Gino's Blog | Gino Raidy | Substack

Thank you for all the wonderful years!

I’ve Moved to Substack! was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When I asked if they’d like to share their perspective for this Monday’s post, they agreed. For their safety, they’ll remain anonymous, given the current climate and Hezbollah’s crackdown on any honest voices that stray from the party line — a topic I touched on earlier this week.

Moving forward, I plan to feature more voices you might not usually hear from, and please let me know your thoughts on today’s feature.

Growing up in Dahieh wasn’t like any regular childhood. For us Shia kids, life was more than just school and playing in the streets. We were being shaped for something bigger — or at least that’s what they told us. Everything around us — schools, mosques, gatherings — worked together to prepare us, not for a future of our choosing, but for a fight we didn’t understand. “You’re destined for heroism,” they’d say. “You’re protectors of the cause.” At ten years old, how could you not believe them? The promise of strength and purpose was intoxicating. But looking back, I realize we were just kids being groomed to serve someone else’s agenda.

I’ll never forget when it started for me. I was 11 when the brothers at the mosque approached me, asking me to join. “Just get your parents’ permission,” they said like it was no big deal. It didn’t take much to convince my mom. All the other parents were already sending their kids, so for her, it felt normal. Within days, I was training with the Hezeb, surrounded by boys who were just like me — excited, a little scared, and desperate to belong.

The camps were a mix of excitement and pressure. They’d last 5, 10, sometimes 15 days. We’d wake up early, train hard, and then sit through long sessions where they drilled their beliefs into us. And then there was the AK-47. I’ll never forget the day they handed me one. I was just a kid, holding a weapon I didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t loaded, but they made it clear: this was mine, and I couldn’t lose it. At the end of each camp, we’d finally get to fire a few rounds. That moment was thrilling. It made us feel powerful, like we were part of something bigger than ourselves. But as the years went on, that excitement faded. I started to see the cracks in the story they told us. All that talk about strength and heroism wasn’t really about us. It was about control. They didn’t care about protecting what we loved — they cared about creating soldiers who wouldn’t ask questions, who’d die without hesitation for their cause.

For me, the turning point came on May 7th. I was sitting with my dad, watching the news, when I asked him, “Why are we doing this?” He shrugged and said, “It’s all fake.” That answer stuck with me. Fake? What did he mean?

I started looking for answers on my own, and what I found shook me. Most of the kids I grew up with didn’t even know what really happened that day. It was like we weren’t allowed to know. Questions were shut down, doubts were silenced, and the Hezeb’s version of the truth was the only one we were allowed to believe. Now, as I write this, Dahieh is under attack. The same kids who grew up being groomed to fight are now the ones being killed. We’ve become collateral damage in a war we didn’t choose. And yet, the Hezeb still calls it a “victory.” They celebrate while our homes burn and our families scatter. And for what? Did we really need to intervene for Gaza? Is any of this making a difference?

The truth is, the Hezeb doesn’t care about us. They never did. Their loyalty isn’t to the Shia community or to Lebanon — it’s to Iran. Every decision they make, every battle they fight, every so-called victory is about serving Iran’s interests. And we’re just tools, disposable in their hands. It breaks my heart to think about how many of us believed their lies. They promised us strength, but all they gave us were chains. They promised protection, but they’ve left us defenseless. Even now, people still follow them, clinging to the same subtle lies and constant brainwashing that fooled us all.

When I look back, I feel robbed. Robbed of my childhood, my choices, even my sense of reality. I wanted to protect the people and places I loved, but instead, I was used to fight a war that was never mine. And now, as our homes crumble and our futures disappear, I can’t help but wonder — was any of it worth it?

Growing up in Dahieh [GUEST POST] was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The Fog of Mislocation

Imagine walking through Beirut with your favorite navigation app guiding you — only to realize you’ve been “teleported” to the middle of the airport in Amman Jordan, or Gaza, or even the Dominican Republic for one user who replied to my Instagram question while researching this piece.

This is GPS spoofing in action, and it’s become a bizarre new reality for many in Lebanon since the October 7, 2023.

How does GPS even work?

Your phone’s GPS works by communicating with satellites orbiting Earth. These satellites constantly broadcast signals with information about their location and the exact time. Your phone’s GPS receiver listens to signals from at least four satellites and calculates your precise location based on how long it took for those signals to reach you.

It’s like a game of “triangulation,” where your phone measures distances to multiple satellites and pinpoints your spot on a map. The process is incredibly accurate — usually within a few meters — but depends entirely on receiving the correct satellite signals.

Here’s a nice Ted-Ed animated video that explains it nicely too for you visual learners.

What’s Spoofing?

That’s something I learned playing Ingress and PokemonGo for several years, and the frustration caused by people cheating by “spoofing” their locations to be able to reach an unreachable Ingress portal, or catch a legendary Pokemon from the comfort of their couch.

Spoofing works by broadcasting fake GPS signals stronger than those from actual satellites, tricking devices into misreporting their location. Israel claims the use of this tactic is primarily defensive — part of its ongoing measures to disorient potential threats, particularly drones and precision missiles launched by Hezbollah and its fellow Iranian proxies. By disrupting these systems, Israel claims to safeguard its airspace, but the effectiveness of this is still not clear, with drones and guided missiles still able to hit their targets with accuracy despite more than a year of near-constant GPS spoofing campaign by Israel.

