A Question for Those in Lebanon and Israel
What does it feel like to be on the ground in Lebanon and Israel? What have you seen?
Posted by: Hugh Naylor in the Archirfiye district of East Beirut | July 18, 2006 04:26 PM
It's not everyday that an aspiring journalist moves to a foreign country and wakes up to the piercing reverberations of 1,000-kilogram missile explosions in the first week of his trip. But this was, and still is, my experience here in Beirut--my baptism by fire.
There's no shortage of news to report in this conflict-prone country if you're willing to go out and get it. Since fighting between Israel and Hezbollah militants began a week ago today, I've focused my efforts in Achrifiye, a predominantly Maronite Christian district of East Beirut. Residents here jump at the chance to express their opinions on the conflict, often rambling in an undecipherable mix of Arabic, French, and English when trying to convey their sentiments.
Most people in Achrifiye place the onus of this war squarely on Hezbollah's shoulders. And Israel, which at one time was an ally of the Maronites during the Lebanese civil war, is unanimously suspect and more or less disliked.
But as the crisis hardens into what appears to be all-out war, sentiments here are changing. A growing but still small number of people, people who initially denounced Hezbollah during the early stages of the conflict, are warming up to the militant Shiite organization. Some argue that they admire Hezbollah for fighting Israel--especially as the Lebanese army sits by, idly, while Israelis dominate the country's pliable sovereignty.
Others, however, hold a more nuanced reason for their implicit support (perhaps lack of criticism is a better description) for the Shi'a of Hezbollah, a sentiment that reflects a deep and ongoing concern over the Maronite community's declining demographics relative to other domestic religious populations. This particular group of Maronites worries about the post-war agreement, which they believe will inevitably be dictated by Israel and their surrounding Sunni Arab neighbors. For various reasons, some vary conspiratorial in nature, they fear that a post-war agreement will accord Lebanese citizenship to the country's roughly 400,000 Palestinian refugees, in an effort by the region's larger powers to create a Sunni buffer against Lebanon's Shiite. And such a situation, they believe, would erode Maronite influence in Lebanese politics even further. So, in essence, some Maronites don't want their community to burn its bridges with the
Shiite population by publicly denouncing Hezbollah, for fear of what the future holds in store.
Regardless of the district's diverse range of political sentiments, conspiracy theories and all, I find that I'm growing more and more attached to the people of Achrifiye, who have been exceptionally generous hosts. And I also find myself worrying more and more about their personal safety in a conflict that many here believe will take many more lives--possibly even their own.
Posted by: Hugh Naylor in Achrifiye District, East Beirut | July 18, 2006 04:30 PM
The skies were strangely calm in Beirut yesterday afternoon. The
ongoing missiles strikes, which have smashed the southern edges of the
city for more than a week, halted for some unknown reason.
But as I stopped by a neighboring market to chat with some local
friends, they knew exactly why Israel pulled back. "The Americans and
French begin evacuation now...Israel knows it cannot fire on its
friends," said Ricky, a pianist in one of Beirut's jazz clubs. Not
long after telling me this, three French helicopters buzzed over my
apartment complex, shuffling nationals into a cruise ship at a nearby
port.
The mounting violence in Beirut is taking its toll on the people of
Achrifiye, who feel that they've been unilaterally and unjustifiably
pulled into a conflict by forces beyond their control. Pierre, an
owner of a neighborhood flower shop who holds dual citizenship in the
United States and Lebanon, summed up much of the neighborhood's
sentiments when he commented, "My future...Lebanon's future is not made
here by the people of Lebanon. It's made by Hezbollah and Iran,
Syria, and by Israel." When I first met Pierre, he was adamantly
pro-Bush. But as America takes a distanced approached to the crisis,
his once favorable opinions of President Bush and America's leadership
have cooled.
As Americans, Europeans, and foreign Arabs flee Lebanon, people here
in Achrifiye can't help but think that the value of their lives is of
secondary importance to foreigners, who apparently hold enough sway to
restrain Israel from attacking.
Ricky begged me to get the hell out of the country before things get
worse. But I feel a sense of guilt about the prospect of leaving:
both Ricky and I are innocent bystanders to this conflict. Neither of
us provoked this war nor controls its destiny. Yet I have an
opportunity to escape it, while he and his loved ones have no option
but to remain behind and hope for better days to come.
Last night I spoke with the building manager of my apartment, Khaled,
a Coptic Christian from Egypt. While discussing politics over a cup
of extraordinarily sweet Egyptian tea, he expressed fear that the
cessation of Israeli missile attacks in response to the evacuations
sends a dangerous message to Hezbollah. "They [Hezbollah] see French
and Americans important...important enough to stop Israel from shooting
the bombs here," he said in chopped English. Translation: the lives
of Westerners can influence the outcome of this war.
Khaled worries that if Hezbollah's ability to attack Israel is
eliminated, the militant Shiite organization will look for new tactics
to inflict pain on Israel and its allies. Namely, he worries that
Hezbollah militants will begin a campaign of systematically kidnapping
Western tourists and businessmen in Lebanon to gain leverage with
America and European governments, with the intention of forcing them
to curb Israeli actions.
After Khaled and Ricky expressed concern over my personal safety, I've
been a bit more vigilant. But, although sensing a deepening feeling
of dread throughout Achrifiye, I'm amazed at the hospitality and
pleasantries that are still bestowed my way by the people here.
Rather than vent their frustrations during their encounters with me,
they look beyond high politics and treat me as their equal--as a fellow
human being.
Posted by: Hugh Naylor in East Beirut | July 19, 2006 10:20 AM
Posted by: PostGlobal, Amar Bakshi | July 19, 2006 11:50 AM
I have only known Beirut in times of peace. When I first came here in the fall of 2000 as a visiting undergraduate at the American University of Beirut, I had no idea what to expect. I found a battered but vibrant city, coming out of a decade of reconstruction. It was still politically volatile and the Syrian army was still stationed in the street corners, but I fell in love with this place, nevertheless. I have been back on recreational trips many times since, but this summer I was coming as a researcher, not a tourist. I had been here less than a week when Hizballah captured two Israeli soldiers and the battle begun. The first night, as I was sitting on my dark balcony, watching the stars and listening to the sound of anti-aircraft guns in the distance, I really didn't think it would last more than a day or two.
I was wrong. The next morning, Israeli fighter jets bombed the airport; the first sign for me that this conflict would not be restricted to Hizballah targets in the south, but would include Lebanon as a nation. Soon, bombing was nearby; explosions echoed through the streets of the Hamra district where I'm staying. It was quite a surreal feeling to go from having drinks with your friends in trendy bars, to seek shelter from heavy bombardment and not knowing if a bomb will hit your building at any time. Hamra has so far been spared heavy attacks on its residential quarters, but I still found it preferable to move in on the campus of the American University of Beirut. There I would have constant access to electricity, running water, as well as the Internet, which I have discovered is an invaluable source of information and a lifeline to family and friends at times like these.
I have also discovered that "safe" is a relative term. People write, text message, and call to ask me if I'm "safe." Well, I don't expect to die here, I'm quite comfortable on AUB campus, when compared to the thousands of Lebanese fleeing the worst hit areas, but I hardly consider constant bombardment from Israeli fighter jets and war ships a safe environment. The other day, I was in my newly acquired room on campus and I heard the roaring sound of a fighter jet coming out of a dive. Next, I heard a whistling sound and a loud boom very close by.
I went outside and noticed excitement among the residents of the dorms: a huge crater had been formed in the artificial lawn of the International College's soccer field, right in front of my building. It wasn't a missile armed with explosives, however, but flyers, explaining how the "national resistance" is dragging Lebanon into this misery. In case the written message was difficult to understand, there was also a drawing of people suffering from smoke and explosions, as Hassan Nasrallah sits safely with a gas mask underground.
An hour or so later, I was sitting on my balcony on the seventh floor, looking out over the Mediterranean when I saw an Israeli warship in the distance. It was quite a tiny ship, I thought, not at all the size I would expect. Well, that tiny ship had quite a stinger, I have to say. Just a few seconds after I had taken a picture of the distant ship, it opened fire. A huge boom, followed by a whistling sound over my head, followed by an even louder boom somewhere on the other side of me told me I might not want to be on the seventh floor at that specific moment!
So just in time for the next boom, I went down to the ground floor (by stairs, mind you, not elevator this time!) where I felt - perhaps mistakenly so - "safe." It turns out the target was most likely the newly built Manara, the lighthouse down the road from AUB. After a couple of nights of bombardment, sometimes close, sometimes distant, the noise doesn't create the same kind of distress as it did in the beginning. But then again, maybe that is because I'm sleeping on AUB campus; every explosion that pulls me out of my sleep is tearing humans apart somewhere else in the city, the campus is not a likely target. But if I have learned one thing about what it is like to be bombed, it is that it is not so much the fear of getting hit yourself that makes your pulse go up in overdrive whenever you hear the bombardment, but rather the knowledge of what those explosions do; knowing that they are tearing humans to pieces and delivering tragedy to those who survive.
Beirut has always been a place of contrast for me. Life and death, side by side in perfect harmony as it seems. Before this war, this could be represented by how the World Cup final between France and Italy was shown on a big screen TV at the St. George Yacht Club. On one side of the TV, I could see the beautiful Lebanese mountains, on the other side the ruins of the buildings that collapsed when Rafiq al-Hariri was assassinated last year along with twenty other human beings. A typical Beiruti scene, I thought, normal activities such as a World Cup final is juxtaposed with abnormal activities such as a violent political assassination. This is true now more than ever; the sound of people playing tennis is accompanied by fighter jets dropping bombs in another part of the city.
Talking to people here, there is a sense of hopelessness that I haven't seen before. It has been my experience that the Lebanese are a pessimistically optimistic bunch; they express pessimism, but act in optimism. Now they are just pessimistic; leave, they tell me, it's not going to get better. It's heartbreaking to see the deserted streets of Hamra, the few foreigners I still meet on the street here are pretty much awaiting evacuation, like myself.
It blows my mind how quickly things have changed; just a little over a week ago I was enjoying the pleasures of this recovering city, and now it is once again bleeding, while I stay close to Hamra, since there is no telling if I can make it back if I venture too far out. There is simply no way of knowing which bridges or tunnels will be bombed next. In the end, I really have no choice but to let myself be evacuated when the Swedish consulate contacts me. I go reluctantly, because I still want to think that this will all pass in a few days, and Beirut will live again.
Posted by: Anders Hardig, Beirut | July 19, 2006 12:08 PM
The great Yogi Berra once said, "In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is."
I am not a columnist - just an ordinary American citizen living in Israel - but I have gained some insight into both cultures, some might say mentalities. Here is what many Israelis are feeling nowadays.
