Amid Lebanon Blackouts, Dark Comedy Offers Glimmer of Light

Buildings are seen at night during a power cut in some areas in Beirut, Lebanon July 6, 2020. Picture taken July 6, 2020. (Reuters)
Buildings are seen at night during a power cut in some areas in Beirut, Lebanon July 6, 2020. Picture taken July 6, 2020. (Reuters)
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Amid Lebanon Blackouts, Dark Comedy Offers Glimmer of Light

Buildings are seen at night during a power cut in some areas in Beirut, Lebanon July 6, 2020. Picture taken July 6, 2020. (Reuters)
Buildings are seen at night during a power cut in some areas in Beirut, Lebanon July 6, 2020. Picture taken July 6, 2020. (Reuters)

Without electricity for air conditioning or fuel to reach the beach, two comedians are keeping cool in crisis-hit Lebanon by splashing around in an inflatable pool - in their living room.

“When the generator comes on, we’ll crank up the light to get a tan,” one of the women quips, part of a new wave of Lebanese opting to laugh in the face of disaster.

As the economic downturn deepens, Lebanese are increasingly turning to caustic comedy to mine humor from the everyday chaos, be it the rampant power cuts, hours-long lines at gas stations or the 90% currency devaluation.

“We’re showing how far we’ve fallen,” said Nathalie Masri, an advertising executive who launched the “Coffee Break” page with friend and associate Nadyn Chalhoub in 2018 with the tagline “Sarcasm is our means of survival”.

Their first posts were mostly social commentary, but when Lebanon’s financial collapse began a year later, the pair turned to the widespread daily shortages that shape daily life.

“Why do you need cooking gas? Just rub two rocks together and you’ll make a fire,” said Chalhoub in a May 2020 video.

Their “Lebanese 2021 Starter Pack” came with a logbook to track planned electricity outages in rationing and a generous handful of “anti-anxiety pills from abroad” - as most Lebanese pharmacies can no longer afford to stock them.

No laughing matter
Nor are they alone in finding humor in the new reality, with Lebanese social media awash with gallows humor.

The anonymous author of @Lebaneselira - whose Twitter bio declares “I’m collapsing” - posts quips about the lira’s volatile exchange rate on the black market.

WhatsApp chats, too, are filled with sardonic asides: jokes about the new “fashion trend” for half-ironed shirts amid all the power cuts or mock pride at Lebanon achieving zero carbon emissions as empty tanks keep cars home.

In a mock tutorial on Instagram, Farid Hobeiche shows his 156,000 followers how to turn fridges into extra clothes closets since blackouts had rendered them useless for food.

“It’s not about inspiration; it’s reality,” Hobeiche told the Thomson Reuters Foundation from his hometown of Ghazir, north of Beirut.

More than a jokey escape, he said the posts offer people a collective coping mechanism in a crisis the World Bank classifies as one of the worst in 200 years.

“I’m not doing comedy to make people laugh so hard that they pass out... But to make them feel hope - when they see someone still standing, still joking,” he said.

Countless studies show how humor helps the brain cope with hardship - even for Holocaust survivors or prisoners of war.

A 2014 study published in the Journal of Consumer Research found that “humorous complaining” could help people by reframing dire situations in a less negative way.

“When we share the pain and the reality, we cry together, but we can also laugh together at the absurdity of it,” said Shaden Esperanza, a stand-up comedian.

She has even joked about the exorbitant cost of imported feminine hygiene products, a subject that can still be seen as taboo in Lebanon.

“Viagra is subsidized by the government, but not tampons? I’ll gush blood all over you,” Esperanza repeated to the Thomson Reuters Foundation.

Darker days ahead
But with Lebanon’s economy in freefall, even its most playful observers feel it resembles a race to the bottom.

“What I used to be able to make fun of two weeks ago, I can no longer laugh at today - because the crisis is getting so much worse,” said Hobeiche.

Posting online may soon not even be an option, as shortages of fuel at telecomms centers have forced Lebanon’s state internet provider to cut connectivity in swathes of the country.

“I guess I’ll have to send my CV around,” he ribbed.

The “Coffee Break” hosts spoke to the Thomson Reuters Foundation from an office with no electricity, through a cellphone with a precariously dwindling battery.

The pair said they were considering working abroad as power and internet cuts had derailed work deadlines, while other shortages had prompted health worries for their young children.

“We want to be able to write, ‘I hope this email finds you well,’” joked Chalhoub.

“And have the email actually send,” Masri filled in.



Gaza High School Students Miss Final Exams as War Rages

 Destroyed buildings are pictured in Gaza, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, as seen near the Gaza coast, June 25, 2024. (Reuters)
Destroyed buildings are pictured in Gaza, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, as seen near the Gaza coast, June 25, 2024. (Reuters)
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Gaza High School Students Miss Final Exams as War Rages

 Destroyed buildings are pictured in Gaza, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, as seen near the Gaza coast, June 25, 2024. (Reuters)
Destroyed buildings are pictured in Gaza, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, as seen near the Gaza coast, June 25, 2024. (Reuters)

Majd Hamad, 18, dreams of becoming a doctor but the war in Gaza has left his textbooks buried under rubble amid relentless Israeli bombardment and has forced him, along with thousands of other young Palestinians, to miss his final high school exams.

"I was displaced from my house, and there were many books in there. I was hoping to get high grades (to get into university), but my house was destroyed and my books remain under the rubble," said Hamad.

Ironically, Hamad and his family are now living in a classroom at a school designated as a shelter after being forced early in the war to flee their home in Beit Hanoun in the northern Gaza Strip and move to Khan Younis in the south.

"I'm sad that I missed this school year. Sad because I would have been taking exams in this classroom where I currently live. I was hoping to get high grades and to graduate from this class and become a doctor," Hamad told Reuters.

"The war has destroyed many of our dreams, destroyed the dreams of many young people who were aiming high. It has left us with no energy or morale," said Hamad.

Palestinian officials say it is the first time in decades that high school exams are going ahead this month without the participation of students in Gaza.

Some 40,000 high school students in Gaza would normally be taking their final exams this month. A further 10,000 are doing so in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and the diaspora, and they would usually all take the exams at the same time.

Life for Hamad and his family, as for most of Gaza's 2.3 million residents, has instead become a daily struggle to survive amid Israel's military onslaught, the spread of hunger and shortages of basis items. He spends his days collecting water to drink and cleaning the classroom that is now home.

'BOOKS, NOT BOMBS'

Gaza's Education Ministry said in a statement that 450 high school students had been killed since the war erupted last October. Other Palestinian data showed more than 350 teachers and academics have been killed, while all 12 of Gaza's higher education institutions have been destroyed or damaged.

The current war began on Oct. 7 when fighters from Hamas, the group which has been running Gaza, attacked Israel, killing 1,200 people and taking 250 hostages, according to Israeli tallies.

The ensuing Israeli offensive has so far killed more than 37,600 Palestinians, Gaza health officials say, and laid waste to most of the tiny, densely-populated enclave.

An estimated 1,090 Gaza high school students will sit exams on Saturday in Cairo after they and their families managed to cross into Egypt before Israeli forces shut the border in May.

"Books, not bombs" read a banner held by one high school student during a gathering in Gaza last Saturday.

Back in Khan Younis, Hamad's mother Noha said they had hoped the war would end quickly and that he could return to his studies.

"But the war has gone on for a long time, it's destroyed us... I imagined that Majd would graduate from this class and (eventually) become a doctor. He would graduate and we would be happy for him, but this class has now become a shelter for us," she said.