Losing Beirut: the American reporter refused to leave the Lebanese capital, his home of eight years, when the Israeli-Hezbollah conflict began in July. Now he is watching as the gay-friendly city is destroyed once again.

On July 19 I lied to my mother. I called her from Beirut but said I was still on assignment in Dubai. "I've been crying my eyes out," she said, her voice cracking. "I was sure you'd gone back to Beirut. I've been calling and calling, but I couldn't get through. Come home. I want you to come home."

The thing is, I am home. Beirut, the city I've lived in for the last eight years, the city I love beyond all reason, this light-filled marvel on the Mediterranean where I learned new definitions of generosity, hospitality, and the delirious pleasure of being alive--my beautiful, beautiful Beirut. And now my home is being destroyed.

When I told people that I lived in Beirut, they olden questioned my sanity. To them Beirut was still that terrifying city of the 1980s, of hostages, car bombs, and massacres.

Smiling politely, I'd tell them their information was old. Beirut was again a city of culture; a place where thought was free; an oasis of sanity, creativity, and tolerance. This was where the Middle East came to reinvent itself, where it came to experiment. It was a place where everything was possible even if it was not permitted.

The San Francisco of the Middle East, Beirut has gay-friendly bars, bathhouses, a gay beach, and nightlife that is truly mixed, where boys kiss boys with increasing openness. True, homosexuality is still illegal, but in a uniquely Levantine twist, Lebanon has the only state-licensed LGBT organization in the Arab world.

Helem (Arabic for dream) demonstrated openly during the massive rallies last year following the assassination of former prime minister Rafik Hariri, and in May it commemorated the international day against homophobia with a conference at one of the city's chicer hotels. There was even talk of a pride parade.

But now we have gone backward. Old ghosts have returned and are busy creating new ones. The southern half of my city is rubble, including our brand-new airport, with its seamless service and welcoming smiles. Today, a pride parade is about as likely as peace. How cruelly we have all been deceived.