LDE's Expat Citizenship Decree Misses the Point: Citizenship without Rights Is Worthless

Recently the Lebanese Diaspora Energy event was held in Lebanon under the auspices of the President of the Republic. During the event, Lebanon’s President and Prime Minister signed a decree allowing Expats to “retain” their Lebanese citizenship.

While initiatives to engage Lebanese expats are generally welcome and in some circles seen as badly needed, considering the state of the nation, the likely results are not clear. In the very least, this decree raises some key questions:

First, it is unclear what the purpose of the decree really is. After all, there has been a law on the books since 1925 (Decree #15) to allow Lebanese descendants born outside of Lebanese territories to get their citizenship, if they could prove paternal linkage (not maternal unfortunately). So how is this decree any different, except for some slightly added expediency?

Second, how would such a law serve the expats if they do not plan on living, working, or retiring in Lebanon? After all, the vast majority of Lebanese expats worldwide will unlikely return, nor can the nation really afford them to—since according to the World Bank, on a per capita basis they make six folds what their homeland compatriots make, repatriating more than 20% of the country’s GDP.

Third, in certain countries, including some significant ones in Europe, dual citizenship is not allowed. What incentive would Lebanese expats, let alone their descendants, have in acquiring the Lebanese citizenship at the expense of a much more valuable citizenship that costs them much less. For instance, the German passport allows its holders to travel visa-free to more than 176 countries worldwide and barely costs 80 Euros for 10 years. The Lebanese passport gives access to 32 countries and costs 200 Euros for 5 years. Meaning, the privilege of having a Lebanese passport costs its holder a whopping TWENTY-FIVE times the German passport not counting the cost of visas!

Fourth, if voting is the purpose of retaining the Lebanese citizenship, how many Lebanese are likely to be interested in Lebanese sectarian politics, given the very little change that it causes and the highly fractious state of the nation. Personally, I left Lebanon in the late 1980’s, and the same exact political leaders--to the man—are still in power even though the country has gone through crisis after another. Is it a wonder that of the millions of Lebanese expats less than 10,000 actually registered overseas to vote in the last parliamentary elections held in 2008?

And last but certainly not least, why would any Lebanese expat who has acquired full rights in his adopted land ask for a citizenship that may take it away from them and their families? My Lebanese sister’s children could have become American citizens, but never Lebanese, because she had a non-Lebanese husband. My friend’s children cannot inherit in Lebanon, nor can their mother because the mother is non-Lebanese and from a different religion; but they would inherit in Europe without a problem. My own son can run for any public sector job in the United States or Colombia, including for President if he wishes to, but not in Lebanon because of the sectarian constitution. Most of us expats across the world have rights to clean air, pure water, and electricity—none of which Lebanon assures. We have a right to peace and quiet in green parks, public beaches, and a clean environment. Can Lebanon offer any of this? By law, we have access to public libraries to assure fair knowledge transfer. Lebanon has yet to open its doors to the public to its national library in Sanayeh since 2014, even though its built and ready. Instead its entrance is shamefully sealed with 10 foot concrete walls. Where expats immigrated generally provides a fair economic safety net and healthcare in case things go wrong. Can a retained Lebanese citizenship provide this, knowing the state of the bankrupt Social Security fund? And finally, we have equal rights in front of the law with any other citizen from any other background, regardless of creed, color, or economic background. Can Lebanon guarantee this?

The government’s attempt to engage with Lebanese expats through LDE, its foreign delegations, and this citizenship decree while perhaps well-intentioned appears to miss the point. We expats all left Lebanon because Lebanon did not offer us the rights and opportunities we aspire. In this day and age of globalization and border-less connectivity, brandishing the right of citizenship that offers no rights is worthless. Unfortunately, signing decrees that give Expats rights they have had for a century but walked away from is the wrong way of looking at the problem. Rather, giving ALL the Lebanese (including Expats) ALL the rights that we Expats enjoy may be a smarter way.

Lebanon has to learn to compete harder on a global level if it sincerely wants to get its Expats back. For only then could Lebanon ever hope to rise to a level beyond the tenuous emotional attachment and get its Expats around the globe to be truly interested. Harsh reality perhaps, but unfortunately anything less will prove to be little more than a photo op and yet another wasted opportunity for Lebanon to benefit from the Lebanese Diaspora’s true Energy potential.

