'I awoke to the sound of bombs'

Jay Saxon '05 was studying Arabic in Beirut for the summer when the Israeli shelling of Beirut began. The following is an account written after the first bombs hit. As of July 17, Saxon remains in Lebanon, one of an estimated 20,000 Americans awaiting evacuation by the U.S. Government. Read his letters to family and friends, along with those of other Princetonians in the region, on our Princetonians in the Mideast blog.

BEIRUT, July 13 — I awoke to the sounds of bombs this morning.

To be honest, that's not entirely true. What I actually awoke to was the sound of my roommate's voice: "Dude, what the f-ck was that?" By "that," he meant the very large, very deep BOOM that came at 6:30 a.m., which (we think) was when the Israelis shelled every runway of the Beirut International Airport, closing it indefinitely. The airport is about seven miles from here, and if I walk three blocks from my dorm, I can see it clear as day.

This was actually not quite as unsettling as the night before, when the guy down the hall ran out saying "You can hear the bombs!" and I opened my window quite suddenly to the sight of quick, short flashes against the hazy sky. It wasn't that far away; it would be like standing at Vulcan and seeing flashes by Linn Park. It also wasn't that loud; the shelling sounded roughly the same as the pop of bottle rockets kids all over American set off last week on the Fourth of July. The difference is, these shells are to die for, and they don't stop after 100 feet.

My name is Jay Saxon. I spent the last year in Budapest, Hungary, as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar. The Sunrise Rotary Club of downtown Birmingham sent me abroad for a year to learn about the world, experience other cultures and share my perspective with as many as would listen; I have been spreading peace and understanding to the world, as best as I can.

Having a bit of money left at the end of my Master's program, my parents agreed to help fund my travel to Beirut, Lebanon for a six week program in Arabic this summer, taught at Lebanese American University (LAU). My reasons for coming here? Honestly? They were one: "Why not?"

Understanding the Middle East's growing importance as the eye of the storm of international conflict, combined with the West's gross misunderstanding of the people and culture of the Arab world, I thought that a basic knowledge of Arabic, combined with the a brief immersion in an authentic Arab society, would be beneficial for both my personal and professional development, and would be a perfect way to end my year as a cultural ambassador.

I got more than I bargained for.

The first two weeks of the program were great; we went to class (our professors were fantastic), we did our homework, we went out to experience the Beirut nightlife, and we took an exciting trip to Syria to see the land that time forgot. Incidentally, Syria has the nicest people I've ever met, outside the American South.

We heard that an Israeli soldier had been kidnapped by the Palestinians, but "those people" are always fighting, so what's new? Even when we heard that Hezbollah had captured two Israeli soldiers, it was par for the course. Since 1947, one religion has constantly been antagonizing the other, so again, beyond the requisite expressions of feigned concern, what's new?

That all changed last night when the bombs started to fall.

As I said above, I was awoken this morning at 6:30. I fell back into an uneasy sleep until 8 a.m., when small arms fire could be heard in the distance outside my window. Things quieted down as the heat of the day wore on, but this morning at noon, about a half hour before class ended, the loudest explosion yet rang out. We still don't quite know exactly what it was, but there are craters in South Beirut, and everybody smart has run away from there. South Beirut is the area controlled by Hezbollah, and "intelligence officials" (what that really means, we don't know) believe the captured soldiers could be held there.

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Incidentally, I learned something interesting last week. For those who don't know, "Hezbollah" translates literally to "the Party of God." As well, the "Allah" of Islam is the same God my Sunday School teachers taught me to worship at First United Methodist Church in downtown Birmingham. As I have just learned, both theologically and linguistically, the meanings of my Protestant "Praise Be to God" and "Allah Akhbar," which most Americans know only as "that thing the terrorists say," are identical.

