Children of Jihad: A Young American's Travels Among the Youth of the Middle East (16 page)

It should be noted that despite the beauty and grandeur of areas like Marrad Street, Beirut isn’t all modern and luxurious. The slums of Beirut, just a fifteen-minute taxi drive from downtown, are cramped, impoverished, and plagued by infrastructure problems. The poverty and degradation of these slums provide a fertile breeding ground for the extremism that well-organized groups like Hezbollah are spreading.

Hibah was a Sunni and a big supporter of the Future Party, led by the young politician Saad Hariri. The Lebanese Sunni, who follow prominent families rather than religious clerics, rally mostly around the Hariri family in Lebanon. The Hariri family became prominent through its business ventures in telecommunications, oil, banking, and television; Rafik Hariri served as prime minister of Lebanon on two occasions, first from 1992 to 1998 and then from 2000 to 2004. For his skill in guiding Lebanon during its period of reconstruction after the war, even critics of Hariri came to respect and admire him for refurbishing the country to something it hadn’t been since before the war. It was his assassination on Valentine’s Day of 2005 that sparked the Cedar Revolution, and for many Lebanese, the Hariri family continues to drive Lebanese politics. Through Rafik’s son Saad, an influential deputy in parliament, the prominent Sunni family virtually dictated the results of the Lebanese elections whose last round of voting I’d witnessed on my first night in Lebanon.

Immediately after we sat down, Hibah told me that she would try to help me, but that she was not much of an activist and tended to avoid politics. A lot of young Lebanese say this, but it’s rarely totally accurate. Young Lebanese live and breathe politics; born and raised in the crucible of war and occupation, even the most apathetic and apolitical Lebanese young person would look like an activist next to the average American youth.

It was then that I noticed that Hibah had dressed to impress. She wore a dress and makeup and actually looked rather fancy. I, on the other hand, was wearing Birkenstocks, jeans, and a T-shirt. Had I accidentally stumbled onto a date?

While we waited for our food to arrive, I asked Hibah about the magnificent changes that had taken place in Lebanon just a few months before my arrival.

“Jared, you must understand, we never knew who we were,” she told me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We grew up with bombs in the streets and Syria occupying our country. We were always controlled by Syria and afraid to discover who we are.”

Like most Sunni youth, Hibah considered the Syrian occupation to be the defining struggle of pre–Cedar Revolution Lebanon; she hardly mentioned the Israeli occupation of southern Lebanon. To many Shi’a youth, the Sunnis had it backward: They saw the Syrian occupation as positive for Lebanon because Damascus supported Hezbollah against Israel. For Sunnis like Hibah, however, the end of the Syrian occupation was the beginning of Lebanon’s future.

I asked Hibah what changed after the Syrians left.

“We became Lebanese,” she replied.

“What do you mean you ‘became Lebanese’?” I asked.

She blushed and looked down at her food. Then she looked up, smiled, and continued.

“On that day when we all went to Martyrs’ Square, I didn’t care so much what it was all about. My friends were all going and it seemed fun. But when I got there, something happened to me. I had never realized how Lebanese I was until that moment.” She was referring to the unprecedented unity between Christians and Muslims as they stood together and called for one Lebanon, without a Syrian presence.

When we finished dinner, Hibah insisted on taking me to Martyrs’ Square, the main plaza in downtown Beirut and the epicenter of the Cedar Revolution. I figured that this is what she had meant when she responded to my survey by saying, “It is easier to show you.” The plaza was only a five-minute walk from the restaurant.

I was still confused about whether or not she considered this a date or a friendly meeting to chat about Lebanese politics. For simplicity’s sake, I decided to assume the latter, which proved to be the right call. Hibah became a good friend and was actually extremely helpful in getting some of the Hezbollah guys she knew to speak with me. As it turned out, several of them had crushes on her and she felt perfectly comfortable asking them if they wouldn’t mind meeting with me or letting me conduct some interviews.

