Writer and cultural editor of Al Safir, Abbas Beydoun talks about the effect of war on literature and on the Lebanese.
 
You don’t seem to like my Dictaphone…
It’s not that I’m afraid of machines but these things immortalize your mistakes. A recorder is something that can perpetuate your mistake. Not that what I say is infallible, but everything one says tends towards mistakes, as a lot of what is said is said for impact.
What kind of impact have you had on the local culture?
It’s a confusing question essentially because it is difficult to understand what the country’s culture is. Even more confusing is the country itself, its movements and politics. All these are a mystery to me. But despite this, Lebanon has produced a culture suitable to its role. It’s one of the few countries in the world that was forced into having a role through its imposed social structure.
A unique social structure? What do you mean?
Its role is that of a mediator between two worlds. This role has kept both worlds intact. What I’m saying is the locals know as much Arabic as they do French or English and they know all these languages well. Furthermore, the foreign languages we learn actually strengthen our Arabic. We have the capacity to overcome educational tradition. We’re certainly a traditional country in our everyday life but when it comes to our minds we can face tradition down with ease. We’re a bit snobbish actually but that’s still better than conservatism.
And you’re part of that generation?
I am. I’m part of a generation that is in one way or another creating what you’d call Lebanese education culture or literature. This is, if you’d like, the generation of war-time Beirut.
What’s so different about the war generation, besides the explosions and such?
The war changed Lebanon’s self image. Before the war we thought we were culturally part of a wide cosmopolitan march. Our poets were walking along with Faulkner, Joyce and Hemingway. Before the war we felt Lebanon was larger than life. Literature at the time sang of Lebanon the fantasy and novels were mental tales, like Sartre’s work. These two things collapsed during the war along with national radicalism. We suddenly realized that we aren’t part of the worldwide march; we’re a desperate, small part that is somehow exiled.
And we became introverts…
We at least started thinking locally and started considering where we live and who we are. Furthermore, the war showed us that the country might disappear and it still might. When waking up to no country became a real possibility, people started hanging on to Lebanon’s details.
What’s your favorite place in Lebanon?
What do you mean?
Where would you go to take a break or take a rest?
Ah, I can’t seem to rest at all, even when I am on vacations or breaks. Life is something of a struggle, a battle to survive. Lebanon, though, is one of those places that you have to keep rediscovering. I’m from the south, originally, but I’ve lived in Beirut for a long time. I never really saw it until I decided to open my eyes and look around. I like the heart of Beirut and while I’m one of those who was against [the redevelopment of]Downtown Beirut, because it’s something of a Disneyland, I still like the heart of the city.
All Rights sold to Time Out Beirut
You You You are getting married!! Mabrouk 
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Is it me or the guy hasn’t said a thing? All the discussion is empty, devoid of any substance, full of lieux communs….
Ditto,
but the thing is… the comment came well before the article. Confusing.
@Agénor
Agreed, he’s a political writer after all
@Roubenz
The post popped up for a few hours last Monday, a glitch in the scheduler. It kept its comments when it reposted.