Remembering Anthony

Photo: AUB

When I first met Anthony Shadid he was sitting across the table from me in a Doha conference room in 2003 eagerly jotting down quotes in a tiny notebook. There were about 10 of us in the room-- young, enthusiastic journalists from several countries that had been hired as the first staff writers for Al Jazeera International, which would eventually become the television channel Al Jazeera English. Anthony was there to interview us for his piece on Qatar's media ambitions at the time. I remember being fascinated by his ability to use such a tiny notebook (about the size of a pack of cigarettes) to capture so many voices at once. But being young, idealistic and vocal, I was also terrified by what he was going to use and barely slept that night! Thankfully our comments didn't make into his story, and fears of being snatched at night by mukhabarat never materialized.


I ran into Anthony several more times over the years, at conferences and news events, even at the gym in Beirut. "Hope all's well with you," he wrote me a year ago. "If you're in Beirut, I'd love to get coffee when I get back."  Having known more than a few egotistic journalists over the years-- whose talents don't compare to his-- Anthony was very humble for a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner. He encouraged my work on this blog and printed out a draft of my in-depth piece on the Lebanese Jewish community, "a subject that is really dear to my heart," and promised to read it. I always planned to follow up with him and now regret not having had the chance to do so.


Though our encounters were often brief, what sticks with me the most about Anthony, in addition to his insightful writing and humility, was his perspective on the role of a journalist: "My job is to bear witness," he told a 2005 conference in Texas, explaining that "conversations... are probably the best thing we can encounter as journalists." He said listening to and recording the thoughts of average people was often more important than the punditry of leaders and analysts that claim to speak for them. 


He further elaborated on this theme at a 2008 AUB conference saying:


"If I’ve learned something after more than 12 years of being a foreign correspondent... (it's that) the journalism we can be least proud of is the journalism that comes from claiming to know too much, of acting like someone we are not."

He also discussed lessons learned while revisiting his own work--articles he had written during the 2003 invasion of Iraq--while writing his 2006 book "Night Draws Near: Iraq's People in the Shadow of America's War 

He said of his previous articles:

"The articles that I felt held up over time were the ones that gave voice to the people I met there over those weeks (in Baghdad), that describe their sentiments, their fears, their hopes and their ambitions. The ones that felt dated and cliched were the ones where I put forth my own views when I said with too much certainty what was going in a country that wasn’t my own."

Here is the full lecture:

May Anthony's words live on, and continue to inspire other journalists as they have inspired me. 
       

How (not) to report pollution in Lebanon

For much of this afternoon, a luxury residential apartment building was transformed into a pollution spewing factory fit for a Charles Dickens novel.

It created a cloud of chemical burning smoke for over two hours that drifted through an otherwise picturesque verdant valley in the Metn area, above Beirut:

Though barely visible in the photo, the smoke chocked the atmosphere for miles with foul smelling fumes of burned diesel fuel and oil. Clearly the problem was the building's faulty, unmaintained generator and area residents said this wasn't the first time; black plumes have been a regular site above this luxury complex for months. It is called "Parc Resdential" and is one of the largest developments in the Mtaileb area. Apartments sell for 100s of thousands of dollars:

What to do? In a lapse of sadism, I decided to call Lebanon's Civil Defense hotline "125".  The operator suggests I call the municipality. But strangely, Mtaileb, which contains dozens of $1 million plus villas and apartments, has no municipality to hold residents accountable. 

125 Operator: "That's impossible, every neighborhood belongs to a municipality."

Me: "Do you have their number, then?"

Operator: "No, call directory assistance, 1515" 

So I call them.

Me: "Do you have the number for the Mtaileb municipality?"

Long pause.

1515: "We don't show a municipality for Mtaileb, what's the closet town?

The operator gives me the number of Rabiya municipality. I call them:

Rabiya Muncipality: "There is no municipality for Mtaileb."

Me: "How could that be?"

Municipality: "Haha, it's weird eh?

Me: "Who do I call?"

Municipality: "Try 125 again, tell them that."

I re-dial 125.

Me: "There is no municipality, I am sure."

125: "Thats impossible. They must be attached to Rabiya then--"

Me: "No I called Rabiya, they say they have nothing to do with Mtaileb."

125: "Call the police then."

Me: "Which number should I call?"

125: "1212"

Me: "Isn't that the number of Pizza Hut?"

Pause.

125: (calling out to his office mates) "Is 1212 Pizza Hut? (inaudible response)

Ah yes, that's right. The police is 112."

 I call them.

112: "Whats the problem?"