The first point concerns some unwritten American values I grew up with:
Problems are solvable.
Good will is returned in kind.
In general, favor the underdog over the top dog (unless you're the top dog).
If two sides are fighting, they must both have some justification.
Be reasonable; split the difference.
But what if you are living in a neighborhood where they are not quite as reasonable as you? Where your attempts to reason and split the difference backfire? Or worse, where concession is laughed at as weakness.
The second point concerns Israel in particular. We are 6.6 million people, toughened but pragmatic. At 8,020 square miles, we have an area 25% smaller than Maryland. The difference is that, unlike America's vast power, with oceans and peaceful neighbors on all sides, the Jewish state is surrounded on several sides with people who actually want to kill us. Not subdue us - destroy our country.
It would be convenient to think that this must be because of something we did. But Hamas and Hezbollah say it out loud and crystal clear. The "occupation" is the whole works. Their final solution is the total destruction of Israel. Iran, a member state of the UN, holds conferences called "A World Without Israel."
This is the backdrop against which most civilized countries would have us turn the other cheek. As social writer Eric Hoffer once said, "We really do expect the Jews to be the only good Christians in the world."
To put things in perspective, imagine, if you can, that Arlington lobbed 1,000 shells at Georgetown. Or sent suicide bombers. How exactly would you react? Imagine that Mexico was calling for the destruction of the United States, backing it up with cross-border raids and missiles.
The third point is that Israel already withdrew from every last inch of southern Lebanon and Gaza, as the international community demanded. But the provocations and terror - violence aimed intentionally against civilian targets - continued. This is why we entered this conflict. Enough is enough.
This is a horrible situation to be in, fighting Hezbollah behind its human shields. But before bombing southern Lebanon and the Hezbollah neighborhoods of Beirut, Israel dropped leaflets encouraging evacuation. Confronted with terrible choices, we are trying to fight while minimizing civilian casualties.
It was wishful thinking to hope that joining the government would make Hamas and Hezbollah more responsible. Sometimes putting the bully in charge of the playground works, and sometimes it doesn't.
The operative emotion in Israel right now is sadness, sadness for what is being done to us, sadness for what we must do to defend ourselves. The missiles shot at Haifa landed a few miles from the research labs of Intel, IBM, Microsoft and Google. Israelis would much rather continue working on desalination, stroke treatment, and alternative fuels (see www.israel21c.org). We would rather that our adversaries developed their own economies pragmatically.
We hate this conflict, but we will not commit suicide. As Golda Meir said, "We will have peace when our enemies love their children more than they hate ours."
My father was a survivor of Auschwitz and Buchenwald, was the most optimistic person I ever knew, but he once taught me, "Above all else, when someone threatens to kill you or your loved ones - just believe him!"
The lesson for America is simple. Do not hide from international responsibility. Do not assume the oceans offer protection. Iran is behind Hezbollah, Hamas, Syria, and, of course, the insurgents in Iraq. If Iran gets nuclear bombs, do you want to bet they won't sponsor a radical Islamic group to eradicate American cities?
You want to know what Israelis are thinking? Theory and practice are intertwined. We are on the front line, but we will show patience and strength. That's why 89% of Israelis, Left, Right and Center, support the army right now. A mere 61 years and 10 weeks after V-E day, we know that evil and blind hatred exist. And that they can be beaten.
-- Bob Rosenschein is CEO of Answers.com; he can be reached at rrosenschein at gmail.com; this piece reflects his own views
Posted by: Bob Rosenschein, Jerusalem, Israel | July 19, 2006 12:09 PM
We are from Harrisonburg Virginia, currently staying in Migdal. A small village 8 kilometers from Tiberias. Rocket attacks have become common for us; usually occuring in the early afternoon. The town of Tiberias, usually a bustling tourist town is almost empty along the Sea of Galilee. It is night and We can see the hillside below Safed which has been set a blaze by a rocket attack. The scene looks similar to the wildfires in California.
Posted by: Lanny Burt - in MIgdal, Israel | July 19, 2006 02:03 PM
The buzz on the streets of Achrifiye today is that Israel allegedly
attacked a Christian hospital in the Haddas Mountains.
I sat down to talk with Toufic Boulous, owner of a cosmopolitan
café-bar that has consistently offered wireless Internet service
throughout this crisis. Frequented daily by prominent Lebanese
politicians, former ambassadors, and people in the know, Toufic's cafe
acts as a veritable gossip forum that I've plugged myself into on a
daily basis as well.
More worried today than usual, Toufic lamented over the growing number
of Lebanon's civilian deaths, which now approaches 200 in just over a
week. Word of the hospital attack reached the café and the rest of
Achrifiye, he told me, and that people here increasingly support
Hezbollah in its current bout with Israel.
"Israel doesn't want Lebanon to stand up, which is why it starts
attacking Christians," he said. "I prefer that Hezbollah wins...or at
least delivers a significant message to Israel that Lebanon will fight
her, even with Hezbollah. Better to live in a Lebanon dominated by
Muslims than live in a world with Israel and its wars."
The growing death toll of Lebanese civilians, he said, "forces us to
help everybody. We're here on the edge and people are putting aside
their religious differences."
Since the ongoing destruction of the predominantly Shiite southern
suburbs of Beirut, the city's Christian neighborhoods have received a
large influx of fleeing Shiite Muslims. In Achrifiye, veiled women,
who were virtually non-existent here a week ago, can be seen
throughout the district's streets and corner markets. They along with
their families now take refuge in Maronite apartments, sleeping on the
floors by night and lounging around the sidewalks during the day. For
some like Toufic, this situation represents the country's national
interests trumping its profound religious divisions.
But for others, the Shiite presence in their relatively safer
Christian neighborhood presents major problems.
"If they [the Shi'a] stay in our homes, where do you think Israel will
attack next, mate," Charlie told me. Charlie, a British and Lebanese
citizen who owns a local market, recently moved from London to
reestablish himself in Lebanon. His mother recently chose to house a
Shiite family, to his dismay. "I said, 'What the f*** mum...do you want
to get us killed,'" he exclaimed in his pseudo-British accent.
Charlie updated me on rumors of a municipal water truck--which, if
viewed from far away can look like a rocket launcher--that was struck
by a missile not too far from my area of Achrifiye, highlighting
growing fears here that Israel will move from precision targeting to
whimsical attacks throughout the country. Charlie later told me that
he plans to evacuate with British as soon as possible.
Thus far, however, no missiles have struck the heart of Achrifiye's
business district. But as I write this piece, Israeli attacks resumed
after a lull during the day's evacuations. And no doubt more rumors
of war coming directly to Achrifiye will disseminate through
Toufic's café tomorrow.
Posted by: Hugh Naylor, East Beirut | July 19, 2006 02:24 PM
Note to Readers: We received this powerful email from a friend. It is an excerpt from "Day 6" in a series of "Siege Notes" by a Lebanese writer that have been posted widely on blogs in Lebanon and Israel. -- PostGlobal Editors
Dear All,
I am drafting this entry in this unusual diary at 11:30 pm, I have about half an hour before the generator shuts down. Most of Beirut is in the dark. I dare not imagine what the country is like. Today was a relatively calm day, but like most calm days that come immediately after tumultuous days, it was a sinister day of taking stock of damage, pulling bodies from under destroyed buildings, shuttling injured to hospitals that have the capacity to tend to their wounds more adequately.
The relative calm allowed journalists to visit the sites of shelling and violence. The images from Tyre, and villages in the south are shocking. Images from Haret Hreyk (the neighborhood in the southern suburb that received the most "focused" shelling) are also astounding.
The number of deaths is yet uncertain, it increases by the hour as bodies are pulled from the landscape of destruction. In the southern suburbs, some people may be trapped in underground shelters under the vestiges of their homes and apartment buildings. And yes, there is a problem of space in morgues in the south and the Beqaa, because none of the towns and villages are equipped to handle these numbers of deaths.
The IDF has destroyed almost entirely the village of 'Aytaroun. Some of the surviving wounded are Canadian citizens. Like the 8 Canadians who died in the building in Tyre (a building that housed the red cross and civil rescue), the Canadian government has had very little regard for them.
Evacuations, Privilege, Solidarity
Today was a particularly strange day for me because I was granted an opportunity to leave tomorrow morning. I hold a Canadian passport, I was born in Toronto when my parents were students there. I left at age two. I have never gone back, for lack of opportunity and occasion, no other reason. I have the choice to sign up for the evacuation, but the European and North American governments have been so despicable, so racist that I don't want to subject myself to a discrimination of that sort. The Swedes, the Danes and the Germans have evacuated their patriots with blond hair and blue eyes. The immigrants that were given shelter to their countries "out of the kindness" of their governments have been systematically left behind; and the guest workers who stayed to enliven their economies and their babies who adjust the dynamism of their demographies, were left behind to fend for shelter under the shells. But I digress. The point I set out to make is that I refuse to be evacuated as a second tier denizen.
I had the opportunity to leave tomorrow by car to Syria, then to Jordan and from there by plane to wherever I am supposed to be right now. For days I have been itching to leave because I want to pursue my professional commitments, meet deadlines and continue with my life. For days I have been battling ambivalence towards this war, estranged from the passions it has roused around me and from engagement in a cause. And yet when the phone call came informing me that I had to be ready at 7:00 am the next morning, I asked for a pause to think. I was torn. The landscape of the human and physical ravages of Israel's genial strategy at implementing UN Resolution 1559, the depth of destruction, the toll of nearly 250 deaths, more than 800 injured and 400,000 displaced, had bound me to a sense of duty. It was not even patriotism, it was actually the will to defy Israel. They cannot do this and drive me away. They will not drive me away.
This is one of the most recurring mistakes that the IDF makes, this is how we see things: THEY have destroyed this country, THEY are taking an opportunity to turn it to rubble and to usher us into oblivion, if there is ambivalence vis-a-vis the wisdom of Hezbollah's capture of the two soldiers, there is unambiguous, unanimous solidarity to stand in the face of Israel's barbaric arrogance. Some people see more in this war, some people see a moment of where the logic/values of the policies of the Moubaraks, the Abdullahs of the Arab world, i.e. the defeatist, pragmatic corrupt sell-outs will be humiliated as well. And I am sure, other people see other things as well.
The roads to Damascus are not safe. Its many different ways are shelled everyday. Drivers know what "calculated" risks to take, I am assured, but one never knows. Everyday the way out becomes more difficult. I decided to stay, I don't know when I will have another opportunity to leave.
