Profiles of Poverty: The human face of poverty in Lebanon

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The human face of poverty in Lebanon

Rupen Das • Julie Davidson • with Niamh F leming-Farrell (ed.)

Although Lebanon is classified as a middle-income country, poverty remains a predominant challenge and is manifested in various ways. Going beyond the mere analysis of poverty from an income perspective, this unique study succeeded in drawing the various typologies of poverty in Lebanon, distin-guishing between the rural and urban settings, Lebanese and non-Lebanese citizens. Increased inequalities and disparities may lead to negative social, economic, and political consequences that may have a destabilizing impact on societies. Consequently, the findings of the report reconfirm the urgency for appropriate socioeconomic policies, strategies, and programs that re-spond to the needs of vulnerable groups, especially those who are challenged by tenure insecurity and poor housing conditions in informal urban areas. Dania Rifai, UN-Habitat Lebanon, Programme Manager

This is a timely contribution to the literature on poverty in Lebanon. Poverty research, and the subject of poverty itself, are fairly recent in Lebanon and date back to late 1990s, an indicator of the hitherto paradigm that poverty is non-existent in the country. Here, this volume shows the wide spectrum of those marginalized in Lebanon, groups that are unheard of or often seen as some-one else’s malaise. By voicing the voices of those on the margins of the margin, this book brings us closer to the reality of the poor of Lebanon. Policymakers and development practitioners should read this book … and open their ears. Nasser Yassin, PhD, Development Planning Specialist and Professor at the Faculty of Health Sciences, American University of Beirut

This book is an honest and objective, yet appealing, account of both Lebanon and the Palestinians living in Lebanon. The detailed facts and descriptions are an insightful representation of the historical situation, which has build up to create the difficulties that the refugees face today. This book is not only enjoyable to read, but also allows the reader to visualize the human dimen-sions of poverty and marginalization facing the Palestinian population today.Olfat Mahmoud, Director, Women’s Humanitarian Organization

This report represents important and innovative work to understand the root causes of poverty in Lebanon. Interviews with over 400 men and women, girls and boys, lends real authenticity to the findings that Lebanon has a pro-found poverty issue. Understanding the causes of this poverty is the first step in finding a solution, which will enable all children in Lebanon to achieve their full potential … Conny Lenneberg, Regional Leader, World Vision International, Middle East & Eastern Europe

Rupen Das is director for community development with LSESD and senior advisor capacity building, international programs for CBM.

Julie Davidson is a development practioner and researcher based in Beirut.

Niamh Fleming-Farrell is a writer and editor based in Beirut.

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Prof iles of

PovertyThe human face of poverty in Lebanon

Rupen Das • Julie Davidson • with Niamh Fleming-Farrell (ed.)

Profiles of PovertyThe human face of poverty in Lebanon

© 2011 by Rupen Das and Julie Davidson

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other – except for brief quo-tations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Mansourieh, Lebanon, by Dar Manhal al Hayat

Photographs of the cover and on pages 400, 441 (top) were included with the permission of Tahaddi Association.Photographs on pages 153, 157, 158, 163, 180, 434, 435 were included with the permission of Rasha Makki.

Photograph on page 38 was included with the permission of Heather McGuffin.

Edited by Niamh Fleming-Farrell

Cover and interior design by Dar Manhal al Hayat,

Production Department

B.O Box: 165 Mansourieh, El Metn-Lebanon

Telephone: +961 4 401922

Fax: +961 4 532481

E-mail: [email protected]

Website: www.Dar-Manhal-Alhayat.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements 11Guidance notes 15Acronyms 17Arabic words and colloquialisms 21

1. Introduction 25

Part 1. Poverty in rural Lebanon

Map of rural communities studied 752. Poverty in rural Lebanon 773. Mareh and Bajaa, north Lebanon 834. Wazzani, south Lebanon 1235. Jmeijme, south Lebanon 1496. Arab el Harouq, Bekaa Valley 191

Part 2. Poverty in urban Lebanon

Map of urban communities studied 2277. Poverty in urban Lebanon 2298. Hay el Tanak, Tripoli 2359. Hay el Gharbeh, Beirut 26510. Karm el Zeitoun, Beirut 297

Part 3. Refugees in Lebanon

Map of refugee communities studied 33911. Refugees in Lebanon 34112. El Buss and Jal el Bahr, Palestinian communities, Tyre 347

Part 4. Conclusion

13. Conclusion, patterns of poverty 423

Color photographs 430

AppendicesI – Lebanon timeline 449II – Methodology 457III – Community assessment tool 465IV – Tenure systems and their characteristics 475

Bibliography 479Biographies 493

List of figures and tables

1.1 Sustainable Livelihoods Framework 36

1.2 Simple, complicated, and complex problems 37

1.3 Map of Lebanon 41

1.4 HDI ranking and other characteristics of selected countries 46

1.5 Millennium Development Goal 1: Eradicate Hunger and Poverty 47

1.6 Millennium Development Goal 2: Achieve Universal Primary Education 49

1.7 Millennium Development Goal 3: Promote Gender Equality and Empower Women 51

1.8 Millennium Development Goal 4: Reduce Child Mortality 52

1.9 Millennium Development Goal 5: Improve Maternal Mortality 53

1.10 Millennium Development Goal 7: Environmental Sustainability 54

1.11 Distribution of households, as a percentage of total households in the mohafazat, according to the Living Conditions Index 56

1.12 Distribution of households according to the Living Conditions Index in the six most deprived cazas compared to the national average and the least deprived caza 57

1.13 A selection of cazas in descending order of their share of individuals classified as having a low degree of satisfaction 58

1.14 Income-related indicators 60

1.15 Education indicators 61

1.16 Housingindicators 62

1.17 Water and sewage indicators 63

1.18 Distribution of population between poor and non-poor categories 64

3.1 Livelihood and economic indicators for Akkar 95

3.2 Education indicators for Akkar 97

3.3 Health indicators for Akkar 101

3.4 Infrastructure in Akkar 104

5.1 Tobacco production by region 165

5.2 Age distribution of working children in tobacco production 168

6.1 Nutritional status of Bedouin children aged 6-10 years in Lebanon and Syria 208

9.1 Estimated size of the Dom population in selected areas of Lebanon 272

11.1 2011 UNHCR planning figures for Lebanon 342

12.1 Percentage breakdown by occupation of those employed 363

12.2 Highest education achievement levels 368

12.3 Selection of disabilities and behavioral problems found among 451 Paestinian children with disabilities in the three camps in the Tyre area 372

12.4 Percentage of Palestinians and Lebanese populations with access to health insurance 392

12.5 Main health care service providers for Palestinians Lebanon 393

II.a Total number of interviews and participants 461

II.b Participants broken down by role within the community 462

III.c Percentage of interviews conducted in each community 463

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Studies like Profiles of Poverty start with a frustration of not understanding something. Perry Mansfield, the former national director for World Vision Leba-non (WVL) and a colleague from my own World Vision days, shared the per-plexing questions about poverty in Lebanon as we talked of our frustrations with many development organizations and their different perceptions of Lebanon. We also recognized that the dynamics of poverty and marginalized groups were having a profound effect in the region. Those frustrations and questions were the genesis of this project. Perry’s commitment to make sure that this study got started was what made the difference.

A study such as this, which involves hundreds of interviews in eight very di-verse locations in the country, was only made possible because of key individuals and supporters. I am indebted to Julie Davidson who in addition to contribut-ing at every stage of the writing of this book, did much of the secondary data research and guided the field research teams in each of the locations. Her hard work and dedication to the project, as well as her cultural and social sensitivity throughout the interviews are qualities that make her an extremely valuable col-league and co-author. Most of the photographs used were taken by her, unless otherwise acknowledged.

I am grateful to Dr. Nabil Costa, the Executive Director of the Lebanese Society for Educational and Social Development (LSESD), for his willingness to see the project move ahead and for providing me the time and encourage-ment to ensure that it was completed. His own concerns for those in need are reflected in the wide range of activities that LSESD is involved in. I also want to acknowledge the support provided by Alia Abboud (Director for Development and Partner Relations) and Rene Khodr (Senior Accountant) at LSESD.

Gordon King, the Director of the Sharing Way at CBM, a colleague, former boss, and a friend on a similar journey was instrumental in making sure that we

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had funding for the research for this project. Terry Smith, the Director of In-ternational Partnerships at CBM, provided encouragement by his acknowledg-ment of how vital this study is. Terry was instrumental in accessing part of the funding for this publication. I also want to acknowledge the funding provided by German Baptist Aid towards the publication, in particular Birgit Fischer and Frank Wegen.

The project was conducted jointly with World Vision Lebanon, who gra-ciously and liberally assigned staff for the field research. Besides accounting for staff time, WVL organized and funded the logistics of the field research. The WVL team included Nisreen Abou Mrad, (Programme Officer, South), Cyn-thia Kadri, (Programme Officer, Bekaa), Joelle Semaan, (Programme Officer, Refugees), Lara Ghaoui, (Programme Officer, Beirut), Janine Ayoub (WV intern at the time of the study), and Aline Rahbany (Research and Learning Officer). Each of them brought a strong dedication and commitment to address issues of poverty and development. Their ability to translate during the interviews, con-tribute their own insights and analysis, and continue providing information and clarification during the follow up and writing process proved to be invaluable.

Chris Palusky (WVL operations director) and Samar Abboud (WVL Design, Monitoring and Evaluation manager) were wise colleagues who helped us navi-gate through interesting times. Their commitment and support for the project cannot be underestimated. Anita Delhaas, the new director for World Vision Lebanon has been very encouraging in her support for the project ever since she assumed her role. World Vision Lebanon was one of the funders of this publica-tion.

There were others at World Vision Lebanon who provided support, handled a variety of issues as they arose, and assisted the field teams. These included, Fady El Chidiak (Supply Chain Manager), Colette Rizk (Office & Board Coor-dinator), Najat Kandalaft (Finance Reporting Officer), Moussa Barakat (Devel-opment Facilitator in Bint Jbeil), Rasha Makki (Development Facilitator in Bint Jbeil), Roni Jarjour (Sponsorship Field Coordinator in Bint Jbeil), Rania Said (Project Coordinator in Marjayoun), Ahmad Jahjah (Development Facilitator in Akkar), Corinne Sakr, (Development Facilitator), Norma Wakim (Akkar Area Manager), Hanna Swidan (South Area Manager), Khalil Sleiman (Bekaa Area Manager), and Clovis Obeidy (Sponsorship Field Coordinator in Bekaa).

Every publication is in need of a good editor, who is able to make sure that thoughts are communicated clearly. It is an added bonus if she believes in the issues being studied. Niamh Fleming-Farrell was an invaluable part of the team as she helped us think through how to communicate certain sections more clear-ly, in addition to spending countless hours editing the entire document numerous times. From an editorial perspective, a fresh set of eyes as submission dates loom is incalculably important. Hardy Calvert provided not only keen eyes but also re-energized the project with his perspective and clarity of thought.

The team at Dar Manhal Al Hayat has been invaluable in providing the flexibility, support and creativity that was necessary to ensure that the study got into print. There is deep appreciation for the work of Sawsan Tannoury, Naji Gedeon, Michelle Enkiri, Rana Haddad and Salam Koborsi.

Dania Rifai, (Program Manager at UN Habitat), Nancy Hilal (Urban Plan-ner/Capacity Building Coordinator also at UN Habitat), and Rabih Shibli of the Center for Civic and Community Engagement were very helpful in aiding us identify communities that could be studied, providing contacts with key people and general information about the diversities and issues present in Lebanon. David Maassarany, an intern from Humber College’s International Develop-ment program, assisted with many of the interviews in the Bedouin community in the Bekaa. David Peck, the Executive Director of SoChange in Canada, be-lieved in the importance of understanding the dynamics of poverty and was willing to provide assistance at a critical point in the project.

There were organizations and people in each of the communities that were generous with their time and open with their insights and experiences. While there were many, some went out of their way to provide information and fa-cilitate the interviews. Tahaddi Association, which works in Hay el Gharbeh, allowed us to interview all their staff as well as set up many of the interviews. Abu Fuad in Hay el Tanak was passionate about the problems that his commu-nity faces and was very generous with his time and insights, and spent numerous hours trying to explain the difficult legal issues they are dealing with.

This study is about enabling the marginalized and poor to have a voice. There is a heartfelt appreciation for the people we interviewed, who opened up their homes to us (often when we came unannounced), and shared their hearts with us by telling their stories, which were very often stories of lifelong struggles and hardships. I do not believe the methodology that we chose would have been pos-sible in every country, but with the “Arab hospitality” ingrained in this country’s culture we were welcome in every village and area that we visited, and treated as if we were longtime friends. We (the authors and many members of the field teams) can honestly say that some of the interviewees became friends, and long after the study is printed we will continue to visit them. It is to these people that this study and publication is dedicated.

Rupen DasBeirut, LebanonNovember 2011S.D.G.

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GUIDANCE NOTES

Reading the book

There is no one intended audience for this book. It was written in the hope that it be accessible to and insightful for a diversity of readers: development profes-sionals, public officials, donors, and people interested in learning more about Lebanon or poverty in general. The first chapter (the Introduction) is more tech-nical than the others, and while it provides a general context and overview of the situation in Lebanon and the methodology used to complete the study, it is not essential reading for everyone. The subsequent chapters are discrete case studies and can be read independently, and not necessarily in the order they are provided.

Given the nature of the research methodology adopted, it was inevitable that some questions would yield conflicting or confusing responses. The individu-als interviewed sometimes contradicted themselves or their neighbors. At other times, biases present in the ideas, thoughts, and vocabulary used by both key informants and local community members may seem apparent. When possible the authors attempted to provide explanations for these discrepancies; however, such clarification was not always possible or desired. Sometimes, it was decided, these divergent perspectives and comments are revealing of the complexities of the situations within the communities studied, and therefore prove enlightening rather than perplexing or bewildering.

A timeline can be found in Appendix I.

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Usage of Arabic

As most of the names of geographical locations have been transliterated from Arabic, it is possible to find other spellings for the same town, village, or area. Additionally, for some cities there is an English name and an Arabic name in common usage – for example, the city of Sur is called Tyre in English. In cases such as this, the English versions have been used throughout the book.

References

The term “key informant” is used quite a lot throughout the course of the book. This term refers to anyone who may have specific knowledge or expertise about a community or subject. Key informants could be locals living in the community (for example, elders particularly aware of the history of the area) or people from outside of the community (for example, NGO workers who have spent consider-able time working within the community).

Due to the sensitive information that both key informants and locals pro-vided throughout the interviews, very few real names are used in the actual book. This allowed the participants to speak more freely and without fear of retribu-tion. For this reason either pseudonyms or descriptions are used instead.

When no reference is provided (either within the text to a key informant or specific local community member or in an endnote to an external source), the information is taken from the interviews conducted in the community.

Unless otherwise noted, the costs of health care and educational services were based on information provided by the community and were not indepen-dently verified with the service providers.

Endnotes are found at the end of each chapter.

Human capital

Usually in line with the framework adopted, education and aspects of livelihoods would be discussed under human capital in the “Assets and vulnerabilities” sec-tion of each chapter. However, given that each has an independent section in the profile the community, it is generally not discussed again under assets and vulnerabilities in order to avoid unnecessary repetition.

ACRONYMS

ACF Action Contre la Faim /Action Against Hunger

AUB American University of Beirut

CAS Central Administration of Statistics

CBM Canadian Baptist Ministries

CRC Convention on the Rights of the Child

DfID Department for International Development

DPT Diptheria, Pertussis, and Tetanus Vaccine

DRC Danish Refugee Council

EU European Union

GDP Gross Domestic Product

GTZ Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit (German Tech- nical Cooperation), now known as GIZ – Gesellschaft für In ternationale Zusammenarbeit

HDI Human Development Index

HIV/AIDS Human Immunodeficiency Virus / Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome

HRW Human Rights Watch

ICARDA International Center for Agriculture Research for Dry Areas

IFAD International Fund for Agricultural Development

ILO International Labour Organization

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IMC International Medical Corps

ISF Internal Security Forces

IUD Intrauterine Device

LAU Lebanese American University

LSESD Lebanese Society for Educational and Social Development

MC Mercy Corps

MDG Millennium Development Goal

MDW Migrant Domestic Workers

MEHE Ministry of Higher Education

MENA Middle East and North Africa

MIRSAD Multi-Initiative on Rights: Search, Assist and Defend

MMR Maternal Mortality Rate

MoH Ministry of Health

MoPH Ministry of Public Health

MoSA Ministry of Social Affairs

MPI Multidimensionality Poverty Index

NGO Non-Governmental Organization

NRC Norwegian Refugee Council

NSSF National Social Security Fund

PARD Popular Aid for Relief and Development

PC Popular Committee

PLA Participatory Learning and Action

PLO Palestine Liberation Organization

PRA Participatory Rural Appraisal

PRCS Palestinian Red Crescent Society

PTSD Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

SHAP Special Hardship Assistance Program

SLA South Lebanon Army

STD Sexually Transmitted Disease

TB Pulmonary Tuberculosis

TBA Traditional Birth Attendant

Tdh Terre des hommes

UBN Unsatisfied Basic Needs

UDHR Universal Declaration of Human Rights

UN United Nations

UNDP United Nations Development Programme

UNFPA United Nations Population Fund

UNHCR United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees

UNICEF United Nations Children’s Fund

UNIFIL United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon

UNIPAL Universities’ Trust for Educational Exchange with Palestinians

UNRWA United Nations Relief and Works Agency

USAID United States Agency for International Development

UXO Unexploded Ordinance

WB World Bank

WHO World Health Organization

WVL World Vision Lebanon

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ARABIC WORDS AND COLLOQUIALISMS

ainspring; source of water

autocara small bus used to take children to school

bedu slang term for referring to Bedouins, from the word “Bedouin,” which refers

to people who traditionally lived in the Baida

baidadesert; literally means white

baik a ruler of the administrative area under the Ottoman Empire; could have

been Lebanese or Turkish

benzenefuel for cars and heaters

burgholcrushed wheat

cazadistrict

chankleesha strong type of cheese often served with hot spices

cornichea road bordering the sea with a wide pedestrian walkway

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haj the pilgrimage to the holy site of Mecca that Muslims should undertake once

during their lifetime, if they are financially able to do so

Haraket al MahruminMovement of the Deprived

haram religiously, haram means prohibited; colloquially, it is used when feeling pity

or when sympathizing with someone

hummouschick peas

fellaheenfarmers

foulbeans

iftarthe first meal after breaking the Ramadan fast at sundown

labanyoghurt

labneha thick yoghurt

kafala guarantee (referring to a Lebanese sponsoring and taking responsibility for a

migrant domestic worker)

khobezea plant in the mallow family

kteera lot, many

marameyehsage

manoushe a type of flat baked bread (akin to a pizza base) spread with various toppings

and commonly eaten for breakfast in the Middle East

mohafazatprovince or governorate

mouneh a way of preserving foods which is used to store fresh produce for the winter

mukhtarmayor

mulokhiehanother type of mallow plant (Jew’s Mallow)

narguileha water pipe commonly used to smoke tobacco in the Middle East

Nawar a derogatory term used to refer to the Dom community (equivalent of

“gypsy” in English)

panadolparacetamol

quwaiseh sage, clary

Ramadan

also known as the Holy Month when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset

seleqwhite beet

sheikh literally, “elder,”; Arab leader or chief of tribe; leader in a Muslim commu-

nity or organization often seen as having religious knowledge

souqmarket

tabouleh a salad made of parsley, mint, green onions, tomatoes, lemon juice, olive oil,

and cracked wheat

taboon a convex hotplate originally made with clay but now made of metal and used

for cooking bread (and in older times for cooking many food types)

tanaktin

wastaconnections, influence

zatarthyme

zincometal sheeting often used as building material

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INTRODUCTION

A picture is a powerful thing. As the old adage goes “a picture paints a thousand words”; although, in the case of Lebanon it could well be amended to “a picture paints (or obscures) a thousand statistics.” Pictures inspire impressions that can eclipse tomes of quantitative documentation – either confirming their content entirely or obliterating it completely. For a number is just a number, and what it represents, without lived experience, can prove hard to grasp. In Lebanon and Beirut there is often a gaping chasm between the numbers – the figures and statistics compiled and released by development agencies – and the reality of the country as it is experienced by visitors – be they tourists, businessmen, or even international donors. This study is undertaken with the aim of filling that chasm by altering the standard picture of Lebanese prosperity to include the very real poverty almost a third of the country’s population lives in every day.

Beirut’s rise as a tourist attraction can be traced to the second half of the 19th century when, with its idyllic setting and expanding infrastructure, it became a destination of choice for European travelers.

In 1847, two decades after he first served in the city, Henri Guys, the former French consul, described Beirut as having “consulates from almost every nation, commercial establishments, hotels, well-stocked stores, a European pharmacy, and finally a casino – a luxury that only ports of the first rank can permit them-selves.”1

Three years later the French writer and photographer Maxime du Camp described the city as “incomparable,” waxing poetic on:

“ … the country that surrounds it, the forest of parasol pines, the road bordered with nopals, myrtle, and pomegranate trees in which chameleons run; the view of the Mediterranean and the aspect of the wooded summitsof the Lebanon that draw the purity of their lines on the sky.”2

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1

He concluded that the city was “a retreat for the contemplative, for the disil-lusioned, for those who have been wounded by existence; it seems to me that one can live happily there doing nothing but looking at the mountains and the sea.”3

Such reviews of the city, along with the opening of its port to steam ships, drew visitors to what would eventually become known as “the Paris of the Middle East,” a city whose residents were eager to show it off to the world. This period in the country’s history perhaps also proved to be the beginning of the creation of Lebanon’s “public” or “tourist” face.

In the intervening 160 years, Lebanon’s popularity amongst international travellers has been derailed for significant periods by conflict and instability, especially while the Civil War raged from 1975-1990. However, the past two decades, and particularly the past five years have seen the country work toward a return to its former glory. As postwar reconstruction has neared completion, economic growth has been steady, and travel writers and publishers have once again branded Lebanon’s capital as a vacation hotspot.

Indeed, when visitors land in Beirut a top-10 destination is what greets them. They are awed by the city’s gleaming and growing skyline. A new highway lights the way from the airport to Downtown, Beirut’s central district which in its pre-vious incarnations was a busy trading souq and part of the “green line”4 during the country’s 15-year civil war. Now, however, it is a pristine hive of wealth and glamour. Today those who stroll the newly reconstructed city center encounter a range of high-end retail stores, upmarket hotels, and luxury vehicles. Other cen-tral districts are lined with new bars and restaurants, and after dark an audible buzz proclaims the city’s active nightlife. The coast and mountains du Camp gazed upon in poetic bliss are now known for their luxurious resorts and private beach clubs. Beirut and Lebanon are marketed as the home of liberty and luxury in the Arab world, and increasingly it takes a discerning visitor to see beyond what is illustrated in brochures and promotional material.

Deliberate steps have, perhaps understandably, been taken to conceal the aspects of the country that are inconsistent with the image it wishes to sell to its tourists. The main route from the airport no longer passes the Palestinian refu-gee camps and poor suburbs of South Beirut, while the government has painted homes visible from the inter-city highway to improve the appearance of the city as it is approached from the north. As a result of efforts such as these, visitors’ first impressions, and often only impressions, are that there is little need in the country and that the population’s energy and dynamism are yielding postive effects across the country. There is a sense that any outstanding destabilizing issues in Lebanon are to be found in the realm of politics and security, and that those are the only issues that need to be addressed. This has even, on occasion, been the impression of international donors who have come to Lebanon with the specific objective of assessing projects to contribute their money to; they see a picture of a city that clearly appears to be back on its feet and ask themselves

INTRODUCTION

if there are not more deserving recipients for their aid elsewhere. The reality is that Lebanon has done such a good job of restoring its image that visitors must employ concious effort to observe the persistence of a very real poverty and need in the city and country.

There are dark threads and shadows that weave throughout the fabric of Lebanese society. One such thread is revealed in the 2008 UNDP country study on Lebanon which states that 20.59 percent of the population is poor and an additional 7.97 percent is extremely poor,5 totaling 28.56 percent6 – more than a quarter of the population – living below the poverty line. The extremely poor are “clustered far below the upper poverty line.”7 These figures become even more concerning when one considers that foreign populations living in Lebanon (such as migrant workers and Palestinian refugees), who are often more likely to be living in poverty, were not included in their calculation.

Who are these poor and where do they live? In a country that is blessed with water, fertile soil, an industrious people, a thriving tourist industry, and a huge global Diaspora, why is more than a quarter of the population poor? What unseen factors shed light on the causes of poverty in Lebanon? What dynamics are at play that are not easily explained by economic indicators alone? What do these poor look like and what are the realities of their lives?

Answering these questions is a challenge due to the complexity of Lebanon’s development context. First, because of Lebanon’s recent volatile history, signifi-cant data collection was not initiated until close to the end of the Civil War in 1990. Therefore most of the initial baseline data, to which current data can be compared, was not available until the mid to late 1990s. Since then there have been a number of attempts to collect data across various sectors, but some gaps still exist. In addition, many of the documents in current usage stem from the same core surveys, conducted by the same institutions (or their contractors). This has resulted in reports citing the same sources and deriving similar conclusions. These overlapping national and multinational reports and surveys have created the only statistical basis for understanding poverty in Lebanon, yet this basis is insufficient.

What has been missing from previous research has been the voice of the poor and how they understand and experience their poverty. The quantitative and statistical data and analysis available for Lebanon needs to be balanced with an understanding of the human face of poverty – the narrative of the poor. This narrative serves to balance the standard image of Lebanese prosperity and con-tributes to a more accurate picture of the country as a whole.

The ultimate objective of this study is to provide that narrative. It will, how-ever, start with an analysis of the quantitative data and indicators currently used to understand poverty and development in Lebanon before narrowing down to look at the human face of poverty in specific communities.

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INTRODUCTION 1

1. Methodology

In order to address the gap in knowledge on poverty in Lebanon, the Leba-nese Society for Educational and Social Development (LSESD) and World Vi-sion Lebanon (WVL) decided to study eight different communities – four rural, three urban, and a refugee community – across the country. The research team endeavored to select a group of communities representative of the country’s geographical, ethnic, religious, and political diversity with a view to providing as textured a portrayal as possible of poverty in Lebanon. The final selection was made following significant secondary data review and thorough discussions with many individuals knowledgeable in the field. (See appendix II for more specific methodological information.)

The communities studied were:

Rural communities

• Mareh and Bajaa (located in Akkar in the north)

• Wazzani (located in Marjayoun in the south)

• Jmeijme (located in Bint Jbeil in the south)

• Arab el Harouq (a Bedouin community located in the Bekaa Valley)

Urban communities

• Hay el Gharbeh (located in Beirut)

• Hay el Tanak (located in el Mina, outside Tripoli, in the north)

• Karm el Zeitoun (located in Beirut)

Refugee community

• El Buss and Jal el Bahr (a Palestinian camp and gathering8 located in Tyre in the south)

The objective of studying these communities was to understand the dynamics of poverty and allow the groups affected a voice to de-scribe the realities of being poor. The responses vary from community to community. The hope is that this study will provide the context for better logical problem analysis9 of the causes and effects of poverty in Lebanon, which will in turn inform and enhance efforts to address this poverty.

In order to complete an assessment of this manner, it was important to employ the right tools and methodology to allow the poor to speak and also so

as to have a framework with which to analyze what was being said. In selecting these tools and developing this framework, a range of models of poverty which went beyond quantitative and economic models and indicators was explored. It was essential that the tools and framework chosen provide a lens through which the issues surrounding poverty could be seen as part of complex social systems not easily explained by simple linear cause and effect analysis. Lessons from Chaos Theory explain some of the dynamics of complex systems, while the main tools used for data collection were chosen from the Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA) methods.

These tools included open-ended and semi-structured interviews. Pre-identified key sectors were explored during conversations with the community members, focus groups, and in key informant interviews through a set of ques-tions developed using the United Kingdom’s Department for International De-velopment’s (DfID) Sustainable Livelihoods Guidance Sheets and Robert Chambers’ model of poverty (see section “Frameworks to understand poverty”). Based on the information gained and the comments of the communities, this framework enabled the questions to be adapted as the interviews progressed in order to ad-dress interviewees’ most prevalent concerns.

The other PRA techniques that were used were community-transect walks to understand the layout of the community, the resources available and chal-lenges faced, as well as direct observations and participant observations. The initial thought was to use the transect walks to carry out community mapping. However, due to the unstable political environment and the potential repercus-sions of completing a mapping exercise, this was not undertaken. The fieldwork was supported by reviews of secondary data. The research took place over the course of one year.

The chapters are written in a manner that allows the poor to speak, define their reality, and articulate their own perceptions of themselves. These percep-tions are then analyzed as part of a complex social system. In the chapters that follow, an analysis of poverty in these communities is presented alongside indi-vidual narratives in which community members define how they perceive pov-erty. While many live in deplorable conditions, are marginalized, and often have very little that they can call their own, what became very evident through the interviews is that most had a very good understanding of their situation. They understand the context in which they are living, they are able to provide accu-rate histories and descriptions about their situations, and they were often keen to outline possible solutions.

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INTRODUCTION 1

The value of a narrative approach

“…our literate technological culture has convinced us that truth cannot be commu-nicated [through stories]. Stories may be used to illustrate truth but not communicate it. One example of this belief is the approach used to teach history. To understand the political foundations of American history, students study the writings of Thomas Jefferson or read the Federalist Papers or the treaties of Locke and Rousseau. Narra-tive historical accounts, anecdotes and eyewitness descriptions only provide illustra-tions of concepts and ideas contained in such volumes. However, these stories do not and cannot be used to communicate ideas. The crucial ideas can only be communi-cated analytically and logically, and not narratively!

“While analytical and logical presentations are sometimes required and beneficial, the assumption behind such presentations is often one of disdain for narrative as the means for communicating major ideas.

“… However, more people in culture are influenced, not by papers and books by phi-losophers, ethicists or commentators, but by the artistic communication of their ideas in the media … In other words, it is the stories and ideas taught by stories that influence people …”

Source: Borden, “Is there really one big idea in that story?” p. 68

2. Frameworks to understand poverty

The following section outlines applicable quantitative and qualitative poverty models and frameworks.

Much of the focus in the study of poverty has been on quantifiable measures. The basic premise is that “Poverty has to be given a scientifically acceptable universal meaning and measurement.”10 Easily measurable indicators such as low income and low consumption are used to define poverty. Globally accepted poverty lines, such as the percentage of the population living on $111 a day or living below the national poverty standard, are widely used and are collated at a national level. “So the analysis of deprivation and poverty comes to be narrowed to what can be measured and available in statistics. This has its uses. It enables central planners to make comparisons between regions and districts and between different times.”12 However, while the poverty lines inform the broad context, they rarely have any validity at specific community levels and/or in understand-ing the causes and the dynamics of poverty. In order to complement the quanti-tative and statistical analysis of poverty, it is important to move beyond perceiv-ing poverty as purely a deprivation or deficit either materially or economically.

The Human Development Index (HDI) went beyond the the concept of pov-erty lines to include three dimensions. These are:

• Life expectancy at birth: this serves as an indicator of the popula-tion’s health and longevity.

• Educational status: this is measured by the adult literacy rate and the gross enrollment rate, which are the combined rates at the pri-mary, secondary, and tertiary levels.

• GDP per capita: this is an indicator of the standard of living.13

However, the weaknesses of the HDI have proven similar to those of poverty lines, in that the measure and index is at a national level and it informs very little on specific local contexts.

The Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) are an international initiative focused on improving the basic development indicators in all countries. The Mil-lennium Declaration, to achieve the agreed upon goals and targets by 2015, was ratified by 191 countries.14 The MDGs are not only targets that the UN member states have agreed upon; they are also an attempt towards a multidimensional understanding of poverty. The value of the MDGs is that the targets are country specific and not universal. So, for example, “reducing the maternal mortality rate by three quarters” is a target for all countries. But the implementation is based on the baseline of the existing maternal mortality rate (MMR) in each spe-cific country against which the target is measured, and not in comparison with other countries. These can be used at specific community levels as well.

Millennium Development Goals

Goal 1: Eradicate extreme poverty and hungerGoal 2: Achieve universal primary educationGoal 3: Promote gender equality and empower womenGoal 4: Reduce child mortalityGoal 5: Improve maternal healthGoal 6: Combat HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseasesGoal 7: Ensure environmental sustainabilityGoal 8: Develop a Global Partnership for Development

Jeffery Sachs, who was instrumental in the development of the MDGs, distinguishes between three degrees of poverty:

“… extreme (or absolute) poverty, moderate poverty and relative poverty.Extreme poverty means that households cannot meet basic needs for survival. They are chronically hungry, unable to access health care, lack the amenities of safe drinking water and sanitation, cannot afford education for some or all of the children, and perhaps lack rudimentary shelter – a roof to keep the rain out of the hut, a chimney to remove the smoke from the cook stove – and basic articles of clothing such as shoes. Unlike moderate andrelative poverty, extreme poverty occurs only in developing countries. Mod- erate poverty generally refers to conditions of life in which basic needs are met, but just barely. Relative poverty is generally construed as a householdincome level below a given proportion of the average national income.”15

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INTRODUCTION 1

The “bottom billion”

Paul Collier focuses on countries that are poor rather than on individuals or communities. Referring to the “bottom billion” who are the people in the poorest countries, Collier writes, “The countries at the bottom coexist with the twenty-first century, but their reality is the fourteenth century: civil war, plague, ignorance. They are concentrated in Africa and Central Asia, with a scatter-ing elsewhere.”16 He describes them as having an average life expectancy of 50 years, compared to 67 years in most developing countries. Infant mortality is 14 percent compared to four percent, while long-term malnutrition among children is 36 percent versus 20 percent in most developing countries.17

When using poverty lines, such as a single economic indicator, the HDI, or a basket of indicators such as the MDGs, the assessment of poverty is against a normative standard. These standards are internationally or nationally accept-ed standards or targets that allow planners and development specialists to assess the type and level of poverty in any given nation. Poverty based on normative standards is the gap between the accepted standard and what actually exists. For example, the three HDI indicators can be explained as a score on a scale of 0-1. If the indicators provide an HDI score of 0.9 or above then the country is con-sidered to be a “very high human development” country – a globally accepted standard. Any country that receives lower than 0.9 is considered to be in one of the “developing” country categories.18

However, the assessment of poverty, in order to be useful and insightful to development practicioners, also needs to be relative. When assessed in relative terms, poverty is not determined against normative standards but in comparison with communities in surrounding areas, regions, districts, provinces, or coun-tries. For example, the HDI can also be used to demonstrate relative poverty by comparing the various countries’ ranks. Countries are ranked, in descending order, based on their HDI scores. This allows the comparison of countries within a group, for example neighboring states, countries with similar socioeconomic conditions, geographic characteristics, etc.

