American University of Beirut

​​​​​Nearing the tail end of what has been one of the most difficult semesters of my presidency, a far cry from its immediate predecessor, Lamya and I accepted Nadia El Cheikh's invitation to watch the recently released biopic of Michael Jackson. After rearranging a crowded long-weekend schedule, we arrived eager to watch and listen to the eponymous film, which, while dividing critics on its avoidance of some of the most controversial aspects of Jackson's life, has been widely praised for its music score. 

The opportunity to learn more about the origins of a musical phenomenon I had first discovered as the pitch-perfect lead singer of the Jackson 5 in the late 1960s was more than enough incentive.

What followed was a perplexing paradox of a film, enjoyable for the most part, frustrating in aspects. In a sense, this imperfect biopic proved ​more valuable precisely because it was neither a work of art, nor a flawed masterpiece, but rather solid entertainment, containing several well disguised but valuable lessons. This was no hagiography: the Michael Jackson that emerges from it is, even absent the sordid scandals that would mar the last decades of his life, a deeply troubled, infantilized genius. But the genius, as we all know, was real, and even transcendent in ways. ​

 

I have long found something irresistible in biographies, and even fictional accounts of the flawed leader or artist: not in the lower human quality to gloat over the myriad shortcomings of even the most accomplished of women and men, what the Germans define as schadenfreude. Rather, the magic lies in how such damaged individuals overcome the cracks in their own nature, overcoming the innate lack of equipoise that we all aspire to reach, to produce works of lasting value, thereby earning our often-grudging but enduring admiration. 

I was never a devotee of Michael Jackson at any point in his long and still posthumously evolving oeuvre. However, I could not fail to notice and admire his ability to tap into other sources and cultures, to convey powerful messages with his music, of self-actualization, of racial injustice and the hope for peace, of protection of victims of illness and violence. Although that last bar he allegedly failed to uphold, even though he was vulnerable to abuse himself. But just as the fictional Immortal Beloved constructed an uneven narrative around the peerless music of Ludwig Van Beethoven without stripping him of his less savory qualities, so too does the less sophisticated Michael, despite its limitations, hint at the kernels of creativity that emerge from the extreme trials and tribulations diverse artists often endure.​

What does this have to do with today’s American University of Beirut, you might ask? Plenty, in my humble opinion. Universities do not, as a matter of intention or policy, seek to produce geniuses, flawed or otherwise. Rather, to paraphrase the timeless words of AUB’s second president, Howard Bliss, the purpose of the university is not to produce men who are doctors, lawyers, teachers, etc., but to produce doctors who are men, lawyers who are men, teachers who are men (and women).​

 

This has been our stated, explicit intention for eleven years. Indeed, AUB aspires to develop and even mold young people into citizens, women and men, who can face, understand, and appreciate “the other." But a much more underrated aspect of our purpose entails shaping and empowering individuals to face, understand, and appreciate themselves: their inner demons, their backgrounds, their shortcomings, their fears and aspirations, just as much as we hope to build on their strengths and those qualities that enable them to take advantage of all this great university has to offer.

The end product, or individual, is rarely ours to determine. We create opportunities, advocate for individuals and collectives, and fight, actively, to help make people more at peace with themselves, more comfortable in their own skins. On balance, given the enormous challenges of our circumstances, and the particular epoch of the 21^st century we currently occupy, we succeed far more often than we have any right to expect. 

But that success is not something we should take for granted. Rather, it is to be celebrated, to be enjoyed and savored. The magnificent faculty, staff, and students of the American University of Beirut have taught me a great deal over these last eleven years. I appreciate that, and them. I have always tried to show them admiration, respect, and even love. If I have myself taught them anything over these last dozen years, first as trustee and then president, I am honored and grateful.

Over the last few weeks, we have had ten town halls with faculty and staff in Beirut and Pafos, and a good number of meetings with students, collectively and individually, including the University Student Faculty Committee (USFC). These get-togethers extend innumerable conversations held over a dozen years, with the ensuing mutual trust enabling candid discussions of challenging concepts, including the definitions and differences between academic freedom, freedom of expression, and freedom of employment. 

 

Speaking only for myself, I have enjoyed the back and forth, though my sense, given the level of participation from all encountered, is that I am not alone in this sentiment. There is a level of self-reflection and self-awareness among our community that is refreshing, and a cause for genuine optimism. Our community has become more acutely aware that, to know where you are going, you must first know yourself and where you come from.

Shakespeare's Julius Caesar was my paternal grandfather Najib Khuri's favorite play. I have read and recited Marc Antony's unforgettable eulogy for Caesar many times. No lines are more irrevocably etched in my brain than: “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."

Today, Michael Jackson stands accused of much evil, a painful counter narrative to the extraordinary music he created. So it is that Michael ends with the gifted Jaafar Jackson, Michael's nephew, performing “Bad," a song that in the late 1980s signaled yet another change of direction for the chameleon-like auteur himself. It was inspired by a young man from the ghetto, who was murdered on returning to his old neighborhood on a school break. Some have posited that the song may have been a subconscious confession, that Michael himself could never fully escape his own tortuous origins, and subsequent actions. 

The same album contains the far more uplifting “Man in the Mirror.” Written for Jackson’s Bad album by Siedah Garrett and Glen Ballard, the song steps away from one’s personal, fortunate circumstances to ask whether it is possible to ever truly be content while there is poverty, starvation, and oppression within a stone’s throw, should anyone bother to look.​

 

While Michael Jackson did not write that song, he owned it. He expended enormous energy and resources attempting to alleviate suffering. Broken as he was, Jackson endeavored to help others less fortunate, the serious allegations against him notwithstanding. But first, as this song advocates, he espoused the concept of looking squarely at one's image in the mirror, something I believe we all must commit to daily. Surely in this time of great suffering in Lebanon and abroad, the remarkable AUB community, every one of us with privilege and resources, can do no less.​

“I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change.”​