 By Zvi Bar'el The Meridien Hotel in Limassol, Cyprus is not just one of the fanciest on the island, but it also serves as a haven for couples who either want, or are compelled, to be married in a civil ceremony. In this case, the couples are not Israelis looking for a "Cypriot marriage," but Lebanese; the law in Lebanon does not allow them to marry there. So , they make the short hop from Beirut to Famagusta, Limassol or Larnaca - sometimes on their own, sometimes accompanied by all their relatives - and hold the ceremony and wedding party in Cyprus.The manager of the Meridien Hotel once said that the island's good hotels never suffer from a shortage of guests: "In the summer, the tourists come on package deals, and the rest of the year, couples come to get married and pay full price." While the Lebanese constitution, which was written together with the French, does indeed give legal standing to 18 different religions, factions and sects and also grants their members full rights to run their personal affairs according to their religious customs, it also strictly separates the various religious groups. The most salient constitutional prohibition is a ban on marriage between Christians and Muslims. A Christian woman who wants to marry a Muslim man, either Sunni or Shi'ite, is obligated to convert; the same is true for Christian men who wish to marry Muslim women. These constitutional imperatives were originally written in French; it was only in 1983 that these personal status laws were translated into Arabic. To this day, Lebanese attorneys cite the French versions of the statutes when trying cases in family court. "It sometimes seems like you're appearing in a play or, to be more accurate, in a circus," wrote one Lebanese lawyer. "In court, we conduct a cultured discussion in the language of the French Revolution - everyone is properly dressed to look the part, when we're really dealing with situations that should have been erased long ago from the laws of a country that considers itself to be modern and democratic." The lawyer was referring to statutes pertaining to the prohibition of interfaith marriages, to the fact that children are legally considered their father's property, and to the legal definition of domestic violence as a "sin of honor" in which the courts do not intervene. But the legal hodgepodge of personal status laws in Lebanon does include a few twists that make the edicts somewhat more tolerable. For example, Lebanese law does recognize civil marriages that take place outside of the country, and so the courts are authorized to handle divorce cases stemming from civil marriages though such cases must legally be treated in accordance with the law in the country where the marriage took place. This is why most mixed Lebanese couples prefer to get married in Cyprus rather than in Turkey. Over the years, successive Lebanese governments have sought to change this situation, but none has possessed sufficient power to overcome the political opposition. Ethnic and religious affiliation in Lebanon is so strong that it exceeds that of national affiliation. "The answer to the question, 'What are you?' is Sunni, Maronite, Shi'ite, Druze or any other group, and only after that is it Lebanese," says one Lebanese academic. "Your ethnic affiliation is also your political identity and [the basis of] your political power." Therefore, each group has a distinct interest in aiming to increase the number of its members and in not allowing people to cross over into another group through marriage. This political-ethnic power struggle, which exacted a terribly heavy price in blood during the Lebanese Civil War, was supposed to come to an end with the signing of the Taif Agreement in 1989. This agreement, among other things, was intended to gradually eliminate the ethnic component in Lebanese society. But in the ten years of its existence, while the agreement brought quiet and some 40,000 Syrian soldiers to Lebanon, nothing has been done to change the personal status laws in a way that would promote mixing between ethnic groups. The most recent attempt to do something about it was undertaken by former Lebanese President Elias Harawi; in February 1998, he submitted to the government a bill to amend the constitution. The 19-page document contained some far-reaching recommendations: permitting civil marriages, instituting a prohibition on marriage to more than one wife, establishing that a child belongs to his mother until age seven, and that the court should have the authority to lengthen or shorten this guardianship period. Harawi's bill also proposed that men and women be granted equal rights to sue for divorce, and it even enumerated what should be considered grounds for divorce: adultery, causing physical injury to a spouse, proven mental instability, separation for more than three years, and irreconcialable differences. Harawi used a patriotic rationale in advocating his bill, saying that a sovereign nation ought not to be importing the laws of foreign countries and judging its citizens by them. "I planted the seed of civil marriage, and now we'll have to see how it blooms," said Harawi in an interview with the newspaper "Al-Anwar" after he put forward his proposition. This seed sprouted as severe political turmoil that led to the creation of a highly unusual political alliance. Then prime minister Rafik Hariri vehemently opposed the bill. His personal hatred for Harawi (all contact between them was cut off for months) was just one of his motivations. Hariri, a Sunni Muslim mindful of the ethnic balance of power, sought to seal every possible crack that might enable Sunni Muslims to blur their identity and that of future generations through civil marriages. Aside from this ideological argument, there were strenuous efforts on the part of Saudi Arabia, which is a big investor in Lebanon and in the Solidar Construction Company (partly owned by Hariri), to block the bill. Muhammad Rashid Al-Qabani, the Mufti of Lebanon, was in Saudi Arabia when the bill was submitted, and he immediately sent word of his vigorous opposition to it. Maronite leader Cardinal Nasrallah Sfeir, who generally differed with Hariri and supported Harawi, a Maronite, added his voice to the opposition, as well. Sfeir wrote, "The bill goes against the Church's orders." Hezbollah, an old rival of Cardinal Sfeir and a political opponent of Prime Minister Hariri, this time expressed its support for the prime minister's position, and thus President Harawi found himself completely isolated in his campaign to promote a blending of ethnic groups. In anger, Harawi did not participate in the national Easter celebrations that year, and refused to wish Hariri a happy holiday. The rift caused by the civil marriage bill was so deep that it seemed that the delicate web woven by the Taif Agreement was about to break apart. Syrian President Hafez Assad, whose constant aim was to maintain harmony in Lebanon so that Syrian control of the country should not be shaken, sensed the dangers right away. He summoned the three leaders, instructed them to kiss and make up and to forget about the civil marriage law. When he decides where and how the citizens of Lebanon can get married as they wish, he'll let them know. Until then, the personal status clauses in the Lebanese constitution will remain in force. Harawi finished serving his term; Hariri resigned after failing to receive what he deemed sufficient support, and the current president, Emile Lahoud, and Pime Minister Salim Huss, are thus far hewing to the Syrian directive. But Dr. Ugarit Younan, a 43-year-old lecturer in sociology from the Achrafieh section of Beirut, is still pushing for change. In 1988, she founded the human rights movement in Lebanon. Younan lives with her Muslim boyfriend, Walid; she remains unmarried because she does not wish to convert and she refuses to be wed in a civil ceremony in Cyprus or Paris. "I'm paying dearly for this," says Younan in an interview with the French weekly Liberation. The biggest sacrifice she's compelled to make is not having children, "since a child born out of wedlock is considered illegitimate." Hence, she devotes all her energy to a crusade whose chances of success are close to nil in this starkly divided country. She speaks at international conferences, lectures to Lebanese youth, has garnered sympathy and even notched a significant achievement: 55,000 supporters signed a petition to legislate civil marriage. Younan wrote a book that has been widely read in Lebanon; Elias Harawi quoted excerpts from it when he argued the case for his bill. But Younan gets no support from within her own family. Her father, a former military man, and her mother, a housewife, refuse to recognize the couple. Her brother and sisters don't visit her and she cannot come to see them with Walid, "out of fear of what the neighbors will say. But they do accept me. This is a good thing, too. It's Lebanese society that can't accept a woman like me. |