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Article by Gabrielle Hodes, guest reporter continued on
Ski Trip
The view from our residence, Hammeau de Puy. Photo by Wang Di
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Gabrielle Hodes, post-ski day, making a snow angel. Photo by Wang Di A group of beginners tackling Jas, the main blue slope Photo courtesy of Gabrielle Hodes
Article by Gabrielle Hodes, guest reporter
When 2A Samanéa Rousseau, president of the Bureau des Sports (BDS) on campus, sent a flyer advertising a ski trip for students, I was apprehensive to sign up. The task of organizing a trip to the Alps for 50 SciencesPistes seemed Herculean and I was unsure whether it would work out. Now, after returning from the trip, I am so glad I went. The five-day experience was a great way to spend some time outdoors, connect with nature, and bond with other students. The adventure began with a schlep to the stadium. There, we boarded the bus that took us to SuperDévoluy, a ski resort a few hours north of Menton in the French Alps. The excitement was palpable — for the first few hours, everyone was chattering away. Our journey lasted around six hours, but in this distance, we managed to go from sunny Menton to snow-capped mountains.
After disembarking with our luggage, it was time to check into our rooms at the Hameau du Puy residence and get settled in. A few sighs of frustration later, (doing an état des lieux in a mountain hotel is no more fun than in a seaside apartment, especially with a 200 euro deposit on the line), we were ready to explore. I was most excited to play in the snow; it had been years since I had seen it piled up like that. We all immediately donned our snow pants and went outside. Suddenly, I felt a cold thud against my right shoulder. I turned around to see a gloating snowballs until we were all exhausted and ready for some beauty sleep. Though the sound of my alarm the next morning was not exactly welcome, I was excited to hit the slopes — skiing was a childhood favorite for me. I felt butterflies at the thought of returning to it now, at least a meter taller and 10 years older. Thankfully, the BDS took care of the equipment rental package, including the (objectively uncomfortable) ski boots and bright helmets. For beginners like 2A Paris Sistilli, it was a bit daunting to head out to experience the sport for the first time. However, there was an instructor waiting on the bunny hill to teach the 15-person group the basics. The rest of us split up to tackle what SuperDévoluy had to offer.
At first, people were more comfortable sticking to their friend groups from home or their flatmates. However, as the trip progressed, it became more practical to organize according to skill level and confidence, which meant spending quality time with people you may never have gotten to know. 1A Sienna Bertamini was pushed outside of her comfort zone and forced to make new relationships with 2As since not many people in her cohort decided to come. She explained that it was nice to build connections with people outside of her closer core. According to her, this bonding was especially fostered during group dinners and other collective activities. She said, “it was like Integration Week all over again … it definitely helped with bonding.”
Another 1A agreed, saying that interactions became more fluid by the second or third day. People bridged the gaps that usually split the Ummah. There was an overwhelming sense of solidarity and collaboration when it came to the sport, with advanced skiers often offering to help the beginners and pushing them to feel more confident. This led to a group of novices tackling a blue slope (easy-intermediate level) together for the first time!
Though the trip had some serious hiccups (a torn ligament here, sliced finger there), it was a really fun experience overall. We had amazing weather; all blue skies after fresh snow — nearly perfect powder conditions. Our beloved SciencesPistes became more comfortable both on and off the slopes — daring to dive into challenging skiing and dynamic conversations. As a 2A who is nearing the end of her time on campus, I thought this was an exciting way to kick off the semester, as it fostered bonding across the Ummah and helped me start the year on the right foot.
“Afrita Hanem” ou l’âge d’or du cinéma égyptien !
Article par Morgane Abbas, journaliste invitée
Amour et humour ! Voilà donc les deux élixirs utilisés par Henry Barakat qui, ensemble, forment la potion magique d’un succès mérité. Avec dans son casting une admirable Samia Gamal au sourire aussi radieux que malicieux, ainsi qu’un Farid Al-Atrache dont la prodigiosité musicale et artistique n’est plus à prouver, l’âge d’or du cinéma égyptien est bien en marche. Aux allures hollywoodiennes, “Afrita Hanem” nous emporte avec légèreté dans le riche univers qu’est la comédie musicale. Une comédie qui, certes, est loin de divertir Asfour, l’élégant chanteur gratifié par son talent et son sens du romantisme, mais infortuné par le poids de sa place dans l’échelle sociale…
D’ailleurs, l’amour et la musique s’entremêlent divinement, comme en témoignent les nombreuses scènes où le brio de Farid al-Atrache est mis en avant. Il s’y livre à ce que nous pourrions qualifier une exaltation du sentiment amoureux, presque hyperbolique, dans toutes ses dimensions. Sa voix divine est mise en avant tout au long du film à travers des pièces musicales qu’il écrit lui-même, ce qui peut parfaitement s’apparenter au chant d’un oiseau qui prend son envol, d’où le choix non anodin du prénom “Asfour” (oiseau en arabe). Un amour passionnel, douloureux ou nostalgique… Ainsi, ce prénom, c’est aussi l’allusion, comme le montre l’une des dernières scènes du film, à un oiseau prisonnier d’une cage, d’un amour impossible... “يبیبح ای” (“ya habibi”, “ô mon amour”) est répété un nombre incalculable de fois, et est d’ailleurs le miroir de cette omniprésence. Certaines scènes possèdent même une dimension shakespearienne: l’un récitant ses paroles d’amour, l’autre l’écoutant passionnément du haut de son balcon, comme le feraient Roméo et Juliette, ou encore Cyrano de Bergerac et Roxanne !
