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Jacob & Eva Cropped

Anne Frandi- Coory’s Grandparents, Jacob & Eva Coory, Following Their Arrival In Melbourne c.1897

Jacob’s new business venture was all contained in the leather suitcase the Chinaman in Little Bourke Street had made for him. He said goodbye to Eva and set off down the stairs and out into a chilly winter morning. He planned to begin selling his wares to domestic households in and around the suburb of Fitzroy. All he had to say to customers in English was ‘Buy something lady?’ and ‘Thank you lady.’  All was going well until a policeman demanded to see his hawker’s licence. ‘Well, you must get a licence! A licence! No more knocking until you get a licence! Do you understand?’  Jacob just nodded and handed him the piece of paper Mr Kahlil had given him with his address on it and a rough map of city streets. Unbeknown to Jacob, the ‘White Australia Policy’ dictated that all non-Europeans were required to carry ‘Certificates of Exemption’ which enabled them to work temporarily as assistants to local merchants. In any event, Jacob continued with his door to door trade as the policeman walked away in the opposite direction. At dusk he decided to head back home, with his case almost half empty and a reasonable day’s earnings in his pockets. He then realised with alarm that he had given the street map to the policeman. He was so tired he lay down on a street sheltered by a building and took a little nap, resting his head on the suitcase. People had assured him, ‘There are no murderers or robbers here.’

Close to midnight Jacob became aware of a man approaching. He jumped up and opened his case for the stranger to see the display of shirts, socks, hats, silks, towels and small items of haberdashery. He felt no fear when the man looked him up and down and intimated with words and gestures, ‘Hang on, I’ll get my friend, he might buy something as well.’ Jacob waited with a leather belt around his neck attached to the open suitcase ready for the two men to view upon their return. However, four men came back, one with a knife who deftly cut the belt from around Jacob’s neck and after the other three kicked and punched him, all ran off. Jacob called out for police but when he did find one, neither could understand each other. At 1am all the street lights went out and the moonless night smothered any possibility of Jacob navigating his way home. When he found suitable shelter in a doorway, he once again made his aching body as comfortable as he could. For the first time since he had departed his home country, Jacob had plenty of time to reflect on how immensely his and Eva’s lives had changed in only two months.

‘But I’ve already paid the fares to Port Said for my wife and me’, insisted Jacob in his native Aramaic. ‘I wasn’t given a receipt!’ Eva stood quietly by as he argued with the seaman from the steps of the jetty in Beirut Harbour. The dishevelled man scowled up at Jacob from the small boat, just as insistent that Jacob show the receipts for their tickets or pay the ₤3 per person. It was clear that the couple wouldn’t be allowed aboard until Jacob backed down. Jacob was a big man, with broad shoulders and huge hands. Although he was considered an Arab by his darker skinned countrymen, he stood out from the crowd with his light brown hair, blue deep set eyes and chiselled features.   He was used to immediate respect so he was taken aback when the boatman treated him with such disdain. As Jacob helped Eva to climb into the boat, a fierce anger gripped him. To be swindled by a stranger was bad enough, but by Hussein, one of his own countrymen?

Jacob had languished with his young wife for the previous three weeks cooped up in a small hotel room in Beirut waiting for the ferry to Port Said. ‘I know this isn’t the best of honeymoons’ he conceded to Eva. After a few days stuck in what she felt was a prison, Eva cried to Jacob, ‘The drunken brawls and dice games going on outside this hotel frighten me, how much longer will we have to wait?’ Jacob had spent many days and nights in the city as a student and felt enlivened by its sounds. He would often go out for walks along familiar streets while Eva slept. Two persistent questions invaded his thoughts on his nightly exertions: ‘Will I regret disappointing my grandfather?’ and ‘Do I have the fortitude to keep us both well and safe on the long voyage to New Zealand?’ This waiting about was gnawing at his courage too.

It hadn’t seemed such a big deal to Eva when Jacob first told his betrothed of his plans take her to an island in some ocean she had never heard of. Jacob had been very persuasive and so handsome. The only time she had had doubts before the wedding was when Jacob’s grandfather discovered that Jacob intended to forgo the El Khouri tradition, and emigrate. Eleishah was very angry, the whole village knew of it. However the holy man eventually accepted the inevitable and performed the wedding ceremony. Eva forgot her misgivings when her wedding day arrived and she was treated like a goddess. Fourteen years old and dressed in the purest white, Eva felt very close to her beloved Virgin Mary. The marriage ceremony itself lasted for two hours, and they were finally man and wife. However, the festivities would continue for fifteen days, virtually unchanged from the pagan love festivals when Ishtar ruled as  goddess of Lebanon, before the Catholic Mary usurped her throne.  Couples made love under the olive trees, araq and wine flowed freely.

