I have zero interest in the pandemic lockdown books that have sprouted on shelves within the last year. I was there, and I still don’t think we know what’s happening to us, and I right now don’t feel like reading about what you learned on your neighborhood walks. The exception is for Beirut or for the infinite other parts of the world whose experience of the pandemic was unique, quite different from mine, and egregiously underreported. This is a case where looking outward is the only way I can begin to weave some understanding of a domestic moment that feels chaotic, confused, patternless. I’m trying to get a look at some of the dark underground entanglements of our world economies, trying to understand just the tiniest part of our connectivities to people far away, to feel the butterfly wingflaps as they become hurricanes.
Basically, I will happily listen to Majdalani’s rendition of his neighborhood walks. His journal is built on tiny moments, smells, sounds, gestures, the anthropological principle of finding the general in the particular. I suspect there’s more to Lebanon’s political and economic story than Majdalani’s exact interpretation here, but I believe in his palpable fury at the massive government corruption that eventually took the last farthing. This is how the world ends–it might look different depending on your seats in the theater, but the basics are the same. Money and electricity become meaningless very easily. Food always means something–not just sustenance but taste, herbs and flowers. Companionship, education, health, ritual. These are, in fact, the basics, as becomes very clear very quickly in hard times. And I would add my voice to Majdalani’s here, addressed to the public officials who crashed an entire country and whoever was building bombs with the material that eventually flattened huge parts of the city: How dare you sacrifice them. How fucking dare you.
Personally, I’m no revolutionary. I’m too confused all the time to rally behind causes, and too scared of what it means to burn everything down. In general I am much more interested in the possibility of institutions that work. Of, for example, not allowing for the creation of an entire underclass of unhoused refugees who might decide to fill the ranks of militias. Or, for example, managing our impacts on land and water so that there might just be enough. And I believe, as some Lebanese still do, that even starting here at square less-than-one, we have what we need to begin.