Lebanon: The Sweet Era

When Lebanon tried to hold a presidential election in 1958, the tiny country exploded in civil war. More than a thousand Lebanese were slain, the Soviet Union rattled its rockets, and 14,000 U.S. marines landed to ward off a threatened Communist or Nasserite takeover. Yet last week, when the Lebanese tried another election, the event was as quiet and disciplined as a New England town meeting. After a vote in parliament, President Fuad Chehab peacefully surrendered his office to President-elect Charles Helou. Since Helou means "sweet" in Arabic, newspapers headlined that his inauguration would begin "a sweet era" for Lebanon.

The recent past has been remarkably sweet too. During Chehab's six-year term, Lebanon became one of the few nations untroubled by the continuous turmoil of the Middle East.

Contradictory Glories. The 1958 civil war began when Moslems staged an uprising against the unconstitutional attempt of the then President, Camille Chamoun, a Christian, to serve a second term. At the time, General Chehab commanded the 9,000-man Lebanese army but refused to lead it against the rebels, because he was convinced that if he did, the Moslem members of the armed forces would mutiny. This decision won him great popularity with the Moslems. The Christians, who make up half of Lebanon's 1,700,000 population, were at first outraged, but gradually recognized the wisdom of the Christian commander. As a result, Chamoun stepped down, Chehab was named President by parliament, and when he reluctantly accepted, the U.S. marines withdrew.

Chehab ruled by doing nothing, at home or abroad. Despising politicians, whom he calls fromagistes (cheese eaters), Chehab would rather let Lebanon boom or bust than go in for planning. In this, he again proved how well he understood his countrymen, for the typical Lebanese is both capitalist and anarchist, and glories in contradiction.

The Lebanese way of life is reflected in Beirut, which is the noisiest, dirtiest, liveliest and loveliest capital in the Middle East. Surging traffic bewilders a stranger, with tramcars plunging the wrong way down one-way streets, pedestrians and pushcarts jaywalking heedlessly. Garbage lies uncollected around stunning glass-walled apartment buildings, and any car parked below is certain to be littered by melon rinds and pistachio shells tossed from the balconies and windows. As fast as the police write out traffic tickets, motorists throw them away, and cars are double-and triple-parked all over town.

Needs Understood. The noise begins at dawn with the loudspeaker chants of muezzins from minarets, followed by the clangor of bells from Christian churches. Auto horns, the plaintive cries of peddlers, and the bray of donkeys blend with the screech of jet planes. With evening comes the sound of 64 nightclubs, the throb of motorboats carrying gamblers up the coast to the Casino de Liban, and the shrill cries of prostitutes in the block-long Bourg Central Square in the heart of town.