Monday, October 21, 2019

Oh my Lebanon!

 Protesters in front of the Muhammad al-Amin mosque in Beirut, Lebanon, on Sunday. Photograph: Wael Hamzeh/EPA


I originally posted the piece below on March 31, 2011. As I watch the absolutely beautiful and massive protests in all corners of Lebanon in the past few days, I realize I wasn't alone on my transformative journey. My heart is full as I see my fellow Lebanese rising up under one flag without regard to religious affiliation or party. Don't back down, resilient people. You are an amazing few million. Show the world how it's done. Become one.

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REJECTING RELIGIOUS DIVISION

I was a senior in high school when I participated in my first Model Arab League conference.  Of the countries available, my sister, then a college freshman, and I chose to represent Lebanon.  We took our work very seriously and very personally.  A participant of Arab descent struck a conversation with us one day.  After brief niceties, it was clear that her real intent was to find out whether we were Muslims or Christians.  This was during one of Lebanon's darkest moments, and only five years after we fled Lebanon's civil war, so memories of fear, destruction, and all the ugliness of the civil war were fresh in our minds.  We refused to answer the question about our religious background but she insisted.  We told her we were Lebanese and it simply didn't matter whether we were Christians, Muslims or any other sect.  Our response shocked her. 

You see my sister and I were Lebanese (not yet American citizens) who had witnessed the devastation of our country in large part due to religious strife.  We were slowly becoming disciples of the American way of separating religion from government and politics and realizing with each passing day that we were members of one big human family--not just our Maronite Catholic heritage.  But, it wasn't always this way--not in my family, neighborhood or native city and country. 

The Lebanese civil war started when our younger brother was just short of 2 years old.  His words on that “Black Saturday” sum it up.  He said, “Don’t be afraid HamoLaura,” using the hybrid name he made up for the two of us, “God willing, all the Fedayeen will die.”  (The Fedayeen were militant Palestinian Muslims who played a role in igniting the civil war.)  How sad that something like this would come out of toddler’s mouth, but anyone who has lived in the Middle East would understand how deeply ingrained, visceral and accepted the hatred was.  Nothing about my brother’s words was disturbing to us or our parents. 

In those days, religious affiliation meant everything.  Every Lebanese (regardless of which of the 17 religious sects he/she belonged to) identified with religion first and country second.  Just about every sect hated the others.  I don’t use this word lightly.  HATE was very real.  It meant we didn’t see the “others” as equal, which made it easy to commit all sorts of offenses against them.  For my more genteel American readers, I’m not referring to workplace discrimination, unequal pay, harassment or the like.  I’m referring to murder, and more often than not, massacres.  And, let me be clear:  Every religious sect in Lebanon was guilty of these crimes. 

Fast forward to 1984, the year our family immigrated to the United States.  As we worked hard to learn English, find work and adjust to a new culture, we noticed that Americans who helped us (and many did) did not ask what religion we were.  They were incredibly generous, kind and welcoming.

In school, we devoured everything we could learn about this country.  We fell in love with American history, and with each passing year, we realized how much we identified with the struggles and sacrifices of Americans.  We made friends at school and work with people from all walks of life—rich, poor, black, white, Catholics, Protestants, Jews and yes, eventually Muslims and many others.

Religious affiliation, ethnic background and skin color (although that’s a topic for another day) became irrelevant.  So, not surprisingly, the answer to “what are you?” five years after we arrived in this country was simply “Lebanese”.  Proudly and thankfully, the answer today is “Lebanese-American”. 

Thousands left Lebanon under similar circumstances and I suspect many of them had similar experiences.  I can’t fully explain my family’s transformation, but I know my siblings and I are grateful for every act of kindness we’ve encountered in nearly 27 years in this country.  Perhaps that’s all it takes:  Kindness.  Could it be that simple?

While I explore our reasons and influences, I want to know your stories.  Please write to me about your transformation.  Where did you start and where are you now?  Tell me about the people and instances that made a difference.  What hopes and dreams do you have for your family and your country and in this regard?  Either comment after this post or send me your story in an e-mail to laura.boustani@gmail.com.  And, please tell me if I have your permission to use your story in future posts.  I promise not to use names.  I look forward to responses.