Cependant, comme nous n’avons pas omis de le mentionner plus haut, cet amour, sous toutes ses facettes, est toujours accompagné par l’humour, comme s’ils étaient intrinsèquement liés. D’abord, c’est le scénario en lui-même qui est comique, notamment grâce à la dimension imaginaire et fantastique que Henry Barakat introduit dans son film, ce qui lui donne une grande originalité. Ainsi, l’invisible Kahramana use de ses pouvoirs magiques pour rendre la vie impossible à Asfour, par jalousie de son amour, bien que non réciproque, pour Alia. Mais ce côté humoristique est également présent à travers d’autres personnages, comme Boqo, notamment parce que nous pouvons observer que son jeu d’acteur est presque théâtral ! Parfois excessif et démesuré, nous nous attachons rapidement à sa nature presque niaise. D’autres scènes sont également très divertissantes, comme celles où Alia, en parlant à ses deux amants en même temps, fait croire à Asfour qu’elle accepte son mariage avec elle, de quoi faire tourner la tête à ce dernier… D’ailleurs, au début du film, nous pourrions même croire que la “Afrita”, la “diablesse”, c’était elle, avant que n’émerge le personnage de Kahramana. Pourtant, nous devons nous tenir d’affirmer que parce que l’humour joue un rôle central dans le film, ce dernier est seulement au service de notre divertissement, loin de là ! En y prêtant attention, beaucoup de messages sous-jacents peuvent être interprétés. D’abord, un questionnement d’ordre philosophique est notamment incarné par le mystérieux vieil homme, synonyme de sagesse et d’expérience de vie : qu’est-ce que le vrai bonheur et en existet-il un? Comment l’atteindre ? La question de la valeur de l’amour est également abordée. A travers les personnages de Asfour et Mimi Bey qui représentent des idéaux complètement opposés, et Alia au centre qui joue sur deux tableaux, nous relevons la vision dichotomique entre un amour loyal et sincère d’un côté, et de l’autre un amour fallacieux motivé par une avidité d’argent. L’esquisse d’une critique matérialiste ainsi que du poids des classes sociales dans la configuration des relations peut être aperçue.
Additionnellement, il est clair que le réalisateur offre une vision du monde oriental et de la société égyptienne qui diffère grandement du cinéma colonial des décennies précédentes. Affirmons-le, il s’agit de mettre en avant les spécificités orientales, pas de les dénigrer ! Comparons seulement ce type de film à ceux du genre colonial ! D’abord, d’un point de vue du genre, on assiste à une redéfinition de la masculinité, notamment à travers Asfour, présenté comme un homme raffiné, séducteur, élégant, romantique et respectueux avec la gente féminine. L’émotion, la sensibilité et la fibre artistique sont valorisées. L’image de la femme arabe elle-même est en parfaite opposition avec celle présentée par les films occidentaux précédents. Elle est émancipée, nous la voyons par exemple jouer aux cartes avec les hommes sans difficulté. Cependant, nous pourrions nous demander s’il ne s’est pas opéré une régression des mœurs qui paraissent à cette époque plus ouvertes que celles de la société égyptienne contemporaine. Ainsi, à maintes reprises, le réalisateur ne se gêne pas à exposer des scènes de baisers, ce qui serait plus tabou aujourd’hui.
Le cinéma arabe, notamment égyptien, a su manier de manière extrêmement subtile les outils cinématographiques d’abord développés en Occident au service des sociétés arabes. Ce film en est le parfait exemple, en témoignent les effets d’optique et de transition plutôt réalistes qui accompagnent l’apparition du fantastique et de l’imaginaire. Ces outils, ce sont aussi les codes de la comédie musicale à l’hollywoodienne. Si l’on retrouve beaucoup de similitude de cette dernière à travers les danseurs, les costumes, les mises en scènes, et même certains schèmes musicaux, c’est néanmoins les spécificités de l’art arabe qui sont mises en avant, notamment avec la mise en lumière d’instruments comme le Qanûn et sa sonorité si particulière et raffinée ! Il s’agit donc réellement de s’approprier les outils les plus modernes du cinéma de l’époque à des fins revendicatives et artistiques propres au cinéma arabe, et égyptien dans ce cas plus précis. Si l’on associe cela avec la popularité des acteurs, qui comme Farid al-Atrach sont des icônes de la musique dans la vraie vie, tous les éléments sont rassemblés pour que “Afrita Hanem” soit une des pièces maîtresses du cinéma égyptien !