However, normative and relative measures are not the only ways to assess poverty. Poverty can also be assessed by how it is felt by a particular community. In this context, reality is defined by the community itself and they identify what their needs are, rather than needs being identified on the basis of national or international standards or in comparison with surrounding areas or regions.

As thinking moved beyond poverty lines, social and political justice were seen as integral to addressing poverty. Poverty was no longer understood solely as a matter of low income or poor living conditions. A lack of social and po-litical justice came to be considered one of the key reasons for poverty. Much of the discussion around poverty is now framed using a human rights-based

approach. The 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) and the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) provide the legal basis for the obligation of the international community (including national governments, international institutions, and civil society) to ensure that everyone has the right to basic human security. Some of the fundamental rights identified by the Uni-versal Declaration of Human Rights which are directly related to poverty are:

• All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimina-tion to equal protection of the law. (Article 7)

• Everyone has the right to a nationality. (Article 15)

• Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favorable conditions of work, and to protection against un-employment. Everyone, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal work. Everyone who works has the right to just and favorable remuneration ensuring for himself and his family an existence worthy of human dignity, and supplemented, if necessary, by other means of social protection. (Article 23)

• Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care, and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age, or other lack of livelihood in circum-stances beyond his control. Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance. (Article 25)

• Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be compulsory. Technical and professional education shall be made generally available and higher education shall be equally accessible to all on the basis of merit. Education shall be directed to the full de-velopment of the human personality and to the strengthening of re-spect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding, tolerance, and friendship among all nations, racial, or religious groups, and shall further the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace. Parents have a prior right to choose the kind of education that shall be given to their children. (Article 26)19

Amartya Sen, an economist, combines economic indicators with the idea of social justice and challenges the concept that poverty can be measured only by a single indicator like low income. Instead he introduces the concept of capabili-ties (“substantive freedoms”) that enable the individual to have the quality of life that they choose. He writes:

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INTRODUCTION 1

“…in analyzing social justice, there is a strong case for judging individualadvantage in terms of the capabilities that a person has, that is, the substan-

tive freedoms he or she enjoys to lead the kind of life he or she has reason to value. From this perspective, poverty must be seen as the deprivation of basic capabilities rather than merely as lowness of incomes, which is thestandard criterion of identification of poverty.”20

John Friedmann’s model of empowerment uses the household as the basic economic and political unit. He identifies eight bases of social power in order for a household to be productive. These are: financial resources, social networks, ap-propriate information, surplus time over subsistence requirements, instruments of work and livelihoods, social organization, knowledge and skills, and defensible life space. For Friedmann, the poor are empowered by gaining access to these assets.21 Drawing from his extensive field experience, Jayakumar Christian moves beyond indicators and symptoms of poverty to an understanding of its nature and causes. He identifies power and powerlessness as critical factors that influ-ence poverty. He builds on Friedmann’s model of empowerment (or disempow-erment) and focuses on the worldviews of the poor and the non-poor as elements that cause poverty.22

Paulo Freire connects oppression with poverty and identifies lack of aware-ness or “conscientization” as the reason why people remain in poverty. Reflect-ing on one of his interviews he said:

“The peasant is emotionally dependent. He can’t say what he wants. Before he discovers his dependence he suffers. He lets off steam at home, where he shouts at his children, beats them, and despairs. He complains about his wife and thinks everything is dreadful. He doesn’t let off steam with the boss because he thinks the boss is a superior being. Lots of times, the peasantgives vent to his sorrows by drinking.”23

Freire goes on to say, “This total dependence can lead the oppressed to what Fromm calls necrophilic24 behavior: the destruction of life – their own or that of their oppressed fellows.”25

The most significant developments in the understanding of poverty, moving beyond poverty lines, were made in the work of Robert Chambers at the Insti-tute of Development Studies at the University of Sussex. He describes poor households as having a particular set of attributes:

• material poverty – lack of assets

• vulnerability – lack of reserves, lack of choices, and easy to coerce

• powerlessness – lack of influence, lack of social power, and suscep-tible to exploitation

• isolation – lack of assets, lack of education, and excluded from in-stitutionalized systems

• physical weakness – lack of strength and having too many depen-dents26

Chambers stresses:

“The simple definition of the bad condition – poverty – is made, then, not by the poor, from their experience, but by the well-off, for their convenience.The need planners and academics have for a single scale of numbers nar-

rows, distorts and simplifies their perceptions. Deprivation and poverty come to be defined, not by the changing and varied wants and needs of the poor, but by the static and standardized wants and needs of professionals.Conceptually, professionals are then caught in their own reductionist pov-erty trap. Poverty becomes what has been measured.”27

Chambers sought to understand poverty as perceived by the poor and was key in the development of Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA) techniques, now sometimes also referred to as Participatory Learning and Action. PRA tech-niques enable the poor to define their own reality and to express their needs.

DfID’s Sustainable Livelihoods Framework builds on Chambers’ model of house-hold poverty. The framework seeks to understand and analyze the livelihoods of the poor. It is an attempt to define elements of the system that actually affect the well-being of individuals. “In essence it is a way of putting people at the center of development, thereby increasing the effectiveness of development assistance.”28 In doing so it tries to define the context within which poverty exists. DfID clearly admits that the framework has limitations in representing reality but tries to pro-vide a way of thinking about the livelihoods of the poor. It highlights the fact that the poor operate within the context of vulnerability (shocks, trends, and seasonality), but that they have access to assets and resources (“poverty reducing factors”) that may help them mitigate or reduce the effects of vulnerability.

“These gain their meaning and value through the prevailing social, institutional and organizational environment. This environment also influences livelihood strategies – ways of combining and using assets – that are open to people in pursuit of beneficial livelihood outcomes that meet their ownlivelihood objectives.”29

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INTRODUCTION 1

Figure 1.1: Sustainable Livelihoods Framework

Source: Df ID , “Sustainable Livelihoods Guidance Sheets” (1999)

Livelihood assets that individuals or households possess are multifaceted and are more than just financial assets. The assets include:

• Human capital – skills, knowledge, amount and quality of labor available, and educational achievement

• Social capital – networks, relationships of trust, reciprocity and exchange, and informal safety net

• Physical capital – infrastructure, tools, and equipment

• Natural capital – land, water, marine and wild resources, and biodiversity

• Financial capital – types of savings, availability of liquid assets, remit-tances, income, and other inflows of money

(These are visually represented in Figure 1.1 and are further explained in DfIDs “Sustainable Livelihoods Guidance Sheets.”)30

Poverty is embedded in complex social systems that are dynamic and change over time. As a result, any study or analysis of poverty is only a snapshot in time and space. It is therefore more appropriate to understand poverty as a “com-plex” problem rather than a “complicated” problem. As indicated in the chart below, “complicated” problems require solutions that have a standardized blue-print with fairly rigid protocols and formulas that are easily duplicated in another context with minor adjustments. This works well in the sciences and engineering where natural laws are predictable and algorithms define and predict reality. Social problems do not respond to the rules of natural laws, though social psy-chology, sociology, anthropology, and political science do provide theories and

insights to understand reality. While using cause and effect models to analyze problems has considerable value in designing effective short-term relief and de-velopment projects, such models are limited in predicting medium- to long-term results and changes. This is simply due to the complexity of factors that affect specific problems.

Figure 1.2: Simple, complicated, and complex problems

SIMPLE COMPLICATED COMPLEX

Baking a cakeSending a rocket to

the moonRaising a child

The recipe is essential.Rigid protocols or formu-las are needed.

Rigid protocols have lim-ited application or are counter-productive.

Recipes are tested to as-sure easy replication.

Sending one rocket in-creases the likelihood that the next will also be a suc-cess.

Raising one child pro-vides experience but is no guarantee of success with the next one.

No particular expertise is required, but experience increases success rate.

High levels of expertise and training in a variety of fields are necessary for success.

Expertise helps but only when balanced with re-sponsiveness to the par-ticular child.

A good recipe produces nearly the same cake ev-ery time.

Key elements of each rocket must be identical to succeed.

Each child is unique and must be understood as an individual.

The best recipes give good results every time.

There is a high degree of certainty of outcome.

Uncertainty of outcome remains.

A good recipe notes the quantity and nature of the “parts” needed and specifies the order in which to combine them, but there is room for ex-perimentation.

Success depends on a blueprint that directs both the development of the separate parts and speci-fies the exact relation-ship in which to assemble them.

Can’t separate the parts from the whole, essence exists in the relationship between different people, different experiences, dif-ferent moments in time.

Source: Westley, Zimmerman & Patton (2007)

In order to understand “complex” problems such as poverty, Chaos Theory, which draws from fluid dynamics (convections) and fractal geometry, offers an in-sight that incorporates multiple variables and their impact upon each other over

40 41

INTRODUCTION 1

time and space. Because Chaos Theory has its roots in physics, there is a desire to develop unifying principles that explain the dynamics of systems. However, there are limits to its utility when applied to social systems that do not operate on natural laws but rather on social and political dynamics. What follows are some insights on poverty and development from Chaos Theory:31

• Poverty and its key physical indicators (such as food and livelihood insecurity, lack of access to healthcare and education, inadequate safe water and sanitation facilities, inadequate shelter or housing), social and political indicators (such as marginalization, isolation, powerlessness, and voicelessness), and indicators describing assets and capabilities, exist within a system that is influenced by historical, economic, political, environmental, social, and cultural (religion and values) factors. Poverty can only be understood when the influence of each of these factors on the community and on the way poverty is manifested is analyzed.

• Small changes within the system can have a disproportionate effect. For example, a deterioration in the quality or quantity of water available can have a cascading impact on health, livelihoods, food security and more. Each element within the system does not have equal influence. The type of influence each element has on the system can change over time.

• The study of fractals within Chaos Theory shows that there are patterns within chaos that are replicated from the microscopic level to the macro level. When related to the study of society, and par-ticularly of poverty, this expresses itself as smaller patterns that re-flect patterns of larger problems. For example, the level and type of malnutrition among children under five years of age may reflect a pattern of malnutrition in the larger population.

In initiating change in a community where poverty is prevalent, Chaos Theory provides some insights:

• Change is rarely linear. Most of the time it is nonlinear.

• Changes in complex systems can only be predicted over the very short term. Chaos Theory introduces the concept of a horizon of predictability. Beyond the short term, the multiplicity of factors influencing the system makes predicting and planning for specific change impossible. This has implications for the present planning tools that are being used that require one to identify medium-term and long-term changes with appropriate indicators to measure the desired changes.

• Beyond the horizon of predictability is chaos, not disorder. Chaos

is a mix of order and randomness. “Chaos contains hidden order … By its very nature chaos may seem uncontrollable. Yet the very opposite is true. Precisely because tiny nudges to a chaotic system can have such potent effects, these systems are highly responsive.”32 To initiate change beyond the horizon of predictability it is critical to understand the new dynamics operating as a result of the initial change, before nudging the system again. This implies that social change has its own momentum that responds to the factors identi-fied above. This momentum has to be understood and seen as part of the process of social change. Planning, after the initial interven-tion, then has to be responsive and iterative as the context evolves.

Poverty is a complex problem that is not static. This study of eight communi-ties in Lebanon has attempted to move beyond seeing poverty only on the basis of poverty lines towards understanding poverty in a specific local context, incor-porating diverse models of analysis from Chambers, DfID, and Chaos Theory. However, poverty changes and evolves over time, as the system within which it exists is dynamic – therefore each case study is unique and temporal.

3. Poverty and development in Lebanon

In the past 100 years Lebanon has experienced a great deal of turbulence. Leba-non was under French Mandate from 1920 until it gained independence on November 22, 1943. The 15-year Civil War (1975-1990), which included not only civil strife but also the invasion and occupation of the country by Israel and a strong Syrian presence, devastated the nation economically, socially, and politically. The war created major population movements that changed the de-mographics of the country. The conflict ended with the Ta’if Accord, which promised a more equitable political system. The Israeli occupation of southern Lebanon, which started in 1982, continued until May 2000. The assassination of former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri in February 2005 precipitated the withdraw-al of Syrian forces from the country. The country was yet again badly affected by the July 2006 war with Israel, which lasted 34 days. The following year, the Lebanese army fought Sunni extremists at Nahr el Bared refugee camp, outside the northern city of Tripoli. In 2008, the political confidence of the country was shaken when protests and clashes between the government and the Hezbollah-led opposition commenced on May 7 and did not end until the Doha agreement was signed on May 21. In spite of these setbacks, Lebanon has continued to rebuild.

For a small country, Lebanon has great political, religious, and ethnic com-plexity. It is widely accepted that Lebanon has a population of approximately 4 million,33 although no accurate statistics exist as there has been no recent census.

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INTRODUCTION 1

About 87 percent of the population lives in urban areas, with about 1.8 million in the greater Beirut area.34 Lebanon is comprised of 18 recognized religious communities, including Maronite Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Sunni, Shiite, Druze, Alawite, Armenian Orthodox, and others.35 This diversity has led to con-siderable amounts of sectarian conflict as groups often pursue their own interests above that of the state. Lebanon is also home to several foreign populations and ethnic groups, many of whose members are not naturalized Lebanese:

• 400,000-1 million Syrians36

• 260,000-280,000 Palestinian refugees37

• 200,000 migrant domestic workers38

• 100,000-150,000 Bedouins39

• 50,000 Iraqi refugees40

A population of Dom, numbering in the thousands, also resides in Leba-non, though the exact numbers are unknown due to a lack of research on the community.41

A view of the Mohammad el Amin mosque in central Beirut

Figure 1.3: Map of Lebanon

Geographically, Lebanon covers an area of 10,400 km2 with a 225 km coast-line. The country is divided into six mohafazats. These are Bekaa, Beirut, North Lebanon, South Lebanon, Mount Lebanon, and Nabatieh.42 The smallest gov-ernorate in the country, Beirut, is home to almost half the entire country’s popu-lation, while only 13.6 percent of the population lives in the Bekaa, the largest governorate by geographical size and a predominantly rural area.43 This uneven distribution of the population makes development planning a challenge. The imbalance leads to complaints that urban areas are attracting more development resources (both public and private) at the expense of rural areas.

Lebanon is a land of extremes and contrasts, and this is reflected in its devel-opment profile. In some studies Lebanon is seen as an “upper-middle income”

44 45

INTRODUCTION 1

country (in the Arab Human Development Report 2009) with relatively good indica-tors, while according to other sources (such as in the 2009 Human Development Report), it is still seen as a “developing” country, that requires improvement in many key areas. The situation is further complicated by the lack of reliable and consistent data on which to base any thorough analysis of the situation.

Development planning in Lebanon

In post-Civil War Lebanon, government efforts to develop policies addressing poverty did not begin until 1996. UN agencies, in a series of reports, stated that 9 percent of the population was categorized as living in absolute poverty and that 29 percent of the population lived below the national poverty line. Initially the government took objection to these findings and asked the Ministry of Social Affairs (MoSA) to conduct its own survey on poverty in Lebanon. How-ever, the results confirmed the UN’s findings. In 2000 Lebanon was among the 191 countries that adopted the MDGs and committed to achieving their goals, with agreements to issue periodic reports. To date, reports have been issued in 2003 and 2008.

Reforms and Social Action Plan, 2005-2007

The government elected in the May/June 2005 parliamentary election commit-ted to delivering a new medium-term fiscal and economic reform package, as well as a Social Action Plan, to be presented to international donors by the end of 2006. The government spent the first part of 2006 finalizing the plan, which would decrease Lebanon’s high sovereign debt and create sustainable economic growth. The package also outlined measures to include the vulnerable and poor groups in Lebanon, providing social protection and safety nets for the first time in Lebanon’s history. The government worked to engage the public and weigh national opinion of the new reforms through a series of debates, which helped to refine the reforms and created broad national support for the plan before it was presented at the donor conference.44 However, the outbreak of the July 2006 war qualitatively changed the course of this plan.

While the program was adapted to a recovery and relief plan following the 2006 war, the government remained committed to implementing the original plan, with some necessary adjustments based on post-war needs assessments. Under the Social Action Plan the government committed itself to creating a Social Development Strategy within the first two years of the program, intended not only create social safety nets and protection but also to move towards policies that would target poverty and regional discrepancies. The medium-term pro-gram was presented at the Paris III conference in July 2007 and over $7 billion was secured, mostly in the form of concessional loans.45

However, due to political instability in the following years, the implementa-tion of the plan has been limited. Many UN bodies have called on the gov-

ernment to complete the necessary implementation steps in order to decrease the negative effects on social and economic conditions that accompany political instability.

4. Assessment of poverty and development in Lebanon

Data collection in Lebanon has been intermittent and flawed. A Save the Chil-dren document states, “Due to the politicization of demography – and the politi-cal impact of the sectarian ratio – accurate demographic statistics in Lebanon are scarce and existing statistics should be understood as approximations.”46

Additionally, the statistics are based on data collected from Lebanese commu-nities and do not always include other groups within the country, such as the Palestinians or foreign workers. As mentioned, no recent population census has been conducted. The last complete census was conducted in 1932 by the French Mandate government and there have been no comprehensive updates for fear of upsetting the delicate sectarian balance.47Very little data collection, regarding either the population or the development situation in the country, was completed during the lengthy Civil War, contributing to the gap in historical baseline data available. Since then, key national and multinational studies and surveys have provided a statistical base that can be built upon to address poverty reduction.

The first major post-Civil War assessment, The Mapping of Living Conditions in Lebanon was completed in 1997 by MoSA and the UNDP. This was based on the results of the Population and Housing Survey, which was published by MoSA and the United Nations Population Fund in 1996. This study, among other things, identi-fied deprivation levels and significant disparities between different regions of the country. This was followed in 2006 by the Comparative Mapping of Living Condi-tions between 1995 and 2004, which used data from the 2004-05 National Survey of Living Conditions and Household Budget Survey. The 2006 study tracked and analyzed the changes in deprivation levels over a 10-year period since the first mapping. There have been numerous other studies completed since then, based on these initial reports.

Of particular importance are two recent documents by the International Poverty Center. The 2007 national report Poverty, Growth and Income Distribution in Lebanon and the 2008 Country Study remain the most important profiles of pov-erty based on money-metric measures in Lebanon (see section “A money-metric measure of poverty” at the end of the chapter).48 However, gaps in information still exist across the various development sectors as well as across geographical re-gions. Many of these surveys derive similar conclusions as they were conducted by the same organizations and institutions, and stem from the original “living conditions” surveys. This has created an incestuous relationship between the documents, which in turn has generated the need for new and varied techniques to be used in the assessment of poverty in Lebanon.

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INTRODUCTION 1

Poverty in Lebanon in relation to normative standards

Despite the fact that there are shortcomings to normative frameworks, they do play an important role in putting poverty in Lebanon in context on an interna-tional and national scale.

Human Development Index

The HDI began measuring development indicators in 1980; however, Lebanon

Place de l’Etoile, Downtown, Beirut

was only included in the assessment for the first time in 2005, most likely be-cause the Civil War made monitoring development indicators impossible. Since 2005, Lebanon’s HDI value has remained steady at 0.80. However, in the 2009 Human Development Report, the country’s ranking dropped three places from #80 in 2006 to #83 in 2007.49 Lebanon was not included in the 2010 ranking because of a lack of data; however, the report does provide some information on Lebanon.50

There are four categories of achievement within the HDI. Countries that achieve an HDI value higher than 0.90 are considered “developed” and the rest of the countries are considered “developing.” In the 2009 report, within the “developing” countries, Lebanon just barely qualifies for the category of “High Human Development,” which includes countries with an HDI value of 0.8-0.899 (see Figure 1.4). Jordan, Syria, and Egypt all fall into the category of “Medium Human Development,” which is classified by an HDI ranking of 0.5-0.799. The final category is the “Low Human Development” category; it consists of countries that have an HDI of less than 0.5.51 (This methodology was changed in the 2010 version of the HDI report.)52

Figure 1.4 compares Lebanon to both highly developed countries and its neighbors based on their HDI rankings and a selection of other characteris-tics. As evident from the data, Lebanon is still far behind achieving the indica-tor values of the countries falling in the developed category. Life expectancy is almost 10 years less than in Norway, France, the United States, and the United Kingdom. At 89 percent, the adult literacy rate is almost 10 percent lower than that of these countries, and combined gross enrollment rates are 20 percent less than in Norway. Lebanon’s GDP per capita is $25,000-$43,000 less than the GDPs of the “developed” countries.53

While Lebanon fares better in many categories than its neighboring coun-tries, there are still some reasons for concern. Though Lebanon has a higher HDI ranking and HDI value than Jordan, Syria, or Egypt, the life expectancy at birth is lower than in both Jordan and Syria. Jordan also has a higher adult liter-acy rate and combined gross enrollment rate than Lebanon. However, Lebanon far out-performs Jordan, Syria, and Egypt in the GDP per capita category; Leba-non has a GDP of over $10,000. The next highest value is Egypt’s at $5,349; however, the cost of living in Lebanon is much higher than in its neighboring countries.54 As mentioned previously, Lebanon failed to improve its HDI value over the three years from 2005 to 2007, and its HDI ranking actually dropped three points from 2006 to 2007.55

48 49

INTRODUCTION 1

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Analysis of specific development sectors and Millennium Development Goals

The most recent report, released in 2008, outlines the accomplishments achieved since the baseline MDG data was collected in 2000, as well as the changes since the first report was produced in 2003. The MDG reports constitute one of the most important data sets for understanding national poverty data against nor-mative standards. The following is an analysis of various development sectors in Lebanon using the MDGs and other recently published reports.60

i. Hunger and poverty Indicators for both money-metric measures of poverty and the Unsatisfied Basic Needs (UBN) approach to measuring satisfaction in Lebanon have improved since the end of the Civil War (see Figure 1.5). Some of the improvement may be due to demographic changes; the average size of households has decreased and the age structure of the population has changed. While the first two rows in the table below demonstrate poverty based on upper and lower poverty lines, the following two rows use the satisfaction of Lebanese citizens across various indicators to provide proxy measures of poverty. Despite the fact that all of the indicators for measuring poverty have improved, there is still a long way to go before the 2015 MDG targets for Lebanon are met.61

Figure 1.5: Millennium Development Goal 1: Eradicate Hunger and Poverty

1995 20042015

Target

Population living under lower poverty line ($2.4/day)

10.1%(1997)

8.0% 4.0%

Population living under upper poverty line ($4/day)

33.7%(1997)

20.6% 10.3%

Individuals living in very low condi-tions

6.6% 4.2% 3.3%

Individuals living in low conditions 34.0% 25.5% 17%

Prevalence of underweight children 3.0% 3.9% 1.5%

Source: UNDP, “Millennium Development Goals: Lebanon Report 2008” (2009a) p.11, 15

One of the targets for the first MDG is to “halve, between 1990 and 2015, the proportion of people who suffer from hunger.” According to the MDGs, the prevalence of underweight children increased from 3 percent in 1995 to 3.9

50 51

INTRODUCTION 1

percent in 2004. However, the 2008 MDG report inexplicably classifies Lebanon as having “achieved and exceeded” its 2015 target.62

The Arab Human Development Report 2009 is more critical; it states that Leba-non is one of the only countries in the world where the prevalence of under-nourishment has increased from the period of 1990-1992 to 2000-2004. The report goes on to explain that Lebanon is moving away from achieving the first MDG (eradicating hunger.) The same report states that in a survey completed in Lebanon, almost 60 percent of people responded that they had difficulty ob-taining food. This may be attributed to a minor decrease in food per capita availability, as well as the “atmosphere of tension” in Beirut when the survey was completed in 2008.63

Protein-caloric malnutrition is rare, except in specific groups such as refu-gee populations; however, micronutrient deficiencies are more prevalent.64 The rate of exclusive breast-feeding is still considered low. Less than 25 percent of children under the age of four months are exclusively breast-fed, and only 2.6 percent of children are breast-fed until the end of their first year.65

ii. EducationLebanon has made significant improvements in the field of education since the end of the Civil War and has very high rates of school enrollment. Preschool attendance has increased and primary education66 is almost universal, reaching an enrollment rate of 97 percent in 2005-2006 (see Figure 1.6). Lebanon is “very likely to achieve” the MDG of having all children enrolled in primary school by the year 2015.67 The rate of students completing primary school and enrolling in secondary school is also increasing.68 The 2009 HDI report indicates that the combined gross enrollment ratio for primary, secondary, and tertiary education is 78 percent.69 The children most at risk of never attending school are girls in rural areas and children with disabilities. Although Lebanese Law 686 requires compulsory education and free primary education for all children up to age 12.70 in practice many children with disabilities are excluded from accessing schools. The MDGs noted a need for new practical measures for children with special needs in Lebanon.71

According to the 2008 MDG report, the literacy rate between the ages of 15 and 24 years is 97.5 percent (See Figure 1.6) This number decreases significantly to 88.3 percent when analyzing the literacy rate of the entire population over the age of 15.72 Lebanon’s overall literacy rate is still far below that of developed countries, which are all considered to have a literacy rate of 99 percent. The fact that the Lebanese literacy rate remains comparatively low is related to low adult female literacy rates in the state. Illiteracy is especially high among elderly women in rural areas.73 Adult (age 15+) illiteracy rates have decreased from 14 percent in 2000 to 11.7 percent in 2005. While the overall literacy rate is de-creasing, female illiteracy (measured at 16.6 percent) is still much higher than male illiteracy (measured at 6.4 percent).74

Figure 1.6: Millennium Development Goal 2: Achieve Universal Primary Education

2000 2007 2015 Target

Net enrollment in primary education

91.5%(2001-2002)

97.1%(2005-2006)

100%

Proportion of students who have completed grade 5

95.3%96.3% (2003)

100%

Literacy rate of the 15-24 years age group

97.5% 100%

Literacy rate of the (15+) years age group

86%88.3% (2005)

Source: UNDP, “Millennium Development Goals: Lebanon Report 2008” (2009a) p.21

Private schools have a large presence in Lebanon. This trend developed during the 1980s when many were dissatisfied with the low quality of education provided by the public school system.75 Private school enrollment now accounts for more than 50 percent of the students in primary schools. This number in-creases to 57.6 percent in intermediate levels.76

The tuition for private schools is often much higher than that of public schools; however, many would argue that so too is the quality of the education received. There is a large discrepancy between the two systems on many levels, including the curriculum, the quality of teachers, recreational activities offered, information and science labs available, etc. The public curriculum has been con-sidered irrelevant for continuing further education, and is ill-suited for the labor market’s needs.77 Accordingly, there are major disparities between the learning achievements of those students who attend public school and those who attend private school.78

There are extremely high dropout and repetition rates in Lebanon, especially within the public school system. In public schools the dropout rate is 22 percent and the repetition rate is 48 percent.79 Those who cannot afford to study at pri-vate schools are forced to attend a public school, where they receive a lower qual-ity of education. Due to the poor education received, many students drop out early, continuing the cycle of poverty.80 The high repetition rate also contributes to an increased financial burden for students’ families, who must pay for tuition repeatedly.

The government’s “Education for All Plan” includes early childhood educa-tion plans.81 However, even though there are over 245 nurseries in the country, 64 percent of them are found in Beirut, and only 9 percent are public. This is a

52 53

INTRODUCTION 1

major source of regional discrepancy within the education system as there are limited regulations for nurseries and preschools and this sector is decentralized from the main education branch within the government. These institutions are characterized by low quality education as well as high rates of communicable diseases.82

As of 2006-2007 Lebanon was spending 9.6 percent of total government expenditure on education.83 While expenditure in this area has increased sig-nificantly since the end of the Civil War, it is still much lower than in developed countries, neighboring countries, and even countries classified as “low human development” in the HDI ranking. However, it is important to consider total national expenditure on education, which reveals all spending on education, in-cluding spending by public, private, family, and community sources. This figure is closer to 10-11 percent of the GDP,84 which is considered very high by both international and regional standards.85 As private institutions account for over 50 percent of student enrollment rates, the majority of expenditure on education is coming from sources other than the government, yet results and achievements of the education sector in Lebanon are not commensurate with the high level of financial input.86 This is especially true in rural areas as there are large regional discrepancies in spending between the mohafazats.87

The education sector is characterized by the following: i) low internal ef-ficiency; ii) an oversupply and misallocation of teaching and administrative staff; iii) fragmented and inefficient financing of the sector leading to inequali-ties; and iv) a costly vocational and technical education sub-sector hampered by weak linkages to the labor market. Additionally, the Ministry of Education and Higher Education (MEHE) operates as three separate sub-sectors and its institu-tional/legal framework does not support effective management of the education sector.88

iii. Gender EqualityThe MDGs claim “Lebanon has made significant progress towards achieving gender equality in educational attainment.”89 Lebanon has a high overall net enrollment rate for both males and females (see Figure 1.7). As of 2004, females constitute a larger percentage of enrollment rates for all age groups except that of 25-29 year olds. Currently, there does not appear to be discrimination in access to education for females at any level. However, as mentioned previously, female illiteracy rates are higher than those of males, and the difference between the groups increases with age. Additionally, girls living in rural areas and belong-ing to marginalized groups are those most likely not to be enrolled in school.90

Figure 1.7: Millennium Development Goal 3: Promote Gender Equality and

Empower Women

1995 2005 2015Target

Ratio of girls to boys in primary, secondary, and tertiary education

93 100 100


While many females are attaining high levels of education in Lebanon, this is not reflected in the makeup of the active labor force. Females only account for 22.3 percent of working individuals between the ages of 15 and 65, while males account for 73.4 percent. Female employment is still characterized by positions of low authority and decision-making. Females tend to work as office employees, service workers, and unskilled laborers. Males work more often as managers, skilled workers, and drivers.91 Female participation in parliament remains weak, with women holding only 4.7 percent of the seats.92 There are no women serving in the current cabinet of Prime Minister Najib Miqati.

iv. Public healthThe health care system in Lebanon has many inefficiencies, yet it still manages to produce acceptable indicators. Life expectancy, maternal mortality rates (MMR), infant mortality, and under-five mortality are all satisfactory, falling somewhere in the middle range when compared with other Arab countries. The level of spending on health care as a percentage of total government expenditure, 11.3 percent, which is low compared to developed countries.93 However, spending on health care as a whole is much higher, at 12 percent of GDP. This value is higher than most Arab countries as well as many developed countries, such as France and Canada.94 When considering the high expenditures in this context, health indicators are actually much lower than they should be.95

The health care system is highly dependent on services offered by private institutions. During the Civil War the government was unable to keep up with the demand for health care and contracted private hospitals to provide services. Today, 88 percent of the hospitals in Lebanon are private,96 and most govern-ment funding goes directly to covering the costs of hospitalization in private institutions. The private system is unregulated; therefore the quality of service available at either public or private hospitals varies significantly. Regional dis-parities are prevalent in the quality of services.

The health care sector is characterized by curative and specialist services. Public health programs such as disease prevention and health promotion, are weak due to lack of funding. Some of the 750 Non-governmental organization

54 55

INTRODUCTION 1

(NGO) clinics across Lebanon provide health promotion programs; however, for various reasons these initiatives have proved less successful than had been hoped for.97 Additionally, the public and NGO health care systems are underutilized.98

However, through improvements in public health, Lebanon has been able to decrease under-five mortality rates, from 35 per thousand in 2000 to 19.1 per thousand in 2004 (see Figure 1.8). Yet, there is still a worrying trend: 90 percent of under-five mortalities occur within the first four weeks of life. The causes of this include both biological factors and health care issues.99

Another leading cause of death for children under five is unintentional in-juries. The average instance of unintentional injuries in the eastern Mediterra-nean region is only 3 percent of total deaths for children under five; Lebanon far exceeds this average at 11 percent.100

Infectious diseases still cause morbidity and mortality in infants. The 2008 MDG report states that private sector immunization data is not available, making it is difficult to determine the exact number of infants who are fully vaccinated. However, the 2010 Human Development Report states that 26 percent of 1 year olds are lacking the DPT vaccination and 47 percent are lacking the measles vac-cination. These numbers are exceptionally high when compared to most other countries, including Jordan and Egypt.101 Lebanon has the highest number of reported cases of measles per 100,000 in the region, contributing to child mor-bidity. Lebanon is not considered a high-risk country for tuberculosis (TB), and mother-to-child transmission of HIV is low.102

Figure 1.8: Millennium Development Goal 4: Reduce Child Mortality

1995 2004 2015Target

Under-five mortality rate (per 1,000) 32.0 19.1 12.0

Infant mortality rate (per 1,000) 28.0 18.6 10.0

Source: UNDP, “Millennium Development Goals: Lebanon Report 2008” (2009a) p. 37

Lebanon has made improvements in many aspects of maternal health over recent years, in an effort to reduce maternal mortality rates (MMR). The MMR in Lebanon decreased significantly from 1993 to 2004; over that period, the rate dropped from 140 to 86.3 per 100,000 live births. Improvements were seen in the proportion of births attended by skilled health professionals and in prenatal and postnatal care. Increased rates of contraceptive use and improved family planning services also contributed to lowering the MMR (see Figure 1.9). The MDG target is to decrease the MMR by two thirds, to 26 per 100,000 live births, by 2015. The 2008 UNDP report expects that this is possible if services are continually improved in underserviced areas. Regional variations still exist in the

percentage of women receiving prenatal care and having a skilled professional present at the births of their children; it is therefore necessary to target areas with low service provision to continue to decrease the current maternal mortality rate and achieve the MDG target.103

The total fertility rate of women in Lebanon has decreased from 2.9 births in 1995 to 1.9 births in 2004. Fertility rates are highest among the 25-29 age group.104

Figure 1.9: Millennium Development Goal 5: Improve Maternal Mortality

1990 2000 2004

Maternal mortality rate (per 100,000 live births)

140.0(1993)

N/A 86.3

Proportion of births attended by skilled health personnel

N/A 96.0% 98.0%

Antenatal care coverage 87.1% 93.9% 95.6%

Source: UNDP, “Millennium Development Goals: Lebanon Report 2008” (2009a) p. 45

Even with the mentioned improvements, there remain significant problems in this sector. Breast-feeding rates are exceptionally low. Hospitals do a poor job of initiating early breast-feeding, and there is a lack of awareness campaigns targeting mothers on this issue. Currently only 2.6 percent of mothers continue breast-feeding until the end of the first year. There are problems with maternal nutrition as well. The MDG report found that 16 percent of women of child-bearing age are anemic, and 27 percent have an iron deficiency.105

Even more startling, cesarean section rates in Lebanon are the highest in the Arab region. There is a chance that due to an over-medicalization of the system in Lebanon, cesarean sections are being over-prescribed.106

There is limited data regarding chronic diseases in Lebanon and no exact statistics are available at this time. During the Civil War, there was an increase in artery-related diseases in Lebanon after the Civil War.107 Additionally, due to the aging population, and the increase in unhealthy lifestyles, Lebanon is witnessing a decrease in infectious diseases and an increase in noncommunicable diseases.108 The importance of psychological health is under represented in Arab countries; however, many experience mental health problems due to the history of con-flict and instability in these countries. The Arab Human Development Report 2009 notes that there was a rise in artery-related diseases among the Lebanese popula-tion during the Civil War. Acute mental health problems have been common in other conflict zones, though further studies are needed to confirm to what extent this affected the population in Lebanon. Similarly, the 2006 war is sure to have caused psychological trauma to the populations most affected by it.109

56 57

INTRODUCTION 1

Nationally, there are five public health insurance programs, as well as a multi-tude of private ones. The public programs are dependent on employment, while the private schemes can be purchased.110 The MDG report states that 60-70 per-cent of households do not have any form of health insurance.111 The National Social Security Fund (NSSF) is the largest public health insurance provider in Lebanon. Nationally, the lowest levels of coverage are found in the agricultural pockets, meaning that the Bekaa and Nabatieh have the lowest percentage of NSSF coverage.112 One study found that Lebanese residents have a higher than average rate of chronic and recurrent diseases, sickness, and premature death, most likely attributable to the lack of health insurance.113

v. Environmental sustainabilityBefore 2006, Lebanon had been working to improve the environmental situation in the country. However, the 2006 war increased environmental degradation. A World Bank (WB) study estimated the cost of environmental damage after the war to be $729 million.114

Figure 1.10: Millennium Development Goal 7: Environmental Sustainability

1996 2001 2004

Proportion of the population with access to safe drinking water

79.3% 67.0%

Proportion of population with access to wastewater networks

37.0% 67.4%

Proportion of urban population living in slums

45%


Access to safe drinking water remains an issue in Lebanon (see Figure 1.10), due to high demand, poor infrastructure leading to large losses of water, and water pollution. The MDGs state that over 50 percent of the population in Lebanon does not have access to safe water for drinking and preparing food and 20 percent does not have proper sanitation, Access in the summer is very limited, with 80 percent of households affected and receiving water for as little as a few hours a week. The situation is much better in the winter, but 50 percent of households still have water supply problems. The agricultural sector accounts for 70 percent of total water consumption in Lebanon.115 Although the proportion of the population with access to wastewater networks has increased significantly, many wastewater treatment plants do not function properly.