The Irrelevance of Election Law to Lebanese Expats

Recently, there has been much discussion in Lebanon about the upcoming parliamentary elections in terms of what law would be adopted and its effects? Expats themselves are asking what are the true implications and will election results truly make a difference one way or the other?

The debate centers around the ideal formula to be utilized for the next parliamentary elections. The existing election law was fundamentally passed in 1960 under the Administration of President Chehab; and yet from recent declarations made, no parliamentarian seems to like it—even though ironically it brought them into parliament. The 1960 law has mid-sized districts, and is based on a winner-take-all model within each district, which, it is often argued, may not give much voice to minorities. So, one group is demanding that the 1960 law be replaced with one with smaller districts gerrymandered around religious community clusters—basically each community is segregated and votes for its own sect, assuring itself of parliamentary representation. The opposing group prefers larger districting, which while merging different communities within one voting district, aims to assure proportional representation to everyone, large or small. Seeing that none of the options are likely to pass, a third group has been seeking compromise by introducing a law that mixes both with some regions doing it one way and others another way. Adding a pinch of intrigue into the boiling pot has been the possible introduction of a senate, which aims to allow the vote to be one way in a newly created Senate (presumably to keep a sectarian balance locked) while the house would be transformed to a more proportional vote.

Of course, the backdrop to all this debate is that the Lebanese parliament has been unable to find an “acceptable” alternative election law for almost a decade, renewing its own term twice already since 2009. With the current discussion having reached yet another deadlock, it seems increasingly likely that a third extension might be called for. This has both infuriated and mobilized civil society, who claim that at this point a vote under any law, would be better than none at all. While there may not be much of a consensus in the country, there does appear to be a sense that parliament extending its own term a third time borders on abuse.

Where do the Expats figure in all this and what are their thoughts on it? As of 2008 and for the very first time, Expats obtained the right to vote in their foreign place of residence. Not many registered or voted back then. The question now is would more of them even bother? For one, most Expats are not fans of this parliament. They have not forgotten that this was the same parliament, which shirked in its basic duties to elect a President or a Prime Minister on time. Expats have not forgotten the eternal postponement of very critical pieces of legislation, which had to do with transcendental issues such as the budget, the environment, and the exploitation of natural resources—all of which have had dire economic consequences. They have not forgotten that this was the very same parliament, which while repeatedly shelving pay raises for public employees, found it quite convenient to give its own members pay-raises and then impose controversial new taxes on the people. And lastly, they have not forgotten that this parliament has yet to pass a 2012 draft law giving Expats their very own representatives within parliament.

While they would like to see change happen, Expats approach the current election law debate with a healthy dose of skepticism. They see it as futile tweaking, which generates little more than a tug war between the controlling parties, to gerrymander and choose their own electors as opposed to having the electors chose them. Expats also scoff at the thought of creating a Senate, which under the existing system not only would add an unnecessary extra layer of complexity, but would increasingly tighten the noose on an already suffocating political system. If over the past decade, the Lebanese parliament was barely able to pass any meaningful legislation, Expats ask, how likely is it to do any better with the extra approval step of an even more sectarian Senate? To truly begin making a difference, Expats believe that the Lebanese political system must first and foremost be driven towards more open election choices, which reduce sectarian gerrymandering not increase it-in line with what is stated in the Lebanese Constitution.

What will Expats do? First, they are fully aware that they do not currently have much political power nor will they likely have any meaningful representation any time soon. But they also realize that they can vote with their feet and with their wallets. In 2009, for instance, out of the millions of Lebanese Expats globally, less than 10,000 actually registered to vote, and only a portion voted—meaning they voted with their feet to stay away from a system, which is alien and irrelevant to them and the lives they lead abroad. This trend will not likely change as Expats will continue to feel disenfranchised and won’t feel compelled to waste their time voting for the same faces, by using tweaked laws. As importantly, Expats will continue to vote with their wallets; and at this point it is safe to say they are not scurrying to invest in Lebanon or change their touristic support, especially not after the serious environmental degradation, sea-side garbage dump debacles, and illegal beach grabs.

