Nostalgia: A past we love so much, we let it imprison us

In the 19th century, the meaning of nostalgia shifted from a pathological perspective to an emotional theme expressed in literature. Poets began to explore a yearning for the past – a desire to return to pure and intimate moments.

Our contemporary perceptions of nostalgia are profoundly influenced by these early literary and poetic texts. They were varied in aesthetics and style but often agreed on one thing: rejecting rationalisation, urban concepts, and modern life.

Covid-19 crisis

While nostalgia faded into the background before the Covid-19 outbreak, the virus brought about a collective shift in mindset.

People suddenly longed for the past.

This can be considered a long-lasting side-effect – or consequence – of such a traumatic global event; the Covid-19 crisis undermined people's confidence in the present and their optimism for the future, which was previously bolstered by technological advancements.

Humanity was suddenly facing a world that, despite all its developments, seemed incapable of protecting its inhabitants and providing them with health and psychological care. We no longer found comfort in what today brought or what tomorrow promised.

As the pandemic spread, people began to believe again in the power of the past, viewing it as a source of stability and safety. A global trend of nostalgia intensified, with political and cultural influences.

The post-Covid world has become dominated by this overwhelming nostalgia, isolating individuals from the present and trapping them in unhealthy fixations; in a way, they became prisoners of a pathological recollection.

However, modern memory research reveals that this nostalgia is neither genuine nor grounded in reality. People don't recall specific moments but construct emotional contexts around events, interpreting them selectively and independently of the actual circumstances. They end up living within these constructed contexts.

This concept is still controversial.

Once considered a disease, modern psychological theories regard nostalgia as a harmless tendency. According to Psychology Today magazine, nostalgia does not constitute a medical condition, but rather an integrated framework through which people can connect and communicate with themselves at different stages of their lives.

In this context, nostalgia becomes a constructive process, rather than a destructive reaction to the present.

Other theories propose the concept of merging, wherein the past becomes an integral part of the present, a holistic and interconnected approach that allows the past to help shape the current landscape and its trajectory.

However, an essential question lingers about how nostalgia fits within our current-day emotional and political landscape. We must interrogate the usefulness of its various definitions, particularly since its mechanisms and implications have become universal, even capable of shaping widespread discourse and policies.

Nostalgia wars

Polish thinker Zygmunt Bauman, in his posthumously published book "Retrotopia" (2018), warns about the power of nostalgia and how modernity has become both stigmatised by progress and fixated on the past.

Bauman argues that we are building a future on the foundation of a desolate and undead past, which he refers to as "retrotopia".

Putin's war against Ukraine exemplifies today's industry of nostalgia clearly. It utilises well-established rhetoric and imagery of the Soviet era, harking even further back to the tsarist era.

This method doesn't rely on an extensive propaganda campaign whose outcomes are not guaranteed, but rather taps into deep-seated perceptions and inherited nostalgias, passed down through generations; it fuels and sustains the war, eliminating the need to develop discourse on politics, security and economic feasibility.

Evoking nostalgia requires the suppression of thought and judgment, creating a fanatical following of believers and soldiers, rather than individuals capable of critical analysis. And thus the war enjoys significant popularity among right-wing and extremist groups.

Republican former US President Donald Trump coined the slogan "Make America Great Again."

These four words encapsulate the violent hostility towards the present, linking America's greatness to a past context that refuses to recognise or value the achievements of the present. It only demands that the greatness of the past be reproduced and restored.

It is no coincidence that romantic Trump supporters, dreaming of making America great again, reject deep-rooted institutional structures as well as scientific and social development, as evidenced by their anti-vaccination stances or their anti-women and freedoms stances.

In the Arab world, we witness a deep nostalgia for past serenities, or the leadership of certain individuals. These sentiments continue to circulate freely and resonate widely, without a need for underlying critical thought. Their common denominator is the potential to breed structures of violence and war.

The most terrifying nostalgic romanticisation that our region has witnessed is represented by the emergence of the terrorist organisation Daesh, calling for a return to "True Islam". This emphasised collisions between living in the present and visions of the past.

Today's Muslim, according to the extremist organisation, is condemned because he is committed to a lively Islam, resulting from an accumulation of experiences which have caused the religion to adapt to its time, both in practice and understanding. Just by nature of being a Muslim in the present moment, then, means that he is a criminal and deserves death.

The discourse of the extremist organisation is precisely what the discourse of nostalgia produces, in its general and varied applications, stating that it is impossible to recognise the legitimacy of the present and its ability to create meaning.

Lebanon-isation of nostalgia

Lebanon is a nation that practically lives in nostalgia, unable to break free from its grip.

Various elements of its society, including authoritarian, social, political, cultural, and artistic aspects, belong almost exclusively to the past.

Anti-modernisation basically constitutes a unifying framework that brings together all of the conflicting, influential forces in Lebanon, who can hardly agree on one thing beyond an ingrained hostility towards the present and the new.

The events of the October 17, 2019 revolution are still fresh in our minds.

One can argue the validity of its basic slogan "everyone means everyone," which put all politicians in the same boat in terms of their participation in – and production of – corruption. But what is undeniable is the driving force behind the revolution: a desire for change and a break from the past.

The revolutionaries viewed the political class as a single, homogeneous entity that symbolised the past, categorically rejecting any distinction between any of its constituents, who seemed, despite their differences, united in their endeavour to put an end to the revolution, including its discourse, its meaning, and the context in which it operates and the ideas it expresses, which deny the impact of the past on the creation of the present.