(Thanks go out to both my sister and brother for their help with these posts, especially this one!)

Monday, October 14, 2019

Of Two Minds

I have so much to say. 
I fear for my country. 
I fear for truth.
I fear for those paying for Trump's indebtedness to Putin. 
I fear for journalists. 
I fear for public servants. 
I fear for my country.

I have so much to do.
I'll fight for my county.
I'll fight for truth.
I'll fight for those paying for Trump's indebtedness to Putin.
I'll fight to protect journalists.
I'll fight to protect public servants.
I'll fight for my country. 

Monday, September 17, 2018

Insist on Good Leaders - Postscript

I originally posted this in March 2011. It's been read by thousands across the globe. I wrote it back when my country was on solid footing. It feels strange to read it now. I'm hoping, praying, writing and voting for that day to come again. Join me.

Laura

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Insist on Good Leaders 

Two readers recently expressed concern about who will lead the Arab countries should more dictators fall.  They fear that people will install new dictators—self-proclaimed saviors who will make promises only to prove to be no less ethical, moral or democratic than their predecessors.  I share their concern, and it’s terrifying to think that people may be dying in vain.  

As I pondered this, I realized the lessons I learned about leaders here in the U.S. from 20 plus years of political work can easily apply to leaders of cities and nations beyond U.S. borders.  So, I thought to share my perspective in the form of 15 characteristics I have compiled.

But first I should say that a small handful of leaders I've worked with may recognize some points as their own, and they probably are.  I have had the privilege of working for some incredible people and being in very instructive situations. I am so grateful for those lessons, and I hope they can be useful elsewhere.  Here they are.

A good leader must:

·         Want to do the job with every fiber of his/her being.  It must be a calling or a mission and not a step on the ladder of power. Too many leaders have grand plans for their own future and casual commitment to their current office or constituents.
·         Make decisions form a solid, mature “center”.  This is my word for having unshakeable values and beliefs that guide actions.  Most politicians operate without a center.  They lack focus and rarely accomplish anything of value.
·         Be honest with their supporters, staff and constituents at all times regardless of how difficult a situation or crisis may be.  To have and keep a mandate to govern at any level, there is no substitute for honesty.
·         Be courageous and take risks to do what is best for the community.  Making decisions based on results of opinion polls or the wishes of opinion leaders is not leadership; it is pandering.  Real leaders take calculated risks daily, and when the stakes are high, they must be willing to risk everything (personal comfort, popularity and even the next election) for their constituents. 
·         Have contagious passion. Motivating others to perform will require visible and sincere passion.  I am not suggesting constant cheerleading, but a leader should believe deeply in their cause demonstrate it daily.
·         Be humble and kind no matter how much power he/she accumulates, how large a budget he/she oversees, and how large the contracts he/she awards.  Power is intoxicating, but elected officials often forget that they are servants of the people. Forgetting this very thing leads to all kinds of missteps and bad decisions. 
·         Never ask staff/followers to sacrifice more than the leader is willing to give.  As one of my mentors once said, “A leader should be the first one in the office in the morning and the last to leave at night.”  This mentor practiced what he preached.
·         Inspire staff and constituents alike to live by the highest moral and ethical standards no matter the temptations and opportunities.  There is no substitute for leading by example.  A leader should never tolerate unethical or immoral behavior from staff at any level. 
·         Be guided by what is best for their community and its residents--not contributors, business associates, relatives or personal interest.  I believe this is one of the rarest traits of public officials.  Far too often, they are influenced by the agendas of others who are not committed to the constituents.  This goes along with having a “center” that I discussed earlier—never losing focus on core values and beliefs.
·         Act upon the belief that “the greatest exercise of power is to empower others who want to do good or have been marginalized, regardless of race, ethnicity, age, religion or any other differentiator,” according to one leader I worked for.  Bad leaders do the opposite to keep people under their tight control, but good leaders on every level of government encourage, develop, educate and listen to their constituents.
·         Surround himself or herself with the best and brightest, most committed and most honest individuals available. Those who will carry out a leader’s vision must share his/her passion and possess the intellect and ability to perform at the highest levels. They must also have the courage to give the leader honest feedback and bad news however unpleasant those may be.
·         Never accept mediocrity.  In 2011, excellence is underrated, undervalued and rare in many places.  A leader should feed the hunger for achievement in every undertaking. 
·         Be someone who unites people around solutions and positive efforts as opposed to others who thrive on using race, religion, party affiliation, geography or any number of other factors to divide constituents.
·         Work to reignite hope in their communities. I am convinced that at the core of many socioeconomic problems is the lack of hope and expectation.  A leader must pay special attention to this if a community is to have a bright future.
·         Be tenacious and relentless in pursuit of what is best for the community.  Once an important goal is identified, a leader should not accept failure or take no for an answer from stakeholders.  Many leaders fall short on this point and give up too easily.