Instead, Expats are likely to take a wait and see course of action, entertaining the incumbent political class’ oligarchic hold on the Lebanese political system and all the futile attempts at mask-taping what is clearly broken. Like most Lebanese, they see major economic and political storms on the horizon; and they wonder if it would not be wiser to let it all fall on those who created the mess in the first place and those continuing to refuse serious reform. As such, they ask: What is the point of fiddling with the election law to begin with?

Mandating the Fate of Lebanon's New Tax Law

The current government in Lebanon hit a brick wall this week when it tried to pass a tax bill aimed at funding long overdue pay raises to public sector employees and teachers. To fund the estimated $1 Billion needed to cover this expenditure, the government proposed no less than a whopping 27-tax increases across the board. No sooner had the laws been passed by parliament, with few objections, then dissent rose all over the nation.

Of course, proponents of the taxes tried to argue that anyone who opposes them is actually opposed to the pay raises themselves. They added that the pay increases will generate positive economic activity, far outweighing the potential cost of the tax. Prime Minister Saad Hariri, whose cabinet is behind the tax law, somewhat disingenuously invited anyone with a better solution to come to the seat of government and propose it. Those protesting the tax, appear to have taken up his offer, heading straight to the Saray to demand that the tax increases be abolished. They retorted that the state of the economy is in such shambles, any new taxes will hurt businesses, working classes, and the poor. “Go get your taxes from the multi-millionaires, not from those working two or three jobs to make ends meet,” they cried.

Somewhat lost in the ensuing mayhem are the following questions:

First, who gave this Lebanese parliament the popular mandate to raise taxes to begin with? After all, this parliament has postponed elections twice self-extending its term, and many are expecting them to do it a third time. And while some may dispute legitimacy, even if one were to assume it, at this point does anyone in the Lebanese parliament truly believe that they have any extra-ordinary popular mandate to carry out sweeping tax changes of such magnitude?

Second, where is the cabinet itself drawing its mandate from? In reality, it was voted in by the same parliament in question, casting doubt on its own mandate. But again, even if it’s given the benefit of the doubt, wasn’t the primary job of this cabinet simply to ensure proper parliamentary elections, paving the way for a new cabinet? Or is this Prime Minister under some illusion that his government has a popular mandate to pass any and all taxes necessary? If so, and judging by the immediate popular outcry, it seems the Prime Minister has miscalculated.

While constitutionally, some may argue that it is within the prerogative of both of these branches of government to pass tax laws, political savvy suggests carrying it through without holding a clear mandate would be unwise. Why? Primarily to avoid suffering the consequences of a popular backlash and the subsequent voter punishment at the ballot box. Unfortunately, at this juncture it seems the cabinet had not fully thought through the consequences of legislating without a clear popular mandate nor one strong enough to allow it to pass any substantial piece of legislation, least of all sweeping tax change.

This begs the third and final question: How can a mandate be retained? Quite simply through elections. In other words, the strength of a mandate is directly proportional to the proximity of the latest elections. The more distant the elections, the weaker the mandate. It is no wonder that Presidents and cabinets all over the democratic world usually begin with very strong mandates and end in what is typically referred to as “lame duck” rule. The same has been the case in Lebanon where Presidents and cabinets who begin with strong mandates, when controversially over-extended, typically face substantial erosion. And when this occurs, only immediately called-for elections renew the mandate.

As it stands in Lebanon, the repeated extensions of parliament’s terms have served to weaken its mandate as well as that of the cabinet. Under such circumstances, it is quite difficult to discern any sustainable scenario in which fiscally painful reform or new tax laws of any kind could withstand the inevitable popular backlash. As such, both the cabinet and parliament would be well advised to either change the tax base or shelf their tax plan altogether and call for fresh parliamentary elections as soon as possible. Nothing less will re-establish the pre-requisite mandate needed for real change.

The Genius of Democracy

Following the Brexit vote and more recently the Trump shock election win, I have been asked on several occasions whether I still believed in democracy—a question posed with a tinge of sarcasm to be sure, considering my writings on democracy and my preaching on a Bill of Rights. My answer has been and continues to be affirmative: I still believe in democracy; and actually now more than ever. In fact, I would argue that these two elections prove one thing above everything else; and that is the genius of democracy. But let me first qualify myself, lest the reader mistaken my argument as a political stand. It isn't.

