Essays and Features

 

“A state is not tested when it tries someone who is widely loved. It is tested when it tries someone whom most of the country despises,” writes Sally Ali in her essay, “On One Day, Beirut Abolishes and Damascus Executes.” This observation is particularly relevant to the recent death penalty decisions in Syria and Lebanon, where the question of punishment has become inseparable from the question of state governance. On August 11, the Damascus Criminal Court sentenced former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, his brother Maher al-Assad, cousin Atef Najib, former Defense Minister Fahd Jassem al-Freij, and five other former regime officials to death, a ruling that raises broader questions about what kind of government Syria will establish in the aftermath of the Assad regime. On the same day, Lebanon’s parliament approved the abolition of the death penalty, a decision that Marwan Harb argues may carry little meaning for Lebanese citizens unless the state can also address its political and social failures. Together, the contrasting decisions in Syria and Lebanon demonstrate how the death penalty can serve not merely as a form of punishment, but as a measure of a state’s commitment to justice, accountability, and legitimate governance.

 

The Beirut Port explosion was not simply a tragic accident, but a catastrophe enabled by years of political negligence and institutional complacency. On August 4, 2020, 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate stored in Hangar 12 alongside fireworks exploded, killing at least 218 people, injuring roughly 7,000, and displacing approximately 300,000 more. Yet in the six years since the blast, efforts to hold those responsible accountable have been repeatedly obstructed, leaving justice suspended and the victims without closure. Rather than focusing solely on the explosion itself, Sally Ali in her essay, “August 4 and the Insolence of Crime,” examines the political structure that allowed such dangerous conditions to persist and, more importantly, the system that has survived largely unchanged in its aftermath. The question is not simply whether justice has yet to arrive, but whether the greater danger lies in the state’s ability to endure six entire years after a crime that should have fundamentally transformed it.

 

In Algeria, the debate over whether French should be replaced by English has become increasingly entangled with broader geopolitical and ideological tensions, often overshadowing the country’s actual linguistic and educational needs. In his discussion of Algeria’s “language question,” Algerian novelist and author Waciny Laredj rejects both the demonization of French and the uncritical glorification of English, arguing instead for a pragmatic, historically informed, and educationally sound approach to multilingualism.* French remains deeply embedded in Algerian society, from everyday communication to education and professional life, making its complete removal an enormous and potentially disruptive undertaking. At the same time, Laredj challenges narratives that portray French solely as a colonial legacy, pointing to moments in which the language played an important role in intellectual, political, and liberation movements. The question facing Algeria is not simply whether French should be replaced by English, but whether such a transition is practical, historically conscious, and genuinely beneficial to the country and future generations.

 

Across the Middle East and North Africa, superstition has long coexisted with religion, folklore, and everyday life. Beliefs surrounding the evil eye, divine curses, unseen forces, and supernatural causes for misfortune continue to shape how many people interpret disasters and hardship. While these traditions have deep historical roots, Algerian novelist and thinker Amin Zaoui argues in his essay, “When Natural Disasters Become a Breeding Ground for Superstition,” published in Independent Arabia, that their continued prominence carries consequences extending far beyond personal belief -- that is, superstition is not merely a harmless cultural practice but a force that can discourage critical thinking, perpetuate social injustice, and provide political authorities with a convenient escape from accountability.

 

Lebanese people often say that just as Egypt is the gift of the Nile, Lebanon is the gift of the Litani. Rivers create the ideal conditions for the rise of great civilizations, a connection acknowledged since ancient times through the worship and reverence of rivers in Greece, Egypt, Mesopotamia, and across the wider world. From the creation of myths and the birth of numerous fertility deities to celebrations, festivals, and offering ceremonies, rivers have been central to the lives of the communities surrounding them. “As the presence of water is inextricably linked to the presence of life — and its absence to death — it is hardly surprising that rivers, waterways, and their basins have frequently ignited wars and bloody conflicts among humanity,” states Shawqi Bzeih in “The Litani River: Guardian of Memory and Legend, Ignored by Poets,” published in Asharq al-Awsat.