The first contingent of Britons was evacuated early this evening. There are two ships, but the evacuation will take place over 3 days. Same for the French and Americans, their evacuations will last for 2 days. While the evacuations are taking place, there was relative quiet. A welcome lull. There was activity in the street, even on the Corniche along the seaside. Refugees from the south, displaced from their homes and provided shelter in public schools strolled in Hamra, looking for a breath of fresh air. A break from the confinement in schools and other makeshift shelters.
Imagine the horror, the sad, sad horror: we are on borrowed time and the only reason we are not under threat, under any serious threat is because the passport holders of some of the G8 countries are evacuating safely to safer harbors. With this relative calm, the sense of impending doom becomes almost palpable, time, space, light and movement are subsumed in an eerie stillness. It feels vaporous and fills the air. As it wafts from room to room, from apartment to apartment, as it turns a corner and moves to another neighborhood, every gesture, every act is a little delayed, slowed, surreptitiously lethargic, every thought lingers too long in the unfinished or inchoate state. This eerie stillness numbs the passage of time and the cognitive perception of things material. Objects seem both familiar and unfamiliar. They are familiar in that they were there the day before and seem not to have moved from their place. They are unfamiliar because they seem to belong to another time, another life. There was another life, I had another life that seems distant and foreign now. The morning is different, noon is different, sunset is different. Another Beirut has emerged. War time Beirut. War time Lebanon. War time mornings, war time noons. Siege time Beirut, siege time morning, siege time sunsets. Everyone else in the world is going about their day as they had planned it or as it was planned for them. The shakers and movers of this world, the fledgling middle classes of the developping world, the 11 million children workers in India, the good-doers and the evil-doers. We are in a different geography of time, of agency, we are besieged, captive, hostage. No chance of Stockholm syndrome this time. Our every move is monitored: every moving vehicle delivering food, fuel, or medicines is monitored, every phone call is listened on, every email read, every dream snarled at, every desire crushed. Israel has the right to explode it to smithereens.
The shelling has not really let, don't get me wrong. It still goes on but it's more occasional, there are more "blank spaces" in between now.
Posted by: "Rasha," Beirut | July 19, 2006 11:44 PM
As ship after ship passes by my window, some military vessels, some civilian evacuating foreign citizens, I hear news of good things happening in Lebanon amid all the violence. Ordinary Lebanese families are opening their homes for displaced, even across sectarian divides. People may disagree on the issue of Hizballah's arms, and even on who is to blame for the current situation, but the humanitarian need remains the same, regardless of one's position on these issues.
I received another text message from the Swedish foreign ministry last night. It said that one boat would leave today, Thursday, and one tomorrow. I'm not sure if this is my last chance or not, but as I see it, I have no choice but to get on one of those boats. I'll wait till tomorrow though, no need to rush. It may even be the ship I see outside my window right now; it looks like the one I've seen in pictures from the Swedish evacuation yesterday. At any rate, I'm highly conflicted about leaving, but I'm not doing anything useful here, and I think my family has worried enough.
So I prepare to bid Lebanon farewell. I wonder when I will get to walk the streets of Beirut again and under what circumstances. Hopefully, it will be a Beirut thriving in peace. The last heavy explosions I heard was sometime after nightfall last night. I think it was the attack on the alleged Hizballah leadership bunker in the southern suburbs. It must have been some serious firepower to make my building shake like that, considering the distance between me and the target.
There is actually some activity in the streets today. Constant hammering is echoing in the corridors of the AUB dorms; it would seem the renovation that was put to a halt last week has been resumed. More cars are in the streets, and even a few of the restaurants that closed have reopened. I would probably be optimistic if it weren't for the activities outside my window, where helicopters and ships are involved in a massive evacuation effort of foreign nationals.
How ironic that the efforts to actually save people can make me so depressed. I guess it is because there is no sign of either Hizballah or Israel backing down from their original demands for accepting a ceasefire. Against that backdrop, the evacuation almost feels like a clearing of the field before the final showdown. Like in the old Western movies, where the main street would clear out at high noon; people scurrying off to safety just in time before the shootout. It is ominous and very, very depressing. What will happen once the foreigners are out? I fear for the future of the people of Lebanon and this troubled nation-state, as well as the future for the region. I think I will have even more trouble sleeping once I have left Lebanese soil.
Posted by: Anders Hardig, Beirut | July 20, 2006 09:39 AM
It is really like sentencing a shoplifter to death. Yes, Hizbollah committed a crime, but Lebanon is being sentenced to death. What kind of values is America bringing to this region? Akkar, in the north is being shelled daily!!! Would the American justice system sentence the family of a criminal to death? I am delighted, however, that the WP is opening up. I'll be emailing seperately Amal's letter to Senator Hillary Clinton. But now, below is my assessment of the situation:
So far Hizbollah is intact. Israeli targets are mainly Lebanese civilians, especially Shiites civilians who are bombed continuously. What was called the Security Square in Hizbollah-land of southern Beirut is wiped out, and Hizbollah's AlManar TV building was completely destroyed. But still, no Hizbollah leader was killed (as in the case of Hamas in Gaza) and AlManar is back to transmitting. It also seems that the Israelis will not send troops into Lebanon to stay, especially since they destroyed all bridges in southern Lebanon and vital bridges across Lebanon. Over one hundred
thousand Lebanese became refugees in their own country and live now in temporary shelters in schools and similar institutions. Close to 300 hundred Lebanese were killed and about a thousand Lebanese are severely injured.
My guess, Hizbollah will stay and stronger since every Israeli incursion into Lebanon ended by empowering militias. The same thing may be said about old Syrian wars against Bashir Gemayel. Remember Zahle in 1981 and the Bashir-Syrian war, when Israel downed two Syrian helicopters. The US was not talking to Bashir at that time, but President Elias Sarkis insisted that Phil Habib meet Bashir. Phil Habib's solution then was that both should win (win-win solution): Bashir's Lebanese Forces withdrew from Zahle, satisfying Syria; and Zahle was taken by Lebanese police. Bashir was promised and became an ally of the US and later the president of Lebanon with American and Israeli blessings.
Now, no way Olmert can stop his war against Lebanon without at least getting back the prisoners. And Nasrallah, no way would he can yield the prisoners without getting something in return. Both have big domestic problems to face in case of failure.
No doubt Israel will be successful in weakening Hizbollah, militarily. But Hizbollah will still be there and would remain the strongest party in the country. What is happening now is not similar to 1982 and the Israeli invasion that drove Arafat out of Lebanon. No IDF now to clean like in
1982; also Nasrallah and Hizbollah are Lebanese. So, destruction is the only real outcome from Israel's extensive shelling, and Hizbollah would stay while Siniora is already weaker since he can deliver nothing. The situation now is
similar to that of Bashir and the Syrians in the 1981 Battle of Zahle. The difference is that the world's only big power, America, is not the same, and it seems that Sec. Rice did not know Phil Habib.
Presently, the Shiites are solidly behind Nasrallah. The Sunnis are divided, but so far they are mostly against Nasrallah. Alot of them, however, are embarassed at the statements made by Saad Hariri. The Christians are
convinced that Nasrallah was wrong, but so far they are using their brains rather than their hearts and feelings and so far succeeded in maintaining neutrality and staying out of the war. All political positions, unfortunately, are taken for domestic reasons since there is a general feeling that the shape and type of future Lebanon, or who would rule
Lebanon next, is now in the process of being decided.
Posted by: Abdallah Bouhabib, Beirut | July 20, 2006 09:56 AM
I feel disconnected from reality as though I'm living in a dream. The guy who jumped the red light scared me more than the rockets did. The abandoned dogs upset me more than the dead and injured do and that makes me feel guilty. I can feed and water the dogs but I can't do anything here except give blood. I've heard Israelis say very ugly things but the worst was the very attractive Sephardi girl in the kiosk, no more than 18 with wonderful eyes who told me 'I'm ashamed of the IDF. They should have leveled the whole of Lebanon by now".
I want Israel to win. This is my country now. Will I still go to the Shalom Achshav,demos? Will I go back to the Saturday night vigil holding up the signs that say 'Leave the territories?" So many questions. Not enough answers.
Posted by: ExpatEgghead, Haifa, Israel | July 20, 2006 01:12 PM
Note to Readers: We have contacted this young Israeli directly. He reports live from Haifa. The excerpt below comes from his Pajamas Media blog, found here http://israelibunker.blogspot.com/
-- PostGlobal Editors
Three hours after I last updated a couple of rockets hit Haifa with no casualties. The sirens didn't work well, supposedly as a result of a power out that we had. My internet connection was also damaged by the power out and I've only just regained access.
A few hours later 17 rockets hit the north with no casualties. Rockets are now starting to fall in open spaces, seems like Hezbollah lost much of their targeting power and are shooting blindly. Hopefully this will be an ongoing state of affairs and we just might have a casualty free day today.
This subtle change occurs concurrently with the start of ground troops operations. I think it's related. The objective is to make small incursions and destroy 15-20 outposts. You can't launch rockets if you're being hunted by ground troops. Six targets that were responsible for Hezbollah's financials have also been destroyed. A week more of this may turn out to be quite effective.
I'd like to leave you with this anecdote: On Sunday a solider was injured from a rocket that hit Haifa, it damaged a main artery. He has been sedated in the hospital since as it is a very painful injury. Today he got a visit from what is the equivalent here to the chief of staff. He regained consciousness and saluted with a shaking hand.
Posted by: Eugene, Live from an Israeli Bunker | July 20, 2006 02:10 PM
Last week, Hezbollah decided to take all to war without asking any of us, not even our government. That Wednesday after I heard the news that Hezbollah kidnapped two Israeli soldiers and killed several others, I dreaded the worst. What I dreaded did not even compare to what happened, and still happening.
Widspread destruction, casualties in the hundreds, refugees in the hundred thousands and the country torn into little islands separated by fire and bombs. I live in Saida, a coastal city 25 miles south of Beirut, our capital. We are effectively an island these days, with no roads or bridges left to travel to Beirut or further south. We barely enjoy a few hours per day of power, fuel is getting scarce and food reserves are also dwindling. Fortunately, we are not directly targeted and our homes are still standing as opposed to countless villages further south, but the recurrent sound of shelling and news of death and destruction around us is unnerving.
The situation is becoming catastrophical and what frightens me is that no solutions seem close at hand. Hezbollah started it, yet they will not give in; neither will the Israeli army, which has been using a disproportionate amount of power. So, the situation is deadlocked. Moreover, if either of the parties wins or score major points against the other, ruin will befall my poor country. If Hezbollah wins we will live under its and Iran-Syria's yoke for decades to come and our democracy will only be a dream, and if Israel prevails this means even more destruction and death and some even argue civil war.
So in the end I can only call for an immediate peace and an end to all hostilities, and let Peace prevails in our region at last! PEACE NOW.