First and foremost, I did not vote for Brexit because I am not a British citizen. Nevertheless, as a global citizen, I was against the measure and much preferred the UK to stay in the EU. So my hypothetical vote would have gone against what the majority of Brits eventually chose. Come US election time, I was indeed eligible to vote and did; but it wasn’t for Mr. Trump either. Three primary issues earned my vote and they were: Free education for those in need, having a female President for the first time, and assuring a clean environment. Mr. Trump’s abrasive rhetoric and controversial stances on minorities made my choice all the easier to take. Of course, I came out yet again on the losing side of the vote.

To a casual observer, perhaps the conclusion a voter such as myself should draw is that democracy doesn’t always work. ‘Surely, these two choices could not have been optimal for their respective societies, could they?’ they ask.

Actually, it’s the wrong question. Getting the election “right” or “wrong” was never really the point of democracy, nor its purpose in the first place—putting aside the sticky issue of who without a crystal ball is to determine ex-ante what is right and what is wrong (And if someone did have such incredible powers, what would be the point of having elections to begin with?). In reality, no one knows for sure how things play out; and one has to wait and see to judge any new government’s performance purely on its own merits.

But what is the purpose of democracy, if not to provide for an optimal result? A subtler and more significant reason is to give everyone a chance to run and for the winning majority of the electorate to take full responsibility for its choice. In other words, regardless of who wins, the victors and their supporters, have to go out and perform. If they do well, it would have been good for everyone. If they don’t, they would have been given their fair chance and have only themselves to blame; needing eventually to step aside for the democratic cycle to churn ad infinitum. Meanwhile, the nation is spared any negative consequences that come from disenfranchisement. Therefore, regardless of who the short-term winners and losers may be, ultimately it is a win-win for the nation.

In this lies the genius of democracy. As long as the perpetual wheel of democracy keeps turning and the rules of the game (as enshrined by the Constitution and the Bill of Rights) are fair and protect everyone, especially the opposing minorities; then in the long term, and regardless of any single choice made by the electorate, the system irons things out and endures. As such, for all his inflammatory remarks and the potential doom scenarios being discussed, Mr. Trump should be given the chance to at least assume his duties, to fail (or succeed), and then to leave not unlike the forty four elected Presidents before him. In the meantime, there will be plenty of institutional means to curb his enthusiasm at the federal, state, and local levels; not to mention civilian protests if things really go awry.

Yes, I do continue to believe in democracy; and no, I don't believe these elections will spell its doom. Quite to the contrary, closely contested elections in age old democracies only prove enduring vibrancy and legitimacy, not found in any other political system invented by man. At the end of the day, democracy always moves on … And in this lies it's genius.

What does Saad Hariri’s Recent Presidential Endorsement Say about Him?

After two years of vehemently opposing it, former Prime Minister Saad Hariri yesterday did an about face endorsing the candidature of Michel Aoun for the Presidency of Lebanon. In his endorsement speech, Hariri stated that his choice represented a “risky political move for himself”, which he was willing to take as a “sacrifice for the sake of the country”. Three questions beg themselves: What choices did Hariri have? Why did he make his choice? And what does it all say about him?

The first question is what choices did Hariri have? In his own coalition, he had several, among whom were candidates such as Harb and Gemayel—the first a prominent lawyer and politician, the latter a former President. A third and more extreme choice was of course Samir Gaegae, the head of the Phalange party. Having been jailed for many years, Gaegae remains a polarizing figure, who garners the admiration of few and the disdain of many. Of the three, Hariri chose Gaegae as his first Presidential candidate. The most salient explanation, at the time, was that it was his attempt to counter the endorsement for the presidency of another polarizing figure, Aoun, by Hezbollah.