However, these numbers are disputed. The 2010 Human Development Report claims that 0 percent of the population is without access to improved water services.116 This discrepancy may be attributed to the definition used for “safe drinking water” and “access to improved water services” or the data collection problems mentioned earlier.

Poverty in Lebanon in relation to relative standards

To understand the quantitative context of poverty in Lebanon it is necessary to move beyond international comparative measures and to look at regional differ-ences within Lebanon. The following section will briefly outline the differences in Lebanon at both the mohafazat level, as well as on a smaller scale at the caza level.

The base survey for comparing poverty across different regions, The Mapping of Living Conditions in Lebanon, was completed by MoSA and the UNDP. The study is based on the 1996 Population and Housing Survey and other studies and surveys completed around the same time. The study uses the Unsatisfied Basic Needs methodology, which assesses poverty based on “the extent to which the popula-tion is deprived of one or more of the basic needs.”117 Once the basic needs have been identified, indicators to measure the degree of satisfaction for each need are established and a threshold level for each indicator is defined. Based on this, a mathematical means is used to create a composite index, the Living Conditions Index. This index is a representation of basic needs deprivation as well as an indirect measure of poverty. Houses are scored on 11 indicators, which are then combined into four categories: income-related, education, housing, and water and sewage. The total scores are then used to create an overall score, and houses can be categorized according to a three-point or a five-point system (three-points: low, intermediate or high satisfaction; five-points: very low, low, intermediate, high, and very high satisfaction). Data is broken down by both mohafazat and caza, allowing for a detailed comparison of the governorates and sub-districts in Lebanon.118

Deprivation in Lebanon

According to the index, 35 percent of the population, accounting for over 1 million individuals, lives below the satisfaction threshold. This can be further broken down into those with a very low degree of satisfaction (6.8 percent of individuals) and those with a low degree of satisfaction (28.4 percent of individu-als). The largest proportion of individuals falls into the intermediate satisfaction category (42.2 percent). Only 22.6 percent of individuals have a high degree of satisfaction, and just 3.3 percent have a very high degree of satisfaction. The extent of deprivation increases in the income-related and education categories, meaning that households have an easier time satisfying their housing and water and sewage needs than they have satisfying their income-related and education needs.119

i. Deprivation by mohafazatAccording to the distribution of mohafazats by the Living Conditions Index (see Figure 1.11), the area of Nabatieh is the most deprived, with over 50 percent

58 59

INTRODUCTION 1

of the total households living in very low or low satisfaction. This area also has the lowest ratio of households with a high or very high degree of satisfaction. Conversely, Beirut has the highest percentage of households that fall into the high or very high degree of satisfaction categories. 120

Figure 1.11: Distribution of households, as a percentage of total households in the

mohafazat, according to the Living Conditions Index (five-level classification)

Mohafazat VeryLow

LowInter-medi-

ateHigh

VeryHigh

Total

Nabatieh 13.3 37.6 39.8 8.7 0.5 100

North Lebanon 12.0 31.8 37.6 15.9 2.7 100

Bekaa 9.9 30.7 43.5 14.6 1.3 100

South Lebanon 7.4 29.6 44.7 16.2 2.2 100

Mount Lebanon 4.4 20.3 43.6 26.1 5.5 100

Beirut 2.6 15.7 38.7 33.2 9.8 100

Average across households

7.1 25.0 41.6 21.9 4.5 100

Average across individuals

6.8 28.4 42.2 19.3 3.3 100

Source: MoSA, CAS & UNDP, “Mapping the Living Conditions in Lebanon” (1998)

ii. Deprivation by cazaThe Mapping of Living Conditions in Lebanon study also obtained data at the caza level, allowing a much more detailed analysis of the level of deprivation between areas. The Living Conditions Index can be used as a representation of the in-ternal social structure of each caza’s living and developmental characteristics. Generally, the proportion of households with low satisfaction is higher in rural cazas than in urban cazas. The cazas that were ranked #1 to #14, with #1 ex-periencing the highest level of deprivation, all fall outside of Beirut and Mount Lebanon, while the cazas with the highest degree of satisfaction are found in these two mohafazats.

In Bint Jbeil, the most deprived caza, 67 percent of the population lives below the threshold, compared to only 13.5 percent in Kesrwan, where the highest degree of satisfaction is found. Figure 1.12 depicts the six cazas with the highest deprivation compared to the national average, as well as Kesrwan, which has the lowest level of deprivation.121

Figure 1.12: Distribution of households according to the Living Conditions Index in

the six most deprived cazas compared to the national average and the least deprived

caza (five-level classification)

Caza Very Low LowInterme-

diateHigh

VeryHigh

Total

1. Bint Jbeil 20.0 47.2 28.5 4.1 0.2 100

2. Hermel 26.1 39.7 28.6 5.6 - 100

3. Akkar 23.3 39.9 29.1 7.1 0.4 100

4. Marjayoun 18.9 41.2 32.3 7.1 0.6 100

5. El Minye 12.7 41.5 39.3 6.2 0.3 100

6. Baalbek 12.4 36.8 40.1 10.2 0.5 100

National Average

7.1 25.0 41.6 21.9 4.5 100

26. Kesrwan 2.0 11.5 38.3 35.7 12.5 100


Population distribution varies across the cazas, with a much higher propor-tion of the total population living in urban cazas. Two rankings can therefore be calculated: one based on the percentage of a caza’s population that falls into each deprivation category (as in Figure 1.12), and the other based on the percentage of each category nationally that falls within a given caza (as in Figure 1.13). For example, while the caza of Akkar is third in terms of household dissatisfaction, it actually has the largest share of individuals living below the threshold of unsatis-fied basic needs (see Figure 1.13). Following Akkar, the next cazas with the larg-est number of dissatisfied are by and large urban, meaning that deprivation is primarily concentrated in the urban areas of the country. Despite this a very low degree of satisfaction is more prominently found in rural cazas. In short, while there is a larger number of deprived households in urban areas, the deprivation is more acute in rural areas.

60 61

INTRODUCTION 1

Figure 1.13: A selection of cazas arranged in descending order of their share of in-

dividuals classified as having a low degree of satisfaction (three-level classification)

Caza LowIntermedi-

ateHigh Total

1. Akkar 12.5 3.9 1.5 6.4

2. Baabda 11.8 12.0 12.2 12.0

3. Tripoli 8.2 6.6 7.2 7.3

4. Baalbek 7.6 4.7 1.7 5.1

5. Beirut 7.2 12.8 22.9 13.1

24. Bcharry 0.5 0.6 0.4 0.5

25. Jezzine 0.4 0.6 0.3 0.5

All Lebanon 100 100 100 100


iii. Characteristics of deprivationAs mentioned previously, the Living Conditions Index is made up of four com-posite indicators. The following section explains the indicators in further detail, with corresponding maps pictorially demonstrating the variances between cazas.

a. Income-related indicators

The Population and Housing Survey, on which The Mapping of Living Conditions in Leba-non study was based, did not use direct questions pertaining to income or ex-penditure; therefore, indicators were chosen which indirectly reflect the level of household income. Based on the number of private cars owned, the number of working household members, and the main occupation of working members in a household, the study was able to calculate an income-related index.122

According to this index the caza of Hermel has the highest percentage of houses falling below the threshold of satisfaction, with 68.1 percent, followed by Marjayoun (67.7 percent), and Akkar (62.1 percent). All three are rural. The na-tional average is 42.8 percent, and was used to set the threshold value. The caza of Kesrwan, which is a coastal, Christian-dominated suburb north of Beirut, has the highest level of satisfaction, with only 21.2 percent of the population below the threshold.123

b. Education indicators

The Mapping of Living Conditions in Lebanon study was limited to two educational indicators because of the questions asked in the Population and Housing Survey. Since the indicators are internationally recognized, they were deemed sufficient

for gauging the situation. The indicators used were the pursuit of education and the level of education achieved. Initially the study chose to use completion of in-termediate school as the threshold level (as Lebanon is seen as having a high level of education). However, when this cut-off was used, over half of the households fell below this threshold. Instead completion of elementary school was used.124

Generally, there was a lower degree of satisfaction for education indicators than for the housing or water and sewage indicators. This may be due to the effect of the war on the education sector, the rising costs associated with educa-tion, or the decreasing role of public education.

According to these indicators, Akkar has the highest percentage of individu-als falling below the threshold, with 66 percent. This is followed by Hermel at 64.3 percent and el Minye at 58.8 percent. All three are located in the rural north. The national average was found to be 33 percent. The cazas with the lowest percentage of individuals falling below the threshold are Kesrwan and Beirut, with only 17.7 percent and 19.8 percent respectively.125

c. Housing indicators

The Housing Index was comprised of three indicators: the share of the indi-vidual in rooms, the share of the individual in the built area, and the principal means of heating. The highest level of deprivation at the mohafazat level is found in North Lebanon with 31 percent falling below the threshold, while only 21.6 percent of households in Beirut fall within this category. The average across Lebanon for houses falling below the threshold is 25.9 percent.126

d. Water and sewage indicators

The Water and Sewage Index was created by combining three indicators: a con-nection to a public water network, the source of potable water, and the means of sewage disposal. The composite index was again limited by the type of data collected in the Population and Housing Survey.127

In North Lebanon only 68.3 percent of houses are connected to the public water network and 9.1 percent of houses are not connected to any water net-work, compared to Beirut, which measures 87.6 percent and 0.8 percent re-spectively. At the caza level, Bint Jbeil has the highest level of deprivation at 54.4 percent. There is significant variation between the cazas if the indicator is broken down with respect to sewage (highest deprivation in el Minye), domestic water use (highest deprivation in Bint Jbeil), or access to potable water (highest deprivation in Koura).128

62 63

INTRODUCTION 1

Figure 1.14: Income-related indicators (as a percentage of the total households in the

district falling below the threshold)

Source: MoSA, CAS & UNDP, Mapping the Living Conditions in Lebanon (1998)

SOUR

SAIDA

EL NABATIEH

JEZZINE

EL SHUF

AALEY

BEIRUT

BAABDA ZAHLE

EL MATEN

KESRWAN

EL BATROUN

EL KOURA

BSHARRE

ZGHORTA

EL MINYETRIPOLI

BAALBEK

RASHAYYA

WEST BEKAA

HASBAYYA

BINT JBEIL

MARJAYOUN

DistrictINCOME RELATED INDICATORS

20 - 29.930 - 39.940 - 49.950 - 59.960 - 69.9

AKKAR

EL HERMEL

JBEIL

Figure 1.15: Education indicators (as a percentage of the total households in the dis-

tricts falling below the threshold)


SOUR

SAIDA

EL NABATIEH

JEZZINE

EL SHUF

AALEY

BEIRUT

BAABDA ZAHLE

EL MATEN

KESRWAN

JBEIL

EL BATROUN

EL KOURA

BSHARRE

ZGHORTA

EL MINYE

AKKAR

EL HERMELTRIPOLI

BAALBEK

RASHAYYA

WEST BEKAA

HASBAYYA

BINT JBEIL

MARJAYOUN

DistrictEDUCATION

20 - 29.930 - 39.940 - 49.950 - 59.960 - 69.9

64 65

INTRODUCTION 1

Figure 1.16: Housing indicators (as a percentage of the total households in the district

falling below the threshold)


SOUR

SAIDA

EL NABATIEH

JEZZINE

EL SHUF

AALEY

BEIRUT

BAABDA ZAHLE

EL MATEN

KESRWAN

JBEIL

EL BATROUN

EL KOURA

BSHARRE

ZGHORTA

EL MINYE

AKKAR

EL HERMELTRIPOLI

BAALBEK

RASHAYYA

WEST BEKAA

HASBAYYA

BINT JBEIL

MARJAYOUN

DistrictHOUSING

0 - 9.9

20 - 29.9

30 - 39.9

40 - 49.9

50 - 59.9

60 - 69.9

Figure 1.17: Water and sewage indicators (as a percentage of the total households in

the district falling below the threshold)

Source: MoSA, CAS & UNDP, Mapping the Living Conditions in Lebanon, (1998)

SOUR

SAIDA

EL NABATIYYE

JEZZINE

EL SHUF

AALEY

BEIRUT

BAABDA ZAHLE

EL MATEN

KESRWAN

JBEIL

EL BATROUN

EL KOURA

BSHARRE

ZGHORTA

EL MINYE

AKKAR

EL HERMELTRIPOLI

BAALBEK

RASHAYYA

WEST BEKAA

HASBAYYA

BINT JBEIL

MARJAYOUN

DistrictWATER SEWAGE

0 - 9.9

20 - 29.9

30 - 39.9

40 - 49.9

50 - 59.9

60 - 69.9

66 67

INTRODUCTION 1

A money-metric measure of poverty

In 2008, a report entitled Poverty, Growth and Income Distribution in Lebanon was released by the International Poverty Center in partnership with the UNDP, MoSA, and Central Administration of Statistics (CAS). This study was signif-icant in that it was the first to provide a money-metric indicator of poverty for Lebanon. The study uses information from the 2004-2005 National Survey in order to provide poverty gaps and certain characteristics of the poor.

The study’s findings were startling. It revealed that almost 8 percent of the Lebanese population lives in extreme poverty, falling below the established lower poverty line of $2.4 per capita per day. This means that there are almost 300,000 Lebanese who may not able to meet their basic food and non-food needs. The upper poverty line is calculated to be $4 per capita per day, and 28.5 percent of the population falls below this line, meaning that there are 1 million Lebanese in this category.129

Figure 1.18: Distribution of population between poor and non-poor categories

Source: Laithy, Abu-Ismail & Hamdan, Country Study: Poverty, Growth and Income Distribution in Leba-

non, (2008)

Some of the main findings of the Poverty, Growth and Income Distribution in Leba-non study:

• Mean per capita consumption is the lowest in the North and highest in Beirut.

• The distribution of expenditure is unequal across the population; how-ever, the level of inequality is similar to that of other middle-income countries.130

• Most (92 percent) of the inequality can be attributed to within-governor-ate inequality, with the highest level of inequality found in the North.131

• When looking at overall poverty, the Poverty Gap Index is high, indicating

that many of the poor are found far below the upper poverty line and at risk of falling into the extreme poverty category.132

• The financial situation in the country is closely linked with changes in the political situation. For example, after the July 2006 war, the GDP dropped 11 percentage points; from a predicted increase of six percentage points to a decrease of five percentage points.133

• There are significant regional disparities when examining overall and ex-treme poverty across the governorates in Lebanon. In Beirut, there is a low prevalence of both overall (less than 6 percent) and extreme poverty (less than 1 percent). South Lebanon and Bekaa have a higher than average prevalence of both types of poverty. However, the largest disparity is seen in North Lebanon, in which 18 percent suffer from extreme poverty and 53 percent from overall poverty.134

• When the overall headcount poverty is compared with the Unsatisfied Basic Needs (UBN) index, measured from the Living Conditions and House-hold Budget Survey, it demonstrates that “the level of deprivation in living standards is generally commensurate to the level of income-based head-count poverty.”135

5. Summary

Lebanon, in spite of its 15-year Civil War and numerous other conflicts, has achieved reasonably high measures of human development. Lebanon ranks 83rd

on the 2009 Human Development Index and is a “High Human Development” country, though it falls right at the bottom of that category. In this respect it ranks higher than a number of other countries in the region. However, development in Lebanon is far from homogenous, and there is considerable diversity not only between the various regions in the country, but also within particular regions.

According to the MDGs, Lebanon still has a long way to go to eradicate extreme poverty. The UNDP study reveals that almost 28 percent of the popula-tion is categorized as poor or extremely poor. While the MDG reports state that malnutrition rates are fairly low, the Arab Human Development Report 2009 notes that Lebanon is one of the countries in the region where hunger has increased. In education, Lebanon has done quite well in achieving near universal primary school enrollment and has very good higher education facilities and opportuni-ties. In terms of gender equality and empowering women, Lebanon has done well at achieving equal access to educational opportunities; however, this has not translated well into job opportunities or decision-making power for women on a national level. While child mortality rates have been significantly decreased, fairly high risks still remain due to lack of access to safe water for drinking and food preparation, as well as poor sanitation facilities. In terms of maternal mor-tality, Lebanon has made improvements in many aspects, but further advances

68 69

INTRODUCTION 1

are needed in order to reach the MDG target.Within Lebanon itself, however, there remain considerable variations in de-

velopment levels between different areas. The Mapping of Living Conditions study, which uses the Unsatisfied Basic Needs methodology to look at income-related indicators, education indicators, housing indicators, and water and sewage in-dicators, reveals that the mohafazats of the South, the North, and the Bekaa are some of the most deprived in the country.

This study seeks to understand why a country with relatively good indica-tors at a national level still has significant pockets of poverty by examining the problem through the testimony of the poor themselves. While existing reports provide quantitative data to analyze poverty in Lebanon, what is lacking is the voice of the poor and their description of their own reality. The poor are far from passive victims of poverty. In fact, they are cognizant of their situation and more than adequately capable of reflecting on its complexities. Those inter-viewed often articulated similar conclusions to the ones drawn by the researchers upon completion of the post-interview and secondary data analysis. Indeed, it was their description of their lives and world that enabled a fuller understanding of the dynamics behind their poverty.

Yet, in spite of their ability to grasp the realties and root causes of their poverty, the poor feel abandoned, ignored, and left out of the national dialogue. Being marginalized, their voices are not heard, and the issues and problems that they face remain unaddressed. While there has been much discussion about the causes of the recent “Arab Spring” uprisings, it seems clear that a similar sense of voicelessness was part of the impetus driving the protests. Against this backdrop, giving the poor and marginalized a voice is more important than ever.

Raouche Rocks, a famous landmark of Beirut

1. Quoted in (Kassir, 2010) p.1092. Quoted in (Kassir, 2010) p.1093. Quoted in (Kassir, 2010) p. 1094. The “green line” divided the various parts of Beirut between the warring groups

during the civil war of 1975-200.5. Extreme poverty is defined in (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, & Hamdan, 2008) p. 4 as

“unable to meet their most basic food and non-food needs”6. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, & Hamdan, 2008)7. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, & Hamdan, 2008)8. The definition of a “gathering” used by the Danish Refugee Council in their 2005

Needs Assessment of Palestinian Refugees in Gatherings in Lebanon is “1. Has a population of Palestinian refugees, including Palestinian refugees who are regis-tered by UNRWA and/or the Lebanese Government, or are not registered. 2.Has no official UNRWA camp status or any other legal authority identified with re-sponsibility for camp management. 3.Is expected to have clearly defined humani-tarian and protection needs, or have a minimum of 25 households; and 4.Has a population with a sense of being a distinct group living in a geographically identifi-able area.” (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 4-5

9. This is a tool used by development practitioners to develop programs and projects.10. (Townsend, 1993)11. All figures are either in United States Dollars ($), or Lebanese Pounds (LL). At the

time of writing the exchange rate is fixed at $1=LL1,500. For any figure LL10,000 or under, one decimal point was used to indicate the differences in dollars, however for anything over LL10,000 no decimal point was used as it becomes negligible.

12. (Chambers, 1997) p. 4613. (UNDP, 2009b)14. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 715. (Sachs, 2005) p. 2016. (Collier, 2007) p. 317. (Collier, 2007) p. 7-818. (UNDP, 2009b)19. (United Nations) 20. (Sen, 1999) p. 8721. (Friedmann, 1992) p. 6222. (Christian, 1999)23. (Freire, 1970) p. 5124. Erich Fromm (a neo-Freudian psychoanalyst) described major personality orienta-

tions: receptive, hoarding, marketing, productive, and necrophilous. The first four are pathological and self-destructive, while the fifth represents a positive and open personality. The last one is the lover of death, which opposes the rest. While all the others are attempts at defining and understanding life, necrophilia attempts to destroy life.

70 71

INTRODUCTION 1

25. (Freire, 1970) p. 5226. (Chambers, 1983) p. 11027. (Chambers, 1997) p. 4628. (DFID, 1999)29. (DFID, 1999)30. (DFID, 1999)31. This is part of a more extensive model developed by Rupen Das32. (Strogatz, 2008) p. 8633. The last census was in 1932. There is no accurate demographic data.34. (United Nations Human Settlement Programme (UN-HABITAT), 2008) p. 635. Alawite, Armenian Catholic, Armenian Orthodox, Assyrian Church of the East,

Chaldean Catholic, Copts, Druze, Greek Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Isma’ili, Jewish, Maronite, Protestant, Roman Catholic, Sunni, Shi’a, Syriac Catholic, Syriac Orthodox.

36. As Jureidini notes, “Experts vary in their estimates of Syrians considering their number between 400,000 to 1 million. In 1995 the UNDP estimated Syrians to number around 450,00.” (Jureidini, 2002) p. 1

37. (Chaaban, Ghattas, Habib, 2010) p. 2438. (Hamill, 2011) p. 539. (Chatty, 2010) p. 26 40. (Danish Refugee Council, 2007) p. 1941. Personal interview with NGO worker who completed research work with the Dom

communities42. (The National Survey of Living Conditions of Households, 2004) 43. (United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-HABITAT), 2008) p. 644. (UNDP, 2006) p. 6-745. (UNDP, 2006) p. 6-7; (UNDP, 2009a) p. 746. (Ressler, 2008) p. 1647. (Collelo 1987)48. Some of the other reports include: the Millennium Development Goals 2008: Lebanon

Report, Toward a Citizen’s State: Lebanon 2008-2009, The National Human Development Report released by the UNDP, Enterprises in Lebanon 2006-2007: A Post Conflict Impact Assessment One Year On released by UNDP and International Labour Organiza-tions’s (ILO), Post-Conflict Social and Livelihoods Assessment in Lebanon issued by The World Bank (WB) and the Ministry of Social Affairs (MoSA) in 2008, Child Rights Situation Analysis for Lebanon, completed in 2008 by Save the Children Sweden. Two other UNDP reports include Lebanon in their assessment of issues in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region: Arab Human Development Report 2009: Chal-lenges to Human Security in Arab Countries and the Human Development Report 2009, Over-coming Barriers: Human Mobility and Development

49. The data available in the (UNDP 2009b) only includes up until the year 200750. (UNDP 2010) p. 138

51. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 171-17552. According to the UNDP: “As in past Human Development Reports, the HDI re-

mains a composite index that measures progress in the three basic dimensions—health, knowledge and income. Under the previous HDI formula, health was mea-sured by life expectancy at birth; education or “knowledge” by a combination of the adult literacy rate and school enrollment rates (for primary through university years); and income or standard of living by GDP per capita adjusted for purchas-ing-power parity (PPP US$). Health is still measured by life expectancy at birth. But the 2010 HDI measures achievement in knowledge by combining the expected years of schooling for a school-age child in a country today with the mean years of prior schooling for adults aged 25 and older. The income measurement, mean-while, has changed from purchasing-power-adjusted per capita Gross Domestic Product (GDP) to purchasing-power-adjusted per capita Gross National Income (GNI); GNI includes remittances and foreign assistance income, for example, pro-viding a more accurate economic picture of many developing countries.” For more information on the changes see: http://hdr.undp.org/en/statistics/hdi/

53. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 171-17554. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 171-17555. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 17256. The 2009 report (2007 data) was used as it has the most data available for Lebanon57. “The number of students enrolled in primary, secondary and tertiary levels of edu-

cation regardless of age, expressed as a percentage of the population of theoretical school age for the three levels.” (UNDP, 2009b) p. 209

58. Total public expenditure on health by all levels of government expressed as a per-centage of total government spending. World Health Organization. (2009) as cited in (UNDP 2010) p. 210

59. Total public expenditure on the education sector expressed as a percentage of total public expenditure by all levels of government. UNESCO. (2009), as cited in UNDP. (2009b) p. 209

60. The MDGs use a variety of indicators and sources from different organizations and reports recorded and published in a variety of different years. While the most recent MDG report was published in 2008, the statistics quoted were often re-corded in earlier years.

61. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 11-1562. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 11-1563. (UNDP, 2009c) p. 12464. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 1565. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 1566. Schooling in Lebanon consists of:

Three years of kindergarten (ages 3-6)Grades 1-6 (ages 6-11)Grades 7-9 (ages 12-14), grade 9 is also called Brevet and students must pass the na-

72 73

INTRODUCTION 1

tional level Brevet exam at the end of the year in order to move onto the next levelGrades 10-12 (ages 15-17), grade 11 is also known as Baccalaureate 1, and grade 12 is known as Baccalaureate 2. Students must sit for a national level exam at the end of grade 12 in order to graduate.

67. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2168. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2169. This is defined as “The number of students enrolled in primary, secondary and

tertiary levels of education regardless of age, expressed as a percentage of the population of theoretical school age for the three levels.” UNDP. (2009b) p. 209

70. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 9771. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2472. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2173. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 20974. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2275. (UNDP, 2003) p. 1076. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 14;

(UNDP, CDR, & MEHE, 2008) p. 1477. (UNDP, 2009c) p. 111; (Nasnas, 2007) p. 32378. (Nasnas, 2007) p. 28579. (Republic of Lebanon, 2007)80. (UNDP, CDR, & MEHE, 2008) p. 1381. (Nasnas, 2007) p. 325-22682. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 11783. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 20084. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2285. (UNDP, CDR, & MEHE, 2008) p. 13; (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2286. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 10087. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 2388. (World Bank 2008)89. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 2990. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 111-

11291. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 31 92. (UNDP) (a)93. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 20094. (UNDP, 2009b) p. 199-20195. (Republic of Lebanon, 2007)96. (Nasnas, 2007) p. 37497. (Lebanese Republic, MoSA & The Higher Council for Childhood, 2004) p. 8398. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 3899. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 37100. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 38

101. (UNDP, 2010) p. 198-200102. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 38103. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 46104. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 46105. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 39106. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 46107. (UNDP, 2009c) p. 154108. (Nasnas, 2007) p. 351 109. (UNDP, 2009c) p. 154110. These include: National Social Security Fund (NSSF), Civil Service Cooperative

(CSC), Security Forces (including Army, Internal Security Forces (ISF), General Security (GS), and State Security (SS), as well as the Ministry of Health (MoH), and the Ministry of Social Affairs, (Nasnas, 2007) p. 359

111. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 39112. (Nasnas, 2007) p. 361113. (Haddad, 1996) p. 3114. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 62115. (UNDP, 2009a) p. 64116. (UNDP, 2010) p. 171117. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)118. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)119. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)120. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)121. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)122. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)123. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)124. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)125. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)126. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)127. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)128. (MoSA, CAS, & UNDP, 1998)129. (UNDP, 2008) p. 15-16130. The Gini Coefficient which is a standard measure of inequality is 0.36 for real

consumption UNDP (2008) p. 15131. The Gini Coefficient for the North is 0.37, in comparison with 0.29 for Nabatieh

UNDP (2008) p.15132. (UNDP, 2008) p. 45 133. (UNDP, 2008) p. 47 134. (UNDP, 2008) p. 47135. (UNDP, 2008) p. 57

74 75

Part 1

POVERTY IN

RURAL LEBANON

76 77

MAP OF RURAL COMMUNITIES STUDIED

78 79

POVERTY IN RURAL LEBANON

Thirteen percent of Lebanon’s population lives in rural areas.1 Many of these areas are known to be among the most poor in the country, and poverty is most prevalent in the mainly rural areas of Akkar, North Lebanon, South Lebanon, and Bekaa.2 Agriculture is traditionally the main occupation of people in rural areas, but a combination of factors have made it insufficiently lucrative for some, who seek additional or other employment in other economic sectors.

In 2004-2005 incidences of poverty in the rural areas were highest in North Lebanon (52.57 percent), followed by South Lebanon (42.21 percent), Bekaa (29.36 percent), Mount Lebanon (19.56 percent), and Nabatieh (19.19 percent). In the north, where per capita consumption is the lowest (three-quarters of the national average) and inequality is the greatest compared with other mohafazats,

Mareh, Akkar, North Lebanon

80 81

there is a very high prevalence of extreme and overall poverty (17 and 52 per-cent, respectively). The expenditure level of poor households in the North is far below the poverty line; their per capita poverty deficit is 2.4 times that of the national one. The north has only 21 percent of Lebanon’s population, but 46 percent of its extremely poor population and 38 percent of its entire poor population.3

The poor in the rural areas are mainly small farmers, livestock herders, day laborers (predominantly working in agriculture), fishermen, and women who are heads of households.4 Women, who make up one-third of the agricultural labor force, are particularly disadvantaged by the lack of programs and interventions targeting them. This leads to their poor representation in all aspects of agricul-tural production, with negative repercussions on their own socioeconomic status and that of their households.”5

Agriculture in the country accounts for 12 percent of GDP and employs around 12 percent of the active workforce. Agricultural land comprises 25% of Lebanon’s total area.6 The main crops grown in the country are cereals – mainly wheat and barley – fruits, vegetables, olives, grapes, and tobacco. Sheep and goat herding is also a major occupation in the rural areas. The soil and climate of the Bekaa (which makes up 40 percent of arable land in Lebanon) enables farmers to grow European and tropical crops, along with fruits and vegetables. Citrus fruits and bananas are grown along the coast; olives are grown in the north and around the Shuf Mountains; and tobacco and figs are grown in the south. Lebanon is also home to a growing wine industry that is gradually gaining international recognition.

Lebanon, at one time, was known throughout the region for its fruit and vegetable production. In the early part of the 20th century, almost a quarter of the land was used for agriculture – the highest among any of the Arab countries in the region. But the Civil War exacted an enormous toll on rural Lebanon and its agriculture. The United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) estimates that about 1,100 hectares of tobacco were destroyed, 300 hectares of agricultural land were abandoned because of land mines, and 51,000 olive trees and 70,000 fruit trees were destroyed.7 In the years after the Civil War, in the early 1990s, UNDP estimated that at least $300 million was needed to rehabilitate the agri-cultural sector in Lebanon.8

The sector was then again devastated during the 2006 war. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), the war’s impact on the agricultural sector, including crop production, livestock, fisheries, and forestry, amounted to $280 million. This significantly lowered the livelihoods of the majority of the population in rural areas.9

However, periods of conflict are not the only issue facing Lebanese living in rural areas. According to the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD), the majority of the people in the rural areas in Lebanon live in poverty

2POVERTY IN RURAL LEBANON

because of a set of interlinked factors: “… the major problems facing agricul-tural production … are mainly the small size of agricultural holdings, lack of agriculture policies, high production costs and lack of specialized agricultural credit.”

The high cost structure of Lebanese agriculture can be attributed to numer-ous factors. First of all, much of Lebanon is mountainous and therefore difficult to use for agriculture, yet many do farm it because the land is their only asset and they endeavor to make that asset profitable. Perhaps related to the problems with the terrain, and another issue that the farmers face, is that many of the plots of agricultural land are too small to allow them to benefit from economies of scale; their produce is easily out-priced by large-scale producers and industrial farm-ers. In terms of farming practices, improper irrigation techniques, the extensive use of fertilizers and pesticides, and the need to hire labor, all contribute to the increase in costs associated with agriculture. Farmers also have difficulty sell-ing their products because of the limited local market for them. Compounding the high costs associated with agriculture is the fact that there are few financial services directly targeting farmers or others living in rural areas who desire to establish income-generating activities in order to improve their situation.10

The focus of the Lebanese government has been on rehabilitating the Min-istry of Agriculture, land reclamation projects, rehabilitation of agricultural schools and research, large-scale irrigation projects, and taking steps to ban a long list of hazardous pesticides. Little attention has been given to investments or incentives for water and soil conserving irrigation techniques.

Women working in the fields in the Bekaa Valley

82 83

Periods of violence and conflict, a lack of targeted policies or support, and unstable governments have resulted in the rural areas of Lebanon being neglect-ed as investment and attention have been directed toward rebuilding and reha-bilitating the infrastructure of urban areas, creating significant problems across the country. Improper agricultural practices result in an increase in soil erosion and impoverishment of soil quality; depletion of underground water resources; water pollution and health impacts from inappropriate use of pesticides and fertilizers; and environmental pollution from the inappropriate and unsanitary dumping of slaughter waste from animal farms. Urbanization is also decreasing the amount of land available for agriculture, especially along the coastal plain and in the Bekaa. In addition, due to changes in patterns of global trade, rural Lebanon, because of the high cost structure, is struggling to survive in a com-petitive regional market. All of the foregoing greatly imperils the already meager livelihoods of residents living in these areas, forcing them to survive hand-to-mouth on whatever income they can generate or to send the household’s desig-nated breadwinners in search of marginally more profitable employment.