Me: "How do I report a building spewing smoke?"

112: "We will have someone call you back; is this your number?

5 minutes later

Police: "What's the problem?"

Me: "Building spewing smoke for 2 hours now."

Police: "Call the fire department."

Me: "It's coming from the building's generator exhaust. The building is not on fire!"

Police: "Oh. ... Well in that case you need to file a police report here at the station in Antelias (20 kilometers away) and then file a lawsuit at the courts in Baabda (1 hour away).

Me: "I thought you call the police when there is a problem and then you come check it out ?"

Police: "Haha, well that's not the way it works in these cases. Good luck to you!"

---

Conclusion: Why does pollution continue in Lebanon? Because no one can report it.

Only a lawsuit can be brought and the burden is on the citizen to pay court and attorney fees in a process that could stretch over years, if it ever gets started at all.

On a totally unrelated note, how did Pizza Hut acquire a delivery hotline number that is only one digit different from the emergency police line---so similar that even pizza-starved emergency operators get confused?

Beirut Valentine: where martyrdom meets lust

Well its that awkward time of year again. The Lebanese television channels are ablaze with fist thumping speeches by the country's unelected leaders/ex-warlords on the occasion of February 14. Like any politicized tragedy, the date has been shrouded in the language of martyrdom and vengeance in its  commemoration of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri's 2005 assassination on Valentine's Day.

The magnitude of his killing, which sparked the violent polarization that has plagued this country over last seven years, has been compared to Sept. 11, 2001 or the assassination of John F. Kennedy on the United States. However, unlike either of those two monumental national losses, Hariri's death has now become a national holiday. It's also a time when friendly (and paid) crowds gather to hear speeches about democracy from Lebanese lords whose nepotistic, decades-old grip on power is possibly stronger than the worst authoritarian regimes in the region--but I digress.

What's really awkward about all this is the timing. Despite all the rhetoric, Valentine's Day means essential revenue generating opportunities for business owners. Flower and teddy bear carts have popped up along the highways, nightclubs are advertising overpriced Valentines' dinners with 'special' performances and shops have stocked their shelves with all the kitsch one can stomach, like this bookstore in a residential Beirut suburb:

It all seems innocent enough. After all, this shop, which banks on schools supplies and notepads is geared largely toward children as this toy section behind this display would suggest:

But upon closer inspection of the shelves, nestled among the stuffed animals, your kids may be in for quite a surprise:

Matching edible candy bra and garter belt:

And complementary pencil holder:

Never mind explaining to the little ones, but if you must, the considerate shop owner has provided literature courtesy of "Super Hot Sex" and "Deux Erotiques" (below) for French readers.

Don't forget your "Peppermint Nipples" snuggly fitted in the inspiring Rastafarian ashtray, just in case getting high on sugar-coated underwear doesn't cut it for a romantic evening with your partner.

Boikutt in Shatila

Late last year, I caught up with Ramallah-based rapper Boikutt during his first show at the Shatila refugee camp in Beirut.

To reach the performance space, we had to cut a path around piles of garbage surrounding the camp-- lighting our way through the pitch dark night with cell phones. Once inside, Shatila is a bustling shantytown that crams at least 10,000 people over a one square kilometer patchwork of shops, homes and institutions.

Boikutt spoke about the challenges Palestinian MCs face in connecting with fans and his new single "Wal'a" (Light it up) directed at Middle East dictators. Video shot and edited by filmmaker Anna Fahr.
  

Another bright sunny day on Dunia TV

As tanks and explosions plough through Syria's streets, and thousands of bodies pile up in its morgues, all is well inside the plush garden studios of state-backed Al Dunia TV.

While mothers wail in rubble-strewn villages, flowers are blooming to soft muzak on the show "Good Morning with Al Dunia": 

Despite the everyday miseries of thousands, smiles are ubiquitous in the hosts' glass paneled box:

Today's hot topic: the annals of pregnancy and its potential complications. Here to explain is a certified, and smartly dressed gynecologist, or "women's doctor" as he was introduced.

He brought a series of charts with him:

And was deeply engaged in this "very serious" topic, which could concern many mothers:

Of course pregnant women in Syria right now may be a bit more concerned about getting to hospital without being shot, let alone the type of world their child will grow up in... 

But never mind that for now. On to more fun topics like...  horoscopes:

With the expert horoscope lady:

Which is great fodder for banter to get everyone smiling and laughing again:

It wasn't clear if readings differ based on proximity to the fighting.