So my message to those protesting against the tyranny of corrupt, criminal dictators is simply this:  Please don’t settle for any less than good leaders.  No one is perfect, but all people deserve to be led with integrity, commitment, passion and compassion.  Insist on those qualities at the outset and throughout the years.  You, your children and future generations deserve no less.

Godspeed!

Laura

(Originally posted on March 24, 2011.)

Saturday, June 13, 2015

A Tribute

I wrote this piece in 2011 about a wonderful teacher who taught me about the civil rights movement as a college student. After two plus decades, I saw him frequently during the last year when I came back to John Carroll University as a teacher. He was older and grayer but still inspiring. 

I'm reposting it even though it's not Black History Month because Rev. Valentino Lassiter died last night. I'm so very sad and so very glad his life touched mine and the lives of so many others. He is irreplaceable but lives on in many of us as do all great teachers. Godspeed, Rev. Lassiter.


Fuel Someone Different

February, 12, 2011


During my senior year in college, I took a course on the history of the civil rights movement, taught by one of the few African American professors on campus. Like many in his generation, he participated in the movement. He volunteered, organized and marched with the greats, felt the triumphs and the heartbreaks, and was still plugging away in the early 1990s at shaping the future through his teaching. I had reached that point in my education without learning much about the movement and Martin Luther King, Jr., so

I devoured everything he had to offer. I was enthralled by every lecture, every speech, every letter and every book. I simply loved every bit of it. At the end of the semester, I finished my exam early and began to walk out of the class. The professor followed me and asked if I have a minute to talk. Standing just outside the classroom, he said, "Don't stop now," referring to my upcoming graduation. 

While I don't remember exactly what followed, the essence of his words was something like this: Use your brain and your heart. Learn more and do more. There are scholarships out there. Go on and get graduate degrees and share what you know. There's no limit to what you can do. I was floored. I had no idea he thought highly of my ability. I was flattered and grateful that he intentionally reached out to me to encourage me and let me know he had high hopes and expectations for my future. I was particularly touched because very few people had taken the time to say such things to me—not in this country.

Ten years earlier, I was the awkward kid who couldn't make it through the school day without consulting my thick Arabic-English dictionary. I knew precious little about American history or culture. I was an immigrant who looked, dressed, spoke and acted a bit strangely for the all-American kids in my suburban school, which made friendships, compliments and plain old conversation difficult to come by.

Most likely, this professor does not remember me or what he said to me. But to this day, I still remember and I marvel at how such kind words can give a young person so much fuel to go out into the world and make a difference. When was the last time you encouraged, praised or set high expectations for a young person? Start with the people you see every day--the intern at the office, a young associate, a fast food worker, your child’s classmate, and so on.

One last thing...In honor of Black History Month and in this time of strong anti-immigrant rhetoric, make a point of reaching out to someone who's different--in skin color, ethnicity, language, religion, or whatever. You may just fuel something or someone awesome.

Monday, May 12, 2014

America the Savior


Growing up in war-torn Lebanon in the 1970s and 1980s, my family was on the side of Beirut that liked, or rather loved, America and Americans. (Yes, there is such a place in the Middle East, or at least there was.)


What we knew came from television and movies, but what we felt came from somewhere inexplicable. At least in my family, we always knew America, with its people, technology, culture and of course political clout, was an amazing place.

We felt there was little America and Americans couldn't do and we desperately needed them to do something to save us from our miserable, fearful existence.

