Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
New Years Resolution:
1) Quit smoking
2) Relearn to read and write in Arabic
3) Be more understanding
4) Be more grateful
5) Participate in a march with like minded people to the Palace in Baabda to overthrow the lame duck president, then continue marching to Damascus and meet with like minded Syrians to topple The Family, then continue on a march with both Lebanese and Syrians to Jerusalem along the way meeting up with like minded Lebanese in the Shiaa community, Palestinians descendents of refugees and Jews descendents of European, Russian and U.S Jews to render Hezbollah and rest of the card carrying terrorists within the borders of Levantine countries useless. OR I CAN KEEP SITTING ON MY COUCH AND DREAM OF A BETTER WORLD
6) Be more optimistic
7) Root for the Red Sox
8) Stay away from fatty foods
9) Call Mom more often
10) And listen to the wind blow
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
And if you have some time, follow this link.
1) Quit smoking
2) Relearn to read and write in Arabic
3) Be more understanding
4) Be more grateful
5) Participate in a march with like minded people to the Palace in Baabda to overthrow the lame duck president, then continue marching to Damascus and meet with like minded Syrians to topple The Family, then continue on a march with both Lebanese and Syrians to Jerusalem along the way meeting up with like minded Lebanese in the Shiaa community, Palestinians descendents of refugees and Jews descendents of European, Russian and U.S Jews to render Hezbollah and rest of the card carrying terrorists within the borders of Levantine countries useless. OR I CAN KEEP SITTING ON MY COUCH AND DREAM OF A BETTER WORLD
6) Be more optimistic
7) Root for the Red Sox
8) Stay away from fatty foods
9) Call Mom more often
10) And listen to the wind blow
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
And if you have some time, follow this link.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
From The New Yorker:
ON TRIAL
Issue of 2005-12-19
Posted 2005-12-12
In Istanbul this Friday—in Şişli, the district where I have spent my whole life, in the courthouse directly opposite the three-story house where my grandmother lived alone for forty years—I will stand before a judge. My crime is to have “publicly denigrated Turkish identity.” The prosecutor will ask that I be imprisoned for three years. I should perhaps find it worrying that the Turkish-Armenian journalist Hrant Dink was tried in the same court for the same offense, under Article 301 of the same statute, and was found guilty, but I remain optimistic. For, like my lawyer, I believe that the case against me is thin; I do not think I will end up in jail.
This makes it somewhat embarrassing to see my trial overdramatized. I am only too aware that most of the Istanbul friends from whom I have sought advice have at some point undergone much harsher interrogation and lost many years to court cases and prison sentences just because of a book, just because of something they had written. Living as I do in a country that honors its pashas, saints, and policemen at every opportunity but refuses to honor its writers until they have spent years in courts and in prisons, I cannot say I was surprised to be put on trial. I understand why friends smile and say that I am at last “a real Turkish writer.” But when I uttered the words that landed me in trouble I was not seeking that kind of honor.
Last February, in an interview published in a Swiss newspaper, I said that “a million Armenians and thirty thousand Kurds had been killed in Turkey”; I went on to complain that it was taboo to discuss these matters in my country. Among the world’s serious historians, it is common knowledge that a large number of Ottoman Armenians were deported, allegedly for siding against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War, and many of them were slaughtered along the way. Turkey’s spokesmen, most of whom are diplomats, continue to maintain that the death toll was much lower, that the slaughter does not count as a genocide because it was not systematic, and that in the course of the war Armenians killed many Muslims, too. This past September, however, despite opposition from the state, three highly respected Istanbul universities joined forces to hold an academic conference of scholars open to views not tolerated by the official Turkish line. Since then, for the first time in ninety years, there has been public discussion of the subject—this despite the spectre of Article 301.
