Amid the massive reconstruction projects in downtown Beirut lie poignant reminders of Lebanon’s 1975-90 civil war – office buildings with countless bullet and mortar holes and vacant apartment complexes nearing collapse, offering an indication of just how tenuous peace and stability are in this small corner of the world.
With escalating violence between the militant group Hezbollah and Israel, ordinary Beirutis resign themselves to the fact that this crisis largely remains beyond their control. And some, if not most, regard intermittent conflict in their backyard as a simple fact of life.
After the July 13 missile attack on Beirut International Airport, I rushed downtown to Beirut’s banking district with some American tourists to cash in my traveler’s checks. One teller, a younger woman who witnessed the string of bombings that led to the death of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in 2005, was surprised at my sense of urgency. “Don’t worry, this is normal. This is just Lebanon … you stay here for longer than a year, and you get used to this,” she said in broken English. I still cashed out my checks.
The day before, Hezbollah members celebrated their way up and down Rue de Damas, also known as the infamous Green Line, waving their yellow flags out of car windows in reaction to the capture of Israeli soldiers. Their celebrations appeared to have fallen upon deaf ears, however, as droves of nearby construction workers went on about their business.
Despite ongoing reconstruction downtown, the economic situation in Beirut has rested on tenuous foundations and offers little hope for a growing labor force. On my flight to Beirut, I sat by a Lebanese engineer, who, despite his initial timidity, was eager to express his unease with the Lebanese job market. “There is not much here for me. I work in St. Lucia as a civil engineer now. When I could not find a job here, I was forced to move elsewhere.” Before working in St. Lucia, a small island in the Caribbean, he lived and worked in Nigeria, where the pay was higher than in Lebanon but the work was “very dangerous.”
He is one of millions of Lebanese who opted to leave the country during and after the civil war. Another engineer whom I met in Beirut’s thriving bar district on Rue Monot works as a bartender because the pay is twice what he’d make were he to find a job as an engineer. He noted that his sister recently moved to Texas to get her Ph.D. in applied math and that he’s considering a similar move.
The current violence portends harder times for Beirut’s economy. Business has slowed; many of the cafés in the eastern end of town, for example, close their doors unusually early at night for fear of missile attacks. Some have closed indefinitely.
And tourists are fleeing the country in a hurry. Some are being evacuated by sea, but since the closure of the airport, American, German, French and thousands of other tourists decided to try to flee the country through Syria.
Syria is notoriously difficult for Americans to enter without having obtained a visa in the U.S. beforehand, and many tourists are faced with the prospect of remaining in Lebanon and holding up in their hotel rooms.
For most residents of Achirafiye, a largely Christian district in East Beirut, leaving is simply not an option. “This is my country. I am Lebanese … I never leave,” an Internet café owner assertively told me. He and many of his neighbors sit attentively in front of televisions and radios, waiting for news of an increasing spiral of violence but hoping that the city’s underlying sectarian tensions remain contained.
Some Beirutis express anger at Hezbollah’s actions, complaining that the organization uselessly provoked violence. But Hezbollah’s image, argued Riyad Basset, a café owner, stands to improve in Achirafiye and elsewhere if the violence continues. “Look,” he said, “the Lebanese army does not fight Israel now. Only Hezbollah does. Soon, more [Lebanese people] will see Hezbollah as defenders of the country.”
In the west end’s Hamra district, the evening before the Israeli attack in Beirut several taxi drivers firmly criticized Israel’s attacks and military action in the Gaza strip.
The further south one goes in Beirut, the more the sympathies lie with Hezbollah.
While writing this article, several Israeli jet fighters unleashed multiple missile attacks on the city. Although detonated in the southern part of Beirut, the reverberations jostled my apartment building as if they had exploded across the street.
During the bombardment I sequestered myself in the bathroom, suppressing my shaky nerves and praying for the attacks to end. My neighbors were also listening to the swooping jets. I could hear their shrieks after the explosions.
But the following morning, the corner markets reopened and Beirutis were off to work, a bit shaken, but off to work nonetheless. Even in the current violence, one can’t help but notice a certain resilience among Beirutis and a drive to continue with their lives.
