October 17, 2023
Four years since the Lebanese revolution.
As I pick up my pen and begin to write, only a few words come to mind:
Revolt. Resistance. Persistence.
To the Lebanese who are reading this:
You know and understand these words.
To the Arabs who are reading this:
You know and understand these words.
They have motivated our battles and marked our movements. They have fueled our struggle, and we have used them almost as a salute to our cause.
Coming from the Middle East means fighting to live in a region that truly represents us,
It means representing our culture all around the world.
It means demonstrating that we were not born and raised in violence,
That we are educated,
That we can engage in dialogue, that we can have open minds,
That we are not all extremists,
That we are not terrorists.
We have been the voice of our nations.
The voice of people who cannot speak freely.
Our voice has been gentle and welcoming to foreigners.
Our voice has told them about the beauty of our countries,
It has explained our traditions.
Our voice has tried to convey what the Middle East has offered us and what it has to offer to the world.
Our voice has often invited them, and our arms have always been open to them.
But our voice is also firm and unwavering.
Our voice has often had to defend.
Defend our countries, defend our culture, defend our traditions.
Defend our history. Defend our people.
Stigmatized, misjudged, misrepresented.
You see, resistance is not foreign to us.
We have always resisted. We will always resist.
If we don’t do it in the streets by chanting slogans, we do it through conversations, through our actions, our way of speaking and carrying ourselves.
We resist by existing in a world that doesn’t want us to exist.
We resist against terror.
We resist against injustice.
We resist against oppression.
We live divided by borders.
Yet, we are the children and citizens of the Middle East.
And it comes with a sense of pride, of belonging.
One that cannot be understood or explained to others.
A life stolen from one is a life stolen from all.
We are the people who have never been allowed to know peace.
But we are also the people who will never be broken by their words, by their weapons, by their wars.
They will not decide who we are
Or who we are not.
In the eyes of others, our land may resemble chaos,
A world without law, civilization, or hope.
In the eyes of others, our land looks like battlegrounds.
A field where anything goes,
Where life does not hold the same value as elsewhere,
Where our cries do not resonate as loudly,
Where our blood does not stain as much.
In the eyes of others, our children do not deserve the right to dream,
They must be exterminated before they grow up and become “terrorists.”
For us, our lands carry the scent of our olive trees and oranges. Of our spices and our flavors. The fragrance of our grandmothers and their embrace. The incense and our prayers.
For us, our lands smell of the sea.
They are the sound of car horns and people shouting at each other before embracing. The sound of laughter, everywhere and at all times.
The “Ahla w Sahla, Tfadalo” that we hear too often.
In the eyes of others, our language is intimidating.
For us, it is the music and the voices of Fairuz and Umm Kulthum that accompany our morning coffee.
It is the words of Mahmoud Darwish and Gibran Khalil Gibran that have put us to sleep.
In the eyes of others, bullet holes in our walls symbolize danger.
For us, they represent our resistance and our quest for peace.
Our right to our lands,
Our right to exist.
In the eyes of others, we are not free.
While we know that nowhere else are we as free as in our homeland.
While we know that they are not freer than us.
The Middle East is ours.
We live on lands that cannot be destroyed because our culture persists.
Our voices will resonate loudly.
We will never tire of this fight.
It is a battle for our roots. A battle for our past, our history. For our future and the future of our children.
Four years since the Lebanese revolution.
And although one might think we have been defeated,
The revolution does not die.
It breathes words into our mouths,
It allows us to see why we continue to fight every day,
It is the spirit that drives us to rise again,
The strength we need to persevere, to endure.
It is the voice of our grandparents who remind us of our history,
It is our resilience.
The Lebanese revolution still echoes in our hearts.
The Middle East is filled with echoes of persistence and strength.
You can wage wars against us, destroy our lands.
You can tarnish our image, label us as terrorists.
But you will never access the source of our strength,
Our spirit.
We resist, We exist.
Always.
– Inès Mathieu