Photographer Maher Attar. (Credit: Khaled al-Mohannadi)
"In 1973, I was 10 years old. I was coming home from school when, for the first time in my life, I heard the war alert. I remember that day with unsettling clarity, as if suspended in my memory: People were running, faces were tense, fear swept through the streets like an invisible wind. I didn’t yet understand what was happening, but I could sense that a veil had just been torn in the peace of everyday life."Two years later, in 1975, the civil war broke out, permanently disrupting the country," writes photographer Maher Attar in a moving piece, recently posted on his social media, in which he shares fragments of his journey tied to the painful memory of a Lebanon relentlessly subjected to "episodes of violence." A Lebanese legacy Ahmad Kaabour and the Beirut he embodied "The memory of this country is...
"In 1973, I was 10 years old. I was coming home from school when, for the first time in my life, I heard the war alert. I remember that day with unsettling clarity, as if suspended in my memory: People were running, faces were tense, fear swept through the streets like an invisible wind. I didn’t yet understand what was happening, but I could sense that a veil had just been torn in the peace of everyday life."Two years later, in 1975, the civil war broke out, permanently disrupting the country," writes photographer Maher Attar in a moving piece, recently posted on his social media, in which he shares fragments of his journey tied to the painful memory of a Lebanon relentlessly subjected to "episodes of violence." A Lebanese legacy Ahmad Kaabour and the Beirut he embodied "The memory of this country...