In the dark, long days and nights of the Lebanese civil war, we longed for America to come to our aid. And America came twice. Once America came in the form of the US Marines. They were so welcomed, admired and truly adored (by many) until one fateful morning in 1983 when those doing the bidding of the Syrian and Iranian regimes killed 241 of them and put an end to their comforting, hope-inspiring presence.

Beirut Memorial at Camp LeJeune
Then America came again in 1984 when East Beirut was under attack. This time, the USS New Jersey came to Lebanon's coast and fired nearly 300 shells towards the hills above Beirut to stop our attackers. These were the loudest explosions of the entire war, but they gave us a perverse comfort since they were American and were directed at our enemies.

But as the war raged on, America stopped coming.

Then later in 1984, on a rare, quiet spring morning after a sleepless night of shelling, my parents woke me and my siblings to ask us one question: If we could leave for the United States, would you want to go? The answer was a quick and unanimous yes. After trips to the U.S. Embassy and the American University of Beirut Hospital, we were awarded visas and cleared for travel to the U.S. Little more than two months later, we had sold almost everything we owned, said our goodbyes and were on our way.

And so we came to America.

What we found in America was much more than what the world sees in movies and on television. We found a people with a generous spirit and unlimited kindness; we found endless potential for those who dare to dream and limitless results for those who work on their dreams. We found a place with plenty of bad and more of the good, a place always evolving to become a better version of itself, a place where the future holds enormous promise. Simply put, we fell in love with this amazing country.

I am so grateful for all that I found and I'm even more grateful for the freedom from the fear that dominated my childhood. Almost 30 years later, I believe now more than ever that there's little America and Americans can't do.

But as much as I love this country, I'm filled with sadness as I look at the devastation in Syria. I'm sad and appalled that America hasn't come for the Syrians as it came for us. I worry that Syrians who survive this insane war may never know the America I found. I worry that by walking away from the people of Syria and allowing hundreds of thousands to be killed and millions to be displaced, America itself is diminished. My America is better than that. I still have hope that she will live up to her own standard of greatness, and I pray the Syrian people will see and feel this greatness first hand.


Monday, February 3, 2014

Inhumanity and the Moral Limit in Syria

I wrote this piece for the Cleveland Plain Dealer about Syria. I welcome your feedback. 

Laura


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comments

Inhumanity and the moral limit in Syria

In this September 2013 photo, smoke rises after a TNT bomb was thrown from
a helicopter, hitting a rebel position during heavy fighting between troops loyal 
to president Bashar Assad and opposition fighters, in the neighbouring village 
of Kafr Nabuda, in the Idlib province countryside, Syria.(AP)

















Guest Columnist/cleveland.com

 February 01, 2014

At the start of the “Arab Spring”, I was so optimistic about the prospect of democracy in the Middle East and heartened by the uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt.  On my mind was the oppression of millions of Syrians by the brutal Bashar Assad regime.  Also on my mind was my experience during Lebanon's civil war and the enormous damage the Syrian regime did there.

For 10 of Lebanon’s 15-year civil war, my siblings and I outran bombs to reach home from school, took tests while watching sniper bullets bounce off of the building next-door, heard and felt that terrifyingly loud sound of exploding bombs, spent long days and nights in rat-infested shelters; and of course dealt with the poverty and degradation of being refugees—not to mention the repeated damage to our family's home and grocery store, navigating off-limits streets and intersections targeted by snipers and so much more.  These horrors probably make anyone who's had a normal childhood cringe.

But here's the bad news: What the Assad regime has done to its own people since March 2011 is far more brutal, destructive and degrading than the enormous damage it did in Lebanon. I never imagined this was possible, but it turns out there's no limit to the regime's inhumanity.

Syria's numbers today are astounding: 130,000 dead (including thousands of children), more than 575,000 injured, nearly three million refugees outside Syria, nearly five million refugees displaced inside Syria; 43,000 Syrians detained and thousands suffering from starvation and lack of shelter. Then there are the latest revelations of Holocaust-like torture of thousands.

I suspect these numbers are conservative and don't account for the destruction of entire villages and cities and the fear, pain and hopelessness millions of Syrians are enduring every day.