Bratislava
Article by Lara Nour Walton, staff writer
After a day of peeling buildings, ornery weather, bald men, and stale pastries, 1A Sami Omaish with distant Slovak roots, finally ceded: “I can see why my ancestors left.” On our November break, our travel group decided to take a day trip from Vienna and explore its cipher of a neighbor: Bratislava. When Omaish enthusiastically pitched this Slovak pitstop, I was indifferent. Perhaps I would sample some pierogis, ogle at a blue church, strut down another cobbled European alley. But I grew skeptical after sharing my vacation plans with seasoned travelers. “I’m going to Bratislava for break!” I proudly announced to 1A Emilio Egger Prieto, to which he responded with a simple but damning “why?” When I briefed my grandfather about my Bratislavan prospects, he chuckled and informed me that he had gone there on business. “My colleagues and I called it Boring-slava,” he quipped.
When I shared my newfound misgivings, Omaish emerged as an unusually staunch defender of the Slovak capital — he insisted that we must go. When travel companion, 1A Gayle Krest, remarked from the train that the city’s outskirts looked industrial, Omaish angrily accused her of “judging Bratislava before seeing the old town.” And after observing Omaish’s suspiciously eager behavior in a subpar souvenir shop, I began to wonder whether he might be secretly employed by the Slovak government to propagandize to Sciences Po students and drum up local tourism.
I suspected him of such collusion because I simply failed to see what he saw in this contradictory metropolis. I have been to cities that do not make sense — Gainesville, Florida for instance — but never have I been as baffled as I was in Bratislava. The capital boasts an unnerving blend of East and West. Soviet-era highrises, panelaks, clumsily mix with buildings that look to be the architectural manifestations of wedding cakes. The language resides in limbo liminal space between Czech and Polish. The men wear full Adidas tracksuits. And yet, the women expertly don the dark and cutting-edge Berliner fashion.
First on our agenda was a hot lunch. We settled on an empty restaurant that promised traditional Slovak meals. A picture of a sneering moose inexplicably graced the eatery’s façade and menus. The food was filling — latkes and Slovak cheese dumplings, pierogies — but our travel group of five was forced to split due to a puzzling Bratislavan Covid-19 guideline. Two of us were made to sit at one table, while the remainder were seated elsewhere. We were separated by an awkward distance that impeded conversation but facilitated an expressive exchange of confused glances.
When we got to our second destination, the Primate’s Palace, there was no one there. The museum employees, fearful that the day’s only visitors would leave on account of the meager ticket fee, offered us free admission. The tapestries inside were spectacular but discolored by the copious amounts of sun streaming through the windows. I pitied the city. Bratislava is faded, abandoned, frequented by few, forgotten by most.
We wandered aimlessly about this tragic city. We found an altar for aborted babies, a flower market under fluorescent lights, and a clothing store selling t-shirts plastered with the pope’s face. But with the lowering sun, Bratislava cooled and our limbs weakened. We moved languidly, in a seemingly impossible quest to find a steaming cup of joe and a quick bite. As de facto French people habituated to croissants in every other establishment, we were dismayed at the difficulty of this task. But, this initial dismay only deepened when we finally did stumble upon a cafe an hour and a half later. 1A Julien Zeman got a coffee — nothing to write home about. Omaish got a crescent-shaped fig newton — bizarre, but not inedible. Krest, however, bought a slice of what she thought was chocolate cake. Much to her confusion, the pastry’s brown color could not be accounted for by the flavors present on her palate. “It was the texture of dried-out cottage cheese and tasted like that as well. I took a bite and there was a (full) lemon seed in it, so I threw that ish away,” said Krest.
After the cafe ordeal, 1A Ellie Carter purchased a bagel. It was surprisingly delicious. And that is the part about Bratislava that makes me inexplicably sad. It can be pleasant at times, espousing a rare delight — one that can only be found in places where you would least expect it.
Perhaps if I had shared Omaish’s open-mindedness I might have appreciated the city more. But, alas, my skepticism hindered me from enjoying what little charm Bratislava had to offer.