Posted by: Ibrahim Jouhari, Saida south Lebanon | July 21, 2006 04:39 PM
The nightmare of the war years in Lebanon is with us again.The sounds of the war machine and the destruction wrought on innocent families is evident to all yet the powers that be will not admit the unjust policies that they were and still are responsible for are the cause for the state that we..and the Middle East are in.
Women and children terrorized pour in from the southern areas, homeless, hopeless, destitute and traumatized. We are ALL fearful seeing the systematic destruction of Lebanon and its economy, now just starting to take off after the long years of war.
Must this poor, beautiful country always pay the price for the mistakes and inequity of others.Who sells the weapons???? Who turns a blind eye to the hatred which pours down from the skies? Who decides to play God in the fate of small nations?
We once were taught to respect American Values and to adopt them in our lives. Where do they fit in the American political machine as practiced by its current leadership ?
Posted by: Leila Shassen da Cruz, Beirut | July 21, 2006 04:42 PM
On my way to the American evacuation site today, my cab driver swerved
into oncoming traffic to evade a collapsing trash heap, narrowly
escaping a head-on collision. Trash piles up alongside roads as the
city's municipal services founder as the surrounding blockade slowly
suffocates the country.
Aware that I was a fleeing American, and also proud of what he thought
were his spectacular driving skills, my driver asked double the normal
cab fare. Rather than senselessly argue, I paid him and made my way
toward the gathering crowd of restive Lebanese-Americans who were
preparing for the ongoing evacuation to Cypress.
The lines were long, hot, and frustrating. Several fights broke out
among the more aggressive evacuees. After the announcement that all
those in line would be transported to Cypress that day, crowds erupted
in jubilation: singing, dancing with one another, and unanimously
ecstatic about their impending escape from war-torn Lebanon.
But the departure process was still slow going, and jubilation quickly
transformed into a long, boring wait.
While noting the day's events in my journal, a young Lebanese-American
named Amer broached conversation with me. 17 years old, much of
Amer's Sunni Muslim family lives in West Beirut, where he spent the
last several weeks of his summer. "We don't want war here. But those
fanatics...those Shi'a brought it to Lebanon," he said as he offered me
a drink from his water bottle. After he graduates from his
Pennsylvania high school this year, Amer plans on joining the US Army.
Like Amer, the vast majority of evacuees yesterday were
Lebanese-Americans, people torn between two worlds--and in Lebanon,
torn within one. Their conversations shifted in and out of English and
Arabic; generally more English was spoken as the prospect of leaving
that very day became more likely.
Not long after Amer approached me, another of the day's evacuees
politely joined in our conversation. Mark, who intends to reunite
with his family in Los Angeles, spent the last two years in Beirut
working as a chef. Born in Syria into a Catholic family, Syria, Mark
fled the Syrian army in February 1973, just months before Israel,
Egypt, and Syria clashed in October of that year. He told us that he
still receives threatening letters from the Syrian army, and has even
received an invitation to "chat" with his former compatriots at the
Syrian Embassy in Washington, DC. He has kindly and consistently
declined these invitations.
As the wait transformed into seemingly endless stagnation, more and
more evacuees slowly congregated into to groups interspersed with
Sunnis, Shi'a, and Christians. Veiled women recounted their
experiences with Marines, and young children, as they usually do,
indiscriminately made friends with one another, devising innovative
new games with the hundreds of empty water bottles strewn about.
While I listed to Mark and Amer casually discuss their lives in
Lebanon and their opinions on the current situation, a forlorn women
by the name of Nancy edged her way quietly toward our conversation.
Obviously traveling alone, we extended her salutations and an informal
invitation to join our little group. Little by little Nancy warmed up
to us, until she unloaded perhaps the saddest story I've heard thus
far in this conflict.
"My fiancé and I were supposed to get married in the south of Lebanon.
Now he's somewhere in the mountains...I don't know where. I don't even
know where my dad is now," she said on the verge of tears.
She and her fiancé were spending their time in the south of Lebanon
when the attacks began. Two of the houses that she stayed in, shed
told us, were destroyed by mortar and missile fire. "We had to move
into a hotel near Sidon...we were having dinner one night there, when a
bomb hit a gas station across the street." She and her fiancé fled
into basement, when the top floors of the hotel were later struck.
They narrowly escaped, but her 21-year old Canadian-Lebanese friend
didn't. She died after sustaining major head wounds.
She and her family were split up on their frantic drive to Beirut.
Her fiancé headed towards the north to help his mother and father.
She received one email from him yesterday urging her to immediately
depart to her home in Dearborn.
Amer and I were at a loss for words. Mark expressed his sympathies to
Nancy, but then awkwardly asked, "You are Muslim, no?"
"I'm Shi'a, and proud of it," she retorted.
Mark smiled and handed her some water. "You're also an American, and
I'm glad you're safe," he responded.
As I stood at the precipice of leaving Beirut, overlooking its
breathtakingly beautiful harbor, I realized that the untold stories
behind this conflict--stories like Nancy's--must be heard.
I quickly grabbed my bags, thanked the Marines for their hard work,
and hopped into a cab headed for Beirut.
Posted by: Hugh Naylor, Beirut | July 22, 2006 09:47 AM
This will be a disjointed "siege note". Much has happened in the past two days, I no longer have the energy to chronicle assaults, retaliations, reactions, diplomatic activity. official pronouncements, and so on. I also realize that these exsitential and angry dispatches that are meant to say: "I'm OK" and meant to help me overcome what is happening around me, are held by readers (especially in Israel) to surprisingly high expectations in journalism and reporting. An interesting community of facts-checkers has emerged south of Lebanon's south. They find my "reporting" deplorable and send corrections that conclude with profound philosopical interrogations on who do I think I am, what I want from life, and if I am ready for a serious dialogue with the "other". I am not a reporter, nor do I ever wish to be. I am not interested in dialogue with Israelis and don't foresee that in the horizon of this conflict I will. I should have take the advice of my anti-Zionist Israeli friends and never even acknowledged the reactions to my emails south of my south.
Evacuations
Although the "evacuations" have provided the cover for some sort of a calm, there was nonetheless enough shelling in the past two days to cause grief and wretchedness (deaths, injuries and serious damage). Israel attempted several times to proceed with ground invasion but failed. Some reports claim that Hezbollah made incursions into Israeli territory! This is significant only in the sense that so far, Hassan Nasrallah seems to be the more calm, realistic and pragmatic interlocutor, while the various figures from the Israeli military as well as Minister of Defense seem to be drawing erroneous conclusions, make the wrong calculations and convey unrealistic expectations. In fact, the Israeli military is beginning to behave publically like the American military.
Finally the German and US governments were able to evacuate their passport holders (I no longer dare to say their "nationals" since classes of citizenship seem to be the rule) trapped in the south. People were shuttled in busses on circuitous roads from various points in the South under the cover of a lull iin shelling. That lull allowed red coss ambulances to bring some of the very seriously injured to hospitals further from the zones of heavy shelling. It also allowed the cameras of journalists to travel and record the toll of shelling on border towns and villages or Israel's recurring targets.
From tending to the injured but also packing the bodies of the slain, emeregncy rescue workers, doctors as well as photojournalists and camera men have all unanimously reported how unfamiliar Israel's weaponry is. Bodies are disintegrating in unfamiliar ways or so seems to be a unanimous observation. I actually plan to send a file to Shobak and ElectronicLebanon.net to post a set of photos. They are really gruesome, but they have to be made public. Rescue workers and doctors are urging forensic experts to try to find out what the exploding shells are made of or what have they been "reinforced" with.
Orient Queen
"Cruise beyond your dreams" read posters pasted on the walls of the huge air-conditioned tent that functions as the final stage in processing the evacuees before they board the ship. The ship, as if someone wanted to amuse Edward Said for a brief minute, is called Orient Queen. It is part of a Lebanese-owned fleet of commercial cruises, AMC (Abu Merhi Cruises) and contracted by the US embassy to shlep American passport holders to Cyprus. Holders of American passports stranded in the south were shuttled by busses earlier that day to the port of Beirut. They were greeted by US embassy personnel, a small contingent of US Marines and Orient Queen crew. The buses were parked on the dock and passengers waited their turn for long hours to be searched, have their stuff searched their papers processed and then onto the ship.
The platoon or brigade or whatever the appropriate word is for the group of US Marines landed in Beirut some twenty years after the bombing of their base in 1983. In fact, to a renowned American journalist, they revealed that they were known as "the Beirut platoon", or contigent or company... This twenty some years "return" of the Marines was presented as a big "to do" everybody had high emotions about it. Its significance escaped me. So what? They were going to be here for 2 days to evacuate American passport holders and then they went back to their lives. Their lives? As it turns out they were to return to Jordan where they were training the Jordanian army. (Ooops, that was not supposed to be said. Delete it from the record.)
The marines were curteous in the manner that army personnel is trained to be curteous. Their coordination with the Orient Queen staff would have made sense only if it were a Monty Python filmscript. Some very very funny movie with prophetic visions of social and politcal horror to come. The Orient Queen has apparently a special brigade of Rio Brazil Dancers. I refrained from saying go-go, but the way they wiggled their hips and tied their yellow T-shirts to "celebrate their bodies" was all about go-go.
There is a famous story amongst trade unionists in the New York-New Jersey about a solidarity between teamsters and airline attendants during the Reagan administration and teamsters supporting airline attendants during protests. Fearing the teamsters' homophobic proclivities, the trade unionist that drove the truckdrivers to the site of the protest had the wisdom to rent a bus with a VCR and bring along the only two "choices" that might pacifiy his constituency: "The Godfather" or porn. Porn did it. By the time the teamsters had reached New York, they were pacified. I recount this story because the only way to describe the chemistry between Brazil-Go-Go dancers and US Marines is to evoke that story.
The moment you come across a member of the US embassy personnel they correct you, "it'a assisted departure, not evacuation". They explain that it's how they manage the feelings of the Lebanese. Evacuation seems too terminal, too definitive and only those who choose to leave, do. No one is forcing anyone to leave. True. But evacuees are almost all in a state of shock. They were trapped in the south under the unrelenting shells of Israel's campaign. Most testify that the arsenal of weaponry is entirely new, unfamiliar, a lot more frightening.
Rumors claim that the evacuation fee on the cruise ship is up to 5,000$/person. The US government provides loans to those who cannot afford to pay upfront.
Letter to Maria
One of my closest friends, my beloved sister really, Maria left two days ago. Up until a few hours before she was supposed to follow instructions from the British embassy for evacuation, she could not get herself to leave. She has two boys aged nine and five. Maria and her husband lived in London for a long while and earned citizenship there. Everyone who matters in her life called and urged her to evacuate with the Britons. She had moved from Beirut to the mountains on the second day of the siege.
