IN THE SHADOWS OF WAR

IN THE SHADOWS OF WAR

Beirut, Lebanon and the Palestinians

The modern, Beirut Down Town and the marina with million dollar luxury yachts.

From the back seat of the taxi on the way from Rafic Hariri airport a little south of Beirut, I see the evening sun pushing its last rays through the clouds as it sinks into the Mediterranean. Thoughts and emotions mingle with unclear expectations of meeting with a city and a country, which at the first time I came here, more than 36 years ago, lay in ruins while the civil war were still raging. At that time I came to Beirut crossing the sea from Limassol in Cyprus with the cargo boat "Lucky Hope", which by no means lived up to its name, but struggled with engine trouble during much of the crossing and left us drifting in the wind for a couple of days before the ship-engineer finally brought the engine back to life. 

Arriving in Beirut, we were met by a  city and a country at war. The ports were besieged and controlled by the Falangists (strongly right-wing, Christian Maronites). The Falangists and other militia groups had divided the city between them and there were checkpoints, and barricades everywhere and the beautiful Beirut harbour promenade street were virtually abandoned and surrounded by bombed-out buildings. 

I came to the city at the beginning of November, a month and a half after the massacres in the refugee camps Sabra and Shatila where more than 2,000 (the numbers still vary depending on sources) people were massacred by the Falangists, with Israeli support. I visited the camps where traces of fighting were still visible. A week later, after driving trough the Bekaa valley at night, with Israeli and Druze grenades passing over our heads, I met survivors from the massacres, who had fled to Syria and the Yarmouk camp outside Damascus. The stories about the carnage and meeting with people who had lost their whole family were heartbreaking.

Refugee camp in Damascus for Palestinians who had fled from Sabra and Shatila i 1982

As in 1982, the main purpose of my visit to Lebanon is to meet with Palestinian refugees, as part of an ongoing project to gather information and stories about refugees and migration.  71 years after the 1948 Palestinian exodus, also known as the Nakba, where more than 700,000 Palestinian Arabs - about half or prewar Palestine's Arab population - there are still 5 million Palestinians registered as refugees by UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Work  Agency for Palestinian Refugees), without a right to a homeland. Nearly one-third of the registered Palestine refugees, more than 1.5 million individuals, live in 58 recognized Palestine refugee camps in Jordan, Lebanon, the Syrian Arab Republic, the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. About 450,000 Palestinian refugees, according to UNRWA, are residents in Lebanon, divided into 12 refugee camps and various "gatheherings" or settlements.

While waiting for my Palestinian friend, who is employed by the UNWRA, to get my visit permit to the Palestinian refugee camps (required for some of the camps and to be obtained from the Lebanese authorities), I take the opportunity to explore some of today´s Beirut. The city has a fantastic location with the Mediterranean blue-green waves on one side and the Shouf mountain´s (Lebanon mountain´s) snow-capped peaks reaching over 3000 meters, as a majestic backdrop. 

Beirut seaside and skyline, February 2019

The contrasts are striking, not only by nature, but also between the different neighbourhoods. The areas along the waterfront and the palm lined seaside Beirut promenade, the Avenue de Paris, are characterised by modern hotels, restaurants, closed bathing facilities, and a marina with million dollar luxury yachts. Across the street from the marina, the skyscrapers fills the scene in downtown Beirut, with modern shops, bars and fitness centres just like in any other modern city. And the steel skeletons of building cranes rise to the sky everywhere, as old colonial style and dilapidated buildings have to give way to ultra-modern steel and glass facades. But in the shadow of the skyscrapers and the building cranes by the sea, another reality hides. Thousands of Beirut's residents have to find their lives in streets with ramshackle buildings, where the rubbish floats and the electrical wiring hangs like spaghetti between the houses. As I walk through the streets, I remember the pictures from the film "Capharnaüm" (messy, chaotic place), the story about the 12 year old boy Zain, who goes to court against his parents and sues them in protest of the life they have given him. These are the streets of Zain. And not far away, I am back in Sabra and Shatila, the scene of a horrific massacre, of sectarian and Israeli-backed violence that cost more than 2,000 people, men women and children, their lives during three September days in 1982.

Streets of Shatila refugee camp in February 2019

Today, like more than 36 years ago, Sabra and Shatila is formally a refugee camp (Shatila), but appears more like an integral part of the city. A poor living area with greyish brick buildings, dirty, weary facades and many streets that are so narrow that they are only accessible on foot and by two wheelers. In the bustling market street of Sabra, people are  getting their groceries from the street vendors and young and old are drinking their coffee or tea and smoking a Hookah (Shisa Sheeba water pipe) in one of the many small street cafes. 

Palestinian flags and images of Palestinian leaders and liberation heroes are everywhere and on a large banner, Abu Amar (Arafat) the main symbol of the Palestinian liberation war. In UNRWA's information on the situation in Shatila I read, among other things; “Environmental health conditions in Shatila are extremely bad. Shelters are damp and overcrowded, and many have open drains. The sewerage system needs considerable expansion. An infrastructure project is currently being implemented in the camp to upgrade the sewage, the storm water system and the water network". But despite the information on planned improvements, there were few signs of any rehabilitation efforts during my visit in mid-February. A fourth generation is now growing up in the squalid refugee camps in Lebanon. In Sabra and Shatila, most living spaces consist of two very small rooms: a bedroom, where the entire family sleeps, and a living room of sorts. There is no ventilation, and hardly any electricity. Most families use battery-powered lighting. Drinking tap water is prohibited, as it is full of bacteria and very salty - it actually corrodes pipes. There are poor sanitary conditions. Medications for all illnesses are in short supply. When it rains these small paths become muddy. Electrical wires hang from dwellings. Young men connect and reconnect wires; from time to time, someone is electrocuted. Foul odours emanate in the streets. Illness is rampant.

