In 2006 I moved to Beirut, Lebanon and stayed there until 2012. I enjoyed some of our best years there, made lots of enduring friendships and regard the country as a cherished second home... 

Every twelve months I had to renew my spousal visa to remain in Lebanon.

During one of those trips I was accompanied to the relevant ministry “The General Directorate of Security” by a very charming lawyer. He was a natural story-teller, particularly of pacey family melodramas that featured him coming to the rescue and saving the day. His life and profession had taught him there was no local issues that couldn't be resolved by a few measured words and good manners if it didn't involve immoral Jews, selfish Palestinians, a badly organised wedding, a greedy maid, a bad parking accident with a yellow Ferrari, and the public burning of the Quran. 

Naturally, I hung onto his every word. My confidence in this man was absolute.

One day my lawyer accompanied me to the ministry and guided me through a series of exhausting interviews and robotic paper stamping with his usual mixture of charm, wit and elegance. Towards the end of the long visit my lawyer asked me for my passport. “Would you mind waiting in the corridor while I discuss one more outstanding issue with a civil servant in a nearby office?” I said “Sure” and sat down on a short bench besides the office.

My lawyer remained standing as he struck up a breezy conversation with a rather intense looking individual behind a very small desk. The chat went on and on. The civil servant repeatedly turned over the pages of my passport before mumbling a few words to my lawyer. These mumbled words inspired my lawyer to talk and talk and talk. Once my lawyer finished talking the guy behind the small desk deigned to hand over my passport. A few minutes later, as I emerged from the building with my lawyer I asked him what the guy behind the desk had said to him. My lawyer was surprised I’d noticed the exchange and complimented me on my keen powers of observation. “It’s nothing. The man was an idiot,” said my lawyer as if the entire conversation was beneath him. “The man was a fool. He saw that you have a British passport and had a lot to say about it.”

“Like what?”

“He says he has family who live in Britain. He was upset that his family have been unable to get British passports while you have one. I told him you have a passport because you are British. But he still kept on complaining.”

“What does he have to complain about? He has a Lebanese passport because he’s Lebanese. Do I complain because I don’t have a Lebanese passport?”

“Of course not. And that is exactly what I said to him. But you must understand this is personal for him.”

“Why? What have I got to do with him?’

“Absolutely nothing. Think nothing of it. I deal with these people all the time. You cannot win with them.”

We moved on to a small café and sat down together for a quick coffee break. I sensed my lawyer was holding something back. While we were both dipping our lips around our hot coffee I pressed on. “What kind of personal was he talking about?”

My lawyer gave a pained look. This entire discussion was beneath him.  “Samuel, you have lawyer’s gift for sniffing out a certain line of enquiry. Remember, I told you his family have been in England for some time and still do not have a British a passport. He thinks it is wrong.”

“Why?”

 “Well, his family is hard working. He thinks that Lebanese people get a bad deal around the world even though they work hard and contribute a lot of money where they live.”

I took another sip of the coffee and replied in full lawyerly mode, “This coffee is weak and the same is true of the that guy’s logic.”

My lawyer laughed and laughed and laughed. “Very good. Very good.”

Now was the time to pounce. “And did he say “something” to you?”

My lawyer agreed with me about the quality of the coffee before moving on. “You are very observant. I told you he was foolish and he said a foolish thing. He said the British were bad people and he didn’t think it was right that the British give passports to their slaves and not to Lebanese people.”

I wasn’t quite sure that I’d heard properly. Slaves? Really? What century, what country was I living in? No matter, I was genuinely keen to find out what brilliant retort this learned man had employed to enlighten his “foolish” countryman. After collecting myself I said: “I saw you two talking. What did you say to him?”

My lawyer attempted to brush away my concerns by patting the back of my hand. “What could I do Mr. Johnson? I had to speak to the fool and set him right. I explained to him that black people were not new immigrants to England like we Lebanese. The slaves in England worked there for a long time there and the British showed their appreciation by giving your people passports.”

This was not what I had expected to hear.

There was not even a hint of irony or self-awareness in my lawyer’s gentle brown eyes. He was quite sure the unfortunate matter had been dealt with smartly, appropriately and therefore required no further discussion between we educated men of the world.

What could or should I say to my fellow sophisticate?  I suddenly felt tired. If I’d been twenty years younger I would have willingly spent the remaining afternoon and the next day earnestly chatting this matter over with my lawyer until the light of modernity washed away his happy ignorance. Only I realised I was simply too old to waste another second of my life explaining the boring ABC’s of everyday racism again.  Instead I settled for politely asking him: “Do you think you might have pointed out that I have a British passport because I was born in England and it is my birth right?”

My table guest’s blank eyes indicated he had not. 

We settled our bill and moved on.

Over time we became good friends.  

We’ve discussed the events of this day several times over coffee

Unsurprisingly, our memories of the day and key conversations differ.