Society

They came out in force—teachers, parents, alumni and students of Collège Notre Dame de Nazareth (NDN)—to proclaim loud and clear their attachment to the identity, distinctive character, history, heritage and predominantly French-language educational system of a school that has stood for more than a century and a half—153 years—on the heights of Achrafieh, a neighborhood that, like the school, has withstood decades of hardships and existential crises. Gathered in large numbers in a warm, convivial atmosphere, they filled the iconic Courtyard of the Virgin from end to end, chanting slogans and holding signs declaring that “NDN is in our DNA,” “Our history is not for sale,” “Nazareth is a legacy to preserve,” and “Nazareth has a soul—let us preserve it.” Levant Time was the first media outlet to report information from reliable sources about plans to transfer ownership of the Achrafieh school—and likely also the Kfarzeina school in Zgharta, the Feytroun convent in Kesrouan and the Aïn Alak retirement home in North Metn—to a Lebanese religious congregation. Unconfirmed reports have named the Antonine monks as potential buyers. The proposed transfer was put forward by the Superior General of the international Congregation of the Sisters of Nazareth, based in Rome. It sparked an outcry among teachers, parents, alumni and even students. Their stance does not reflect hostility toward any potential buyers, but rather a determination—clearly demonstrated at Saturday’s gathering in the Courtyard of the Virgin—to preserve the historical heritage, identity and values championed by the school for a century and a half. It must be acknowledged that every religious congregation and every school has its own distinctive character, identity, history and educational traditions. Lebanon’s pluralistic calling and very reason for being demand that this diversity and complementarity—a source of richness—be preserved, particularly in private education. In this context, over the course of its 153-year history, Collège Notre Dame de Nazareth has become a beacon of the French-speaking world and a center of education grounded in Christian virtues. The need to preserve this distinctive character was the central message of the speeches delivered at Saturday’s gathering by Nazareth alumnae representatives Nada Chaoul, Reine Riachi and Paola Rebeiz, as well as by delegates representing parents and students currently enrolled at the school. The statement issued at the end of the sit-in said unequivocally that, “whatever legal form” the proposed transfer might take, and regardless of “how this change is presented or what name it is given,” the teachers, parents, alumni and students gathered in the Courtyard of the Virgin affirmed their determination to fight the “disfigurement” of an institution whose history, shaped by successive hardships and wars, has become intertwined over the years with that of the iconic Achrafieh neighborhood.

The deep crisis in Lebanon’s private education sector has continued to worsen at an exponential rate for several years. It has been further exacerbated by the economic and financial collapse of 2019, which has yet to be overcome. This crisis is severely affecting school owners and teachers alike and, by extension, parents. Catholic schools, however—particularly those run by foreign religious orders—face another major challenge of an entirely different nature: the increasingly acute lack of new vocations within the various orders, not only in Lebanon but especially in Western countries. This is having an alarming impact on schools that have sometimes been operating in Lebanon for more than a century. Against this backdrop, a devastating development emerged a few days ago—one that should be seen as a serious warning sign—causing fear and dismay throughout the Catholic education community. Levant Time has learned from several reliable and mutually corroborating sources that the iconic Collège Notre-Dame de Nazareth in Achrafieh is at risk of disappearing—with everything it represents—or, at the very least, of having its identity “disfigured” by a proposed transfer to a Lebanese religious order. According to information obtained by Levant Time, the decision to sell the Achrafieh school was made by the Rome-based international leadership of the Sisters of Nazareth. The reason given is that the worldwide Congregation of Nazareth now has fewer than 25 sisters, and custom dictates that when a religious order has fewer than 25 members worldwide, it should merge with another order. Hence, according to as-yet unconfirmed reports, the Antonine monks may be seriously considering purchasing the school. The proposed transfer has been denounced by the six Sisters of Nazareth based in Lebanon. The strongest reactions quickly came from teachers, parents, and alumni, who called for a large protest gathering at 11 a.m. on Saturday, September 19, at the Achrafieh school. Ahead of the gathering, the teachers’, parents’, and alumni committees sent a joint letter to the Mother Superior of the international congregation, who divides her time between Paris and Rome, emphasizing their unwavering commitment to the school, its continued existence, its identity, its history, and its educational values. The congregation has been present in Lebanon since 1868 The fierce opposition to the sale of the Achrafieh school is certainly not directed in any way against the potential buyers. Rather, it reflects a deep attachment to an iconic institution with a 153-year history, traditions, heritage, and record of educational excellence. The Sisters of Nazareth established themselves in Lebanon in 1868; the international congregation was founded in France in 1822. Upon arriving in Lebanon in 1868, the sisters were hosted in Beirut by the Freige family. The Achrafieh school began its first academic year in 1873. This predominantly French-speaking institution is accredited by the French Ministry of Education and has provided high-quality academic instruction for 153 years, grounded in Christian and humanist values that have earned the school its strong reputation and shaped the country’s youth for more than a century and a half. It is this history and these traditions, values, distinctive education, and exceptional educational mission that are now at stake. What is the position of the Vatican and the state? Alongside this attachment to the emblematic and historic character of Nazareth College in Achrafieh, several crucial questions remain unanswered on a number of fronts. What, then, will become of the school in Kfarzeina, in the Zghorta region, which is also run by the Sisters of Nazareth? And what about the Feytroun convent and the Aïn Alak retirement home, which belong to the congregation? Are these institutions included in a broad sale operation, assuming it is ultimately finalized? More immediately important is the position of the Vatican and the Lebanese state. Would the Holy See accept the disappearance of a Catholic educational institution with a 153-year history in education and schooling, at a time when the Christian presence in Lebanon is facing numerous challenges on several fronts? Above all, what is the position of the Lebanese state? How long will it continue to bury its head in the sand in the face of the profound crisis that private education in Lebanon has been grappling with for many years? The severe ordeal currently facing the Congregation of the Sisters of Nazareth in Lebanon should serve as a serious wake-up call for both the Vatican and the Lebanese state. To a large extent, what is at stake is the distinctive character and pluralism that set Lebanon apart in this part of the world…