Photo courtesy of Lara Nour Walton
Photo courtesy of Lara Nour Walton
Albania: An Emerging Nation Full of Surprises
Photo by Saoirse Aherne
Article by Greta Murgia and Federica Ballardini, guest reporters
Albania is a little-explored destination for the holidays and remains a mystery to most. When one thinks about vacation destinations in the Balkans, the first place that comes to mind is Greece and its numerous islands, followed by Croatia for those looking for a more alternative destination and wilder environment. Albania, with its variegated nature, delicious food, and low prices, is rarely within the top ten places to visit.
I expected to travel to one of Europe’s more cosmopolitan locations, like Budapest or Prague, for my November break. But, my friends had opted for a more obscure choice: Albania. Upon hearing of this change of plans, I was shocked. But after this initial reaction I thought to myself: Albania? Why not? It was a destination I had never considered, but the plan seemed interesting and I decided to give it a chance.
When I told people I was going to Albania, I would always get the same confused look, followed by the question: “Albania? What’s there to do in Albania? Why aren’t you going to a normal place like Amsterdam or Berlin?” And my answer was, over and over: “I don’t know, I’ll find out.” And I did.
People were generally exceptionally kind and generous. Everyone was up for a chat, everyone had a smile in their pocket, ready to be exchanged with strangers. Theth: nature, hot chocolate, and a soaking-wet hike.
Tortuous roads, dogs, and grapes I, along with seven friends, arrived in Tirana by plane. Having spent the first night in the metropolitan capital, we decided to go north to spend some time in nature. Getting to Theth – a small town almost at the border with Montenegro, known for its National Park and beautiful nature – was already a challenge. We first had to take a three hour bus to Shkodër, the biggest city of the northern region, followed by another three hour drive in a private minivan on endless tortuous curves. To get to Theth, we passed by the national prison and numerous majestic white villas, constructed in the middle of nowhere. When we asked why there were such big houses in deserted places, we were told that the Albanians have the belief that the best way to keep and invest their money is through construction. Therefore, they build huge villas in remote areas, which ends up being disastrous as an investment. Once we arrived in Theth, we understood just by looking around why it had been so hard to get there, and we asked ourselves how it was possible that other people, apart from us, had been able to reach it. In fact, we were the only tourists (and girls) in the apparently empty town. We were guests at a beautiful family-owned cabin, with grapes hanging throughout the whole garden, an ice-cold fountain with potable water, a chimney in the common room and a beautiful view of the valley from our bedroom windows. The town was home to several unfriendly dogs that barked at us as we passed by, a beautiful church connected to a cemetery, sheeps, closed cabins, one shop, and one restaurant. Because we were in low-season, we got the “true” Theth experience. We were asked several times by locals why we had decided to go there for our vacation. We found an answer to the question the following day, when we went for our long-awaited hike. Water, water, and more water When we woke up the next morning though, it was pouring rain and the beautiful view from our window had disappeared. We could not even see the garden beneath us due to the fog that surrounded us. As we had to go back to Tirana the following day to meet two other friends that were arriving to join us on the trip, our only chance to go on the hike was that day. So we asked the owner of the cabin for some garbage bags, we opened holes for the head and the arms, and we started what can only be defined as an adventure. After the first five minutes of the hike, we had barely any dry skin left, and when we got to the top, we could not see much further
than our noses. At that moment, we had to imagine the beautiful view we had been told we would see. However, as we went down, the sun came out for long enough to clear the sky, and it allowed us to see the mountains, the valley, At that moment, we had to imagine the beautiful view we had been told we would see. However, as we went down, the sun came out for long enough to clear the sky, and it allowed us to see the mountains, the valley, and the horizon. The rain had been worth enduring, and the view was stunning. and the horizon. The rain had been worth enduring, and the view was stunning. Once back to the cabin, dry and warm, we enjoyed home-made fresh and delicious food and a hot chocolate that resembled more a pudding than common hot chocolates. That became our passion throughout the whole trip. At any café, restaurant or bar we would visit, we would always order hot chocolate. But none of them beat the one in Theth. The filling breakfast we received from the cabin every morning, which included fried eggs, cheese, butter, jam, bread, pancakes, juice, coffee, and tea, was also voted as one of the best parts of the whole trip.
Tirana is also a stage for history.
