Voting in Lebanon; A Cultural Experience

Today were the parliamentary elections in Lebanon. Usually they spread the elections over four consecutive Sundays, but for some reason, this time it was done in one batch. I never voted in Lebanon, never saw the need for it, but since so many people in my surroundings were planning on casting their vote, I figured I’d give it a try. A type of participating journalism, so to speak.

And so, this morning, I proceeded to the polling station. There’s one next to my house, but you cannot just vote anywhere you want, you have to go to the district where you are registered. ‘My’ polling station was in a school in Hamra. The mood on the street was good.

When I walked into the school yard, my heart sank; there must have been over 500 women standing in front of the door. Where were the men? They voted somewhere else. There were no lines (who needs lines when you can shove your way inside?), and so I elbowed myself a good distance to the door.

But when I had worked my way halfway the crowd, I got stuck. I couldn’t move one more inch. As I am quite a bit taller than most Lebanese women, I stood out, and it didn’t take long before I was asked; “Are you christian? If you’re christian, you do not have to wait.”

I’m all for positive discrimination; and under a “move aside, ya shjamea, here comes a christian,” I was hailed to the door by the ladies, and left the 500 or-something muslim women behind me.

I must say, it left a slightly odd feeling, that based on your religion you receive an obvious preferential treatment, but as nobody else seemed to mind, in I went.

I thought that was it as far as crowds go, but inside the building, it was even worse. I was sent from room to room, floor to floor, as nobody could quite figure out where to place me. Roman catholic, does that go under ‘roum” (Greek orthodox), or was I a “marouni” (Lebanese version of catholicism) ? Apparently you vote according to you religion as well. But no roman catholic was to be found in my district. After some phone calls, someone figured out I had been placed on the sunni list, and thus, I was to vote with the muslim ladies, who I had so very elegantly left behind me in the courtyard.

Or so I thought.

Because once I got to the room in question, there was an immense crowd of women. And one door. With a policeman. And he’d let one lady in, as another lady went out. But for some reason or another, this process went very slowly. VERY slowly. Did I say it went slowly? From the other side however, more women arrived. It was hot, there was no AC, no fresh air, no chairs, no water, and the ladies kept coming in. And in. And in.

And before long, the grumbling started. The older ladies were the fiercest of all. They’d elbow their way, all the way from the back, to the front, in no time at all, all the while screaming about ‘amaliyeh (operation), ‘marida’ (sick) and what not all. Women accompanying elderly ladies cunningly took advantage of that while shoving their geriatric relatives in front of them towards the door. And then came the pregnant ladies, and then the handicapped.

It was clear that a small revolution was brewing in this overheated menopausal crowd. Do not underestimate angry women. The fact that in the meantime, all the other rooms, where the greek-orthodox, and the maronites were voting, had nice, quiet line-ups, did not help much either to calm the angry mob.This poor guy had to do crowd control on his own. This is from inside the voting room; the angry mob is on the other side.

When another older lady was pushed towards the front by her daughter, all hell broke loose.

Angry women (lower the volume).

‘Ya zuma’a, we’re all old! We’ve been standing here for two hours now, what is this?’ Another woman yelled that they were old and pregnant too, and then the fighting started among each other. They insulted the police man, they insulted the people inside and they insulted the people next to them.

And in between I stood, with several other ladies, who thought it was very funny, and fired up the angry crowed some more with “Well said!”, “You’re right! Totally unacceptable!” and “There you go, granny! You tell 'em.”

A colonel was sent in, trying to calm the crowd, but it was not to be. Stars and stripes did not impress the ladies. He tried to get away with some jokes, but that didn’t fool them either. So he gave up.

And then, finally, the soldier lost his cool. He was the only barrier between the hot and angry crowd and the voting room. He had been pushed and pushed and pushed as each woman tried to worm and wiggle her way in. “ENOUGH!” he shouted. “BACK UP! BACK UP!”

There was silence.

For like a split second.

And then they erupted again. It was a fantastic experience. Next elections, count me in!

Some two hours later, I had shoveled my way all the way to the door, leaving behind me a group of very disgruntled women. Sweaty and smelly, I finally was able to deliver my vote.Which totally ruined my manicure.