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All of those who witnessed the atrocious crime that led to the death of George al-Rif were taken back by the stabber’s cruelty. His murder reminded each and every one of the loss of a loved one or simply of the gruesome outcomes of the many wars that our small state has gone through.

Fellow journalist Tima Rida who currently resides in Dubai was reminded of another murder that changed the course of her life.

“He asked me: Is your last name Rida? I knew a very good man in Lebanon. He was killed and thrown in the trash. I heard he was literally found in a dumpster,”

I asked him what his name was. The faces of the people around us turned red and they tried to stop him from saying the name. He said he has spent time with him in France and he was on his way to visit his brothers in Canada. He didn’t go through with the move because he couldn’t bear to live away from Lebanon.

I asked him again: What’s his name? He had no other choice and simply said: Hassib Rida.

Shocked, I said well that’s my father.

I was visiting Paris in all its beauty and romantic appeal and one simple, coincidental chat took me back to tales of a criminal just like Tarek Yatim, who decided to take my father’s life, thwarting me from meeting the man who helped bring me into the world.

 This was the first time I had heard how exactly my father had passed. Despite the fact that I was 24 at the time, the only thing I had heard was that the murderer who shot my father dead stood above his body, dragging on his cigarette, and threatening anyone who approached him to kill them next.

For many years I kept imagining the scene. I tried to escape the footage of George’s murder. Alas, I couldn’t. Once I caught a glimpse of it, it took me back to 1982 and I thought: What’s the difference between Tarek Yatim and the murderer who shot my father? Who’s protecting Yatim and who protected my father’s slayer in the past?

Hassib couldn’t live abroad and failed to survive away from his homeland and then he was simply killed by a street thug. George al-Rif’s children will grow up the same way I did. They will suffer what I have suffered.

Hassib is nothing but a fallen number. Just like other Lebanese who fall daily and are handled like nothing more than a scoop until a better story comes up.

I don’t know just who is luckier: me or George’s children. But let me just point out that I do feel lucky that I didn’t see dozens of men gathered around my father as he was being killed and did absolutely nothing to save him. I hope that they turn out to be as lucky and watch the man who murdered their loving father be served the punishment that he deserves.