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Division in Lebanon is no longer a consequence of war; it has become one of its instruments. What we are witnessing today might be described as an economy of division — hatred converted into raw material, produced daily, manufactured, distributed and consumed, serving several parties at once, even when those parties appear to be in open enmity. The conflict has migrated from military violence to symbolic violence. When an elderly man rises to insult the head of government in abject language, when another attacks the president and reminds him of Sadat's fate, when children are trained in invective and the glorification of militarisation extends even to a shoe, the matter no longer concerns the individuals targeted but what they represent: a circumvention of felt anxiety and fear, a deliberate intent to embed in popular consciousness the image of a collapsing state, to normalise insult as a mode of political expression, shifting the conflict from a critique of power to its degradation and accusation of treason. This goes well beyond moral decline or uncontrolled rage; it is, at its core, the sign of a far graver mutation — striking the image of the state in the collective consciousness and replacing public deliberation with defamation. When power ceases to be an object of accountability and becomes a target of humiliation, it is drained of all symbolic legitimacy. This is precisely what Pierre Bourdieu called "symbolic violence": the moment when language itself becomes an instrument of deconstruction in the service of domination, far beyond its simple communicative function. What we are seeing today cannot be reduced to a divergence of positions or differing political readings; it is a systematic process that remoulds society from within — through language, image and education — rendering it more fragile and less capable of producing shared meaning or a unifying national stance. Lebanon today faces not only the danger of war but that of a society being refounded on the basis of humiliation. And what is being sown in the new generations is more troubling still. Children trained in abuse, filmed and celebrated as though performing a heroic act, integrated into a staging of collective mobilisation — this is not an incidental detail but a mechanism for reproducing division through education. The child who learns that hatred is a legitimate form of expression and that insult is a mode of presence will not become a citizen tomorrow, but an instrument in a conflict whose dimensions he cannot perceive. At that moment, the child ceases to be a victim and is transformed into a tool: an early carrier of hatred, a future citizen stripped of any capacity to think beyond what has been instilled in him. It is a slow moulding of consciousness, in which fractures are instilled in language before they ever surface in positions. A form of "soft brainwashing", so to speak — one that is not imposed by force but built through repetition, normalisation and social encouragement. Symbols, too, have been drawn into this trajectory. Images that glorify the military boot or turn it into a festive accessory are not simply expressions of vulgarity; they signal a redefinition of values — from dignity to submission, from citizenship to obedience — and a return to the era of the idols of the Jâhiliyya. In this scene, the warring parties do not necessarily coordinate their actions, yet they converge in their effects. And the contradiction is striking: while Israel persists in aggression, destruction and occupation, it presents itself as respectful of Lebanese sanctities, to the point that Saar apologises for the Israeli soldier who broke a statue of Christ, even as the same forces attack churches and mosques in Jerusalem and Bethlehem and bar worshippers from entering them. Hezbollah, conversely, conceals its impotence by striking everything the Lebanese citizen holds dear. Israel profits from the unravelling of the social fabric and from the transformation of each military strike — as in Ain Saadeh and Beirut — into material for internal discord, neutralising any possibility of a unified national response. Hezbollah, for its part, works to deepen mutual fear among Lebanese and to undermine the idea of a unifying state, thereby reinforcing the logic of "protection" outside its institutions. Paradoxically, both parties feed on the same process: the more the internal fragmentation intensifies, the more their respective justifications are consolidated. Responsibility does not end there. The other political forces participate, to varying degrees, in entrenching this reality — through sectarian discourse, selective silences, or the exploitation of fear in the service of leadership. The public space thus becomes an open arena for instincts rather than debate, for mobilisation rather than accountability. The gravest consequence lies not in division itself, but in the loss of standards: society loses its capacity to distinguish between what is acceptable and what is not. At that point, the problem no longer resides in any particular event but in the structure that receives it and reproduces it. All of this occurs at a delicate moment, when Lebanon is supposed to be standing on the threshold of a new negotiating process. But instead of this process representing an opportunity to align visions and build common support, it is the fragmentation of narratives that prevails, deepening the internal fracture, weakening the state rather than consolidating it, and eroding its symbolic weight to the point of threatening to empty any negotiation of its substance. For states negotiate not only with their borders but with the cohesion of their societies and their capacity to produce a common position, or at the very least a shared narrative. Lebanon today faces not only the danger of military strikes but that of a society dislocated from within, reduced to being a mere arena for the management of conflicts. This is the most perilous phase: when disintegration ceases to be an outcome of war and becomes a condition for its continuation. We find ourselves then before a society being reconstituted on pre-state foundations. Faced with this, it is not enough to record positions or issue condemnations, to reject this strike or denounce that insult. What is needed is to recover a minimum of meaning: that the victims are not sects but citizens, that the state is not a belligerent but a framework, that dignity is not a detail one can relinquish. Without this, every military strike will be nothing more than one further step in a process of disintegration that began from within… This is the most dangerous phase: when disintegration ceases to be an effect of conflict and becomes a culture. The battle is then no longer fought only on the ground but over the very meaning of the human being. What is needed now is to reconquer meaning. To rehabilitate the idea of the citizen, not the subjugated subject. To rehabilitate the state, not the symbol; dignity, not force. For a society that makes its peace with humiliation has no need of anyone to defeat it… it need only continue as it is.

