By Robert Fisk
"....So I talked about the Lebanon in which I have lived for 34 years, whose courageous, kind people taught me how to survive other, more terrible wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Lebanon had almost killed me several times, I said, but it had also saved my life. And I talked about Samir Kassir, who was murdered in Beirut, who flew like a moth through the latest chapter of Lebanon's history. Fêted, admired, jealously despised, a beacon of freedom in a place without oxygen, his genius almost inevitably consumed by his country's violence. At 45, he was a journalist's dream: writer, philosopher, academic, intellectual, reporter. And yes, he was also what we would call a street reporter, fighting off threatening calls from the secret police while condemning the Syrian intelligence apparatus.
In retrospect, I think Samir Kassir misunderstood his future killers, whom he had clearly identified before he died as the Syrian military-intelligence apparatus. He broke one of the cardinal rules of journalism. As a reporter or columnist, you can take on governments or armies or corrupt politicians or secret policemen or clergymen or multinationals. But the one thing reporters must never attempt is to take on organised crime. Kassir's enemies in Lebanon created and lived in a world of bribery and stolen wealth which spread like a web over the Middle East, to Egypt, to Iraq, to Jordan, even to Israel. To offend Syria was to offend the Saudis. And the Iranians. This was not about individuals – Arab kings and princes rarely give orders for the murder of politicians and journalists. (The slaughter of vast masses of rebellious citizens – nationalist or Islamist – is another matter.) We are talking about corporate crime......"
"....So I talked about the Lebanon in which I have lived for 34 years, whose courageous, kind people taught me how to survive other, more terrible wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Lebanon had almost killed me several times, I said, but it had also saved my life. And I talked about Samir Kassir, who was murdered in Beirut, who flew like a moth through the latest chapter of Lebanon's history. Fêted, admired, jealously despised, a beacon of freedom in a place without oxygen, his genius almost inevitably consumed by his country's violence. At 45, he was a journalist's dream: writer, philosopher, academic, intellectual, reporter. And yes, he was also what we would call a street reporter, fighting off threatening calls from the secret police while condemning the Syrian intelligence apparatus.
In retrospect, I think Samir Kassir misunderstood his future killers, whom he had clearly identified before he died as the Syrian military-intelligence apparatus. He broke one of the cardinal rules of journalism. As a reporter or columnist, you can take on governments or armies or corrupt politicians or secret policemen or clergymen or multinationals. But the one thing reporters must never attempt is to take on organised crime. Kassir's enemies in Lebanon created and lived in a world of bribery and stolen wealth which spread like a web over the Middle East, to Egypt, to Iraq, to Jordan, even to Israel. To offend Syria was to offend the Saudis. And the Iranians. This was not about individuals – Arab kings and princes rarely give orders for the murder of politicians and journalists. (The slaughter of vast masses of rebellious citizens – nationalist or Islamist – is another matter.) We are talking about corporate crime......"
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