If the state is prepared to go to such lengths to keep the Turkish people from knowing what happened to the Ottoman Armenians, that qualifies as a taboo. And my words caused a furor worthy of a taboo: various newspapers launched hate campaigns against me, with some right-wing (but not necessarily Islamist) columnists going as far as to say that I should be “silenced” for good; groups of nationalist extremists organized meetings and demonstrations to protest my treachery; there were public burnings of my books. Like Ka, the hero of my novel “Snow,” I discovered how it felt to have to leave one’s beloved city for a time on account of one’s political views. Because I did not want to add to the controversy, and did not want even to hear about it, I at first kept quiet, drenched in a strange sort of shame, hiding from the public, and even from my own words. Then a provincial governor ordered a burning of my books, and, following my return to Istanbul, the Şişli public prosecutor opened the case against me, and I found myself the object of international concern.
My detractors were not motivated just by personal animosity, nor were they expressing hostility to me alone; I already knew that my case was a matter worthy of discussion in both Turkey and the outside world. This was partly because I believed that what stained a country’s “honor” was not the discussion of the black spots in its history but the impossibility of any discussion at all. But it was also because I believed that in today’s Turkey the prohibition against discussing the Ottoman Armenians was a prohibition against freedom of expression, and that the two matters were inextricably linked. Comforted as I was by the interest in my predicament and by the generous gestures of support, there were also times when I felt uneasy about finding myself caught between my country and the rest of the world.
The hardest thing was to explain why a country officially committed to entry in the European Union would wish to imprison an author whose books were well known in Europe, and why it felt compelled to play out this drama (as Conrad might have said) “under Western eyes.” This paradox cannot be explained away as simple ignorance, jealousy, or intolerance, and it is not the only paradox. What am I to make of a country that insists that the Turks, unlike their Western neighbors, are a compassionate people, incapable of genocide, while nationalist political groups are pelting me with death threats? What is the logic behind a state that complains that its enemies spread false reports about the Ottoman legacy all over the globe while it prosecutes and imprisons one writer after another, thus propagating the image of the Terrible Turk worldwide? When I think of the professor whom the state asked to give his ideas on Turkey’s minorities, and who, having produced a report that failed to please, was prosecuted, or the news that between the time I began this essay and embarked on the sentence you are now reading five more writers and journalists were charged under Article 301, I imagine that Flaubert and Nerval, the two godfathers of Orientalism, would call these incidents bizarreries, and rightly so.
That said, the drama we see unfolding is not, I think, a grotesque and inscrutable drama peculiar to Turkey; rather, it is an expression of a new global phenomenon that we are only just coming to acknowledge and that we must now begin, however slowly, to address. In recent years, we have witnessed the astounding economic rise of India and China, and in both these countries we have also seen the rapid expansion of the middle class, though I do not think we shall truly understand the people who have been part of this transformation until we have seen their private lives reflected in novels. Whatever you call these new élites—the non-Western bourgeoisie or the enriched bureaucracy—they, like the Westernizing élites in my own country, feel compelled to follow two separate and seemingly incompatible lines of action in order to legitimatize their newly acquired wealth and power. First, they must justify the rapid rise in their fortunes by assuming the idiom and the attitudes of the West; having created a demand for such knowledge, they then take it upon themselves to tutor their countrymen. When the people berate them for ignoring tradition, they respond by brandishing a virulent and intolerant nationalism. The disputes that a Flaubert-like outside observer might call bizarreries may simply be the clashes between these political and economic programs and the cultural aspirations they engender. On the one hand, there is the rush to join the global economy; on the other, the angry nationalism that sees true democracy and freedom of thought as Western inventions.
V. S. Naipaul was one of the first writers to describe the private lives of the ruthless, murderous non-Western ruling élites of the post-colonial era. Last May, in Korea, when I met the great Japanese writer Kenzaburo Oe, I heard that he, too, had been attacked by nationalist extremists after stating that the ugly crimes committed by his country’s armies during the invasions of Korea and China should be openly discussed in Tokyo. The intolerance shown by the Russian state toward the Chechens and other minorities and civil-rights groups, the attacks on freedom of expression by Hindu nationalists in India, and China’s discreet ethnic cleansing of the Uighurs—all are nourished by the same contradictions.