Access to the state in Lebanon no longer follows the direct path it ought to follow in any modern political system. A relationship that should rest on clearly defined rights and mutually acknowledged obligations has gradually transformed into a complex web of informal channels, in which the citizen no longer deals with the state directly, but with whoever 'grants access' to it. Yet the mutation has not stopped there, for intermediation has ceased to be a mere bridge between citizen and state and has become, in many cases, an outright substitute for it — through the construction of parallel structures that reproduce the state outside its own boundaries. What we witness today goes well beyond conventional corruption. It is no longer a matter of transgressing existing rules, but of displacing them with others. The citizen no longer obtains what is rightfully his through institutional channels, but through an intermediary who redefines that right as a service, or through an alternative institution that arises outside the state while performing its functions. In this sense, the problem no longer lies solely in the weakness of the state, but in the emergence of a parallel cartel that acts in its place and reconfigures the relationship between citizen and authority. This transformation did not occur overnight. It began with the methodical weakening of the state — through the paralysis of its institutions, the systematic delay of its services, and the progressive erosion of trust in it. Political forces then moved to fill this vacuum, not merely through mediation but by establishing alternative structures in the fields of health, education, and social services. Over time, the citizen ceased to turn to the state except as a secondary option, finding himself instead caught in a double dependency — torn between an intermediary who clears the way and a parallel institution that delivers the service. Across different sectors, this same equation has reproduced itself. In essential services, the state is no longer the effective reference, having ceded its place to parallel cartels of production and distribution. In health care, access to treatment is no longer linked solely to official institutions, but to a web of support networks and substitute structures. In education, grant and assistance mechanisms have emerged outside the traditional institutional framework. And in the labour market, competence alone no longer determines opportunity, supplanted by membership in networks of influence. In the financial sector, this mutation manifests with particular sharpness. The banking system has ceased to be a unified framework governed by legible rules, having become instead a space where personal relationships intertwine with legal provisions. During the crisis, not all depositors stood on equal footing in their ability to access their funds, and parallel channels emerged for managing transfers and settlements. The question was no longer what one had a right to, but who could effectively exercise that right. Money itself was thus transformed, passing from the status of a legal right to that of a privilege conditioned by influence. Despite all this, the cartel did not impose itself by coercion alone, having prospered because it addressed a genuine need. In the absence of the state, the citizen seeks a swift solution rather than a protracted legal process. And as trust in institutions erodes, the personal relationship proves all the more effective. It is this dynamic that has allowed the parallel cartel not merely to survive, but to expand and entrench itself. The result now exceeds the mere retreat of the state and touches upon the emergence of a full structural duality. The citizen lives between two systems — one official and weakened, the other parallel and at times more functional. Rights have not disappeared, but have split between these two systems, deepening dependency and hollowing out the very notion of citizenship. What is most alarming in this picture is not the existence of intermediation itself, but the success of the substitute. When the parallel cartel proves faster and more present, the state is relegated to the rank of a secondary option. The problem no longer lies in the weakness of the state, but in the fact that it is not always perceived as a necessity by the citizen. In this reality, the question is no longer how to reform the state, but whether the bond linking citizen to state still holds at all. Between an intermediary who connects the citizen to the state and substitute institutions that dispense with it altogether, a new model of governance is taking shape — one that no longer rests on the state alone, but on a plurality of power and service centres. And here the real question surfaces: are we confronted with a weakened state striving to recover, or with a cartel that has succeeded in building its own substitute?