"When I hear the booms far away, I tell myself it isn't war. It's a giant dragon who has the hiccups. He must be enormous, hidden behind the mountains, or in a cave, or maybe in the sky." - The Dragon’s Hiccup The Lebanese have carried the weight of a devastating war for the past three years, and even when they try to ignore it for a fleeting moment, reminders are waiting: buzzing sounds in the sky, short conversations with neighbors, or even an unexpected question from a child. The last one is the hardest to ignore. Children are by nature inquisitive. They ask questions that adults are afraid to answer, and when they don't get a response that satisfies them, they are left alone to search for answers. But how do you explain an act of violence to an innocent child? Nicolas, 6, wanted to understand the cause behind the loud booms in Beirut, and his imagination transported him to a world where dragons have hiccups so loud they can be heard across an entire city. Instead of dismissing her son's imagination as most adults would, Kristel Tyan, an educator and storyteller, cultivated it to ease the weight of the war. Her son's interpretation and creativity inspired her to write Le Hoquet du Dragon (The Dragon's Hiccup), an illustrated book about the reality of war through the eyes of a child. "During the war, I held on to every question my son asked me, and I started writing a text," she says. "I didn't want to publish it at first, but my friends and family thought it was a story worth sharing, and so I decided to make it a collective experience rather than a personal one." Tyan explains the central ideas of the book: "This book carries two messages. The first is our attachment to Beirut, which I talk about a lot with my children. Second, it’s about the importance of listening as adults to our children, and not always the other way around." When Words Become Music As if this book couldn't get more creative, Tyan insisted on blending storytelling with live music and art to immerse the audience in the story. At La Cave du Cheikh, a charming spot nestled in Bikfaya, Tyan read the book to a live audience. Accompanying her was educator and musician Karim Dahdah, who sang excerpts from the book, while artist David Der-Yeghiayan painted on a canvas, inspired by the audience’s interpretation of war. Tyan believes this approach could help children reignite the joy of reading, a habit that has become rare: "With the pressure we're living under in Lebanon and around the world, we've forgotten the bond we have with books. Through this event, we want to send a message: don't forget to take refuge in the imagination of a book, because it could save you." Dahdah's voice and soft tunes on the guitar blended with the atmosphere, creating a soothing experience despite the themes of war. "I love mixing music with education," he says. "At the end of a lesson, I encourage my students to write a song together about the lesson or a certain theme, so we can learn it together in song." For Dahdah, interaction matters most for young readers. "Children need an experience, not just a book. If we can connect the act of reading to something more memorable and experimental, it suddenly becomes much more interesting. It gives the audience a say in it as well." Painting the Story Various illustrations from the book were also showcased in a slideshow. They were all drawn by David Der-Yeghiayan, a tattoo artist who specializes in surrealism. Symbolism is a central aspect of this book, represented mainly through toys and animals. In one illustration, the dragon — an allegory of war — roams in the sky. To hide from it, children build a refuge from rocks and blankets. In another, a snail wishes upon a star to become a slug, freeing itself from the burden of carrying its "home," or worries. The designs, similar to those of Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, are simple yet symbolic, the right balance for both adults and children to enjoy. During the event, Der-Yeghiayan was inspired by the music and the guests' testimonies to paint a figure holding a canvas with a heart and a cedar in the middle. "My art expresses ideas through symbolism,” says Der-Yeghiayan. “Everything in our life means something, and that expression comes about through different visuals and images. For the book, I had to adapt the way I usually express my ideas and make it less elaborate and more minimal, especially since I only used black and white." However, creating these illustrations meant unlearning something first. "Seeing the events through the innocent eyes of a child meant I needed to go back to when I was a child and how I experienced the war in Lebanon." Publishing the Book The evening was staged at La Cave du Cheikh, which Joelle Ayache-Gemayel runs with her husband, Gabriel, and which is closely tied to Le Vicomte, the publishing house behind the book. The format, she argues, is a response to a habit that has been lost. "Today it's clear that children don't read anymore, almost not at all. Organizing an event with theater, song, and music certainly makes you want to read the book." By the end of the night, guests were transported to simpler times where imagination and creativity could slay the strongest dragons. At one point in the book, Nicolas asks his mother: "Mom, will you take me one day to see bubble houses? (…) Those houses look like soap bubbles. (…) I'd love to live in a bubble. Why does a bubble always have to burst?" Children's thoughts and imagination are like bubbles floating in their minds. Dismissing them means slowly popping those bubbles. Answer your children's questions so that they can resist the hiccups of the world. After all, we were once children with minds full of bubbles — of dreams. "Along the way, we forget to dream, to imagine," Tyan concludes. "And the most beautiful lesson my child gave me is to never stop dreaming. That remains the solution."