Hibah led me to the center of Martyrs’ Square. In one direction I could see the Mediterranean Sea, while in another I could see a gorgeous mosque and the old rubble of what was once a popular movie theater. We walked toward a statue of three people in the middle of a rotunda. The monument was marked with bullet holes, remnants of the war. All around the plaza, I saw tents and graffiti left over from the demonstrations against the Syrians. Hibah explained to me that young Lebanese had dropped out of school or taken leave to camp in tents, vowing not to leave until Syria left Lebanon. She showed me the graffiti on the walls, some of which had been written in marker and some in paint. One slogan read, “Christians + Muslims = Lebanese.” Another etching said, “Together hand-in-hand for a better Lebanon.” I saw, “Kill the Lion,” a reference to Bashar al-Assad of Syria (
assad
is the Arabic word for lion). I even saw one piece of graffiti that read, “Lahoud pull out my ass hurts.” Emile Lahoud is the pro-Syrian Maronite president of Lebanon; he has been widely derided by many Lebanese youth for his obsequious relationship with the Syrian government. These slogans reflected the deeply patriotic sentiments that Hibah wanted me to see, not just hear.

“We haven’t always felt these things,” she told me. “We were never able to. We always were controlled by Syria. When Syria left, it gave us a chance to look at who we are and what we want. The protests of March proved that we could do this.”

While most active youth took part in the Cedar Revolution with the intention of getting Syria out of Lebanon (or just enjoying the biggest party of the year), there were some who counterprotested. At the time of the protests, Hezbollah performed counterdemonstrations with a pro-Syrian slant. This was not surprising, given that Syria’s financial, political, and logistical support for Hezbollah had contributed to the organization’s success in remaining a relevant player in Lebanese politics. I interviewed several young members of Hezbollah who took part in these demonstrations; they told me that despite their generally pro-Syrian perspective, their intention had not necessarily been to keep Syria in Lebanon. As one Hezbollah youth told me, “We appreciated the support Syria had given Hezbollah and felt obliged to say, ‘Thank you for your help and have a peaceful departure from Lebanon.’”

M
any Lebanese youth will agree
that the day that Syria pulled out of Lebanon was the day they became Lebanese. In a country where the previous generation tried to settle sectarian differences with the violence and bloodshed of an extended civil war, today’s youth have tried to put this dark chapter of Lebanon’s history behind them. Through their voices, demonstrations, and commitment to change, Lebanese youth brought about the collapse of the pro-Syrian government and the end of a prolonged Syrian occupation.

They have taken a major step forward, but I wonder whether Lebanese youth will continue to break the patterns of the past. With Syria out of Lebanon, Lebanese youth can no longer blame all of their problems on occupation. True, in Shi’a areas there was a temporary Israeli occupation in its war against Hezbollah in the summer of 2006, but this was different from an eighteen-year occupation. More significantly, they must move past the traumas of their war-torn childhoods. The current generation of Lebanese youth were born into a society characterized by alienation, humiliation, and suppression; they were raised in a country where bombings and shootings were a daily occurrence. And so they distracted themselves from the bleakness of their lives with social and recreational indulgences. Their escapism was wholly excusable: During both the war and the Syrian occupation, there was little reason to believe that Lebanon would change; one can hardly blame Lebanese youth for trying to make the best of an awful situation.

Superficiality, a more substantive part of Lebanese youth culture than many people realize, has shielded young Lebanese from the realities of the difficult and traumatizing environment that they associate with their childhood. But it must not be mistaken for reality: While many young Lebanese drive expensive cars, wear extravagant clothes, and attend lavish clubs, they do not want you to know that they live with their parents and share a small room with their two brothers. They do not want you to know that their parents had to take out a loan so that they could drive a fancy car. They want to create the appearance that going out is an easy luxury, and they will not reveal that they didn’t eat dinner so that they could afford to buy a single drink, which they nurse all night. They do not want you to know that every day they worry about their future and what will happen when they no longer have their parents as a source of income. Young Lebanese loved to talk about international issues with a foreigner like me, but in truth, it’s the economy and the lack of opportunity that really frustrate them. It was only through building and nurturing friendships with Shi’a, Sunni, Druze, and Christians that I realized these sad truths.