She and I had maintained contact by phone. Maria is so close to my heart, she is part of my bare consciousness of the world around me, one of the foundational elements that make up my world. From the moment this horror had started, our sentences had shortened, the tone of our conversations become contemplative, inconclusive, incapable of circling to some sort of closure. We could not even say "goodbye", invariably we ended conversations with "I will call you back". It felt better to say that, to claim the exchange of information and emotion not yet complete, than the opposite. We called one another to exchange pointless information, "breaking news" that we had heard and had no hope of breaking "fresh" to the other. We repeated headlines to one another and news of other friends: so and so moved to there, so and so left, so and so went nuts... Although absurd, our phone conversations had the rare virtue of being "constitutional", they charged our respective systems and reminded us of the people we once were, the lives we once lived. We asked the same question over and over, "should I leave?", "should you leave?"... She did not want to but felt she ought to for the boys. The eldest of the two was aware of almost everything: Israel, Hezbollah, the "daisy cutters", bunker busters, and kidnapped prisoners. And at age nine he was seized with anxiety and panic at the escalating horror of the military campaign.
She caved in two days ago. I called as she waited on the docks with her two sons. Her husband did not want to leave. "It's awful, it's awfull...", she kept saying. "It's awful, it's awful...", I echoed her. "Have I done the right thing?", she pleaded. "Absolutely," I replied without a hint of hesitation. I could not help telling her that I would miss her. It felt selfish, childishly needy in the way children can be self-centered and dependent. In truth I was terrified of living through this siege without her. I felt like a good part of my heart, at least a good part of what I love about being in Beirut, was standing at the docks waiting with her two sons. We spoke three times. Three times my tears flowed uncontrolably, three times I did not want her to feel anything in my voice, three times I said "I will call you back". I cried like a scared little girl. How am I going to survive without her? How will I make it through without her?
She did not know where she would go after Cyprus. I have not had the courage to call her husband and find out where she is. As I write this, my tears are flowing. Silly, isn't it? I have all the privileges in the world, in Beirut, I have so many safeguards, and yet I draw emotional and mental strength from the friendship of people like Maria and when she is forcibly driven away, my privileges feel futile, useless.
Evacuations are not "assisted departures", they are uprootings, they borne from decisions made under duress that feel nothing like decisions. The extent of the evacuation does not bode well. In fact, standing on the docks watching the American passport holders who were shuttled from the south in busses I got a full sense of what the evacuation means when you're the one staying behind. Whether rational, reasoned or reasonable, or not, there is a faint, inchoate sense of extinction, death, perishing. These people may very well one day remember us, all of us they have seen and witnessed and interacted with before they boarded the ship. I don't know where we will be when they will remember us.
Posted by: Rasha, Beirut | July 22, 2006 09:49 AM
PostGlobal editors. Sasha Polakow-Suransky, an American student writing in Israel, sent us the piece below. He is an American Prospect contributing editor, Managing Editor of the Oxford International Review and an Oxford doctoral candidate.
One of the most striking things about the "War in the North" as the press refers to it here, is the total silence of the Israeli Left. People are not speaking out about this Lebanon war like they did last time. People who refuse to serve in the occupied territories and went to jail instead of serving in Lebanon in the 80s, see this new war as an existential threat. Ha'aretz wrote yesterday about the first conscientious objector (see http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/740241.html) but his objection was to serving in the occupied territories in order to replace soldiers fighting in the North.
Israeli Lefties deplore the massive number of civilian casualties in Lebanon but they shrug their shoulders and say they have no choice but to fight this war. While many of these same people are angry about Israel's recent re-entry into Gaza and operations in the West Bank, they see what's happening in Lebanon as a "just war" without which Hezbollah would feel free to attack Northern Israel as deep as Haifa for all eternity.
While no Palestinian group that seriously advocates a two-state solution is disputing Israel's northern border, Hezbollah's actions challenge the existence of Israel within even the pre-1967 borders.
In fact, this move by Hezbollah could hurt the Palestinians more than anyone. Right now, no one is paying attention to continuing Israeli attacks in Gaza and the West Bank because all eyes are on the north. Ehud Olmert is putting on his yarmulke while addressing the Knesset and telling the nation he sleeps with pictures of the kidnapped soldiers by his bedside. Cheesy political theater aside, the country, for once, is united.
It is unlikely that Israel will destroy Hezbollah. They will most likely weaken them and there will probably be a ceasefire followed by an exchange of prisoners. But Israel will then have a convincing argument for hardening its position on the West Bank and stopping any significant withdrawals. They can claim that if Hezbollah can threaten Haifa from Southern Lebanon, then Hamas could threaten metropolitan Tel Aviv from the West Bank which is only 10-15 miles away, especially given Hamas's decision to fire Qassams from post-disengagement Gaza into Israeli border towns.
If Israel reverts to this strategic depth argument which has always been at the root of Israeli refusals to withdraw from the West Bank, the Palestinian state on offer from Israel will become even less viable than before.
Posted by: Sasha Polakow-Suransky, Jerusalem, Israel | July 22, 2006 09:55 AM
July 21, 2006 - Evacuation Day
It is time for evacuation. Part of me wishes there won't be room for me on the ship, or better yet, that a sudden ceasefire will make evacuation completely unnecessary. Beirut briefly came back to life yesterday; restaurants were open, and people were out talking and laughing, the way I have always read that Beirutis dealt with war during the dark times. But underneath it all is the constant presence of something sinister and dark. This sinister entity reminded me of its presence through two heavy explosions in the evening; once again my building shook and the windows rattled.
In a way I am ashamed to leave. I feel like I'm abandoning the Lebanese who cannot leave. But then again, already people look at me with a puzzled look and say "You still here?" I know my presence here does no one any good; in fact, I'm just one more mouth to feed in days of humanitarian disaster. Even if fighting ended today, and it shows no signs of doing so, Lebanon has been dealt a blow from which she will no doubt rise, but which has set her recovery back by several years. Perhaps physical recovery can be swiftly achieved with international aid, but the long-term damage is of another kind. Lebanon's sons and daughters were returning after many years overseas. Now they turn away again. There is no way to live here, they say, life is just too difficult. And who can blame them? After all the years of civil war, in which every conceivable local-national-regional-global player was at some point involved, and after the recent years of struggle to throw away the yoke of foreign occupation, everything appears to be crushed in a heartbeat underneath a military boot.
The whole experience of "evacuation" is bizarre. I stopped by my off-campus apartment yesterday only to find a note from my British roommate. He's been airlifted out of here by helicopter. Another note informs his friend to keep what he wants and sell what he doesn't want. Windows are open, curtains are fluttering in the wind, and half of my roommate's wardrobe is left behind, since he could only bring a small bag on the helicopter. Plants that won't be watered, foodstuff in the fridge that will just be there until someone returns or someone new moves in; it's just a very strange feeling you get being in an abandoned apartment. It was the first time, I'm ashamed to say, that I was gripped by a slight panic; a feeling that I would be the last one left behind. But that was only for a split second, because then I realized that millions of Lebanese have nowhere to go. They can't get on a helicopter or a boat and leave. They are doomed to stay here and be extras in whatever horrific show Israel and Hizballah will put on. Again, I feel ashamed. I leave you now, Lebanon, with a quote from one of your greatest sons, Kahlil Gibran:
Brief were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have spoken. But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, then I will come again, and with a richer heart and lips more yielding to the spirit will I speak. Yea, I shall return with the tide, and though death may hide me, and the greater silence enfold me, yet again will I seek your understanding. And not in vain will I seek. If aught I have said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in words more kin to your thoughts.
B'hebbak, ya Loubnan. Stay strong.
Posted by: Anders Hardig, Beirut | July 22, 2006 09:56 AM
Day 10 of the war in Lebanon. I choose to report a true story that happened in my neighborhood early this morning and that perhaps depicts one of the (direct or indirect) effects of this conflict on Southern refugees. A family from the South (father, mother, and pregnant daughter) fled bombings and came to stay in the house their son had rented some time ago. At dawn, the mother knocked on a neighbor's door and asked for help because her daughter had gone into labor. When the neighbor told her, "You should transport her to hospital", the mother reluctantly admitted that they did not have any money to do that. By the time the neighbor rushed to the scene to see what help she could offer, the woman had already given birth in the bathroom to a beautiful and healthy baby whose body was half inside the toilet. A doctor was hurriedly sent after, to clean up and sterilize the woman and her child.
Appalled, the other neighbors who had also arrived found out that the family had nothing: no food, no water, no gas, not even towels to wipe the blood. In a surge of solidarity and compassion, everyone rushed to their home and brought back what they could, including a nightgown for the woman and diapers for the child.
The family confessed they did not have the means to support the baby (let alone themselves!), so the doctor contacted a childless couple who had been married for fifteen years. The couple made the mother sign a paper, took the baby, and left...
Just like that...
Posted by: Bombed Out In Beirut | July 22, 2006 10:21 AM
I have to confess that writing is becoming increasingly difficult. Writing, putting words together to make sentences to convey meaning, like the small gestures and rituals that make-up the commonplace acts of everyday life, has begun to lose its meaning and its cathartic power. I am consumed with grief, there is another me trapped inside me that cries all the time. And crying over the death of someone is a very particular cry. It has a different sound, a different music and feels different. I dare not cry out in the open, tears have flowed, time and time again, but I have repressed the release of pain and grief. My body feels like a container of tears and grief. I am sure it shows in the way I walk.
Writing is not pointless per se, but it is not longer an activity that gives me relief. The world outside this siege seems increasingly far, as if it had evacuated with the bi-national passport holders and foreigners.
The past few days have been MURDEROUS in the south and the Beqaa Valley. The death toll has been increasing in a horrific exponential envigorated with the White House giving a green light for the military assault to persist. Beirut has been spared so far, but not the southern suburbs. Today is Day 12 of the war, the Israeli military has conducted 3,000 air raids on Lebanon in 12 days. Out of the total deaths so far, which range close to 400 (numbers are not definitive), almost 170 are children. The numbers of the displaced are increasing by the hour. Have you seen the pictures of the deaths? The mourners in Tyre? Have you seen the coffins lined up? And the grieving mothers.
It is impossible not to grieve with them, it is impossible to shut one's ears to their wailing. It haunts me, it echoes the walls of the city, it bounces off the concrete of destroyed bridges and buildings. In trying to explain what drove Mohammad Atta to fly an airplane into one of the towers of the World Trade Center, someone (I forget whom- sorry facts-checkers) once said to me that Atta must have felt that "his scream was bigger than his chest". That description stayed with me, I don't know if I agree with it, or if that's how Atta felt in reality, but it comes back to me now because I feel that my grief is bigger than my chest and I have no idea how to dissipate it.