There’s also a deeper layer to this strategy that goes beyond military purposes. Psychologically, it disorients and frustrates people, sowing seeds of mistrust in technology we all take for granted. Economically, it throws a wrench into daily operations — grounding flights, delaying deliveries, and interrupting businesses reliant on accurate geolocation data like ridesharing apps, and of course apps like Tinder and Grindr.

For the average person in Lebanon, this isn’t just about maps gone haywire. It’s about feeling disconnected in a hyper-connected world. You look at your phone, and it lies to you. That’s not just inconvenient — it’s unsettling.

The New York Times identified a specific Israeli base as the source of the GPS spoofing affecting the region. Similar tactics are also being observed on a smaller scale in Russia and Ukraine, like the map below shows, where both sides employ GPS spoofing to counter drones and missiles, which are significant threats in the conflict.

Section 2: Finding Your Way Through the Disruption

So, what do you do when the satellites betray you? Thankfully, GPS isn’t the only game in town anymore, even though it is the best.

1. Use the entire Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS)
   Most smartphones support multiple satellite systems beyond the U.S.-owned GPS. By using GLONASS (Russia), Galileo (EU), and/or BeiDou (China), you diversify your navigation sources, making it harder for spoofing to derail you completely. Apps like GPSTest let you filter between different Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS) systems to know which one (or multiple) is being spoofed.
2. Download offline maps like those from Google Maps. These don’t rely as heavily on real-time signals from satellites and can guide you through even the most spoofed regions. To do that, zoom out enough to cover the areas you travel in most often after going into Settings > Offline Maps in your Google Maps app. I’ve included screenshots on how to do that below.

Section 3: Adapting to a Disrupted, Connected World

The disruptions we face today are a preview of what’s to come. As our lives become increasingly tethered to digital systems, attacks on those systems — whether through spoofing, hacking, or jamming — will have ripple effects far beyond inconvenience.

But we can adapt.

1. Rethink Our Reliance on One System Centralized systems, like GPS, are convenient but vulnerable. Diversifying our tools and learning to operate without them is essential for resilience (I know we all hate that word, but you know what I mean).
2. Rediscover Analog Skills Tech is amazing, but knowing how to read a map, use a compass, or navigate by the stars could save you when your devices fail. These skills are more than survivalist quirks — they’re insurance policies in an unpredictable world. For Lebanon, I guess you don’t really need that in most places, given the mountain ranges are mostly to the East and the Mediterranean to the West, making it easy to know where you are (roughly) along the coast and Mount Lebanon. It gets trickier in the Bekaa, but you should be able to tell the difference between the Mount Lebanon range and the Anti-Lebanon Mountain range to the east and border with Syria.

The future won’t wait for us to adapt. It’s arriving faster than we can imagine, disruptions and all. But if we’re prepared, we can navigate this new landscape without losing our way — or our minds.

Life in Lebanon is already tough thanks to Israeli invasion and a hollowed-out country by Hezbollah’s inept and corrupt successive governments. But when even your GPS tries to gaslight you, it’s a stark reminder of how fragile our modern comforts can be. Resilience starts with understanding the problem and taking small steps to adapt. It’s not about rejecting technology but mastering it, even in the face of disruptions.

Spoofed and Confused was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

How IDF Evacuation Orders in Lebanon are a Burgeoning Content Mill

In a war where Twitter often breaks news faster than any media outlet, the surreal has become routine. Israeli strikes are announced in advance, often with maps highlighting targets and GPS coordinates, as part of a grim warning system. And what happens next? A rush — not just to evacuate, but to document, and make viral TikTok videos.

Picture this: the IDF’s Arabic-speaking spokesman, Avichay Adraee, tweets a map with a building — or several — marked in red. Sometimes the warning comes hours in advance, but more often, it’s just minutes before. In a country like Lebanon, where neither the government nor Hezbollah provides warnings about incoming Israeli strikes — no air raid sirens, no shelters, no guidance on where to flee — it’s unsettling that many Lebanese now rely on an IDF Twitter account, refreshing it 24/7, just to try and stay alive.

People are gathering at targeted locations, phones in hand, risking their lives to capture the exact moment a missile strikes its target. Some are there simply to witness the brutality firsthand — a morbid curiosity many of us share but rarely act on. For others, it’s not just about being present: some are driven by the prospect of selling footage to news agencies, while others chase fleeting validation through likes, retweets, and viral fame. It’s a harrowing reflection of a world where even war’s most devastating moments are commodified for profit, spectacle, or social clout.

Clout Over Caution

Imagine this: a strike is announced. Instead of fleeing, a group gathers — tripods set, phones pointed, waiting for the violent missile strike. They’re perched on rooftops or at the end of a corner, narrating the scene as if it’s a movie set and not a war zone.

Some of these videos end up as exclusive footage for international news agencies, like The Washington . Others flood Instagram Reels and TikTok, with captions like “This just happened near my house”.

But here’s the thing: it’s not just their lives they’re risking.

Israel’s early strikes were mostly carried out at night, but the first daytime strike happened near a group of photojournalists who had been covering a press conference just a few blocks away. The press conference was held by the recently killed Hezbollah media spokesperson, Mohamad Afif. This proximity is why such high-quality, perfectly timed footage of the strike quickly went viral worldwide. Since then, it feels like it is an entire industry.