Doctored images, sexualization, smear campaigns, and accusations of treason: in Lebanon, artificial intelligence is providing new tools for harassment targeting women who are visible in the public sphere. The case of a government minister and the testimonies of two journalists shed light on a global phenomenon that is outpacing the legal and technical measures designed to contain it. A red devil with horns, holding a trident — but with a familiar face: glasses, short bleached hair, and hoop earrings. This was no ordinary caricature, but one of dozens of AI-generated images that flooded social media platforms targeting Education and Higher Education Minister Rima Karamé. Her publicly stated insistence on going ahead with official exams despite the tense security situation surrounding the war had sparked a widespread wave of anger. Those who were angry did not engage with the educational decision using pedagogical arguments. Instead, accounts appeared under a distorted, mocking version of her name, alongside hate pages created specifically against the minister. Images portraying her as a demon, a witch, or a "villain" proliferated. One of them superimposed her face onto the body of Gargamel, the iconic villain from the cartoon The Smurfs. When run through the detection tool Hive Moderation , both images were assessed as having a 99.9% probability of being AI-generated. The tool estimated, with a considerably lower degree of certainty — 75.7% — that the model used may have been Gemini 3. Second image circulated: Hive Moderation's analysis placed the probability of it being AI-generated at 99.9%. It is worth noting that AI-generated content detectors are probabilistic tools capable of producing both false positives and false negatives. The same pattern played out with women who have far less protection than a government minister. Maya*, a young Lebanese journalist, posted a video filmed in the field during the war that went widely viral. According to her account to the author of this investigation, her only "reward" was seeing an anonymous account appear and circulate fake sexually explicit AI-generated images of her, accompanied by phrases such as "Israel loves Maya" — a dual attempt to violate her body and cast doubt on her loyalty. This incident has not, however, been independently corroborated to date. Journalist Lynn*, meanwhile, discovered that a photograph of her taken while reporting in the field had been manipulated to show her standing between two Israeli soldiers pointing their weapons at her. The image had been posted by a foreign account followed by tens of thousands of people. After being physically assaulted while filming in Beirut, she personally counted 148 comments beneath a post about the attack: criticism of her appearance, sexual insinuations, and accusations of collaborating with the enemy. "The comments hurt me far more than the assault itself. With the person who attacked me, we had a confrontation and that was the end of it. But the things I was reading, written by people hiding behind fake accounts, were much harder to take," she says. The ministry's version: an orchestrated campaign, not an educational debate A source close to the Education Minister says that she and her ministry were aware of the campaign from the moment it launched, and that it gradually escalated from spreading misinformation to personal attacks, before becoming a full-blown "trend" on social media. According to this source, the ministry simultaneously attempted to explain its position and publish studies and figures on the number of students, displaced persons, and the school curriculum. "But these messages weren't getting through, or had far less reach than the campaign being waged against her." The source describes a "violent campaign in which every means possible was used," combining personal attacks and insults. On some days, the minister's phone received between 700 and 1,000 messages within short periods of time, coming from what she describes as "organized electronic trolls" using fictitious numbers and sometimes real ones, some of which belonged to students. According to this source, the campaign also became a vehicle for gaining visibility: "Everyone who wanted to be seen, drum up sympathy, or put themselves forward started posting content about the minister, until the debate about exams and education faded away and was replaced by attacks on her person — her hair one day, her accessories the next, the color of her skirt after that." Despite all this, the minister filed no legal complaints — a stance the source attributes to her desire to "not make it personal." "She was speaking on the basis of science and data; she therefore did not personally take anyone to court." On the question of solutions, the source mentions a "social cohesion" plan that the ministry is developing as part of school curricula, in coordination with the ministries of Culture, Information, and Youth and Sports. The legal framework governing behavior on social media remains, for its part, under review at the Ministry of Information. Beyond harassment: a systematic form of cyberbullying What the minister's case has in common with those of the two journalists goes beyond simple "digital harassment" in the narrow sense. This is systematic cyberbullying targeting specifically women in the public sphere: the distortion of their image, demonization, ridicule, and the questioning of their competence — all without a single one of their decisions or ideas being genuinely discussed. International figures show that what is happening in Lebanon is part of a global phenomenon that is rapidly worsening. According to the " Tipping Point " survey, published in December 2025 by UN Women and the European Commission, in cooperation with UNESCO and the ICFJ and with the participation of researchers from City St George's, University of London, across 119 countries, 70% of women working in the public sphere have experienced digital violence in the course of their work. 41% reported having also suffered real-world harm linked to that violence, while the figure rises to 75% among journalists. In Lebanon, the latest statistics from the Internal Security Forces, cited by UN Women, indicate that 80% of reported victims of digital violence are women. When artificial intelligence enters the picture, the figures become even more alarming. According to the " State of Deepfakes " study, published in 2023, 98% of deepfake videos available online are pornographic in nature, and 99% of their victims are women. The study also reported a 550% increase in the number of such videos between 2019 and 2023. The second part of " Tipping Point ", published in April 2026, further reveals that 6% of women in the public sphere have already been victims of deepfakes, while 12% have had intimate images shared without their consent. One in four women has been diagnosed with anxiety or depression linked to digital violence, while 41% practice some form of self-censorship in their posts in order to avoid attacks. How is this content created, and how can it be detected? Creating such content no longer requires any particular technical skills. A single publicly available photograph is enough to generate dozens of degrading versions in just a few minutes, using image generation models. And, as Lynn points out, "ten seconds of your voice is all it takes to fabricate an entire conversation you never had." Conversely, detection tools such as Hive can estimate the likelihood that content was artificially generated and attempt to identify the model used. This is the tool that was used in the course of this investigation to examine the images and videos targeting Minister Karamé. But detection remains slower than spread. By the time the analysis results are available, the image may have already reached thousands of screens. And since this content is "professionally crafted," the journalist explains, "people will believe it, because almost no one is truly able to tell the difference anymore." The problem lies in society before it lies in the tool "With the rise of artificial intelligence, digital harassment has changed not only in intensity, but also in nature. We are now seeing disinformation