1. (IFAD)2. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail and Hamdan) p. 9-103. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail and Hamdan) p. 3-114. (IFAD)5. (IFAD)6. (James, 2007), p. 37. (Mongabay.com 1987)8. (Blanford 2007)9. (Food and Agriculture Organization, 2006)10. (IFAD)

2POVERTY IN RURAL LEBANON

84 85

MAREH and BAJAAAkkar, North Lebanon

“…within countries, the highest rates of rural poverty (not necessarily thelargest numbers of poor rural people) are often found in remote, low poten-

tial, marginal or weakly integrated areas. These territories typically exhibit a combination of an unfavorable resource base, poor infrastructure, weak state and market institutions and political isolation – all of which result in ahigher risk environment for the rural poor people.”1

The two small villages of Mareh and Bajaa are part of the municipality of Denbo, which is also made up of the villages of Denbo (the largest village, and the origin of the municipality’s name), Mbarakiyeh, and Bint el Jara. The mu-nicipality is located in Akkar in North Lebanon. Official reports describe the northern governorate as having “20.7 percent of Lebanon’s population but 46 percent of the extremely poor population and 38 percent of the entire poor population.”2

Fatima3 lives in the village of Mareh, which until around 17 years ago was completely isolated and had no road access.4 It sits on top of a highly elevated ridge with steep drops on either side. Fatima is originally from the village of Denbo. Her mother died when she was 5 years old. She explained: “My mom died because there was a gun between her mattresses. She was lying down and something happened and the gun went off and shot her and she died.” Her father remarried.

When she was 10 years old, she and the other girls in the family were sent to Tripoli to work as maids in people’s houses. She would give all of the money she earned to her father because they were so poor.

Fatima returned to Denbo when she was 18 years old, and married soon after. Her husband’s family was also very poor, and his father had had to sell

86 87

what little land he owned to make ends meet, leaving no land for his son to build a house on. Shortly after they got married, the couple bought a small piece of land on a remote ridge, in what would later become the village of Mareh. This was the only place in which they could afford to buy land, due to the extreme isolation. They built a house on the land they bought. Fatima explained, “To build the house we took rocks from the land but we got a worker to do it.” She elaborated:

“My husband was working in someone else’s land in Hawaish. He didn’t have the money to buy land in other places, this place was the cheapest compared to other places. People came here in the winter to feed their sheep and goats [as the area is below the snow line]. They would go back to Mishmish [another village located at a higher elevation that frequently had snow] in the summer. We took the land from shepherds in Mishmish who would spend the winter here. We paid LL80 [$0.05] when we bought it.”

Her eldest child, a daughter, was 3 months old when they moved to their new home. This daughter is now 55 years old. Fatima has 10 children – six boys and four girls. Three of the children still live in Mareh. The family used to own a cow and some goats. In their younger days, the children were shepherds and Fatima’s husband worked as a laborer on other people’s lands.

Fatima described her life:

“I built the first house here. This is the original house. Then my sons built six houses here. I didn’t work [outside of the house] once I had kids. Once I got married I stopped working. I took care of the cow, made butter and cheese, and sold it to other villages; for example, in el Minye. It was very hard because we relied on the money I got from selling the cheese. Our diet was made of burghol, flour, onions, and potatoes. We got these things from the bigger cities like Helba and Tripoli. Things were much less expensivethan they are now. We used to use a donkey to bring back the food. I was un-

able to send my kids to school because it was very far. Now parents work to send their kids to school. But in my time I was very poor and the roads were not accessible. Then we built the road, and we fix it year by year because we don’t have a lot of money. Before then, we used to walk to Bkarzala and then we took the bus to Tripoli. If the things we brought back were not too heavy, the men would carry them back, but if they were heavy, then we would get the donkey to bring them back [to the village]. We would go once a month or more to bring food. We ate meat every 10 days; we would get it from Bkarzala or Helba. I used to give birth to my kids in my house. There were no problems with any of the births. Sometimes we didn’t have a midwife [Traditional Birth Attendant],5 so I would do the delivery aloneand cut the cord and do everything myself.”

Fatima and her husband were unable to attend school because both of their families were too poor. Unfortunately, this was a trend that affected their children as well. Due to isolation and poverty, none of Fatima’s 10 children completed any education:

3MAREH and BAJAA

“In my age, in Denbo, the women were never sent to school. But some boys went to school – not my husband. Now people even borrow money to teach their children. There was a school in Denbo then. When I was raising mychildren, other children went to school, but because we lived in the mountains, with no roads and no money, we didn’t send them. There were no carsand no roads to take them. We were completely isolated.”

The children were expected to contribute to the households’ well-being, at first by helping with the chores. As they grew, they were expected to start work-ing, in order to contribute financially, as well as save for their futures:

“The kids started working [outside of the home] when they were between 10 and 12 years old. When they first started working they went to a coffee shop to work. One is now a concierge, one works as a taxi driver, two work in supermarkets, and one works in a falafel shop. They all work in Tripoli. Before [when they were young] they used to help with olives. Before, we had 30-40 goats, so they helped their father to take care of them. I don’t remember why we sold the goats. One son used to work in construction.”

Each one of the boys eventually built a house on top of the hill as well.

Traditional houses in Mareh

The outside of Fatima’s house is made of large stones and the door is made of heavy wood. Inside there is a cement floor, with one “step” made of cement where all of the kitchen and sleeping supplies are stored. The roof was originally made with a bunch of sticks and wood held between beams. There is a large tree trunk in the middle of the room, holding up the main support beams. There is one small window, essentially an open hole, located at the top of the wall. A fireplace with a chimney is located in one corner of the room. The inside of the house is stained black from the fires used both for warmth and, in the past, for cooking. When not in use, mattresses and blan-kets are piled up and stored at the side of the house. The family has invested in an oven, but this is the only modern-day appliance. The main pieces of furniture that the family use during the day are a few plastic lawns chairs and tables. Other than these few new items, the house still looks the same as it did when it was first built.

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Fatima, her husband, her daughter-in-law, and four grandchildren still live

in the original small, stone, house that they built 55 years ago. Other than a few new kitchen utensils, the house remains in almost the exact same condition as when it was first built. Fatima explained.

“The roof of the house used to leak a lot of water, but the kids got cement and fixed it and now it’s fine. We used to sleep with all of the 10 kids in the house. The only thing we changed from the original house was the roof. Everything else is the same. The house is good; it is warm in the winter and cold enough in the summer. There is no bathroom; the new houses do have toilets. We used to go outside. Some people used to live with animals in the house, but this was a long time ago. We never did.”

When the house was first built none of the surrounding villages had electric-ity. Yet, over time, government electricity was installed in each of the other vil-lages, while remarkably Mareh still lacks access to this basic service.

Fatima remembers that in the past hers was the only family in the area during the summer time. During the winter months the shepherds from Mish-mish would come and use the surrounding vegetation for their herds. Eventually the shepherds stopped coming to the area, although some of them have since married residents of Mareh and settled in the area. “The [initial] population decreased when the people [shepherds] from Mishmish stopped coming here in the winter. They stopped coming 40 years ago. There were no events that hap-pened here. We have always been poor here.”

Fatima is the face of a poverty that most people do not realize still exists in Lebanon. The narrative of Fatima’s life fits almost perfectly with the profile of poor households in the area. As the International Fund for Agricultural Devel-opment report states:

“… poor rural households generally have more members, a greater share of dependents (non-working age), less education, less land and less accessto running water and electricity. Depending on circumstances, rural house-

holds can derive their incomes from a range of sources: from their own on-farm production (crops and livestock), from employment (agricultural and non-agricultural), from self-employment and from transfers, includingremittances and social transfers.”6

“Forgotten Akkar”7

“Akkar is considered the most rural district of Lebanon, with a rural population of 80 percent. The population is mixed, consisting primarily of Sunni Muslims with a minority of Alawites, and Christians (Maronite and Greek Orthodox) and very little Shiites … In 1997, the population was estimated to be over 255,000 inhabitants, accounting for 6.4 percent of the total population of Lebanon ... Other peripheral governorates, such as South Lebanon, Nabatieh and the Bekaa, have been declining in population as a result of internal migration to Beirut and Mount Lebanon. North Lebanon, however, saw an increase between 1996 and 2004.

“Families have on average 6.1 members compared to a national average of 4.8, whereas the average number of children in Akkar is the highest in the country; 4 for Akkar versus 2.6 children for Lebanon as a whole … In some areas, such as Fnaydeq, Bibnine and Sahl Akkar, the average is more than eight children. Looking at the-population by age bracket, Akkar has the highest percentage of residents below the age of 15 and the lowest percentage of people in the age bracket of 15-64 years. The percentage of elderly (5.4 percent) is also lower than the national level (6.9 percent).”

Source: Mouchref, “Forgotten Akkar” (2008), p. 3

MAREH

History and location

Mareh is the most remote of the five villages in the municipality, as it is located quite far off the main road to Denbo. The other four villages are located either directly on the main road or on a nearby side road. Until quite recently, there was no road access to Mareh and villagers used footpaths to travel between the settlement and the main road. They then built an access road themselves, attach-ing it to the nearest existing road, which itself was only paved by the government a few years ago. The villagers have to repair the road every year after the rain and snow of winter. Access is difficult, even in a four-wheel drive, as the road is a single-lane, windy, makeshift track, full of loose rocks and potholes.

The village now consists of approximately 15 houses with 70-80 residents. One elderly man commented:

“The village is getting smaller. People are leaving and not coming back. People that were better off bought land on the main road and settled there. This was about 20 years ago. We all used to work as shepherds and it used to be better because the sheep could go anywhere because the land was notdivided.”

The shepherds from Mishmish, which is located higher in elevation than Mareh, used to bring their sheep down during the winters because of the milder

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conditions on the lower land. They used Mareh for feeding their sheep, as there was water available on both sides of the ridge on which Mareh is located. They would build temporary stone buildings to live in during the few months they stayed there. Finally, Fatima and her husband from Denbo moved there and built the first permanent house. This settlement in the area gave rise to what is now the village of Mareh.

Not long after Fatima and her family established themselves, the shepherds stopped making their yearly migration to the area, though some chose to stay in Mareh and marry local girls because they could not afford to buy land anywhere else. Fatima explained how the shepherds were an integral part of the history of the village:

“Mareh means the place [house] where sheep and goats sleep. It was called this because of the people from Mishmish who spent the winter here to have food for their sheep and goats because there was snow in Mishmish. So they brought them here to survive.”

Some residents believe that half of the village is comprised of descendants of people from Denbo, while the other half are descendants of people that origi-nally came from Mishmish.

Though the shepherds were some of the first people to take refuge in the area, ultimately Fatima’s family had a large impact on establishing the village. Fatima’s 10 children now have 64 children in total. While not all of them remain

The road leading up to Mareh

in the village today, their family by and large triggered the settlement of the area.One woman wryly commented, “If the old woman didn’t have so many kids we wouldn’t have a village here.”

Most of the land around Mareh is part of the Denbo municipality. Generally, the division of property and land ownership in the area goes back to the Otto-man period. A man from Denbo municipality explained:

“People from the village used to work on the land. When the baik [the ruler of an administrative area during the Ottoman Empire, who could have been Lebanese or Turkish] left the land, depending on the proportion of the land that the villagers had been working on, they would take that piece of land.It was not based on topography or any legal issues.”

In essence this means that people inherited the plots of land they were working on, which could have been very small. For some, initially, this land may have been a decent size, but it was subsequently subdivided between the sons of each generation. People, as a result, ended up with very small pieces of land.

The attitude towards the land, and also each other, has changed. One man reflected, “The land was divided a long time ago but people treat each other dif-ferently now. Before, they didn’t mind if other people’s sheep came to their land. It was like one family. But now people care.” Another man explained further, “In the past they [the shepherds] didn’t pay to use the land because there was a lot of poverty. They were here until March and then they would go back to Mishmish.”

The biggest change in the village occurred when the villagers decided to build a road that would connect Mareh to the main road. Around 17 years ago, at a total cost of LL12 million ($8,000), the community built the road themselves. One mother stated, “When the road opened, the community changed.” A man continued, “Before the roads we used donkeys or we went on foot. We carried things on our back or on the donkeys. We used to go walking to Bkarzala, which takes one and a half hours. The educated and uneducated would go walking to find work.” Another explained how building the road changed the physical makeup of the community:

“We used to bring the building material [for houses] on a donkey. Thenwhen we got the road we were able to enlarge the houses. We used to trans-

port water on donkeys also. So when we got the road we all got water tanks on the roof because we could get a truck to bring in the water and store it.There used to only be footpaths for walking. It was just a narrow route.”

Also, instead of living in rough stone houses with roofs made of branch-es and sticks, they were able to start building more modern houses made of cement blocks.

The road precipitated further changes in the village. While some men have been going to work in Tripoli for quite some time, like Fatima’s sons, normally they would have had to stay there due to the lack of feasible transportation back and forth. After the road was built, men could more easily travel to and from the

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village on a regular basis, staying in Tripoli for a few days before returning to visit their families. This also facilitated access to education, health care, and material supplies, all of which improved the lives of the villagers.

In spite of the changes, the road to the village remains difficult to travel, and and life is still a challenge. Travel along the road is dictated by traffic flows because most residents do not own their own cars and are dependent on taxis. As the taxis are typically returning to Tripoli, it is still difficult to travel toward Denbo and the other villages in the municipality. When asked what has changed between his childhood and now, one man replied, “Nothing has changed. It was torture before and it is still torture.”

History of marginalization

“The persistence of feudalism in Akkar until Lebanese independence has left a major mark on the socioeconomic situation of the region. Under the rule of the Mamluks and Ottomans, great authority was delegated to local feudal landowners in managing the area around them. These landowners were responsible for collecting taxes from the Akkari peasants and handing them over to the Sultanate. The collectors benefited from the land registration law and citizens’ fear of paying property taxes. Landown-ers registered large tracts of land cultivated by farmers in their own names. This led to the emergence of large agricultural properties, leaving the landless farmers at the mercy of their feudal landowners. Moreover, the new central administration system established by the Ottomans gave the district commissioner and, in turn, the feudal landowner, total power over their local fiefs. This often resulted in exploitation of local farmers by the feudal families. As land owners benefit most from obedient and submissive workers, they were not keen on encouraging efforts that could empower farmers or develop the region. Far away from the economic and political center of the country, Akkar was marginalized socially and economically by this centralization beginning in the late eighteenth century and continuing to the present. This remote-ness from the country’s capital continues to have an effect on Akkar’s development.”


Women in Mareh making bread using a taboon

Profile of the community

In the Sunni Muslim community of Mareh, most families now have a maximum of six kids. This is a generational change, as one woman explained:

“My mom has 10 kids. I have four. Now the most that people have is five or six. I don’t want more than I currently have. My mother’s generation had 10 or more kids. Now the maximum is six. The numbers decreased because now it is more expensive for food and education. Both the men and the women take the decision to stop having kids together. But sometimes theman wants more kids and his wife doesn’t agree with this.”

Mareh does not seem bound by some of the more traditional social customs prevalent in other rural communities of Lebanon. One group of women de-scribed their marriages:

“We met our husbands normally. We started talking to them and we got married. There are no arranged marriages here. There are no men that are married to more than one woman. In this village the men only marry once. But in Denbo there is a man who is married to a girl, and then he marriedher sister, then he married a third wife and he is looking for a fourth.”

The girls tend to marry early – usually between the ages of 15 and 17 years. A nurse at a clinic8 in the village of Denbo explained, “If they reach the age of 20 and they are not married, they say she is old. Guys would rather marry a girl that is 14 years old than a girl that is 20 or 21 years old.”

In Mareh each nuclear family tends to have its own house. The houses are small and there is not enough space for two families to live in the same building. Some also see social problems arising if they are forced to live together. As one woman explained, “The woman cannot tolerate living with her mother-in-law. It is too restrictive.”

Some families who were better off were able to move out of the village, either to the areas near the main road or to Tripoli. Residents explained that this trend is cyclical, the population of the village gradually increases over time, and then a wave of families moves out, often searching for better employment and edu-cational opportunities, or frustrated by the almost complete isolation they face in Mareh. The number of households diminishes, until the population increases again, through childbirth, at which point the cycle restarts. The majority of the regular movement in and out of the community occurs among the men who work in Tripoli and come back every three to four days to see their families. Usu-ally new residents only move into the village through marriage; sometimes these people are from the other villages in the Denbo municipality.

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The Australian connection: Help for some

Something quite different about the village of Denbo, compared to the other villages in the area, is that many residents in the village now have relatives in Australia. As one woman from Bajaa mentioned, “In Denbo they travel to Australia but here it is rare.” In both Mareh and Bajaa, there are very few families who have any relatives living in Australia. While there are a few cases, it is more common if the individual was originally from Denbo.

Once a few people from the municipality were able to immigrate – sometimes through obtaining student visas and then applying for work, and sometimes by forfeit-ing the security deposit used as a down payment for a tourist visa and subsequently applying for a work permit – this facilitated the process for others from the area to get visas. Residents claim that during the summer the situation is like a dating service in the village, with all of the singles originally from the area returning and looking for spouses. Marriage is also seen as a way out of poverty. As was explained, “Guys want to marry a girl that has a passport [that allows them to travel]. Men are willing to pay $20,000 to the parents of a girl, to accept him as a groom for their daughter – in ad-dition to the money they normally pay before marriage. The family will go into debt and sell their land because it is like an investment. If the son goes to Australia, he will send money back.”

Now, there are so many residents from the area in Australia that one neighbor-hood in Sydney has the nickname “Denbo.” One resident guessed that there were at least 200-300 people from the municipality currently living in Australia, the vast majority originating from Denbo. As one man said, “Nearly every family [in Denbo] has someone living in Australia.”

Having relatives abroad is a big source of support for the families remaining in Lebanon, as one man from Mareh explained, “There [in Denbo] it is way better be-cause there are many people from Australia. They have more money than here and they help each other.” Some feel that this help was directed only towards their im-mediate family members: “People leave here because it is poor. They go to Australia and work as butchers or in construction and they come back and they are really well off. They help their own families but not the whole village.” Yet there is evidence to the contrary; for example, there is a new clinic being constructed in Denbo, paid for by the residents living in Australia. Either way, one thing is certain: the remittances offered by those living in Australia are having positive effects, either by directly sup-porting families or building services, or through a trickle down effect of increasing the purchasing power of the community. While Denbo is benefitting from this circum-stance, the other villages are being left behind.

LivelihoodsHistorically, when the people of Mareh worked as shepherds, families might have had up to 200 sheep and goats. One elderly man explained, “Now there are no more sheep because we divided the land and people don’t accept that other people bring their sheep to the land and the sheep eat from it.” Some families still own two or three sheep that they use to add to their own livelihoods. The elderly who are unable to work elsewhere take care of the sheep.

After they stopped working as shepherds, many walked daily to Bkarzala and worked as laborers on the land. But over time what they earned was less than what they could have earned working in Tripoli. Moreover, Syrian migrant workers are willing to work as agricultural laborers in the area for less than the locals, essentially cutting them out of many of these jobs. The men also found the work physically demanding as they had to walk to and from Bkarzala each day, as well as complete manual labor associated with the job.

Now, it is estimated by some residents that 75 percent of the men work in Tripoli in coffee shops, restaurants, supermarkets, factories, collecting garbage, or in construction. One woman explained:

“Most sleep where they work or rent houses [with a group of men staying together]. My husband comes back every three or four days. He comes around 11 at night and leaves at 8 a.m. the next morning. He comes in a taxi; sometimes they drop him off here or in the other village beside us and he has to walk along the road at night. He pays LL15,000 [$10] for thetaxi.”

Only a few from the village who work in Tripoli have health insurance.

“There are only three houses that have health insurance. Even the guy thatworks in the supermarket [doesn’t have it]. The owner made him sign a pa-

per saying that he wouldn’t request insurance or he would get fired. This is illegal and they are entitled to health insurance. The three people that haveit work at a coffee shop in Tripoli.”

Agriculture in Akkar

“Despite the importance of agriculture for Akkar, production levels remain low com-pared to the rest of the country. Farmers continue to use outdated techniques, hinder-ing economic development and making it difficult to compete with cheaper imports from modernized countries. The lasting decline of productivity in agriculture re-sults from several problems facing farmers, among which are: old technology, lack of training, poor quality products, very little product processing, difficulty in marketing products, low yields, and costly materials. Other factors negatively affecting the sector are polluted water, flooding, poor rural roads and a lack of irrigation networks, and storage facilities.

“A large problem facing small farmers is a lack of financing for the purchase of seeds, bulbs, fertilizers and pesticides. Scarce access to credit from the formal bank-ing sector forces them to turn to middlemen and agricultural merchants for loans in exchange for a share of harvest yields. This dependency often leads to exploitation of the farmers by the middlemen and merchants, placing the farmers in an even more vulnerable position. Farmers are under a continual burden of debt and their situation has been further aggravated by the outbreak of the July 2006 and Nahr al-Bared wars.”


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The families that don’t have men working in Tripoli work in agriculture. One young woman explained:

“Some work in their land but mostly people work in other people’s land. They work with olives and clearing the land. Some families have land and they use a bit of it for olives. But they only get a bit of olive oil. It is not even enough for their families, they still have to buy oil from the markets. We don’t grow vegetables because there is no water. We sell almonds sometimes, but this is only one household – my grandfather’s. One or two households sell crops. They sell almonds, olives, and grapes. Some sell grape leaves. Three or four houses are involved in collecting wild plants and herbs [some of which include quwaiseh, marameyeh, zatar, and khobeze – see ‘Livelihoods’ section in Bajaa]. The whole family will go except for the older boys whoare working in Tripoli – they don’t go. The kids don’t skip school to go col-lect the plants. But they do skip school to go work with the olives.”

Some families who have other employment use this to supplement their income during the agricultural seasons.

One new trend in employment has recently emerged, as young men from Mareh and the surrounding villages go to Beirut and Tripoli to work in night-clubs. Despite the income this brings in, which is essential for the survival of their families, some community members expressed their disastisfaction at this new trend. As one man from the Denbo municipality explained: “The young men who are less than 20 years old are working in the clubs in Tripoli and Beirut, which is leading to an increase in cases of divorce because it is affecting their morals and ethics.” Additionally, as the young Muslim men are working in areas serving alcohol, they themselves have started consuming alcohol, which is forbid-den in Islam.

The women of Mareh are very much involved in domestic and household responsibilities. While these are deeply rooted in cultural values, there are some very small signs of change. During a focus group with women, one educated woman who moved into the village commented:

“It is very difficult to live here in every aspect. It is especially difficult because a women can’t work. She can’t leave to go to a far place. And she has to stay at home and be a housewife. Also, it is far from the city and there are no job opportunities. The women here are interested to work but the men won’t let them. But, I think that the mentality is improving because in the house beside us the women work in Tripoli as house cleaners. The whole family left. They got bored of this village. They won’t come back unlessthere is electricity, accessible roads, etc.”

While most of the women work domestically, all family members are con-tributing, in one way or another, to the family’s livelihood. One young man described the situation:

“The boys drop out around grade 2 or 3, maximum grade 4. The guys my age [around 17 years old] work in coffees shops as waiters or selling narguileh. Some of the young girls work collecting wild plants and herbs, and some older women work with sheep. Kids here also have the habit of collecting tins and cans and then selling them to a man that comes here once a week. For one big bag they only get about LL2000 [$1.3]. They collect the tinsand cans from the community.”

Figure 3.1: Livelihood and economic indicators for Akkar

Youth employment

• 3.8 percent of the males in Akkar enter the workforce between the ages of 10 and 14.

• 28.3 percent of males start working between the ages of 15 and 19.

• Almost all of the youth entering the workforce lack profes-sional skills and are involved in the nonformal sector of the economy.

Poverty• 63.3 percent of the families in the region live in poverty, the

highest reported poverty rates in Lebanon. • 23.3 percent live in extreme poverty.

Income

• 22.7 percent of the individuals and 16.6 percent of the fami-lies live on an income of less than $40 per month. In addition, in the past year and a half 63.3 percent of the families have seen a reduction in income.

Unemployment• 13.3 percent, primarily young adults, are unemployed.• Because of the wars and conflicts, 14.5 percent of the families

reported losing employment.


Income sufficiency

In spite of all members contributing to the household, life is still hard. One woman described how difficult the situation is:

“We are unable to save because the income is barely enough to meet our basic needs. And most of the time, we go into debt during the winter, so we have to use this money to pay back debts. We take money from each other or our sons, and we give it back. Once our sons are working, they don’t contribute to the household expenses. They use the money to get married or build a house. All of the households live at the same level. We can onlymeet our basic needs.”

While they are able to meet their basic needs, many other expenses are hard for them. They built the road from the village to the nearest access road at the cost of LL12 million ($8,000) out of their own resources. Residents found it hard to cover the cost and were annoyed, as this is a cost normally met by the govern-ment or municipality. The families that don’t have health insurance will often pay LL30,000-40,000 ($20-27) for medical consultations and medicines, when

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needed. If the children are studying, tuition, books, supplies, and transportation are additional costs. Even the simple task of doing laundry is expensive for them. One mother described her situation:

“We wash two times per week and we pay LL6,000 [$4] each time we wash.We only use the [electricity] generator for washing. Not for lights or any-

thing. Ten years ago we started getting generators. We pay LL3,000-4,000[$2-2.7] for gas for the generator each time we do the washing. Other fami-lies with kids spend LL6,000-7,000 [$4-4.7]each time.”

Education

Obtaining education has always been a challenge in Mareh because of its isola-tion. An anecdote by one of the older residents illustrates how rare it was for any children to get educated in the past: “Only one of my kids went to school, to grade 4. Because he could read, he became a sheikh.” An elderly member in the village described what the situation was like in the past:

“I am illiterate. When we were young no one was educated because we had to walk a long way. It took like one hour and fifteen minutes to go to Denbo. And you would never send a young kid to school alone; it was dangerous. I enrolled my son in school at age 12, but I didn’t take it seriously. I didn’t send him before because the road is very far. All of the kids would go work and get money for food. People were not concerned about enrolling theirkids in school. Kids would raise the sheep.”

Even though the road was built, the difficulties in continuing education per-sist today. One young woman, one of the most educated in the village, described the challenges she faced in reaching Brevet:

“Even for me it was hard to continue my education because it was hard to find transportation there [to school]. Many times I went walking. I wanted to continue my education, but because of financial reasons I had to stop.Now I am engaged and my fiancé won’t let me continue because he is jeal-

ous. It used to take one and quarter hours to walk there. And if we ranhome it would take 50 minutes.”

Figure 3.2: Education indicators for Akkar

Akkar Lebanon

Illiteracy rates30.5%

(highest in Lebanon)13.6%

School enrollment (6-12 years)

83.5 % 88.9%


39.3% (lowest in Lebanon)

61.9%


11.1 % (lowest in Lebanon)

24.3%


According to residents, all the elderly in the community are illiterate, and none of them can even write their own name. The levels of literacy among the adults are extremely low: only three can read, and they all originate from out-side Mareh. As one woman explained, “My husband didn’t go to school. I went until grade 5. I am the only one that went to school because I am not from here. None of the rest are literate, boys or girls.” However, Fatima noted how this was changing: “Now we don’t accept for girls to work as maids and we educate boys and girls equally.” Nowadays, education – both formal education and vocational training – is valued, as it is seen as providing access to better jobs in the towns and cities. One man from the municipality of Denbo spoke of a new focus in order to increase the employability of the youth: “We are focusing on vocational training, so that we give them a skill.”

There are still no schools in Mareh, and likely never will be due to its small size. Some children go to school in Hawaish, and some go to the school in Bkar-zala. Now, most of the children in the village between the ages of four and 15 go to school. There is a bus that takes the 25 children to school, a journey takes about 20-30 minutes. The school in Hawaish is a public school and goes up to the Brevet level. It is estimated that about 75 percent of the children from Mareh stop their formal education by the age of 15. Most of the boys drop out by the grade 6 or 7, while the girls are more likely to stay until grade 9. A man from the Denbo municipality explained, “Usually when they reach secondary level, because of the higher costs and large family sizes, they drop out and work in restaurants or shops.” At this point, it is even harder for the youth to continue studying, as they must go to a school located further away. While some days they could get the bus part of the way, the older grades sometimes have classes on days that the younger grades do not. On these days, as the bus does not operate, student wishing to continue their studies would have to walk the entire way, or pay for a taxi.

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The cost of education, even in a public school, is a huge investment for fami-lies in the community. One woman described, “You pay LL35,000 [$23] per child per month for the bus. If they need to take a taxi, we pay LL15,000 [$10]each way. The books and the uniforms cost LL1 million [$667] per year in total for my four kids.”

Nutrition and health

While the population of Mareh has access to enough food, the quality of what is available and what they can afford varies greatly. A male nurse who formerly worked at a clinic in Denbo explained:

“Forty percent of the population [in the municipality] is able to meet their quantity of food needs, but not the quality. The quality of food is not good. The rest, 60 percent, are meeting their needs. They are OK. Some people can’t afford to eat enough meats. People always have access to at least cheap fruits. Fewer people eat meat. A lot of people eat wild herbs like spinachand seleq.”

In a separate interview, another nurse currently working at the dispensary confirmed this:

“For nutrition the quantity is not a problem. They will eat anything, if it’s good or bad. In terms of quality, they have little access to meat. When fruitsand vegetables are not in season it is too expensive to buy [them]. The number of meals between the rich and the poor doesn’t vary. What varies is thequality of the food.”

There is a small store in the village where residents can buy sweets, potato chips, and some canned goods like tuna and hummous. The rest of the food they bring either from Helba or Tripoli, which adds to their costs. A group of women explained:

“We go by groups and we go with a driver in his van. Most of the time, the men accompany the women because it is not appropriate for them to go alone. This is not the same in all families but usually men don’t let women go out alone. In Denbo they have everything … shops, supermarkets, etc. In Denbo some families are also very conservative, like mine. But in general it is less conservative. It is less frequent to go out of town in Denbo because they have all they need there, so they don’t need to go to Tripoli.”

Some men who work in Tripoli bring groceries back to the village when they are visiting their families. At one time a man used to come in his van to sell veg-etables in the village. But as one woman explained, “The vegetable guy stopped coming two years ago because the road was ruining his car. He used to come once a week on Wednesdays.”

The diet of the villagers in Mareh is basic but adequate. Families eat mainly grains, vegetables, and eggs, often cutting out meat when they cannot afford it.

As one woman described:

“We eat everything. It is not a problem. We eat chicken two times per week. We eat better in the summer. We eat normal food. The only thing, we make more healthy foods in the winter because it is cold out so we make hot foods like stews. We make mouneh, pickles, chankleesh, labneh, laban, etc. because I have a cow.”

They normally use wood for cooking and only use gas for things like making coffee or tea as it is more difficult to bring gas to the village. The women get together and bake bread for their families on a dome-shaped hotplate called a taboon. Each woman makes bread every three to four days, or at least once a week. While they do this out of necessity – “We always make our own bread because we can’t reach the souq” – it is also a time where women from different families come, sit together, help each other, and socialize.

In spite of the basic quality of food, the children are essentially healthy. Ac-cording to the male nurse from Denbo, 90 percent of all of the children in the area are now vaccinated by the age of six.9 The nurse went on to explain that there are the usual cases of flu, gripe, and diarrhea amongst the community. Be-cause the village is so isolated, there have been instances in the past where getting medical services has been extremely difficult. One nurse at the Denbo clinic said this was a problem for the whole area:

“The bad thing here is that people delay before bringing their child to the health center. So then the doctor is obliged to send them to the hospital because they are too serious for the clinic. A few kids that come will dieafterwards, because it is too late. And some die before they even come. In- fections lead to fevers, which cause some of the problems. Infections like bronchitis and tonsils, etc.”

The nurse went on, mentioning another problem that often negatively af-fects the health of the children: “It is also common to take medication from your neighbors. Sometimes it is the wrong medicine, sometimes the medicine is not enough, and sometimes it makes it worse, or it is expired. It causes a lot of problems with the children.”

Breast-feeding does occur, but may vary depending on the income level of the family. The man formerly working as a nurse said:

“The women do breast-feed, especially the poor families. But they still give them cow’s milk because they think that their milk is not enough. They feed cow’s milk to kids at a young age, which causes constipation for the kids. They will breast-feed until the child is 8 or 9 months old. They give cow’s milk and normal food when they stop breast-feeding.”

One of the reasons for breast-feeding not being more common is the attitude of the women. The other nurse explained, “Maximum, 20 percent of women do breast-feed. They say they don’t have milk or they don’t want to. They don’t like it. They will give their kids specialized milk for kids. But about 40 percent give them cow’s milk, either powdered or straight milk.”

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Most births now take place in a hospital, though it was not always like this. Another woman offered a similar description of childbirth as the one Fatima provided:

“In the older generation they used a midwife [TBA]to help them give birth. It was not too much work. The baby just came out and then she cut the umbilical cord. In the event that there was a problem, they would carry the woman on wooden boards to where the road became normal and then get a car to take her to the hospital. Now some women, not too frequently, have to give birth here because there is no car to take them to the hospital. But this is not too often.”

Most women have three or four prenatal checkups at a clinic or hospital. Because of the costs involved, a few do not go at all.

Attitudes towards contraception have changed, partly as people have real-ized how expensive it is to raise children and provide them with an education. A nurse estimates:

“Around 75 percent use a mode of contraceptive. They use the condom, pill, or intrauterine device [IUD]. It should be a bargain between the man and the woman. People accept the issue. They might use the contraceptives in a wrong way because sometimes they don’t consult with the doctor, or they take it in secret because their husband wants more kids. The number of kids is less now than before. They used to have a minimum of eight kids. Now the maximum is six, but the average is four. Some still want to have a lot of kids. But they want to have a better quality of life for their kids, so they don’t. It used to be 10-15 kids. One man [from Denbo] had 23 kids from the same woman. A television station came here and gave him a prize. For example, there was a man who was 16 and his wife was 15. Now she is 20and she has two kids and a third child died.”

There is a primary health care clinic in Denbo that was part of a European Union (EU) initiative and is funded by the Ministry of Social Affairs. It is staffed by a nurse, a general practitioner, a pediatrician, and a gynecologist. There is an-other center in Denbo that is in the early stages of construction. It is being built with funding from the residents of Denbo who have immigrated to Australia. It will be quite large; as one man describes,“It could be a small hospital.” There is also a private clinic that opened in the fall of 2010. However, because of the difficulties reaching Denbo, most residents of Mareh do not use the clinics there.

Figure 3.3: Health indicators for Akkar

Akkar National comparison10

Infant mortality rate 37/1000 27/1000

Under-5 mortality rate 51/1000 35/1000

Prenatal and postnatal care

74% Akkar has the lowest rate of prenatal and postnatal in the country.

Deliveries by Traditional Birth Attendants

9%Akkar has the highest proportion of deliveries by TBAs in the country.

Lacking any form of health insurance

65% 58%

Major health concernsPoor quality of drinking water.

Akkar has the highest levels of Hepatitis A and Typhoid in the country.

Health care facilities

There are few prac-ticing doctors in Akkar. Most clinics have doctors avail-able only one day a week.