The Unintended Effects

These videos and photos might earn a few dollars or provide a fleeting dopamine hit from social media validation, but they can also feed into the Israeli propaganda machine. Footage of strikes is reshared, dissected, and weaponized to shape narratives — whether by governments, militias, or online trolls.

Israeli Twitter accounts were quick to capitalize on @thestrollingtarzan’s video (embedded below), which has amassed 1.8 million views on TikTok and 1.5 million on Instagram at the time of writing.

Israeli diplomat @RahamimoffTamar tweeted:

This is real clear trust in Israeli commitment to differentiate between Hezbollah targets and civilians!

While I believe events like these absolutely need to be documented, it’s crucial to think about the format and presentation of such coverage. Turning these moments into personal vlogs, clearly designed to generate views, risks playing into the hands of bad faith actors. It can also overshadow the gravity of the situation — where 3,500 people have been killed in Lebanon over the past year, and tens of billions of dollars in destruction have devastated the country. Documentation should inform and bear witness, not distract or dilute the scale of the human tragedy.

It feels like everyone wants to be a war correspondent these days, but without the training, ethics, or understanding of the risks involved. In many ways, this shift is positive — given the severe biases in mainstream news outlets and the blatant disinformation from many non-traditional sources, often serving as psy-ops for both sides. But, the lack of accountability and nuance in this kind of citizen journalism can also amplify propaganda and distort the truth.

The Economics of Eyewitnesses

To be fair, this isn’t new. Selling footage of wars and disasters has been happening for decades. What’s changed is the scale and accessibility. Anyone with a smartphone can now act as a one-person media agency, uploading videos within seconds of the event.

For some, it’s not about clout — it’s survival. In economies where a viral video can fetch a few hundred dollars from a news outlet, the temptation to record becomes a way to put food on the table. It’s hard to fault someone for that when options are so limited.

But for others, it’s about vanity. The need to be seen, to be validated as the person who captured the moment. They’ll risk it all for likes and retweets, never fully grasping the weight of what they’re doing — or the lives they’re endangering.

This behavior says a lot about the world we live in now. War has always been commodified, but social media has turned it into a spectator sport. People are no longer just running for their lives — they’re running to get the shot, to go viral, to make sure their content stands out in an endless scroll of despair.

War is not content. It’s not a backdrop for your Instagram story or a way to build a following. And while these videos might get you likes or even a paycheck, they’ll never capture the cost of what’s happening on the ground.

The real question isn’t just why people are risking their lives for these videos — it’s what we can do beyond simply watching them. How can we bear witness and show the world what’s happening without inadvertently helping aggressors amplify their false narratives? The challenge lies in finding ways to document the truth responsibly, ensuring the focus remains on the human suffering and the need for accountability, rather than becoming a tool for propaganda.

1,593 Days Later, I'm Back

A Grim Spectacle was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It helps if we start from the beginning. I was a student at AUB, with plans to do pre-med and aim for med school. I quickly realized I didn’t like the medicine part, but the science part. But, like any good AUB premed kid, I wanted electives that were an easy 80+ over 100. That’s when an English Creative Writing course opened up. It was also MWF, so I’d have Thursdays with no classes. I had also won second prize in a high school article competition that LAU held, so I thought it’d be a course I could pad my premed application with.

I don’t even remember the professor’s name, but he said we’d get extra credit if we started a blog. This was late 2009, we were all still on Facebook and doing #FollowFridays on Twitter. So, I went on wordpress.com and started Gino’s Blog. I wrote about my experiences in the Scouts du Liban and shared it on my Facebook profile. I still remember: 157 views on that article. It was exhilarating. 157 people read something I had written.

I bought ginosblog.com and began writing and publishing almost every other day. I don’t think I even shared it with my creative writing professor — I was hooked on writing, reading feedback, and seeing the stats graphs go steadily up. I meandered from suggestions for a nice date night in Beirut to where to go clubbing or raving on the weekend, and for a long while, “leaking” new venues, malls, restaurants, shows, and concerts before they were officially announced (Weekly Leaks for those of you who remember!).

Slowly though, I started to shift away from food and nightlife reviews and get into social and political issues I cared about and felt we weren’t talking enough about. One of the few issues that stands out and was fairly consistent was cannabis decriminalization in Lebanon. In my formative years, cannabis use was still a threat to young Lebanese futures. I’m sure if you’re in my age bracket, you know several people whose lives were derailed by heavy-handed and corrupt enforcement. My campus was across the street from the Hbeish Police Station. That same English professor would shut the windows of the classroom because Nicely Hall was only meters away from Hbeish, and the screams of people being tortured in there would get on his nerves.

Championing a secular Lebanon, civil status laws, freedom of speech, and exposing corruption in government, religious institutions, and businesses became my focus for a while. It also led to my first lawsuits and detentions by the Cybercrimes Bureau in 2014, the last of which, in 2020, made me realize I was in danger and couldn’t handle it anymore.

Which brings us to October 2019 and the decision to give it my all when the uprising started. After all, having been March 14, March 8, and everything in between, I had come to accept that none of them was working for us, and we needed to change things. I also genuinely believed we did have a chance, with the warlord politicians on their (neverending) deathbeds, their offspring being much less threatening, and Hezbollah’s Syria quagmire keeping them busy from quashing dissent and change within Lebanon.