When the uprising began, I naively thought that once the world community sees the real Assad regime, something would happen to remove it from power and Syrians would finally have a dignified life. I thought what kept Western countries from looking into the atrocities committed by the regime for the past four decades was the nearly perfected, sophisticated, lying facade of the Assad family and their apologists. Once the truth was revealed, I was sure things would change.

Fast forward to January 2014. Thanks to traditional and social media, the world is aware of the massacres and we continue to see horrifying images of mutilated bodies, rows of dead children and so much more. My hat is off to saintly aid workers and journalists, but the rest of us do nothing to stop the madness. Where is our outrage?  Where is our humanity? Where is the world's conscience?  Have we become numb to the images of the suffering, torture and mutilation?

Forget the fiasco about red lines and chemical weapons. And, forget the peace talks in Geneva, which are unlikely to be productive as long as Assad is in power. The fact of the matter now is clear as day: The world knows Assad's brutality well and does not care.

I don’t claim to have the answers to the difficult and complicated geopolitical considerations, but I know two things must happen: The bloodshed must be stopped and the criminal regime must be removed and punished.

I understand the plight of Christian minority inside Syria. And, yes, Iran, Russia, Israel and the American public make military action difficult. But when does it all stop?  Teams of experts reviewing the recently released torture archives have made a direct comparison to the Holocaust.  Are we waiting until the number of dead Syrians reaches six million?  Has the world learned nothing from Holocaust?  Shame on every world leader and on every one of us for not doing more, for not caring more, and for not demanding the end to this holocaust.

In the words of the late journalist and author Christopher Hitchens (who was writing in 2010 about Henry Kissinger's reference to gas chambers on the Nixon tapes), "There has to be a moral limit, and either this has to be it or we must cease pretending to ourselves that we observe one." 

So, does my beloved country have a moral limit when it comes to Syria? Does the world? 

Boustani is a Lebanese-American who immigrated to the United States from Lebanon in the 1980s.


 


Thursday, August 29, 2013

Rations, Wishes and the Syrian Regime

Photo is courtesy of the Facebook page  We are all Hamza Alkhateeb.
With Syria on my mind, I stopped at a local restaurant for takeout falafel for lunch yesterday. The owner, a Syrian immigrant, is usually happy to serve up a side of politics with my lunch. Yesterday's side was a little different. I asked her what she thought of the current talk of the U.S. attacking the Syrian regime. She expressed her concern for civilians but said it has to be done. She went on to tell me that she believes the Americans will aim for precise targets and do what they can to spare civilians' lives. As we waited for my falafel to cook, she leaned over the counter to tell me about food shortages and the financial struggles of her friends and family in Syria. I asked about water and electricity which she confirmed are scarce. I then shared that my family experienced very similar struggles courtesy of the Syrian regime during the Lebanese civil war. She shook her head in disgust. 

As she packed my pita bread, I shared the story of my mother and I waiting in line for many hours for flour in Beirut to bake our own bread (unheard of in a city the size of Beirut but bakeries were closed). This was one of the many occasions when the army of the first Assad shelled Lebanese roads and bridges closing supply routes and forcing the rationing of what little was available. She seemed a bit surprised but I realized that I was speaking to someone who's heard about but not experienced the realities of war. 

I should have stopped there, but I went on to share one more thing.  I told her that my wish as a child was for my parents to let me leave home so I can make my way to Syria and personally kill Assad. Yes, I said that. I personally wanted to kill Assad to put an end to the suffering of so many, particularly my family. I was confident (or foolish to think) I could reach Syria somehow and get close enough to kill him. Fortunately or not, my wise parents did not agree and I did not get my wish. The woman looked at me puzzled, shook her head and said, "I have never heard anything like this before." Her response bothered me but I'm not sure why. I suspect Syrian children living through their war now more easily identify with my childhood experiences and state of mind. 

But what if I did leave home, reached Damascus and made my wish come true? One thing is for sure; I wouldn't be here writing about it today.

Today, as a Lebanese American, I'm praying that my country delivers decisive, definitive and devastating strikes to the son of Assad and his lieutenants. I'm also praying that Syrian children will live to write and talk about it.