Eva was hit with reality as she was packing her trousseau in preparation for their voyage. That night she had sobbed her fears to Jacob: ‘I only know cooking, growing vegetables and olives, and doing good works. We might perish on the journey, or if we don’t, we’ll be trapped somewhere for the rest of our lives.’ Eva was very superstitious and later as she stood on the jetty, she felt despondent that so far the omens for her and Jacob’s future life together were not good.  She had never forgotten her mother’s warnings about the Evil Eye and with a shiver blessed herself. Deep down she knew that was wise; to show too much joy, would only invite disaster. When she hugged her broken-hearted mother goodbye, she promised, ‘I will set up an altar to Mary Mother of God with candles, and pray to her every day.’ Eva offered further comfort to her mother, ‘Within two years, Jacob has promised, we will make our fortune and return to Bcharre. If you come back to New Zealand with us then, you will feel much safer because there will be oceans between Syria and New Zealand, not merely a row of mountains and trees.’

Eva Arida was a beautiful, petite girl with large brown eyes, olive skin and black curly hair. The quiet and pious disposition she displayed belied her strength of character and the skilful games she could play to get her way. She had smiled to herself when her parents informed her that the Fahkrey family had accepted her as a suitable bride for their priestly son. Other girls in her village dreamed of marrying Jacob, but she was the one his family chose, a family well respected in Lebanon. Jacob had received a privileged education under the auspices of his grandfather Eleishah El Khouri Fahkrey, a Patriarch in the Maronite Church. Jacob could speak four languages, and was instructed in, among other things, the Greek Classics. As the oldest son of an oldest son, he had initially followed El Khouri tradition and studied for the priesthood. But it was of no consequence to Eva or her family that Jacob had rejected his preordained destiny in favour of marriage and travel abroad.

At Last! They were on the ferry bound for Port Said! Although Jacob had regained his composure and his excitement for their future, Eva fretted. She couldn’t erase from her mind thoughts of a cold and dark ever-widening sea separating her from her mother. It seemed like an eternity since they had wept and hugged each other. The whole of the past month had seen Eva experience every emotion, from sheer joy to darkest despair. She lay down on a squab next to her husband and stayed there for most of the trip. After a relatively uneventful two days, Jacob alerted her, ‘Eva, we have arrived in Egypt!’ Jacob’s strong arms helped her to her feet and he led her to the side of the boat where they could see many people crowding the docks. ‘See all those ships over there, Eva? They are waiting to go through the canal.’ With wide eyes Eva took in the huge ships beyond the port.

Upon disembarking the ferry, all passengers had to pay a tax of one Egyptian pound each.  Custom’s officials searched through everyone’s baggage but all they could find apart from clothes, were lemons and dried apricots to help ward off seasickness. The ship to Australia, SS Australien, had already been in Port Said for fifteen hours. While waiting to embark, Jacob and Eva sat on the docks with others from their country, singing and reciting poetry. An entry in Jacob’s diary reads: Our ship was so big, if you stood on one end you could not see the other end, and it took seven hours to pass through the Suez Canal.  After the euphoria of boarding and waving goodbye to their dockside companions, the young couple were dismayed to find that all their fellow passengers on board were Germans who spoke only the German language. This disappointed Jacob especially, who relished the art of conversation so dearly.

Eva and Jacob were assigned a tiny cabin for the long voyage. Eva despaired of more days on end in cramped conditions, now tinged with fear of what lay ahead.  Jacob tried to placate a weary and doubting Eva. ‘New Zealand’s just a little village, lush and green like Bcharre. You know my uncle Tunnous is already living there in luxury on a vineyard. I have shown you the letters he has written to me about the many Lebanese families living there, so there will be other young wives to keep you company.’ Secretly, Eva had begun to doubt that her parents had chosen the right man for her to marry.  She could very quickly turn her admiration for someone into a scoffing derision if, in her eyes, they faltered in any way.