Moustafa Farroukh ranks among the leading pioneers of modern Lebanese painting and played a major role in shaping the country’s artistic landscape. He was born in 1901 in the modest Basta neighborhood of Beirut, into a Sunni family, and died in 1957. From an early age, he was encouraged and trained in the studio of the modernist painter Habib Srour. In 1927, he left Beirut for Rome, where he studied at the Regia Accademia di Belle Arti (San Luca), graduating the same year. He later continued his training in Paris, notably under Paul Émile Chabas, then president of the Société des artistes français. He began exhibiting in major artistic events, including the Paris Salons, the Rome Biennale, and later in Venice, New York, and Beirut. Back Home Farroukh returned to Beirut in 1932, where he opened a permanent studio-gallery that soon became a gathering place for the city’s artistic life. He taught art at several prestigious institutions, including AUB, ALBA, and the École normale de Beyrouth. He also delivered lectures in various intellectual circles, notably at the Lebanese Cénacle (Al-Nadwa), thereby contributing to the institutional consolidation of Lebanon’s emerging artistic field. Highly active on the international exhibition circuit, his name was included in the Bénézit Dictionary of Artists in 1950, widely regarded as the world’s most authoritative reference work on artists. Farroukh was both a committed artist and an intellectual, publishing numerous articles on art in the press and contributing to the broader public’s artistic education. He also authored five books on the philosophy of art and Lebanese identity, including an autobiography. His writings played a key role in shaping the theoretical foundations of art in Lebanon’s emerging society. His Work and Style Farroukh was a prolific painter who left behind more than 2,000 paintings, widely collected both in Lebanon and abroad. His style is essentially post‑Impressionist, figurative, and realist, shaped by his European academic training yet deeply rooted in Lebanese themes. His favorite themes draw from everyday life: rural and urban landscapes, villages, fields, ports, the Beirut corniche, notables, working women and peasants. He also painted a number of nudes – an audacious choice in the Levantine context of the time. His palette is luminous and warm. He paid particular attention to chiaroscuro , inherited from his Italian training, which he harmoniously combined with Mediterranean light. In the 1930s, following a formative stay in Spain, he began to draw on Arab‑Andalusian heritage in his work, incorporating the memory of Arab Andalusia into a modern pictorial language. An Iconic Work: “The Corniche of Ras Beirut” His views of Beirut’s seafront and the corniche are often cited as iconic representations of a Lebanon in transition, where the port, the sea, and the city form a defining triptych. “The Corniche of Ras Beirut,” painted in 1941 under the French Mandate, reflects Farroukh’s desire to lay the foundations of a distinctly Lebanese national painting, while drawing on his European influences. The urban landscape, opening onto the sea, symbolizes a dialogue between the modern city and the Mediterranean horizon, with a strong emphasis on light and atmosphere. Ras Beirut emerges as a threshold between East and West, modernity and tradition. The work captures an emerging Lebanese identity and marks a key moment in the country’s pictorial modernity. It offers a poetic vision of Lebanon, where sea, mountain, and traditional architecture coexist in harmony. The composition, structured in three planes, creates depth to the painting, guides the viewer’s eye from the pathway to the horizon line. The warm earth tones contrast with the cool shades of blue of the sea and sky, creating an atmosphere that is both luminous and melancholic. The presence of two adults at the center humanizes the scene and introduces a narrative dimension characteristic of Farroukh’s work. Palm trees and low houses, rendered with a supple brush, anchor the painting in an idealized Mediterranean Orient, imbued with nostalgia and softness. Iconic Painters of a Nation on the Rise In conclusion, Lebanon’s four pioneering painters – Khalil Saleeby, Omar Onsi, César Gemayel, Moustafa Farroukh – though by no means the only ones, stand out as emblematic figures of a nation on the rise. Trained abroad, they drew inspiration from the European schools of painting of their time, selectively adopting the best techniques while adapting them to Mediterranean and Eastern light and sensibilities. In doing so, they reinforced Lebanon’s emerging national identity and created a distinctly Lebanese art style of painting, at once reminiscent of and distinct from early 20th-century European art. The influence of Western painting allowed them to liberate both their brushstrokes and their palettes, while freeing themselves from religious and official commissions, breaking the social taboos of the period. Some drew on Impressionism, others leaned toward Realism or Post‑Impressionism, yet all contributed to forging a Lebanese national identity and fostering the country’s artistic and social development. Their works also served as a source of inspiration for other Levantine societies of the era. Read on the same topic – Lebanese Impressionism: From Parisian Greyness to the Light of Mount Lebanon (1/4) – Lebanese Impressionism: Omar Onsi, Master of Light (2/4) – Lebanese Impressionism: César Gemayel, a Pioneer Between Two Worlds (3/4)