Akkar has the lowest number of hospitals and beds with only 2.7% of the national bed capacity (for 6.4% of the national population).

Source: Mouchref, “Forgotten Akkar” (2008), p. 9-10

The nearest hospitals that the villagers of Mareh are able to access are in Helba or Tripoli. This has its challenges as one elderly man described: “In case someone is sick, if there is no car in the village, we will call someone from an-other village to come and pick them up. It can take one and a half hours to reach the hospital in Helba.” There are also private hospitals and clinics in Helba to which the villagers go.

Considering all of this, the villagers of Mareh are surprisingly healthy. The only chronic problems that are common to the area are the rising in the number of cases of diabetes, hypertension, and cardiovascular diseases. The nurse explained that, in the area, the women seem to have more health prob-lems than the men: “There are lots of problems among those 65 and above, especially among the women. They suffer more from chronic diseases, like cardiovascular disease and diabetes and osteoporosis. Maybe it is because of the multiple pregnancies.”

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Assets and vulnerabilities

The isolation of Mareh is its single greatest vulnerability. As the villagers them-selves consistently expressed, their ability to access health and educational ser-vices and to secure meaningful employment have been seriously compromised by their village’s remote location. While some of these problems were alleviated slightly by the building of the access road, the road itself remains in terrible condition and very few cars or commercial vehicles are willing to come to the village. Thus, isolation continues to play a key role in shaping the dynamics of Mareh’s poverty.

Most of the assets that the village might employ to mitigate their poverty (their physical, human, social, natural, and financial capital) are also negatively affected by their isolated location, and weakness in each of these areas reinforces the inability of the villagers to help themselves and their community. The result is a self-perpetuating cycle of poverty.

Mareh’s almost complete lack of physical capital is one of the most strik-ing symptoms of its isolation. In 2011, Mareh must be one of the last villages in Lebanon without electricity. All of the other villages in the Denbo cluster have obtained electricity, yet Mareh has repeatedly encountered problems in ac-cessing this basic service. The village of Denbo received government electric-ity in 1972, yet Mareh is still struggling to obtain access almost 30 years later. A villager from Mareh explained:

A view of Mareh

“We had electricity [illegally] for two years. First we had a cable from Bint el Jara, but the staff at the electricity company came and cut the cable. And then we had it from Hawaish for one year, but the people [from Hawaish] came and cut it because they said it was affecting their electricity. This was about eight years ago. We had it for one year from Bint el Jara and one year from Hawaish.”

Even when there was electricity it was fairly weak. One woman remember-ered, “The electricity was barely sufficient for one household. If I wanted to do the washing, I had to ask all of the others to turn everything off so I could wash. But it was good that we had a light at night.”

Residents noted that they originally applied for electricity from the govern-ment in 1994. Since then they have been waiting, often being sent between the different government agencies in order to get the approval and signatures needed. While the community has heard that officials in Beirut have approved the supply of electricity to the village, they noted that the lack of government (ongoing at the time of interviews) in Lebanon was likely to paralyze the imple-mentation plans. Residents were skeptical about receiving electricity anytime soon. One man cynically commented, “The chicken farms have electricity and we don’t have electricity. They are more served than we are.”

The single greatest physical asset the village has, the access road, remains in poor condition, as the residents are unable to maintain it. The winter rains wreak havoc on the road, and it often floods at its lowest point, where a bridge over a small stream links the two hills upon which Mareh and the neighboring village are located. When the stream floods, the road to the village is virtually cut, isolat-ing Mareh even more. One man described an incident:

“Because of the old bridge down by the river, I fell through the boards and almost drowned. Then it [the old bridge] was made out of wooden planks. When it was raining it was impossible for a car to pass by it because the water will go inside the car. It took a lot of wasta and connections to get the new bridge built.”

The rain also washes away other sections of the road. Sometimes after heavy rains, cars may not be able to access the road for days at a time. This is a source of concern for the parents of children who are forced to miss weeks of school each year due to rain.

Additionally, there is no sewage treatment and no piped water in the vil-lage. The community is unable to dig its own well, as the government is not issuing any new licenses due to the water shortage in the country. Residents are also affected by the lack of landline phones, extremely weak cell phone signals, and limited access to television. One woman remembers, “We got a TV and radio when we got electricity [from the other villages]. Before this we used to turn on the TV with batteries. I remember we got a TV [around the time] when the son of a politician died. This was the first time we had a TV.”

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The villagers only have access to broadcast television with channels from Syria; the researchers had to explain what a satellite dish was.

Figure 3.4: Infrastructure in Akkar

Housing conditions

• Housing conditions in Akkar are the second worst in all of Leba-non due to the large family size.

• 58 percent live in overcrowded conditions compared with 26.2 per-cent nationally.

• 28 percent of the families live in a house with two rooms or less often with little or no sunlight and with high levels of humidity.

Water

• In spite of the area being one of the most rich in terms of water resources, many of the villages visited (including the municipal-ity of Denbo and others) mentioned facing water problems which decreased their capacity to work in agriculture, as well as affected the domestic use of water.

• Only 53.8 percent of the houses in Akkar are connected to a water supply versus a national average of 85.5 percent.

Sewage

• Akkar ranks second to last nationally with only 24.8 percent of houses connected to a sewage system. The national average is 60.2 percent, and Beirut has 98.9 percent of houses connected.

• 64.3 percent have sewage pits, which are rarely emptied and tend to overflow during the rainy winter months.

Transpor-tation

• Public transportation in Akkar is lacking and people are dependent on taxis or cars.

Roads• Internal roads maintained by municipalities tend to be in the

worst shape, limiting the mobility of the people and increasing the chances for accidents.

Home fuel• 51.4 percent use wood for heating and sometimes cooking, thereby

significantly increasing air pollution.

Source: Mouchref, “Forgotten Akkar” (2008), p. 5-7

The village has limited human capital as very few residents have any kind of vocational training. Because of its isolation and lack of electricity, there is no connection to the Internet, and with restricted television access, villagers’ ability to obtain information is limited.

There are strong social relationships within the community and some family ties with other villages in the municipality. Yet, there is very little social capital outside of the immediate surrounding area and it is extremely limited in terms of access to government officials and those in positions of power.

The community’s greatest triumph was their mobilization, against all odds, to build the access road. One woman described the process:

“My husband and neighbor were making jokes that they should go get a tractor or bulldozer to open the road. It was kind of a dare. They went to

a man [who works in construction] and they had no money, but they asked him. It took three to four days to build the road and then we divided the total cost between all of the houses and we each paid. It was LL600,000 [$400] per house. We had to pay a bit extra for the border of the road. The government fined us almost LL400,000 [$267] and we divided this between all of the houses. We got fined because we cut the trees and we didn’t get the authorization to build it. The men here don’t have money but they have guts. The land that we used was private land, but we got permission from the people who own it. We visited all of the owners and told them that wewanted to open the road.”

The land around the village is rural and underdeveloped. It is rocky, apart from the more fertile land banking the stream located in the valley. In terms of natural capital, the only things that the village cultivates are olives, some al-monds, and figs after the rains. But the amounts are only enough for personal consumption and not to sell. This is mainly due to the lack of water available for agriculture. One man from Denbo described the situation facing the whole area:

“There is land here but there is a problem with the water. There is not enough water so you can’t use the land. The water doesn’t even reach the houses so we have to go to the ain and get it. The water doesn’t come to the houses, it goes to a tank on the roof. Or you go to the ain and fill it there. We have to buy drinking water, but because of the low income of most familiesthis is a big burden on them. There is a problem that the ain is polluted be-

cause there is no sewage system so when it rains the dirty water runs into the ain and it gets polluted. In 1992 people [from Denbo] died from drinking water that was poisoned by sewage. It was because they weren’t able to givethem direct medical assistance because the hospital is far away. The government and the Ministry of Health [MoH] came to do studies and found that the water was polluted so they dug another well, but it was also below other houses [in elevation] so the same problem happened again and the water became polluted. The water is not even suitable for irrigation because it isso polluted.”

Historically, Akkar had a plentiful supply of water, but due to recent climate changes, and a variety of other factors, this is no longer as true.11 Compound-ing this problem, Mareh’s sole water source has been affected by contamination upstream. One man explained how the supply became polluted:

“We used to get water from the river but one year ago the neighboring village established a sewage network that goes into the river so we can’t use it anymore. We found out because of the color of the water, and the sheep and goats stopped drinking from it. We used to get water from the river and pay LL20,000 [$13] to have it brought to us, by a truck or tractor. Now the truck has to go to a source further away, so we pay LL30,000 [$20]. It wasthe neighboring municipality that put the sewage into the river, not the people. The water that gets brought to us in the tractors lasts for a maximum of one week. Now we get it from Hawaish and it takes the tractor more than one hour to get the water here. We use this for drinking water. Now there is

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a lawsuit against the village that did this [dumped the sewage into the river]. When we went and talked to them they said it was the only option. But they could have paid more money and routed it in a way that wouldn’t affect the river. But they picked the easy way. All of the animals stopped drinking the water. So the people who have sheep have to make longer tours to bring the sheep to a place to drink. We don’t even use the water for washing anymore. The municipality of Denbo didn’t help us with the problem. But the people of Denbo, Bkarzala, and Hawaish signed a petition and we presented it as part of the lawsuit. It affects many of the villages in the area. All of the neighboring villages, used to fill the tanks from this river and use it. So we are all suffering from the negative impact and the only ones that benefit are the ones that dump in the river. The village is called Shaill. It is beside Denbo. The lawsuit about the river is being done by the whole region. It istaking more time because there is no government.”

As the above testimony suggests, the villagers’ ability to deal with problems affecting their natural capital has been severely impacted by their lack of social capital – they are unable to convince the offenders to stop dumping, nor have they been able to effect a quick solution through the courts. This is just one ex-ample of the way their various incapacities intertwine to further deteriorate their ability to alleviate their own poverty.

Because of the level of poverty, the financial capital of the community is quite limited. One man described their financial security:

“It is common to borrow money from each other. But if the people know that you won’t return the money they won’t help you again. I manage to pay them back because my nephew is in Australia. He sends money. And my son works in Tripoli, so he asks people to donate money for his mother because she is poor.”

While the village of Denbo benefits from a large number of people who have immigrated to Australia and support their families by sending money home, in Mareh it is extremely rare that any of the residents has someone abroad who is supporting them. The villagers, specifically within the family units, provide financial support to each other in the form of small informal loans. Fatima de-scribed the help her struggling daughter-in-law receives from the village: “I pro-vide money for them [her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren]. Sometimes my other kids help and send a bit of money and sometimes other people from the village help them.” Most don’t have access to banks or any financial institu-tions in order to be able to borrow.

A man from the municipality at Denbo summarized Mareh’s vulnerabilities, most of which are a result of the long-term isolation that the village has faced:

“It is very poor here. And there is a large number of the young generation but there is no employment here. They go to Beirut to work in a restaurant, but because it is winter and because of the political situation the work ismore rare. The first reason for poverty is that there is a low level of education. People that are over 30 years old have a low level of education, not

even grade 9. So they have a hard time finding a job. The second reason for poverty is that though some people own land, it is a hassle to reach itbecause the roads are not good. And to get the crops back it would be ex-

pensive. So it is not efficient money-wise. The older generation would be interested in working in the land, but the young generation wants easier jobs like working in a restaurant or to travel to Saudi, France, or Australia. The third reason for poverty is that it [the area] is far from the city. So there is physical isolation. Because it is far it would not be cost efficient for a man togo and come back each day when they are working outside. It would be bet-

ter if there were job opportunities in this region. Now some men are going and coming each day to Tripoli. Before the whole family would move, but since the roads are better now only the man goes.”

His wife added, “The fourth reason is there is a lack of awareness among women, so there is a lack of family planning and they don’t know how to raise their kids.”

The villagers’ lack of assets – which they are clearly well aware of – taken together with their isolation have led them to feel an acute sense of powerless-ness and voicelessness in advocating for their own needs. One man expressed his frustrations:

“Before, the people were naïve because they would go to the responsible people and ask for things. These people would say that it would be done. But because of the corruption, it doesn’t happen. For example there are papers in the government saying that we [should] have water to each house. There was money allocated to this project but it was spent on other thingsand nothing was ever done here.”

Another man sadly explained what he saw: “It is true that the leaders and deputies focus their efforts on the cities and forget the isolated communities like here. The deputies come here before elections and make fake promises and then they disappear.” This is a refrain heard across the poor and marginalized com-munities in Lebanon.

The same sense of neglect exists throughout the municipality. As a man from Denbo explained:

“The government is not investing in the industries or the companies here inways that would benefit the people. People feel isolated because the government is neglecting the region. [In Denbo] we only got phone lines last year and electricity recently. Even the school was not built by the government. Itwas people from here and from Australia that gathered money to build it.”

However, the same man recognized that Mareh faced even greater difficulties than its neighboring communities:

“Mareh is less developed because of the location. They don’t have electricity because people are simple, naïve, and they are not asking for it. The one that has power has everything. But they have never had any power so they are left behind.”

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The election and formation of the municipal council of Denbo, representing the five villages, is a recent development, providing some political institutions for the community, potentially strengthening its voice. A man within the municipal-ity explained, “We had the first municipality here in 2004. Before, there were three mayors [at the same time]. Who would take care of the village? But the people started demanding a municipality. So that’s how it changed.”

In spite of the small, positive changes, overall there remains a sense of fatal-ism. As one woman expressed it:

“We have no one as support for us. The head of the municipality will help the people in Denbo more. We have only had two municipalities elected so far. They have a lot of work to do because the condition of the village thereis so bad. There is not much support for the people here because we origi-

nate from two different villages [those originally from Mishmish and those from Denbo], so we are not strong. We don’t have a representative in the municipality, so if we go talk to someone in the municipality they refer us to the head of the municipality. He built the bridge. And the old head of themunicipality is helping us with the electricity. It will take time to help us be-

cause there are many problems, in Denbo, for example, there is no water. So they need to fix those problems first. And since we are the smallest village,of course we will be last. If they start working here first, Bajaa and Mbara-kiyeh will protest. We don’t have any informal leaders in the community.

Akkar: A history of neglect

“The region suffers from a lack of services of all kinds, as well as the absence of gov-ernmental and non-governmental organizations in most villages. While the various institutions built by Hezbollah provided services such as schools, health centers and social activities in the South and Bekaa during the last decade, in the North such organizations did not exist. Since the Syrian withdrawal Akkar has seen a modest increase in assistance through a few individual political initiatives by political figures such as Issam Fares, Saad Hariri, and Muhammad Safadi. In most cases this as-sistance has consisted of small scale investments limited to certain areas of interest within Akkar.”


BAJAA

Bajaa is another one of the five villages in the municipality of Denbo. Residents estimate there to be between 50-70 households. Most of them are living in pov-erty, except for the family of the recently elected head of the municipality, who has historically been better off and has children living abroad. Bajaa is physically much more accessible than Mareh. The road on which it is located turns off of the main road in Bint el Jara. Mbarakiyeh is located on this road as well, just slightly lower on the same hill as Bajaa. Bajaa’s decreased isolation makes the dy-namics of its poverty slightly different than that of Mareh. Yet, due to the similar location (in Akkar) and general context, many of the issues and challenges faced in Bajaa are similar to those in Mareh. This section will highlight some of the issues that are unique to Bajaa.

Bajaa is still very much a small village where everyone knows each other. One woman expanded on the social relationships present in the village:

“There were 10 households when we were young. They are still here, but they grew. They would never leave the village. We have good relationships with each other and we take care of each other. We can go to each other for help. We help each other as families and we all support each other. Thehead of the municipality [who lives in Bajaa] is good; he was just elected.”

The head of municipality reminisced as he talked about the history of Bajaa:

“In 1514 the Ottoman Empire came here. In 1918 the lands were divided and there was a baik that collected taxes, made people work in the lands, and he gave the taxes to the empire … During the Ottoman times, theMarieb family used to own the land here. In 1952 the brother of this fam-

ily, because he was the head of the municipality, sent a topographer to give 75 percent of the land to the family. But people didn’t accept this and they wanted the land to be divided 50/50. The Marieb family didn’t accept this. They wanted 75 percent or all of it. There were problems and murders for between two and five years. For example, someone had an olive field and the [Marieb] family cut down all the trees. After two and a half years the elders in the family died and the younger ones were not interested in itanymore. So they left.”

He went on to explain the situation now:

“The large majority of the surrounding land is owned by the village here. It is still the case today, as it has been since 1956-1957. But, when they work the land the amount of harvested crops is small, so it is only for personal use. The most abundant product is olives, but they rarely sell the olive oil. There are some families that don’t have one meter of land even. Two or three households have no land at all. On average people have 1000-2000 m2, it is very small. My family owns a lot because most of the family is out of the country, but if they were all to come back now, each person would only have a small amount. If you compare between the 1950s to now, then each house had five people. But now they have 50 people and it is the same land

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divided between all of those people. Also, land was lost as some families sold their property in order to cover costs or pay debts, resulting in some plots of the surrounding land being owned by people outside of Bajaa and somefamilies being left without any land.”

There remain complexities to the ownership of the land now. One man ex-plained:

“People here own land but they don’t have proof. It is just known from the mukhtar and the neighbors. There are problems when you are talking about land and you don’t know whose it is. To make it legal you can go to thetopographer who studied land and they can make it legal.”

As mentioned, some families own next to nothing. One woman from the community explained:

“My parents used to own land but they sold it. We only have small portions left. They sold it for monetary reasons. No one has land. They work on other people’s land. The land here belongs to the people form Denbo. If people own any it’s very small. It’s not enough for their income, for exampleto sell olives.”

Remarkably, some of the residents of Bajaa still live with animals in their houses. While this was done out of necessity by many villagers in the past, most have since adapted and built separate areas for their livestock to live, away from the families. In one of the houses visited, the main room was a common area, only furnished by plastic chairs next to a fire used for cooking food. In this room, there were wood piles stocked up to keep the fire going, chickens roaming freely in and out, and a goat tied up in one corner. Just off of the room was stall where a donkey was kept. Beside the stall, visible from the common room, were the sleeping quarters of the family. One relative of the head of the municipality explained:

“Still in 2010 they have chickens, cows, donkeys, goats, etc. living in the same house as the people. For you to see this in 2010 it means they are really poor. They make a room for the sheep right beside the room for the children … Because of poverty they don’t know any better. They are convinced thisis their life.”

The family size and demographic profile of Bajaa is very similar to that of Mareh. Yet, the women from Bajaa seem to have a different attitude than the women from Mareh towards the men in their village. Women are now aspiring to marry more accomplished men. This is potentially caused by the different forms of livelihoods pursued in each village. One young woman explained:

“There are more girls than guys. The guys that are available are already engaged. I don’t want to get married to the guys here because they all workcollecting plants and wild herbs and in coal. I want someone with a permanent job. Here, either they go to Beirut or they work in coal production orwith the plants.”

Comments from the community:One woman’s memories

“My childhood was very hard. We used to live in one room. There was no kitchen or bathroom. We used to go to the bathroom in the field. And maybe people would see each other when they were going. My dad was a farmer in agriculture. He had two bulls and he would plough. He used to work for people. People worked in coal production and they worked with wild herbs. The income was low. We just met our food requirements. It was impossible to build houses. I used to go to school with torn pants and we had no money to buy new ones so I tried to hide it by wearing a skirt on top. All of the families were like that at the time, and compared to others we were better off because our grandparents lived in Australia and they used to send money once in awhile so it would allow us to buy better food that we liked.”

Livelihoods

The village used to rely on agriculture for survival, but this has changed over time: “The land used to be better than today. Now they are losing money when they sell the crops, because of the inputs. So that is why they are working outside the village in herbs, olives, etc. It used to be better than now. But now there is no water.”

Now, the most common livelihood for the village is the collecting of wild herbs and plants, such as quwaiseh, marameyeh, zatar, and khobeze. One villager explained:

“With the ‘white plant’ you collect it, dry it, sell it, and it is exported to Qatar, Kuwait, Jordan. You can boil it and drink it. It is used as a herbal medicine for stomach aches. My mom got a medicine from the pharmacy and it smelled like this. It grows right after the rains in the spring. It grows less in the summer because there is no rain. Because there was no rain this year we are still waiting for it to grow. It rains in the winter and you collectit in the spring. You collect big quantities, 20 kilos is nothing.”

This income, as a result, is seasonal. One woman explained, “If you work for two months collecting the plant you can save LL1 million [$667]. Per day you can make LL10,000 [$6]. The kids go too.” Other families, depending on the number that go out to collect, are able to earn more, yet this money doesn’t last long: “In the summer the situation is better because, due to the plant, we can save LL10-12 million [$6,667-8,000]. But usually we have debts to return, or we need to get married, build houses, etc. We have always been poor here.” Some women stay at home to dry, clean, and bag the plants in order to sell it to the middlemen. For a number of families, the earnings from these few months are the only source of income for the whole year. In winter when it rains there is little work.

Some, even those who collect the plants, work collecting olives or as

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agricultural laborers. One daughter-in-law of the head of the municipality ex-plained the various livelihoods of villagers:

“The people that work with cows sell milk, chankleesh, and butter. The people that work in olives work in other people’s land. Some people collect the herbs. My father-in-law hires people for 20-25 days to do the day labor in his olive fields. One year the olive trees produce and the next year they don’t. It is a cycle. This year is good. So we needed a month to do the work in the field. Next year we might need people for only two to three weeks.”

Many of the youth who don’t want to work collecting wild herbs or in ag-riculture end up leaving the village and working in nightclubs and restaurants in Beirut. This has only become viewed as an alternative possibility for income within the past few years. One resident explained:

“For example, the youth that are working in the nightclubs won’t go back tothis work [agriculture, collecting plants and herbs, etc.]. They pay for trans-

portation to go and come each day and clothes, so they would get $300-400per week. They could give it to their father because they are poor.”

The impact of the poverty in Bajaa is very real. One woman summarized the situation:

“There is a lot of poverty here. We can’t buy clothes for our kids. We need to wait for a special occasion. There is a lot of poverty here because there are no job opportunities. So if my husband is unemployed, we could starve to death with our children because no one helps each other. Most of the village is in the same situation as me. Most people don’t enroll their kids in schoolbecause there is no money.

Comments from the community:Poverty in Bajaa

“The other villages have more advantages. They have a school, a big well, a mosque that looks after them.”

“I am from Mbarakiyeh. It has been the same since I came but the poverty is getting worse each year.”

“They [the boys and men] go to Beirut because there is no work here. If we don’t work we will starve to death. Some of the guys will save and help their families and some spend what they earn.”

“In case we don’t have income from collecting the wild plant then we bring less food to the house and we borrow money. Some families don’t have enough food. Others suffer a lot. They have no meat, chicken, fruit.”

“We are very poor. If we find work we eat, if not then we don’t. The situation is very bad.”

“If someone saved up a bit then we will help each other but all the people are poor here.”

Education

There is no school in Bajaa. The nearest school is in Mbarakiyeh, but it is widely believed to be of very poor quality and most choose to send their children to a public school in Denbo. A villager explained, “There is a public school in Mbarakiyeh but it’s not good. They don’t learn anything. The teachers are not quality and they are from neighboring villages. My younger kids go to school in Denbo and the older ones went to a school in Helba.”

The wife of the head of the municipality further explained:

“The school that opened in Denbo is a public school. The level of education is not good in public schools. The level was really good when my husband was there, but he quit one year ago. He used to work there. Schools were better when my husband was a kid and it was real education. Now they overwhelm kids with schoolwork and they have to carry heavy books to go to school. It is useless. The whole thing is a trade to make money and not promote education. Around 10 years ago they changed the whole Lebanese school system. So the kids had to buy new books, etc. They claimed that it would promote new education. The only thing that changed was that the families had to buy way more books. It didn’t change the system or make the education better, the only thing that changed was that people had tobuy new books.”

Very few are able to send their children to private schools, which can cost up to LL50,000 ($33) per month for transportation and LL1,750,000 ($1,167) for tuition per year. Generally, the only people who can afford this are those who have stable employment, such as the men in the army, of whom there are very few in the village. Additionally, the army helps subsidize the cost of education for the families of their members.

The head of the village described how the level of educational attainment has changed:

“In 1949 my father sent us to the sheikh to get educated. Only the sheikh or the priest would teach the children. In 1950 we moved to a school in Hamaira and we would walk on foot. It was a public school with only one teacher and only three grades. The one teacher taught everything. Then in 1953 when I finished the three grades I moved to another village where the school went until the certificate, grade 5. It took one hour and 15 minutes to walk there. In 1956 I passed the certificate [given at the end of grade 5]. Then my father moved me to Minaya School, a public school, and it took two hours to walk there. So he rented a house there and we finished Brevet. I passed the Brevet in 1961. After Brevet I stopped school, but out of all of the people my age no one went further in school. They used to work, for example, with sheep. Only five kids in my generation went to school. I don’t know why my father put such an importance on it. I am thankful because if my father didn’t educate me I would be the same as the rest of the village,working in agriculture and with sheep.”

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Comments from the community:Villagers’ perceptions of educational attainment

“Not all the kids are in school. The eldest reached grade 5 but we didn’t enroll him this year because we had to enroll the youngest this year. He was in the school of the Australian-Lebanese man. It was LL50,000/month [$33]. With the LL20,000 [$13] that my husband earns per day, we had to save for school, so sometimes we don’t have food. I try to enroll my kids in school to secure their future, even if it means not eat-ing. Most of the village is in the same situation as me. Most people don’t enroll their kids in school because there is no money.”

“The three youngest kids are in school, not the rest. They stopped at the 5th grade.”

“I didn’t go to school. None of the women my age did. The older women are illiter-ate.”

“The youth who stay here are almost illiterate. They wouldn’t be able to function in Beirut.”

“I went to first intermediate [grade 6]. I was very smart but I stopped going because I am part of a big family (10 children) so when my older sister got married I stopped school to go and help her.”

The son of the head of the municipality, one of the only villagers from Bajaa who was able to immigrate to Australia, has moved back and opened a school nearby. The school is a private school, though, unlike other private schools, this school will accept children who have dropped out and are interested in con-tinuing their education. His wife described some of the difficulties that they are facing as a result:

“My husband started a school and I teach English. They [the students] see it as play time. The girls say, ‘We will be behind the sink all day, why bother?’ Some understand and some don’t. The school is for everyone. But most are dropouts. If they are not with us, they would be on the street. The kids are 14-15 and in grade 4 or 5, so they get in a lot of trouble. Sometimes after we teach them for two years they will chose to leave. The students will say ‘There is an organization that is taking us on field trips’ or ‘I have joined a company of holidays.’ It is a joke that they are not doing anything. Theymight leave because they are older than the rest of the kids.”

In spite of the few opportunities that exist, the level of education remains quite low. As one man stated:

“Only a few finish, about 5 percent. They suffer due to the cost of transpor-tation. They have to go walking down the road. They can’t pay for transportation. There are two people that have university degrees. One is in Beirut and one is in Australia.”

The wife of the head of the municipality elaborated on the low levels of educa-tion found among the villagers:

“With the help of Mercy Corps [MC], I was trying to start courses for basic language to teach reading and writing because none of the women in the village know how to write. I was working with elderly and young women. The people didn’t respond well to these courses. They didn’t attend, not even young women. They don’t send young girls to school because they think young women should not be educated. Some children are not sent to school because they work with their fathers in agriculture. The percentagethat goes to school is 30 percent.”


Out of all the communities studied, Bajaa was the only village in which research-ers observed visible signs of food insecurity.12 One woman described their situ-ation:

“When there is no food we just make rice. We don’t bring meat, we can’t afford it. We use a lot of grains. My daughter is eating bread and salt, there is nothing to eat with it. Usually we eat four bags of bread per day, but today we only bought two and it won’t be enough for dinner. Yesterday the vegetable seller passed and my child wanted nuts. One kilo is LL3,000 [$2] but I only had LL5,000 [$3.3]. I thought it was a priority to get bread and rice to feed the children.”

For those unable to grow their own crops, a truck comes by every few days selling vegetables. The man who sells the vegetables commented on the purchas-ing power of the villagers: “The purchasing ability of the community is not stable. They can buy food one day, and not the next day.” Through observa-tions it was noted that one of the most common meals being fed to children was plain bread, sometimes toasted or sometimes with salt, which the children would quickly devour and then beg for more. Commonly, across Lebanon, villagers attempt to bring out their best meals when there are guests visiting. As such, it is quite concerning that the meals being served in front of the researchers were so basic.

Yet, there are a few families that are better off. One mother explained her family’s situation:

“The neighboring lands are ours. We grow vegetables, tomatoes, eggplants, apricots, etc. for personal consumption and sometimes we sell them. We have two apricot trees that we can sell from in the summer. There is enough that we don’t need to buy from the market. But in the winter we need to get food from the market. We make pickled eggplants, cucumbers, beans, etc. There is a store here where you can find things like cans of beans, lentils,stuff to clean the house.”

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Some women in the village still give birth with the assistance of a TBA. The situation was described by one woman:

“Some women still deliver at home. Sometimes they do if their husband is not at home [to take them to the hospital]. If they know it is a natural delivery but her husband is not here, then they do it at home. But if it will be complicated then they take her to the hospital. With my kid I gave birth in a hospital with a cesarean section. But the baby was sick with his breathing. We had to pay LL800,000 [$533], so we had to borrow money from all ofthe people here.”

Even though Bajaa is closer to the main road than Mareh and there is a reasonably good road connecting it, the remoteness of the village affects access to health services. One woman explained, “There are no health care centers here. It takes 15 minutes to get to one in a car. If you are walking it would take all afternoon.”

Another woman mentioned the impact of the rural conditions leading to feelings of isolation and moroseness:

“The living conditions are hard because I see my husband once per week. I am here alone at home all day. My son is bored all day because there is nobody to take him out. It is very boring here. I can’t go out to visit others because the other kids don’t go to school and they are not properly educated so they hit my children. I finished the housework at 10 a.m. and now I havenothing to do. Often there is no electricity, so I sleep in the afternoons.”

Villagers buying food from a truck selling vegetables

Dreams and capacities

Living in the conditions that they do, what do the people of Bajaa aspire to?

“I want a good future for my kids and to build a house for them. It is too late for me to improve my future so all of the money we save we spend onthe kids.”

“I want health promotion campaigns and awareness programs about par- enting and motherhood. I need to know how to deal with children’s issues,especially health issues, because my mother is not here all the time.”

“I am positive because the kids of this generation are getting an education. If the kids stay here they will improve the situation of the village. But if they travel it will get worse, but maybe they will have to travel because [here]there are no job opportunities.”

“I want to educate my boy and I would like to leave the village. I don’t want to live here. I want to go to Tripoli. My grandparents live there and once I went to visit them for a month. You can go shopping and everything is close. You can go out and have a social life. You can order food, you don’thave to cook.”

“We get income through labor work. We can’t rely on agriculture or farming because the climate is continental so we get a lot of rain or snow that can kill the crops. Because people are not educated they should buy cows orsheep and work with them.”

“I would like to have workshops to teach the girls to sew, etc. I want to teach the girls so they can know how to read street signs, so if they get marriedthey can sign their name and not do a fingerprint.”

Many of these dreams remain unfulfilled because these people don’t have access to resources that can make a difference, though there have been a few instances of support in the past.

One organization helped the villagers gain more secure access to water. One man described:

“The only thing that changed was we got water from the ain from 2000 m away. There are two pipes, one is to water the land [goes to a holding lake] and the other is to each house. But there is no one to look over the system here so it is wrecked. There is water in a reservoir and people drink from it. Two or three houses use a hose and take water from it. It is not organized.This was done by the Social Development Organization.13 They didn’t con-tinue the project so people put hoses to reach their house themselves.”

One woman mentioned, “This year in Ramadan, Qatar offered Iftar for people and on the last day they gave sweets but I don’t know which organization it was. This was the first time it happened. Mercy Corps

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used to help here before I was married.” The daughter-in-law of the head of the municipality explained some of the other support they have received: “One organization came and they taught us how to make rose water and flower water to sell. The organization taught the women how to do many things, but a lot of them didn’t use them.” Another villager said, “The mosque was built by a foreigner fromoverseas.”

There have been some changes to the physical infrastructure that have eased some of the remoteness and isolation. One man explained the changes and on-going challenges:

“One problem is the roads. Since the 1970s there was no work done on the roads. The road was fixed by the municipality this year. The last time therewas asphalt on the road was in 1976 or 1977. After the elections the mu-

nicipality went to the ministry and insisted that they fix the main roads, not the internal roads. People were very happy, especially the taxi drivers. The water is a problem all over. A well was made in another village four years ago. This should also include our village and Mbarakiyeh. Maybe there is a problem getting the big trucks to come here. We do get water. We rely on an ain to get water. But it may have sewage in it because of the sewage outlet. It is not clean. We use a filter in this house to drink from it. It was $500. Butthe rest of the population doesn’t have that.”

The villagers see the assistance being offered to Denbo and a few of the other towns and wonder why their village is not receiving similar assistance. The EU built a playground, an irrigation pond, and a clinic in the village of Denbo. The head of the municipality described:

“Now the EU is in Denbo but the contract ends December 31st, so we are trying to see if we can get help from USAID [United States Agency for International Development] or UNDP. One idea for a development project would be to build a green house, but we need capital to do it, and we don’t have it. Also there is not enough water for the community. So we could digwells. After the Nahr el Bared conflict, USAID came and assessed the situation and gave assistance to people in Helba but no one considered cominghere and no one ever considers coming here.”

There is almost a sense of despair when people make comments such as, “There are no organizations that come here,” and “We get no assistance from any organizations. Each person has to work on his own to get assistance.”

Conclusion

In many villages and small towns, the opinions villagers’ have of their situation and of society’s dynamics often differ from household to household or even resi-dent to resident. Some find life hard but endurable, while others find it torturous. Some experience a supportive community around them that works together in

times of exacerbated need, while others experience isolation within a society that they perceive is unfriendly and unhelpful. While not untypical of isolated communities, the multiple and contradictory perspectives of residents on their conditions and the society they live in adds a further dimension to this complex picture of poverty. It indicates a deeper barrier to empowerment, and highlights an additional link in the villages’ chain of interlocking disadvantages.