Six days into the voyage, more pressing needs took the place of regrets and reminiscences. The sea whipped up enormous waves that pitched and rolled the ship, terrifying passengers into thinking the ship was about to sink. The newly weds were so ill from seasickness they were barely able to pray together for God and Mary to spare their lives. Eventually their prayers were answered and the seas fell into calmness. At the moment land was sighted, Jacob muttered aloud, ‘I am so heartily sick of seeing nothing but sea and sky for days on end. It will be a relief to walk about on land!’  But Jacob would have to wait a while longer. The SS Australien made a short stopover in Adelaide to unload passengers and freight, then steamed on to Melbourne.

In May 1897, exhausted and apprehensive, Jacob and Eva disembarked at Port Melbourne.  Jacob listened intently for anyone among the crowds of people who could speak Aramaic. Fortunately, a man heard Jacob speaking and offered his assistance. Upon learning they were from Lebanon he hugged them both and invited them to ride with him in his horse-drawn buggy to meet his friend Mr Kahlil who owned a three storey warehouse over in Exhibition Street. The young couple were welcomed with open arms. Stories of ‘home’ were exchanged and finally Eva and Jacob could relax a little. That same day, Mr Kahlil was able to find them suitable accommodation in a two storey terrace house in Hanover Street, Fitzroy.  ‘Melbourne has been in the grip of a depression since the early nineties’, he explained, ‘and there are many furnished rooms available for sub-letting at quite cheap rates.’

After the couple were settled, Mr Kahlil made enquiries on their behalf as to how and when they could travel on to their final destination. The news was disheartening. They would not be able to travel to New Zealand until they could at least read and write a few words in English. Recovering from their disappointment, Jacob and Eva resigned themselves to remaining in Melbourne for a few months. It wouldn’t be so bad now that they had somewhere to live and Jacob was able to set up business as a hawker. Mr Kahlil was more than happy to sell him imported items at a much reduced rate so he could make a profit. ‘Since the opening of the Suez Canal’, Mr Kahlil boasted, ‘imports have become much cheaper, because bigger ships mean more freight turnarounds within shorter time frames.’ He went on, ‘There are many people coming to Melbourne now because the sea voyages are less arduous.’ Jacob smiled across at Eva. Mr Kahlil added, ‘Also, there are now shops here that make clothes, shoes and fabrics, good for you to carry in your suitcase too, Jacob.’

All in all, Jacob mused, he and Eva had prevailed. He looked up at the sky as dawn spread out like spilled pastel pink paint. It took awhile to straighten his back when he stood up, but he felt his spirits lift as the noises of Melbourne on the move reached his ears. People were coming out of their homes, going to work and opening up their shops.  Jacob walked among them until he arrived in Collins Street. He noted that the street was already busy with horse cabs and over-full trams. Many men were resplendent in dark suits and the women were dressed in fashionable ensembles. As he walked along Collins Street he heard a group of men speaking a familiar language. He sidled up to them to hear better what they were saying, when one of the party turned on him: ‘Are you a spy?’ he shouted accusingly at the slightly crumpled man acting suspiciously. Eventually they realised Jacob was lost and could speak fluent French, their language. “I am a friend of Mr Kahlil who has a warehouse in Exhibition Street…’ Jacob began.  ‘Ah, we know Mr Kahlil well, one of us will escort you there, it will be no trouble.’

On the way to the warehouse, Jacob asked the Frenchman, ‘Why are there so many well dressed people about so early in the morning?’  Some were even sitting atop verandahs and on windowsills. His escort explained, ‘Melbourne and Britain’s Queen Victoria are together celebrating their respective Diamond Jubilees during this month of June. People are vying for the best vantage spots to see the procession rolling through the main streets of Melbourne later this morning.’  Touching Jacob’s shoulder and pointing, ‘See, there are Mounted Police gathering at the far end of Collins Street ready to control the large crowds expected’, he said  ‘This is something that will please Eva’, thought Jacob. ‘and I will buy her a new frock and hat to wear.’