fabricated from images and videos, and it is always more dangerous for women than for men," says Abed Qataya, Director of Digital Content at SMEX, an organization specializing in digital rights. Qataya notes that these campaigns intensify during significant political moments — when a woman runs for office or makes a controversial decision, as in the case of Minister Karamé. "Insults are often used against women who work in the public sphere, and they become personal; they don't even try to discuss policy or facts," he explains. He adds: "The danger comes not only from the AI tools now available, but also from the way society thinks about and regards women." On the legal front, Lebanon appears to be lagging behind the pace at which the threat is evolving. Qataya explains: "In Lebanon, we have no laws directly dedicated to the digital sphere. We have the Penal Code, the 2018 law on electronic transactions and personal data, and the 2020 law criminalizing harassment" — but no legislation specifically addresses fabricated content or gender-based digital violence. "We have no national plan, nor even a national committee dedicated to this issue," he adds. Lynn echoes this from her own experience: "The first thing we need is real laws that actually allow us to hold people accountable. Who am I going to file a complaint against? Against X?" She also believes that the authorities themselves do not take digital violence seriously enough: "They think it's not real violence. For them, real violence is when someone comes and hits you." From legislation to platforms: four levels of action The three cases examined in this investigation — a minister demonized over an education policy decision, a journalist whose fake sexual images were fabricated, and a third who was digitally placed between the weapons of two Israeli soldiers — demand action on four levels that can no longer be deferred. Legislators must adopt a legal framework that explicitly criminalizes the production and distribution of malicious fabricated content, strengthen penalties for sexual and financial blackmail, and establish the national committee called for by digital rights advocates. Media outlets and public institutions must adopt clear protection protocols — ranging from managing abusive comments to providing legal and psychological support — rather than leaving targeted women to face hundreds of messages on their own. Digital platforms must speed up the processing of reports and improve their ability to detect AI-generated content. As for women in the public sphere and their teams, Qataya recommends investing in digital security skills, both technical and psychological. In the meantime, the first line of defense remains in the hands of the public itself: before sharing a 'compromising' or 'shocking' image of a woman in public life, one question should come before all others — who made it, and why? * 'Maya' and 'Lynn' are pseudonyms used, at their request, to protect the identities of the two journalists. This report was produced with the support of the European Union and the Dutch government, as part of the grant dedicated to artificial intelligence in the media for the Middle East and North Africa region. Its content does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union or the Dutch government. Generative AI tools — Anthropic's Claude and OpenAI's ChatGPT — were used for source research and restructuring during the preparation of this work. The Hive tool was used exclusively to verify content suspected of being AI-generated, and not to produce content. All content was reviewed and the accuracy of every piece of information and every source cited was verified prior to publication. Every possible effort was also made to eliminate any potential bias from the results, whether related to language, the presentation of events, or the selection of sources. Full editorial responsibility for this work rests with its author.

It may be no more than a small mountain project, but the laying of the cornerstone on Saturday, August 8, for a center serving children with special needs in Bcharre, a town of 24,000, is nonetheless a “major undertaking” for those who have embarked on it with limited means but a profound awareness of its necessity. The center is the flagship project of the Bishop Philippe Chebaya Foundation, named after a priest who served for 40 years as principal of Bcharre’s public school before being ordained a bishop late in life. A priest running a public school: the case is unique in Lebanon. The anomaly is due partly to Bcharre’s distance from Beirut, but above all to the fact that Father Philippe always refused to be paid for his work as principal. During the darkest years of the war and the Syrian occupation, he had turned the school into his monastery, sleeping and eating there. On reflection, it is hardly surprising that he is revered as a saint by generations of villagers who owe their education and social advancement to him. Indeed, all of Bcharre is steeped in the memory of this man, who could be strict, but whose kindness in the end, and whose smile, quickly erased any memory of the frowns a school principal must sometimes wear. The modest scale of the project does not detract from its generosity. Jesus himself teaches us this through the “widow’s mite.” Leo XIV has just praised the efforts that, however modest, bring people of goodwill together and contribute to the unity of the human community. Henri de Lubac spoke of the “unknown saints” whom the Church will never formally venerate, but whose existence “helps ensure that our world is not a hell.” The “Greater Lebanon,” whose founding was commemorated at the recent beatification ceremony for Patriarch Howayek, is itself one of the smallest countries in the world. The project will add to a “Maronite stronghold” in the heart of the northern part of the Mount Lebanon mountain range. It is a small town known for its forest of thousand-year-old cedars and as the birthplace of the poet Gibran Khalil Gibran; a place also chosen by the Missionaries of Charity founded by Mother Teresa to plant a few seeds of holiness. The project is funded by the German government and the Kindermissionswerk “Die Sternsinger” association. Maronite Patriarch Bechara Rahi, despite his age, made the journey to sprinkle holy water over the ground and the walls under construction, and to bury in one of the future rooms a precious relic of St. Charbel, whose native village, Bkaa Kafra, can be seen from its windows, together with the four volumes of a catechism Father Philippe wrote for his students – the only fortune he left behind. “This land is holy.” Walking along a dirt path through an orchard of fruit trees, I slow my pace to walk alongside the woman who has just uttered these words. We are heading in single file toward an open grassy area, where chairs have been carefully arranged and speeches are to be given. “This breeze is Father Philippe’s breeze, too,” the woman adds. In his remarks, Patriarch Rahi will speak of Father Philippe, with whom he was close, as a saint. He does so in the spirit of an earlier age, before the Dicastery for the Causes of Saints existed, when the sensus fidelium was enough to recognize a deceased holy person as a saint. The patriarch will also speak tenderly of the little “verbs of God,” those with Down syndrome, who, throughout their lives, experience in their own bodies the Redeemer’s redemptive suffering. The center will be able to accommodate around 50 children. Joseph Chebaya, Father Philippe’s nephew, who runs the foundation, will work to bring it to completion with donations he gathers here and there. The Philippe Chebaya Foundation hopes it will serve as a beacon for all the villages surrounding the magnificent Holy Valley, the Kadisha, which it overlooks. The sun sets, and the mountain peaks surrounding Bcharre are draped in crimson, mauve and pink. In her remarks, Yasmine Raya, the chargé d’affaires at the German Embassy, will graciously say that she hopes to return once the building has begun welcoming those for whom it exists. An elegant way of assuring its founders that her country’s support will continue through the completion of the project and beyond.