Not surprisingly, Gaegae’s endorsement didn’t pan out; and Hariri felt compelled to find another candidate. To the chagrin of Gaegae, in place of finding a more suitable candidate within the coalition, Hariri decided to endorse one of the opposing camp’s candidates, Suleyman Franjiyyeh who happens to be one of Gaegae’s most bitter enemies (And whose family it is said were ordered to be killed by Gaegae during the civil war!). The fact that Franjiyyeh barely has a high school degree, did not seem to have deterred Hariri from making his choice. In his mind, in no way did it represent a depreciation of the highest office in the land. The explanation at the time was that Hariri was attempting to split the opposing camp by endorsing one of their two candidates. They did not budge, and Franjiyyeh’s candidature eventually fared as well as that of its predecessor.

Feeling compelled yet again to search for a third candidate, Hariri once more overlooked his own coalition members. This time, however, he decided what would have been unthinkable to him and his coalition only a few days earlier: He endorsed Aoun. In his endorsement, Hariri justified it by stating that all his previous candidates had not had “luck on their side” and that the final choice had to fall on Aoun. Putting “luck” aside for a moment, the fact that the candidate is an octogenarian, highly polarizing, and an ally of his political enemies did little to phase Hariri. In his mind, there was no other choice. But what about Harb and Gemayel? What about centrists and highly qualified alternatives-men like Helou, Obeid, Baroud, and Domianos? For some reason, to Hariri, they did not seem to exist; or they were deemed unworthy of the highest office.

Why did Hariri make these seemingly erratic choices? In his announcement, Hariri mentioned the need to “sacrifice for the sake of the nation”. But what exactly was Hariri sacrificing; and why didn’t he have the foresight to realize the importance of this sacrifice two years earlier and not waste the nation’s time and energy with his opposition to Aoun’s candidature? Some say it is due to new developments in the Syrian conflict; and that in nominating Aoun, Hariri was trying to salvage something … anything. If that were the case, one must pause and ask what then did Hariri ask for in exchange for Aoun’s endorsement? With some claiming that it was an implicit deal for him to return as Prime Minister, they believe the only sacrifice he was making was that if his own coalition and all that it stands for, in exchange for his own interests. Is it any wonder then that so soon after the endorsement, several of his own party and coalition’s senior members came out speaking against the endorsement?

Many more questions than answers are being raised as a result of Saad Hariri’s precipitous announcement. Regardless, one final key question to ask is what does all this say about Hariri himself. After all, his choices have been undeniably erratic with little if regard to any decorum for the highest office in the land. Hariri seems to have as weak a hold on core beliefs as he does loyalty to his own coalition and constituency, let alone strategic rectitude and discipline required to uphold them. If that were the case, one last question indelibly begs itself: Is Saad Hariri himself qualified or worthy to ever again be the Prime Minister of Lebanon?

Building a Bridge Between Constitutional Trenches

Lately some prominent Lebanese politicians have been vehemently rejecting—and on several grounds—the suggestion of a new constitutional assembly meant to introduce a new constitution. First, in light of the current political gridlock, they state that it would not be the right time. Second, they raise fears that it would likely come at the expense of minorities and may lead the country into an unknown. Third, they assert that no fair constitutional settlement can come about when one party is privy to weapons, while the others are not. And finally, they use the argument that the post-civil war constitution has yet to be implemented to begin with; and until it is, it would be pointless to discuss another constitutional assembly.

On the other side of the debate, those calling for a Constitutional assembly maintain that the country has fared disastrously for seven decades under the current constitution, so have the minorities. They point to an endemic lack of governance and accountability as being symptomatic of a deficient social contract, which needs ripping and replacing. They claim that a constitutional assembly drawing a new constitution is in fact the only way to fend off any of Lebanon’s communities who are trying to usurp power through an edict of “fait acompli”. And finally, they conclude that waiting for any previous constitution to be implemented is a fool’s errand adhering to an old Lebanese proverb, “If it were going to rain, it would have clouded”.

Of course the backdrop to all this debate is that Lebanon is seeing one of the worst constitutional crises in its history, with parliamentary elections postponed twice (and already talk of a third postponement), a Presidency seat vacant for more than 2 years, a gridlocked ministerial cabinet barely able to govern, and an inconsequential constitutional high court system. All the while, the nation is faced with immense security challenges, a massive national debt, uncontrollable fiscal deficits, water, energy and service delivery shortages, and a protracted influx of refugees that many fear will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

In light of all the above, are either of the two sides in a position to win the debate and somehow convince the entire nation of a transcendental step in either of the polar opposite directions? Or is there perhaps a third way—a compromise of sorts?