As tomorrow’s novelists prepare to narrate the private lives of the new élites, they are no doubt expecting the West to criticize the limits that their states place on freedom of expression. But these days the lies about the war in Iraq and the reports of secret C.I.A. prisons have so damaged the West’s credibility in Turkey and in other nations that it is more and more difficult for people like me to make the case for true Western democracy in my part of the world.
(Translated, from the Turkish, by Maureen Freely.)
— Orhan Pamuk
ON TRIAL
Issue of 2005-12-19
Posted 2005-12-12
In Istanbul this Friday—in Şişli, the district where I have spent my whole life, in the courthouse directly opposite the three-story house where my grandmother lived alone for forty years—I will stand before a judge. My crime is to have “publicly denigrated Turkish identity.” The prosecutor will ask that I be imprisoned for three years. I should perhaps find it worrying that the Turkish-Armenian journalist Hrant Dink was tried in the same court for the same offense, under Article 301 of the same statute, and was found guilty, but I remain optimistic. For, like my lawyer, I believe that the case against me is thin; I do not think I will end up in jail.
This makes it somewhat embarrassing to see my trial overdramatized. I am only too aware that most of the Istanbul friends from whom I have sought advice have at some point undergone much harsher interrogation and lost many years to court cases and prison sentences just because of a book, just because of something they had written. Living as I do in a country that honors its pashas, saints, and policemen at every opportunity but refuses to honor its writers until they have spent years in courts and in prisons, I cannot say I was surprised to be put on trial. I understand why friends smile and say that I am at last “a real Turkish writer.” But when I uttered the words that landed me in trouble I was not seeking that kind of honor.
Last February, in an interview published in a Swiss newspaper, I said that “a million Armenians and thirty thousand Kurds had been killed in Turkey”; I went on to complain that it was taboo to discuss these matters in my country. Among the world’s serious historians, it is common knowledge that a large number of Ottoman Armenians were deported, allegedly for siding against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War, and many of them were slaughtered along the way. Turkey’s spokesmen, most of whom are diplomats, continue to maintain that the death toll was much lower, that the slaughter does not count as a genocide because it was not systematic, and that in the course of the war Armenians killed many Muslims, too. This past September, however, despite opposition from the state, three highly respected Istanbul universities joined forces to hold an academic conference of scholars open to views not tolerated by the official Turkish line. Since then, for the first time in ninety years, there has been public discussion of the subject—this despite the spectre of Article 301.
If the state is prepared to go to such lengths to keep the Turkish people from knowing what happened to the Ottoman Armenians, that qualifies as a taboo. And my words caused a furor worthy of a taboo: various newspapers launched hate campaigns against me, with some right-wing (but not necessarily Islamist) columnists going as far as to say that I should be “silenced” for good; groups of nationalist extremists organized meetings and demonstrations to protest my treachery; there were public burnings of my books. Like Ka, the hero of my novel “Snow,” I discovered how it felt to have to leave one’s beloved city for a time on account of one’s political views. Because I did not want to add to the controversy, and did not want even to hear about it, I at first kept quiet, drenched in a strange sort of shame, hiding from the public, and even from my own words. Then a provincial governor ordered a burning of my books, and, following my return to Istanbul, the Şişli public prosecutor opened the case against me, and I found myself the object of international concern.
My detractors were not motivated just by personal animosity, nor were they expressing hostility to me alone; I already knew that my case was a matter worthy of discussion in both Turkey and the outside world. This was partly because I believed that what stained a country’s “honor” was not the discussion of the black spots in its history but the impossibility of any discussion at all. But it was also because I believed that in today’s Turkey the prohibition against discussing the Ottoman Armenians was a prohibition against freedom of expression, and that the two matters were inextricably linked. Comforted as I was by the interest in my predicament and by the generous gestures of support, there were also times when I felt uneasy about finding myself caught between my country and the rest of the world.