The FIFA World Cup extends far beyond the realm of sport. As a global event, it temporarily suspends the routines of everyday life and brings millions of people together around a shared collective narrative for the duration of a tournament. In Lebanon, this competition takes on a particularly meaningful dimension. In a country shaped by successive crises, migration, and social divisions, the World Cup makes moments of celebration feel especially precious — almost rare. For clinical psychologist Sandra Khawam, supporting specific teams is rooted first and foremost in family history, often shaped by emigration. "The family factor plays an important role. Due to wars, crises, and successive waves of emigration, many Lebanese families have scattered across the world," she explains. This dispersal has created a distinctive emotional geography. Lebanese communities have settled in Brazil, Argentina, Germany, France, and elsewhere — yet they have maintained strong ties to their homeland, not only geographic or administrative ones, but emotional ones. These bonds surface in family stories, memories, habits, and sometimes symbolic loyalties. During the World Cup, these attachments can shape the way people identify with sports teams. Supporting a foreign team can thus indirectly mean supporting a piece of one's own family history, personal memory, or migratory journey. Football as a universal need for identity Beyond the Lebanese context, Ms. Khawam points to a broader, universal mechanism. Football, she argues, fulfills a need to identify with anchors that feel stable, visible, and affirming. "When a team embodies stability, success, high performance, and iconic figures, it naturally becomes an object of identification," she notes. Fans are not simply following a sporting result — they are following a narrative. They track progress, the possibility of victory, the pushing of limits. This identification works like a symbolic mirror, in which individuals and communities project their personal or collective aspirations. In the Lebanese context, this dynamic takes on a particular character. Ms. Khawam notes that Lebanese society is marked by identity-based and communal divides that also structure forms of belonging. Football can therefore become a space onto which these divisions are projected. Supporting a team is not purely a matter of sporting preference — it can sometimes reflect a symbolic or identity-based affiliation. "People identify differently, backing one national team over another," she explains. The football pitch thus becomes a space where allegiances shift and latent social tensions can be replayed in symbolic, codified form. An emotional escape The psychologist also highlights another essential dimension: collective escapism. In a country like Lebanon, battered by economic, political, and social crises, the World Cup acts as a pause — a space where the weight of daily life is set aside for the duration of a match. "People come together, sharing a sense of unity, joy, pride, and collective excitement," she says. This pause matters because it opens up an emotional outlet rarely available in everyday life. Football allows heavy realities to be transformed into a shared experience of lightness, where one team's victory becomes everyone's victory — almost symbolic in nature. This collective intensity is also driven by group dynamics. In gatherings, emotions are not confined to individual expression — they feed off and amplify one another. Ms. Khawam describes this phenomenon as a crowd effect, where joy, excitement, and sometimes frustration are amplified by collective dynamics. She does emphasize one important point, however: incidents remain the exception. They do not represent the norm, but rather a visible anomaly. Group dynamics can nonetheless alter individual behavior. The relative anonymity, the power of the collective, and the emotional intensity of the moment can lead some people to act in ways they normally would not. In certain cases, this can escalate to excessive or even violent behavior. A heated altercation between fans escalated into a brawl and then a shooting during a match between Brazil and Japan in Wadi Jilo, in the Tyre district (South Lebanon). Six people were injured. In this sense, football can act as a sounding board for social and political tensions. Certain conflicts can surface through sporting rivalries, with teams becoming symbolic vessels onto which deeper allegiances, divisions, or frustrations are projected. Yet for Ms. Khawam, it is important not to reduce the phenomenon to this interpretation alone, since these projections coexist with an equally central festive and unifying dimension. Passion: between camaraderie and excess Sergio, 22, from Jbeil, captures this ambivalence on a more personal level. "I support Germany, first because Lebanon doesn't qualify for the World Cup, and also because I have a deep appreciation for that team's style of play — it's been with me since childhood," he says. Matches are often watched with friends, which doesn't rule out tension. "It starts with jokes, then things can get heated. Sometimes it even gets physical. But we always end up cooling down," he says. The passion for football, despite its excesses, ultimately returns to its original purpose: a space for togetherness. Jad, 28, a Beiruti who supports the French national team, embodies this festive dimension. "France has been part of my life since school, especially with Mbappé now. It's a team I've followed alongside my brother — it's become a family tradition," he explains. During this 2026 World Cup, victories spark celebrations. For him, these moments go beyond sport: "For a few hours, we forget about everyday life." In Jounieh, Maya, 32, an Argentina fan, describes an attachment rooted in family heritage. "It's a passion my father passed down to me during the Maradona era, and I've kept it alive through Messi," she says. Even without joining fan gatherings, she experiences the World Cup in the intimate setting of family life. "My sister lives in Buenos Aires, and during matches we send each other videos as if we were sitting in the same living room." Karim, 24, a Brazil supporter from Tripoli, describes a more mixed experience. "The game, the samba, the yellow jersey… it's a deep passion," he says. But he also acknowledges rising tensions: "Defeat can really stir up emotions. The arguments on social media, the rivalries… everything intensifies." He recounts scenes of conflict: "I witnessed insults being thrown and tables knocked over in restaurants. I chose to leave." Ultimately, the World Cup proves to be a deeply ambivalent phenomenon. In Lebanon, this ambivalence is particularly striking. In a country that has been searching for its identity for decades, it is sometimes easier to rally behind another nation's colors than one's own.