At that moment in time, I had no job like many of you. I had already been arrested by the same corrupt government and was still idealistic enough to think I could handle it again if it meant something good would come after it. Most of my intimate circle had also split between the GCC, EU, and North America, so the usual pressure points (sa7soo7) like losing your job or your loved ones getting harassed weren’t a major concern of mine like they were for so many others.

I jumped into the role I thought I could play. Often foul-mouthed, always extremely activated, I knew we had to break the aura of sanctity so many of the octogenarian war criminals in power had cultivated with intimidation and patronage. It worked. Gebran Bassil can never shake off the kess immo charges, and he will never be president by Hezbollah’s hand.

It was definitely one of the favorite parts of my life so far, and the feeling I’d have driving down to Martyrs’ Square is something I don’t think I’ll ever feel again. I regret nothing, even though it did end up costing me a life I was in love with in Lebanon. I stopped being Gino from Gino’s Blog and became that guy on Instagram “yalleh bifishele khel2eh.”

My fourth year (and city) in the U.S., and I’ve had plenty of time to get reacquainted with myself, who I am, and who I became after everything we all went through together. I know that it looks very bleak now — the bleakest it’s ever been for Lebanon. But I still have hope. I know that what we saw in 2005, then 2016, and exploded in 2019 is still there (and scattered in the diaspora), but that the next time this happens, we have to be better prepared to make sure the powers that be don’t suffocate it. And more importantly, that we can deliver on promises, not just oppose the losers in power dragging us all into the abyss right now.

Instagram stories and livestreams from teargas-soaked Beirut streets aren’t enough anymore. So, Gino’s Blog is back, and on these pages, I’m trying to make sense of what has happened, what could happen, and what we can all do about it.

I’m going back to my roots, and the subjects are gonna be all over the place like they used to be. I think I’ll have guest bloggers here too, to strike up a conversation.

I’m tired of us just sharing videos of Israeli missiles leveling residential buildings in Beirut, then wondering how the hell we’re gonna get out of this. I want us to think of how we can stop this from happening a fourth time in my lifetime so far.

I’ll publish every Monday night. It’s good to be back. I think. I need to do this, and I think I’m not the only one.

Thank you for reading. I’ve missed you all. ❤

I turne this blog post into a podcast episode with Google’s NotebookLM

1,593 Days Later, I'm Back

1,593 Days Later was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The rapid growth of social media platforms and their impact on modern society has raised concerns about how to regulate these digital spaces. While some governments, such as the United States with its RESTRICT Act, are pushing for bans on certain platforms, there are more effective and balanced approaches to consider. By adopting regulation similar to the EU’s data privacy laws, promoting media literacy, and acknowledging the limitations of bans, governments can protect both national security and individual freedoms without resorting to outright censorship.

One critical point to consider before delving in deeper, is that bans on social media platforms can be easily circumvented using tools like Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) and proxy servers. By using these technologies, users can bypass geographical restrictions and continue to access banned platforms. This makes bans not only ineffective in addressing the core issues but also potentially counterproductive, as it can encourage users to seek less secure and less regulated alternatives.

Furthermore, platforms like TikTok have become important channels for citizens to share their opinions and engage in public discourse. Restricting access to these platforms for national security concerns creates a slippery slope that may cause more harm than good. Curtailing the ability of citizens to express themselves freely could stifle open dialogue and hinder the growth of a healthy, vibrant democracy.

In light of these concerns, it is worth noting that Jordan is preparing to present its plan to regulate social media platforms and deal with international media companies at the upcoming Arab Ministers of Information Council meeting in Rabat in June. This presents an opportunity for Jordan and other countries in the region to consider a more balanced approach to digital regulation that prioritizes data privacy and media literacy over blanket bans.

However, it is important to highlight that the strategic plan includes cooperation and coordination to ensure “fair” representation of Arab-related content on these platforms by programming algorithms to display or hide them. This is a worrying development, as it clearly states that the governments will alter social network algorithms to censor content en-masse. Such actions could potentially undermine the principles of free speech, further emphasizing the need for a more balanced approach to digital regulation.

Instead of outright bans, regulators should focus on addressing breaches by social networks like TikTok. Ensuring that platforms adhere to robust data privacy laws and penalizing them for non-compliance can be a more effective way to protect users’ privacy and national security. The European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) provides a comprehensive framework for protecting users’ privacy and data. By implementing similar legislation, governments can ensure that social media platforms act responsibly and transparently when it comes to collecting and using user data. These laws would require platforms to obtain explicit consent from users before processing their data, provide clear explanations of how the data is used, and implement stringent security measures to protect the data from breaches.

In addition to adopting strong data privacy laws, governments should focus on increasing media literacy among their citizens. With the rise of social media, the spread of misinformation, disinformation, and fake news has become a significant concern. By teaching citizens how to critically evaluate the information they encounter online, governments can help to create a more discerning and informed public.

Media literacy education should be integrated into school curriculums, ensuring that future generations grow up with the skills they need to navigate the digital world responsibly. Additionally, public awareness campaigns and adult education programs can be utilized to promote media literacy among the broader population.

By empowering citizens to make informed decisions about the content they consume, the need for restrictive government intervention may be reduced. Furthermore, this approach encourages a culture of critical thinking, which is essential for the development of a healthy, vibrant democracy.

