Jihad Saad – Expand Your Awareness, Transform Your Life

One of the blessings of my life is to have been in Beirut on that unforgettable day, 14 February 2005. This Love Day that opened my heart, and made me realise the true meaning of love, the meaning of sacrifice, and regain faith in myself and in my country.

I had just finished my first humanitarian mission in Iraq with my French NGO. After 6 months of hard work living between Baghdad in Iraq and Amman in Jordan, I decided to take a break and go to my home city for some rest and good time. On 15 January 2005, I took a car from Amman to Beirut, crossed Syria, crossed the mountains of Lebanon, and arrived to my city, at our home where my mother lives. My plan was to spend the winter quietly before leaving to another mission. Little did I know that my winter would be the most intense and agitated of my whole life.

I still remember that Monday 14 February 2005, and how can I ever forget. I was alone in my home in Beirut in Verdun area, my mother was teaching in school. It was a bright winter day, with a beautiful blue sky. At nearly lunch time, I was sitting quietly in our living room, when I heard and felt a huge explosion. A huge explosion that shaked the whole house, and left me astonished and shocked, not understanding what had happened.

Not that I never heard explosions before. I am a war child, and I experienced the civil war of my country Lebanon. The sound of bombs and explosions is a familiar noise to my ears, and has always been a normal part of our lives in Lebanon. I have had to witness street-to-street fights with kalashnikov bullets and RPG rockets, area-to-area bombings with the 240 rockets launched by far away heavy artillery, car bombs from detonatated explosive TNT material, and aerial bombing from airplanes during Israel wars… and i was just coming from Baghdad anyway where I had some nice reminder of how wars sound and feel.

But this 14 February explosion was different. It was huge, like nothing I heard before, but also it came on a normal day, where there is no war, and no military conflict.

What the hell is going on?

I opened the TV, and I saw a scene of huge destruction on the St-Georges area of Beirut, just next to the sea, few kilometers from our house. An area too familiar to me as I spend most of my time at the Kornishe, the sea side of our city Beirut.

Cars burning, people burning, a huge whole in the ground, whole buildings destroyed, desperate screams, total horror.

And I was looking at the scene with shocked opened eyes, amazed, incredilous, unbelieving: is this happening in my city? now? why? what’s wrong?

At that moment my mother entered the house. When she saw me she was so relieved, as she was scared that I would be on the sea shore, close to the explosion. One of the tyranny of wars is that even if you survive yourself, you still worry for those whom you love.

She entered, and I asked her about what is happening. She did not know, and she was shocked too.

So we went together to the TV, and suddenly a Breaking News head line aapreared on the screen:

“The American University Hospital of Beirut announces the death of former Prime Minister, Rafik Hariri”

My mother had a not-want-to-believe exclamation, and looked suddenly pale and grave, but could’nt say anything. My heart sank, I couldn’t speek too. I did not know what to make of this event, or how to explain this news, as I was not following any politics at that time. But still I could feel that something extremely bad had just happened, from a pure human perspective.

Yes it was in one blink, one glimpse, and without understanding much what is happening, I could feel very clearly that something huge had taken place, and that my life and my country would never be the same again.

…

This afternoon, I could not stay at home, I had to walk in my city, see what is happening.

And so I went out, and I saw my city Beirut for the first time of my life so sad, so solemnly sad, in such a grave mood, in total grief.

Evrything was closed. People were torn between extreme sadness, unbelief, and anger.

Some were crying silently, in their corners.

Some were just walking aimlessly in the streets, as if they were drunk, with eyes wide open, unable to speek or to say anything, still refusing to believe the news.

Some were spontaneouly exploding with emotions, and screaming out loud: “La Ilaha Illa Allah, el Shahid Habib Allah” which translates “There is no god but God, the Martyr is the beloved of God”

My city was humiliated, burned, stabbed from the back.

Its beloved leader was assassinated.

Beirut heart was broken.

…

But something very powerful was happening at the same time. A magic uplifting feeling was floating in the air.

I felt for the first time of my life that this time, this assasination had crossed the line.

That even though we might have suffered tens of years of wars, and thousands of deaths and wounded, there was something about this killing that was different, unjustifiable.

That throughout our history we had to accept silently lots of losses, and grief, but this particular grief was not acceptable, not possible to swallow, and to live with.

I felt as if the deads and the spirit are awakening. A sleeping power was rising. A wind of change blowing in the veins of everyone.

Khalas. I heard the soul of my city scream.

We will not accept to be killed anymore. I heard the heart of my city shout.

No we will not die. I felt the spirit of my city rise.

…

And so it was, the Cedar Revolution of Lebanon.

I am always grateful to life for having lived the spirit of this Revolution, for having felt these magical moments, for having witnessed that when men and women refuse injustice and humiliation and take a stand, nothing can ever stand on their way.

And today, 4 years after the assassination, few weeks before the start of the International Tribunal, few months before we win the elections, Lebanon gathers again, in the heart of Beirut, around Rafik grave, in the Martyr Square, to renew with one voice and one spirit, our commitment to Justice, to Independance, and to Freedom.

And from my far away island, me too I pray, and to Rafik I say, on this Love day:

”
Thank you Rafik
We Promise you that we will realise your dream
Your blood will not go in vain
Your death will always light our way
We Love you
May you rest in Peace
”