BER-
NARD
KHOURY
DW5
A life
continues through an unpredictable turn, where survival is shaped by
circumstances beyond intention. This condition reappears in a repeated act, the
same gesture performed again and again without consequence. Its continuity
suggests stability, yet remains entirely exposed to chance, until a single
moment breaks the sequence and reveals its underlying uncertainty.
Photographer Françoise Demulder
IF ONLY FRANCOISE KNEW
In the early months of 1976, my family found refuge at the Commodore Hotel, located in West Beirut, which at that point had become an important base for foreign press correspondents covering the Lebanese civil war. Famous journalists such as ABC News bureau chief Peter Jennings stayed at the Commodore. Other notable residents of the hotel included war photographer Francoise Demulder, recipient of the 1976 World Press Photo Award for her famous shot taken on January 18, 1976, during the early hours of the infamous battle of the Quarantina refugee camp. Although I was only 7 years old at the time, I can still remember Francoise Demulder’s tall, very slim figure, wearing a washed-out, tiny two-piece bikini around the hotel pool when she was not on the frontlines. Demulder’s picture became the world’s most published war photo of the period. The frame shows refugees’ shacks burning in the background. In the center of the image, a family seems to be fleeing the area. One of the children holds his hands up in the air. In the foreground, a combatant wearing a full-face mask hides his face. He holds a rifle in his left arm and seems to be forcing the family to evacuate. As far as I’m concerned, the story could have ended there. However, decades later, a couple of improbable coincidences would unwillingly connect me to two of the frame’s main characters. In 1999, some twenty-three years after the infamous massacre of the Quarantina, I was introduced to the little boy in the photo—the one fleeing the camp with his family, hands up in the air. At that point, the boy in the picture was in his early thirties. Our meeting took place in his small woodshop, located in the Quarantina district, very close to where Francoise’s photo was taken. On one of the decrepit walls of the shop was an enlarged print of Demulder’s World Press Award–winning shot. The carpenter, pointed at every character in the frame, including his grandfather, who owned that same woodshop back in the ’70s. According to his story, the whole family survived the massacre. They were saved by the combatant, who apparently left his base before the order to attack the camp was given, in an attempt to spare as many lives as possible before his comrades could commit the unpardonable act. The combatant went by the name of Habib. Like many promising young locals, he joined the conservative right-wing militias. As the war went on, disillusionment set in, and the man distanced himself from the local militias. Years passed, and Habib gave up his rifle, keeping as his only weapon a 38 Special handgun and twenty cartridge boxes containing one thousand 9-millimeter bullets. A decade later, I became friends with a close relative of Habib and was told that the man behind the full-face mask had never shot his rifle at anyone and had no blood on his hands. In the years that followed the tragic events of the Quarantina camps, Habib used his 38 Special only to perform a trick he had learned from his militia comrades. The ruse consisted of putting a single bullet in the cylinder, pulling the hammer upward to unlock the barrel, holding the pistol in a perfectly straight, horizontal position, and rolling the cylinder until it stopped. As the rotation ended, the single bullet would always settle in the lower position, away from the hammer, due to gravity. He would then point the gun at his head and pull the trigger—the hammer striking an empty chamber. An inexperienced spectator would think that Habib had just survived a one-in-six chance of having his head blown off. To further prove his act of bravery, he would then point his gun upward and pull the trigger another three times, until the loaded round was fired into the air. Habib performed this trick1000 times, consuming his 20 boxes of ammunition and beating a 5/6 chance of survival 166 times (that’s less than a 1% chance of survival). I wish Habib’s story ended there, but it didn’t. One night, as Habib was lying in bed with his special lady friend, he performed his trick one last time. It may have been that the pistol was not properly oiled, or that he failed to hold it perfectly horizontal while rolling the cylinder—but this time, the loaded chamber did not settle in the lower position, and that final bullet proved fatal. (The 38 special handgun and the last fatal 9-millimeter bullet are not included in the package)
BERNARD KHOURY
In the early months of 1976, my family found refuge at the Commodore Hotel, located in West Beirut, which at that point had become an important base for foreign press correspondents covering the Lebanese civil war. Famous journalists such as ABC News bureau chief Peter Jennings stayed at the Commodore. Other notable residents of the hotel included war photographer Francoise Demulder, recipient of the 1976 World Press Photo Award for her famous shot taken on January 18, 1976, during the early hours of the infamous battle of the Quarantina refugee camp. Although I was only 7 years old at the time, I can still remember Francoise Demulder’s tall, very slim figure, wearing a washed-out, tiny two-piece bikini around the hotel pool when she was not on the frontlines. Demulder’s picture became the world’s most published war photo of the period. The frame shows refugees’ shacks burning in the background. In the center of the image, a family seems to be fleeing the area. One of the children holds his hands up in the air. In the foreground, a combatant wearing a full-face mask hides his face. He holds a rifle in his left arm and seems to be forcing the family to evacuate. As far as I’m concerned, the story could have ended there. However, decades later, a couple of improbable coincidences would unwillingly connect me to two of the frame’s main characters. In 1999, some twenty-three years after the infamous massacre of the Quarantina, I was introduced to the little boy in the photo—the one fleeing the camp with his family, hands up in the air. At that point, the boy in the picture was in his early thirties. Our meeting took place in his small woodshop, located in the Quarantina district, very close to where Francoise’s photo was taken. On one of the decrepit walls of the shop was an enlarged print of Demulder’s World Press Award–winning shot. The carpenter, pointed at every character in the frame, including his grandfather, who owned that same woodshop back in the ’70s. According to his story, the whole family survived the massacre. They were saved by the combatant, who apparently left his base before the order to attack the camp was given, in an attempt to spare as many lives as possible before his comrades could commit the unpardonable act. The combatant went by the name of Habib. Like many promising young locals, he joined the conservative right-wing militias. As the war went on, disillusionment set in, and the man distanced himself from the local militias. Years passed, and Habib gave up his rifle, keeping as his only weapon a 38 Special handgun and twenty cartridge boxes containing one thousand 9-millimeter bullets. A decade later, I became friends with a close relative of Habib and was told that the man behind the full-face mask had never shot his rifle at anyone and had no blood on his hands. In the years that followed the tragic events of the Quarantina camps, Habib used his 38 Special only to perform a trick he had learned from his militia comrades. The ruse consisted of putting a single bullet in the cylinder, pulling the hammer upward to unlock the barrel, holding the pistol in a perfectly straight, horizontal position, and rolling the cylinder until it stopped. As the rotation ended, the single bullet would always settle in the lower position, away from the hammer, due to gravity. He would then point the gun at his head and pull the trigger—the hammer striking an empty chamber. An inexperienced spectator would think that Habib had just survived a one-in-six chance of having his head blown off. To further prove his act of bravery, he would then point his gun upward and pull the trigger another three times, until the loaded round was fired into the air. Habib performed this trick1000 times, consuming his 20 boxes of ammunition and beating a 5/6 chance of survival 166 times (that’s less than a 1% chance of survival). I wish Habib’s story ended there, but it didn’t. One night, as Habib was lying in bed with his special lady friend, he performed his trick one last time. It may have been that the pistol was not properly oiled, or that he failed to hold it perfectly horizontal while rolling the cylinder—but this time, the loaded chamber did not settle in the lower position, and that final bullet proved fatal. (The 38 special handgun and the last fatal 9-millimeter bullet are not included in the package)
BERNARD KHOURY