Tensions have grown, diplomatically, militarily, and on the ground, and have been steadily and consistently exacerbated throughout the day. For some Western comfort, I walked down with five friends to the Starbucks near campus this afternoon, right on the Corniche (the long walkway in Beirut between the road and the sea). We sat and watched and bathed in the sun, and in the eerie calm, our world played pretend with peace. As we left, everyone looked at us. That doesn't sound like much, but I need to explain:

For a 22 year old native Alabama son, I've traveled a fair amount. I've gotten a lot of dirty looks in life. I've been in all black neighborhoods in "bad places" in the U.S.; all white neighborhoods in "bad places" in the U.S. and Europe; in Africa, where white people are often reviled; in Mexico, where my citizenship and relative wealth are the subjects of woe, envy and rage; in Russian-sympathizing areas of Ukraine, where all things Western are detested; and I've been picked on by schoolyard bullies who hated me because they could. I have never been looked at the way I was today. The looks were a complex amalgamation of things I can't quite articulate, but I will try. They contained awe, horror, anger, hatred, confusion and wonder. Sympathy, perhaps, but any humanity was so far buried beneath a jaded reality (after all, my country made many of the bombs currently falling all around me, and helps to fund the army and navy dropping them) as to be nearly unrecognizable.

I made too much eye contact, and it got to me. I wasn't the only one. We were all unnerved, and we got back to campus real quick.

Right now, as I write this, I'm holed up at LAU, and scared. Outside, no matter where I look, there are uniformed men with machine guns, but they are not guarding me. Two blocks away is the home of a current outspoken parliamentarian, the son of Rafik Hariri, the former Lebanese Prime Minister assassinated under shady circumstances early last year. He is a prime target of any conflict here. Needless to say, I don't quite feel safe.

The rumor mill abounds. All we "know," if you can call it that, is that there will be shelling tonight, and it will be all around us. We know the south of the city will get hit; Israel dropped leaflets today that said, basically, "Get the f-ck out." CIA and State Department sources (given that this is a program to learn Arabic, a number of students have "family or friends" who work for the government, though again, with the rumor mill, who really knows) tell us that it's possible that the Israelis will bomb Rue Hamra, which is Main Street in West Beirut, a few blocks north. For perspective, Hamra is 5th Ave. N., and I'm stuck between the fountain in Linn Park and Boutwell Auditorium.

We can't leave. There is no more airport (all runways shelled and inoperative), and there is a full sea and air blockade. The borders are closed or clogged, and Israel has said they will bomb the Beirut-Damascus highway tonight (the main route out of Lebanon). The roads aren't safe at night, and they may not be there tomorrow. As for the embassy getting us out, everyone there who matters was evacuated this morning, and nobody has heard anything since. For sake of comparison, the British embassy has left many of its personnel here, and has informed all British citizens in Lebanon of the evacuation plan, when and if it's necessary. There isn't one for us, as far as we know. That's the priority the U.S. government has on protecting its citizens. In other words, we're on our own.

We are scared, but we are told we are safe. Right. As for now, the scariest thing is not knowing what is going on. Every new rumor is fresh information, and every new bombing that passes is a blessing, as it is one that could have been near or on us. The scariest thing is honestly not bombs; Israel won't intentionally target these universities, and Hezbollah's arsenal doesn't contain any munitions of significant size to kill us all en masse. The scary thing (again, so says the rumor mill) is that roving gangs of armed, angry, pro-Hezbollah or anti-Israel youth may decide they want some hostages with pretty blue American passports. That's us, and these are often the types of gangs who, with a bit more formal training, saw the heads of captured Western hostages in less hospitable parts of the Middle East. I guess we can take comfort that the men with the big guns are outside, but again, their first priority isn't us.

As for now, I just hope we make it out ok. Chances are we will, but there is never a guarantee. I don't hate these people for who they are, and I hope they feel the same. I do hate what we are becoming, and even though I try to remind myself that this, too, shall pass, I worry about what will be left in its wake.

— The Israeli election: An American's view (March 31, 2006) Minda Lee-Arrow '04 examines the Israeli election following the country's withdrawal from Gaza the previous summer and the subequent election of Hamas by Palestinians.