Lebanon: Nothing About This is Normal

Friday, 9 August, 2024

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Nadia Samet-Warren

IWPR Country Director

A Lebanese friend and colleague once told me, “Our skin is thicker than that of a crocodile.”

And it’s true. Any type of conflict and instability you can think of, Lebanon has experienced it. Colonisation, invasion and attack; civil and proxy wars, economic collapse and political assassinations, not to mention regional turmoil and vast influxes of refugees. In recent years - amid continued political paralysis and economic collapse, compounded by the devastating port explosion four years ago - day-to-day life in Lebanon has been almost impossible.

Yet throughout it all, ordinary Lebanese people have remained incredibly strong willed and resilient.

And now, as tensions soar in the region, I am reminded again of this amazing defiance in the face of adversity.  I’ve seen it for myself in my many visits over the years, with friends refusing to have evening plans derailed by a window-rattling explosion or city-wide power outages.

Just yesterday, talking to a close long time friend I asked how he and his family were and if they were able to find everything they needed in the shops.

“We’re Lebanese,” his response came  “When something is missing, we find a solution.”  

Human beings are very adaptable - but that’s both a skill and a curse.

As a humanitarian and an NGO worker, I’ve lived and worked in post-conflict and war zones in Africa, the Middle East and Asia. The Lebanese seem to have a unique sense of joie de vivre in the face of adversity, but everywhere people find coping mechanisms, a source of resourcefulness. The realities of a war zone require people to acquire particular reflexes and skills for survival and after a while, it somehow becomes the norm.

But it’s vital to remember that nothing about this is normal.

This was brought home to me by an IWPR colleague who lives in an area of Beirut that was heavily bombed and nearly destroyed during the 2006 war with Israel.

She describes living in a constant state of uncertainty amid rising tensions and speculation that another all-out conflict might be imminent.

“Two months ago, we started hearing the sonic booms created by Israeli military aircraft flying over Beirut, which made us extremely anxious as the sound is as frightening as an explosion,” she recounted.

Then came Israel’s assassination of Hezbollah senior military commander Fu’ad Shukr on July 24.

“Around 7.30 pm, an explosion occurred twice, with a 30-second interval between the blasts. It was just two blocks away from our house, and we could feel the building rumbling beneath us. I told my sister that this was a strike, not just a sonic boom, instantly recalling the 2006 war and all we went through.”

Inside the house, the children cowered in terror.

“Outside, chaos erupted,” she continued. “Neighbors were screaming, knocking on doors, and urging everyone to leave, as it was a strike. People were trying to determine the exact location of the explosion. Ambulances and fire trucks rushed to the area and the streets were blocked, making it impossible to move. The situation was so terrifying that we had to wait until the roads cleared before we could leave. Everyone was calling us, urging us to evacuate as soon as possible.”

The family spent a sleepless night at a friend’s house, watching news and trying to calm the children. The fear remains that they will not escape a future strike.

Waking up to the sound of bombs is not and should never be normal. Not having access to food, clean water, electricty and other necessities of life is not normal – neither is dragging your children out of bed in the middle of the night to seek shelter, or fleeing your home without knowing if you will ever see it again.

There is nothing normal about living in a state of war, your past destroyed, your present dark and unknown and your future impossible to envision.

To my friends and colleagues in Lebanon and so many other warzones, I’m sorry humanity has failed you. Stay safe and strong. We still have hope. We still dream that someday the madness of war will end. And as a Lebanese friend of mine likes to say, “See you in Beirut, whatever happens.”