Korçë
The delicious food and Our time in Korçë began in overall welcoming and warm population, the beautiful the late afternoviews of nature, the crystal- on. A shaky bus drove us for four line sea that borders Greece and Croatia, as well as the hours throucontroversial and incredibly gh the most rich history, render Albania unimaginable an interesting destination to landscapes. visit. Rolling hills lay all around the winding road; forests exploded with fall colors at each turn, and we stumbled upon rural architecture. We stopped half way through for some of the typical rice – flavorful Basmati rice, cooked with lemon and eaten with meat or vegetables. We arrived in Korçë as the sun was setting through the glassless window panes of an abandoned building. We walked to our hotel. We were astonished by its grandeur. It was a modern structure on the outside, rustic and cozy on the inside. We walked up to our room to find a suite with a bathtub, lounge area and a beautiful view of the Orthodox church. Dinner was outstanding. The traditional cuisine (beans, grilled vegetables, hummus, feta cheese) met just the right amount of hips-
Tirana
We moved to the center of the town. The streets were pebbled and framed by low buildings that housed cafés. We wandered around and I came across a traditional bakery. On a large wooden table lay a batch of bread loaves waiting to be baked in a huge stove. I peeked inside; a small queue of people were buying their daily bread. The man inside saw me and inquired whether I was a tourist. Most of the people in the line spoke fantastic Italian. The baker gave me a freshly baked loaf of bread; I thanked him and reached for my wallet. He did not want me to pay; it is a gift, he says. It was not the only time that we got gifts from complete strangers. A man in a store offered to pay for my water, since I still struggled with the Albanian currency. People were generally exceptionally kind and generous. Everyone was up for a chat, everyone had a smile in their pocket, ready to be exchanged with strangers.
ter, new age foods (avocado, sweet potatoes …). It was the perfect marriage. We sipped on Spritz and ate chocolate dessert. Is this what happiness feels like? Midterms had been the week before, so we had forgotten what that meant.
We slept tight after delighting each other with a night of Disney karaoke. We woke up ready to take on Korçë. After breakfast (delicious, needless to say), we begin the day by visiting the Orthodox church. It was astonishing. Saints with decapitated heads in their hands populated the golden walls. We argued about how old the church might be. Turns out it is not that old, but we still really like it; it’s vintage.
Tirana
Tirana is not a beautiful city where it’s easy to romanticize life or remain stunned in front of grandiose buildings. Instead, it is a big city where moving through public buses is hard, many neighborhoods are poor, and life is not led to please the tourists. It is also a place where the small pleasures that make life unique are hidden. Take the bakery under the apartment we were staying at, for instance. The delicious sweets we had in the morning. The central market, where old people gathered to sell garlic, beans, and their old jewelry, where everyone was happy to help and have a chat. The small burek shops, where talking with your hands was the only, powerful way to make a connection despite the lack of a common language. Ah, the language! Hearing Albanian all around, such a unique language; it tastes like almonds to me; it sounds like a hug; it looks like affection. Tirana is also a stage for history. We spent a few hours in a bunker, which is now a museum covering colonial times to communist regime history. Sure, history often fails to acknowledge the experiences of real people– those who live it, those who make it everyday. Despite that historiographical paradigm, Tirana’s buildings and people told the story. The coexistence of mosques, Orthodox and Catholic churches, people’s attitudes, the typical food, the general vibe of the city. It all assumes even more value as one uncovers the past about what has made this place so distinctive. We wanted to visit the other history museum, to gain a deeper understanding of what existed before. Sadly, it was closed, but by then we were intrigued. We knew we wanted to come back and see more of this country. It was evening, and we had to hurry back to the apartment to pack and tidy up the place. We were leaving the following day at three in the morning. As I looked out of the taxi window, I had my main character moment. I find it funny, I thought to myself, how I’ve ended up in a place I would have never imagined to visit, that I had not prepared myself for, for which I had had no expectations. I did not give in to cheesy clichés. I believe that I went home with different perspectives, new insights, and new friendships. Because I had the chance to visit a place where our modern perspective has not yet managed to take over, I was pleasantly surprised by what I didn’t know existed.
Tirana is not a beautiful city where it’s easy to romanticize life or remain stunned in front of grandiose buildings. Instead, it is a big city where moving through public buses is hard, many neighborhoods are poor, and life is not led to please the tourists. Reflections: old and new, Italian and Burek This trip has helped me reflect on the impact of history not only on a country’s political system and economy, but also on the deep and lasting change it creates in society. Albania opened up to commerce and tourism only in 1992, after over 40 years of isolation under Hoxha’s communist regime. It is fascinating to notice how, despite being on the border with rather developed nations such as Greece and Croatia, Albania is ontologically different from what one would expect. In fact, with its service-based economy, most goods are imported, and the majority of the population speaks better Italian than English. Albania even became part of the Kingdom of Italy during the fascist rule in the 1930s and 40s, so Islam coexists with Christianity. The new capitalist economy is bringing money into the nation,
incomes from Albanians abroad are being sent home, and all of this investment is enabling the destruction and reconstruction of vast areas of Albania, especially the capital, Tirana. Brand new sky-scrapers are seen rising above Is this what happiness feels like? Midterms had been the week before, so we had forgotten what that meant. rural and simple constructions, Christian and Orthodox churches can be seen not far from mosques, and in bars and cafes the great majority are men. On the streets, handcarts selling fruits and vegetables give the impression of an exotic land on the other side of the world, but the espressos served in the cafés (which could compete with the ones made in Italy) remind the tourists where they are. Albania is a nation that has been on the waiting list to become part of the European Union since 2014, and it aspires to the wealth and well-being it sees in its neighboring states. These are some of the reflections that came to I did not give in to cheesy clichés. I believe that I went home with different perspectives, new insights, and new friendships. me during this trip, at once both eye-opening and enriching. Conclusion
The delicious food and overall welcoming and warm population, the beautiful views of nature, the crystalline sea that borders Greece and Croatia, as well as the controversial and incredibly rich history, render Albania an interesting destination to visit. The emerging nature of the country’s economy and the cheap prices make it accessible. But,
Albania will not be the same in ten
Photo by Saoirse Aherne
years. Modernity and tourism will have changed its roots. It is wiser to go sooner rather than later. Albania is a place that is changing right in front of our eyes. It is happening right now. There is a strong wave of modernization being fostered. However, tradition and culture still manage to elbow their way through modern buildings, restaurants and cafès.