Jacob and Eva had spent almost a year in Australia and when they finally arrived in New Zealand, Eva was pregnant with their first child. They named her Elizabeth after one of Jacob’s favourite streets in Melbourne. Like a suitcase full of enticing goods on display, their new country offered exciting prospects and financial rewards. Although they didn’t make a ‘fortune’, they lived well and could have returned to Bcharre, but they never left New Zealand’s sandy shores. Eva would go on to have another eleven children; six daughters and six sons in all.  While Jacob quickly learned English, his wife could only read and write in her native Aramaic, although she did speak a kind of broken English her family understood. For most of her married life she lived in a three storey house built by her devoted husband and sons, and never tired of reminding Jacob of his unfulfilled promise.

See Post: EXILES

Excerpt 6  from      Whatever Happened To Ishtar? 

[My paternal grandfather] Jacob Habib Eleishah El Khouri Fahkrey tells us in his diary that he was unhappy about going to live in his grandfather’s house when he was seven years old. His grandfather, Eleishah,  had great expectations of him for the future. Eleishah was a very holy and hard-working man who was attached to the [Roman Catholic] Saint Simon Monastery. Even within the peasant classes, selected men could become priests and marry as well. Eleishah’s status afforded Jacob the heredity right to anglicise Fahkrey to Coory (guttural Khouri meaning ‘priest’)

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My grandparents, Jacob & Eva Fahkrey (Coory)

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Eleishah’s education of Jacob included teaching him to read and write in four languages and he planned to later school him in the art of translating Assyrian into Arabic. In his first years, Jacob bent to his grandfather’s wishes, working hard at his studies and fully expected to become a priest. The languages he studied were French (his second language) Latin and Greek, and under his grandfather’s dedicated tutelage, Jacob wrote and spoke fluently and eloquently in the ancient Syriac language, Aramaic, Bcharre’s native tongue. This language was, at that time, spoken mostly by Syrian peasants. The religious ideas of the Syrian and Italian peasantry were similar, confirmation of the integration of ideas and beliefs along the charted trade routes between Italy and the Fertile Crescent. Later, once Jacob had emigrated, he made the effort to learn English. The Arab world was a multicultural mix of language and peoples; Jacob’s heritage and talents reflected this. In retrospect, it’s sad to think that Jacob could have achieved so much more for his family and descendents if he had moved out of his cultural and priestly comfort zone.

In any event, Jacob changed his mind about following in The Family tradition of priestly services, but, cautiously at first, made the announcement that he would like to marry. It was not until his marriage to Eva (Khowha) Arida that he told his grandfather he did not wish to follow him into the priesthood, which made his grandfather very angry. Eleishah did not speak to him for sometime afterwards. Jacob’s rebellious change of heart may have had something to do with his frequent sojourns into Beirut with friends, in which he experienced the forbidden fruit of city life away from his grandfather’s strict philosophical and priestly instruction.

Other events transpired to influence Jacob’s fateful decision. When Jacob was twelve years old, his father, Habib, and uncle Tunnous El Khouri, visited Australia and New Zealand. His uncle eventually returned to New Zealand and bought a vineyard there. The family talked often about the exploits of this adventurous uncle and the young fertile country he had travelled to.

…The Fahkrey family in Bcharre must have been heartened then, following their earlier disappointment, by Jacob’s acceptance of their choice of a bride and the wedding was arranged to take place on a Sunday. Within a few months of their betrothal, the young couple had secretly planned to set sail for New Zealand after their wedding. This plan was obviously instigated by Jacob. I don’t believe that Eva fully understood what she was getting herself into, because her early life had been very different to Jacob’s. Eva had spent her early life cooking, cleaning, and praying, and was only 15 years old on her wedding day.

Jacob and Eva’s wedding ceremony was performed by Eleishah Fahkrey, who was still unaware of his grandson’s intentions to abandon his religious training and emigrate. Eleishah spoke after the ceremony, saying how proud he was that he would soon have a priestly grandson. The wedding ceremony lasted fifteen days, truly reminiscent of the pagan love feasts which so scandalised the early Christian Church. There was much celebrating and drinking, and many guests spent the nights sleeping under trees. Soon after the wedding celebrations had ended, Jacob and Eva continued with their plans to migrate to New Zealand to make their fortune, hoping to then return to Lebanon.

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More….Walking Around Lebanon With 2famous

 

Article by Robert Frisk in The Independent 3 December 2011

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On a clear day in Beirut, you can see back into its Phoenician past

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I walked down a Phoenician street the other day, built under Persian rule.