In conclusion, banning social media platforms is a shortsighted and potentially harmful solution to the complex issues surrounding digital regulation. By acknowledging the limitations of bans and instead focusing on regulating platforms’ breaches and adopting EU-style data privacy laws while investing in media literacy, governments can create a more secure, transparent, and informed digital landscape that benefits everyone. By fostering a culture of trust and responsibility, governments can protect national security and individual freedoms while promoting innovation and competition in the tech sector.

Social Networking Regulations: Protection or Censorship? was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I was fortunate enough to attend an early viewing of one of the episodes from the captivating limited series, “Ghosts of Beirut,” courtesy of Showtime, at a movie theater in Washington, DC this week.

The previewed episode was the third of the series, in which the elusive “Radwan,” or Imad Mughnieh, is finally unmasked after prolonged attempts by the CIA and Mossad to capture (and kill) him.

Simply put, if you found Fauda intriguing, you’re bound to find “Ghosts of Beirut” irresistible. The cast is brilliant, with Hisham Suliman (Abou Ahmad in Fauda) playing an older Mughnieh, and the fantastic Dina Shihabi playing a Lebanese-born CIA agent born in South Lebanon.

One aspect that gives this series an edge over Fauda, in my view, is the Lebanese influence. Key contributors to the series include scriptwriter Joelle Touma, as well as series consultant and Hezbollah expert Hanin Ghaddar, both hail from Lebanon.

An intriguing aspect of “Ghosts of Beirut” is its commitment to factual integrity. As the director, Greg Baker, explained after the screening, it is a “meticulously researched piece of fiction.” This indicates that the narrative is as close to the actual events as can be verified, considering the shrouded life Mughnieh led and the classified status of the CIA and Mossad files on his assassination (for now).

While I can’t write a comprehensive review after viewing only one episode, I found episode three thoroughly engaging.

Like many fellow Lebanese, I became more aware of Mughnieh’s influence posthumously. He was the brains behind Hezbollah’s infamous plane hijackings, suicide bombings, and hostage executions in Beirut during the 1980s and terrorist attacks from Argentina to Kuwait. This included the devastating US barracks bombing in Beirut in 1983, which claimed the lives of 299 individuals, including numerous US Marines and French Paratroopers.

Mughnieh was a confidant and valued operative of Qassem Suleimani, frequently meeting with him in Syria to receive instructions from the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) on the subsequent course of action. You get to see this relationship dramatized on screen, and it was nice to see how the creators imagined those meetings were like.

I’ll pen a full review once I’ve had the opportunity to watch the entire series. If you’re scouting for an intriguing weekend watch, “Ghosts of Beirut” should be a prime contender.

Ghosts of Beirut: Imad Mughnieh’s Rise and Fall was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Sarde had me hooked from the get-go, and let me tell you, it’s not just because Mouin and I go way back, or the fact that Medea has been in my ride-or-die close circle for the past few years.

As Sarde’s inaugural non-host guest, I found myself caught in the whirlwind of early pandemic lockdowns, the relentless tempo of life under a besieged Sulta, and my own dance with the authorities courtesy of those countless and recurring illegal detentions and intimidation.

Fast forward through 100 episodes, and my love for the Sarde After Dinner podcast has evolved beyond my friendship with Medea and Mouin. It’s become a weekly ritual — a delightful surprise every Thursday as I eagerly check the teaser for what I’ll be watching (and often earning from) come Sunday afternoon (even if I occasionally get an insider scoop on the next guest).

If you haven’t checked out a Sarde episode yet, do yourself a favor and swing by their YouTube channel and give their video library a quick scroll, and I know you’ll find plenty of guests with stories you’ll definitely want to hear.

Episode 101: Looking Back, and Forward

The past three years have been one hell of a rollercoaster for me. Stability? Yeah, that was pretty much off the table. Just like everyone else, I had a ton to process and work through. Plus, adjusting to life far from Lebanon and embracing that diaspora vibe definitely took some getting used to.

So, I feel this episode came at the right time. After over two years of soul-searching, writing, reading, and engaging in tough yet meaningful conversations, I think I’ve got an idea about what’s coming next — or at least what I hope will. I feel like I see the hits, the misses, and the could-have-beens better, but more importantly, what we need to do next.

We dove into a wide array of topics that have been on my mind for a while, and coupled with the clarity that comes from some the forced distance, and fewer distractions (like the endless game of cat-and-mouse with the Sulta’s corrupt judges and security forces), it all just clicked. Mouin and Medea were in town, and as luck would have it, 100 episodes later.

I hope you enjoy listening to it. I think you can tell how happy (and bittersweet) it was to see them live after all this time. I hope that this episode paints shows who I am and what I think and feel when I’m not reeling from tear gas or consumed by righteous fury towards the war criminals who snatched away our lives, livelihoods, savings, and the future we all deserved in Lebanon.

Below are the time stamps for each segment of our conversation:

00:00 | Processing the blast from abroad.
8:40 | Gino the expat’s evolved understanding of Lebanese politics.
12:31 | Lebanese expats, missed opportunities and potential for impact.
14:28 | False hope & lack of political experience pushed us to oversimplify the problems & solutions.
19:20 | Who leads the change? The elite, the experts or the grassroots?
21:37 | Lebanon’s solutions & starting points between theory & implementation.
25:48 | Radical immediate change vs pragmatic cumulative progress
38:04 | Is H.A. the root of all of Lebanon’s problems?
42:05 | Is H.A. today weaker or stronger than we think?
50:13 | How do we begin to tackle the many problems in Lebanon?
58:34 | How oppression & intimidation forced Gino to become an expat.
1:07:08 | How Gino used his voice to break barriers of fear, in his own way!
1:14:51 | The ruling class, Idiots or geniuses?
1:18:15 | The useful idiots theory.
1:21:15 | Building and strengthening alternative & free media platforms.
1:25:55 | The problem with change & opposition MPs
1:30:30 | Is there hope?