Most of all, the spirit of the country and its people really shine through, and that is what I will most remember from this trip. When you travel to a very touristic destination, you almost expect a detached kindness from the side of the staff. What we found in Albania, however, was completely novel: a sincere, genuine warmth and open-heartedness from everyone we encountered on our journey.
These are my takeaways from this trip: • Don’t limit yourself to usual destinations, there is much more to discover that was not already on some famous person’s Instagram feed. • Take the time to look for curious, unusual things both in your travels and in your hometown. • When you can, engage in exchanges with strangers. Talk to people and learn about the world — this is a fantastic means for finding inspiration and magic everywhere you go. When I think back to our day in Korçë, for example, I struggle to rationalize it. I feel like it exceeded the temporal lines. It was a magical cocktail of memories and sensations.
There are moments in life when you feel like you are truly living. Not existing, not being alive, but living. It’s when you make music and talk to strangers and explore streets and rediscover the magic of humankind. You cannot create those moments artificially. You cannot look for them. You can just welcome them when they come and try to make the most of them. We can assure you that we definitely did.
To you, our readers, we can only recommend to open your hearts to exploration and to visit Albania!
To many more adventures to come!
The Israeli Occupation of Palestinian Territories Threatens the Environment
Another reason why indifference towards the Arab-Israeli conflict is intolerable
Artile by Margherita Cordellini, staff writer
The 2021 United Nations Climate Change Conference of Parties (COP26), which took place in Glasgow in November, was depicted by the media as a theater of — sometimes empty — promises and of implicit defeats. People expressed their indignation towards Narendra Modi’s last-minute intervention, and India was accused multiple times of prioritizing political and economic aims over the commitment to avoid a global catastrophe. Public opinion deemed this action as intolerable. However, the Glasgow Climate Conference silently witnessed the denouncement of another state that includes in its political agenda an enormous quantity of CO2 emissions: Israel. On the second day of the international conference, the prime minister of the State of Palestine, Mohammad Shtayyeh, reiterated his denouncement of the Israeli occupation defining it as the “most critical long-term threat to the Palestinian environment.” It was not the first time that worrying data concerning the issue had been presented, as it was not the first time that the situation went almost unnoticed on an international scale. For instance, in 2012 the United Nations (UN) raised the alarm by announcing that Palestine would have been inhabitable by 2020 if Israel did not radically modify its expansionary and repressive policies. The human characteristic to adapt to inhumane conditions was once again underestimated.
The Applied Research Institute-Jerusalem (Arij) published several reports which clearly affirmed that, not only do the inhabitants of the Occupied Palestinian Territories (OPT) suffer from the Israeli occupation, but so does the climate. The report published in 2007, perhaps the most complete one, illustrates in detail all the consequences of the Israeli occupation, which are supported by sound scientific evidence. In 2018 another report was issued, which showed rapid escalation of the problem. Given the complex nature of the issue, this article will seek to summarize the most devastating climatic problems that Palestine is facing because of foreign occupation.
Israel’s settlement project in the OPT is grounded on four main pillars: expansion, segregation, fragmentation, and resource exploitation. First of all, one of the main objectives of the Israeli occupation has been expansion, and consists of ensuring control over Area C, an administrative division following the Oslo accords, that represents 66 percent of the West Bank. The Arij report of 2007 underscores the dichotomic appearance of the Palestinian landscape. On one side, Palestinian villages are built on non-fertile soil and favor the organic development of the landscape, on the other one, Israeli settlements are scattered significantly on agricultural lands situated in strategic positions such as the Jordan Valley, in the West Bank’s western edges and the Jerusalem area. Thus, Israel’s expansion entails destruction of cultivations and deforestation: Prime Minister Shtayyeh drew attention to the fact that Israel has uprooted approximately 2.5 million Palestinian trees since 1967, 800 thousand of which were olive trees. Moreover, the settlements are typically characterized by their enormous sizes. This has a twofold aim: to attract colonists and to cover as much land as possible.