Superficiality has become a crutch, and Lebanese youth have grown tired of the charade. One of my friends once said to me, “I love this country, and that is why I hate it so much.” Lebanese youth are frustrated by the disconnect between Lebanon’s potential and its reality.

They embraced the nightlife and are truly proud of Lebanon’s cosmopolitanism, but behind closed doors, almost all young people will admit they want to leave. They love Lebanon but fear that it has nothing real to offer them. Students would always tell me that there are sixteen million Lebanese (nine million in Brazil) and only four million of them live in the country. Lebanon is experiencing a massive brain drain, and as in Iran, the emigration of so many young people is a direct result of the domestic troubles that the government has failed to address.

Though momentum from the Cedar Revolution is beginning to fade and hostilities between Hezbollah and Israel are destabilizing Lebanon, Lebanese youth remain poised to build upon their newfound sovereignty. Although still given to scapegoating and superficiality, Lebanese youth are breaking the patterns of the past by embracing democracy—even if they don’t like to call it that.

M
y friend Ziad and I
were walking down Marrad Street one afternoon when he stopped and pointed his finger to the crowds around us.

“Do you see all of these women with their makeup and fancy clothes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you know where they are from?”

I assumed they were from Lebanon, but Ziad corrected me.

“They are mostly from Saudi Arabia and others are from the Gulf States. Do you know why they come to Lebanon?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because here they are free to do as they please.”

I thought about this for a moment, but I think Ziad could tell I was a bit confused.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They can behave as human beings naturally want to behave. They don’t have to hide under the rules of their governments.” Ziad put up his hand as if to demonstrate that a light bulb had just gone off in his head. “I can show you,” he told me.

Just then, Ziad reached into his pocket and pulled out his small Motorola mobile phone. I watched him activate his Bluetooth mechanism so he could connect to other Bluetooth users. I could see him eyeing the half-dozen or so tables of women all sitting together. Within a few moments, he showed me the screen of his phone, which listed the nearby Bluetooth devices his phone had detected. The names were obviously fake. It reminded me of the Internet cafés in Iran, where all the young people’s online identities contained sexual innuendos or references to Western rappers.

I then watched Ziad type a text message:

 

I AM WEARING A RED T-SHIRT AND STANDING AT THE TOP OF MARRAD STREET.

 

He pressed send, and off it went to all of the people whose names had come up on his Bluetooth network.

Within moments, I watched table after table of Saudi and Gulf women turn around and look at him.

“You see?” Ziad said to me as he laughed to himself.

One thing is certain: There was more political and social freedom, in Lebanon than in any other country in the Middle East. As Ziad showed me that day, Lebanon’s progressive reputation made the country a destination for youth from Saudi Arabia, Iran, Jordan, Egypt, and across the Middle East.

While the social and political progressiveness of Lebanon provided temporary relief for Lebanese youth and Arab tourists who came to enjoy the country’s freedoms, the young Lebanese now have a long road ahead of them. They have suffered tremendously on their path to freedom, and Lebanon still has its share of serious, structural problems: Its sectarian divides are still deeply embedded in the culture; religious allies are beset by political rivalries; and resentment from the war still brews under the surface.

Worse, Hezbollah is ushering in a new era of violence, instability, and occupation in Lebanon, giving young Lebanese a legitimate excuse to revert back to scapegoating and superficiality. A year before their war with Israel, I had the opportunity to spend some time with young members of Hezbollah.