1 – Facing erasure In a prologue to this series of texts — “From Eternal Darkness to Histoire… de Raphaël” — I explained why, in these dark times for Lebanon, I decided to turn toward History with a capital “H,” as well as toward small-h history: namely, the story of my son, Raphaël. To summarize, it is first of all to salvage from oblivion what can still be saved, at a moment when Lebanon as we know it is threatened with disappearance. Then, because at the global level, we are living in a time that gives full meaning to a quotation from George Orwell, taken from 1984 : “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.” And examples that bear out this quotation are plentiful these days. To cite just a few: Éric Zemmour’s book, La messe n’est pas dite , in which he revisits the History of France in order to defend the highly political idea of a Judeo-Christian identity for that country; the decision by the British Museum to remove the word “Palestine” from one of its exhibitions; and Donald Trump’s own rewriting of the History of American presidents as presented in the White House’s “Presidential Walk of Fame.” In short, it is safe to say that in the digital age — long thought to be dominated by selfies — the notion of History seems to be making a forceful comeback. 2 – Living between two relationships to History Personally, I cannot say that this return of History feels unfamiliar to me, since, unlike Europe — which long lived in “The End of History,” at least according to Fukuyama — History never stopped in Lebanon. And having lived for years in Europe — first France, then Italy — my predicament, passed on to my son and probably shared by many Lebanese emigrants, has always been this: how can a person caught up in grand History adapt to the continent of “The End of History”? But despite this difference, the time of the South and the time of the North are today touched by a shared problematic, foregrounded by the historian François Hartog: namely, the collapse of belief in historians’ capacity to produce grand narratives capable of uniting people and giving them hope for the future. Those interested in historiography know that the great moment of the “prophet” historian was the nineteenth century, when — like Michelet in France — History furnished national novels for nascent nations, and when — like philosophers such as Marx and Hegel — it became the narrative of a progressive march toward an ideal. Why does History no longer occupy the same place in our societies today? The answer is of course vast. But chance recently placed two works in my path — a Lebanese film and a book by François Hartog — that provide some elements of a response. 3 – “Do You Love Me” and History “on repeat” The Lebanese film in question is Lana Daher’s beautiful Do You Love Me . Composed entirely of archival material — ranging from photographs to film excerpts — the film retraces the History of Lebanon from the civil war of the 1970s to the present day. If it moved me particularly, it was first of all for a narcissistic reason: excerpts from my own feature film, One of These Days , are among the archives selected. But also, and above all, because I watched it in Beirut at a moment when, outside the cinema, Israeli bombs were falling on Lebanon. Needless to say, watching this film under such circumstances gave the screening the character of a funeral mass, with all the emotion associated with that ritual. But beyond my own reception of the film, what draws my attention here is that it has the merit — and this is indicated at the film’s outset — of transcribing historical time as it is lived in Lebanon: that of an eternal repetition. No national novel, then, no progressive march toward an ideal, but rather the feeling, as one watches, of a territory abandoned by any notion of chronological progression and condemned, like Sisyphus, to relive the same gestures, the same emotions and the same events — and in this case, a great many wars. To convey this relationship to time, the great idea governing the editing was to classify the archival materials not in chronological order but by motifs: the relationship to the sea, to the city, to dance, to ruins, and so on. And watching the same motifs repeat themselves across time gives the strange impression that everything about to be filmed in the current conflict has already been filmed. In this sense, the film calls to mind the idea put forward by Jacques Derrida, in his reflections on the figure of circumcision, that the archives of our lives may predate our very existence. And beyond this notion of prior traces, the editing also calls to mind Aby Warburg’s famous Mnemosyne Atlas , in which the history of art is classified not chronologically but by motifs, in order to show how ancient forms can “survive” in ghostly fashion within a more modern iconography. And more than repetition, it is the permanent “survival” of the past within the present that best defines the Lebanese relationship to historical time — whereas further north, in Europe, the end of faith in History as a generator of grand narratives materializes as the feeling of living in an unending present. 