A bit bumpy and uneven underfoot – like many a street in modern day Iranian and Lebanese cities – but this one happened to be about 2,600 years old. It ran down to a small harbour, lined by covered stone sewers and drainage ditches on each side, massive door lintels before private homes and a row of shops and warehouses and possibly a temple, five streets and 18 buildings over an area of 3000sq m.

I should say at once that this street constructed under Persian occupation is scarcely two miles from my home on the Beirut seafront, one of the great excavations which the rebuilding of the post-civil war city opened up for future generations, layer after layer of Paleolithic, Phoenician, Greek, Roman and Ottoman Beirut. The place was originally known as “byrt” – which possibly means cistern or well, according to researcher Josette Elayi – then it became Berytos in Greek, Berytus in Latin and now, of course, Beirut. The names are sandwiched together like the layers of streets. This street even yielded up terracotta figures of a woman with outstretched arms, probably the deity Ashtart.

And, true to so much of Lebanese history, Beirut was, in effect, under occupation. In the first millennium BC (875-332BC), all the cities of Phoenicia were under first Assyrian and then Babylonian and then Persian control. Beirut belonged to Sidon – it always seems to belong to someone else – which is now a scruffy Crusader seaside port 30 miles to the south of the modern Lebanese capital. So the coins found in Beirut are Sidonian; the local military power was Sidonian; it was Sidon which dealt directly with the Persians. Beirut was a fishing and trading port, its wooden vessels with their high prows sliding out to Greece, Italy and distant Carthage.

Archaeologists have found sycamore wood here, Egyptian blue pigment, marble, silver, iron, jars for carrying Phoenician olives, olive oil, wheat, walnuts, grapes and wine across the Mediterranean. There’s even a stone with a carved graffito of a Phoenician merchant ship, mast fixed with ropes to the sides, two oars tied together as a rudder. It reminds me of the fishing boats carved into the Tudor wood of the old port of Rye, still visible today on the south side of the Sussex churchyard long after the sea has withdrawn from this cinque port.

Today, the Persian-ruled city in Lebanon is exposed beneath the new souks of Beirut. It is part of the city’s “Heritage Trail” – in Lebanon, the word heritage means what it says and does not carry the grotty reputation of Britain’s tawdry historical re-creations – so that future generations can walk around the old/new city and “watch” its creation over the centuries in Roman streets and Crusader walls, a project overseen by Amira Solh, the young Cornell-trained urban planner who works for Solidere, the company that rebuilt Beirut. She has dreams of an interactive film display behind the underground Persian streets – and promises me there will be no English-style guides flouncing around in Persian costumes. This is serious history for serious people.

Nothing, of course, could be more serious than finding yourself under Persian rule. Roula el-Zein, an archaeologist and consultant for Solidere, described Beirut at the time as “just a small city belonging to Sidon, the city which had all the power”. The Phoenicians, she says, “accepted Persian rule after the Babylonians left, and without any problem in assisting the Persian wars against Egypt. Sidon and Tyre were with the Persian kings” – King Baalshillem the Second and King Abdashart, for those who want to know. But when the Persians decided to attack Phoenician Carthage, things quickly went wrong.

“According to Herodotus,” el-Zein says, “the Phoenicians of Sidon refused to build ships for the Persians and help them. And because of this, the Persians never finished their north African project.” It makes sense. Why should the Phoenicians of Sidon and Beirut help their masters attack the Phoenicians of Carthage? It would be left to the Romans (“Carthaga delenda est”) to destroy the city whose remains lie in modern-day Tunisia and whose land was sown with salt so that it could never be reinhabited.

It’s always the same when you think you’ve got the Lebanese on your side. First they are your friends – the French thought that after the 1914-18 war – and then they become subversive and upset all your military plans, the amiable historical mosquito that bites you when you least expect it and then poisons you. It doesn’t hurt until you realise what has happened. Message: leave the Phoenicians/ Lebanese alone. Ask the Israelis.

And so the Persians should have left the Beirutis to their dyeing trade – there are murex shells and wood charcoal aplenty to prove it – and their fishing boats. In the old Roman cities of Europe – in Rome or at Corbridge on Hadrian’s Wall – I like to run my hand along the rutted highways of antiquity, where the barrows and horse-drawn carts and chariot wheels of history slowly carved their passage into the great stone Roman roads. Humans didn’t just build this; they lived here and travelled here. Those double ruts in the road are fingerprints.

