other screenplays? I would be interested in reading them.
I lived in Lebanon for 8 years as a child until 1981. I care very much for the country and am planning to return for a visit soon.
I am nervous. I have no idea what am going to remember or if I am even going to recognize anything.