These Poor Ministers!...

This reportage was not taken through the keyhole... but from a soft armchair set in the corner of a hall that would almost be elegant, if only there were a woman's hand at the Serail to look after the furnishings and things...

The physician Emir and man-of-letters Minister, Raif Abi al-Lama', welcomes "The Woman's Voice" in his polished, gentle way and orders coffee. The correspondent begs off, saying, "I am one of those who like to drink coffee in the houses of friends, not in government offices." Then she attacks:

— I want an interview "for the magazine of the women of Lebanon."

— On my eyes! Where will you begin?

— There are several matters, among them the future of the men and women teachers — I mean the law on private-school teachers; their employers will raise no salary and guarantee no teacher's future until you come to their aid financially. How will you solve this problem?

The Emir wrote the question on a piece of paper and said:

— And the other matters?

— The welfare of the Lebanese child in the remote villages.

— That is a problem it is high time we attended to. And what else?

— These heavy curricula: first and last, last and first. The serpents' heads — when will you rid our darlings of them?

And the Emir nods his head from top to bottom with the motion of one who agrees and concurs, and begins his talk on the teachers' question. Suddenly the usher enters and hands him a card; he orders the visitor shown in, and looks at the correspondent and at a seat in the corner:

— If you please: five minutes. Amuse yourself with this magazine.

There were greetings, and there was talk, and there was reproach lined with begging.

— Come now, Mir! Since you became a Minister we have troubled you with nothing but this single request: to appoint so-and-so a teacher in such-and-such a village — and he has been waiting for a year.

— But your friend, my dear sir, knows no foreign language, and the school of your "such-and-such" village has one teacher, and the program requires Arabic and a second language.

— Our friend is not going to teach medicine or philosophy. I shall send him to you; propose to him any essay you like — no one is "smarter" than he at writing essays.

— But, my brother, the art of teaching is one thing, and penning articles in the newspapers is quite another.

But the visitor does not weary and does not tire, and does not see the Emir drawing his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow... until the usher comes in with a "new" card in his hand, and in the crack of the door a new visitor, who enters and sits in the place of the retreating one.

— You have forgotten us, Doctor. We did not ask you for the moon — a simple post as assistant teacher. We did not ask you to appoint twenty professors, come now!

And the Emir draws from a drawer a large bundle, its papers pressed between two covers of cardboard, takes from it a petition, and reads:

To the respected Minister

In these difficult days we take refuge in you...

Then he hands the petition to the visitor — who fancies it holds deliverance — and says:

— Here you are, sir: two mistakes in two lines. How do you expect me to appoint a teacher who writes "hadra" with the long ta?

— Make it hard and it will be hard; make it easy and it will be easy. Is he the only one who writes "hadra" with the long ta? There are a hundred teachers among us who write every long ta as a short ta.

— And you want me, respected sir, to add a new calamity to these calamities?

The "respected sir" bristles and reels off proofs backed with names and figures:

— So-and-so holds no Certificat, yet he was teaching a Brevet class. And so-and-so holds a Brevet and was teaching a Baccalaureate class. Is the law for us alone?

At this point there bursts into the office, along with the usher and the card, a za'im — one of the lords of chronic leadership, distinguished from his colleagues by a university degree and a passport showing that he has traveled much between Paris, Brussels, London, New York, Rio de Janeiro, and Buenos Aires... He notices the presence of "The Woman's Voice" and whispers his talk in a hush, as if afraid the walls have ears — and the Minister rouses himself and strains to make his own words come out in a whisper. But how could he! And the correspondent hears:

The Minister — My dear sir, you are asking of me something outside my authority!

The za'im — ........

The Minister — That will not happen while I am here. Your kinsman failed the examination because he spent the study hours in the cabarets... I have no power to raise marks, and even if the matter were in my hands I would not do it — never, never.

The za'im — ........

The Minister — The members of the examinations committee are men of honor and conscience, and it is not just for you to impose on them in this fashion. Your friend failed twice because he is weak in both languages. And I have no more to say than that.

The za'im goes out, and a delegation of za'ims comes in; they offer greetings and sit down. The Minister looks apologetically at the correspondent and says:

— Was that five minutes?

And the correspondent almost said: and fifty! nay, a hundred! And she secretly wished this fascinating show could go on, for in publishing it to the people there would be a lesson to soften the effect of that legend... the legend of Lebanese radiance and Lebanese soaring!!

One of them speaks for the group and says:

— We have come to you, Your Excellency the Minister, full of hope, and it was not our hope that you would refuse our request — we who were your patients before the deputyship and your friends after the deputyship... We petitioned you on behalf of so-and-so, that he might go and complete his studies in Europe, and you refused — really now, Emir!

— I did not refuse because I deliberately wished to deprive "so-and-so" of studying in Europe; the law does not permit it. The law provides that missions to the West are confined to branches not taught in the universities of Lebanon. We send to Europe the engineers and physicians who have taken their degrees here and have no way to specialize in Lebanon. I have several petitions from students who failed the examinations in medicine and law and want to go where the universities are lenient with Eastern students. The Ministry of Education cannot open that door...

The Emir-Minister labors on and convinces no one; every man of the delegation is a za'im of consequence, with his own self-regard and, above all this, his services rendered to Lebanon and to Lebanon's independence...

Hardly had the last za'im of the angry delegation vanished behind the door when an elegant lady entered the office, light of movement, crowned with the majesty of gray hair, the elegance of the aristocracies breathing from her black dress. She was saying to the usher, who was struggling to keep her out:

— God grant you success — I will not wait until one o'clock for you to tell me "he has gone to a Council of Ministers" or "the director of accounts is with him." No. I will not visit the Serail five times in a single month.

The Emir looks tired; he greets her and sinks into his chair, and the venerable lady cries out in the tone of a scolding sister:

— What is this weakness, Raif? In all my life I have never seen you like this!

— No, no one has ever seen me like this. In the world of the university I was a professor, seeing around me only the shining faces of students — grateful, mindful of kindness. In my laboratory I was a comforter to all, a friend to all. Then I became a deputy, then I became a Minister: and here I am, as you see, trying to serve people as my conscience approves, and meeting nothing but displeasure and resentment.

And the Minister begins to recount stories which, were the names of their subjects published, would make some faces blush red and others turn pale. Suddenly he remembers the "correspondent" of The Woman's Voice crouched in a corner, her face hidden behind a newspaper, and says:

— Forgive me, madam, forgive me — I am ready for the reportage.

— What reportage? Is there any more delightful than the one I have heard with my own ears and seen with my own eyes? Do you take me for that much of a simpleton? "Come now, Mir"!!!