On our street, last night, more or less in the early hours of the morning, or so at a time when there were only birds and cats to watch the show, we filled two holes in the asphalt. Two large holes, deep enough to cause vehicles to climb the sidewalk to avoid them. Out of habit, or just because two visible holes are more reliable than two hidden holes, cars continued to climb the sidewalk.
Mystery of this stainless tradition that, good year, bad year, war or peace, lean cows, fat cows or crazy cows, makes the tar appear on the eve of the election. These smoky, smoky, sticky and smelly black licks where the diamond of a fine gravel swirling in the gap seems, since the existence of this state, the key argument of the councilors of our country. In this sign language, voters seem to understand who hid their holes, and candidates know who knows, and that’s all that matters. Tar is a big state affair. You can’t buy it at hardware stores. It hides in secret reserves from which the municipalities only take it out on special occasions, and only for the most deserving. And the big opportunity is approaching, which justifies this light-track make-up, a youthful spring look that the next rains will be a spell, just before the municipalities themselves decide to clean the ditches that in their eagerness to pave will make sense doubt bites, as much as a butcher.
Do these newcomers, this fresh blood, these independents that many Lebanese would like to see replace the embedded ones that are growing and multiplying at the head of this country, even know the hiding place of the asphalt and the Bobcat that accompanies it? Of course not. You have to start, show your credentials, even if it’s a contradiction. Hence the delightful triumph of the masked candidate who thus shows his first letter, revealing the length of his arm. The opportunistic paving of the roads on the eve of the elections is just a reminder of the superiority of the establishment’s candidates and the inequality that the legislative elections in Lebanon achieve.
Now, 80% of the population is crushed by poverty. They don’t care if they get back to the same problems by bringing the same eternal combination to power. Problems, in any case, only know, as they were born on these shores. Everything makes us believe that they will bow down and rejoice at the few cents or boxes of food they will receive in return for their vote. For almost three years now, most have been living on grants. Three years of unemployment, three years of wasted lives, reduced to their only food, animal dimension, no dreams, no prospects, no joy. We will easily convince them that it is the fault of the “others.” You have to believe that you are getting used to everything. Even empty slogans that try to rekindle the extinguished flames and just stir the ashes for nothing. Even the promises of “I’m there, I’m staying”, protagonists of this lame campaign, which are read more as threats. Even the ugliness of the giant portraits on which we can count the hairs of the beard and the teeth stained by the abuse of coffee and condolences. In view of the heartbreaking slide show that is beginning to invade our landscape, we limit ourselves to noting that the traditional festivals, with nothing new to bring, retain their old nauseating flour. In front of them, the candidates of the “thaoura”, lacking tar, have words that resonate, an intact anger, a burning faith and an uninterrupted energy.
On our street, last night, more or less in the early hours of the morning, or so at a time when there were only birds and cats to watch the show, we filled two holes in the asphalt. Two large holes, deep enough to cause vehicles to climb the sidewalk to avoid them. For lack of habit, or simply because two visible holes are more reliable than two …