Dreadful Days in Lebanon: The Invisible and Visible Scars of War

 

Discussing and analyzing the catastrophic disaster that hit Lebanon is difficult. I am connected to the subject on two levels: intellectually and emotionally. Hamas' "Operation Al-Aqsa Flood" and Hezbollah's "Operation of Solidarity" have been viewed as irresponsible, and their military consequences questionable, with the conflict leaving unprecedented emotional scars on many Lebanese. Apart from the military and economic weaknesses wars usually expose, the invisible scars of conflict, such as psychological ones, linger for generations. 

 

Grief and emotional loss, for example, put a strain on families and communities. War and displacement also negatively impact communal coexistence, especially where a delicate social fabric holds communities together. The resulting mistrust, tension, and division create stress that potentially escalates into violent conflict. Media outlets and religious authorities have already reported indications of such possibilities, which have prompted politicians and religious authorities to warn their communities of a repeat of the 1975-1990 civil war.

 

When people with good intentions seek conflict resolution after the guns fall silent, the invisible scars of the war surface. A generation that has experienced war by displacement presents the most significant challenge to future peace. People from different backgrounds have trouble accepting and coexisting with one another in a world of conflict. Displacement and division influence young people's minds and behaviors, creating significant barriers to embracing diversity and fostering communal harmony.

 

This is how the invisible scars of war impact individuals and complicate the prospect of peace. Neither can the effects of war in plain sight be overlooked: the streets of Beirut have borne witness to Lebanon’s tumultuous conflicts, weathered the brunt of numerous tragic disasters, and worn the scars of all the hardships experienced by its citizens. War has left unmistakable, devastating marks on the city in the past, and these days, the streets are filled with a haze of fear, hopelessness, and confusion as thousands continue to flock to the city from the southern suburbs and other parts of the country. The military war with Israel “will plunge the country and its citizens into the unknown,” states Balqis Abdul Reda in Al Modon.

 

Listening to reports of the war from the safety and comfort of one’s home or somewhere far removed from the conflict, it is all too easy to reduce the war to numbers and statistics, overlooking the magnitude of human suffering faced by those displaced from their homes. For hundreds of thousands of Lebanese, ‘home’ is a reminder of what they left behind as they frantically gathered family and a paltry assortment of personal belongings before fleeing under the cover of darkness and Israeli missile threats overhead. The municipality of Bourj el-Barajneh in the southern suburbs of Beirut, once densely populated, became a ghost town after Israeli strikes displaced 350,000 residents. Similar situations befell nearby areas. Beirut now has become akin to a conveyor belt of nearly two million cars inching towards safety, surrounded by sidewalks lined with families unable to find shelter. “Since late September, one and a half million Lebanese have been without a roof. The lucky ones are those who have a car roof, the shade of a tree, the roof of a friend, a relative, a charity, or a shelter,” writes columnist Samir Atallah in Asharq Al-Awsat.

 

Al Modon recently surveyed the situation on the ground, listening to the stories of those directly experiencing the displacement. Abdul Reda speaks with one woman in her 70s, referred to as Umm Ali, who fled with her children and grandchildren at midnight after receiving evacuation notices from Israel. Umm Ali says, “We were unable to obtain shelter. All the schools are now crowded with displaced people, and we are waiting for an alternative to the street.” Her family has been forced to sleep on the road near Ramlet al-Baida beach for a week, unable to find shelter. She tells Al Modon, “The problem is challenging. It is more complex than any situation a person might face. It is even the most challenging war [we] have experienced since 1975.”

 

Thousands found themselves homeless within minutes, fleeing their homes without necessities like medication, identification papers, or money. One woman who preferred not to be identified describes the situation as an “endless nightmare,” explaining that sleep has become an “unattainable dream” due to fears of missiles passing over them in the night. Hassan Harb, who was displaced with his family from the Lailaki area to Ramlet al-Baida, worries about the living conditions, especially with fears of the coming winter and the dangers of staying on the streets. He states, “We live completely without the most basic human needs and public hygiene standards. There are not enough bathrooms to accommodate these numbers, so much so that a person is forced to walk for at least 10 minutes to get a chance to enter the bathroom, not to mention the waiting periods unsuitable for the young and the elderly.”

 

There are no quantifiable numbers on how many people have been displaced, but the overwhelming numbers are evident just by looking at the state of the streets. Novelist and columnist Hassan Daoud in Al Quds Al Arabi describes the endless lines of cars swarming the streets of Beirut, where traffic has slowed to an unbearable crawl. Entire families who have uprooted their lives cluster together inside vehicles that, in their urgency or desperation, seem like retro-fitted double-decker buses by how tightly packed they are. The already-densely populated Beirut is more like a glorified parking garage than a city right now. The chaos of the congestion has overtaken any semblance of normalcy or order, with cars double parking along sidewalks. 

 

According to Daoud, longtime residents can quickly identify the displaced among them. Disoriented as they are, these newcomers hesitate at intersections, paralyzed by their sense of direction or perhaps the loss of all things familiar to them. It takes over 20 hours to travel 90 km (55 miles) as Beirut’s usual rush hours in the morning and afternoon are now at all hours with no signs of ending.

 

Daoud notes other changes throughout the city as Beirut residents adjust to the rapidly changing situation. Some have taken advantage of the chaos, raising prices on parking and implementing additional surcharges for each hour after the initial two hours. On the other hand, the circumstances have led some to extend grace where they would not have previously. In the words of Daoud, “It no longer annoys you, as it used to, to see children sleeping on the sidewalk. The passing woman did not repeat her anger towards the new sleepers on that sidewalk, but she pitied a child whose walker had come loose from his foot…because the boy had been taken out of his house without being allowed to put on his shoes.”

 

The government has developed an emergency plan to provide food, medicine, and shelter aid. Still, Al Modon notes that the increasing numbers of those in need quickly overwhelm the government’s capacity to deal with these circumstances. Lebanon’s already delicate state amid ongoing economic and infrastructural crises since 2019 leaves the country and its citizens with little hope of recourse in this war.

 

 

 

 

 

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