An observation led to the anxious realization of feeling Lebanese privilege while witnessing the daily plight of Syrians (refugees) in Lebanon.
Driving back to Beirut from a nice lunch in J’bail suddenly the motorway traffic comes to a halt; it looked like a checkpoint was set up in the middle of the motorway (what a stupid idea). In front of our car are two men on a motorcycle. The driver slows down abruptly and in a frenzy jumps off the bike and without speaking hands it to the man riding behind him. Then he zigzags between cars and runs away. At this, policemen emerged, five of them running after the fleeing man leaving the one holding the scooter behind. The fugitive sported white shirt blue jeans and flip-flops in his feet clapping as he ran then in two seconds he was gone; jumped the road barrier and fled to the other side in a suicidal cut between bullet like cars speeding north. His friend, who was handed the bike, was still there baffled, and dumbfounded, looking around in panic, attempting to run away but struck at the realization that it was too late. A massive policeman grabbed the little man on the bike, still holding into the handlebars his eyes wide-open, from the back of his neck like a subdued dog and walked him away towards the checkpoint. Both were Syrian men and probably without residency papers (or scared simply for being Syrian men in a hostile Lebanon) which explains why the first man booked it when he glanced the police checkpoint.