Election Day

As you have no doubt already heard, the Lebanese parliamentary elections went off, for the most part, without a hitch. However, this was not a given in the days leading up to the election. In the past, political transitions did not come about peacefully or easily here, and many people thought this would be no exception.

When trouble has broken out in the past, people prefer to be with their own. Its safer that way, because if you are a Druze for example, you want to be in your village with your people and your guns in case you have to fight some other type of people. It's sad, but that is how things have gone down.

Many people in Beirut are not from this city, but are from the north or the south or the mountains originally, and I heard accounts of people going back there for the elections. You know, just in case.

Nevertheless, I decided to stay in Beirut for the election to monitor events there. I didn't really have a choice, as my village is in the suburbs of Boston, but I wouldn't have left anyway. Plus, I figured that if something happened, I might be able to get some good photographs.

This particular weekend, I had a buddy from grad school visiting from Kabul, Afghanistan where he runs a private security operation. We had putzed around Hamra and Ras Beirut for a couple days, but I told him that for the election, we would be marching all around. If he can survive all this time in Kabul, then Beirut on election day should be a walk in the park.

He reluctantly accepted the proposed activity, not because he was worried for his safety, but because it would involve a prolific amount of walking. This is something that just is not done where he lives, as he is driven around everywhere in air conditioned SUVs by people with guns. So the prospect of sustained and vigorous physical activity in the sun probably gave him butterflies in his stomach.

I woke up early and skipped the shower, as I was too excited and wanted to get out and about to see what was happening. It was too early to go meet my friend at his hotel, so I walked around to some close-by polling stations to see what I could see.

I figured security would be ratcheted up all over, but not really. Some places that were secure before now had few guards, and some places with few guards before now had a bunch. It looked like they just shifted guys around to more strategic areas instead if adding security personnel everywhere. This is probably more a reflection of Lebanese security resources than anything.

The first place I hit was a polling station a couple blocks from my house. I saw some troops and a flurry of activity and I went in to poke around, which led to the following exchange with one of the soldiers:

Me: Can I take some pictures here please?
Him: Okay, go ahead.
Me: Shukran. (Thanks)
Him (ten seconds later): Wait, do you have permission?
Me: Well, I was asking you for permission.
Him: Then no.

Fine, whatever. I didn't really mind because first of all soldiers and cops just don't like to have their pictures taken in Lebanon. It's off limits and it's understood. And also, we were in an extra stuffy area right next to the Prime Minister's apartment, where security is always tight. I figured that other areas would be more lax.

Walking down the street, I saw a young guy that has just voted, as I could tell from his purple thumb. I stopped and asked him if I could take a picture of his thumb and he said okay. I asked how the voting went and he said it was pretty smooth. He said that everyone in the country is officially registered to a different sect and it showed which one on your ID. People from the same sect vote in the same place, like Sunni in Beirut vote with Sunnis from Beirut, and so on. This keep the sects separate and minimizes the chance for confrontations.

By this time it was late enough in the morning to go get my friend. He came down and we headed out. The city was a relative ghost town. This was for three reasons. First, it was Sunday which is never a busy day. Second, many businesses were closed for the elections. And third, many people had retreated to their villages where they were registered to vote.

Hamra Street without people and cars is an eery sight. It's usually bustling with shoppers, traffic, and people in cafes. Today it was dead. The only crowds were near the polling stations. Things there were noisy and active, but otherwise peaceful and under control. This was the case everywhere we walked. From Hamra to downtown to Gemmayze to the sea and back to Hamra. Everywhere was the same: deserted streets except for the polling areas which were busy but orderly.

Along the Corniche (the seaside boardwalk), it was as if today were any other Sunday. People were sitting in the sun, spending time with their families, fishing, and swimming. Some of these people had the voter's purple thumb, but others just didn't care. In Lebanon, so much is made about politics that is natural for a part of the population to reject the process all together. I spoke with many who felt like this.

To the international community, this election was seen as a reflection on the ebb and flow of power. It was seen as a showdown between the America and the West vs. Hizballah and Iran. But few stopped to write about the issues that face the average Lebanese citizen, including corruption, pollution, traffic, education, and the distribution of wealth. The international press was not talking about these issues and it is unlikely any of these will be addressed by whoever wins. Two thirds of politics is bullshit on a good day, and Lebanon is no exception. So for some, Sunday was for swimming and eating ice cream by the sea, and not for getting caught up with your particular party or sect.

After the votes were all cast and the polls had closed, I went home to pack up my things, as my time in Beirut was coming to an end. I left the balcony door open to listen for any action, but there was none and it seems as though the government did a nice job in its conduction of these elections. The next day, I would be leaving Lebanon, but I was going with an optimism for the country that I hadn't felt in my entire three months there.