From Beirut to the Beltway

…Fellow comrades in the opposition, whether you are new or veterans, take to the streets and you will hear it. You will hear with it a call for you to take the initiative for an uprising of a different kind, an uprising against the self that would - in the aftermath of the end of the Baath regime's mandate - pave the way to the building of a modern state, a state of citizens and not a state of subjects. (Samir Kassir, April 1, 2005. )

These words deserve a permanent post, and I am tempted to leave them at the top of every piece I write, for they express exactly what our country needs. Samir Kassir died a true martyr for his country. Is it strange for me to be thinking of him on the eve of the first anniversary of Hariri's assassination? No.

Rafik Hariri became a national symbol only after the Syrian regime took him out. His death fueled one of the strongest opposition forces in modern Arab history. On February 14, Lebanon lost a great yet fallible leader whose vision, though not perfect, lives on in the city that embraced him in death, as it did in life.

The continuous arrogance of the Syrian regime and its Lebanese cohorts drove Lebanese into two different camps. There were the ones who saw no hypocrisy in supporting a murderous regime that kills their fellow compatriots in the name of protecting them from a great conspiracy. Hizbullah.

And then there was the March 14 variety: the darlings of the western media, which saw in them the germs of democracy and the unprecedented will to swim against the current. These, for a short while, put their ideological differences aside to unite in calling for an end to the Baath era. The young and patriotic of them camped near where their fallible leader had fallen, and peacefully demanded change.

Freedom square. I've seen it in pictures. I was there in spirit and in unshed tears. They waved my flag and told the butchers to go home. And I watched from the comfort of my beltway home.

But my distant friends had no leaders. The speeches delivered to them by the "opposition" betrayed the spirit that carried these unpopular figures to the freedom podium. On March 14, when the line was drawn in red, white and green, Nayla Mouawad, Gebran Tueni, and Bahia Hariri could not fit the new mold. Michel Aoun called in, but the air around his words felt contrived and opportunistic.

My young revolutionaries had no real representatives. The spirit of the revolution had nobody to articulate it and translate it into a project for a new Lebanon. The Future Movement wanted to continue a project, though visionary, was ill-defined and faulty on many levels. Walid Jumblatt could not stick to one position long enough for it to gel into a project. Qornet Shahwan was ineffective and unpopular. Michel Aoun came home and pulled the plug. The reality of what was needed was overrun by posthumous myths and politics as usual.

Nobody stood there, except maybe Samir Kassir, to tell us that the agent of change had to come from us, not from them. None of the ones who borrowed our revolution taught us how to build a state of citizens, not subjects. Samir Kassir tried, but darkness soon swallowed his light. And then many of us were lost. We forgot that patriotism is hollow without a sense of civic duty towards our country and our fellow citizens. You can wave two million flags, but if you still cannot stand in line or be courteous to others and give them the same rights that you give yourself, you cannot call yourself an agent of change.

When I finally visited in October, I stood by Hariri's grave and tried to take in the leftovers of the fabled March 14 spirit. For it was there, in the pictures and the writings on the walls that guarded the undying spirits of the murdered. I felt the spirit but saw it disappear at borders set up by the guardians of the grave, who looked like they belonged to a clique and not a nation. It hit me then that part of my sadness came from my realization that the revolution had shrunk and was confined to a small area. Outside that area Lebanon seemed like a weary version of its old incomplete self. People were living in fear, bomb detectors were everywhere, and the news screamed division. Instead of the people of the revolution, I saw puppets of interests, opportunistic politicians and shadowy figures on revenge missions invading public squares and television screens. Was the revolution a myth, I asked myself? The answer came from the faces of the men and women on the wall. The spirit was there, but the message was not carried far enough. It died as soon as it reached the hands of those we let climb the podium.

It is also not normal to let this day's popular movement disperse even if it's hard to keep it at its current climax. It becomes as if it [the opposition] is telling citizens: Well done. Go home now. We will call if we need you!

That's essentially what many, especially Aoun, did. He called it off as soon as he returned to the country. For him, the popular movement expired upon his holy return, which he saw as the objective, a prelude to making himself president. The others did not behave better. Listen to Samir. He said this before the parliamentary elections but no one heard.

Meanwhile, it is unacceptable for the opposition to give itself the image of the club of candidates to parliamentary elections. Even if Lebanon's parliament needs new blood, this does not mean that under the banner of renewing political life, the opposition makes citizens feel that all opposition figures are position seekers.

They all ran, didn't they? Even though many of them weren't our choice. They clawed one another and finished off a spirit they failed to faithfully embody. We got electoral lists of old faces on newly assigned missions bigger than they can handle. They didn't trust the people to bring in new faces. They didn't trust our judgment, so they didn't bother with programs to deliver us to the shore. They wasted our time on meaningless alliances that led the country to ruin. Rafik Hariri died many times this past year. He died with every bomb from Syria, obstruction from Nasrallah and Aoun, reversal from Jumblatt, and hesitation from his own son, Saad.

But if they all, intentionally or unintentionally, forgot the revolution, why did we? Why did so many of us return to our sectarian barracks? That's because we were not true citizens of this nation. We led an uprising exclusively against the other but not against the self. And I had to stand by the grave of my fallen fallible leader to recapture an essence lost to political manipulation and national immaturity.

On February 14, we should all go back to the grave to remember the spirit we lost. Do it for nobody's sake but your own. Let it be a silent protest of one amid millions. Carry your flag near your heart and let no one but yourself speak for you. Let the silence of your protest drown their failure to represent your dreams. Lift the banner calling for change, end to terror, and birth of a new state. Let it be Samir's "uprising against the self." Find the citizen in you, not the subject. And then find the way to the "state of citizens."

Only a state of citizens can fight the enemy and win. March on, fellow citizens.