Today I woke up paralyzed by my anxiety.
Today, a speech that could change everything.
A speech that will determine the fate of my country and its people.
I am indignant, of course.
Because we are waiting,
Like domesticated sheep
Waiting for the opening of the enclosure to eat.
I am indignant, of course.
Because my future is in the hands of a man who does not represent me,
Who does not represent my country.
A man who does not speak the same language as I do.
A man who speaks for an entirely different nation.
I am indignant,
Because my country is considered ‘collateral damage’
Of a policy that is not ours.
Again, like a playground where the strongest will be determined.
Again, like a land where destruction does not matter,
Where dust falls like rain,
Where everything crumbles like sand.
I am indignant,
Because I am also forced to wait.
I wait for a speech, a decision,
Like a death sentence.
I wait, almost without realizing,
That I am waiting for the words of someone I have no respect for,
Almost without realizing that I have automatically accepted that he will decide.
We, the Lebanese, are weak…
And to ridicule such a serious subject:
The Lebanese find themselves grateful for being protected,
For not being left completely helpless against the opposite side.
The Stockholm Syndrome affecting an entire community.
“Thank you for defending us, after having attacked…”
I am also internally torn apart.
For several weeks now, images, videos, and words have been flashing on my phone.
I read, I listen, I cry, I pray.
I shout, I get angry, I talk, I discuss,
I try to understand more,
To understand better.
I try to grasp the meaning of all this.
But there are things that cannot make sense.
An entire people judged guilty for the actions of a group, a militia.
An entire people sentenced to death,
To a slow and painful death,
Victims of having shared the land of murderers.
There are things that cannot be explained,
On which we cannot even debate,
Because the mere necessity of debating them is an outrage.
I wonder how the world can witness such atrocities,
How people attempt to justify them.
How can one justify genocide?
Yes, there are many senseless things.
How can you accuse someone other than the one who fired the fatal shot?
How can you accuse someone other than the thief who plundered a nation, a culture, generations?
How can you accuse a people imprisoned, locked up, and starved?
“Do you condemn the actions of…?”
I will condemn when you are also capable of condemning.
You ask these questions as if our response has the power to incriminate.
While we are the victims and those demanding justice.
Your speeches do not disorient us. Your accusations do not scare us.
They will not silence us.
We are not the ones being judged,
We are the ones who have been attempted to be assassinated.
But we are not dead.
The first two pages of my text may not appear related.
Nevertheless, they are.
Today, the Lebanese people are torn.
On one side, we weep for our neighbors, and we want to help.
We speak for them and try to shout in their place,
To show the world what is happening.
We are outraged,
Because we know it could have been us.
Because we know
The world would have reacted in the same way
If it had been us…
You see,
We are also victims of an occupation.
It is less apparent and has caused fewer deaths.
But it is violent and dangerous.
It occupied more and more.
It tries to redefine our history.
It takes a voice it claims to be ours.
Decisions that are not voted on.
It pretends to defend us from an enemy it provokes.
With weapons it has stolen.
On the other side, the Lebanese are afraid.
Our country might be dragged into war
By a decision that is not unanimous.
If the cause is shared,
It does not mean that a people already oppressed
Can claim to be an avenger.
You see,
We are neighboring people.
We are occupied people.
People simultaneously judged because of the actions of armed oppressors.
An imposed internal occupation.
Like our tormented neighbors,
We are also a people under occupation.
So, let’s wait for the famous speech…
Maybe in a few days, it will be our images circulating,
Our videos, our words,
Our cries, our prayers.
So, let’s wait for the famous speech…
If we don’t go to war at the border, it doesn’t mean we aren’t already at war.
A condemned, occupied, oppressed people.
A people who wait,
Like domesticated sheep…
So, let’s wait for the famous speech.
Cry for Gaza,
And I beg you.
Save a few tears for Beirut…
– Inès Mathieu