An Earthly Calling For Ramadan? Breaking The Grip Of Modern Consumerism

-Essay-

BEIRUT — Everything slows down during Ramadan. With fewer meals throughout the day, our bodies’ energy reserves shrink, making us more judicious about how we use them. Our emotions become less intense, our priorities shift, our vocabulary narrows, and our stories become shorter. We lose the desire to speak, realizing that we often do not need to, focusing only on what is essential to get through the day.

At work, our performance declines, our productivity decreases, and we find ourselves floating above our desks. It’s a state we are deprived of all year long, yet one that remains necessary.

In a capitalist system, minimalism and slow living — both natural outcomes of fasting — may seem strange to economic institutions. That is especially the case for the food and beverage industry, a key sector in Lebanon and other countries that depend on tourism. These businesses try to compensate for daytime losses by organizing events that extend from sunset until suhoor, the pre-dawn meal eaten to hydrate and nurture their bodies ahead of the daily fast.

A new economic phenomenon

In Beirut, banners reading “Ramadan Nights” hang across the city, featuring two Sufi dancers — because portraying the reality of a tired family eating a simple iftar (the fast-breaking evening meal) would not be appealing enough. These banners promote a “Ramadan atmosphere,” a new economic phenomenon that restaurant chains and businesses seek to create.

This comes from an influence of the Gulf countries, rather than a challenge to the underlying Islamophobia in Lebanon’s social structure. But more often than not, these evening events lack any true Ramadan spirit.

These venues are usually crowded, filled with food and entertainment, contradicting the very idea of slowing down and minimalism. It makes you wonder whether the commercial side of Ramadan is really targeted at those who fast — just as the commercial side of Christmas is not truly aimed at those celebrating Christ’s birth.

In Lebanon, there is a joke that the Christmas tree in the northern coastal town of Byblos is meant for Muslims. I can’t help but wonder: Are the banners’ Sufi dancers meant for Christians?

I don’t know; I have never attended these events. After fasting, I usually just sleep. In fact, I avoid eating iftar outside altogether due to the high prices for poor quality: Why pay for fattoush salad, soup and a main dish?

A double detox

But if fasting is so exhausting, why do so many Muslims fast, especially non-religious ones, who are less committed to other forms of worship?

First, fasting has been scientifically recognized as an effective method of “recycling” at the cellular level. The process of autophagy — for which Professor Yoshinori Ohsumi of the Tokyo Institute of Technology won the Nobel Prize in 2016 — involves cells breaking down and recycling their own components.

This process is only activated after at least seven hours of simultaneous hunger and movement, ideally between 10 to 12 hours. Studies indicate that fasting twice a week can offer significant health benefits. Historically, fasting has been used as a treatment for many illnesses — not only in Islamic cultures but in many traditions around the world.

Ramadan reminds us that we can exist without consuming.

Second, Ramadan brings families together. Food is prepared with love and care, with a focus on the happiness and comfort of those gathered, rather than simply fulfilling the task of eating. Ramadan redefines the value of food, which has been hijacked by restaurants, and returns it to the humble home kitchen, where family and friends gather.

This, too, is a form of detox, revealing those who truly sit with you at a modest table. Some may insist on washing the dishes — which you will refuse. While others may bring dessert to share at the end of the meal with tea, thank you sincerely, and leave with many kisses. These social dynamics disappear during the rest of the year, when eating becomes a more mechanical process, devoid of much mutual care.

A slow rebellion

On a broader scale, Ramadan shifts the value of living from production to sustainability. It reminds us that we are not created to be productive all year long, that we are allowed to slow down, to be selective, and to prioritize our health and families. That stands in opposition to the corporate world, which never prioritizes us.

Ramadan reminds us that we can exist without consuming. We can meet our friends without needing to buy a cup of coffee. We can simply be without having to prove our existence through consumption. Personally, I choose to fast for the same reason I make many of my other decisions: as an act of rebellion against the version of myself shaped by productivity.

During Ramadan, I do not care about much; I do not have the energy. What matters is who is with me at the table, physically or emotionally. Those who are — or who refuse to be — do not matter. I cannot be preoccupied with things I cannot control, like foreign affairs or wars.

The fires around me feel cold. Fear fades because, most of the time, it is unnecessary. What remains is my excitement seeing my father cooking with joy at the end of the day. I see how much pure love he adds to the same fattoush salad every day. And I always eat it as if it were the first time.