Which era should we talk about? Each is full of its own wonders, some of which are recorded in history while others forgotten. There are people who practice a form of selective memory, recalling some particular periods over others. The goal is always the same: to evoke the beauty of things lost.
Fine. Let’s let go of our present, and look for a new time - less horrible if possible... Let’s look into humans’ living conditions, not their political or social circumstances. No doubt they had lots of beautiful habits that we might be able to take on and use as a pretty window through which we peek at our foul present.
Time: Now.
Place: Beirut, where I, a Syrian writer, have lived for the past three years.
We are in the year 2015. I will take out a book from my library, the one I brought with me from Damascus; it is Beirut by Samir Kassir. I will read from it, and as I do so, it summons to my mind a story I wrote in Damascus, about two brothers whose destinies are tied to a woman, who, as circumstances would have it, happens to be the daughter of Shahbandar, the great trader.
The story is set in an alluring period. Is it possible to set it in Beirut? Yes, Samir Kassir tells me in his book. It was not unusual to see Syrians in Lebanon in that era, just as it was not unusual to see Lebanese in Damascus, or in any of the cities of Syria. The deeper I went into this book, the more confident I grew in my idea.
Let me choose a year from that period… 1890, Beirut – that is, one hundred years before the end of the Civil War. A Damascene family resides in a neighborhood in Beirut; the destinies of two Damasccene brothers are tied to the daughter of Shahbandar, a Lebanese trader of great influence. No one needed a passport or a reason or even a proof of residence to travel to where he or she desired in that era. It was enough to prove your good conduct and sound reputation, to fit to the role society determined for you in the context. If so, there was no regional or sectarian discrimination so long as neighbors respected and looked out for each other, then every person could keep his or her religion and world.
It is an arrangement that could work in these disgraceful times but I won’t be too ambitious. At best, we will talk about past relations between Syrians and Lebanese, to lift the shadow they’ve casted on ties between them in this tragic era of Syrian displacement.
We all agreed, as a team of Syrian and Lebanese producers, directors, and actors, that this was an alluring window into the past. The series aired during Ramadan this year on Arab and Lebanese channels, and is still broadcasted from time to time. It is a love story that revolves around two brothers, Ragheb and Zayd, with Nariman, Shahbandar’s daughter.
The story begins with a conflict between Ragheb and his father, Abu Ragheb Salhani, which leads Abu Ragheb to throw his son out of the neighborhood, where the family held prestige, and to cut him out of the inheritance.
Later on, Abu Ragheb asks Abu Hassan al Shahbandar to marry his daughter Nariman to Abu Ragheb’s younger son, Zayd, in an effort to further improve his standing in the neighborhood. Nariman loves Zayd, but Zayd had other ideas, far from marriage and inheriting his father’s wealth. And, moreover, it was Ragheb who had fallen in love with Nariman.
Zayd disappears after the marriage, though, under shady circumstances, forcing Abu Ragheb to call on Ragheb to find the missing brother. Ragheb embarks on a bitter and agonizing journey, which ends with him finding his brother and bringing him back to Nariman, from whom Ragheb must forever deny himself.
The series brought up a number of questions, the most urgent of which were: Could a Damascene family truly have lived in Beirut and had such prestige and influence as to play a role in the social sphere, as the family of Abu Ragheb al Salhani did?
But this never really came up between us on set, and, truthfully, it was not such a strange idea to us. We all lived together at the time, and it wasn’t strange to hear, «I swear, brother, this really is how the world was back then». We were reliving that past era, in the present!
It was only after filming, when the series aired, that those involved in the project began to ask, «Lovely, but was it really like this?!».
They wondered, could a Damascene live in good standing in Beirut? Could he live in the city in complete respectability and work, as well?
Some of them hint at the 1990s and the Syrian presence in Lebanon, and sneakily imply that the leading role of Ragheb (played by actor Qusay al-Khawli) is a recall or an affirmation of a coming time! It is as if relations between Syria and Lebanon began in 1982 whereas in our story, Ragheb was a notable figure in the neighborhood, though the real authority was in the hands of the Lebanese Shahbandar family. This sound and equitable relationship did not impinge on the independence of these two neighboring countries – or, «vilayets», as they were called in the Ottoman Empire.
«It was a difficult time, economically and politically speaking, and there was a great desire for liberation from Ottoman rule. But it was a beautiful time, as well», one viewer in his seventies told me, based on what he had heard from his father about that era. «I am a Beiruti, to the core, but my heritage is Syrian!» he added.
He filled with wonder as he recalled the Syrian families that lived in Beirut and vice versa. When I told him about how the scenes have perplexed some viewers, he said, «That’s OK. Those who ask, will discover. The important thing is that you told a sweet story».
I am not the kind of person to say we should return to the past, or to pine for a bygone era. Still, a flashback from our present situation is a study on the beauty of a wondrous time.
The elderly man and I opened a window, delicate in its beauty, to look at the sad street, and he continued his conversation passionately on that beautiful era.