Since 1967, Israel has been trying to convince the world that the solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict is the segregation of Palestinian communities. This statement is undoubtedly misguided both from a humanitarian and a climatic perspective. The main way of establishing a situation of apartheid is the development of two distinct road networks. Colonists have at their disposal an increasing number of streets, which are mostly strictly forbidden to Palestinians, so that the journey time from the settlements to Israel decreases. Furthermore, Israeli settlements are surrounded by “security streets” of thousands of square kilometers which have no purpose other than circumscribing the living area of the colonists. This further fragments the Palestinian Territories, which are already constituted by two separate land masses. The result of the apartheid regime to
Photo courtesy of Montecruz Foto
which Palestinians are subject is a disproportionate quantity of CO2 emissions caused by an unavoidable traffic jam. For instance, in order to go from the villages to the main cities of the OPT, local inhabitants are forced to face longer journeys in order to avoid Israeli settlements and pass checkpoints, as is now required. The former obstacle is responsible for the supplementary yearly emission of 196 thousand tons of CO2, whereas the latter, according to the Arij report of 2018, for the annual waste of 80 million liters of fuel in the West Bank. In such cases, a classical solution would be the implementation of a public transportation system. However, the fragmentation of the territory and the highly limited freedom of movement of Palestinians makes it impossible. Israel’s occupation of Palestine is also a story of exploitation. From a resources point of view, Israel parasitically avails itself of Palestinian water. For instance, Palestine is currently undergoing a severe problem of water scarcity. The Arij report of 2007 shows how Israel has been exploiting the territory’s hydric resources since the beginning of the occupation in 1967. In the area, the Jordan River System, the Coastal Aquifer and the West Bank Aquifer System are the three main water resources, and theoretically, they should be shared with Palestine. However, Israel is in control of all of them. Since the occupation, Palestinians are denied their rightful access to the Jordan River and they are compelled to give Israel more than 80 percent of the water coming from the West Bank Aquifer. As a result, the per capita share of water of West Bank inhabitants (excluding settlers) is 79.1 liters per day, whereas in the Gaza Strip, it is 79.9, much lower than the daily required standard recommended by the World Health Organization (WHO), which is 100-150 liters per person. Repercussions are visible not only in the progressive decrease of Palestinians’ living standards but also in the indirect climatic impact. In fact, given the limited availability of hydric resources, Palestinians are forced to exploit the Gaza Aquifer system. Because of its over-usage, 96 percent of its water is undrinkable. Thus, a CO2-consuming purification plant is required. Without considering the impact that such measures have on the inhabitants’ daily lives, we can still evaluate the enormous environmental consequences, which originate also from
The marginalization of the necessity of transporting the the Arab-Israeli question treated water. in the international political discourse can no The marginalization of the Arab-Islonger be justified: it is raeli question in the international not only a private issue, political discourse can no longer but a collective one be justified: it is not only a private since it is indissolubly issue, but a collective one since it is tied to the concept of indissolubly tied to the concept of climate justice. climate justice.
An “Insider’s” Perspective on Lebanon
Image of ‘Independence 1975-1990’ from the series ‘Beirut calls the future generations’(2010-2011) by Lebanese artist Laure Ghorayeb. The collage explores the difficult years recovering from the 1975 Civil War and symbolizes the sources of trans-generational trauma experienced by many Lebanese. Laure Ghorayeb — Image by Emilia Kohlmeyer
Article by Angela Saab Saade, guest reporter
I grew up in an unstable household. My parents divorced when I was young and I struggled with inconsistency through much of my childhood. Yet, I never felt afraid in my own home. I found safety in my own comfort zone. I found that comfort in my native country, Lebanon.
But, something changed upon moving to France for university.
As students on the Menton Campus, many of us are familiar with the current situation in Lebanon. However, being a Lebanese citizen, born and raised near Beirut, I find it necessary to clarify a few things — a few things that I deem only an “insider” may truly understand.
Despite what the media and statistics portray, Lebanon’s biggest issue is not the current economic crisis. Our biggest concern is not whether or not the inflation rate will decrease tomorrow. Though most of us have been conditioned to check the Lebanese Lira-United States Dollar exchange rate first thing in the morning, our collective suffering goes beyond that. Despite the garbage crisis, the corruption circulating our institutions, the confessional system that creates much damage, the unconstitutionality of our constitution, our poverty rate increasing drastically by the day, and our lack of access to basic needs, the Lebanese people suffer from a phenomenon that encompasses all those factors, and more. It would be belittling to reduce the populace’s suffering to those circumstances alone. The suffering of the Lebanese can not be limited to numbers or pictures or thousands and thousands of words describing the current situation. The Lebanese’s biggest dilemma is that they have been stripped of their dignity. It is that progressive gradual reduction of our collective dignity that makes us so numb to pain and suffering today, so accustomed to constantly increasing destruction, and so exhausted of revolution, of protest, and of trying to bring
about change.
