A Nation in an Expanding Mental Ward: Poet Abdo Wazen Asks if Lebanon Is Now in Chekhov's 'Ward No. Six'

 

The devastation wrought by the Beirut Blast on August 4, 2020 has permanently exposed the reality of Lebanon’s inept leadership. In one recent Independent Arabia article, Lebanese poet and critic Abdo Wazen went as far as to compare the tragedy to Anton Chekhov’s internationally renowned 1892 short story, “Ward No. 6,”  which has been translated into various languages and adapted into many shows and films. But while “Ward No. 6” tells the tale of a decrepit hospital, the explosion of Beirut’s port speaks of Lebanon’s failure to its people, according to Wazen.
 

Chekhov’s “Ward No. 6” follows the life of Andrey Ragin, the director of a provincial mental asylum who neglects his responsibilities and turns a blind eye to the mistreatment of his patients. Eventually, Ragin is committed as a patient in his ward, where he is subjected to the torture he’d previously ignored at the hands of the cruel guard Nikita. Like ward no. 6 of the story, Beirut housed its own “ward” — hangar no. 12, the explosion site, where a massive volume of ammonium nitrate was improperly stored for years.

“The hospital can be symbolically interpreted as Lebanon itself, a country mired in corruption and chaos, threatening to teeter off the edge of the abyss on which it perches,” wrote Wazen in Independent Arabia. In both “Ward No. 6” and today’s Lebanon, “miscreants” enjoy their corrupt lives while the “honorable” are marginalized, imprisoned, and tortured. Officials steal money and confiscate the food and medicine of the sick, tossing them into “neglected and filthy wards.” According to Wazen, Chekhov wrote the story in despair and bitter disappointment following Russia’s collapse into the hands of ignorant rulers.
 

For all their similarities, however, Wazen emphasizes that the explosion in Beirut’s own “ward” no. 12 was more violent and terrifying than its fictional counterpart, as it instantly turned the city into a  ruin. Even months after the explosion, the tragedy remains shrouded in mystery. Wazen poses several questions: “How did the warehouse [hangar no. 12] remain there for over six years, unscathed? How did it explode? As one cartoonish official statement claimed, was it detonated by firecrackers set off on holidays and weddings? Did the welder ignite it when he was welding iron? Was it blown up by a missile, by the enemy? Did Israel or Iran have a role in detonating it?” Still, no definite answers exist, and those who should have them remain conspicuously silent. Wazen explains the irony, “No president, minister, general manager, senior or junior employee — not even a janitor or a guard in the State can answer. All of them are waiting for the secret behind the blast to be revealed. They are all waiting for the truth after they have fabricated it.”
 

Living in Lebanon is like living in Chekhov’s hospital. Only the neglectful staff is everywhere, occupying all ranks and positions, “climbing the pulpits and preaching, threatening, making accusations, and raising victory badges.” As the literal and figurative pillars of Lebanon’s society and economy fall to corruption, its leaders show “no shame and no conscience. We live in a state of insanity, delirium, blood, and ruin, and on top of all this, our own hospital’s “ward no. 12.”’

 

 

 

 

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