On the one hand, the Anti-New Constitutional Order are implicitly arguing that the current system is the best anyone can get. Theirs is a somewhat strategically weak position, considering the deteriorating state of the nation. The primary question these Antis have to face, though, is whether it would be better to look at options now or to wait. If they wait and gridlock persists, they risk seeing a calamity unfold (financial or otherwise) placing them in an even weaker negotiating position. On the other hand, those in the Pro New Constitutional Order find themselves in a slightly less precarious strategic position, because facts generally support their argument of system dysfunctionality: Nothing seems to be working. The problem for the Pros, however, is that they face an opposition which sees itself in a zero sum game. This means the more the Pro-Constitutional Assembly group over-reaches in its demands, the more entrenched the Anti-group will become, having little to lose. Delays leading to systemic breakdown and chaos do not really help the Pros either, whose entire reasoning one assumes is to act to strengthen the state.

And so the question that emerges is can a compromise be reached; and is there an alternative Constitutional instrument that could possibly help bridge the emerging chasm?; and whose primary purpose would be to allow sufficient reform to get the wheels of government moving, while simultaneously allaying the fears of the Antis? The answer is yes, there is a constitutional instrument that can provide a middle ground; and it is what is typically referred to as a Bill of Rights.

A Bill of Rights essentially introduces certain basic rights that the Lebanese people are demanding to compensate for salient Constitutional deficiencies, while re-affirming the current Lebanese Constitution. It would aim to shift the focus of the Constitutional debate to that of protecting citizen rights. Of course, those rights that are already in the constitution, would remain the law of the land, whereas the new rights assure further protection from abuse. A Bill of Rights properly elaborated would also introduce mechanisms for guaranteeing that the Lebanese Constitution as well as amendments found in the Ta’ef accord, not only are properly respected, but thoroughly implemented. The overarching goal of a Bill of Rights would be to strengthen the Lebanese state by introducing the necessary tools to avoid gridlock, while balancing it with an eternal check on its power by the citizens themselves.

How are the Pros and the Antis likely to react to the concept of a Bill of Rights? Since there would be no constitutional assembly, the Antis should no longer be fearful of entering discussions. Indeed, a Bill of Rights could prove to be exactly the tool needed to strengthen the rights they so fear losing. Whereas the Pros who favor constitutional changes would also be satisfied, as such a Bill could bring the needed ingredients that can add stability and strengthen the state, without risking the entire enterprise. A Bill of Rights means both sides end up net beneficiaries: The different communities in Lebanon would find a way to protect their individual rights and their way of life, while the state is reformed and fortified.

As the Lebanese state sees a steady decline, can the Lebanese afford to sit idle and remain polarized in their Constitutional trenches? Or is it time for opposing communities to unite and try to build bridges towards a more positive future? If so, it appears there may be no other solution that represents an opportunity for a fair compromise, except for a Lebanese Citizen Bill of Rights.

Conversation with Syrian Refugees in a Camp outside Munich, Germany

I am in Unterschleissheim, a tech hub suburb of Munich in Germany. For a couple of days I had been going to business meetings in the area. Close by in the neighborhood, I spotted a small camp with a gate and sign that says Caritas. I also saw what looked like Middle Eastern men milling about or sitting on a bench basking in the sun whenever the weather permitted.

My wife by my side, I decided to stop by and talk to them to learn their story. As I approached the short open fence, I was not sure I would be allowed to speak to them, even though I could not see any security or police anywhere near.

- Marhaba (Hello), my name is Wissam. I was passing by and thought of stopping by to say hello. I am Lebanese.

The man looked at me silently for a moment, then broke a shy smile.

"Ahlan (Welcome), my name is Omar. Sorry my hands are a bit greasy. I have been fixing our community bikes."

- Are you a Syrian refugee? I asked.

Omar: Yes, most of us here are.

- Which part of Syria are you from?

Omar: Deir el Zor. But there are guys from all over in this little camp.

- I am from Beirut but I live in America. I am visiting Munich on business. How did you end up here in Munich?

Omar: Well, it was quite a long trip. Difficult to believe now ...  Walking, running, swimming, cars, buses, trains. Through Lebanon and Turkey ...