The Southern Suburbs
I accompanied journalists to Haret Hreyk two days ago. I suspect I am still shell-shocked from the sight of the destruction. I have never, ever seen destruction in that fashion. Western journalists kept talking about a "post-apocalyptic" landscape. The American journalists were reminded of Ground Zero. There are no gaping holes in the ground, just an entire neighborhood flattened into rubble. Mounds, and mounds of smoldering rubble. Blocks of concrete, metal rods, mixed with furnishings, and the stuff that made up the lives of residents: photographs, clothes, dishes, CD-roms, computer monitors, knives and forks, books, notebooks, tapes, alarm clocks. The contents of hundreds of families stacked amidst smoking rubble. A couple of buildings had been hit earlier that morning and were still smoking, buildings were still collapsing slowly.
I was frightened to death and I could hear my own wailing deep, deep within me.
I stopped in front of one of the buildings that housed clinics and offices that provide social services, there seemed to be a sea of CD-Roms and DVDs all over. I picked up one, expecting to find something that had to do with the Hezbollah propaganda machine (and it is pretty awesome). The first one read "Sahh el-Nom 1", the second "Sahh el-Nom 17". "Sahh el-Nom" was a very popular sit-com (way, way before the concept was even identified) produced by Syrian TV in the 1960s. It was centered on the character of "Ghawwar el-Tosheh", who has become a salient figure in popular Arab culture. I smiled mournfully, at the irony. Around the corner passport photos and film negatives covered the rubble.
Haret Hreyk was a residential area. The residents, I was told by our driver who lived a few blocks away, were evacuated by Hezbollah to other places before the shelling began. Those who refused to leave then, left after the first round of shelling. Haret Hreyk is eerily ghostly, there are practically no people left in that neighborhood. In the two hundred meters radius removed however, life is on-going. Residents testified that Hezbollah was securing food, electricity and medicines to all those who stayed.
Haret Hreyk is also where Hezbollah had a number of their offices. Al-Manar TV station is located in the block that has come to be known as the "security compound" (or "security square"), the office of their research and policy studies center, and other institutions attached the party. It is said that in that heavily inhabited square of blocks, more than 35 buildings were destroyed entirely.
Hezbollah had organized a visit for journalists that day, as they had the day before. They provided security cover for the area for the international media cameras to document the destruction. There was a spokesperson greeting journalists. A small rotund man, dressed in a track suit, fancy sunglasses, a two-day old stubble carrying two state of the art cell phones. He spoke in concise soundbites and was affable. There was nothing menacing about his demeanor, in fact were it not for the destruction around him he looked more like he would be an assistant to Scolari (similar dress code and portend) than part of the media team of a "terrorist organization".
The security apparatus of Hezbollah was also impressive, underscoring the identity of Hezbollah. They were all affable, welcoming, dressed casually and unarmed. They all held walkie-talkies, and when looming danger of another Israeli air strike seemed tangible, they all ushered the group of some 30 (and more) journalists to clear the area. They issued their warnings calmly and confidently.
One of the buildings was still burning. It had been shelled earlier that day at dawn. Clouds of smoke were exhaling from amidst the ravages. The rubble was very warm, as I stepped on concrete and metal, my feet felt the heat.
Israeli Warfare Mystery
Doctors in hospitals in the south have testified on television that they a number of bodies that have reached them have an unusual, unfamiliar skin color. Some of surviving injured exhibit a pattern of burns that doctors have also never seen before. The question is beginning to get attention for the world community of physicians and human rights organization. Israel is suspected of loading its missiles with toxic chemicals. The fear, in addition to their toxicity being immediately lethal on its victims, is that the waters and earth may now be poisoned. The inhabitants of the south may have to suffer from Israel's wrath for a very, very long time, in chilling cold blood.
The as-Safir newspaper, the second largest running daily in Lebanon, has taken up the task to investigate the question.
Beyond the crime of toxic poisoning, the type of shells and bombs used is also astounding. I met a woman who was displaced from the borderig village of Yater. She is a native American, blue blood and apple pie, but with a hijab. She, her husband, her three babies and her husband's family, a total of 14 people were trapped in one room in their house in Yater. On the 6th or 7th day of shelling, she cracked and her kids could not longer handle the violence. Risking their lives, they jumped into their car, and decided to take their chance. They drove straight without stopping, taking circuitous ways when the main roads were impossible to tread. They expected to die on the road. After 14 hours of driving they made their way to the US embassy in the northeastern suburbs of Beirut. They were not aware of evacuations. They were lost on the way, and someone stole her husband's wallet with the 400$ in cash they carried (the totality of their fortune), his green card and her US passport. I came across her at the US embassy compound. She was trembling. She could barely tell her story coherently. She repeated over and over that she had seen houses fly, that the shells made the houses fly in the air and then collapse on the ground. She repeated that she ought not to have gone to the window, but she could not help it, she was curious, and she saw the houses fly.
As a holder of US passport (and real native) she had been allowed into the embassy. Her husband, only a green card holder, was not. The US embassy changed their policy, I was later told by people and journalists, but at various stages in the evacuation, green-card holders were not included in the evacuations plan. Pardon me, in the plans for "assisted departures".
I don't know what happened to the American mother from Portland Oregon and Yater south Lebanon. I know her babies are lactose intolerant and their only food was the stock of soy milk she had with her. She was very young, a face earnest, her skin transluscent white. In her pale blue eyes there was despair and fright that she will not recover from for a very long time.
The Displaced
The displaced have been dispersed in the country. They have been placed in schools, universities, government owned buildings. Aid is arriving, but still in chaotic manner. Volunteers are beginning to get tired. However nothing compares to the distress of the displaced. They are in a state of complete emotional upheaval. Their presence has already changed the habits and rituals of the neighborhoods where they have been placed.
As the sun begins to set and the harshness of its rays begins to dim, you find families strolling on Hamra street (a main commercial thoroughfare in West Beirut). Shops are closed, sandwich shops are closed, cafes are intermittantly open, but the sidewalk provides an opportunity to escape the confinement from the shelter where they been relocated. You can see it in their walk, their body language. Their pace searches for peace of mind, not for a destination, their lungs expand drawing in oxygen to inspire quietude and calm, not for cardiovascular pressure. They have a deep, mournful, sorrowful gaze. They left behind their entire lives, maybe even their beloved.
In Ras Beirut, small backstreets have come to life. To escape the heat of indoor confinement, displaced families relocated to old homes or government-owned buildings, have grown in the habit of placing plastic chairs and their narguiles on small front porches or entrance hallways of buildings. I had to walk home after a long day of working with journalists, two nights ago, and as I zigzagged through these back streets, I was comforted by their gentle presence. They chatted, softly, quietly, huddled in groups, watching the night unfold, fearful of the sound of Israeli warplanes.
The ceaseless newscast from a radio kept everyone informed. It too sounded softly. It was a gentle summer night, and the families dispersed and uprooted surrendered to the gentleness of the night.
On the next block, three young woman stood in line, queuing for access to a public payphone. That too has become a familiar sight in Beirut. People lining at public payphones. They stood, clearly tired but resilient. To my "good evening", I was greeted back with smiles and another "good evening". I was relieved to see that they felt safe, that they roamed the city at night without qualms. How long can they afford to pay for these phone calls is another question. There is a definite need for a long term plan. This emergency solution will soon reach a crisis, and state structures need to be prepared to face the anger and frustration of nearly 500,000 people.
On the next block, a Mercedes car packed with people was parked at a corner, in front of the entrance of a building. The car's doors were flung open and the radio broadcast news. It was a visit. Two displaced families on a nightly visit. Everyone was gentle, and a soft breeze blew with clemency.
Posted by: Rasha, Beirut | July 23, 2006 10:40 AM
Well, it was an unbelievable exit from Beirut. We were packed and ready to
go at 1 30 am on Thursday morning. Our taxi showed up as scheduled at 2 am.
We loaded up the car and crept at first, and then sped along the desolate
streets of Beirut. We were lucky, because we had not heard any bombs go off
during the day, although the Israeli bombardment of the South went on
relentlessly all day long. Our driver Hagop, an Armenian who has been
evacuating people out of Lebanon for the last 7 days decided to take the
mountain road, rather than the coastal road to Damascus via Tripoli . He
explained that the mountain road was not frequented by trucks during the
night, and for this reason it would be reasonably safe. Any covered truck
on the road is a possible target for the Israeli army. The Israelis assume
that it is carrying arms for Hezbollah, and there is a risk that it will
be destroyed, taking with it, any other car, bus, or van in its vicinity.
We passed several trucks on the road which were destroyed by Israeli bombs,
none of which were carrying arms for Hezbollah. They stood as errie
skeletons of metal, and iron....burned to a crisp....their passengers dead.
We made our way up the mountain road, passing through Christian
villiages....Rabieh and Bikraya. The twinkling lights covered the
beautiful landscape. It was hard to believe that a war was raging not too
far away, and that any time we could be hit by an Israeli shell. The empty
road continued on...overlooking Zahle and the Bekaa Valley. Every once in
a while on-coming lights in the distance would illuminate our path. Our
driver was encouraged , as these cars were taxis returning from Damascus.
The road was clearly open, and safe. We breathed a collective sigh of
relief with each passing car and every moment of stillness in the dark
night.
As we were nearing the Syrian border, Hagop apologized and explained that
he was going to literally race through the next few kilometers, as it was
a dangerous un-lit corridor that had been hit by shells in the past few
days. This middle aged man, with a wife, and two children at home, made the
sign of the cross,... seemed to look up at his maker...muttered under his
breath " Thy will be done"..... and sped off in the darkness. Our hearts
sunk, and we sat in absolute silence as he raced down this last dark road
before the Lebanese/Syrian border. As we approached the border, Hagop's
whole body language indicated that we were no longer in danger.
We were the only ones at the border, so the whole process went quite
smoothly. This was another advantage of coming in the middle of the night.
Hagop told us that during the day, this same location is overridden with
lines and lines of anxious people desperate to get out of Lebanon.
First obstacle passed, we moved on to the Syrian border. We were lucky to
find no one at the Syrian border....only sleepy eyed immigration officers
who quickly processed our papers. This was the second obstacle, and we
were beginning to feel "home free". When we reached Damascus, we said
goodbye to Hagop, and got into another taxi that would take us to Amman. We
switched cars, moved all the luggage, and settled in for the final part of
the trip.
Once we reached the Syrian/Jordanian border we had been in the car for
five hours. The immigration officials in Jordon were not all that
welcoming. I had some problems because I entered and exited Syria on my
Lebanese passport, and wanted to enter Jordon on my American passport.