Meanwhile the other anchor took viewer questions on her Ipad 2, 4G:

The cost of such a device is equivalent to almost half the annual per capita income in Syria, even in the best of times. Now many towns have reportedly been cut off from the grid and struggle to survive amid fuel and electricity shortages. 

No worries, the chef on Al Dunia is whipping up a treat to warm all hearts, both shivering and worrisome among them.

 Equipped with his matching scarf and apron:

And plastic gloves to ensure sanitary conditions are met...even when pouring water into the blender and cracking eggs:

Don't want to take any chances...

And before you know it, Voila!

A mushroom and swiss quiche. 

The show continued, but I couldn't watch anymore.

Sadistic weather girl?

Lebanese weather women (yes all of them are female) are better known for their tight jeans than meteorology skills.

But local station Al Jadeed is now taking the forecast to a new level with its nod to sadism and leather fetishes:

In addition to the elbow-length Darth Vader gloves, she's also wearing matching black leather pants.

Thank you Al Jadeed, for making one of the world's most perplexing countries even stranger.

Deck the halls with electricity

Once again, Christmas lights are everywhere in Lebanon from the tiniest of villages to the sprawling urban suburbs. As every year, the municipalities are hard at work, hiring cranes and fleets of laborers to hang up their elaborate displays, with every town in seeming competition with the next.

Yet look closely at the photo above and you'll notice that although these decorative fixtures seem to be hovering in mid-air, they are actually attached to street lamps, which have been switched off for the holiday season.

For example, hundreds of Christmas bulbs have been illuminated in this major intersection, while the light polls they are attached to remain off, keeping the streets perilously dark:

There's enough power to light the giant Christmas tree, but not enough to help drivers chart a path through the lawless night:

And another neighborhood, where dozens of Christmas displays seem to be floating mid-air, sucking the life out of the lamp posts they adorn:

Ironically, one municipality's street lamps were powered down at night:

And yet turned on during the day!

Notice it is the same street and same municipality with the same triple star display attached to the light post. Amazingly, almost every post on this highway in Naccache that was powered off at night was on during the day.

Perhaps the sun wasn't bright enough for a member of Parliament driving by:

So Merry Christmas from Lebanon's municipalities, who manage to keep the streets pretty for two weeks and yet dark and chaotic all year round.

For more on Lebanon's decades-old electricity shortage and the vested interests that help keep it that way, see my recent investigative piece on the billion-dollar gray market in private generators.

Intimidation by air show

Yesterday, the Lebanese were treated to an air show of sorts:

First there were two planes:

Then four:

Flying low over civilian neighborhoods:

Criss-crossing:

Shooting up:

Barreling down:

Looping endlessly over Beirut and its suburbs:

No this was not the Blue Angels-- the kind of show you might to take your kids to see. This is the type of show that actually comes to you, courtesy of the Israeli Air Force (IAF). 

It's more of a nightmare air show, where the pilots zooming overhead are not performing, but engaged in real combat, viewing you sitting in your car as a potential target.

But Lebanese drivers kept chugging along, paying little attention to the F-16 jets steadily diving toward them:

Not even Katie Perry batted an eye:

The IAF has flown hundreds if not thousands of sorties over Lebanon in recent decades--either for reconnaissance, missile raids or just plain intimidation. (Here, people call the latter state-sponsored terrorism.)

With no real air force to speak of, Lebanon can't do much to police its own skies and thus the Lebanese have grown apathetic and somewhat desensitized to the constant threat of war literally looming above them.

I shot these images on my way to an 11AM meeting with an eye trained on the dashboard clock, hoping my IAF paparazzi moment wouldn't make me late to work. Other drivers barely seemed to notice what was going on.

When I arrived, a secretary remarked jokingly: "I guess they missed us," in a reference to the 2006 war, when IAF pilots dropped over a million cluster bombs across the country. "Maybe they have come to bring us an early Christmas present," she added, half-smiling.

Having grown up with skies full of streaks, I too have become accustomed to the IAF's near constant presence overhead.

But there is no getting used to those tiny red dots that sometimes appear below their tails, throwing up black columns of smoke seconds later when they collide into the earth and fill the sky with an earth shattering rumble.

Fortunately, there was none of that today, just one hell of a show--of force.

All this comes amid a series of curious events. Just before the IAF jets entered Lebanese airspace on Monday morning, a rocket was fired at a Lebanese village by an unknown assailant. And over the last two weeks, Israel exchanged fire with an unknown group on the border, while a United Nations convoy was hit in an unexplained bomb attack. Meanwhile Hezbollah claims it is routing CIA spies in Beirut by the dozen.

Curious times under the restless Lebanese skies...