And old Phoenico-Persian Beirut has some “fingerprints” of its own. In the old port, now under rue Allenby – another imperial name, victor of Gaza and humble conqueror of Jerusalem – there is an ancient stone bollard, and cut into it are two natural slits, created during the decades of Persian power. They are the marks worn down by the ropes tying Phoenician ships to the quayside, the stone gradually worn away as the hawsers cut into it, pulled back and forth by the same Mediterranean tide which sloshes away outside my home.

Thank you Robert Fisk- A great article about a great civilisation

Kahlil Gibran

Kahlil Gibran wrote of Lebanon  - ‘Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation’.

(Garden of the Prophet 1934)  (see my post: Lebanon – Pity The nation)

Nothing has changed, it seems. Lebanon is being fought over by Sunnis, Shia,  and Hezbollah.  Some Christian groups are aligned to Hezbollah.   Saudi Arabia jointly with Syria is involved in trying to find a ‘peaceful’ solution.   Iran is “vitally supporting Hezbollah”.   One has to question these three countries’ motives.  Druze is  another group putting in its two cents’ worth.   The Druze carried out massacres of Christian Maronites because of their increasing power, during the times my grandparents lived in Bcharre.  Even Turkey still appears to have a stake in Lebanon.

Jim Muir BBC News, Beirut:

Tensions are rising sharply in Lebanon, amid indications that the international Special Tribunal set up to prosecute the killers of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri may soon issue indictments of members of the militant Shia movement Hezbollah in connection with the case.

Despite the dense dust-clouds already stirred in Lebanon by the tribunal and reactions to it, there are fears that the indictments, if and when they come, could still cause real trouble.  “Nobody knows what is going to happen, but the Shia in general, and Hezbollah in particular, can’t risk being accused, and it is bound to cause tension with the Sunnis,” said the Druze leader, Walid Jumblatt, who recently detached himself from alliance with [current Prime Minister],  Saad Hariri, improved relations with Hezbollah and is trying to stay neutral. “If Hezbollah is indicted, that will affect its image in the Muslim world as the heroic resistance against Israel,” he told the BBC. Mr Jumblatt accused the US and other Western powers of cynically using the tribunal to put pressure on Syria, Iran and others, and of trying to head off a compromise understanding among the Lebanese leaders.

“Whoever technically killed Rafik Hariri, those really responsible were [French President Jacques] Chirac and [US President George [W] Bush, who forced him to accept 1559,” he said, referring to the UN resolution passed in late 2004, just a few months before Mr Hariri’s murder. “It had three clauses in it which amounted to death sentences – the demand for Syrian troops to leave Lebanon, and for Hezbollah and the Palestinians to be disarmed,” Mr Jumblatt said.  “More important than finding out who killed Hariri, the most important thing now is to get out of this vicious circle which brings more tension every day, how to break this crisis between Sunnis and Shia.”

While the Saudis and Syrians are looked to as the most influential outside powers potentially able to foster an understanding and prevent the Lebanese factions taking to the streets again, others are also in a position to try to help. The Turkish Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who had a hand in the Saudi-Syrian rapprochement, is currently on a two-day visit to Lebanon. And on Saturday, Prime Minister Hariri visits Tehran, his first such trip to the country that helped establish and still vitally supports Hezbollah.

Tensions have been steadily mounting over recent months as the expected indictments grew imminent, but the situation has been contained by an entente between Saudi Arabia and Syria, who exercise great influence respectively among Lebanon’s Sunnis and Shia.  The Iranian ambassador in Beirut has also been co-ordinating with his Saudi and Syrian counterparts to help keep the peace.

[Trying to keep the peace?  I would love to be a fly on the wall at these meetings].

Lebanese politicians had been hoping that Saudi-Syrian mediation at top level would very soon produce a formula that could be agreed on by the cabinet in Beirut to deal with the repercussions of the expected indictments.  But now there are fears that the Saudi role may fall victim to developments inside the kingdom. The monarch, King Abdullah bin Abdul Aziz, was flown to the US on Tuesday for medical treatment. He was personally overseeing his country’s rapprochement with Damascus and their joint sponsorship of peace efforts in Lebanon. The king has temporarily assigned his powers to his half-brother, Crown Prince Sultan, who is himself ailing.