The residents of Mareh and Bajaa tell a tale of poverty that is far from exclu-sive to their villages. The report Rural Poverty 2011, by the International Fund for Agricultural Development decribes remote communities’ poverty as:

“… rooted not just in asset levels and in different spatial distribution of opportunities for growth, but also in historical factors and social and politicalrelations … These can contribute to poverty by creating and/or perpetuat-ing a variety of “interlocking disadvantages” that limit people’s opportu-

nities to improve their livelihoods, undermine their assets and capabilities and their efforts to improve them, and increase the risks they face. These disadvantages can include a variety of forms of exclusion, discrimination and disempowerment, unequal access to and control over assets, lack of education and limited collective capabilities.”14

It is poverty of this multidimensional and interlocking nature that is present in Mareh and, to a lesser extent, Bajaa. The communities that came to live in these remote villages did so because dwellings and land were affordable even with their limited means; however, it is the villages’ isolation, as without access to services such as electricity, safe water, and health care, or opportunities through education and employment options, that leave the villagers without the tools for self-empowerment and economic improvement. They therefore remain ne-glected and marginalized from generation to generation, repeatedly unseen and unheard by political and development organizations, and without the capacity to elicit the assistance needed to end the perpetuating cycle of poverty in which they find themselves trapped.

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1. (IFAD) p. 522. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail and Hamdan) p. 93. A pseudonym4. There was some disagreement as to the exact time that the road was constructed,

but most villagers believe that it was built sometime between 15 and 17 years ago.5. For the purpose of this document, a Traditional Birth Attendant (TBA) refers to

someone who is not formally trained and relies on previous experience to help women give birth. Often this is an elderly woman from the community who is called upon to help other women when they are delivering. These women are usually not paid for their services, although the custom may very between com-munities. The term midwife refers to someone who has been formally trained to assist women during deliveries. Most often, the midwives would require a fee for their services. Of note, the Forgotten Akkar report notes that TBAs are now illegal in Lebanon; however, many communities continue to use them as they have no other options, either due to the geographic location of the village, or due to the economic situation of the families. (Mouchref, 2008) p. 9

6. (IFAD) p. 537. This is an important study, as it provides a detailed analysis of the situation in

Akkar, though it’s statistics don’t always match those of other surveys and reports.8. The nurse noted that they rarely receive residents from Mareh because it is actually

out of the way for them to go to the clinic. While the village of Denbo is closer to the village, there are more cars heading in the opposite direction, to Tripoli or Helba. However, as the situation in the five villages is fairly similar in terms of employment, access to education, dietary elements, water quality, etc. a reasonable assumption can be made that the health of the residents in Mareh would be fairly similar to those in the other four villages.

9. In Lebanon, the common practice is that the government provides the vaccination for free; however, the community members must pay for the consultation fee. The cost of the consultation depends on the clinic, and sometimes it may be subsidized in order to provide it for free. Key informant interview.

10. As all of the data was taken from the Forgotten Akkar report, not all of the informa-tion was available at a national level. The information given for the national level was all that was available in their report.

11. According to a document by the German Technical Cooperation (GTZ), “North Lebanon is supposed to be the richest with water resources as it has the largest mountainous mass with its huge annual rejuvenating ice, in addition to the gener-ally higher precipitation due to its northern latitude… another significant sub-region in the North in terms of water demand is Akkar, the large plain north of Tripoli making the largest agricultural zone in Lebanon after the Bekaa. Obviously, the higher water need is where urban and suburban concentrations occur, or large agricultural stretches are dominant. But these happen to be the areas where water precipitation is least. Another problem is that due to the steep topography, water

falling in the higher elevations quickly drains down the slopes and easily seeps into the ground. It should be emphasized here that the water sector in Lebanon still suf-fers from gaps in management and quality control, which adds to the problem of non-availability.” The report continues to mention some of the direct and indirect impacts which have affected the decrease in water availability: decline in precipita-tion, decline in snow, decline in aquifers storage capacities, increase in temperature and evaporation, increased frequency of droughts, increased flash floods, land ero-sion and sedimentation, non-rejuvenation of water springs, decrease in available/accessible water for all uses (including domestic and agriculture), socioeconomic instability, etc. (Environmental Fund for Lebanon, 2010) p.1-3

12. There are various definitions of food security. Some of various definitions are: a guarantee that a family has permanent and regular physical and economic access to a basic supply of food whose quantity and quality are sufficient to meet their nutritional needs. The availability of food and one’s access to it. A family and household are considered food secure when they do not live in hunger or fear of starvation. It also refers to the availability of sufficient and nutritious food for the population. It is the ability of an individual to access sufficient food on a day-to-day basis.

13. This is a direct translation from the Arabic name, if there is an English name, it is not known.

14. (IFAD) p. 59-60

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WAZZANI

Marjayoun, south Lebanon

“People outside think that all the people here are terrorists and that is nottrue … We all want peace.”

An older man from Wazzani

“I am hoping for a more stable situation when people don’t fear growing crops or building because of war, where they won’t be afraid to buy cattle or do business, where they don’t fear that someone will come at night anddestroy it like in 2000.”

A young woman from Wazzani

Located on the border with Israel and Syria, in the river basin that feeds Lake Tiberius, Wazzani has been living in the dark shadow of war for a long time. Since the Palestinian exodus from their homeland in 1948, the village has been impacted by other people’s conflicts. The Israeli invasions of 1978 and 1982 and the Israeli occupation of south Lebanon, which lasted until 2000, greatly disrupted life in the community. A return to normalcy may have been expected after Israel’s withdrawal, but that has not come to pass. The community lives in an ongoing state of anxiety that war could return at any time. There are con-stant skirmishes and disputes along the southern border, any one of which could escalate into a war.

For example, responding to water shortages, the Lebanese government in-stalled a small pumping station to irrigate the drought-stricken border village of Ghajar in 2001, and the government diverted part of the el Wazzani River to supply Wazzani. Arial Sharon, then prime minister of Israel, declared the actions a potential casus belli.1 While that particular incident did not result in

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conflict, tensions along the border continued and finally erupted into the 34-day war in July 2006 following Hezbollah’s abduction of two Israeli soldiers. In August 2010, a dispute over the pruning of trees on the border resulted in an exchange of fire between the Lebanese army and the Israeli Defense Forces, resulting in the deaths of three Lebanese soldiers and one journalist. As recently as August 2011, Israel soldiers crossed the Blue Line at Wazzani, provoking an exchange of fire with the Lebanese army. Again, this incident did not escalate, but it, and similar occurrences, keep Wazzani’s residents in a state of perpetual insecurity. In many ways, Wazzani reflects the story of Lebanon: a nation deeply impacted by conflict, which yet repeatedly finds the resilience to survive.

Hiba,2 a mother of four (two boys and two girls) lives in Wazzani. She was born in Nabatieh, though her parents are from Wazzani originally. They fled to Nabatieh in 1983 after the Israeli occupation of southern Lebanon began. She was born the following year. They were eight children, four boys and four girls. Three of her sisters and one brother are now married. Her parents and siblings continue to live in Nabatieh because her parents have jobs there. During the Civil War they bought land and built a house there.

Hiba got married seven years ago and moved back to Wazzani to be with her husband. The transition from Nabatieh, which is the largest town in south Lebanon, to Wazzani was difficult. She recalls:

“When I came here the environment was very different from what I was used to. It was secluded. If you don’t have a car you can’t get anywhere. There, in Nabatieh, it was like a city. You can get a taxi to go anywhere. Everything was accessible there. Here you have to order things and wait for them. Here we have a few smaller stores, with mostly junk food. They don’t have household necessities like bread, rice, or cleaning supplies. All of the houses have cars. The cars here are mainly for the men. The women don’tdrive. Nothing has changed since I came.”

While some of the houses do have cars, the men may take these to work leav-ing the women without transportation. In any case, many of the women do not drive.

Her husband, before he got married, suffered the fate of many of the men from the area. Hiba described what happened:

“My husband was a prisoner of Israel in Khiam3 [the prison used during the Israeli occupation] for eight years. Then he left the area when he got out. They gave him a choice to stay or leave the area. At first he stayed, but they started hassling him to join the SLA [South Lebanon Army] so he left the area. He went to Nabatieh and didn’t come back until after Israel left [in May 2000]. There were others also in prison like my friend’s brother-in-law and some other guys from the village. They accused them of working withHezbollah, or things like that.”

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Hiba recalls the stories she heard about the occupation:

“I wasn’t here before 2000, but I heard that it wasn’t good. People would tell on each other. They would stab each other in the back. For example, they would go tell Israel that people were doing something, and then that personwould get imprisoned.”

When the 2006 war started, Hiba and her husband not only feared for their lives, but were haunted by memories of the past as well, so they left.

“During the first day of the 2006 war I went to Nabatieh with my whole family and the kids. My husband was scared that if Israel occupied again they would torture him again. In general, all of the families left. Maybe five or six people stayed. The elderly who wouldn’t leave their land stayed. We stayed with my family in Nabatieh. Then we all went to Beirut when things got really bad. We came back four or five days after the war ended. Five days after we returned, we got electricity back. The water took longer; it took a week and a half to get that back. People lost all of their livelihoods. For example, the cows and calves – we couldn’t milk them. My husband’s cousin died. He had seven kids. People’s spirits were down when they came back. One house was damaged by the bombing, but the other houses were not badly affected … Wazzani is considered peaceful; there is no presenceof Hezbollah so it was affected the least. Kifar Kila and Khiam have Hez-bollah and Amal, but here there is nothing.”

Hiba’s husband owns a small business, which produces and sells cattle feed.

“His income depends. The lowest time is in the spring because then the cows go out to feed [from the land], so there is no need for his feed. Work is good, thanks be to God. He spends most of his money buying material equipment to keep the business going. Any extra money we use for school.”

Their children go the Mabarat School in Khiam.4

The children were born in Nabatieh. Hiba added:

“I gave birth in Nabatieh. My husband hates the Marjayoun hospital because when he was in prison they would take him there. So he prefers to go outside. He got tortured a lot by them [Israelis], so he hates anything to do with them. He went to jail at 18 and was released at 26. Women were also imprisoned from here. For example, my husband’s aunt and other women.They didn’t do long sentences, but some did.”

Hiba is the face of a community that has been deeply impacted by war. In the midst of conflict she has been able to raise a family and have some semblance of normality during the periods of peace. Still the scars and brutalities of war lie just below the surface and haunt Hiba and her family every time tensions rise along the border. While they may not be considered among the extreme poor, they live on the edge of poverty and are unable to improve their circumstances because of constant uncertainties. As Hiba said, “I just hope there will be no more war because war really affects people. I wish that my kids will live a better life than me, physically, socially, psychologically.”

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El Wazzani River

“There is just one river, the Hasbani with its el Wazzani tributary, which flows south towards Israeli-controlled land before emptying into Lake Tiberius. The Hasbani takes its name from its source fifty-seven kilometers from the frontier at Tamoura at the foot of Mount Hermon. On its southward course it irrigates the cultivated land of the region and provides water for several villages. It passes by Dnaibi, Mimes, Ain Mentem, and Kawkaba, and after passing round Hasbaya turns towards Fardis, Ebeles-Saqi and Ain Arab, where it changes its name to el Wazzani. It then runs through the region of El-Gajar and Maissate, to cross the southern frontier and flows into Lake Tiberius.

“Several small tributaries flow into this river … There are historic bridges, water mills, and olive and grape presses, all of which draw tourists, holidaymakers and nature-lovers. At Deir Mimas there are more than fifty-four springs, a fact which shows how rich the region is in water.

“According to tradition, anyone accused of a crime would have to cross the wa-ters of the river. If he came out safe and sound he was considered innocent, while if he was drowned he was considered to have been guilty.”

Source: Discover Lebanon, “Wazzani River” (2007)

The mosque, to the left, and some houses in Wazzani

History5 and location

Wazzani, also known as Arab el Louaize,6 is a small agricultural community at the base of Mount Hermon in the caza of Marjayoun. It is located near the el Wazzani River, which is a tributary of the Hasbani River. The village is located a short distance from the borders with Syria and Israel. It is isolated, falling at the end of a six kilometer uninhabited road; the only other village in the area is Ain Arab. Some identify Wazzani’s location as the reason for its poverty. One key informant explained, “Being on the border is one of the reasons they are poor. They are remote from most other villages and the first bullets that come in any war start there.”

There is very little in the village. There are two shops that sell some junk food and canned food, but they do not sell many other household items, especially perishable items. These two shops only opened within the past few years. There is a mosque that was built about seven years ago with funding from Kuwait. A community hall was added to it with help from Spanish UNIFIL troops.

Marjayoun caza

The caza of Marjayoun is located in the south of Lebanon, bordering both Israel and Syria. Marjayoun is made up of a group of villages located just over 100 kilometers from Beirut. To the east is Mount Hermal, to the west lies Mount Amel, and north of the area is Mount Lebanon. The Litani River, the longest river in Lebanon, marks the border of the northern edge of the caza.

The area is rich in water and fertile land, making agriculture the main source of its income. Olive trees are the most common crop, but many varieties of vegetables, grains, and tobacco are farmed in the area. Due to the area’s struggling economy and volatile past, there are few commercial companies and only a few government jobs available. Most people are self-employed. Tourism is virtually nonexistent, as foreign-ers need special government permission to visit the area. These factors, along with many others have made the caza of Marjayoun one of the poorest in the country.

The total population of the caza is estimated to be 80,000-100,000.7 It is made up of Christian, Muslim, and Druze communities. The demographics and populations have changed significantly in recent years due to the instability of the region. Emi-gration rates from the area are high, as families, many of them Christian, continue to leave the area for the perceived safety of Beirut and countries abroad. For politi-cal purposes, Lebanese remain registered with the village in which they were born throughout their entire lives. Consequently the census data for Marjayoun is inflated compared to the number of actual residents. The population also fluctuates between seasons, with large numbers of former residents returning during summer months for vacations and visits.

The caza of Marjayoun is one of the four cazas which together comprise the mo-hafazat of Nabatieh. Though Marjayoun is technically classified as being part of the Nabatieh Governorate, this poor rural area shares few characteristics with the major city in the area, also called Nabatieh. Nabatieh is a large city, made up of Shiite Muslims, with a flourishing economy.

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Much of the land is owned by a church and by a person from Khiam. The rest of the land has been inherited from previous generations and divided by people from the village amongst themselves. Each family has about two dunams8 of land on which they built their house; some use the land to cultivate crops, such as wheat, various other grains, peas, cucumbers, and feed for their cattle. Most of what they produce is for their own consumption. Others use the land to keep their livestock. One older woman said, “All the good land around us is taken. There are no grazing areas [left] around here, but if there is rain, then there is a grazing area to the east of the river, near the protected area near Israel.”

The people of Wazzani belong to the area. This is where their ancestors lived and died. One man commented, “Our ancestors were living here when the Turkish were occupying the area. One hundred years ago we had people buried here. But before that, because we used to move around, people would be buried wherever they died. Now we always bring them back here.” Before settling in Wazzani, they were nomads and many members of their “tribe” have since moved to Beirut, the Bekaa Valley, Saida, Tyre, and Nabatieh. The head of the municipality described:

“All nomads are tribes. They started that way. We still have some characteristics of tribes. In the past there was one person who would take all the decisions and be in charge. He was the head of the tribe. He would take the decisions and everyone would consult him. Everyone would agree on one person to be the sheikh and take decisions. The sons, with qualifications, would inherit the position. We don’t have a name. Ever since I was born we have used the name ‘Wazzani,’ not anything else. Here we are two families. About 150 years ago we had the same ancestors but they split. We are onetribe with Wazzani, Ain Arab, and Wata el Khiam.”

The same man continued:

“We used to move around at the start of the summer and we would go to the Bekaa Valley, but the [main] households were still here. My parents worked in grazing, most of them did. They used camels to move the tents. We onlystayed in Lebanon; we didn’t move outside Lebanon.”

As the original nomads settled down, others also arrived from the Golan Heights and Palestine and settled next to the river. The first house in Wazzani was built in the early 1940s. An older man described what lives were like at that time:

“The village is very old. Earlier we used to use tents made of animal hair. My uncle’s house was built in 1940 or 1945. This was the first house that was built in the village. We used to stay here in the winter and spring and go to the Bekaa in the summer for three months with the animals. This was because we were following the availability of grazing areas. We settledbecause it became harder to move because of the war, restrictions, occupation, and as areas became isolated from each other. When the borders were

set, we settled. In the 1940s there was no Israeli occupation here. We were free to go anywhere. We would go to the Palestinian border to buy things. There was no occupation there. We settled here before there were cement houses and permanent residences, but we would still come and go. At first we had tents here. In 1945, we started building houses. But we didn’t fully settle or stop moving until the occupation. When we settled here for good,it was better because stability is desired.”

The events of 1948 changed the course of history for the community. As Palestinian refugees left their homes and fled across the border into Lebanon, Wazzani’s future was charted for the coming decades: it was destined to find itself on the frontline of all subsequent confrontations between Lebanon and Israel. One man commented:

“1948 had a big effect on the village because a lot of the population has died since then, because we are on the border … people died, not because they were being targeted but because they were in the middle of it. Since 1948, we’ve never had peace. Our peace is related to the peace of Lebanon andthere is none.”

After the initial influx of Palestinians there was vague semblance of normal-ity until 1967. One man from the village of Marjayoun shared his perceptions (which are not necessarily historically accurate or shared by others) of what life was like for them in the area:

“At that time Lebanon was in the ‘golden years.’ It was like Switzerland.It was a country of peace, life, charity, and good relationships with peo-

ple. Nobody knew at that time who was Christian or Muslim; we were all Lebanese. In 1967 there was the war on 5 June and Israel occupied the Golan Heights. They didn’t come to Lebanon. In 1970-1971 the trouble in Lebanon started between the Lebanese military and the PLO [Palestinian Liberation Organization]. It was because the military did not want the PLO to do operations from here.9 At that time [it seemed] that all of Lebanon was under the authority of the Palestinians and it seemed that they could do what they wanted. New organizations were formed by each political party, and they [each organization] brought in their own weapons. Each made itsown military. All that was needed was a small light to make a fire.”

As the Civil War gained momentum, many families were displaced for peri-ods of time. Some left in the early years of the war, while others stayed until the beginning of the occupation and then decided to leave. Families often moved back and forth between more secure areas in the south and their homes in Waz-zani. Interestingly, some returned to the village at the beginning of the occupa-tion because the other villages in which they had sought shelter were now also under occupation. One man recalls:

“In 1975 there were bombings on the whole village. All of the houses were destroyed. We came back and rebuilt. Before there were only 10-12 houses. A lot of people are still displaced; they left and never came back. They

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are still in Beirut, Bekaa, Nabatieh, etc. Children grew up elsewhere. Theyfound stable jobs, so of course they wouldn’t come back here.”

Another man remembers:

“When we left in 1976 there were around 30 households from Wazzani that were displaced. Because we were large in number we settled in three or four villages outside. Most families came back in the 1980s, only a few came back in 2000. We were in Harboosh, Ziharani, and Saida.”

The experience of being displaced and then returning home was traumatic for most. One man, who was a child when he was first displaced, recollected:

“We came back in 1982 because this was our hometown. We have houses here. Being displaced is not a pretty thing. You are always moving around.We had no relatives [to stay with] outside the village before we were dis-

placed. So each four or five people would stay in one place together. For example, we didn’t have a house, we had tent and we would stay there. In 1982 when we came back there were houses without doors and windows; they were stolen. The community was not big. It was only 10 to 12 houses. Gradually we built more and more. Now I have sheep and a few cows. When we came back from displacement the land was not cultivated. Butgradually more and more of it became cultivated.”

An older resident of the area, not from Wazzani itself, described the events:

“In 1978 Israel came to southern Lebanon. It was called ‘The Litany Op- eration.’ They came here to all the areas in the south. At the same time, in 1976, when the war started, the Lebanese military broke up; each personfollowed their own religion. All was divided. So there was no Lebanese military. The Christians took all the equipment and tanks from here for their own use. They brought them from the army post to Qlayaa. The road was closed in Nabatieh by the Palestinians, so each region couldn’t go to the other areas. This continued until 1982. Then the situation was ‘on fire.’ So Israel decided to make the operation Salamat el Jalileh in June/July 1982. At that time Israel went all the way to Beirut. They then took this area for the SLA and Major Antoine Haddad. The Lebanese border was in Jezzine and Hasbaya and Nakoura. They called this the Security Zone near theborder of Israel. The SLA supported Israel.”

There are different perceptions of the years of Israeli occupation and their aftermath. One man recalls the good and the bad of the occupation:

“Until 2000 [during the occupation] the situation was excellent. People had money. There was a big country helping us. There were hospitals. But youwere under control and you had to help yourself. There was no government and you could not go to your own country.10 We were under control.We were not free. You had to obey. Even though you wanted to go some-

where close, they wouldn’t give you permission to go. People were afraid. They didn’t like to go anywhere, even if they weren’t doing anything bad.They were afraid of getting arrested. People were very careful of every-

thing. People were staying in their houses. They just did their job and went

home. If you met an Israeli soldier in the road, they would stop you for many hours. And they didn’t always give permits. Sometimes they would give you a permit but sometimes not. There was money, and everything you could like in the whole world, even Italian chocolate, you had it here. But you didn’t have peace in your life or your heart; you were not free to live as you wanted. People felt like [the] Lebanese government abandoned them. That’s actually what happened. The government didn’t have the authority to do anything. The international politics were guiding everything at that time. After 2000 [the Israeli withdrawal], we were happy because we werefree to go back to our own country.”

After the Israeli withdrawal in May 2000, the residents’ lives changed in many ways. The following are comments some people made as they reflected on all that had happened:

“Of course things changed. People had different expectations. The next day [after Israel’s withdrawal] people who were involved with Israel were scared of the Lebanese troops coming in. They were disappointed by Israel whosaid they would always be there and support them. But then Israel left over-night [in May 2000] without saying anything.”

“Those who were not involved with Israel had hopes and dreams that the Lebanese government would embrace them and give them the support they would need to survive. But now it is 10 years later and nothing has changed in regards to government attention. And now their expectations of what thegovernment will give them are low.”

“Then when Israel left the Syrians started coming and taking the jobs of the Lebanese. Before Lebanese were bringing money into Lebanon and now Syrians are taking money away from Lebanon. The community was doingbetter; life was easier [before Israel left]. It was easier to get an income.”

The July 2006 war11

The caza of Marjayoun was one of those directly targeted during the bombing of the 2006 war, specifically the larger and predominantly Shiite village of Khiam, close to Wazzani. Some of the inhabitants of Muslim villages sought refuge in the Christian villages in the area, putting a large financial strain on these villages to provide adequate food and supplies for the increased population. An estimat-ed 85 percent left the area, seeking safety in Beirut and in the north. People who were able to escape spent the duration of the war in schools, shopping centers, parks, and other public places. Others stayed in the area for fear of being killed while traveling, or were forced to stay once the roads and transportation systems were damaged. The area was severely damaged, and Muslim villages were af-fected the most. Estimates report that up to 90 percent of the infrastructure in Khiam was destroyed.12

Both the villages and surrounding agricultural land were littered with land-

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mines, many of which did not explode at the time. This caused both a large loss of life during the war and after, as people attempted to clear their homes or started working in the fields again. Even today remaining unexploded ord-nances( UXOs) present a threat to life and limb in the area.

The war impacted the population of the Marjayoun caza in different ways. The vast majority of the structural damage occurred in the predominantly Muslim areas. While Christian villages were not directly targeted, some houses in Christian areas were destroyed, but most only had superficial damage, such as broken windows and bullet holes. When it came time to rebuild the area, Shiite political parties covered the majority of the costs for reconstruction in the Muslim areas. Many of the Gulf countries, such as Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar also provided large amounts of funding, mostly for the Muslim areas. This has led Christian residents to believe that many Muslims are in fact better off now than they were before, having benefited from large aid packages. Many of these Christians feel as though their villages were neglected during the rebuilding process, because they received next to nothing to cover rehabilitation and con-struction costs. The aid they received was perceived only as a symbolic gesture and not as actually enough to be of any assistance.

The war also had a large impact on the population dynamics in the Marjay-oun caza. While the Muslims returned in full force to their villages following the war, many Christians chose to resettle in other areas of Lebanon or to leave the country altogether, greatly decreasing the populations in the Christian villages. The Christians in the area continue to feel that their influence in the country is diminishing rapidly and most have expressed a desire to leave the area for fear of religious extremism, potential internal conflict, or a future war with Israel.13

Surprisingly, in the midst of the intense conflict that was centered around Khiam, Wazzani, which is only a few kilometers away, was spared destruction. Only two people were killed and some of the houses damaged. The real impact of the war was psychological, as people were displaced again. The predominant physical impact was in the fields, which were littered with UXOs. Everyone in the community has their story. The following are some community members’ reflections on their experience:

“In the July 2006 war it was very hard for us. For the first four or five days we stayed in our house and waited for it to pass. But then on the fifth day we heard that someone died in Adaissay [a nearby village, also located on the border] from a bombing, and then it [the conflict] started escalating, so we wanted to leave. But the men didn’t want to leave the cattle, their livelihoods. So the women and children went alone and the men stayed. We didn’t expect this [war], and we didn’t have fuel in the cars. So we had to leave some of the cars here. On the fourth day, warriors from Hezbollah or Amal came to the end of the road and wanted to fight Israel from there. The residents went and told them not to fight from there because Israel would target the village in return. The houses put up white flags to say

that they were peaceful. But the fighters didn’t listen. So Israel bombed one of the houses in the village. A man with seven children died, and another Hezbollah fighter died – a boy [not from the village]. This was the hardesttime for the village.”

“During the war the women – for example, my mother-in-law – released the cows into the wild. Everyone who was leaving released the cows onto the land. But it was all mined, so they would blow up. Israel would throw bombs from the planes. [After the war] one guy took his cattle grazing and a mine exploded in his face. He survived but he lost his cattle. When we saw unexploded mines we would mark them with stones until the Lebanesearmy came to clean them up.”

“The land was not really affected because it was demined – it took ninemonths – but there were diseases in some of the plants because of the chem-

icals in the bombs. The leaves would go yellow and the crops were affected. We had to buy medications for them to get better. It took two years to makethem better.”

“This guy [pointing to a picture in his house] died in the war. He had seven kids. They were between two months and 9 years old. First he [the man] was raised as an orphan and then he died in the war and now his kids areorphans. Two people had their weddings postponed because of the war.”

“The guy who died during the war worked in the water sector and another two or three jobs too. He died when he went to turn on the water and the Israeli Air Force bombed him. Two or three other people were injured and one other died. I watched as the air force bombed him. After one week of the war, this happened and then my parents went to Qlayaa and I went to Bekaa. This man, his mother and father died when he was young and he took care of his brothers and sisters. And then when he died, his oldest wasaround 10 years old.”

While the village and the fields surrounding it have almost fully recovered from the 2006 war, the psychological scars – fears and uncertainties – continue to haunt the residents of Wazzani. Yet, ther resilience, bred from having to survive through decades of tension and violence, enables them to maintain a rhythm of routine as they go about their daily lives.


The community consists of 50-60 households with about 400 people. While 800 people are registered in Wazzani, half of them live outside the area. Accord-ing to a key informant, 70 percent of the population are children and youth below the age of 18. The community is Sunni Muslim and all have Lebanese citizenship. Six extended families, mostly unrelated to each other, make up the

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community. There is very little mobility in and out of the community in times of peace. However, many of those who left during times of war never returned and have established lives elsewhere.

The average family has between five and seven children. Although in the past it was common to have multiple wives, this occurs less frequently nowadays. At present the mukhtar is the only man in the community with a second wide.

One distinctive element in Wazzani is that many of the houses are larger than one would expect in a rural village; however, in many of them, each floor is occupied by a separate family. When the houses were being built, community members found it more economical to club together and build one building of several stories, which they would share, rather than each family building an in-dependent dwelling. The land on which the houses stand was purchased in the 1940s and inherited by subsequent generations. “We all own the land where our houses are. An engineer appointed by the government came and told us where we could build, so there shouldn’t be any problems [with the government].” Nobody rents his or her home. People either live in their own home or in those of relatives who now live outside the area. A number of generations or families live in a single building. One man said:

“The housing generally depends on the ability of the people to pay. For example, I live with my mother-in-law. We cut the house in two, she has two rooms and we have two rooms. But for example, with my brother-in-law, his conditions improved so he built his own house and moved out. The kidswho can afford it move out to leave room for the ones who can’t afford to.”

A house in Wazzani

Perceptions of the community

There is a deep sense of abandonment in the community, and it struggles with how it is treated by outsiders. Various comments people made reflected this:

“We are thrown out here and no one is helping us. There is no one that will take a second look at us. If someone dies they would say ‘so what?’ No one would care if someone from here died. The government, who is responsible and in a position of authority, doesn’t care. No one asks about us. Lebanon is beautiful, but living here has become difficult, sustaining a life and family[is difficult].”

“We hope you can tell the people outside what is happening in Lebanon and this village because people outside might have the wrong impression. People outside might think that all the people here are terrorists and this is not true. It is the opposite. We all want peace, eternally. We want you to show apicture of Lebanon and this village to the people outside.”

“We are under middle class. Before we were living better than now. We are now under the middle class. In all of Lebanon there is no middle class. It is higher class or lower class. The higher class is the ministers or parliamentpeople.”

One key informant explained how others perceive members of the com-munity:

“Other villages look at them as inferior. The others do their best to educate their children, have health care, good food, advanced houses, and cars. They try to do all of this for their kids. But down there [in Wazzani] theydon’t do any of these things.”

Livelihoods

Wazzani is an agricultural community, with everyone involved in some aspect of agriculture and rural life. Almost all are crop farmers and many also keep cows, goats, and sheep. One person also works as a butcher (in addition to farming). A number collect milk and sell it, though it seems that their profit margins have significantly decreased in recent years. A resident described the situation: “The village depends on cattle. Prices of dairy products are low. We sell one kilogram of milk for LL800 [$0.5] but the factory sells it for LL1500 [$1]. So the factory is the only winner. We sell to factories in Nabatieh or the Bekaa.” One person works for the electrical company. Quite a few leave the village to work in con-struction, especially the younger generation. Some collect compost and sell it to people who have farms nearby. There are about six men from the community in the army. It’s not unusual for a person to have a number of jobs. Another man described his situation: “I have four jobs. I keep bees for honey, I have cows, I have a bus to take children to school, and I work in the water department. I have

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a roof over my children’s heads, but other than that I have nothing.”Most women help their husbands with the cattle and farming in addition to

working on household chores. Two women from the village are teachers in the nearby villages of Blat and Ain Arab.

Livelihoods have evolved as the society changed. One man described it as follows:

“We started working with cows 50 years ago. This was when things started to change. Before that we worked with sheep and agriculture, mainly grains and tobacco. Then after 50 years there were opportunities for people all over the south to travel and go outside. Suddenly these opportunities were present. Some families, because they made money outside, had more money so they had a higher rank than other families. Even raising sheep changed because there was less land. So people wanted to be less mobile. The cows would stay on the farms and you worked with them for two hours in the morning and two hours at night. Then people started to get more educated and pursue other professions. At this time we also started planting othertypes of crops and the houses started to be built. During the Turkish oc-

cupation, when the Lebanese lands were distributed, since our ancestors were nomadic at the time, we got no land when the distribution started. We bought land in the 1940s, but the land around us was owned by others. Each family originally had six to seven dunams for their house and [was free] to utilize the rest [that they did not build on]. Eventually, these lands were subdivided by their children. So there was less space to take the sheep to graze. So we wanted to switch to something less mobile, not go into the wilderness. So we switched to cows that just need to be serviced where theyare, they don’t move from the farms.”

Sheep feed at a trough, Wazzani

Income sufficiency

As in many rural, agricultural communities, there are very few households with a stable salary. One man explained:

“The laborers don’t have a stable pattern because they might work one week in a month, or two weeks, or not work for two months. Those whowork with milk and sheep are not in a stable situation because of fluctua-

tions in prices. [The price of] one kilogram of milk changes between LL700 [$0.46] and LL500 [$0.33]or LL400 [$0.26] depending on the demand. There are very few employees [of nonagricultural businesses] here, not even10.”

Like in many other parts of rural Lebanon, there is no agricultural income in the winter and what people earn in the summer has to sustain them through the lean winter months. One woman described the situation:

“For the two months of winter there is no work for anyone. Men don’t work. If it is not raining my husband will go collect metal cans that are thrown in the field and he will sell them for around LL10,000 [$6.7] per day. When it is raining, he sits at home [because the car can’t drive in the fields]. In the summer we have more money because we both work. I might work two days per week but it’s still something. My husband works every day in the summer. For me it depends on the people that own the lands. When there is harvest I will go. Sometimes they pay me but sometimes they give me foodinstead.”

The biggest challenge that most in the village face is not that they don’t pro-duce enough, but instead that they can’t seem to earn enough from what they produce. One person explained:

“The most important thing is selling the produce; this is very hard. Before it used to be slightly hard but now it is much harder. This is for two reasons. First, in this adjacent area there is no factory to give our milk products to. The closest is in Nabatieh, but if we had one [nearby] it would be easier. In Lebanon there are people who were employees and they then retired. So they have a stable income [from their retirement] and nothing to do. So some are making farms, which is increasing the number of farmers. Sothe buckets of milk only sell for LL3000-4000 [$2-2.7], which is not profit-

able at all. The government is also importing milk from outside, so we arecompeting with them.”

Having sufficient income to provide for all the needs of the family and also to be able to save is a struggle for most families in Wazzani. Because much of the income is seasonal, families find it difficult to cope. As suggested, new financial pressures are now caused by the large landowners in surrounding areas, who bring in migrant Syrian workers to work the land. These migrant workers bring most of their basic food needs with them from Syria, and they spend very little in the local economy. This enables them to undercut the Lebanese in terms of

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the daily wages they are willing to work for. One man described the situation: “They [the landowners] brought in Syrians workers because they are cheaper [LL10,000 [$6.7] per hour]. If one of our boys or girls wants to go, they won’t accept them because the Syrians are cheaper. We can’t compete with them.”

The tensions with the Syrian migrant workers are a major issue. One man explained:

“The landowners here know the landowners in the Bekaa. The owners here would ask for 15 workers to come here. It is like they are ordering them. So the landowners there tell the Syrians that there is work in the south and they come. They are here all year, for all seasons. We have no interaction with them. God forbid! They took our source of living and I would interact with them? They live right over there and we hate them. At the start there were problems between them and us, but now the contact is only between the people and the landowners. We have no direct contact with them. Thefarmers here don’t hire people from this area. They hire only Syrians be-

cause they can bring a household of people to work: the parents and the children. And they take less money for the whole day. But the lifestyle of the Lebanese is different. We need to raise the cows; the children are in school.From the oldest to the youngest, the Syrians all work in the land.”

Like with other poor communities around Lebanon, some people from out-side the community think that residents are understating their income and wealth in order to secure more support and financial aid. One key informant countered the perception that people have money but are lying about their situation:

“I don’t agree when other people say they have money. If you ask the municipality, they will say it [the situation] is fine, but this is not the reality. Look at what they work in. If they had money would they chose to work in agriculture and with livestock? Would they stop their children from going toschool if they had money? ”

Education

A resident described the school that used to exist in Wazzani:

“There was a school here. It had four rooms. The fifth was for administration. They were aiming to fit seven grades into the five rooms. So sometimes there were two grades per room. This school was established in the 1970s. There were two teachers teaching in the same room. I used to go there. It closed in the 1990s. It was a government public school. The number of teachers was not enough for the number of students that used to go there. Some went to this school and some others went to a school in Khiam. It was best that this school closed because then they went to schools in Khiam andthese are better quality than it was here.”