LEBANON, 2005

E
ven the members of one of the world’s most extreme groups were not immune to Lebanon’s charms. I ate with Hezbollah at McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, and various other fast-food joints. I sometimes saw the same Hezbollah guys at nightclubs, dancing, trying their luck with the ladies, and even sometimes drinking. These self-proclaimed pious Shi’a mixed with groups that were their sworn enemies by day, chatting with whomever they fancied. Their affiliation with the terrorist group Hezbollah was unrecognizable when they were out; instead, they blended in and constituted another handful of youth in the nightclub dancing to that summer’s hottest music.

The Hezbollah I met in the summer of 2005 were what many believed was representative of Hezbollah after 2000. It seemed that they had abandoned all military objectives beyond controlling the disputed Shaba Farms territory in the Golan Heights; they seemed more committed to Lebanon than loyal to Iran; and they seemed to be moving in the direction of political integration rather than violence. But the Hezbollah that the world saw attack Israel in 2006 was a dark reminder that all the while Al-Qaeda had been projecting itself into the terrorist spotlight, the older, more established, and likely more sophisticated “Party of God” had only been hibernating. Shocking the world and perhaps even its own members, in 2006 Hezbollah burst back onto the scene with a blast of rocket fire.

H
ezbollah was first conceived
after the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982. As Israel entered southern Lebanon, it was primarily the Shi’a villages that suffered the worst of the combat. At this same time, the clerics in Iran were spouting rhetoric of exporting their Shi’a Islamic Revolution. From the Iranian perspective, this was the perfect opportunity to make inroads into Lebanon, while at the same time winning favor in the Arab world by establishing Iran’s credentials against Israel. Lebanon was a perfect target for Iranian intervention: The Shi’a were the largest group in the country and the population had become radicalized as a result of the Israeli invasion. As a result, the clerics in Iran seized the moment, dispatching two thousand of their elite Islamic Revolutionary Guards to eastern Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley.

Hezbollah was created with three purposes. First, the paramilitary organization was to use guerrilla tactics to rebuff the Israeli invasion and push the Israeli Defense Forces out of Lebanon. Second, Hezbollah was to be an arm of Iran that would work toward exporting the Iranian Revolution. The most pious and capable Lebanese Shi’a were recruited as operatives committed to bringing about an Islamic Republic of Lebanon that would mirror Iran’s theocracy. Third, Hezbollah committed itself to the destruction of the State of Israel and the return of Palestine to the Palestinian people.

Hezbollah has never been an organization that acts with autonomy. It has been developed and sustained by logistical, material, and financial support from both Iran and Syria. Hezbollah’s allegiance with Iran began with the Shi’a loyalty commanded by Ayatollah Khomeini, but it has been estimated in the international media that Iran provides around $100 million in aid to Hezbollah annually. This aid comes in the form of weapons, training, cash, explosive devices, and funding for the social and philanthropic activities that Hezbollah uses to garner support for the organization. The Bonyad-e Shahid, or Martyrs Foundation, is largely responsible for Iran’s generous pledges of aid to Hezbollah.

Despite the Shi’a connection, Hezbollah’s relationship with Iran is based less on religious loyalty than on the benefits such an alliance provides for each side. Secular strategic considerations are likewise the backbone of Hezbollah’s relations with Syria. While the leadership in Syria is Shi’a and Allawite, Bashar al-Assad’s generally secular approach to governing is actually rather different from the approach Hezbollah advocates. Though not its own creation, Syria has historically used Hezbollah as a way of projecting its influence; for Syria, Hezbollah is a profitable investment vehicle, with returns coming in the form of regional influence. After Syria withdrew from Lebanon, the country’s investment in Hezbollah became even more important. Without a military presence in Lebanon, Bashar al-Assad relied on the Hezbollah paramilitary to fill the vacuum left by the withdrawal of Syrian troops from the Bekaa Valley. Hezbollah claimed influence over the Lebanese government, and Syria claimed influence over Hezbollah and, by extension, Lebanon.