- Are you here with your family?

Omar: No I came alone. My family is still in Syria. We are all men here in this camp.

- Why aren't there any women?

Omar: Most couldn't take the trip. Once in Germany, the authorities put us single men in refuge camps like this and families with kids in other places.

- It must have been difficult for you to leave your family behind.

Yes, I miss them and we are all working on trying to bring them over in a safer way.

- May I ask why you decided to leave Syria?

Omar: I was forced to make a very difficult choice. Either leave or fight.

- What do you mean?

Omar: I received a letter inviting me to join the army, I decided with my wife that I would leave the next day before being forced into the army. I am an accountant not a fighter.

- You are an accountant?

Omar: Yes. I was the controller of a bank, a Lebanese bank in Syria actually, the Franco Libanais.

- Oh wow. Is everyone here this professional?

Omar: No, there are different backgrounds and different levels of education. Some cannot read Latin characters only Arabic. Others are ok and have begun learning the German language very quickly. (He breaks out showing off his German to my wife).

- Are you still in touch with your family back home Omar?

Omar: Yes, all the time.

- Really, how?

Omar: WhatsApp, Facebook, Skype, Email.

- You mean Syria still has Internet?

Omar: Yes, most cities still have it. This guy is from Qamishle. He is in touch with his family every day. The other one is from Damascus suburbs. The same. (They all come close to say hello)

- Are you allowed to leave this camp whenever you want?

Omar: Yes, of course, we are refugees not prisoners.

- How have you been treated by Germany?

Omar: Quite well. They have given us shelter, they give us a stipend, and are processing our refugee paperwork.

- You mean you are now legal?

Omar: Yes, some of us are, for the others its in the works. This is my refugee passport and ID. I am now allowed to travel all over Europe with it.

- Have you interacted with the local community?

Omar: We receive six-hour daily  German lessons, so some of us can now interact better. We are now trying to give back by providing Arabic courses to the community.

- Do the people treat you well here, Omar?

Omar: Yes, but they don't really know us. Some of them are afraid to interact with us not knowing what to expect. Everyone has heard of refugees but few actually get to meet them. Maybe once housing opens up, we can mix better.

- When will you be allowed to live outside the camp?

Omar: Once you are given papers. But here in Bavaria housing is not easy, so some of us have been here for eight months in this small camp, even though we already have papers. Hopefully, housing will become available soon. But its ok here and it has all the basic needs. Would you like to see the camp inside?

- Sure.

Omar: Let's sign you in first ... We don't really need to but its better. [We walk through gates to one of the modules and go in a door that says administration. To Caritas admin in Arabic]: These guys are here to visit us, can you please sign them in?

- He looks German. How come he speaks Arabic?

Omar: Actually, he is half German half Iraqi.

- Interesting to see how this housing was built.

Omar: All this housing was built out of containers.

- Looks nice on the inside. Do they clean it for you?

Omar: No, we keep it clean and organized ourselves. It is spacious. Here is our laundry room ... Our kitchen area. We buy our own food and cook ... This is our classroom. Would you like to see some of our bedrooms?

- Sure

Omar: Most have one or two beds, a closet, and a small fridge.

- I see you have Arabic pita bread.

Omar: We buy it from the Middle Eastern bakery in the town. Would you like to have some tea? Please sit down and I will invite some friends to join.

- Do you miss home, Omar?

Omar: There is no place like home.

- Would you ever go back?

Omar: Yes if the situation was better. But our region is not good for a family; and I am hoping to settle here once my family can join me.

- Have you been affected by the war?

Omar: Every Syrian has been affected by the war. My nephew was forced to join the army 6 years ago. His mother, my sister, has not been able to see him since. He is having to fight against his cousins and neighbors. I cannot imagine how he will be if he ever comes back. He was an innocent kid.

- Has your city been as affected as Hallab or Homs?

Omar: Most cities in Syria have been. He is from the reef of Damascus (suburbs) which are basically cities outside the city of Damascus and there has also been massive destruction there. We now have a housing problem here in Bavaria as much as we have it in Syria!

- What are your hopes for the future?

Omar: To live in peace, be productive, and raise a happy family.