Strangely, unlike other rural communities who are lobbying for their own school, many saw the closing of this school as a blessing. As another woman described, “It was not a loss. It was a gain because we could go outside and see other people,

so we could benefit from leaving this small area.”The closing of the school in Wazzani is just one of many examples of the

difficulties the community has enjured through decades of conflict. One woman described what happened:

“Of course education was affected during the occupation, because there was no government presence. The teachers didn’t get paid, so they didn’t care about education. They didn’t get books, they had to request them from across the checkpoint, and sometimes the books would come and sometimes they wouldn’t. People didn’t care if they got educated or not because no oneelse cared about providing them with an education. The Lebanese govern-

ment didn’t care and Israel, of course, didn’t care about the education ofpeople here.”

The children who were displaced during the Civil War did not attend school until the families returned to the area or eventually settled somewhere else.

Today children have to go to Khiam or Hibariye to attend school. Approxi-mately half go to private schools and half to public schools. According to one resident, there are around 80 children from the community who attend school. While some drop out, other parents still find ways of ensuring their children continue in school. Most of the parents see education as opening opportunities for a better life for their children. As one mother said, “I put my kids in a pri-vate school hoping that they will do better than me.” While the cost of private schooling is comparatively higher, some of the families are willing to make the sacrifice if the school is willing to allow them to pay in installments: “We pay LL1,500,000 [$1000] per year, per child, for tuition. The school accepts for us to pay in installments. Twenty-five boys from the community go to this school.”

There is a handful of children who do not attend school. One man explained some possible reasons why: “Mostly, it is not that kids never go. They go and stop going because: 1) There is no desire to go to school; 2) The parents don’t want to send them; 3) The parents’ economic situation doesn’t allow them to go.”

The level of education and literacy among the adults in the community at the moment is quite low. Most of the women have only completed grade 2 or 3 and have very basic reading and writing skills. There are only three or four women in the village who are considered literate and can properly read. The men, on average, have slightly higher levels of education and usually stopped at-tending school at some point between grade 4 and grade 8. There are very few who continued past this level.

Health and nutrition

The community has access to health care. There is a clinic in the village which was established by World Vision Lebanon and the Ministry of Social Affairs. A doctor from Kifar Kila comes every Tuesday and Friday for two hours each day. The consultation fee is LL2000 ($1.3) and the clinic provides medicines when

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they are available. The clinic operates from the old school building, which has been rehabilitated. According to the doctor at the clinic, they see a minimum of two to three patients a day, and sometimes more. They provide services in public health and pediatrics. If referrals are required, they are made to doctors in Khiam. In addition, a medical unit from the Spanish UNIFIL troops comes about every fifteen days and they provide free medical consultation and medi-cines, costing less than LL10,000 ($6.7). They operate from the mosque. The villagers feel that between the two services, most of the basic health needs of the community are met. If anything more is required, some will go to a private doctor in Khiam or the hospital in Nabatieh.

The clinic was established as a result of an assessment analyzing the com-munity’s health. A local employee of MoSA explained the results of the health assessment carried out in the village, which was the basis for opening the clinic:

“The first reason for creating the center was the health situation of the village. Parents were neglecting the health and education of the children.They would go to work and neglect the children. There was a high num-

ber of children with disabilities in the village [at the time of the MoSA study] because the parents were not following the health ‘program’ of the children. For example, they were skipping vaccinations. The second reason was that the village is isolated from the other villages and health centers. It is five or six kilometers away from the other ones. So MoSA came to World Vision with the idea that the organizations would create a dispensarytogether. Before the clinic was created in 2001, MoSA had yearly vaccina-

tions campaigns in the three poorest villages here (Wazzani, Ain Arab, Wata el Khiam) and Helta. The toughest community to deal with was Wazzani because no one was responsive, not the fathers, the mothers, the head of the municipality, the mukhtar, etc. Solutions for the health problem needed to be through social, interactive activities with the residents and the parents to guide them through the importance of health solutions and vaccinationsfor their children.”

According to the doctor at the clinic, the overall health of the population is quite good. The common health problems amongst children are colds and the flu. In the summer there are cases of gastrointestinal problems. The most common one is brutsella, which is contracted through consuming nonpasteur-ized goat’s milk. Among the adults there are cases of diabetes, hypertension, and heart problems. There was one case of a youth, around 14 years old, who was injured by an unexploded ordnance: “… He crossed the wire [demarcating the dangerous area] and it exploded on him.”

Although the health of the children is quite good, key informants were still concerned about an apparent lack of hygiene among the villagers, and especially among the children. One World Vision staff member explained:

“They walk barefoot, they play in the mud. They don’t care about shower- ing or washing their hands. A lot of them have lice. They only take a bath when there are celebrations. We have had campaigns about this … They

don’t use soap. They don’t change their clothes. This is one of the reasonsthey get sick. Otherwise they are healthy.”

One mother outlined some of the eating habits of the community:

“From the food that we produce ourselves we sell some and store some for ourselves. In the summer we eat vegetables, normal food. It is because we can buy more because there are jobs and income. The community cooks all [sorts of] different dishes with chicken. They slaughter some and eat them. We eat tabouleh, fried potatoes, etc. In the winter we cut down on all foods as much as we can. We don’t prepare rice as much. We eat beans, lentils, grains, mulokhieh; we cut down on things we buy. In the summer we freeze things and we use them in the winter. Eating meat depends. For example,on holidays we eat more. But we eat no meat on regular days. My mother-

in-law will give us small portions of meat. Some families eat meat once per year. But it’s OK because we live with eating other things. My family hasno chickens to slaughter. We save this money to buy clothes and station-

ary for school. We don’t want the kids to go to school looking like they are wearing dirty clothes. In the summer we buy more than what we get fromthe ground. In the winter we depend on what we stored from the summer.”

Families buy vegetables that they do not grow locally. Also a truck comes by every two days and many produce from it.

Interestingly, in spite of their intake of fruits and vegetables and a regular supply of protein, the doctor at the clinic said that the average height and weight of the children is lower than normal. She mentioned a survey of school children that was conducted in Khiam and noted that the children from Wazzani had the slowest growth. No explanation was provided as no studies have been done to try and understand this problem.

Breast-feeding does not seem to be that common. One woman’s comment reflected the attitude of the others: “I breast-fed the first child but the others used a bottle. I would breast-feed for two months then the milk would stop so I would switch to a bottle.”

Girls marry at a young age; sometimes brides are as young as 13 years old. Being sexually active at that young of an age, and becoming pregnant, can have a physical and emotional impact on the girls. Most of the women said that they used some kind of birth control, though oftentimes it was not consistent. The doctor commented, “All the women seek prenatal care. They don’t give birth at home. Yes, they use contraceptives. The husbands do not have a problem with them using contraceptives.”

Overall the community is healthy. The main health issues that they face are as a result of living under constant tension of possible conflict and due to the struggle to provide for their families.

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Wazzani’s greatest vulnerability is the constant threat of conflict and displace-ment. Since 1948, in one way or another, all the conflicts affecting Lebanon have impacted Wazzani. Because of its location in the south near the border with Israel, there is no industrial investment, and as a result, residents are forced to depend on small-scale agriculture for their livelihoods. Those who travel outside the community have managed to get occasional jobs in construction. But the vil-lage as a whole, whose residents are unable to improve their livelihoods, remains perpetually on the brink of extreme poverty.

Because of their low level of education, Wazzani’s villagers have little human capital, such as formal training or skills. Their access to technology is minimal.

Their social capital is also limited, as they see themselves as isolated and ne-glected and have only their family network and occasionally their neighbors for support. One woman summarized it, saying:

“There is no one I can go to for help. I trust my brothers and sisters but no one from this village. This is the biggest issue. Each family is with their own family. Each household tries to improve their own situation. But, if there is a problem inside the house they all [the other members of the village] come and try to assist.”

Another man commented, “If someone is in need of help then we get together to do it. It used to be better before. Maybe the old generation had a different way of thinking than the new generation. Maybe the old generation had a better spirit.” The sense that in the past the social networks were stronger and more supportive was reflected often. One man commented:

“There is not one person that all of the people can go to if they have a problem. Before, with the original community, there was one sheikh that all of the people would go to for help. But now everyone wants to be a sheikh [he joked]. There is no one person. This was in 1975-76. I remember my mom and dad telling me about a sheikh that they used to consult. But sinceI was born, I knew the community as it is now. It is not like it was before.”

The social changes are also affecting family structures. One man described the struggles that his family has experienced due to the changes:

“The past was better. Families used to be tighter. We had three girls and seven boys in my house. But now one house has broken into five houses.When I was growing up, we used to eat from the same plate, but now every-

one wants their own plate. I used to walk to school in Khiam, but now they get a car there and the kids are barely satisfied. The young men used to have more strength before. It took us an hour to walk there and back. There is noreason for the changes.”

Given the difficult times that the villagers in the south have faced, often social ties are not enough to overcome the challenges resultant of war and conflict; out-side help is needed as well. Yet, assistance has not been consistent and equitable in reaching all those in need, leaving Wazzani with continued feelings of margin-alization and isolation. One older resident of the area described what frequently occurs when aid is provided:

“Different villages have different needs, but people don’t listen to them [the villagers]. They [the donors] are looking out for their own benefit, not forthe benefit of others. Even UNIFIL, they ask, ‘Where is the mukhtar? Be-

cause we have something for him.’ But why for him? The assistance is going to the mukhtar in order to be able to help the whole village, but the mukhtar is taking it for himself and not for the village. This happens in all of the areas. They are trying to take the benefits for themselves. They will give it to their families. They say that they need it for many people but it just all ends upwith the same family.”

The following are some comments from villagers, which reflect their frustra-tion with the way aid is provided:

“There was a foundation that gave us a milk fridge, which fits 500 kg of milk. But that’s it. It is nothing. We want a fridge that can fit way more, so the milk doesn’t go to waste. If the milk is not in the fridge, it will go bad in five hours. If it is in the fridge, it can stay fresh for about one week or 10 days. Not all of the village can use the fridge. Only the milk production of two people can fit in it. There are not two specific people that are using it. We take turns. We produce too much milk and we can’t put it all in. It isnot big enough.”

“A lot of organizations come to Lebanon to give assistance, but they don’t reach this area. They go to other areas and stop there. We are frustrated with studies done and the lack of projects except some individual projects

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by World Vision and Mercy Corps. In Marjayoun they had a workshopabout beekeeping and the people didn’t tell me [he keeps bees]. The orga-

nizations don’t put in the time to tell people and groups the information of what’s going on. And then they come and ask me why I wasn’t there. Thereare no reasons why the organizations are not working here. Some organiza-

tions prefer, or see it wise, not to come. Or they spend some of the funding and put the rest in their pockets. Or they take shortcuts – like working in theclosest villages [those convenient to their offices].”

“I think UNIFIL helped with the mosque, but I don’t know for sure. The army helped several times with internal conflicts in the village. They cameto settle the conflicts.”

World Vision and the MoSA built and staffed the clinic in Wazzani. World Vision also provided assistance to a child who had been disabled by a UXO, which he stepped on while herding his sheep, and helped him get an artificial limb. Other than the clinic no other agencies are currently working in Wazzani.

One often heard comment was that villages that politically align with certain parties or groups receive assistance, while other villages are either neglected or receive very little. One man commented,“There are more things done in villages with political affiliations, for example in Khiam. It was nothing before the libera-tion but look at it now, it’s better than Beirut.” Wazzani suffers because it has not politically aligned itself with any one group. For better or worse, many are proud of this. One man commented:

“In this village there is no presence of political parties or influence. You will find some people that follow them. But most people are not involved in this. If there is anything we can be envied for, it is this.”

Another man affirmed this, saying:

“We were always free of political parties. We wanted to be left alone to work, and live, and provide for our families. There is a trend in Lebanon that villages that accept political intervention will benefit and prosper. But the others suffer. It should be the opposite. The government should help these people.”

The same man continued:

“The main reason we face challenges here is there is no care or attention by the government or ministries. There is no monitoring. There is favoritism. So if the government is not taking care, and you don’t belong to a politicalparty, you are not getting support. Then no one is taking care of you.”

While the whole area has abundant water and very fertile soil, social and economic changes are reducing the natural capital of the people of Wazzani. Each family has a small plot of land that they use to supply some of their own food needs. They supplement what they grow by purchasing what they need. One man described the changes:

“In the 1970s and 1980s there were no big farmers here so we could rentland from the church to take the cows to graze. But since 2000, big farm-

ers from Beirut and Bekaa rented the land. We just have the land where our house is. We have no other land. We used to rent land for $20-30 but the big renters came and offered $100 for longer term leases. So of course the church preferred them … We had sheep and goats but we sold them because there is no land for grazing. Now we have 10 sheep and the rest arecows. We used to have more. We sold them two to three years ago.”

Another man commented, “Before when I was young there was a lot of unculti-vated land around and open spaces. Now everywhere around us is all cultivated by people, by the ‘big fish’ who are not from here.”

Some community members have sought grazing land further afield. As one man described it:

“There is nowhere to take the sheep, there is no land. Next to the river there is a small piece of land. All of the people go to the river or even further, onto the plains of Marjayoun. Some people stay out for four months and sleep there in the spring. My dad does this. My brother and father take shifts withthe cows and goats. They use a small room that they build next to the graz-ing area. They rent this land for those months.”

Compared to many of the other marginalized communities in Lebanon, the physical infrastructure in Wazzani is now quite good, although it was not always so. During the occupation there were problems accessing water and electricity. Until 2001, residents remember having frequent power cuts, as the electricity was being supplied by the Lebanese government from areas that were not under occupation. Israel was not providing any electricity for the area. Similarly, they had limited access to water. But, one man described how the situation changed once the occupation ended: “Before the liberation there was no government to give us anything. When the liberation came, the government saw the opportunity to use the water from the river to provide water to the nearby villages.” Another woman said, “After 2001 we got electricity all day.” Electricity and water access remained fairly constant, except for intermittent loses due to problems with the weather, until the July 2006 war. One woman described the situation upon re-turning to the village after the war:

“We stayed for one month without water and electricity. But we were the first village to get water back because we have a water station near here and they needed to get water going again. Now we have electricity 24 hours aday. Here we have drinking water that comes to our house.”

The community had sewage networks installed around 1998. However, there is no dump for the garbage. Residents usually put the waste in a barrel and burn it. The surrounding roads are all paved; however, they have had to be repaired numerous times due to the bombings and damage that occurred during the wars. One resident noted, “World Vision donated materials and the residents built the roads themselves.”

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The villagers’ lack of financial capital is both a cause and a symptom of their poverty. One feature of Wazzani is large, but sometimes unfinished, houses. One man explained, “People mostly build houses, but they are not necessarily finished. They will build while in debt and keep installing things.” People don’t have savings for the long term. If they are able to save a bit, it is most often used to survive through the tough winter months, or pay for education and health care expenses. Sometimes they may be able to make additions to their houses, though this is more unusual. Some of the food that they produce is preserved and saved for the winter months when they know they will have a lower income and more limited access to fresh foods. According to one woman:

“We don’t save. We spend all of the money. But we take into consideration food for the winter, like labneh, wheat, zatar, etc. There is less production from the cows. So we keep food aside from other times. The money goes to medical expenses and doctors. The government will come and give us a fine for building too close to the road. Yesterday they charged my husbandLL50,000 [$33] for a late payment related to his car insurance.”

The immediate family is the only social safety net that most people have, and this is their primary coping mechanism, as one man explained, “There is assistance available within each household; for example, between a father and his kids. But the ones outside don’t help the ones here or vice versa.” For many, their cows, goats, and sheep are assets of value: “Some people reach bottom and they have to sell their animals or cows to cover their debt. And you find that it is common for people to work in more than one job to meet their needs.”

Conclusion

Wazzani is located in one of the most fertile parts of Lebanon with an abun-dance of water, yet the community struggles to survive on the edge of extreme poverty because they live under constant theat of renewed conflict and violence, and the resulting displacement. Other than their meager agricultural holdings, which provide for their daily needs and little more, there is no industrial or com-mercial investment in the area that would enable them to improve their live-lihoods. Their ability to hire themselves out as agricultural laborers is under increasing threat from Syrian migrants who are willing to work for less.

While having Lebanese citizenship gives them access to public education and health services, financial constraints disable them from accessing private services, which are widely considered of far superior quality. Moreover, there is a senti-ment amongst residents that there is hope for the new generation, but this hope lies outside of the community. Looking to the future, one man commented, “The older generation has no alternative jobs for the future. The younger generation can go out and see the world and meet new people; so yes they have other op-portunities.” The reality is that if the younger generation leave the village they

are lost to Wazzani, and they will most probably not return permanently even if they remain registered there.

In spite of their poverty, however, people do dream:

“I dream of my children being educated.”

“I would like to get stationary for my children.”

“My idea is to have a factory here to store the milk.”

“We need help with vet services or the milk. We would appreciate it a lot.The whole village would benefit from these things.”

None of these dreams is unreasonable, impossible, or selfish. They only reveal a basic human desire for a better life.

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1. (BBC, 2002)2. A pseudonym3. The Khiam Detention Center was built by the French Mandate authority in the

1930s. It served as a Lebanese army base until it fell under the control of the South Lebanon Army in the mid 1980s. Subsequently, it was used during the Israeli oc-cupation as a prison camp for Lebanese civilians, where, allegedly, an assortment of torture techniques was used against the inmates. The prison was closed when Israeli forces withdrew from the south in 2000. Hezbollah converted the premises and opened a museum on the site, but the Israeli Air Force bombed and destroyed it during the 2006 war.

4. In 1978 Sayyed H.E. Muhammad Hussein Fadlullah founded an orphange, the first of the Mabarat Association. Since then the Association has opened other cen-ters of orphans, schools for the blind and deaf, as well as academic schools and vocational training institutes. For more information see: http://www.mabarrat.org.au/aboutus.html

5. The history of the community as recounted by its residents is subjective, thus sometimes divergent or inconsistent accounts are quoted. These divergent percep-tions of the past are at times revealing.

6. (Amery, 2002) p. 313-3237. (Dib, 2009) p. 118. A dunam is a Middle Eastern measure of land usually equivalent to 1000 m2, al-

though it was originally equivalent to 919.3 m2. For more information see http://www.mideastweb.org/Middle-East-Encyclopedia/dunum.htm

9. The Cairo agreement was signed on 3 November 1969 by Arafat (the leader of the PLO) and Emile Boustani (the head of the Lebanese army). According to a Inter-national Crisis Group report, “The Cairo agreement recognized both the Palestin-ians’ right to wage their struggle against Israel from Lebanese soil and the refugees’ political and socioeconomic rights (to work, to reside, move and so forth).” (Inter-national Crisis Group, 2009) p.4

10. In order to leave the occupied south one had to get permission from both the Leba-nese and the Israeli authorities, so while it was possible for the Lebanese within the occupied south to travel to their ‘own country,’ it was not a simple affair and most did not visit the unoccupied areas until after 2000.

11. For more information see “Jmeijme” chapter.12. Interviews conducted by LSESD in 200913. Interviews conducted by LSESD in 2009

JMEIJME

Bint Jbeil, South Lebanon

David Urquhart, a British diplomat, traveler, and one of the earlier observers of the patchwork of communities that make up Lebanon today, wrote about the Shiites in his 1860 publication The Lebanon: Mt. Souria, A History and a Diary. He described a people impoverished, underdeveloped, and underrepresented politically.1

In 1974, Hasan Sharif citing Lebanese Government statistics wrote that while 20 percent of the country’s population at that time lived in southern Leba-non (a predominantly Shiite area), only 0.7 percent of the national budget was allocated to the needs in the area.2 He further writes:

“The south has the fewest paved roads per person per acre. Running water is still missing in all villages and towns although water pipes were extended to many areas in the early sixties. Electricity networks were erected at about the same time, but they are inoperative most of the time. Sewage facilitiesare available only in large towns and cities. Outside the larger centers tele-

phone service is completely absent except for a single manual cabin, which is usually out of order. Doctors visit the villages once a week and sometimesonly once a month. Clinics are maintained in large villages and do not func-tion regularly. Hospitals and pharmacies are found only in the larger popu-

lation centers. Elementary school is usually run in an old unhealthy house provided by the village. Intermediate schools were introduced to the largetowns in the mid-sixties.”3

Through 25 years of Civil War and occupation, followed by another devas-tating war in 2006, much has changed in southern Lebanon and for the Shiite community. While significant assistance has gone into building and rebuilding the infrastructure and helping people rebuild their lives and livelihoods, deep scars remain. Yet the events in this area have transformed the fortunes of the Shiite community in the country.

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Jmeijme is a small agricultural town nestled in the rolling hills of south Leba-non. At first glance, it appears as though the town is prospering. Large decorated houses lining its few roads give the impression of wealth. The residents appear happy. They are active, visible on the street, congregating around the local shops, smoking narguileh, and chatting with their neighbors. However, listening to their stories it quickly becomes apparent that first impressions of Jmeijme are not what they seem. Most of the residents do not own any part of the sprawling hills surrounding the area and are therefore forced to rent land for agriculture, taking out loans which they are rarely able to pay back. The houses are mere skeletons; only parts of each house are complete, yet there is no longer any construction going on in the village. Most of the village was destroyed in the July 2006 war. While the residents received assistance to rebuild their houses, it was not enough and the villagers ran out of money and have not been able to finish the rebuild-ing process.

It is hard to select just one tale to represent the face of poverty in Jmeijme. With a history of neglect compounded by the destructiveness of war and humili-ation of occupation, the villagers even today struggle to meet their daily needs.

south Lebanon

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The Shiites in Lebanon

There are three theories as to the origins of the Shiite community in Lebanon. Accord-ing to Albert Harouni, the oral tradition of the Shiite scholars of south Lebanon states that the community was founded by Abu Dharr, a companion of the Prophet and a strong supporter of Ali’s claim to the caliphate. After traveling from Medina to Damas-cus, Abu Dharr was exiled to the rural districts of Bilad ash-sham (Syria). It is inferred that from there, Abu Dharr was instrumental in spreading the Shiite faith. Early 20th century scholars such as Phillip Hitti and Henri Lammens claim that the origins of the Shiite community in Lebanon are Persian. The more recent studies postulate that the roots of the community are found in the Yemenite tribes that migrated to the area around the 10th century. According to Rula Abisaab, South Arabian (Yemenite) tribes such as the Twelver Shi’a Banu (Hamdan), were present in Jabal ‘Amil during the early centuries of Islam, as the term ‘Amil was itself a name of a Yemenite tribe.4

The Shiites have historically lived in the areas of south Lebanon known as Jabal ‘Amil (between the Awwali River to the north and Galilee to the south), and in the Bekaa Valley, especially around the towns of Hermel and Baalbek. The Shiites in the south were part of feudal systems where they worked in the fields of landowning families, who then arbitrated their disputes and provided them protection. Those in the Bekaa were not beholden to a few landowning families. They instead were more nomadic and their society was defined as a series of clans. Some of these were more powerful than others and were granted allegiance accordingly.

According to the 1932 census the Shiites numbered 155,000 out of a total popula-tion of 793,000. This was 19.5 percent of all those resident in Lebanon or 16.0 percent if the emigrant population was included.5 The major population movements among the Shiites started in the 1800s after the collapse of the silkworm industry when many left for the Ivory Coast looking for work, and in 1903 to Sierra Leone (because of poor agricultural harvests). Then in the late 1950s tens of thousands of Shiites abandoned their traditional farming villages and moved to the southern suburbs of Nabaa, Bourj el Barajneh, and ‘Ayn Rummanah. Beirut’s population tripled between 1952 and 1964 partly because of this influx. This exodus was triggered by land shortage, a steady decline in agricultural revenue and the relative prosperity of the urban areas. In 1961 less than 0.5 percent of peasants owned between 50 and 100 hectares of land.6 The policies of the Lebanese governments under President Bechara El-Khoury (1946-52) and Camille Chamoun (1952-58) left the South, the Bekaa, and Akkar undeveloped because these areas seemed irrelevant to the high growth sectors of tourism, commer-cial banking, and financial development.7 The South along with the Bekaa and Akkar as a result suffered the combined effects of underdevelopment, population growth, unemployment, and high rates of illiteracy.

Movements and political institutions

There were several episodes of peasant protests and labor unrest in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Finally in 1974 Imam Musa Sadr established the Movement of the Dispos-sessed (also known as the disinherited or the deprived), known in Arabic as Harakat al-Mahrumin. The focus was to better the economic and social conditions of the Shiites. To do this he established schools and medical clinics through out southern Lebanon. It was not a political party but rather a mass protest movement aimed at forcing the government to address the lack of services for the Shiites.8

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Amal (Afwaj al-Muqawama al-Lubnaniyya) originally referred to the militia that was raised in 1975 as an adjunct to the Movement of the Dispossessed.9 However it was soon to subsume the Movement of the Dispossessed both as a military and political organization. Amal as a political party is active within the formal organs of the gov-ernment, with its leader Nabih Berri currently elected the speaker of the parliament.

There is little known about the early history of Hezbollah, the other main Shiite party. Initially it was more of an umbrella organization for radical Islamist groups such as Islamic Amal and the Da’wa party.10 According to Hassan Nasrallah, Hezbol-lah’s founding committee comprised of nine delegates – three each from Amal, the Da’wa, and the independent ‘ulama.11 Hezbollah was initially based in the Bekaa, but after the Israeli withdrawal from Beirut in 1983 the party itself established in the southern suburbs of Beirut and in southern Lebanon. Hezbollah has been elected to and remains within the parliament. Besides its political wing, Hezbollah also main-tains a humanitarian wing and a military wing.


Jmeijme is located approximately 17 kilometers away from Lebanon’s southern border with Israel. It is one of the 42 villages found within the caza of Bint Jbeil, a district in which the administrative center is a village also called Bint Jbeil.12 The caza of Bint Jbeil is one of four cazas that make up the governorate of Nabatieh.13 Jmeijme is located near the larger village of Tibnine, and bordered by the villages Khirbit Silm, Al Sawaniyeh, Majdal Silm, Sultaniyi, and Safad el Bateekh.14

Jmeijme is completely Shiite Muslim. The caza of Bint Jbeil is predomi-nantly Shiite except for four Christian villages and four mixed villages. Accord-ing to one World Vision Lebanon staff member, the Christian communities in two of the mixed villages are rapidly decreasing due to higher emigration rates from the region within these communities.The high levels of emigration among Christians and Muslims alike during and after the occupation (1982-2000) had a greater impact on the Christian demographic in the region, as they were already a minority in the area. The same WVL staff member explained that although according to the voter registration, 70 percent of residents are Shiite and 30 percent are Christians, in reality around 85 percent of the residents currently living in the area are Shiite.

The head of the Jmeijme municipality explained that the village was found-ed approximately 400 years ago. Prior to that the area was simply a forest located on the top of a mountain. Around this time, a man from the Hamza family, originally from Tibnine, had a fight with his brothers and left the village. He eventually settled in the area that would become Jmeijme. As other people from Tibnine heard of the argument and took his side, they moved to the new settle-ment as well. Originally there were only tents, but eventually houses were built.

One woman spoke of the village gradually growing to its present size: “The

population got bigger overtime. It started with one house and then enlarged to six and 10 houses – about 200 people. The whole village used to be one street. That was in the 1960s.” Unlike other villages in the area, which had major pe-riods of emigration throughout history, the population of Jmeijme grew in a relatively stable manner over time. One key informant from the area explained the situation in Bint Jbeil in the early part of the 20th century:

“During World War I there was a lot of migration from the region, especially from the Christian villages. Most of the migrants went to Brazil and Argentina. They thought they were going to America. This was a majorperiod of migration in all of Lebanon.”

Villagers remember getting water and electricity in the 1960s as well. It was around this time that a school was built in the community, and education started becoming more important for the villagers. One woman remembers, “Thirty years ago the kids started going to school. Many people put them in school to get higher degrees. But some people couldn’t afford it.”

Jmeijme has typically been an agricultural village, relying both on harvesting crops and raising animals as a means of living. One man explained:

“Before 1975 there were different types of crops, like beans and wheat. We used to have animals, so we used to farm in large amounts to be able to feed the animals. After the [Civil] War we stopped working with animals, so wedidn’t need huge amounts of crops to feed them.”

Being located in the south, close to the border with Israel, Jmeijme has been largely affected by wars and conflicts, many of which had devastating effects on the area. One key informant from the area explained how the occupation was particularly difficult on the caza of Bint Jbeil:

“It was mostly affected because of the division of the villages; not all of the villages were occupied. Half were inside the area and half were outside. Also, families were separated. Some of them were not allowed to go inside the occupied area, mostly Shiites. The Christians were mostly allowed to go in and out. But in each village there were two or three families that were divided.”

Yet, there were some financial improvements to the area at that time. The key informant continued:

“The occupied area was better economically. It was very good. You could say that each person ‘had a cow.’ Many people were working in the South Lebanon Army or going to work in Israel. Some were against it. They stayed outside the area and wouldn’t work with them [Israel]. Some familiesboycotted Israeli products.”

Even though the 15-year Lebanese Civil War ended in 1990, the occupa-tion of the southern areas of the country continued for another 10 years. A key informant explained the different periods:

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“There were two stages. The first was from 1982 to the 1990s. This was a tense period because the occupation was still new to the area and the war in Lebanon had not yet stopped. But in the 1990s, when the war ended in Lebanon, the occupation started to get a little bit easier here. People got used to the idea that they were in an occupied area. We could leave the area, but you would have needed about 10 hours to get to Beirut, and you had to get permission from both sides. There were no problems between the people that supported Israel and those that didn’t. On a social basis, therewas no division.”

While there was electricity and water available in the area before the Civil War, one key informant described the fact that the infrastructure was generally weak: “It was bad quality. We had water and electricity, both of these since the 1960s. They were a bit damaged [in the war].” The occupation brought benifits to the community in this respect

“The infrastructure improved during the occupation. I think there were a lot of donations coming from abroad to help with paving the roads, the water, etc. The Israelis didn’t build any schools, but they built two hospitals in the area. One in Bint Jbeil and one in Marjayoun. They made a fewrecreational clubs.”

One key informant explained the reactions of the caza when the occupation ended in May of 2000:

“From the Christian point of view there were two different feelings. One[of] joy, coming back to the Lebanese government. And one of anger because many families left to go to Israel. Before the Israelis left, there were negotiations on how they would leave and how the Lebanese government would come back to the area. But the Israelis left quickly and people werevery afraid of having problems with the Lebanese government or Hezbol-lah. But after one month, nothing happened, everything went back to normal. Yet, I remember one man said, ‘I have been raised by someone for 25 years and now you are coming and telling me, This is not your family. How am I supposed to feel about this?’ The occupation was from 1978 to 2000, so for a long time you felt like it was normal, and then they came and changed it.”

Another key informant explained, succinctly, the feelings of the Shiite residents in the area: “The people were happy to be free.”

Yet, while many residents were happy to have the area reunited with the rest of Lebanon, there were other changes that took place due to this sudden change. One key informant explained:

“Economically, the Shiite villages had a problem. After 2000, the doors were open to competition and Syrians and trade workers came and stood in front of their shops and sold products for very low prices. It took two to three years before it balanced again. Still, it was a more prosperous time then [during the occupation compared to now].”

During this time, people became used to the higher salaries associated either with working for the SLA or in Israel. Many people stopped farming their lands, which became neglected. After the withdrawal, people had to find new types of employment, either rehabilitating their land or working as day laborers, as well as dealing with the new competition that had entered the area.

Not long after the end of the occupation, while families were still dealing with the changes in the area and trying to adjust to the new situation, the 34-day 2006 war with Israel took place (see section “The 2006 war and its impact on Lebanon”). While there were effects on the entire country, the south was par-ticularly affected, and most specifically, the Shiite villages. One man from the village provided a comprehensive explanation of the situation in Jmeijme during this time:

“In 2006, 80 percent of the village was destroyed. Four people died in the war. We went to Beirut and Saida. We came back right away after the war was over because we have spent all of our lives here and we had to come back. We had nowhere else to go. All of our houses and possessions were destroyed. The whole farming season was destroyed. Each family lost about LL10 million [$6,667] because of the lost season. We got help from Iran,Kuwait, and Qatar. People are still in debt because of the war and the farm-ing season that was lost. We took loans from the bank because we had to-

bacco licenses15 and we still owe money. [Upon returning to the area] we made tents and lived with no electricity and no water. It took between a year and a half and three years for some families to build or repair their homes. After the second year we were able to start working in tobacco again. But we were afraid of the mines. We paid and rented lands in different areas where there were no mines. The government didn’t pay back the farmers for what they lost after the war. There were no alternative sources of income whenwe couldn’t access our lands. We just rented other lands.”

Destruction in Bint Jbeil after the 2006 war

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According to one key informant, most of the villagers, especially those in the Muslim villages, left the area quickly after the commencement of the war. Others, once the roads were bombed out, took refuge in schools and hospitals in the area. It is for this reason that the death toll may not have been as large as one would expect given the large amount of destruction that took place in the area. He explained:

“In each village there were between five and 10 people that died. The infrastructure was totally damaged, more than the people, in all of the villages. If you want to compare between the destruction and the death rate, it was a low death rate compared to the size of the destruction.”

A woman from the village echoed this sentiment: “A few people were injured but not a lot. It was mostly the houses that were destroyed.”

The area was provided with support and relief services in the aftermath of the war. One key informant said:

“The houses were damaged, and there was no money to rebuild again. There was a huge level of damage. Fifty percent of the villages were almost completely destroyed. The rest, varied between each village. All villageswere damaged in some way. After the war in 2006, until 2008, a lot of money came to the region, especially for construction, to rebuild the houses.”

Yet, this support was also the cause of problems in the area, as a key infor-mant explained:

“Most of the people lied about their original houses, about how big they were, or that they had more houses than they actually did, so then they could get more money. They took the money and bought cars, etc., so this caused problems with Qatar. For this reason, some families never got money. The donors stopped donating when they realized people were lying. Some people took a lot, one hundred times more than they deserved. And some people didn’t get anything. Until now, there are some shops and private businesses that were not compensated at all. They didn’t get any money, or products or anything.”

Another key informant further explained the reason behind the actions of the villagers: “Organizations brought items, like food, fuel, and blankets. Some families would tell that they had more members than they did, in order to get more things. It wasn’t because of greed, but it was because their houses were destroyed and they had nothing.”