Sabra street market

With the exception of the occupied areas of Gaza and the West Bank, the situation and life of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon may be worse than anywhere else. 15 Years of Civil War (1975 - 90) where more than 100,000 people lost their lives, Israel's repeated attacks and conflict with Hezbollah in southern Lebanon have marked the lives of Palestinians for years. From 2012, the ongoing war in neighbouring Syria, which has driven 1.5 million people across the border with Lebanon and among them a large number of Palestinian refugees, has also created major challenges for both the Lebanese society and the Palestinians. However, from my readings, interviews and observations, the Lebanese authorities' policy towards the Palestinian refugees is perhaps the biggest challenge today. While Palestinians in Syria and Jordan have had virtually the same rights as the rest of the country's population with access to work, education health services and the opportunity to engage in business, the situation in Lebanon is quite different. The Palestinians, who are mainly living in 12 refugee camps (60%) and a number of "gatherings" or settlements scattered throughout Lebanon, have no political or democratic rights in the country where they have lived for four generations, whether they came here as refugees or born here. They do not have the opportunity to buy houses, real estate or own a business outside the camps, and they are excluded from a large part of the labour market, with the prohibition of having a number of positions, both in the public and private sectors, like engineers, doctors or lawyers, which could enable them to raise their living standards and contribute to the society. This also means that they have limited access to health care and education that is largely private, costs money and thus is inaccessible to people living in constant poverty. This situation forces a large number of Palestinians to work in the black, unregulated labour market (which makes up a large part of Lebanese businesses), in cleaning, as domestic workers, in the construction industry and in agriculture. In practise, there are virtually a state of lawlessness that create the basis for comprehensive exploitation of the Palestinian workers where wages of as little as $ 10 a day are rather the rule than the exception. Job protection, health insurance, compensation or support after work accidents, etc., are totally absent. And the one who expresses dissatisfaction can always be replaced by another unemployed Palestinian or Syrian refugee, willing to do the same job, for even less money.

A few days after my arrival in Lebanon, I travel south along with my young friend Walaa, to  spend a few days in the refugee camp Rashidieh, a short distance south of the port city of Tyre. One afternoon we visit Hassan Akhar (58) and his wife Intesar Ali Khatib (44). The couple and their two children, a daughter of 17 and a boy of 19, live in a small 3 bedroom brick house centrally located in the camp. 

Hassan and Intesar in Rashidieh refugee camp in southern Lebanon

The family came to Rashidieh in 1982 from a small Lebanese village they had to leave because of the war. In Rashidieh, they found that it is was safer than many other places. They had some good fortune because they own their house, given to them by some relatives. Without their help, they would be struggling to survive. Hassan has some sort of job in a supermarket in Tyre. He helps the customers pack items in carrying bags and carries them to the cars. He doesn't get a salary from the supermarket, but some tips from the customers that he helps. Revenue varies, but can be approx. $ 270 a month. He works 10 hours a day, six days a week, so the daily salary is just over $ 10. Intesar tells that their son of 19 works for a construction company. He does not receive a salary, but his employer pays for her medicines. She has a serious lung disease and the medicines she needs are very expensive, and without her son´s job they could not afford to pay for them. Hassan says that he previously worked in the construction industry as a day worker. Like most others, he had no employment contract, but took the jobs he could get. Hassan was born with an eye injury and was blind to one eye. One day at work he got a nail in the fresh eye. The injury was severe and he had to go to hospital for treatment. His boss didn't want to drive him to the hospital, but put him off at the camp gate and gave him $ 50 to deal with the damage. His friends drove him to five different hospitals and clinics, but no one was willing to help him because he couldn't pay what they charged for the treatment. A month passed before his friends had managed to collect enough money so he could finally get the treatment. The injury had now become permanent and the sight of this eye had been greatly reduced. With his poor eyesight, his job opportunities are rather limited says Hassan and gives me a stated look. He manages the job at the supermarket, but the income is hardly covering the expenses of food, clothing, electricity and transport for himself and the family. The cost of electricity is twofold in Rashedieh. The Lebanese provide electricity two by six hours a day at a subsidised price of $ 3 a month. The rest of the day they have to buy electricity from a private supplier who owns a large electric generator unit in the camp. This power supply, which they would have had trouble paying for, the family gets free of charge by the vendor. Besides his job, Hassan spends most of the time at home. He is never visiting the coffee shops, where most men are gathering frequently in the late afternoons and evenings. Intesar says that she sometimes she gets visits from relatives or women from the neighbourhood at her home. She has problems going out herself in the cold, humid winter months due to her lung disease. I ask her if something nice happens sometimes in Rashidieh, something she can remember that made her happy. She grabs the teacup and thinks before answering. -Yes, she says, - a year ago. It was my sister's daughter who got married. It was a very nice wedding...

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If you want to read more from my recent visit to Lebanon will publish three more posts in the next couple of weeks:

-The return from Syria - two women tells their stories

-The changemakers

-The Syrians in Bekaa

... and if you like my blog, please share and follow :) Thanks for reading !

And here are some more pictures for you:

Two boys with a gun in Beirut 1982

Palestinians from Sabra and Shatila in a refugee camp in Damascus - November 1982

Dream Ice is definately needed in Shatila refugee camp in Beirut 

«The City of Zain», a poor neighbourhood in Beirut - February 2019