Much love to all of you ❤

Sarde After Dinner 100 Episodes Later was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I haven’t touched my Instagram account much since October 3, 2022. It was fresh off my account’s third suspension since 2019. I thought, I need to cool all that heat off of the account. Four weeks later, when I was dipping my toe to doom-scroll a bit (still not posting) I was surprised that my account was yet again suspended. For the fourth time.

It turned out trolls were going back to posts from months and years ago, flagging them as “terrorist organization” because they were critical of Hezbollah and its leader Hassan Nasrallah. So, I archived most of my posts that Instagram’s terrible moderation mechanism might be duped into banning. Three weeks later, account archived from anything remotely reportable, I realized how big of a toll Instagram was taking on me.

My Instagram Story

I have been blogging since 2010, so when I created my Instagram account in 2013, it didn’t take too long to garner a following on there thanks to the blog’s boost. By 2019, I was at 37K followers.

After the 2019 revolution broke out, Instagram became an immensely valuable tool for me. By the summer of 2020, the account had more than doubled to around 80K. The live, on-the-ground coverage became something very important to me. Something that consumed me.

In retrospect, maybe a bit too much. Enough that I wasn’t a part of a lot of things I maybe should have been. I was too focused on cataloging and amplifying whatever I felt needed to be shown. Stuff you won’t see on a fixed TV camera taking vox pops from people like the infamous “shu nezil ta3mol hon?” A springboard for the emotions a lot of us felt, and I could help make sure gets to as many folks at home and in the diaspora.

It was all surreal. It felt like a movie I was in. I don’t like using the term out-of-body experience, but driving down highways dotted with burning tires and barricades, with my gas mask on, to go live from Martyrs’ Square… it sure felt like a movie.

I am grateful for every moment and every person I met in those many days. Many filled with horror and dread, but better ones were filled with hope and righteous anger, and dare I say, a feeling of empowerment and like, we mattered for the first time ever. We couldn’t be ignored for once.

The second massive spike was after the August 4 blast, where it shot up to over 120K. It was because most users back home were picking up the pieces of their lives after the blast, but I had just arrived to the US, so all I could do was post everything I could get my hands on and verify.

That’s why it spiked that second time, and that feels horrible. It didn’t help that I had just left Beirut days earlier. I think that’s when I started to sour on Instagram. Today, the account rests at around 110K.

Before that, things had gotten pretty bad. I am still processing a lot of it and I don’t feel ready to share yet. I will some day though.

This darker period couldn’t last forever though. Just as it had been useful in the revolution, it had to be useful again for the May 2022 elections. Whether it was trying to push for a broad coalition — a wide tent, or pushing for lists and candidates I believed in, Instagram felt like it was serving a purpose again.

That too though, took its toll. Nothing like an election frenzy to make you realize those rosy days of out-of-body experience unity filled with teargas, were only the start to a very long, arduous journey. It helped me understand where my priorities were and helped me align myself with those that shared them, and campaign against though who didn’t, along with the usual establishment suspects.

Maybe That’s Not What Instagram’s For

Instagram started out as a place for your avocado toast filtered photos. Then it stole Snapchat’s whole shtick and Instagram became about the stories. Currently, it is desperately trying to rip off TikTok, but somehow only getting the worst features from that social network and missing the mark on how quickly you can “train” TikTok’s algo to show you what you want, but IG reels still show you what feels like an incoherent jumble of the a handful on soundtracks you get tired of from hearing once or twice.

Maybe the way we were using it wasn’t what it was made for. We did use it though and to great effect I might add. Last month though, and most of October, the two suspensions were a wake up call. It shouldn’t have caused me this much distress. It did though. It won’t anymore.

I never let myself fall for the lie that Instagram was reality. I never let it dictate my world view. I’d never share something I wasn’t physically at, I’d never tell people to go somewhere I wasn’t at. And when I wasn’t, or couldn’t be, I’d entrust a close friend to use my credentials to go live, making sure I don’t share call to actions I wouldn’t risk being at myself.

I tried to not fall into the blame game, the usual, “oh, Lebanon will never change” or the “how are they starving if the hotels are full!” and other tropes that do nothing but reinforce what we are all trying to overcome. I still think that. I don’t blame the people. They always came through, but it seems Lebanon’s curse is never figuring out how to translate a sympathetic public opinion into actionable policies and grassroots campaigns that stand a chance of at least slowly get us out from under Nasrallah’s thumb.

I don’t see a way out of the mess we’re in now. The even worse than anyone expected performance of change MPs adopted by the revolution, was one of many things that make it hard to have any hope in the foreseeable future.

Personally, for me I am struggling. I feel like too many people are still in 2005. Or still in 2015. A time when there were two opposing coalitions vying for control in a winner-takes-all system. For me, the last few years have made it crystal clear that Hezbollah is in charge. Nasrallah’s handlers make the final call. Even March 14, was always colluding with the Iranian regime militia, even as Hezbollah picked off its members one by one.