4 – François Hartog and presentism This is, in any case, the intuition defended by François Hartog in his work on the notion of History, notably in his essay Regimes of Historicity . A major essay on the notion of History, it describes the way in which a society articulates the relationship between past, present and future. Concerning Europe, Hartog identifies three broad periods. An ancient regime, that of Antiquity and the Middle Ages, characterized by myths and a cyclical relationship to time, in which the past is erected as a model. A modern regime, beginning in the eighteenth century — with the Enlightenment, among other currents — in which belief in progress makes the future the ultimate horizon. And the contemporary period, which begins roughly in the 1970s — marked by the oil shock, the end of utopias, and the Sex Pistols’ slogan “No Future” — in which the present becomes the ultimate horizon. Of course, like all theories, the notion of presentism could be qualified in several respects, especially since in this particular case it is in no way a description of the end of all relationship to the past. But what Hartog makes visible is that History as generator of grand narratives has receded behind the notions of memory, heritage, and contested claims, giving the impression that all of the past must be placed in the service of the present. As for the future: in Lebanon’s time, its complete absence is linked to a state of permanent existential crisis; in the North, between crisis management and political discourse focused on reversing the growth curve, it suffices to say how thoroughly the relationship to the future has been reduced to what Annie Ernaux describes in her beautiful book The Years — planning the All Saints’ holiday and the year-end break from the September back-to-school. 5 – The contamination of the North by the Apocalypse of the South Here too, this “No Future” relationship to the future must be qualified, since before entering “the world according to Trump,” various discourses on the future — such as the ecological discourse — were beginning to emerge. But it is nonetheless clear that at present, aside from the discourse on a “radiant future” for machines promoted by the mad scientists of Silicon Valley, there is, on the human side, more of a sense of reliving some of History’s darkest hours. This produces the strange feeling that the Lebanese relationship to History — as the permanent survival of the past in the present — is beginning to contaminate the rest of the world. This was, in any case, the intuition of the Lebanese poet Etel Adnan who, in her Arab Apocalypse , written in the midst of the civil war, announced that “History is dead,” and who declared in an interview: “Lebanon is becoming the prototype of the world that awaits us.” And it is of this survival, on a global scale, that the next article of this series will speak.

It is, in many ways, a world turned upside down in the standoff between the United States and the Islamic Republic, with the key question now being whether a second round of talks will take place in Islamabad this Tuesday. On the surface, the Iranian regime – more specifically the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (the Pasdaran) – appears keen to cultivate the perception that it is dictating its terms to Washington as a precondition for resuming negotiations between the two sides. By that logic, it would be the defeated party imposing its will on the victor! Yet, at some point, things must be called by their name and “the truth must be told, however harsh it may be” – in the words of President Béchir Gemayel. In this conflict, it is Iran that has suffered heavy losses to its military, nuclear and economic infrastructure, and it is the Iranian political, military and security leadership has been decimated on a large scale. At the same time, it is the American armada that is effectively encircling Iran, and it is the maritime blockade imposed in recent days that is choking its economy; and it is the United States and Israeli air forces that, over the past 40 days, have dominated the skies, carrying out round-the-clock strikes on key strategic sites across Iran. Despite these realities, the Iranian regime – through its hardline faction – had been demanding until Monday evening, as a condition for “agreeing” (!) to travel to Islamabad, that the United States lift its maritime blockade in the Strait of Hormuz. At the same time, the official Iranian news agency IRNA, along with sources close to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, repeatedly stated on Monday – and indeed since Sunday – that Iran refused to take part in a second round of talks with the Americans, and that, in any case, the ballistic missile issue was non-negotiable. They further insisted that deep disagreements persisted over the nuclear file and the fate of enriched uranium. They added that “the American side is not serious in this negotiation process.” In simplified terms, the Iranian regime thus behaves like a spoiled child, ranting and raving and making incoherent statements when confronted with an authority acting with firmness and imposing a course of action that runs counter to its childish whims. Yet, to its detriment, the hardline faction in power in Tehran is now faced with an American president who reiterated late on Monday that he would not lift the maritime blockade, despite a request from the Pakistani mediator to do so. More