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.”

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.

"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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”