Having grown beyond its regional roots, Hezbollah’s global network is tremendous. The group has cells in Latin America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and allegedly in the United States. While the military side of these cells often remains dormant, they are constantly fund-raising, accumulating funds, and recruiting new members. Bombings of Jewish sites in Argentina in 1991 and 1992—including the Israeli Embassy and a Jewish community center—demonstrated to the world that these far-flung sleeper cells can be activated almost overnight with devastating success.

Hezbollah became a household name in the United States in 1983. On April 18 of that year, Hezbollah bombed the United States Embassy in Beirut, killing 17 Americans, and then on October 23, it bombed the Marine barracks in Beirut, killing 241 Marines. The two attacks claimed 258 American lives, including America’s top CIA official on the Middle East, Robert Ames. Prior to September 11, the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut was the greatest loss of life experienced by the United States at the hands of terrorists.

W
hen I arrived
in Beirut in June of 2005, Hezbollah’s popularity was substantial in Lebanon, hardly what I expected for an organization labeled as a terrorist group. Even Maronites who despised the organization would tell me things like “I hate Hezbollah because they are the enemy, but I am happy they defend Lebanon,” and “Even though they are the enemy, you must admit that Hassan Nasrallah [the leader of Hezbollah] is a very smart and charismatic man.”

Hezbollah had always enjoyed popular support in impoverished Shi’a areas like Dahiye (South Beirut), Baalbak in eastern Lebanon, and much of the South of Lebanon. Hezbollah’s ability to galvanize a strong support base is not surprising, given its virtual media monopoly in Shi’a parts of the country and its role as the dominant provider of basic goods and social services to aggrieved Shi’a populations throughout Lebanon. Hezbollah thrives in Lebanon because it has a large constituency of affiliates, who, while not part of the organization, describe themselves as a “nation that admires, supports, and recognizes Hezbollah.”

Hezbollah, while undoubtedly a factor behind the Israeli withdrawal from Lebanon in 2000, waged a successful propaganda campaign claiming full credit for the return of southern Lebanon. This is a card that Hezbollah has used most effectively on those Shi’a who either live in the South or were forced to flee their homes in the South. For these youth, Hezbollah is viewed as a heroic force. They cast themselves as the principal organization filling the void left by a government unable to meet the country’s socioeconomic challenges. The Shi’a communities are among the poorest in Lebanon, with the contrast of Beirut’s wealth serving as a constant source of humiliation. They have also marginalized their principal rival Shi’a group, Amal. Historically, in particular in the mid-1980s, some support for Hezbollah was hindered by its rivalry with the rival Shi’a Amal Party. The evacuation of Israeli Defense Forces from southern Lebanon in 2000, the subsequent decline in Amal’s popularity within the Shi’a community, and the alliance of Amal and Hezbollah in the 2005 parliamentary elections have brought substantial numbers of Shi’a formerly at odds with Hezbollah into their court. Hezbollah successfully transformed its image in Lebanon to one of an all-inclusive party promoting a concept of socioeconomic enhancement and resistance against foreign occupation. Politically, Hezbollah has managed to reach Shi’a outside of its traditional areas of support, gain popularity among some Sunnis and Druze, and even seduce some support from Christians, historically the group’s staunchest opponents.

The support for Hezbollah that I saw in the summer of 2005 was nothing compared to that which followed the July 2006 war it fought with Israel. Shi’a who had been indifferent to politics found themselves passionately in Hezbollah’s camp, and even portions of the Christian and Druze populations threw their support behind Hezbollah. For most youth it didn’t matter what Hezbollah stood for; they simply wanted the bombing to stop. What transpired during the one month of fighting was a startling contrast to the prosperity they had enjoyed over the previous two years.

T
hat day at McDonald’s
when I first told Hezbollah I was Jewish, I admit I was frightened. But I was surprised by an interesting paradox. On the one hand they were religious extremists, committed to the establishment of an Islamic republic, the destruction of Israel, and attacks on America. On the other hand, they were typical Lebanese youth: clubbers, barhoppers, and lovers of American fast food.

