Edward Iskandarian | Staff Writer
Ask a Lebanese person to sum up their mindset in one word, and the answer will almost always be: resilience. For decades—arguably centuries—the Lebanese people have endured relentless devastation. As the new decade dawned, they faced an economic collapse, a global pandemic, and now, the specter of war. Yet, they persist resiliently.
To speak of the Lebanese people is to speak of resilience in its purest form. Their strength is the kind that endures rather than shouts. They live their lives with the belief of adapting, never losing themselves, and retaining grace amid the never-ending chaos. Their resilience is neither accidental nor temporary—it is a testament to the human capacity to hold all the fruits life offers, negative or positive, even when there is no sight of light at the end of the tunnel. The Lebanese people have mastered this art and are able to fulfill their lives; they are able to rise, again and again, because their soul refuses to acknowledge any form of defeat.
At the dawn of the late 2024 conflict in Lebanon, many became aware of the dangers that came with being in Lebanon. As the troubles grew more apparent, many fled the country, some escaped to safer parts of the nation, and others stayed firm in their original residences. Though divided, the country united in terms of compassion. The widespread media coverage allowed many, if not all, to access the latest news. The media showcased a plethora of agonizing events.
I recall seeing all my friends reposting accounts or personal accounts, or both—sometimes not covered on news channels—on their social media platforms for others to see. The use of social media gave many an outlet to raise awareness, spreading news to friends and people abroad, enabling the circulation of these smaller voices.
However, as the constant flood of misery kept infiltrating the media, many turned away, leading to widespread compassion fatigue. It is not as though people don’t care for others anymore; rather, the Lebanese are losing their sense of self, their soul. This change has shifted the Lebanese mindset, redefining a divisive feature of the culture—resilience—once a source of unity, now a trait weighed down by doubt. Somewhere between exhaustion and defiance, a question emerges: Is enduring this suffering still a showcase of strength, or has it become a type of self-destruction? No one says it aloud, but many search for a means to rekindle their identity.
Today, many are unaffected and have become desensitized to graphic posts and heartbreaking stories. Their hopes for justice remain unfulfilled, leaving the Lebanese in dismay. Though numb, the Lebanese find a way to resile—through remembrance.
Remembrance isn’t merely an escape; rather, it is a means of promoting the irreplaceability of their beloved country. This ignites an original thought many were raised to believe. In other words, every time I talk to my parents about what the future holds in terms of opportunities, they always mention that there is no place like Lebanon, that no other place could possibly offer the same abundance of what the vicissitudes of life offer. Many Lebanese people now promote their beloved country, sharing their most prominent memories of Lebanon, showcasing its beauty and depth, and posting these moments and memories on their social media pages.
Through the belief of adapting, the Lebanese people have adapted a newer definition for resilience—from a point of pride to a complex survival mechanism. The act of finding a means of life exemplifies what the Lebanese mindset constitutes. Through difficulties, through times of uncertainty, through times when freedom isn’t promised, the Lebanese live through their memories, their humor, and their capability to find life amidst horror. This is the Lebanese paradox: they may lose their sense of themselves during times of difficulty but can still be brought to tears by a Fairuz song.