A Social Barrier
When Riwa and Walid decided to tie the knot twelve years ago, the issue of religious community did not come up. At least for the husband-to-be. "I was brought up with nationalist ideas, with no place for religion and religious communities," he says. "I’ve always wanted a civil marriage, especially that I wasn’t practicing my religion."
The issue arose on the part of the young woman who belongs to the Druze community. "Although there have been several mixed marriages in my family, I had a hard time convincing my parents of my choice," recalls Riwa. "It was a social barrier. In our community, you’re born Druze, you don’t become Druze. So, by marrying a man from a different sect, my children won’t be Druze. Our elders fear losing a member of the community, especially that we’re a minority. Religion in itself has never been a problem. Besides, my family is open to others. My parents have always had friends from other religious groups. We share their holidays. I was also schooled and did my university studies in institutions where I met people of different faiths. I’ve never had the fear of the other."
Yet, meeting Walid’s friends was a blow to Riwa. "I had always thought that Christians were open," she says. "I was very surprised to see the reaction of his friends who were surprised that we had a civil marriage and who were asking us all kinds of questions. They wanted to know if our marriage was ‘legal’, if we were living ‘in sin’, what would the religion of our children be… For them, I came from an environment that was completely strange to them. But, over time, they came to see that I was not trying to take Walid from his family or his environment despite being from a different religion. On the contrary, I blended into their environment."
"Our relationship is enriching on multiple levels," adds Walid. "Personally, I don’t judge a person by their beliefs, which could change over the years. Besides, that’s my case. When we got married I wasn’t a practicing Christian. Today, I am, in my own way. Riwa has never objected. She has no problem with me praying in front of her. If she wasn’t this open to others, I think this would have caused a problem for our couple."
For Riwa, "children are the criterion of the degree of openness to others". "If I had had children, I would have been able to convey a message to that religious society and show it that it was possible, even in a mixed marriage, to bring up children as highly spiritual persons who know God in all His splendour, away from the reductive denominational perceptions," adds Riwa. "I would have taught them to take the best from Christianity and the Druze doctrine."
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"I’m Appalled by Discrimination"
They are newly weds, but their idyll began four years ago. Nivine met Abdo through her best friend who was taking dance classes with him. "She was convinced that we were going to get along very well because we are similar in many ways," says Nivine.
When the young woman decided to introduce her partner to her parents, the answer was a resounding no. "When they learned that Abdo was Syrian, they didn’t want to hear any of it," she recalls. "I confronted them for the first time in my life. The idea that their refusal was due to the fact that Abdo was Syrian was unbearable. I told them that I was willing to leave him on the condition that they met him first."
They finally gave in, but Nivine’s father tried to persuade her against carrying on with this relationship, which "wouldn’t bring anything but trouble": the Lebanese perception of Syrians, her inability to transfer her Lebanese nationality to her children, etc.
"I was willing to take on these challenges because for the first time in my life, I was ready to commit," says the young woman. The meeting went well. "They calmed down after meeting Abdo’s family. They saw that we shared the same values, even though we belong to two different social environments. Today, my parents even take Abdo’s side whenever we have an argument," she adds.
On Abdo’s side, the issue of nationality did not arise "because my paternal grandmother was Lebanese". "My father and uncle were born in Lebanon," he adds, "I like the Lebanese accent because it reminds me of my grandmother." When he moved to Lebanon 10 years ago, Abdo was surprised "at the hostility of the Lebanese towards Syrians". "I wasn’t really aware of the tensions between the people of the two countries," he adds. "In the beginning, I tried not to go into politics and not speak with a Syrian accent." Everything changed when he met Nivine. "For the first time in 10 years, I was finally able to talk about topics that mattered to me," says Abdo. "Our relationship helped me change in our respective environments the vision that our friends had of both peoples. My friends learned that not all Lebanese are arrogant or condescending."
On Nivine’s side, her friends "discovered that there were ‘good’ Syrians after all". "A friend of mine keeps telling me that Abdo is the only Syrian he likes," says Nivine. "Some continue nevertheless to ask me if I don’t have problems with the fact that he’s Syrian. People around me have understood that you can’t tar everyone with the same brush. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never judged a human being by their nationality, I judge them by their humanity. I’ve always been appalled by discrimination, since I was a child."
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Breaking Taboos
Their marriage is everything but conventional, at least for a society like the Lebanese. Zeid is Lebanese and Mekdes is Ethiopian. At the very beginning, this union caused many administrative problems: first, to register their civil marriage entered into in Ethiopia, "a procedure that required nearly a year"; then to register their child who was born around three months after their union, "the authorities considered him to be illegitimate"; and finally to renew Mekdes’ residence permit a year after the marriage, "because they were trying to deport her". "We lived in anxiety for several months," says Zeid. "I was without a residence permit and without my passport for almost a year," says the young woman. Eventually, following a scathing article in the media and some "string pulling", the child was registered and the young woman obtained the Lebanese nationality.
Socially, the couples say that they "have not had any serious issues". "I find people’s shocked reaction amusing," says Mekdes. "What’s wrong with me marrying a Lebanese guy?"
"In our neighbourhood [the couple lives in Achrafieh], everybody loves her," says Zeid. "People are not too racist. Things would probably have been different if we were living in a different region." He goes on to say, "I take a lot of shared taxis, servis. When people see my son, they guess that my wife is Ethiopian. And the confiding starts. Suddenly, everybody’s fallen in love with this Ethiopian woman. The affairs were nevertheless short-lived as a result of family pressure."
In their union, Zeid and Mekdes have been able to break taboos in their environment. "All my friends now eat Ethiopian cuisine," says Zeid playfully. "At the beginning, we had many Ethiopian parties and Mekdes cooked for everyone. With time, barriers began to break down. Many Lebanese live in a bubble. Everything outside their bubble is foreign to them. In our environment, people no longer look down on Ethiopian women, instead they started treating them as equals. Moreover, many of our friends also married Ethiopian women. =In marrying Mekdes, Zeid thought that he would integrate more into the Ethiopian culture and that his son would have two homelands. The opposite has happened. "My wife has integrated into the Lebanese society," he says. "As for my son, he speaks French and Arabic." That won’t be the case with their next child, says Mekdes jokingly: "I’ll teach him Ethiopian so he can then teach it to his brother."