The trauma my ancestors held from previous wars, conflicts, and patterns of colonization live in me. The trauma my parents held from the 15-year Civil War equally lives in me. The trauma that the entire Lebanese population holds today from the August 4 2020 explosion of Beirut lives in me. The trans-generational trauma, developed from trust issues rooted in broken promises and false hope in figures of authority, lives in me. That trauma lives in each Lebanese. That trauma haunts our households and takes over our streets. I see it in the conversation I have with the taxi driver about the hopelessness of the nation. I see it in the smile of the old lady sitting on her balcony, in a half-demolished home (not yet recovered from the 1975 Civil War), sipping her Turkish coffee, smoking her morning cigarette, and watching over Beirut with a bit of nostalgia and a lot of regret. I see it everywhere. The worst part though is that I cannot unsee it. Once you’ve noticed those issues of trust, of commitment, and of abandonment that the Lebanese collectively suffer from, you cannot unsee what you have seen. Once you have noticed the collective depression, you cannot help but feel guilty for feeling content. That collective survivor’s guilt is not just felt by those of us able to flee, but also felt by those of us who stay. To be alive in this country today is just as much of a privilege as being able to escape it.
I knew all of this before moving to France. I felt it, I saw it, and I coped with it. But, upon coming back from France, Lebanon no longer felt the same. I no longer felt safe. What’s worse though, is that I was no longer able to be an “insider.”I could no longer relate to the constant struggles of traffic and stress on the way to work or university. I was no longer able to answer the taxi driver with ‘yes, we’re all stuck here unfortunately.’I was not stuck here. I felt like a hypocrite – a hypocrite for enjoying the liberty of calling myself Lebanese without the struggles of being Lebanese. And so today, though I am giving you a glimpse of Lebanon as an “insider,” I feel as much of an “outsider” as the foreigners do.
This is not a new phenomenon, however. The number of Lebanese citizens that have fled Lebanon since the Civil War has been constantly on the rise. As a result, a lot of the Lebanese population understands what I mean when I say that once you leave, you can no longer see things the same way. You can longer change the fact that you are on the “outside.” The new phenomenon that I noticed, however, is the creation of a new social class in Lebanon: the social class that has access to foreign currency, more notably the US dollar. The Lebanese have always been divided into separate social classes — those that live abroad and send remittances to the “insiders” and those that reside locally. But today, a new social class exists — the “dollar class.” And consequently, more inequality exists, a new form of discrimination emerges, and dependence on foreign parties increases. This trend has harmed Lebanese trust in their own people, their government, and their local resources. And so, the government not only “killed my people,” but it equally deprived them of achieving and maintaining trust in themselves and in each other. This is exacerbated when the politicians successfully manage to flip the table around and accuse us of “voting
for them” — an act that I believe is ultimately one of the worst forms of psychological abuse.
But, as the reputation correctly affirms, the Lebanese people are resilient. And though I hate saying that, because it leads to all the more of romanticizing what should not be romanticized, I do strongly believe that we are resilient enough to regain and re-establish trust in each other. Despite our history and our reality showing otherwise, I do still have hope that Lebanon
That trauma haunts our households and takes over our streets. I see it in the conversation I have with the taxi driver about the hopelessness of the nation. I see it in the smile of the old lady sitting on her balcony, in a half-demolished home (not yet recovered from the 1975 Civil War), sipping her Turkish coffee, smoking her morning cigarette, and watching over Beirut with a bit of nostalgia and a lot of regret.
will get back on its feet. There is no possibility that substantial changes — be they economic, political or social — will be taking place any time soon. Anyone with basic knowledge of economics and politics would know that. However, what research and data do not forcibly reveal is the gradual collective change in mindset taking place today.
According to psychological theory, thought cycles are not within one’s control. Hence, if one wishes to recondition themselves and influence their thoughts, they must make the conscious effort of changing their behavior to eventually develop a change in thought patterns. Lebanese civil society (from the protestors of October 17 to the non-profit organizations making cooperative progress) are consistently enforcing new behavioral patterns. Consequently, a new thought cycle within the entire Lebanese population is under the process of development. That new collective mindset will build stronger new generations that will witness substantive development. And so in the distant future, I hope that educated youth will not only be open-minded enough to acknowledge the flaws of our country, but equally focus on the nation’s potential to bring about effective change. And if we do fail, at least we would have tried, and we would have allowed the generations to come to succeed.