But the past was successful in its battle to repeat itself, alongside the authorities who shape the country's public life, turning any aspiration for modernisation into a fleeting, unviable thought.

Rafik Hariri's experience says it all.

It is no coincidence that he called his movement the "Future Movement", distancing it from all the forces that were spawned by the war or the past. But these forces have demonstrated their ability to erase any tendency to modernise.

Everyone remembers the discussion about the reconstruction of downtown Beirut. The discourse launched from a need to preserve the past, and to preserve memory, and it was addressed with the slogan: "Beirut... the ancient city of the future."

The multifaceted discussion allowed for various interpretations but was ultimately resolved with the assassination of Hariri. This brought the modernisation process to a halt, reverting the city centre to its previous state of ruin as if nothing had happened.

The authorities in Lebanon have consistently succeeded in destroying any attempts at modernisation; the country's inclination towards the past is thus absolute and resistant to change.

Paradoxical present

But is it possible to talk about Lebanese nostalgia so long as everything belongs to the past?

After the assassination of Hariri, for example, the slogan of remembrance arose and dominated. In a remarkable paradox, however, the desire not to forget, the emphasis on accountability and the constant recollection of his images, stances, archives, and speeches coincided with a diminishing ability to act and produce reality in the present.

The Lebanese scene is predominantly shaped by the past, as evident in the ongoing presidential struggle. The two candidates symbolise different versions of the past.

The name Suleiman Franjieh carries with it the entire history of the resistance movement and its crimes in Lebanon, while Jihad Azour reflects the history of failures to manage the country's economy and solve its crises.

Perhaps the advanced world has begun to deal with Lebanon as a swamp of the past into which no new water can flow because it cannot, and does not desire to, change or renew its nature.

The meetings that are held regarding Lebanon do not seem to strive for the creation of a new formula that contributes to the present or a forward trajectory.

Instead, the proposal of the army commander, Joseph Aoun, as an acceptable president for the country may be a clear sign of the prevailing influence of the past. This option suggests that the country needs deterrence and a person that evokes symbolically the image of the father and leader, practically entrusting him with the task of maintaining security in a country that is falling apart.

In all these meanings, we see a failure to produce a present reality, instead establishing the image of a nation that is rooted in the past.

Cultural implications

The hold of the past is not limited to the creation of governments and administrations but permeates all areas. You open Facebook and you're inundated with photos of old gadgets and games with comments that suggest that if you know them, you're one of the lucky ones who lived in the "good old days". Tellingly, these photos garner a huge number of likes and comments.

Images of the iconic "Bonjus" pyramid, a beloved juice from the 1970s, evoke memories of joy and togetherness – a time when families gathered and enjoyed simpler times.

But the rhetoric of nostalgia often distorts the truth.

The real reason this juice was popular was because of its low price, rather than any inherent connection to happiness. It is perplexing to see its consumption portrayed as separate from the backdrop of wars, destruction and ruin prevalent in that period.

The image of the "Bonjus" pyramid is associated with shelters and displacement, but evocation, to use Kundera's famous phrase, lends a touch of nostalgia to everything, even the guillotine.

Nostalgia engulfs Lebanon, manifesting in various ways.

Harmful games reminiscent of the ongoing war, such as pistols filled with plastic explosives that produce a disturbing sound and smell, are just the start.

There are also old firecrackers, Walkman devices and cassette tapes, familiar haircuts and nostalgic cultural references like "grandfathers" or TV character names on restaurant facades. Resistance to progress continues to intensify, leaving those who seek a contemporary outlook with no choice but to flee.

The artistic field is full of recollections whose owners want to distance themselves from a bygone era of art; instead, each of these recollections only carries with it a curse towards the present.

The latest example was a concert organised to revive past Lebanese artistic productions, which aired on the Lebanese Broadcasting Corporation under the title "Beautiful Times".

Living artists from the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s took turns accepting awards and reproducing their works. Late artists were also commemorated. But the sentiment leaned mostly towards deriding the present.

Therefore, the title of the event did not endeavour to tie the past in with the present to create a positive, beautiful remembrance, but on the contrary, it reaffirmed a disconnect from the present, and indeed pushed further towards it.

If we try to classify how the Lebanese relate to nostalgia, we can say that in general, they live on this yearning for the past.

Even those who participated in the October 17 revolution fell into this black hole because the failure of the revolution turned nostalgia into a utopia.

The peculiarity of Lebanese nostalgia is that it follows a distinct pattern where it establishes a widespread tendency to look to the past. It forms a prevailing framework that influences different groups, who then seek to validate and perpetuate overarching narratives associated with the past. In other words, various social and cultural groups in Lebanon embrace and promote shared nostalgic perspectives and stories.

Nostalgia also erupts sequentially and continuously with insignificant pauses, often involving emphasis on specific moments that are then pushed to the foreground as fuel for conflicts and strife.

Nothing can escape the past's grip on Lebanon – not politics, culture or art.

When Georgina Rizk won the Miss Universe title in 1971, a photo of her sunbathing at the Phoenicia Hotel circulated widely.

In it, it seems like nothing else exists or could exist; it's as if she's basking in the sun across every inch of the country, and nothing can touch the state of utter relaxation that was brought on by the prestigious title she'd won, which had turned her into an example of how good Lebanese living can be. The hotel swimming pool seems to have been a country independent of 1970s Lebanon, bearing the weight of its history.

The same applies to the photos of Beirut dating back to this time period – photos that evoke memories not as a form of documentation, but instead as a way to condemn the present.