They would not accept that, so I had to either return to Lebanon and
reenter.... or just enter Jordon with my Lebanese passport, and hope that
all would go smoothly when I try to exit Jordon for the States. At this
point , we were so exhausted, that I went for the second option, and all I
can do is hope for the best.
At this point it felt like we had finally made it. After about an hour,
we arrived to the home of my dear friend Samar Abulgebain. She kindly
offered her flat for us to use while staying in Amman. Without her, I
don't know what we would have done, as every single hotel in Amman is fully
booked. Amman is added to the list of destinations for the tens of
thousands evacuating Lebanon.
Thank God we were able to evacuate without incident, however we are
brokenhearted for the people we have left behind. We are lucky to have the
priviledge and the means to secure our safety, away from the bombs ,the
terror, the danger and destruction. Our hearts go out to those who don't
have that option. Many lives have been destroyed. Families have lost their
homes, their loved ones, and their livelihood. Nearly three hundred
Lebanese have lost their lives in the last 8 days. When will it end?
Posted by: Grace, Beirut | July 23, 2006 02:24 PM
While Israel continues to pound Beirut's southern suburbs, the Lebanese army now stands guard at major intersections in Achrifiye, a largely Maronite Christian district in East Beirut.
I initially found this somewhat perplexing. Why would the government deploy troops to the relatively peaceful Christian districts of East Beirut when the adjacent neighborhood of Dahiyya and the entire southern half of the country are quite literally under direct Israeli attack? Since this conflict erupted, all but one sector of Beirut--the area of Hezbollah's headquarters--have, for the most part, been spared from these attacks.
While discussing politics with a young Lebanese waiter at my hotel, his words resolved my confusion. "Hezbollah has nowhere to live. All their houses and buildings are gone...blown up," he noted.
Since the conflict erupted, many of Achrifiye's wealthier residents have fled the city and have sought refuge in the nearby mountains or evacuated to other countries, leaving their apartments unattended and exposed. "Now Hezbollah people want to move into the empty apartments here," the waiter nervously commented.
"Now we [residents of Achrifiye] may become targets!"
Then it dawned on me. The army isn't guarding Achrifiye from Israel--it's protecting this neighborhood from Hezbollah.
Since the national army is still under control of the Lebanese government, this suggests another interesting development: The government of Lebanon, whether it likes it or not, is now at war with the militant Shiite organization.
This conflict started because Hezbollah held de facto control of southern Lebanon, stripping the government's sovereign right to rule over this area. And Hezbollah, without consulting the national government, unilaterally took the entire country to war when it kidnapped two Israeli soldiers.
For the national government, the outcome of this war is about many things--but perhaps the most important is the issue of sovereignty. If Hezbollah successfully emerges, its influence will inevitably expand at the expense of the national government. Lebanon would then increasingly be subject to the whims of radical Islamist leaders who desire to perpetually war with the Jewish state, no matter the cost to Lebanese civilians.
The government of Lebanon, in effect, is forced, however grudgingly, to allow Israel do what it couldn't do itself: degrade Hezbollah's influence.
I don't want to suggest that there exists a loving relationship between the Lebanese government and Israel. Rather, the government is forced to choose between what it sees as two evils--Israel and Hezbollah. And recent events now suggest that Israel is perceived as the lesser of the two.
Posted by: Hugh Naylor, East Beirut | July 24, 2006 03:06 PM
Beirut: Over 14,000 American citizens have evacuated from Lebanon. I am not one of them. Yesterday, as the last scheduled American evacuation boat departed, I was comfortable with my decision. Unsure, yes, but comfortable.
I resisted the temptation of boarding a cruise ship for Cyprus and chose to remain in Lebanon. I've only been here about five weeks. Two weeks ago the decision to stay reflected the naïveté of a recent college graduate, refusing to leave the country where the action was; now, I do not want to leave until the international community, especially the United States, realizes the escalating humanitarian crisis and stops valuing my life over the life of over 400 dead Lebanese.
"There are different forms of resistance," Rosie Nasser, an employee at the American University of Beirut (AUB), told me today as she swept up trash from the streets around the university. The Lebanese government has larger issues right now than to clean up after us, she explained, but she and other AUB employees were going to do their part to make sure that the ongoing Israeli strikes didn't turn what was left of Beirut into a dump.
Last night I played Monopoly at a local bar. The bar was filled with young Beirutis, mostly friends of the bartender, and a few expatriates. The mood was light but the party broke up early so everyone could drive home in relative safety - although no one can really define what that means anymore. Beirut nightlife, once renown for its liveliness and excesses, hasn't shut down, but it is no longer a place to be seen but rather a way to escape the nightmares of reality.
"It's a ghost city," observes Said Khoriaty, the manager of Biba. "We're trying to open bars and keep the spirit on." Khoriarty is not alone: many bars initially shut during the attacks have restocked their shelves and opened their doors. Keeping the bars open is not only an act of defiance, closing is not an option he can afford.
Khoriaty is angered by the conflict. "I blame Israel, of course. I hope Hizbullah will kick them out but I'm angry at both sides. They burned my country, both of them."
When I was a student at Georgetown University I tried protesting as a form of resistance. As a freshman, I "died" to save the children of Iraq before the 2003 invasion. Confined to Georgetown's free speech zone (ironically named Red Square), thirty of my peers and I lay down in silent vigil as another student spoke passionately into a megaphone ticking off reasons why we should say "NO to War."
To those of my classmates who lived in moral ignorance, we didn't so much die as become invisible as they wove and raced between our still bodies, chatting on cell phones, insensitive to our message-- and probably late for class.
After our "die-in" failed to convince the US government to avoid the war, we camped out for peace. I spent one rainy night in Red Square singing Dispatch Songs, eating leftover pastries and avoiding eggs being thrown in our direction from drunken freshmen. I soon realized that camping was not my resistance tactic of choice.
By my senior year, I had found something more effective than both "dying" or camping: writing. I wrote a 70-page thesis on the role of women in resistance movements in Algeria, Palestine and Iraq. And I found something I had been looking for throughout my protesting days: an engaged audience. Following Edward Said's dictum, "Speak Truth to Power," I realized I could use my pen to speak to power.
In June, I moved to Beirut to pursue my education at AUB, with the ultimate goal of becoming a university professor. Before classes began I interned for the Daily Star, a local newspaper, and spent my days covering Beirut news and social issues.
However, two weeks ago, triggered by the kidnapping of two Israeli soldiers by Hizbullah, Israeli reacted with collective punishment against all of Lebanon and initiated a military campaign aimed at isolating, terrifying and destroying a nation, which only a year earlier had successfully united to rise against Syrian occupation when Rafiq Harriri was assassinated.
The thunderous roar of F-16s above and artillery barrages from the sea supplanted the frustrating, yet familiar, cacophony of cars honking on Beirut's narrow streets. Foreigners began talking about evacuation. For some reason, I never gave myself the option.
Yesterday, as the Orient Queen, filled with evacuating Americans sailed from Lebanon, I reported on a protest organized by other foreign nationals choosing to stay in Beirut. They were showing "international solidarity" with the Lebanese people, waving European
flags left over from the World Cup. They held painted signs that read: "Not
in our name" or "Stop the Barbarianism."
"This is my home," a Swiss woman told me. "I can't leave it." I, too, have
a home elsewhere, a red colonial house in New Hampshire, with a driveway
lined by granite posts and hickory trees. I can always go there but I don't
want to yet.
After the protest, I went with my friend Nour to bring toys to children who
had been displaced by the Israeli bombardments of the southern suburbs of
Beirut. Most families seeking shelter at the Karm el-Zeitoun School lived
in Dahiyeh before the war or had sought refuge in the southern suburbs of
Beirut after their homes in South Lebanon were destroyed.
As Nour taught the children how to jump rope, I spoke to their parents.
Over 800,000 Lebanese have been displaced; 120 of them sought shelter at
this school.
Mohammad Hammad Alaweih is a tobacco farmer from the southern village of Maroun al-Ras, the first village Israeli forces occupied. He is the father of nine, now homeless, children. Neighbors reported that his house was completely destroyed.
We spoke about his life and his journey here from the south and his fears. I thought the interview was finished when he looked at me and demanded: "Aren't you going to ask me about the resistance?"
I gestured for him to elaborate. "The resistance is an idea. Hizbullah is only part of the resistance, they embody the resistance. Israel won't kill the resistance even if they destroy every Hizbullah outpost and murder every Hizbullah fighter."
"If they kill me, my son will fight. We are defending ourselves, our land,"
Alaweih concluded.
I've been told that many of the displaced are not as angry over their current situation because they see it as their contribution to their resistance. As I thanked Alaweih his wife muttered in Arabic that I wouldn't print a word he said, that no one cared about their struggle.
I moved to Beirut because I wanted to better understand a country I had only known through books and vacations. My grandparents came from Lebanon and I feel there is a home for me here. While the international community continues to debate a ceasefire, I wait here anxious to see this conflict resolved.
The local consensus is that after the evacuations have ended, when all the foreigners have left, Israel will feel at liberty to hit certain areas they restrained from previously. The acceptance of the idea that my life as an American is worth more than the life of Lebanese civilians in the eyes of the international community makes me sad.
And so I stay, fully aware of the dangers. I have found my resistance. It's a resistance against my government's contradiction-- helping Americans to evacuate from Lebanon while they deliver the missiles to Israel that are forcing foreigners to flee from here.
Just as the die-in and camp-out were not right for me, I understand that there are people that could not stay in Lebanon and I am not upset they left. I chose to stay while many others left and thousands more never had the option.
I believe that I can do more for Lebanon by standing with them, not sailing
away.
Posted by: Iman Azzi, Beirut | July 28, 2006 10:29 AM
My siege notes are beginning to disperse. I write disjointed paragraphs but
I cannot discipline myself to write everyday. Despair overwhelms me. A
profoundly debilitating sense of uselessness and helplessness. Writing does
not always help, communicating is not always easy, finding the words,
deciding which stories should be included, and which should not. The
experience of this siege is so emotionally and psychically draining, the
situation is so politically tenuous...
I miss the world. I miss life. I miss myself. People around me also go
through these ups and downs, but I find them generally to be more
resilient, more steadfast, more courageous than I. I am consumed by other
people's despair. It's not very smart, I mean for a strategy of survival.
