The Lebanese were beginning to feel tired of waiting for things to work out. One, two…ten…fifty…times, they had taken to the streets, cut roads, burned tires, sang hymns, broken windows… Only they hadn’t shouted loud enough, hadn’t sung. the same melody… They had chosen the wrong target, had launched accusations and, what good is a country without dialogue?
They were therefore wondering (as much as they could because the successive crises had bruised them) if organizing yet another demonstration or announcing yet another strike was worth the effort of getting up again… When two White Rabbits trotted past, crossing without seeing each other, muttering, shows in hand: “My God! My God ! I will be late.”
The Lebanese got up, divided and followed them…
The tunnels
The History of Lebanon is neither less dreamlike nor less wacky than the story of Lewiss Caroll, which has become a timeless classic of literature.
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“3a2bel el 100”, or “Will he reach 100? ” in Liban
Like Alice, once upon a time, the Lebanese plunged into the tunnel of a civil war without thinking for a single moment of how they could manage to get out of it.
Like Alice, in the aftermath of this war, they did not think of holding back by slipping into the burrow of criminals whose bloody hands had not yet had time to dry.
Like Alice, they found themselves falling into a deep pit, where it is too dark to see anything.
But how lucky she is, the little girl from Wonderland, to have adjusted her steps to the trot of the hands of a single watch!
Since that night, in my country, two clocks have deafened the confused minds of my compatriots with their ticking.
poisonous potions
Against a backdrop of crisis, political leaders have been making us drink their poisonous potions one after another for several years. We swallow them, blow after blow, without flinching, or almost. The flasks poke their elbows on the nation’s shelf and show off their black-on-white labels that read: drastic banking restrictions, national currency devaluation, dollar black market, shortage of gasoline, bread, drugs… Decidedly, they do not lack imagination, our charlatans. And their latest invention? A time machine. A decision inexplicable, unexplained ministerial decision to postpone the switch to summer timetable for a few weeks.
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When your country becomes a waiting room…
Dormant spirits awaken. The reactions fuse. The potion is spat out by many Lebanese who are beginning to swear that they are not going to let go. In the river of swear words, poison flows freely: sarcasm, intolerance, fanaticism, sectarianism… It’s all there.
Tomorrow, it will be noon for some and one o’clock for others. We will be hungry and cold in some as in others. And two Rabbits equipped with watches will continue, each on his side, his frantic race.