Lebanon is one of the smallest countries in the middle east with 6.8 million people currently living in it. That means it is the same size as Tennessee and smaller than the size of Virginia. In the last 2 years, the country has already faced incredible hardship through low grade infrastructure, dysfunctional electricity, water supply shortages, and inadequate waste removal leaving thousands of trash piles all over the streets. On August 4th, 2020 a bomb was set off in the Beirut port and left 178 people dead, 6,500 injured and 300,000 people homeless.
Being far away from a country that I was born in and still call my home has raised several questions about how individuals can cope with such deep levels of tragedy. Having been so far away from my family who was still in Lebanon on the day of the explosion I just remember an immediate need to be as close to them as possible. Suddenly friends I hadn’t talked to in months were in my every thought as I wondered about whether they or their family members were okay. More than that I wondered how they would survive this tragedy.
I wondered how my cousin would survive this tragedy after a year facing major depression in reaction to the hopelessness of the crumbling country. Looking back on that day I realized that my own thoughts about our fragility and mortality were what was driving my fear. I was acting out upon the theory of mortal saliency in which I suddenly needed to identify with the lebanese people, with my lebanese cousins in a way I had never felt before. I felt angry at myself for being in America or for having to be kept away from where I felt I truly belonged.
Terror management theory states that our mortal saliency forces us to search for more self-esteem. I found that I needed to be protected in some way or told that I wasn’t completely lost and drowning in the mess of that day as I watched the bomb go off again and again on the news. I needed my mom to tell me it would be alright and somehow my family could leave Lebanon for a better future than the dead end they faced by staying there. I didn’t feel the American side of my identity on that day and even felt resentment towards everyone outside of Lebanon. I felt resentment for the rest of the world who chose to turn a blind eye because of our wealthy neighbors’ military power. I felt anger for anyone who thought they understood the complexities of middle eastern politics and everyday life. In that moment, every cultural value I had was aligned with my Lebanese identity. I was my way of controlling my absolute inability to my family from the unpredictability of war. The most ironic part of it all was that I found myself culturally aligning with a country that in effect ruined itself. My mortal saliency made me blind to the corruption of the Lebanese government and the probability that they had killed their own people because of their own greed. At that moment I didn’t care if I wasn’t raised in Lebanon, lived through electricity or water outages nor had to smell the decaying trash on the streets in my daily life. It has been six months since the August explosion in Lebanon. My relatives still carry the trauma every day with them and while I will never know what that feels like. I know on that day we were all connected to our singular existence as Lebanese people.
Aya Sophie Nassif
Research Assistant
Class of 2022