03 July 2009

Editorial

Gad Elmaleh, "the funniest man in France," will not be tickling audiences this month at the Beiteddine Festival. Last Saturday, the French stand-up comedian and actor, of Jewish-Moroccan descent, announced he had cancelled his performances in Lebanon because of security concerns.

The story behind Elmaleh's absence kicked off last week when Hizbullah's television affiliate Al-Manar published a photo of the comedian next to a photo of an Israeli soldier in full combat attire bearing his likeness. The accusations began: Elmaleh is an avowed Zionist devoted to Israel's protection; he served in the Israeli army for four years; he participated in campaigns in both the Gaza Strip and Lebanon.

Whether or not these charges are true - organizers of the festival were quick to call the photo a forgery, and Elmaleh's manager flatly denied the claims - the argument taking place is legitimate. No Lebanese needs reminding of why Israeli soldiers are not welcome in our country. Timing has further complicated matters: Elmaleh's first performance was scheduled for the weekend of the third anniversary of the 2006 July War, from which Lebanon still bears considerable scars.

But with a lack of evidence to prove or disprove the accusations, we are left to speculation. Even if Elmaleh at one time served in the Israeli army - and this is indeed an if - what would his performance in Lebanon have meant? Might it at least have indicated a reciprocal curiosity and the ability to compartmentalize popular amusement from politics? As a world-famous comic and actor, Elmaleh stands on a public stage, one that is neither Israeli nor Jewish. His medium is comedy not propaganda, laughs not malice.

Although the absence of one comedian hardly dents the esteemed programs of Lebanon's many summer festivals, it underscores to the crude and dated rubric by which this country's partisan campaigns are waged and its political victories are measured.

Lebanon's ruling class is buried up to its ears in politicking and blind to creative problem solving. What if, for example, Walid Jumblatt, whose wife runs the Beiteddine festival, had offered to take Elmaleh and donate his shows' proceeds to one of Lebanon's overcrowded and underserviced Palestinian refugee camps? What's the more principled stance: building awareness or further engendering enmity?

The consequences of this deficiency are far broader than Elmaleh or the billing of summer festivals. The backwardness of Lebanon's political jockeying has prevented the country from moving ahead on issues that desperately require an innovative approach, like a long-running energy crisis or a haphazard environmental protection policy. The Elmaleh affair amounts to an opportunity lost, for the comedian, his prospective audience, and a country struggling to find a new way forward.

 

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