broadly, President Trump does not appear to be backing down from his red lines, particularly on the nuclear file and the ballistic missile program. The European Union aligned itself with the US position on Monday evening, stating bluntly that talks with the Iranian regime must address the ballistic missile issue, given that such missiles could potentially reach certain European capitals… In this context, the White House is presenting Tehran with a “simple” choice: sign the agreement put forward by the United States or face the stick, to be used without restraint. As a result, late on Monday evening, complete uncertainty still surrounded the fate of the second round of talks in Islamabad. New Lebanese-Israeli Meeting Set for Thursday Tensions, which had been steadily escalating until late on Monday evening, did not prevent the Trump administration from pressing ahead with the process of direct negotiations between Lebanon and Israel. President Joseph Aoun appears determined to continue along this path, under US auspices, without dwelling too much on the direct threats – including death threats! – issued by senior Hezbollah officials, who appear unable to accept that the state has regained autonomy in its decision-making and has broken a long-standing taboo by engaging in face-to-face talks with Israel. “Between war and negotiation, I choose negotiation,” the head of state said on Monday. This position is expected to be at the heart of talks Prime Minister Nawaf Salam is due to hold on Tuesday with President Emmanuel Macron at the Élysée Palace. It is in this context that a second meeting between Lebanese and Israeli negotiators is expected to take place next Thursday in Washington. Concrete issues are set to be discussed during this new round of talks, most notably the settlement of the dispute over the delineation of the border between the two countries. The Lebanese delegation to this second meeting would be headed by former Lebanese ambassador to Washington, Simon Karam, who could be accompanied by a military representative and a civilian official. Despite objections from Iranian power centers, which continue to seek to exert influence over Lebanon’s political map, the executive has opted to oppose what the president described as “suicidal impulses” – a pointed remark clearly alluding to Hezbollah’s futile and destructive military ventures. May this leadership hold firm and see this bold negotiating process with the Israeli state through to its conclusion.

As part of its ongoing effort to broaden its scope and deepen its coverage of major geopolitical issues on the international stage, “Levant Time” has entered into a close partnership with the media platform “ European Security ”, centered on the exchange of editorial content. Founded by a group of leading experts and academics, the European-based platform – independent of any state institution – focuses primarily on defense and security affairs in Europe and the United States. It aims to provide civilian and military decision-makers, as well as researchers, journalists and industry professionals, with authoritative texts, analyses, studies and articles addressing current challenges in the field of defense and security. Led by Joël-François Dumont, the publication also seeks to build connections and foster debate among all those concerned with these issues. Within this framework, “Levant Time” believes its cooperation with “European Security” will allow its Levantine readership, as well as its followers across the wider Middle Eastern diaspora, to benefit from the European platform’s rich, high-quality content – offering fresh perspectives and complementing the core areas of interest that define our publication. This bilateral cooperation will be grounded in the principles underpinning the editorial mission of “European Security”, which notes in this regard that the end of the Cold War “has, over the past decade, fostered in the West the illusion of a safer world.” “In reality,” the European platform adds, “while the direct threat of an East-West armed confrontation has disappeared, the situation remains alarming, if not deeply concerning, in several regions of the world (…). Other destabilizing threats, still poorly understood by public opinion, appear to be taking root. They carry within them the destructive seeds of two-party democracy, as we practice it.” The platform adds in this context that “the endemic poverty affecting certain countries has repercussions in our own, where democracy prevails.” “Addressing these issues is therefore essential for all those seeking to provide answers to the challenges at hand, whether by informing decision-makers or the broader public (…). Hence the value of forging new links between specialized institutions and individuals committed to these questions, whose work can help provide meaningful insights.” It is in this spirit that “European Security” published, a few days ago on its platform, a lengthy article on the current situation in Lebanon, in which it highlights its new relationship with “Levant Time”, describing it as “an intellectual bridge between East and West”, “a gem in today’s media landscape”, and “a window open onto the soul of Lebanon.” To read the article and the presentation of “Levant Time”, click on the following link: Le Liban au cœur du monde : Quand Levant Time éclaire l'horizon - European Security