Lebanon's 'people power'

WHEN I heard that the Lebanese government had fallen and thousands of protesters had taken to the streets of Beirut, I expected to see an updated version of the images that filled my childhood. Lebanon is a country of 17 religious sects with a complex power-sharing system that often leaves factions feeling disenfranchised. Political loyalty is a function of religion rather than ideology, and during Lebanon's devastating war most sects were represented by at least one militia.

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When watching demonstrations on television during the war you could identify the participants by religion because they wielded their militia's flag. This time was different. As I watched this week's uprising I didn't know whether the protesters were Muslim, Christian, or Druze. Thousands were chanting for Syrian withdrawal and waving the Lebanese national flag with the cedar tree emblazoned on its center. My generation, the generation born into Lebanon's war, was making a powerful statement.

As young Lebanese, born both in the country and abroad, we had been raised on legends of Beirut's splendor -- the ''Paris of the Middle East." In reality, all we had known was bombed-out buildings and garbage-lined streets. With the war's end and Beirut's reconstruction, we finally had a glimpse of the city our parents and grandparents knew. That renewed vision of a prosperous Lebanon inspired a generation. And that's why they've taken to the streets.

I have relatives and friends among all of Lebanon's notoriously squabbling sects, and the unity of message I've heard from them is remarkable. They agree on the principle of Syrian withdrawal and the responsibility of the Lebanese to find viable solutions to unresolved problems. That's not to say that it will be easy. It was, in large part, the instability of Lebanon's sectarian power-sharing agreement that led to the civil war and subsequent Syrian intervention. The Syrians understand the quicksand of Lebanese politics and are undoubtedly hoping the opposition will collapse under the weight of history.

While the death of former prime minister Rafik Hariri has led to an unprecedented outpouring of grief and unity among historic rivals such as the Maronite Christians, Druze, and Sunni Muslims, it has left an overwhelming gap in leadership. His death provoked such universal anguish because he was the only Lebanese leader who transcended the sectarian labels that plague the country's politics. What will happen to the newly coalesced opposition if Syria leaves?

The same men who led Lebanon through a ruinous war are now charged with leading its liberation. Those who defend Syria's presence see it as a ''stabilizing force" without which the Lebanese would return to civil war. If the opposition is successful in forcing Syria's withdrawal but then splinters along sectarian lines, the ''cedar revolution" will have failed. If Shiite Lebanese, who have largely stayed out of the protests, are not included, it will be unsustainable. The thousands who have found resolve in the ''people power" displayed this week must now take responsibility for Lebanon's future. They must examine their common history, ask hard questions, and make difficult compromises. The removal of Syrian authority should not be replaced by another unjust system for the sake of ''stability."

The challenge facing Lebanon's young leaders is that they not fall prey to the legacy of sectarian conflict handed to them by their parents. Lebanon will succeed only if it develops a system built on rule of law, religious freedom, and a spirited civil society. It cannot afford to return to the days of rival militias waving their own flags. There may not be a resolution that is ideal to any one group, but there is surely one that is best for Lebanon. Finding it is the challenge of my generation.

Rebecca Abou-Chedid is a government relations and policy analyst at the Arab American Institute.