From Beirut to Paris, we are all hypocrites and selective grievers

Flickr/Markus Grossalber. Some Rights reserved.

Background

After the terrorist attacks that shook the French capital on
Friday 13 of November, social media predictably witnessed an outpouring of
sympathy and signs of solidarity with Paris and the French
people.

Beirut was also struck by ISIS
terrorism one day prior to the Paris attacks. On 12 November, two suicide
bombers detonated their vests in a residential area in the southern
suburbs of Beirut. The attack killed 43 and injured more than 250 civilians.

The Interior Minister revealed that
four or five suicide bombers were originally targeting a hospital in the area.
The plan was altered due to heavy security measures around the hospital and
they chose a densely populated residential suburb during rush hour instead.

Some people took issue with the disparity in
the media response to the Paris attacks as compared to the response to attacks
that take place on a regular basis in the Arab world and other parts of the
globe. In fact, 18 people were killed on the same day of the Paris attacks in
Iraq as a result of an ISIS suicide
bomber.

The criticism was not directed against the
rightfulness of standing as one with the French people, as they deal with the
tragic results of violent extremism—an ideology that manipulatively employs religion
to justify heinous terrorism. Rather, concerns were voiced in relation to the
media coverage, i.e. with regard to the terms used and the narrative set forth
in explaining the event. 

As Habib Battah brilliantly wrote for
Al-Jazeera, “what was perhaps even more disturbing than the omission of the
Beirut attacks from the international stage of outrage was the number of western
news reports that sought to categorise Lebanese victims rather than mourn
them.”

This was in reference to the fact that the
attack took place in what was called “a Hezbollah stronghold”
or “Hezbollah bastion.”
This choice of headlines was widely seen as a clear attempt to belittle the
effect of the terrorist attack, and to dehumanise the victims.

As one commentator noted,
“It helps, of course, when the people on the receiving end of the attacks have
already been so dehumanised as to eliminate the option for civilian identity.”

Furthermore, this categorisation assumes
that all the victims are Shi’a and seemingly justifies their deaths as being a
direct result of Hezbollah’s involvement in the Syrian crisis. Even if one were
to accept this poor and tasteless justification, such faulty reasoning also
ignores the fact that targeting civilians is a war crime.

Moreover, the targeted area, as was correctly noted,
“hosts other Lebanese, Palestinians, Syrians, and others of varying religious
and political orientations. The Dahiyeh=Shi’a/Hezbollah formula fails to
account for the area’s smaller Christian population.”

On selective grief

Whilst I completely agree with the fact
that we need to challenge the
narrative presented by the media and seek to treat all victims
equally, the excellent debate we are witnessing with regard to selective grief
and equal treatment of victims exposes uncomfortable truths about each and
every one of us, on all sides of the political spectrum, in the east and west,
and in the north and south.

In exposing the selective justice of others, the pervasiveness of selective justice in our societies is revealed.

In rightfully and legitimately condemning
selective grief, Lebanon (and for that matter the entire world) forgets that it
is a country that selectively grieves all the time.

Lebanon grieves the death of a man killed on
the streets as a result of a car chase and a horrific assault captured on
video. But Lebanon does not grieve when a head of a municipality is caught on
video violently
beating his wife in the parking lot of a high-end shopping
mall. 

Lebanon grieves the death of Parisian residents
on November 13, 2015. But Lebanon does not grieve the deaths by
suicide of a large number of foreign domestic workers that
occur on a regular basis.

Lebanon grieves the
innocent victims of the Charlie Hebdo killings. But Lebanon does not grieve
over reports of child sexual abuse and show solidarity with its victims when
the perpetrator is associated with one’s family, political party, or religion.

Lebanon grieves the plight of Syrian
refugees drowning at the shores of the Mediterranean. But Lebanon does not
grieve the fact that there are 17,000 disappeared
individuals from the Civil War whose families are still waking up daily with no
idea about the fate or whereabouts of their sons. Nor do we grieve for the
kidnapped soldiers and their families who
have been living in fear and anxiety since August 2014.

Lebanon grieves for Nelson Mandela and
other public figures by posting RIP statuses on social media. But Lebanon could
care less about the plight of victims from other sects or from opposing
political parties. In fact, each side seems to only care about the crimes
committed by the opposing parties domestically, and regionally. In Syria, media
and individual solidarity is dependent on whether one supports Saudi Arabia or Iran,
and in turn Assad or his opponents.

Ultimately, if we really cared about human
lives, our profile pictures would have been photo-shopped with the Syrian flag.
With over 200,000 people
killed, 65,000 disappeared,
and the growth of a medieval terrorist organisation persecuting minorities,
employing girls and women as sex slaves,
and carrying out gruesome killings, the Syrian flag would most definitely
qualify for an act of solidarity with “crimes against
humanity.”

If we really cared about human suffering, our profile pictures would have been shaded with the Palestinian
flag where local inhabitants have been kicked out of their lands and have been
living under occupation or as refugees since 1948—and whose remaining lands are
being annexed by Israeli settlers, in clear violation of international law and
causing outrage to few in the world.

Selective grief is indeed hypocritical and
disturbing. But the truth of the matter is that we are all hypocrites, we are
all selective grievers, and we are all selective sympathisers.

In exposing the hypocrisy of others, our
hypocrisy is exposed. In exposing the selective grief of others,
our selective grief is laid bare. And in exposing the selective justice in
the world, the pervasiveness of selective justice in our societies is revealed.

The hope is that the tragic events of the
last week will be a catalyst for world leaders and citizens of the world to get
off our high horses, wipe away our self-righteousness, acknowledge our
ineptitude at dealing with human suffering, and to show solidarity—in word and
deed, each according to our means—with all victims of terrorism, tyranny,
occupation, torture, kidnappings, enforced disappearances, human trafficking,
corruption, forced migration, sexual abuse, discrimination and armed conflicts.

There is an acute and growing tension between the concern for safety and the protection of our freedoms. How do we handle this? Read more from the World Forum for Democracy partnership.