Lebanese politicians believe that Prince Sultan and other prominent members of his Sudeiri wing of the ruling family are much less keen on cultivating good relations with Syria.  CBC said its months-long investigation was based on interviews with sources inside the UN inquiry and on documents leaked from the tribunal.

It said that evidence gathered by the Lebanese police and the UN “points overwhelmingly to the fact that the assassins were from Hezbollah”. To back that allegation, it contained detailed diagrams showing how investigators traced interlinking networks of mobile phones which they believed led from the vicinity of the massive explosion which killed Rafik Hariri and 22 others, ultimately to Hezbollah’s communications centre under a hospital in Beirut’s southern suburbs.

The CBC film had a bombshell effect in Lebanon, where it dominated news bulletins and front pages. It also prompted comments from key players, including Prime Minister Hariri and the international tribunal prosecutor.Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu even held a meeting of his inner cabinet to discuss the possibility that Hezbollah might stage a coup in Lebanon should some of its adherents be indicted.

On Tuesday, shortly after the CBC documentary was aired, the Lebanese communications minister Sherbel Nahhas (a Christian allied to Hezbollah) gave a three-hour news conference at which he and other officials and experts showed detailed technical evidence which they said indicated Israel had complete penetration of Lebanese communications, to the extent of being able to plant parasite lines within existing lines.

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Lebanon's Minister of Telecommunications Sherbel Nahhas (l)
The country’s telecommunications minister said Israel had penetrated Lebanese telephone lines.
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Hassan Fadlallah, a Hezbollah MP who heads parliament’s communications committee, said three Hezbollah operatives had been detained as suspected Israeli spies until it was realised their mobile phones had been infiltrated. All of this may make it easier for Hezbollah to shrug off possible indictments as Israeli-manipulated falsehoods.

The allegation that Col Wissam al-Hassan fell under suspicion has further muddied the waters. As Rafik Hariri’s chief of protocol, Col Hassan would normally have been in the convoy that was hit by the blast that killed Mr Hariri and his entourage. But he had taken the day off to sit a university exam – an alibi that CBC’s sources said was doubtful, and did not stand up under scrutiny.  But Saad Hariri, questioned by journalists about the allegations, said he had always had full confidence in Col Hassan, and still did.

One of the prime minister’s senior aides went as far as to suggest that both Hezbollah and Col Hassan should sue CBC for libel. Another prominent Hariri supporter, MP Iqab Saqr, said the CBC report should be ignored because it contained “poisoned information, aimed at disturbing the desired settlement”. He said everybody was concerned “not to target Hezbollah politically, while Hezbollah should stop the political assassination of Lebanese”.

With both sides apparently impugning the integrity of the court – or at least the CBC leaks – it almost looked as though there were some common ground between them.

The tribunal itself – or its prosecutor, Canadian judge Daniel Bellemare – took the unusual step of responding to the CBC documentary, saying he was “extremely disappointed” by it and was assessing its impact on the investigation. This was widely seen in Beirut as implicit confirmation that the CBC had indeed sourced its report on genuine tribunal documents and information.

The decision on whether and when to issue draft indictments lies in the hands of prosecutor Bellemare, and it is not clear whether the first step – referring them to the pre-trial judge for confirmation – would be made public.

What a mess!  All I can say is POOR LEBANON, what will become of you. Kahlil Gibran must be turning in his grave.


Lebanon is dying

‘Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming  itself a nation’ - Khalil Gibran.

The above picture illustrates what can happen in a Lebanese street when a fight breaks out over parking space; a four-hour street war leaving three people dead.  Members of  small, well armed private armies roam the streets of Beirut.

Photo from article written byAssociated Press Writer Elizabeth A. Kennedy

Not only are Lebanese separating themselves from the Arab world, but when asked who we are, we answer with “ana Shia” or “ana Sunni” or “ana Maruni” (meaning I am Shia, I am Sunni, I am Maronite). Within the small country of Lebanon there are around 16 major religions. As if  we could make ourselves any more complex, we specify not only if we are Arab or Phoenician, but what kind of Lebanese we are. This demonstrates how complex it is for some people to just say “Ana Libnani” (meaning I am Lebanese).

The separation within the nation has caused many disputes and countless deaths. Is it really that hard to just say you are Lebanese? – contribution from another blog

See  Understanding the Arab Mind

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