The hardest thing was to explain why a country officially committed to entry in the European Union would wish to imprison an author whose books were well known in Europe, and why it felt compelled to play out this drama (as Conrad might have said) “under Western eyes.” This paradox cannot be explained away as simple ignorance, jealousy, or intolerance, and it is not the only paradox. What am I to make of a country that insists that the Turks, unlike their Western neighbors, are a compassionate people, incapable of genocide, while nationalist political groups are pelting me with death threats? What is the logic behind a state that complains that its enemies spread false reports about the Ottoman legacy all over the globe while it prosecutes and imprisons one writer after another, thus propagating the image of the Terrible Turk worldwide? When I think of the professor whom the state asked to give his ideas on Turkey’s minorities, and who, having produced a report that failed to please, was prosecuted, or the news that between the time I began this essay and embarked on the sentence you are now reading five more writers and journalists were charged under Article 301, I imagine that Flaubert and Nerval, the two godfathers of Orientalism, would call these incidents bizarreries, and rightly so.
That said, the drama we see unfolding is not, I think, a grotesque and inscrutable drama peculiar to Turkey; rather, it is an expression of a new global phenomenon that we are only just coming to acknowledge and that we must now begin, however slowly, to address. In recent years, we have witnessed the astounding economic rise of India and China, and in both these countries we have also seen the rapid expansion of the middle class, though I do not think we shall truly understand the people who have been part of this transformation until we have seen their private lives reflected in novels. Whatever you call these new élites—the non-Western bourgeoisie or the enriched bureaucracy—they, like the Westernizing élites in my own country, feel compelled to follow two separate and seemingly incompatible lines of action in order to legitimatize their newly acquired wealth and power. First, they must justify the rapid rise in their fortunes by assuming the idiom and the attitudes of the West; having created a demand for such knowledge, they then take it upon themselves to tutor their countrymen. When the people berate them for ignoring tradition, they respond by brandishing a virulent and intolerant nationalism. The disputes that a Flaubert-like outside observer might call bizarreries may simply be the clashes between these political and economic programs and the cultural aspirations they engender. On the one hand, there is the rush to join the global economy; on the other, the angry nationalism that sees true democracy and freedom of thought as Western inventions.
V. S. Naipaul was one of the first writers to describe the private lives of the ruthless, murderous non-Western ruling élites of the post-colonial era. Last May, in Korea, when I met the great Japanese writer Kenzaburo Oe, I heard that he, too, had been attacked by nationalist extremists after stating that the ugly crimes committed by his country’s armies during the invasions of Korea and China should be openly discussed in Tokyo. The intolerance shown by the Russian state toward the Chechens and other minorities and civil-rights groups, the attacks on freedom of expression by Hindu nationalists in India, and China’s discreet ethnic cleansing of the Uighurs—all are nourished by the same contradictions.
As tomorrow’s novelists prepare to narrate the private lives of the new élites, they are no doubt expecting the West to criticize the limits that their states place on freedom of expression. But these days the lies about the war in Iraq and the reports of secret C.I.A. prisons have so damaged the West’s credibility in Turkey and in other nations that it is more and more difficult for people like me to make the case for true Western democracy in my part of the world.
(Translated, from the Turkish, by Maureen Freely.)
— Orhan Pamuk
Friday, December 16, 2005
And if you were to ask why should I care if the elite are suffering, when I and the rest suffered thousand fold without any sympathy from those who summer in the south of France or winter in the Alps of Italy. And if you asked why should I care when none of them cared for me and the rest of us while we were losing family and friends, stashing what they plundered in their villa’s built upon the bones of those who they never cared for. And if you were to ask if whether the chickens have come home to roost? I wouldn’t know how to reply.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Is this man Insulting Turkishness?