During the day, I heard extremist arguments and ominous rhetoric. They wanted to see Israel destroyed, they embraced suicide bombing, and they made no apologies for the long list of terrorist attacks undertaken in the name of Hezbollah. I expected that they went home at night and read extremist teachings and held radical conclaves. Hardly.

I would sometimes see these same young men out at the Beirut hot spots; sometimes they would acknowledge me, while at other times, upset at having their double life revealed, they would avoid me or pretend we had never met. These clubs were hardly religious centers or conservative in their atmosphere. The dance floors in most Beirut nightclubs are very small, catering instead to those who can afford tables and bottle service. The Hezbollah guys I would spot out at night usually crammed themselves into the overpacked dance floors, hardly cringing at the idea of having to pass through crowds of women on their way to the bar. These same Hezbollah partygoers ogled, rather than scowled at, the half-dressed women who danced on top of the bars showing off their latest fashions. Like most Lebanese youth, Hezbollah youth wanted to keep their daytime activities separated from their evening activities, and this meant that they didn’t want people in the nightclubs to recognize them as Hezbollah. I never saw them out at hot spots in the predominantly Muslim West Beirut. I would only see them out in areas heavily populated with Maronite or Sunni party animals.

When I told Lebanese friends of mine that I had seen some of these youths out at the clubs, their responses reflected doubt. They rebutted that these are very religious individuals who do not drink and who do not do anything modern. Others would suggest that these guys couldn’t have been Hezbollah, because true members of this organization would never let you know who they were. But what my friends didn’t seem to understand was that these Hezbollah guys weren’t there to plot a bombing of a Christian nightclub, or to kidnap Westerners; they were there to party, dance, and even in some cases drink. Like everyone else—including other young firebrands from Amal—they were there to be Lebanese. It is hardly a secret that like Al-Qaeda, Hezbollah is also suspected of having sleeper cells in America. With 9/11 just four years in the past, the visual of what I saw in Beirut made me fearful that those thugs were in America “being” Americans at the same nightclubs that I frequent. This puzzling paradox highlighted the conflict extremist youth face between indoctrination and being a teenager.

B
y the time
the Hezbollah youth reach university age, however, they have already received intense ideological training, learned to operate almost every major automatic weapon in Hezbollah’s arsenal, and have been recruiting operatives for several years. For all intents and purposes, they have been working for the organization since they were children.

At age six or seven, a Shi’ite child is selected by either his parents or members of his community to begin indoctrination into the “Party of God.” So, by the time they reach university age, they have been members of the organization for over a decade already. Not all members of Hezbollah will attend university. The ones who do are the future leaders. In the same way that CIA operatives work two jobs when posted abroad—one on the embassy staff and another in their cover position—Hezbollah operatives have the difficult task of acting as both student and operative.

For Hezbollah, dispatching their best and brightest to the universities is a foolproof plan. The students enter the university legally, and as a result, the organization is able to use society’s educational institutions for its own manipulative objectives. Financial support from Iran, along with Hezbollah’s own fund-raising capabilities, enables the organization to provide scholarships and funding to its future political operatives.

Students linked to Hezbollah are highly disciplined and well-trained. They have also completely infiltrated Lebanon’s educational institutions. Even at the American University of Beirut, which is the most progressive and Western of all the universities in Lebanon and which had its president kidnapped by Hezbollah during the 1980s, the organization maintains a strong presence.

I was told by several professors and students that at the American University of Beirut (AUB) there were as many as 150 to 200 operatives from Hezbollah attending the university as students. In a university of seven thousand students, this is a frightening number—especially since Hezbollah’s supporters were likely triple or quadruple that number, and considering the fact that many of the Hezbollah youth who attend AUB express passionate interest in studying engineering, physics, and mathematics in the United States.