The International Organization of La Francophonie (OIF), which brings together 93 states and governments, supports programs in Lebanon and across the Middle East focused on promoting the French language, education, gender equality, and development. In Beirut, these efforts are coordinated by Lévon Amirjanyan, the OIF’s representative for the Middle East, who heads the regional office, which opened in late 2022. The office covers four countries: Lebanon and Egypt, both full members, and Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, which are associate members, with Lebanon serving as the regional hub for the organization’s activities. Lebanon remains a central member of La Francophonie. A member of the OIF since 1973, the country celebrated the 50th anniversary of its membership in 2023, reaffirming its deep historical roots within the organization. In keeping with this longstanding role, Lebanon has also contributed to La Francophonie’s institutional development by hosting the Francophonie Games in 2009, while the regional office of the Agence universitaire de la Francophonie has been established in the country for more than three decades. Since 2022, more than €4 million has been mobilized for Lebanon through the organization’s cooperation and support programs. But the organization longstanding presence is more than symbolic, taking the form of a range of practical initiatives on the ground. According to Amirjanyan, “The OIF’s work in Lebanon is guided by a plan signed in 2021, focused on promoting the French language, education and vocational training, and women’s empowerment.” In response to the country’s successive crises, the organization also introduced a €1 million emergency plan in 2024. In the education sector, the organization supports Lebanon’s Ministry of Education by developing digital teaching resources, expanding distance learning, and providing teacher training. The “La Francophonie avec elles” (“La Francophonie with Women”) fund, established in 2020 to promote women’s empowerment, has mobilized nearly €1.5 million in Lebanon to finance 24 projects – moe than the regional average. The OIF also supports youth and local initiatives. Beyond its work in education and women’s empowerment, the OIF is also active in the information sector. Amirjanyan noted that “in partnership with the Ministry of Information and UNESCO, the organization is combating disinformation, providing technical and material support to the ministry, and leading a nationwide awareness campaign accompanied by audiovisual content.” At the same time, the organization is working to expand economic opportunities across the Francophone world. According to Amirjanyan, “The OIF supports the private sector through economic missions. The 2023 mission brought together between 60 and 70 companies from 25 French-speaking countries, while a follow-up mission in 2025 led to the signing of 18 memorandums of understanding.” Media, Culture, and Reach of La Francophonie Alongside these institutional and economic initiatives, the OIF is also active in the media sector. “The OIF supports French-language media in Lebanon, notably by backing the relaunch in 2025 of Télé Liban’s daily French-language television news bulletin, which is considered an essential tool for preserving the French language in public broadcasting,” Amirjanyan said. This commitment also extend to supporting local cultural organizations. The organization’s cultural work is thus supported by the 12 Centres for Reading and Cultural Activities (CLACs) in Lebanon, which Amirjanyan described as a “true jewel” of La Francophonie because of their role in providing access to culture, knowledge, and information, including in areas far from cultural centers. More than simple libraries, these centers serves as cultural and community spaces that foster social cohesion, dialogue, and coexistence. Part of a network of more than 300 centers across the Francophone world and established in Lebanon in 2001, the CLACs are now undergoing modernization. Amirjanyan pointed out that “a recent evaluation mission allowed the organization to consult users and local stakeholders in order to identify changes needed in response to digital transformation and evolving cultural expectations, while preserving their role as community-based spaces.” A Growing Regional Dynamic While Lebanon remains the organization’s main foothold in the region, its activities extends well beyond its borders. At the regional level, Amirjanyan highlighted activities covering Egypt, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates, with programs tailored to national contexts. In Egypt, cooperation includes projects with major Francophone institutions, notably Université Senghor in Alexandria, which plays a central role in training development professionals across Africa and hosts students and professionnels from many French-speaking countries. In Egypt, the OIF also runs training programs for diplomats and teachers, particularly in digital technology and artificial intelligence, with a strong emphasis on strengthening public administrations capacity. In another area of work, the OIF is also developing targeted partnerships in Gulf countries. In Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, the organization’s efforts focus on strengthening French-language education and integrating it into national education systems, in coordination with local authorities. This is accompanied by growing interest in the French language and clear enthusiasm for La Francophonie in both countries, driven in particular by education systems and cultural cooperation. According to Amirjanyan, this approach allows “programs to be adapted to each country’s priorities while maintaining regional coherence, in a region where La Francophonie is experiencing growing momentum and attracting increasing interest.” A Francophonie Looking to the Future Beyond ongoing projects, the organization is now preparing the next phase of its regional strategy. Amirjanyan emphasized the OIF priorities going forward: youth, gender equality, digital development, and artificial intelligence. French-language training programs for Lebanese civil servants and diplomats are already in place and will continue, as part of efforts to strengthen skills and modernize public administration. Overall, whether in education, culture, media, gender equality, or economic cooperation, the objective remains the same: to make La Francophonie a space for exchange and opportunity adapted to today’s challenges. In Lebanon and across the region, La Francophonie remains dynamic, supported by sustained interest in the French language and multilingual education systems. In conclusion, Amirjanyan said that this reality confirms that La Francophonie goes beyond language alone: it is a space for cooperation, training, and economic and social opportunity, with a forward-looking vision.