"What happened to the Ottoman Armenians in 1915 was a major thing that was hidden from the Turkish nation; it was a taboo," the writer explains, at an Istanbul cafe overlooking the waterfront.
"But we have to be able to talk about the past."
Armenia insists its people were victims of a genocide nine decades ago; Ankara denies any such thing.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
The time has come, the Walrus said. Perhaps things will get worse and then better. Perhaps there's a small god up in heaven readying herself for us. Another world is not only possible, she's on her way. Maybe many of us won't be here to greet her, but on a quiet day, if I listen very carefully, I can hear her breathing.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Another one bites the dust
Steve walks warily down the street,
With the brim pulled way down low
Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,
Machine guns ready to go
Are you ready, are you ready for this
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
To the sound of the beat
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, I’m gonna get you too
Another one bites the dust
How do you think I’m going to get along,
Without you, when you’re gone
You took me for everything that I had,
And kicked me out on my own
Are you happy, are you satisfied
How long can you stand the heat
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
To the sound of the beat
Chorus
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him
You can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him
When he’s down
But I’m ready, yes I’m ready for you
I’m standing on my own two feet
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
Repeating the sound of the beat
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
Hooked on the Web: Help Is on the Way
If you, like me, are hooked on the web, there is finally help on the way.
I haven’t been posting anything of late because I feel I have nothing interesting to share. Furthermore, I have been trying desperately to step away from the computer, but unfortunately I have to admit, I am addicted and need help.
I’m open to suggestions.
Regards,
Bloggerfrombloggistan.
I haven’t been posting anything of late because I feel I have nothing interesting to share. Furthermore, I have been trying desperately to step away from the computer, but unfortunately I have to admit, I am addicted and need help.
I’m open to suggestions.
Regards,
Bloggerfrombloggistan.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Not up for the challange?
Way too many pictures ladies, please I only have so much (space on my) hard-drive.
But in all seriousness, Cheers to all, and may this day be better then yesterday.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Plan of Action
Guess what folks, with the news from Lebanon, for me today is either going to be another Vodka mix Animal Planet channel induced entertainment or the driving range under the lights with few friends. I think it’s going to be the latter.
And others who feel shitty today and will feel shitty Friday, here is a plan of action:
1-Read my blog
2-Shut off your computer
3-Put on “going out clothes” commando style
4-Get the hell out of the house
5-Meet with friends at a local watering hole
6-Celebrate this day, since it was given to you with you owing nothing in return
7-Return home safely
8-You ladies undress (email me your pictures)
9-And send me a comment or two telling me how good that felt
10-And make my day :)
One more thing, if my sister is reading this, don’t you dare.
And others who feel shitty today and will feel shitty Friday, here is a plan of action:
1-Read my blog
2-Shut off your computer
3-Put on “going out clothes” commando style
4-Get the hell out of the house
5-Meet with friends at a local watering hole
6-Celebrate this day, since it was given to you with you owing nothing in return
7-Return home safely
8-You ladies undress (email me your pictures)
9-And send me a comment or two telling me how good that felt
10-And make my day :)
One more thing, if my sister is reading this, don’t you dare.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Another Heads-Up
If you’re in my neck of the woods(Whale's Vagina, CA) in the near future, do try Seniõr Pancho’s Mexican Grill. The food there is so good that you will eat your fingers, wrist, arm and shoulder with it.
My favorites so far (besides the Mexican beauties):
Chimichanga
Carne Asada
My favorites so far (besides the Mexican beauties):
Chimichanga
Carne Asada
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Another SUN-day
If you expect more of this, I wouldn't disagree with you.
And why shouldn't they?
If I were to be treated as a second/third or forth class citizen in my own country, then you better believe I'm going to burn something.
"We don't have the American dream here," said Rezzoug, as he surveyed the clusters of young men. "We don't even have the French dream here."