Hezbollah-leaning “alternative” voices cannot let go of the March 14 — March 8 false dichotomy. Admitting it’s all the mighty Resistance’s fault is a hard to swallow pill for them. People aren’t stupid though. As much as we all hate Fares Souaid or Botros Harb, they’re currently not the threat a Wafiq Safa or a Mohamad Raad have been since the 2000 Israeli withdrawal and liberation of our South.

If that thinking doesn’t drastically change, it will remain echo chambers of out-of-touch, pseudo-intellectuals with a disinterested base. A part of the country that could be swayed with problematic, sectarian rhetoric when the alternative to that has been so underwhelming so far, and for no good reason. In other words, people sick and tired of Hezbollah’s hegemony, will see the appeasement efforts with the militia (tried by Aoun, look where that got him and the country, and others before and after him) and feel they’re being lied to. So when a former, now wannabe militia like the Lebanese Forces, that has worked with and under Hezbollah for years, swoops in with flashy talk about being the only viable solution to the Hezbollah problem, prompting Nasrallah to rant about 100,000 fighters he has. Funny how neither party runs against each other. Just propaganda to rile up their base.

But, I digress. For now, the IG account from 2019 to 2022 is gone. Not sure what’s next. For now, it’s back to my personal account. I want to drastically cut down, or continue to at least.

Who knows, maybe the new year will be different.

Much love to each and every one of you. And thank you. For everything.

Instagram Was Taking a Toll was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I didn’t want to write this piece.

I’m close to at least six of the 13 MPs. I’ve known them for years. I’ve worked alongside some, was a student under others and campaigned for a few of them over more than one election. Almost six extremely disappointing months into their terms though, I had to pen this down.

Their tenure has been a horror show. It’s like a car crash that’s in slow motion, but on repeat since May 2022. Every massive blunder and tiny misstep is like a punch to the gut and the successive feelings of disappointments have transformed into confusion and anger.

I wish it wasn’t so. They had so many chances to do the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like that’s going to happen.

The Never-Ending Internal Bickering

The cringe-worthy stunts during parliamentary sessions felt more like kitschy performance arts pieces, than opposition MPs on a platform in the building hundreds of thousands of Lebanese tried to occupy peacefully for months ( years even) with their bare bodies being met with bullets and tear gas and Hezbollah thugs every time.

But those stunts aren’t even the worst part. The worst part is how 6 months in, the 13 MPs we got elected, still didn’t form a proper working framework or system to collaborate if not form an actual alliance.

They’re a bloc, but not really. Some members don’t talk to each other. They couldn’t even agree on a voting mechanism to take decisions when 9 out of 13 voted yes.

This watered down version of democratic work harkens back to the the Sulta-sponsored notion of either unquestioned unanimity, or no action/position.

In other words, each one of the 13 has had veto power. That same “tawafukiah” democracy heresy that has dragged Lebanon into the abyss. The reason that any hope for democracy in Lebanon died ages ago: needing every single last person to say ok, or nothing gets done.

That’s not how democracy works. That’s how a dictatorship pretends it’s getting a consensus when the reality is one armed militia is “guiding” them, by any means necessary, and they all do the song and dance of “consensus” like kids in the DPRK do for Kim Jong Un at lunchtime.

There is no excuses that 6 months in, they don’t even have regular meetings or simple mechanisms of making decisions that even Zoom and Google Meet have integrated in them now.

I get that they all ran in different lists, maybe some didn’t even know each other before becoming parliamentarians. But six months is enough to do many difficult things, and doing what was clear voter sentiment in the elections, which was uniting forces, hasn’t happened.

It’s ok if you don’t want to be united, just come out and say it, instead of Sulta-style tweets and press releases that give empty slogans and cliffhangers in wooden Fusha Arabic.

Just come out and say it if you don’t want to, or just fucking do it. At least tell us what’s the issue exactly, what are you not seeing eye to eye on? Cause so far, it looks like bruised egos and a false sense of superiority, not fundamental policy differences. Tell us why you are not able to work together, what are these mysterious specific issues? Six months in, we don’t even know what the problem is internally, and that’s coming from someone “in the know” like me, not a journalist that spends their weekends sucking up to politicians.

Neglecting the Machine That Got Them Elected

Apart from Taqqadom, who have built a traditional way of running a political party in Lebanon, none of the MPs worked to develop the support system they need in their constituencies. Your base doesn’t just vote, it also helps you develop policies, form opinions that align with your voters and make sense and make sure you work for their interests, not at their expense to score points with Sulta partisans you were elected to stand up to.

Parliament is a manifestation of the streets and neighborhoods, not a replacement for them. Once you become MP, that’s when you use your platform to ensure the men and women that got you in that seat, grow as well, so next time, you do even better and we build upon the gains, instead of just assume you’ll get their vote again like the unfortunate followers of traditional parties who still vote for the same people that have betrayed them and ruined their lives and futures.

Where are the grassroots movements that knocked on doors to get you votes? When was the last time you sat with them? When was the last time you helped make sure those network grow, instead of come up with excuses of why you are doing the opposite of what you ran on.

An MP without an organized political movement behind them, is just another useless government employee getting a salary they can’t live off of.

“Ma Fina” is the new “Ma Khallouna”

I’m not being disingenuous and being mad that 13 MPs can’t vote for a president like some folks. It’s a numbers problem, I know they can’t. So what’s the use of beating yourself up for not being able to do the impossible with the current situation.