One one hand there is war, and on another the terror it imposes. And then there is what’s in-between. This state of neither war nor peace—less dramatic but more insidious—creates constant tension and prevents any projection of future. This is where attrition sets in: motivation erodes, resources are depleted, meaning wavers. And learning is no exception. Imposed hybrid formats, unstable educational continuity, fluctuating commitment: in a Lebanon torn by turmoil, the university seems to hold on—but at the cost of a silent weakening. What was once the exception—switching from one format to another—has gradually become the norm. This is the first shift: when the unpredictable becomes structural, it no longer merely disrupts studies; it redefines their rules. Educational continuity, therefore, fragments. Classes shift between in-person and remote formats, sometimes canceled, more often dictated by circumstances than by academic choice. Yet learning requires a minimum of stability, a progression grounded in time. When this breaks down, knowledge does not simply pause—it dissolves. The university no longer merely transmits knowledge: it administers instability. Added to this is an aggravating factor: each outbreak of war exacerbates the economic crisis. For some students, this means dropping out altogether; for others, it means being forced to switch to less expensive institutions, which are often less demanding. An academic path then becomes less of a choice and more of an adjustment. But the most profound effect lies elsewhere. It is mental. Studying in an unstable environment demands a diffuse, constant vigilance. One never fully commits to a setting that one knows could collapse at any moment. This instability consumes a considerable portion of cognitive resources: one must constantly adapt—to formats, tools, and rhythms. The mind then shifts from a learning mindset to a management mindset. Concentration breaks down, and knowledge becomes secondary. This tension leads to a gradual erosion of motivation. Studying requires belief in continuity—in one’s efforts, achievements, and a coherent path. When constantly reconfigured, this investment loses its clarity. The repeated shift from one mode to another prevents any lasting grounding. The resulting disengagement is often a rational response to an environment that has become incomprehensible. The effects on academic performance are tangible. An imposed hybrid format introduces disruptions—in attention, in interaction, and in the very reception of content. Some students give up more easily in online settings, while others struggle to readjust to in-person classes. This imbalance reveals another divide: the widening of inequalities. Not everyone has the same resources to navigate between these formats—internet access, workspace, and independence. It is within this gap that a more ambiguous twist makes its way. For while the constraints are very real, they can also be used as excuses. The system’s blurriness makes it harder to assess commitment. Some students use this to justify absences or poor performance. But this drift is not merely opportunistic: it also reflects a gradual disengagement, made possible—even facilitated—by a framework that is itself unstable. Institutions, for their part, are walking a tightrope. Hybrid learning is featured as a solution; here, it functions as a stopgap. By constantly adapting, the system jeopardizes its own standards. Yet everyone knows that education lies at the foundation of every nation-state. We speak of resilience. A word so often quoted that it ends up hindering another reality: that of a progressive lowering of standards. The question then becomes more radical: what remains of learning when conditions no longer allow for sustained commitment? The problem, then, lies not only in access to classes, but in their format and the level of engagement they still inspire. Studying amid uncertainty means constantly adapting to unstable formats, maintaining a scattered focus, and endlessly rebuilding a framework that no longer holds together on its own. And, implicitly, a more brutal question: what’s the point, when lives are as threatened as the future they are supposed to open up? In this context, the deepest risk may not be failure. But rather settling permanently into a deteriorated mode, into a lowered standard—which, over time, becomes the norm.

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

Caught between two rogue states, Lebanon has no choice but to appease the one closest to it geographically, the one on its border. It is the art of peace, as dictated by common sense. One need not be Sun Tzu to understand this, nor to understand that Lebanon belongs to the Arab world, not the Islamic world, and that, in this respect, it can rely on an Arab solidarity that has no equivalent in Iran’s militant Islamism. The Palestinian cause is, of course, sacred, and the dispossession of Palestine will remain a stain on the Arab world’s conscience. But this is no reason to sacrifice another sacred cause: that of Lebanon itself – this magnificent geographical and cultural jewel, this promise of religious freedom offered by history to the Maronite Church and, through it, to all Lebanese communities, the loss of which would be a sacrilege or, in the words of John Paul II, “one of the world’s regrets.” Lebanon is “larger than itself,” Emmanuel Macron said last March at the Institut du Monde Arabe. Indeed, Lebanon is a stroke of historical genius, having become the crucible of a way of life based on coexistence between two major religious traditions that are, in many respects, antagonistic, but whose rapprochement – as it ultimately took shape in Lebanon – has managed to serve as “a model of freedom and pluralism for East and West,” in the words of John Paul II. Part of the Francosphere Lebanon’s major remaining asset is that it belongs to the Francosphere and, through it, to a wider sphere open to France and the West, while remaining deeply religious, deeply peaceful, and deeply rooted in the East. How, given its small territory, could it be otherwise? It is therefore necessary to ensure that, once we emerge from the heavy trials we are currently going through, the Greater Lebanon prevails over the “smaller Lebanons” that still seek to define themselves “in thought or in words”; and in particular over the Khomeinist utopia whose objective is to extend Tehran’s authority over Lebanon, to allow Iran to reach Israel’s borders and the shores of the Mediterranean, and to destroy Israel in a venture where the religious directly merges into the eschatological and the end of times, in other words into irrationality. Such ambitions could not but trigger, among Lebanon’s other communities, reflexes of self-defense. One of the reasons Lebanon will remain resistant to this ideological colonization of the Shiite community is that Shiite ‘asabiyya is met by another ‘asabiyya , this time Maronite, fiercely attached to its autonomy of thought and action, as well as to the portion of land that came to it after centuries of gestation and suffering. A portion of land for which it has paid the price in blood throughout the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries, and which it continues to pay for today in the border villages. The Lesson of Greater Lebanon We say this while being convinced that the Maronites have, at great cost over the past century, intelligently absorbed the main lesson of Greater Lebanon as established in 1920: no longer to aspire to a Lebanon in which they would finally be autonomous and free, but rather to place themselves in its service once it had been achieved. In moving from a nascent nation to Greater Lebanon, the Maronites have indeed moved – not without hardship, setbacks, hesitation, and serious mistakes – from adolescence to maturity, from a community aspiring to become a nation to a nation assuming its responsibilities toward all its communities, which came to be integrated into its project. In order to remain true to itself, the Maronite ‘asabiyya , whose stirrings can be felt at present, must remember that it exists solely in the service of the great Lebanese civilization, of coexistence, of a believing modernity, of a positive secularism, of religious fraternity, of the rejection of any instrumentalization of religion, of geopolitical vision, of freedom and pluralism, and that it stands at the opposite end of isolationism. In support of what has just been said, we may cite the following passage from an address delivered in February 2011 by the late Michel Eddé, then president of the Maronite Foundation in the World, during the unveiling ceremony of the statue of Saint Maron in the outer grounds of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican: “This Lebanon (…) was first shaped by the Maronites into a homeland, and then into a modern state. They did not seek to make it a Maronite or Christian nation, nor a state for Maronites or Christians, although this was within reach at the time. They conceived it as a home for coexistence between Muslims and Christians, a home founded on the recognition of the right to difference, on respect for the other, and on acceptance of that difference. In other words, on freedom and democracy.” Affinities That said, and in support of the option in favor of a peaceful accommodation with the state on our borders, it should be noted that Christian Lebanon is not without cultural and religious affinities with religious Israel. The Church and the Synagogue pray and plead within the same Book of Psalms and draw nourishment from certain great narratives of the Bible. The Maronite Eastern Church also has the wisdom to recognize that, while the universal Church contributed to antisemitism in the course of its historical separation from the Synagogue, it is not itself bound by the errors of the past. It can therefore freely adhere, without ulterior motives, to the provisions of the conciliar declaration Nostra Aetate , which states: “True, the Jewish authorities and those who followed their lead pressed for the death of Christ; still, what happened in His passion cannot be charged against all the Jews, without distinction, then alive, nor against the Jews of today. Although the Church is the new people of God, the Jews should not be presented as rejected or accursed by God, as if this followed from the Holy Scriptures.” It also does not fail to look also “with esteem, the Muslims who adore the one God, living and subsisting, merciful and almighty, creator of heaven and earth, who has spoken to men.” In this respect, it could even amount to overstatement, Lebanon being par excellence the place of Islamic–Christian dialogue of life. Lebanon’s Mission Finally, if the Synagogue is its historical elder, the Church must not forget that God has made it the guardian of the hope that one day “all peoples shall call upon the name of the Lord and serve him with one accord” (Zephaniah 3:9), and that it must know how to lead them through history, by the “gentle promptings” of the Holy Spirit, toward the fullness of the revelation it has itself received. At no point must Lebanon, heir to the high values transmitted by its communities, lose sight of the grandeur of its mission. It therefore has a moral duty, in the particular case of Palestine, to wield the weapons of the Spirit and to warn its southern neighbor that, however traumatized it may be by the events of 7 October 2023 and their trail of atrocities, it risks losing its soul by exercising the genocidal violence that has been witnessed against the Palestinians. By dehumanizing the Palestinians and extinguishing in their hearts any empathy for this people, Israelis risk dehumanizing themselves, according to some of their own historians. Can Israel be saved by war? No, only by giving the Palestinians a future can it live in peace. For an imposed peace that rests not on justice but on force can be overturned overnight. True peace is that which rests on the inalienable rights of every person and every human collectivity, as developed over two millennia of Judeo-Christian civilization; and toward which all nations that claim to be just in the eyes of God must strive – which both actors in the Holy Land drama claim as their aspiration. There is yet another, perhaps more circumstantial, reason to accommodate a peace with Israel: the opening of borders to the holy sites that it would allow. Of course, in Saida and Tyre, Lebanon possesses precious relics of Christ’s passage through its land. Of course, it also has, on its mountains and deep within its valleys, important sacred sites toward which it turns its gaze. But these are not sufficient reasons to forget the stones of Jerusalem, or to turn one’s eyes away from Bethlehem and Nazareth, which remain for all Christians irreplaceable witnesses to the life of Jesus. No Decentralization That Leads to Isolation A final warning before concluding: whatever the price to be paid for peace with Israel, all forms of decentralized structures that would isolate Lebanon’s communities from one another must be avoided. Deep Lebanon has a duty to remain open and close to all those who built it or continue to build it, faithful to sharing with all the joys and sorrows, the mourning and the celebrations. Finally, economic prosperity in Lebanon must not come at the expense of its spiritual mission. Before being a casino, a hospital, a ski resort, or a tourist destination – all of these are merely livelihoods – Lebanon must remain the intellectual heart of the Middle East, a space of freedom, creativity, and pluralism, a laboratory of the “civilization of love” envisioned by Pope Paul VI. To this end, its universities and higher education institutions have a leading role to play. The search for meaning must become one of Lebanon’s “specialties,” alongside mezze .