"We want to change the government," he said, a black baseball cap pulled low over large, chocolate-brown eyes and an ebony face. "There's no way of getting their attention. The only way to communicate is by burning."
"It goes against Newton's law. Everything on earth gets drawn to the surface by gravity, but in the case of flying cars, it's different," Song said. "There should exist the same opposite magnitude of power as the earth's gravity-pull. So, a balance is formed between gravity and reaction, which makes flying cars float in the atmosphere," he explained.
"To study more on flying cars and the super-string theory, Yoo-geun wants to join CERN," the father said.
I can barely put two sentences together and we have this kid who is thinking of creating flying cars.
Oh yeah, Christian nut jobs in this country are really making a difference in todays society. Please do read on. These are the kids of those who attend Megachruches funded by Billy Graham and his ilk. (I don't have factual data proving this ;), but I doubt I'm very far off)
I feel like fool today.
Outside the Box?
If you've always wanted your name up in lights and are willing to settle for having it down on your belt, you might be just the demographic makers of the scrolling LED belt buckle are looking for.
Is this really a good idea? I mean I'm all for thinking outside the box, but....you be the judge.
mine reads "caution: choking hazzard"
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Change the Way you Look at things, and the things you Look At Change.
If you are feeling sad and lonely, depressed and glum, I am happy to announce that there is finally a quick fix to such a state of mind.
Warning/Achtung: You must follow these steps carefully and not skip ahead at any time.
Step One: Purchase and have readily available a full bottle of vodka
Step Two: Mix said bottle of vodka with your favorite citric juice
Step Three: Consume 3-4 Mugs
Step four: Watch Animal planets: Planet's Funniest Animals
These simple steps my friends will cure you of all ills. Take if from me, I’m not just a member, but I’m also client.
Disclaimer: Please do not operate heavy equipment in such state as mentioned above nor come in contact with others in said state with the proper protection.
Warning/Achtung: You must follow these steps carefully and not skip ahead at any time.
Step One: Purchase and have readily available a full bottle of vodka
Step Two: Mix said bottle of vodka with your favorite citric juice
Step Three: Consume 3-4 Mugs
Step four: Watch Animal planets: Planet's Funniest Animals
These simple steps my friends will cure you of all ills. Take if from me, I’m not just a member, but I’m also client.
Disclaimer: Please do not operate heavy equipment in such state as mentioned above nor come in contact with others in said state with the proper protection.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Shifting Tides
I have a confession to make. I find myself walking a tight rope when it comes to my politics these day. Here is what I’m talking about.
My neighbor in Beirut, 30-35 years my senior, once confessed to me that he has five different flags in his apartment. During the civil war he had his Kataeb flag hanging from the balcony, but had with him the Lebanese flag, the US flag, a Palestinian flag, and the Syrian flag. He told me he had a flag for whoever ruled the day. I sincerely disliked this man at the time. I thought he lacked a backbone and his principals were skewed.
At 30, I find myself shifting with the tide as did my neighbor 12-15 years ago. I disagree with most everything neocon ultra religious nut wings, but whenever I find this worldview somehow in agreement with Lebanese politics, I find I don't mind it so much.
So there you have it. You may call it having double standards or being a hypocrite. Ya whatever! If it works for Lebanon, I’m for it.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
36 Billion reasons to Investigate
It is encouraging that both UN reports are being discussed and the government is trying to follow up on the recommendations. One hopes those accused will have a fair trial and if convicted, punished to full extent of the law.
I am curious however, if and when trial dates are set, are we going to have the chance to look in the financial dealings/books of those Lebanese and Syrians mentioned in Mehlis report? If I am not mistaken, Aoun called for this a few months back.
All Lebanese should have the opportunity to have a look at the late Hariri’s books, and I’m sure Lahoud, Murr and Jumblatt clans have a quite a few stories to tell in their own books.
The national debt is a serious problem that has understandably taken a back seat these days, but I hope in due time those responsible for it’s dismal state are going to be held responsible.
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