My day started today (in effect it is Day 13 of the War, but just another
morning under siege in my personal experience) with news from Bint Jbeil,
reported on al-Jazira. Ghassan Ben Jeddo, the director of the Beirut office
was analyzing the situation on the southern front in Bint Jbeil. He
announced flatly that Hezbollah had conceded to the military surrender of
Bint Jbeil, that the IDF had besieged the town, and that the town had been
almost entirely flattened to rubble. My breathing became tight. I knew
well, and had been told for days, that military defeats and victories were
very tricky to determine in this type of unusual warfare, because a
conventional army has clear retreats and advances whereas a band of
guerrillas behaves in an entirely different way. The military defeat in
itself did not really matter enough to cause tightness in my chest,
although I was a little worried about the IDF feeling empowered to proceed
with "scorched earth" plans or some other nightmarish fantasy. My breathing
became tight because I immediately thought about some 1,500 people, making
up some 400 families whom I had heard the day before were trapped in Bint
Jbeil. Some were displaced from villages around Bint Jbeil. They were
trapped there in two buildings, one of which was a government school. I
could not imagine what they were living. As the al-Jazira showed footage
from around Bint Jbeil, there was a continuous soundtrack of pounding from
Israeli tanks. I could only see them and hear that pounding: were they
huddled together? Were they laid down on the floor, their hands over their
heads? How does one survive 2 days of continuous shelling like that? Had
they any hope of fleeing?
They stayed with me, 1500 souls in Bint Jbeil. I went to the public garden
where displaced people were now living, I went to the cooperative
supermarket in Sabra, I went to an air-conditioned cafe with WiFi, and the
1500 souls were with me. I had lunch, tried to write, still with me. Until
after sunset, a journalist friend told me he had interviewed the mayor of
Bint Jbeil in the afternoon. The man had suffered a stroke this past Sunday
and had been evacuated for treatment. By today he had recovered and was
struggling to find a way to get the remaining 40 Lebanese-Americans trapped
in Bint Jbeil. My friend allowed me to sigh with some relief, the trapped
souls were 400 not 1,500 today... (Most of the residents of Bint Jbeil are
Lebanese-Americans from Dearborn and Detroit Michigan.)
Is there a point to relaying on to you the events of the past few days? I
am still stuck to the television. I am still living from breaking news to
breaking news. I now get things from the second-tier horse's mouth, so to
speak, journalists whom I have taken to hovering around.
Khiyam shall soon be rubble. As is Bint Jbeil. After Khiyam will be Tyre.
The Beqaa has received pounding. Israelis targetted factories, some
operational, others under construction. None were Hezbollah fortresses off
course. They also hit a UNIFIL outpost last night killing UN international
observers.
This will be a long note because it is a cluster from the past few days. It
will most likely be a tedious read. It reflects my encounters these past
few days, conversations and discussions with friends journalists and
analysts as well as vignettes from Beirut under siege. As I attempt to tie
all of these sections together, I am back at the Cafe with WiFi. Yesterday
they played the soundtrack from Lawrence of Arabia. I don't know if they
were aware of the "post-colonial" and "postpost-colonial" dimension. Condi
was in Jerusalem. The Bedouins were firing rockets at Haifa. And Faisal
spoke late into the night, promising the rockets would go further than
Haifa.
Today, they have a Charles Aznavour playlist. Somebody with executive power
in this cafe is a shameless sentimental. This is the first sign of a return
to normalcy in my experience so far. I, an unrepentant sentimental as well,
am very fond of Aznavour, this playlist has been the soundtrack to my
convalescence from amorous setbacks, it is a first tangibe reminder that I
had once a different life.
Hezbollah, now the symbol
It took a few days into this war for Hezbollah to acquire a new power of
signification. The semiologists, the political sociologists, and hords of
regional experts and policy advisors have to watch this carefully, they
better at least, if they are to understand this moment and the new
political idiom. And they have quite something to contend with, Hassan
Nasrallah's pronouncements, al-Manar TV, the video productions, the
manufacture of image and meaning.
Hezbollah have now become the only Arab force to have refused to
accomodate, even slightly, Israel's missives and caprices. They are
undaunted by the military might of the IDF, its awesome ability to bring
wretchedness to a people and a country and its ability to shrug at
international laws regulating warfare, conflict and non-aggression. They
are also undaunted by the moral highground provided by the US, and
presently the Arab League and the International Community (whoever this
construct stands for). In that, they have won the hearts and minds of Arab
masses. The so-called Arab street (that vague beguiling force at once
vociferous and inept that the western media have reified into a pressure
valve of the potential/appetite for Terror -or anti-western sentiment) has
been won in heart and mind by Hezbollah's retaliation to the Israeli
assault. The Arab world is mesmerized by this movement that has developped
the ability to fight back, inflict pain and for the first time in the
history of the Arab-Israeli conflict pause a real threat to Israel.
Hezbollah does not have the ability to defeat the Israeli army. No one in
the region can and none of the Arab states is willing, in gest or merely
using the power of suggestion, to challenge Israel's absolute hegemony. (I
don't know whether Iran can or not, but in principle Israel's military
abilities are superior to the Islamic Republic's conventional army.)
In its careful study of a military strategy for defense, conducted in full
cognizance of the movement's weakness and strength and of Israel's weakness
and strength, Hezbollah has achieved what all Arab states have failed to
achieve. Since the war broke out, Hassan Nasrallah has displayed a persona
and public behavior also to the exact opposite of Arab heads of states, he
may be in the "underground" for security reasons, but he is not
discheveled, he speaks in a cautious, calculated calm, a quiet dignity. His
adresses have been punctuated with key notions that have long lapsed from
the everyday political vocabulary in the Arab world: responsibility (for
defeat, victory and the toll on Lebanon), dignity, justice, compassion (for
the suffering inflicted on people and for the Palestinian Israeli victims
of Hezbollah shelling in Nazareth and Haifa). A stark contrast with the
political class in the Arab world that speaks of "calculated retreats",
"compromises for peace", and the real politik convictions that induce Amr
Moussa to cast himself as the gesticulating pantomime for the Saudis and
the Americans. In an interview with al-Jazira, Ahmad Fouad Najm, the famous
Egyptian popular poet quoted a Cairene street sweeper who said to him that
Hassan Nasrallah brought back to life the dead man buried inside him. This
is the "pulse" of the much-dreaded Arab street. This too is a measure of
Israel's miscalculation. Moreover, at the moment when Sunnis and Shi'as
have been blinded in murderous rage in Iraq, when Idiot-King Abdullah of
Jordan and a handful Barbaric Wahabi pundits babbled on about the dangerous
emergence of a "Shi'i crescent" in the region, Israel's assault has brought
to the fore a solidarity that transcends the Sunni-Shi'a divide in the Arab
world, and consolidated a front of those who reject Israeli hegemony and
those who cower to it in fear.
This new symbolic power beyond the boundaries of Lebanon was willed by
Hezbollah in the postwar, it peeked in 1996, when Israel conducted its
notorious "Operation Grapes of Wrath". After the Israeli withdrawal from
south Lebanon, Hezbollah claimed the credit for liberation. Some analysts
saw the Israeli withdrawal from the occupied south as a strategic move to
end the "Lebanon" file, and deprive Syria from a crucial hand in its
negotiations with Israel (Hafez el-Assad died shortly after). Other
analysts saw the Israeli withdrawal as Hezbollah's defeat of the IDF in a
long, long war of attrition. Nevertheless, Hezbollah represented itself in
its propaganda machine as the only armed force in the Arab and Muslim world
to have in fact defeated Israel.
In this present crisis, and from Hassan Nasrallah's first pronouncement
(the radio/audio adress he delivered), the "open" belligerance that Israel
is conducting on Lebanon has been represented as a turning point battle in
the saga of the Arab-Israeli conflict. A saga replete with humiliating
defeats for Arab armies, a turning point because Hezbollah promised to
deliver a victory (as it has achieved many victories in the past). In other
words, he transformed this present conflict from a "Lebanese" question into
an Arab and regional conflict.
The significance of defeat and victory is bearing a deep impact far and
beyond the boundaries of Lebanon. This is one of the reasons Condoleeza
Rice's notion of a "New Middle East" smacks of first rate hubris. The "New
Middle East" is taking shape elsewhere, or the real new Middle East is
here, and there is little the White House, Ehud Olmert, 23-ton shells
autographed by the beautiful children of Israel (the pictures are quite
astounding) dropped in the middle of refugee camps to unearth underground
bunkers of "terrorism", can do about it.
In the first few days of the Israeli assault on Lebanon, there was barely
any movement in Arab capitals. The Arab world seemed content watching us
burn on TV, our fate seemed sealed with the Arab League meeting. I remember
writing my rage in one of these dispatches. However, after Nasrallah's
first adress, which ended with the spectacularly staged shelling of the
Israeli warship, Hezbollah's sustained ability to hold its fort and to
shell cities as far as Haifa and Nazareth, in addition to the sight of
Israel's sustained massacres of civilians and destruction of Lebanon,
turned the tide. Hezbollah's position in the region and in Arab
consciousness is etched with an empowering, envigorating significance.
The New Middle East, Conspiracy and Hassan Nasrallah's televised adress
Condoleezza Rice showed up in Beirut two days ago. The message she carries
is that the US will not enforce a ceasfire. Israel estimates it needs an
additional week before the atmosphere is "conducive" to a ceasefire. This
means they need a week to achieve their aims. Their aims have changed over
the past two weeks, although they have formulated a set of demands to the
White House and the G8.
Lebanese Prime Minister Fouad Saniora on his way to the Rome conference
said he did not expect the meeting to produce a ceasefire. Only Kofi Anan
seems to expect that from this high-profile meeting.
She did not speak of a New Middle East in Lebanon, in fact there were no
public pronouncements made in Lebanon, but she did hold several press
conferences in Israel, where reference was made to this new map. The "New
Middle East" has not been officially unveiled by the Americans.
It emerges at a moment when Israel has failed at undermining Hamas with all
the means the world has afforded to support it: diplomatic pressure from
the US and EU, an effective paralysis of Hamas' ability to govern, an
internal conflict between Hamas and Fateh, the incarceration of cabinet
members and parliamentarians, a humanitarian siege, and a full scale
military assault on Gaza. The Palestinian population has yet to unseat
Hamas or question the legitimacy of its position.
This moment is also when Iraq seems to have effectively slipped into a
civil war and the US and UK occupation forces are neck-deep in a quagmire
with violence escalating to frightful scale. Civil conflicts and violence
develop a momentum and logic of their own that create their own hell, and
Iraq seems to be teetering at the precipice of this hell with no sign of
decisive and effective int
Unlike residents of southern Beirut who are in constant fear of direct missile attacks from Jerusalem, those in Archirfiye initially went about their business with a relative sense of calmness as Israeli jet fighters zoomed overhead and sounds of missile explosions reverberated throughout the city. But as explosions reach the outskirts of Christian areas, many here now fear that Israel will bring the war closer and closer to their doorsteps. The ominous sight of billowing plumes of smoke from the southern suburbs does little to assuage their fears, nor mine.