Beirut

When it comes to the coexistence of different cultures in one society, Frankfurt could learn a lot from Beirut. A walk through the city centre makes it clear. The Sunni Al Amin Mosque and Maronite St. George’s Cathedral stand door on door next to one another, and only 30 metres further, on the Place de l`Étoile, stands the Orthodox St. George’s church. Every day here, you hear the call of the muezzin and the toll of the church bells at the same time. For a Christianized European it is a special show, while the people of Beirut take as little note of it as of the regular power outages.

Such closeness – also spatially – of religions would be unthinkable in Frankfurt. Just this spring the planned construction of a mosque led to months of hefty debates. The mosque was not even slated to be built in the centre, but in a suburb on the edge of town. Nonetheless the German residents complained that their district would become overly foreign. Some of the inconvincible ones argued that Islam is an aggressive religion that strives for world dominance. The objectors founded a citizens' action group, crashed committee meetings of the city parliament and organized their own protests. A definite vote by the city government for the mosque plans and the granting of the construction permit in July brought the debate to an end – for the time being.

What would happen if someday one could hear the call of the muezzin from this mosque? The owners, the Turkish-Pakistani Fatima congregation, have prudently not even planned such a thing. Yet the mere sight of a mosque is enough to excite the narrow-minded neighbours.

There have been mosques in Frankfurt ever since there has been immigration. But, they were not visible until now; the Muslims prayed in rented rooms that were not recognizable as a mosque. The third generation of immigrants though – many of whom hold German passports – now plans to build visible mosques with minarets.

Beirut is also ahead of Frankfurt when it comes to dialogue between faiths. As early as 1993, representatives of seven of the 18 religious communities established the National Committee for Islamic-Christian Dialogue. Abbas S. El Halabi is a Druze representative in this body. He says: “We could not survive without the dialogue.” It’s a question of getting to know one another in order to secure peace in the country.

Most recently the committee was active during the conflicts and the city blockades in May. “Our role is that of negotiator, we do not debate theology,” stresses El Halabi.

Dialogue is also important, “because we have a weak government,” says John Hoover, professor at the Protestant Near East School of Theology (NEST) in Hamra. He experiences the talks with other religious groups as “open and honest. None dominates the others.” When he came to Lebanon from Egypt he quickly noticed this atmosphere of mutual tolerance. “It was like a breath of fresh air.”

Yet not only the religious representatives appreciate the dialogue. “The political situation is tense and it cannot be separated from religion. We therefore must talk with one another and in doing so emphasize not what divides us, but what unites us,” says Ousama Shehab, sheikh of the Sunni Othman Mosque in Rass Annabeh. As a child, he reports, he lived next door to Maronites, Catholics and Shiite Muslims. “We didn’t care what our religions were.”

It is still like this in the public life of Beirut today. Whether in the restaurants on the Place de l`Étoile or on the boardwalk at Corniche – here both women in veils and women in western, modern apparel stroll. None is bothered by the others.

Nevertheless, not all that glitters (on the dome of the mosque) is gold. The Maronites in particular grumbled about the planned construction of the mosque, which was initiated by former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri, who was assassinated in 2005. The mosque is higher than the Maronite cathedral dating from the late 18th century, which previously was the tallest place of worship in the country. Some say – albeit not in public – construction of a new mosque was not necessary, the old Al Omari Mosque only a stone’s throw away was sufficient.

Christians and Muslims probably won’t become best friends even in Lebanon. Yet people come to an arrangement. Nearly 20 years after the end of the civil war, the will to live in enduring peace is felt everywhere. This is manifested by the “Garden of Forgiveness,” which will soon be planted right between the two St. George’s based on plans by British architects.

In Frankfurt, by contrast, preparations for a “Council of Religions,” to which all of the faiths represented in the city would belong, have only just begun. And as soon as the three million euro construction project commences, the mosque opponents will surely pipe up again.