For Lebanese, Israeli Warplanes Overhead – Not Washington Diplomacy – Define Reality
While officials in Washington describe an opportunity to extend and stabilize the cease-fire under U.S. mediation, a Lebanese government source and residents in the south say there is little belief in its durability, warning that neither Beirut nor the army expects a genuine halt to hostilities as long as Israeli air operations continue and Hezbollah remains under fire
Smoke rises following an Israeli strike in Zebdin, Lebanon on Sunday. Credit: Stringer/REUTERS
When it was reported over the weekend that the cease-fire in Lebanon has been extended for another 45 days, the Lebanese responded with skepticism and, above all, indifference.
Following previous wars between Israel and Hezbollah, cease-fires generally meant that people displaced by the fighting could go home. They would clear away the rubble and resume normal life.
But today, despite the cease-fire, the displaced remain in deep distress. Absorption centers, schools and apartments in Beirut and the Mount Lebanon district remain packed with displaced people, and the conversations are no longer only about rebuilding destroyed homes, but also about whether, in the current situation, returning home is even possible.
According to UN data reported by the Lebanese media, more than a million Lebanese were displaced during the latest Hezbollah-Israel war. Of these, 126,000 are living in some 600 official absorption centers. Hundreds of thousands of others are living in rented apartments or with relatives. Employees of first-responder organizations, most of which are affiliated with Hezbollah, say the absorption centers are full.
"People are still afraid," one said. "Every time the bombing intensifies in the south, families once again decamp for Beirut. Many people don't believe the situation is really over," the person added, referring to the fighting.
According to the Lebanese Health Ministry, 2,988 Lebanese have been killed since the fighting began on March 2, while 9,210 have been wounded.
Maryam, who was displaced from the village of Aitaroun near the Israeli border, said she feels greater uncertainty today than she did in the past. "Once, we knew we would return," she said. "Today, nobody knows if our villages will ever return to being places it's possible to live in."
A tent camp in Beirut set up for displaced residents this month. Credit: Mohamed Azakir/Reuters
Umm Yusef, who was displaced from the town of Al Khiam, fears that the current unstable situation will become permanent. "People don't just want aid or temporary housing or a substitute apartment," she said. "They want to return to their own land, their own trees, their own memories."
One employee of a first-responder organization painted a grim picture, especially of the country's south. More than 80 villages have been evacuated in the last month alone, he said. Dozens have been completely destroyed, and some are under full Israeli control.
But even in villages that the Israel Defense Forces doesn't officially control, it's impossible to live a normal life, he noted. "There are no pharmacies, no clinics, no hospitals, no gas stations, no water, electricity or roads," he said. "Even someone whose house is still standing can't really go back there to live."
The magnitude of the displacement is evident in the number of homes destroyed. Lebanese experts estimate that 60,000 homes have been demolished, meaning that 250,000 to 300,000 people have been left with no home.
To many people, this humanitarian tragedy has also become a threat to their identity and the country's demographic make-up. One example of this is the severe housing crisis.
According to various reports, there is now blatant discrimination in the housing market. Homeowners and real estate agents are refusing to rent to displaced people because they are Shi'ites – the religious community that is the bastion of Hezbollah's support. Others set conditions that the displaced can't possibly meet, such as paying several months' rent in advance or committing to a long-term contract.
A Beirut resident sits next to his house destroyed in an Israeli strike, this month. Credit: Raghed Waked/Reuters
The exploitation of the displaced population's economic distress is also evident in the sharp rise in rents. An apartment that rented for $600 a month not long ago was recently listed at $1,700 a month.
This change is a testimony to the sharp social divisions within Lebanon. But it is also evidence of the government's complete failure to supervise the housing market or protect displaced people from profiteering and religious discrimination.
Meanwhile, the healthcare system in southern Lebanon is fighting for survival. At least 16 hospitals have been either damaged or completely destroyed. The Lebanese Health Ministry said that three hospitals have stopped operating entirely due to recent attacks – the government hospital in Mays al-Jabal, the government hospital in Bint Jbeil and the Martyr Salah Gandhour Hospital in Bint Jbeil.
Despite the attacks in the area, the Tebnin Hospital in Bint Jbeil continues to operate, it said. And Tyre's three hospitals are dealing with a never-ending influx of wounded and displaced people, while also suffering from severe shortages of medical equipment and staff. Some medical staffers are living in the hospitals with their families out of fear of not being able to reach them during an airstrike.
The announcement that the cease-fire has been extended for 45 days did nothing to dispel the unease in Lebanon. "The Lebanese understand that the announcement of a lull, or an extension of the cease-fire, isn't serious," said a Bint Jbeil resident who was displaced when the war began. She said many people fear the cease-fire will collapse within days and their lives will once again be thrown into chaos.
Destroyed houses in the Nabatieh district of southern Lebanon, last month. Credit: Zohra Bensemra/Reuters
A Lebanese government source affiliated with the anti-Hezbollah bloc voiced a similar view. He said that neither the government nor the army expects a real cease-fire from Israel, because they realize this won't happen as long as Hezbollah continues its attacks on Israel and nobody is pressuring either Israel or Hezbollah to show restraint.
But many Lebanese fear that even if the cease-fire holds in southern Lebanon, the fighting will consequently intensify in the Bekaa region to the east. According to Israel, Hezbollah has a major base there, where it stores rockets, drones and other military equipment.
"There's great fear that the war will simply relocate," a former Lebanese army officer said. "The Israelis see the Bekaa as Hezbollah's strategic reserve, and therefore, Lebanon fears that a lull in the south, if it actually happens, will be only one stage of the war."
After months of warfare, airstrikes, mass displacement and economic and social collapse, many Lebanese no longer get excited over festive announcements of "diplomatic progress" or "a new security track." In their view, reality isn't determined by Washington or by official announcements, but by the presence of Israeli warplanes in Lebanon's skies.
A displaced family from southern Lebanon in Beirut, last month. Credit: Zohra Bensemra/Reuters
The cease-fire deal is supposed to provide more time for negotiations between Israel and Lebanon under U.S. auspices. In recent days, the Lebanese delegation in Washington has tried to present the cease-fire extension as a modest diplomatic achievement. In a press statement, it said that Lebanon is committed to reaching an agreement that will restore the government's full sovereignty over Lebanon.
But while people in Washington are talking about a "historic opportunity" and a "long-term agreement," the feeling on the ground in Lebanon is very different.
In the view of displaced people, doctors, residents of southern Lebanon and the families waiting in absorption centers, the war hasn't really ended. It has only entered a new phase – one with fewer dramatic announcements but more ongoing anxiety. Between the destroyed villages, the collapsing hospitals and the cease-fire that nobody believes in, it seems that Lebanon is still living on borrowed time.