However, an MP can do so much more than what our 13 have done. Maybe we’re not used to seeing MPs that do the work, given the Sulta ones are just butts in a seat that get told what to vote over Whatsapp broadcast by their war criminal or corrupt za3ims. That’s not what we voted for though.

What did you introduce to punish the banks and cabinet of ministers for the ponzi scheme that saw our savings stolen by the people you are touring for your laughable “presidential initiative”? What did you do about dissolving the Berri Militia of parliament that put out citizens’ eyes and assaulted unarmed tax payers and burned their belongings on several occasions? Inno, you just say it, then never follow up? This isn’t an Instagram story that lasts 24 hours. This is policy and bylaws you can work with those that elected you, to pressure into becoming a reality.

What about the Port blast? Lip service and photo ops with the victims’ families is something you do as an activist, not as a parliamentarian when some of your colleagues are fugitives in this crime of the century.

I challenge you to name one thing the past 6 months you did in parliament, other than chumming it up with Hezbollah MPs and doing generic, empty stump speeches in the lobby.

You can’t. There aren’t any. As much as I want there to be, there isn’t.

Heck, even after Hezbollah made a deal at our expense with Israel, and there was barely a peep…

Hezbollah Suddenly OK

Whether you like it or not, the last election was a referendum on Hezbollah hegemony. “Change” lists with a lot more money and better ground game, like MMFD, that cozied up to the Iranian regime militia, did horribly. It was clear the voters do not want appeasement with Nasrallah anymore, like March 14 politicians did when March 14 was still a thing.

So, why hasn’t Hezbollah been mentioned once? Why is this ostrich-style hiding your head in the sand the position you took, when you ran on fighting the Sulta and corruption propped up and commanded by Hezbollah? That didn’t work for March 14 at its height. It didn’t work for MMFD with all the money and expertise they had. It will not work with a disjointed group of novices. It also certainly won’t get you re-elected.

You were made MPs to stop this business as usual, not submitting to Hezbollah and aligning your agenda to something that makes Nasrallah happy and Mohammad Raad giddy about your pathetic “presidential initiative” that on its best day is a waste of ink, paper and gas on your scooters for this disgraceful tour that did nothing.

So, touring to show a paper someone copy-pasted form the Doha Accord days, of a president that “isn’t aligned” without mentioning anything about our actual problems, like Hezbollah’s violent oppression, the IMF negotiations, the economic collapse, or even Hezbollah’s normalization with Israel at Lebanon’s expense.

What the fuck was that? I wasn’t sure if it was our 13 MPs or some Syrian Occupation days-style “mediator” that rubber stamps what the regime wants to get a 30 second voice over on mainstream Lebanese politician TVs’ evening news in their new suits and ties.

Get Your Shit Together or Resign

There’s still a little over two months before 2023. If you don’t form one (or two or three) coalitions that work democratically, have input from your supporters and define what you are and what you stand for, you should resign.

If you do nothing to monitor the Bassil-Hezbollah cabinet of ministers, your literal constitution mandate, just go home.

If you defeat Charbel Nahhas in the elections, then adopt his “pretend Hezbollah doesn’t exist and focus instead on non-consequential, B-list has-beens that no longer pose a threat” policy, then resign and go join him on daytime TV shows on Al Manar talking about “tawafokiyyeh” under the threat of arms and violence.

If the networks that made you MPs, are falling into decay and disrepair, you’re not doing your job, so better to go home.

Do not become new March 14 politicians. Do not rubber stamp Hezbollah hegemony with silly stunts and amateurish speeches that work when you are a movement in the street, not when you are a lawmaker that’s supposed to show a different way of doing things.

We didn’t elect you to have new faces with the same speeches in a parliament under lock and key by Berri. We elected you to behave differently, so whenever you capitulate, your excuse can’t be that “this is politics”. This isn’t politics. Hezbollah’s Sulta will not share, they never have, never will, and that’s not what we want to happen. We want representation. How come whenever we say something about Hezbollah, we get “oh, they represent people that voted for them, so we can’t do anything!” Teb, we voted for you, you represent us, so why do we also need to bow down to Hezbollah?

So, what are you compromising on exactly? Nasrallah suddenly getting a conscience and remembering hey, maybe I shouldn’t blow up Beirut again or assassinate anyone who doesn’t bend the knee? What a joke.

Wake the fuck up. Grow the fuck up. Do your jobs, or go home. We gave you six months we didn’t have time for, and you still did worse than anyone could have imagined.

Check your egos. Take a day or two off from Marcel Ghanem propaganda tours with flowers and annoying laughs and think deeply of what your next moves are going to be.

What’s holding you back?

Why don’t want you want a democratic process?

Why did you suddenly forget Hezbollah exists?

When will you learn that March 14 is dead, and you are becoming a cheap knockoff of it: submission to Hezbollah while pretending it’s the “right thing to do”?

Unless, like March 14, you think Hezbollah will let you steal some of our money so you go along… Cause, I don’t see that happening boys and girls, they already stole everything and we will not let you do the same thing they did to us.

We have paid too much and this cost us too much to have a bunch of kids subtweeting each other and living in lala-land divorced from what made them MPs in the first place.

We are not sheep. Our support is not “bil rooh, bel dam” like Sulta sheep. We will have no mercy in 2026. Do the right thing.

Change MPs Should Resign After 6 Dismal Months in Office was originally published in Gino’s Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.