As mentioned previously, even with this initial help, many of the families were not able to finish building their houses. One employee at the municipality explained:

“This is all new construction that happened after the war. Everything had to be rebuilt after 2006. It was funded by Qatar and the board of the South.The new houses are, of course, a lot better than the conditions of the original houses, because they got a lot of money after the war. Some have huge

houses, but they are not able to afford to continue with the construction because they only got money right after the war, and they are not gettingany money any more. All of the building has stopped now. No one is build-ing anymore.”

There continue to be many other long-term effects because of the war. Immediately after the war, residents suffered problems with their main sources of livelihoods. One man said, “2006 was a bad year because of the war. The olive trees did not produce that year. The animals, due to the war, stopped giving milk for a while, especially the cows. They didn’t give milk for six months after the war.” As the lands were littered with unexploded ordnance people were unable to return to their agricultural work until they had been cleared. Yet, there still remain UXOs in the area, affecting not only the lands, but also the safety of the residents:

“Until now, there are still UXOs and cluster bombs in the land. Each two weeks you hear of another one [exploding]. A lot of people were affected by these bombs. They lost parts of their body. Most of the land could not be used after the war, but they used it anyway, because it was the only source of income that they had. And that’s why you can find a lot of people that were affected by cluster bombs. Until now the lands are not clean.”

In an area that had already faced high emigration rates, the war only increased this trend: “After the war a lot of people emigrated, the rate increased. The businesses were damaged and they had no money to restart it again. So, they migrated to Beirut and other countries.”

Of course, there are also harsh psychological impacts on the community members who have lived through years of occupation and war, although most do not recognize the affects. Residents of the area seem to have created a very strong façade, perhaps even unconsciously, as a coping mechanism to mask the psychological damage caused by years of conflict, occupation, and isolation. As one woman said, “We got use to war and we don’t even care anymore.” A key informant explained the perspective of the residents of Bint Jbeil:

“We are used to war here. When we are planning for the next five years, we have a ‘Plan B’ for war. We take security considerations into any planning that we do. If we want to get married, have children, open a business … You can even find the effects on insurance companies in Lebanon. They put in a clause that says that they won’t pay in case of war or security problems.People haven’t forgotten what happened in 2006.”

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The 2006 war and its impact on Lebanon

The 34-day war that took place during July and August of 2006 had devastating implications for the whole country. Massive bombardment of national and civil-ian infrastructure forced civilians to flee the targeted areas, including south Leba-non. It is estimated that 4 million cluster bombs were dropped in south Lebanon alone, most of them after the Security Council resolution that was signed on 11 August to end the hostilities on 14 August. The military blockade of land, sea, and air continued for weeks beyond the end of hostilities, with severe economic consequences.

By the end of the 34-day war, infrastructure across Lebanon was severely dam-aged, including 125,000 housing units, almost 700 public and private schools, 16 hospitals, 65 outpatient clinics, 850 commercial enterprises, three airports (includ-ing the Beirut International Airport), the transportation system (97 bridges and 151 segments of road), sea ports, the telecommunications network, water and sew-age treatment plans, and the Jiyyeh power plant. Even after the Security Council resolution took effect, parts of South Lebanon remained uninhabitable because of the massive destruction and unexploded ordnance. The initial reconstruction costs from the government were estimated to be over $2.8 billion.16 The impact of the war was quite severe on the entire country.

Impact on the environment

The environment was severely impacted through the bombing of the Jiyyeh pow-er plant, which caused a 15,000-ton oil spill along the coastline and 20,000 tons of burning fuel. The bombing of infrastructure created almost 3 million cubic meters of rubble, which had to be removed and disposed of. These events have both short- and long-term consequences for the environment and the livelihoods of people working in this sector.

Impact on the economy

The areas that were targeted by the bombardment – the south of Lebanon, the southern suburbs of Beirut, and the Bekaa – are also historically some of the most deprived areas in the country, with higher average, absolute, and extreme poverty rates than most of the rest of the country.

The war took its toll on many economic sectors, such as agriculture, industry, services, and tourism, where it is estimated that over $3 billion in revenue was lost and 25 percent of the people working in the industry lost their jobs. The agricul-tural sector was adversely affected by the 4 million cluster bombs dropped over 34 million square meters, 1 million of which did not explode. This caused farmers to be deprived of, often, their only source of livelihood until the areas were cleared. Through the air, land, and sea blockade, the war deprived Lebanon of earnings that it would normally have received from trade and tariffs.17

Before the war, the government had been planning a large overhaul of the social safety net structure, which was meant to directly impact the poor and vul-nerable populations of Lebanon. The money that was initially budgeted for this

project was instead allocated to the unexpected and enormous costs of postwar reconstruction and rehabilitation.The projected GDP growth rate for 2006 was estimated at 6 percent. Due to the war, this projected increase was reversed and Lebanon instead experienced negative growth, decreasing the GDP by 11 points to minus 5 percent. In addition, unemployment rates doubled to over 20 percent.18

Impact on the population

The human toll of the war was massive, a quarter of the population (over 1 million people) was displaced from their homes. The death toll was 1,200 people, a third of whom were children, and some 5,000 people were injured, many permanently. These numbers do not include the people who have been killed by landmines or UXOs since the end of the fighting. Between the end of the 2006 war and the end of December 2007, there were 221 civilian accidents in the contaminated areas of southern Lebanon; 195 people were injured and 26 people were killed. The highest percentage of accidents occurred in the group of men over the age of 19, who were attempting to clear their homes.19

Over 500,000 people lost their homes, and thousands more lost their employ-ment and sources of livelihood. Because of the war, it is estimated that a further 100,000 people emigrated from Lebanon.20

The effects of the war were, and continue to be, far-reaching. They impact all as-pects of life in Lebanon and many social indicators used for monitoring poverty and development, as the targeted areas were also some of the poorest in the country. In addition to the large loss of life, civilians were also forcefully displaced, lost their homes and livelihoods, experienced massive psychological trauma, and must cope with the long-term economic and environmental effects.

Destruction in Bint Jbeil after the 2006 war

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Surprisingly, there seems to have been one positive aspect of the war on the communities’ relationships. One key informant explained how the villagers, especially of different religions, supported each other during and after the war:

“During the war, there were a lot of Shiite villages that were being badly affected. So the villagers went to the Christian villages. They thought it was safer and more secure there. The Christian villages welcomed them, took care of them, and treated them well. They hosted them. This showed unity in the region between the different communities.”

This inter-community support continued after the war:

“All of the people were working together to clean the streets, and helping people to rebuild their houses. If they didn’t have a house, they stayed together in one house until they finished rebuilding. It brought all of the communities together. This was one advantage of the war. People still feel this. This has continued for years. It is not the exact same as it was during the war, because then they were living in the same place, and eating thesame food.”

A village in Bint Jbeil with both a mosque (front right) and a church (back left)


The main street in Jmeijme runs along the ridge of one of the many hills in the area. Side streets branch off of the main street, usually abruptly ending when it is too steep to drive any further. While most of the houses on the principle street are located fairly close together, the houses on the smaller streets are usually located on small plots of land, providing some space between neighboring build-ings. Along the main street there are a few small shops selling some fresh produce but mostly nonperishable goods. There are also some other businesses in the area (for example, a local baker that sells manoushe) as well as shops that work with aluminum and concrete blocks. The office of the municipality is a central focus for residents, both in terms of its location as well as its role as a social meet-ing point as residents sometimes congregate under the large tree just outside its premises. There is a small clinic located in front of the municipality building and an unused school found on the main road leading into the community.

By and large, the majority of the community was rebuilt after the 34-day war in July 2006. Some community members and local key informants estimate that up to 80 percent of Jmeijme was destroyed. What remains is a stark contrast between those houses that somehow remained untouched by the heavy bomb-ings and those that were completely destroyed and have subsequently been re-built, although not completely. The new houses seem to mask the poverty and difficulties that are painfully obvious when speaking to the residents; the origi-nal houses perhaps offer the most accurate glimpse into the realities that the community continues to face today. For the most part, the original structures are simple dwellings, made of exposed cement blocks, two stories high at most. They are relatively small, with barred windows, and large grey water tanks sitting on the roofs. Unlike some of the other poor communities around the country, most of the houses were able to upgrade their aluminum roofs to a more solid cement roof. The residents who continue to live in the older houses almost seem to lament the fact that their houses were not destroyed and they were not offered any compensation: “My house leaks water and it is humid and it affects our health. We applied for financial aid, but no one helped. There are problems with the roof. It is an old house from before the [2006] war.”

According to the UNDP village profile, Jmeijme has a population of around 2,300.21 The mayor estimated the population to be around 2,500 with 1,200 reg-istered voters. There are approximately 300 houses in the village. Residents ex-plained that the population grew gradually over time, with few seasonal changes throughout the year. Unlike many other villages in the area, there have been very few residents who have emigrated abroad. The mayor explained that there was some migration historically, but it has been much more rare in recent times: “Our ancestors left and went to many places like the United States of America and Brazil. But this was around 100 years ago. Before they went they sold their

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lands.” This fact is one of the reasons that the villagers consider themselves to be in a difficult situation. While other villages have remittances that they can depend on, Jmeijme only has a few residents who have moved abroad. The mayor con-tinued, “The situation is different here than in other villages because there are no people that emigrated, so there is no money coming in.” Another woman said, “About 10 people traveled [abroad]. If the young people had opportunities to go abroad they would, because there are no job opportunities here.”

A key informant explained the situation of those migrating from the caza of Bint Jbeil:

“During the occupation a lot of people left the area and never came back, from both groups [Muslims and Christians]. [Also] after the withdrawal of Israel, a lot of people left. Each village differs in term of where the residents emigrate. In the village of Bint Jbeil, they go to America, Detroit. Eighty percent [of the people that migrated] went there. Others go to Africa, like Sierra Leone, Cote D’Ivoire, or Congo. Christians are going to America, Canada, or Australia, and a little bit to Europe. Some go to the Gulf area. They work and come back. The others never come back. They just comeback for a visit every few years.”

The head of the municipality estimated that five percent of the villagers originate from outside of the village. This is most often due to intermarriage be-tween different villages in the region or abroad. Of those interviewed, there were two people who noted having parents from abroad – Iraq and Egypt – who mar-ried locals. Apart from these members, the village is broken down into two large family groups, the Zein Eldine family, which is estimated to make up 15 percent of the total population, and the Hamza family, which makes up the remaining 80 percent of the residents.

One woman said that girls start getting married around the age of 16, while boys start marrying at a slightly older age – often between 20 and 22. One man elaborated on the engagement practices in the village: “The parents of the boy will go to the parents of the girl and ask for them to get engaged. There are no arranged marriages here.” Also, there were no current examples of men in the village who were married to more than one woman, although according to Islam they may marry up to four at one time. One woman said, “It is rare to have men married to more than one woman. There are no cases here. But as soon as his wife dies, the husband will take another wife.”

The culture and traditions surrounding marriage were affected by the pro-longed periods of conflict. As hard times fell on the area, the men were forced to work in order to provide for their parents and siblings, instead of either continu-ing with their education or saving for their own futures. Generally, it is required that a man provide a furnished house, as well as demonstrate financial stability, before the family of a potential wife will accept him. One local key informant said:

“The parents of girls want to know that the husbands have a house and arewell off, before she is able to get married. In the Shiite community the influ-

ence of parents on the decisions of girls is big, but not for boys. And it is less in Christian communities.”

Another key informant explained the effect of the situation on current family structures:

“Sometimes, after the war, it was very difficult for families to send their children to study at university in Beirut. So the sons started working with their families instead of going to school. The men didn’t have personal incomesto get married and have his own children, because he was working to sup-

port his family. Still, there are some guys who work while he is married and he will split his income. He will give half of it to his parents and half to hisown family. It’s a pattern among most people.”

Like Lebanon as a whole, the birth rate in Jmeijme has decreased over time. One woman explained, “Now people have no fewer than five children. Before it used to be up to 14 children. There was a family with 12 girls and seven boys, all with the same woman.” This was echoed by one of the nurses working at the local clinic, “The minimum children a family has is five. You can count on your fingers the number of families in the village that have one or two kids.” This change is mainly due to economic factors. One staff member at WVL stated:

“When females become pregnant, they think a lot about how many children they will have. They want two or three children. It is not 10 or 12 children like it was before. This is all due to economic reasons. For example, they would need to pay for university. This includes transportation to Beirut andback, to rent a house, the food, and the fees of university.”

Yet, even with just five children per family, this is still higher than the national average of 4.2 members per household.22 One man said, “There are at least five children in the family, but this can go up to seven or eight kids.”

Some residents mentioned the fact that there were few elderly residents in the community: “There is a high percentage of youth and adults, but there are only a few elderly.” The UNDP village profile reiterates this idea as it states that 53 percent of Jmeijme residents are under the age of 21.23

Livelihoods

Villagers mentioned that throughout history, they had typically worked in agri-culture and raising livestock. One man said, “In the past it was only agriculture and some people worked with sheep and goats. We used to grow grapes and figs.” The villagers also used to farm specific crops that were used to feed the animals. Throughout the Civil War sustaining livestock was extremely difficult. After the war finished families did not continue working in livestock and there-fore had more options in terms of what types of crops they could farm. Some

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found a guaranteed income in producing tobacco, which was undoutedly attrac-tive to those who had lost their previous livelihoods.

One man spoke of the changes that took place in terms of the livelihoods because of the war and occupation:

“After the first Israeli occupation, people stopped going to their lands. Then, when they were able to go back, it would have cost a lot to prepare the lands again. It would have taken 30 to 35 years. It was hard to go to the land and the fruit trees died. So, when the war stopped in 1984 here, everyone started working as employees. They got used to a monthly income [while working for or in Israel]. So there was no need to keep planting [the original crops]. They turned to tobacco for extra money. When Israel left in 2000, the monthly income stopped. So they have only tobacco, or maybe a dailyjob, or other farming activities.”

At this time, the community started focusing on tobacco farming (see section Tobacco Industry in Lebanon), although this does not provide enough income to support them throughout the year. Unlike other poor communities with high rates of unemployment, most residents of Jmeijme do have work but the income is not sufficient. This often results in men working two or more jobs, and their families, including their children, harvesting tobacco. The head of the munici-pality explained, “The problem here is underemployment. There can be no de-velopment if there is no employment. It is underemployment. People are not able to cover the cost of their basic needs.”

In order to supplement this seasonal income provided by tobacco, men start-ed looking for day labor positions: “Many people move to construction because of the return time needed before you can sell the tobacco. In order to make a living here, you have to have an alternative source of funds. So the man goes into construction and the rest of his family works in tobacco.” Often positions within these sectors are also seasonal.

Other men collect aluminum and metal, and there are three workshops in the village that rework these materials into various products. Some of the alumi-num or finished products are sold to the UN troops in the area. There were also four cement and stone workshops, although one of them recently closed. One man uses his tractor in order to collect the village’s garbage for the municipal-ity. A few residents own small shops along the main street.There are only a few people, four or five, who work with the government in public institutions.

There are some that still work in agriculture, apart from tobacco, either on their own lands or on other people’s lands. Some collect olives and sell them, or make olive oil for personal use. One woman mentioned, “There are around 20 houses that have cows and chicken, and work with dairy products.” But not all families have their own land. Some rent land from those with more land, who are often employed full-time, and do not need the income derived from agriculture.

There are still some men who are unemployed, as one man explained,

“There are many people here with no work. There are no opportunities. It is not that we don’t want to work, but there are no opportunities.”

As mentioned previously, it is not uncommon to find all of the members of the family contributing to the tobacco farming. Even if the head of the house-hold has other full-time employment, he will still contribute by helping the family work in agriculture: “Even the teachers will work planting tobacco. Even the people working as police and in the army.” The head of the municipality further explained, “Kids are working. All of the people in the family are working. From the moment the kids are able to do something, they are working. The kids are working during their vacation, but if it is a busy season, they will skip school to work in agriculture.” Another woman said, “All of the people in the family are working. The little kids are working when they are three or four years old. The women and everyone work. The women mostly work in tobacco.”

Tobacco industry in Lebanon

Tobacco is the fourth most cultivated crop in Lebanon, in terms of area, behind citrus fruits, banana, and olives, and is thought to have been planted in the area as early as the 16th century.24

Regie, formally known as Regie Libanaise du Tabac et Tonbacs, was founded in 1935 by the French Mandate authority in order to oversee the tobacco in-dustry in Lebanon. It operates as a semi-autonomous government agency, with the mandate to regulate tobacco imports and exports, as well as the retailers, wholesalers, and farmers.25

As of 2009, according to Regie, there were 24,000 licensed farmers in Leba-non, with 57 percent of them located in the south of the country. Other main tobacco producing areas are mainly found in the Bekaa and the north. The in-dustry has gradually moved away from Mount Lebanon where it was previously more common.26

Figure 5.1: Tobacco production by region (2009)

Region Production (kg) Average value ($)

South 4,401,948 32,838,532

North 1,479,479 8,936,053

Bekaa 1,895,884 11,451,139

Total 7,777,311 52,225,725

Source: Regie du Tobac et Tombcs, as reproduced in Halabi, “Burning a hole” (2010)

The prevalence of tobacco farmers in the south has increased over time, except for a period during the 1980s when, because of the occupation and large population displacement, the presence decreased. Since that time, it has

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recovered and continued to become more concentrated in the area. The main cazas of the south were tobacco is produced are Bint Jbeil, where Jmeijme is located, Marjayoun, and Nabatieh.27

In-depth interviews with key informants provided some insight into the in-dustry of tobacco farming. As the sector is completely government regulated, only farmers with licenses are able to sell the tobacco to Regie after the harvest. While, historically, families were able to receive licenses for four, eight, or 12 dunams,28 in recent times only licenses for four dunams were being provided, and currently it is impossible to get a license, because of overproduction. Families often work together throughout the year to complete all of the steps necessary for production, which involves planting the seedlings, relocating the seedlings, completing various harvests, and drying the leaves. At the end of the season, normally in November, families sell their harvest to Regie for a set price based on the quantity and quality of the produce; however, Regie will only purchase a maximum of 100 kg per dunam – even if more than that is produced. The buying prices range from LL10,000-12,000 ($6.67-10) per kg. Key informants explained that based on this, the maximum that families with a license for four dunams can earn per planting season is LL4,800,000 ($3,200).

The whole system has created an informal business among community mem-bers. Many families, often those who are better off, no longer need or desire to farm tobacco and so they rent their licenses to families who wish to farm the crop, but can no longer acquire a license. When it comes time to sell the crop, the renters will go with the license holders to sell the tobacco and take their profits, often paying the owners a fee of around LL500,000 ($333). This benefits both families as those without land are able to farm and earn an income, and license holders who do not produce a crop for three years are at risk of losing their li-censes. Additionally, there are some families who are able to produce more than 100 kg per dunam. These families will often sell their extra crops at a reduced price to others who did not use their license that year, who then resell it to Regie.

Tobacco farming in Lebanon has received mixed reactions in terms of its ad-vantages and disadvantages. The sector is highly subsidized by the government. An International Labour Organization (ILO) report states, “The government heavily subsidizes tobacco cultivation at an annual cost of over $73.3 million of which 47 percent is a direct subsidy.”29 In the south, the subsidies may be as high as 70 percent.30 Also, Lebanon has limited laws concerning the regulation of the tobacco industry. There are very low taxes on tobacco products, which is one of the factors that health officials blame for the extremely high rates of smoking. According to the Tobacco Free Initiative, 53 percent of adults smoke,31 one of the highest rates in the world.32 Additionally, the sale of tobacco is not yet limited to those over 18 years of age, and the rates of youth smoking continue to rise.33 It was estimated by an American University of Beirut study that the economy loses over $55 million per year due to health related problems associated with

tobacco, and there are 3,500 Lebanese deaths attributed to smoking-related diseases annually. Perhaps most concerning is that tobacco farming was also re-ported by the ILO to be one of the worst forms of child labor in the world.34

Yet, as mentioned by Halabi in the article “Burning a hole,” there are some benefits to the industry: tobacco production decreases the high rates of migra-tion out of the rural areas and into the already overburdened cities, and small- scale farmers are able to rely on a stable and dependable income in some of the most vulnerable and neglected areas of the country, providing a much-needed source of economic support for their families.35 However, some key informants believe that the dependency created by this guaranteed income has limited farm-ers’ willingness to diversify and stopped them from producing other crops (such as organic fruits and vegetables), which might in the long-term be more profit-able and sustainable but would require increased innovation and effort on the part of the farmer.

Dried tobacco plants

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Child labor in the tobacco industry in Lebanon

The International Labour Organization completed 38 assessments in 19 countries on the worst forms of child labor around the world, and listed children working in the tobacco industry in Lebanon among them.36

It is estimated that there are 22,400 children working in the tobacco industry in south Lebanon alone, some as young as 3 years old.37 The ILO provided the fol-lowing age breakdown of the children working in the tobacco plantations (see Fig-ure 5.2). Of those children interviewed, 42 percent started working when they were between the ages of 6 and 9 years old, while another 34 percent started working between the ages of three and six years.38

Figure 5.2: Age distribution of working children in tobacco production

Source: ILO, “Investigating the Worst Forms of Child Labour” (2002) p. 13

The reason for the high child involvement at such a young age is that most of their families are of especially low socioeconomic status, and depend on all family members for support in generating income. The ILO estimates that most of the families working in tobacco farming earn between LL10 and LL20 million per year ($6,666- 13,333),39 yet they have larger than normal family size, with, on average, seven members per family. The low income, combined with the large family sizes, creates the need for economic support from all family members in order to be able to meet their basic needs.

Along these lines, children’s participation in the tobacco industry is much dif-ferent than other forms of child labor, where they actually receive an income. In to-bacco cultivation there is no direct financial compensation provided for the children involved, though their parents may provide them with incentives. Families gain eco-nomically by not having to hire outside workers to help plant, maintain, and harvest throughout the process.

In the same ILO study it was found that one-third of the children work between 88 and 152 days per year, and 30 percent work between 152 and 226 days per year, yet most children are actually still enrolled in school, at least until the elementary

Income sufficiency

Nevertheless, families still have problems paying for their basic needs. Generally, the income in the village varies seasonally. Construction work is hard to come by during the rainy season: “If it rains, they don’t go to work for two or three days. So they have no income. If they have work, they have income. If they don’t have work they don’t have anything.” One woman mentioned that laborers might make LL25,000 ($17) per day; however, this was not enough to meet their daily needs, which could easily reach LL40,000 ($27) per day. This is similar to what those working in the agricultural industry receive. Those who work in other people’s lands must wait for planting or harvest seasons in order to find work and their daily wage. As mentioned previously, those who work in tobacco receive one lump sum according to the quality of the harvest. While this seems like a substantial sum at the time, it is hardly enough to cover the annual expenses of a large family.

These current salaries are much lower than what residents were earning when the area was occupied. One key informant explained, “The minimum wage someone would get was $800 per month. You could buy everything. Car fuel was $5 for 20 liters. Now, it is $21 for 20 liters. Now salaries are lower and things are more expensive.” A resident of Jmeijme added, “People are employed and they are working, but everything is expensive. Ten years ago it was different. People aren’t getting poorer but the expenses are increasing, like school, food, etc. People can’t afford much.” Another man went so far as to say, “Eighty per-cent of the people here live on the poverty line.” Yet, this is a particular category of poverty, as one man said: “There is no poverty in that people are dying of hunger. There is no starvation. But there is still poverty.”

level.40 Fifty-seven percent noted that working in the tobacco industry was negatively affecting their school performance, often due to a high number of absences, and a lack of concentration because of the early mornings associated with the work.

Similarly, 60 percent felt deprived of leisure time. Some schools have tried to ac-commodate these children by rearranging the holidays to coincide with the times of high demand in the field.41

The working conditions are often quite dangerous and the ILO reported that 25 percent of children have been hurt while working in the fields. This is most often related to the use of tools, which are too big for the children and have exposed parts, such as those used for stabbing the leaves in order to dry them. While working long hours in the fields, children are also prone to high levels of sun exposure, insect bites, and subjected to chemicals and presticides used to protect the crops.42

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Poverty in Jmeijme can be measured in different ways. One woman explained how people are unable to afford healthy diets due to their low income:

“A lot of families are not able to meet their food needs. For example, they eat laban and tea, or cheese and tea. They eat fried potatoes. They don’t have enough money to buy enough food. You can’t even ask them about the variety of food they are eating. When they have money, they buy food. When they don’t have money, they get whatever they can.”

The insufficient income is also affecting the ability of the residents in Jmei-jme to educate their children. One man explained:

“One indicator of poverty is that parents cannot afford to send their children to private schools. So they put them in public schools, which provide a low quality education. They send their children to public schools and not the ones [private schools] outside, because they cannot afford it.”

In a country where many believe that public schools are extremely lacking in terms of quality education, being forced to send a child to public school can be seen an indication of income insufficiency. Generally, only those in a fairly des-perate situation would select this option for their children. However, in Jmeijme, the situation for some families is so bad that they cannot afford to educate their children. One woman said, “Now everyone wants to educate their kids, but not everyone has the means. It is a small percentage that doesn’t go to school. Some register the kids but they can’t pay for the bus, so they don’t go.”

The expenses incurred in the village are similar to those in other communi-ties around the country. Parents must pay for tuition, the autocar, uniforms, and books for their children. One woman explained that the tuition for private school may cost up to LL1.5 million ($1,000) per year, per child. She estimated that the other associated costs would add up to another LL1.5 million ($1,000) as well.

Many of the families in the area, who do not have their own land, rent ag-ricultural land to work on throughout the year. This ranges from LL50,000-150,000 ($33-100) per dunam of land; however, there are many additional costs associated with the harvesting and upkeep of the land.

Other expenses are similar to those found throughout the country. One woman estimated that giving birth, even with the national health insurance, can cost up to LL600,000 ($400), and without insurance it could be as high as LL1 million ($667). The cost of electricity ranges depending on the family and the time of year, but is often between LL30,000 and LL50,000 ($20-33) per month. Household water, paid for yearly, is LL221,000 ($147). Many families mentioned the need for medications for themselves or their children. Some, especially those needing medication for chronic illnesses or problems, said they were unable to afford these on a monthly basis.

One major expense during the winter is the cost of fuel in order to heat the houses. One woman explained her predicament during the cold months:

“We also have to pay for diesel for the stove. We would rather keep warm than eat. If we can’t afford food and fuel, we will buy fuel. Every two or three days we have to pay LL20,000 [$13] for fuel, which equals about LL300,000 [$200] per month. We have to use the stove for four months every year.”

Other families chose to use wood to heat their houses, which costs around LL300,000 ($200) per truckload. Most families would need at least two loads to see them through the winter months.

Education

It is a quite recent phenomenon that education has become a universal value in Jmeijme. One man mentioned that families did not start educating their children until about 30 years ago; however, even at this point families did not send all of their children to school. One woman remembers, “The boys did go to school. My dad didn’t like to educate girls. The majority of families in my generation were like this.” She continued:

“By educated, I mean they can read and write. This was the basic definition of education then. They used to read the Quran and that was the definition of education. I think this type of education is better than going to Brevet nowadays. This is what my father and grandfather used to tell me, that education was better back then. But I don’t know why. In my father’s generation, there were no schools. They used to sit under a tree and readthe Quran with the sheikh.”

Eventually a school was built in Jmeijme. It was closed after the 2006 war for repairs, but reopened shortly after. The school since reclosed in 2010, as one man explained: “The Jmeijme school closed because the physical environ-ment of the school was not healthy. It got destroyed in the war and needs main-tenance.” A few residents mentioned that the school would be reopened once the repairs were complete, while others seemed less sure. The elementary-aged students are able to study at a public school in the adjacent Christian village of Safad el Bateekh. One key informant mentioned:

“They combined the two schools. It only has 49 children there. When wetalked to the director of the school, they said they will close next year be-

cause the level of education is weak, there is a low number of children, and low qualifications of the teachers. This is the same in all schools.”

As such, the educational future of many children from Jmeijme is uncertain. While some of the other students are bused to the nearby village of Tibnine, where another public school is located, the extra cost of transportation is a large burden on some families. Only one mother mentioned being able to send her children to a private school, because her husband is in the army and they receive yearly support for the cost of tuition. Construction is underway in Jmeijme to

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build a public high school. One employee from the municipality mentioned that the project is being supported by the government.

The school in Jmeijme is not the only one in the area that was affected by the war. Many of the schools in the area suffered material damage. As the war happened over the summer, there was some time for rehabilitation and repairs to take place, and there was a large push within the country, and among inter-national donors, not to let the war disrupt the school year. One key informant explained:

“Some schools were damaged in the war. So they needed time to reopen.But they continued teaching. Some used other buildings until they recon-

structed the schools. Qatar and some other donors helped the children payfor tuition fees, books, etc.”

Also located in Bint Jbeil, although not in Jmeijme itself, are several branches of universities. This benefits families by enabling them to send their children to universities in the area instead of having to pay for transportation and living expenses in Beirut, although a full course selection is not offered. One key infor-mant explained:

“There is one branch of the Lebanese University in Bint Jbeil, and a few private universities. But not all of the families are able to afford the private schools. But it is better than going to Beirut, because it is near to them. Also, here they will make a discount for the locals. They will give them around 50 percent off, so families do not have to pay the whole cost. But, they holdtheir diplomas until they pay their fees. Sometimes they will let them attend classes, but that’s it [they will not provide them with the diploma]. You have to pay $4,000 per year, and for a lot of families in the region, this is animaginary number for them to spend on education.”

The same key informant mentioned four vocational training schools in the area. These schools provide skills training for electricians, accountants, computer technicians, nurses, mechanics, hotel managers, chefs, laboratory technicians, early childhood development workers, etc. He continued:

“Sometimes it helps them get jobs, like becoming a lab technician in a hospital. They need to have a diploma to work in this. But in other trades, like electricians and mechanics, the owners of the shop don’t take diplomas into consideration. They are all small shops; there are no big companies. So thediploma will not even influence their income unless they go to Beirut.”

While previously very few people were educated, the number is increasing with each subsequent generation. One woman said, “Before we didn’t finish school. Compared to my generation they are doing much better in terms of edu-cation now.” One man estimated that 10-15 percent of the villagers had finished college. However, many are unmotivated to continue studying when they per-ceive a lack of job opportunities in the area. As one woman explained, “There are a good number of people who are educated and have college degrees, but

they are not employed because there are no job opportunities.”While positive trends are apparent in education, there are still reasons to be

concerned about the education of children in the area. The head of the munici-pality stated, “Not all of the kids [in Jmeijme] go to school. If they don’t have financial aid, they are not able to afford it. There are maybe 8-10 percent that don’t got to school ever.” This view was contrasted by a key informant working in Bint Jbeil, who said, “The illiteracy rates [among the children] in Bint Jbeil are 0 percent, but you can find a lot of adults and elderly who are illiterate.” Yet, one thing is certain, the dropout rates of children are fairly high, mostly due to economic reasons. Families mentioned being unable to pay for the transporta-tion costs, or higher levels of education, like Brevet and university. One woman said, “Children don’t continue after Brevet because they can’t afford to continue after that.”

Another reason that children are dropping out is to help their families who are working in agriculture, specifically those who plant tobacco. One nurse working in the community explained:

“The kids are around 10 years old when they start working. But the younger kids will go with their families to the field. There are many kids that stop going to school. They skip school during the planting season. And there are many dropouts, mostly from the elementary level, which is a critical time. They start skipping school for three or four days in a row to go to the fields, and then they don’t feel like going back to school anymore. Especially if the parents are giving them a small financial incentive. They are not getting anything from school, so they are encouraged to drop out. It is the samewith boys and girls. This is common in the whole region, not just here.”

One key informant elaborated:

“Kids will go to school until they are about 10 or 14 years old. And then they [the parents] take them out of school. For example, if the family has a lot of work in agriculture to do, they will take them out of school for a day to help. This is with the Lebanese families, but some of the Syrian families don’t send them [their children] to school at all. But, I think that under the age of 10 they sent them to school. But from the ages of 10 to 14 they start dropping out. After the age of 14 the [dropout] percentage gets higher. They go directly to work, for example as a mechanic, electrician, orin agriculture.”

While there is evidence that the level of education is increasing over time, with the poor socioeconomic status in the area, families must utilize every member in order to increase their income to be able to afford their basic needs. Children are being forced to drop out of school in order to help their parents in the fields, therefore prematurely ending their education and continuing the child labor trends, which are too common in the area.

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While it seems as though most families are eating enough food, there is anecdotal evidence that families are not eating the quality and variety of food required for a healthy diet. Key informants explained that the area used to be more produc-tive than it is now. Residents were able to cultivate enough food not only for themselves but also to export some outside the area. However, due to the war and the change in crops that are farmed, residents are becoming increasingly dependent on external sources of food.

Many residents mentioned difficulty in purchasing food, due to the increased prices. This is affecting their diet and their ability to prepare healthy food. One shop owner said, “Everything is expensive, and the food is expensive. If you have a family and you want to buy four kilos of zucchini and half a kilo of meat and rice for lunch, it will cost more than LL25,000 [$17]. People cannot afford it. There is a high cost of living.” Some families described having to make choices in regards to their expenses, and were forced to choose fuel or medicines over buying food.

One nurse working at the local clinic described a change in the types of food people, especially children, are eating:

“We don’t know exactly what the families eat, but of course there are some nutritional problems. There is some poverty. The kids buy junk food and snacks from the shops. But we have no studies to back this up. Some kids have anemia, not because the parents are neglecting them, but because theyeat a lot of junk food. It is not severe anemia, but it is diagnosed by the doc-

tor and he gives them vitamins.”

The shopkeeper added another piece of evidence to support this claim: “One family owes me LL700,000 [$467]. Their kids are always in the hospital, and the doctors told him [the father] it is because they lack proper nutrition.”

Another key informant in the area, who studied nutrition, explained:

“Young children are addicted to chocolate and chips and they don’t eat real food. They drink Pepsi, without drinking fresh juice or eating an apple. If the family is educated and knows about these issues, this won’t happen. This is a recent thing. Before they didn’t used to have those things here. They were not available in the markets. There wasn’t anything like this, and there wasn’t a lot of money. For sure this is due to the war. We used to be a productive community.”

Some of the families in the area grow their own vegetables, but many rely on the shops in the community who bring in vegetables on a regular basis. Some families also have their own cows and chickens, and therefore produce their own milk and eggs. There is no butcher in the Jmeijme, so residents must leave the village to buy meat.

As in many other communities, women used to give birth with the assis-tance of TBAs, but are now going to the hospital instead. This is a large added expense, especially considering the high number of children that families are having. Women noted that the cost of a delivering with a traditional birth at-tendant used to be around LL15,000 ($10), and it is now at least LL500,000 ($333) to deliver in a hospital. There are hospitals in Bint Jbeil and Tyre where the women can give birth. Many said it was common for women to seek prenatal care, but the number of times was dependent on what she could afford.

One problem mentioned by the nurses was that there is not enough time be-tween successive childbirths: “Some of the women give birth each year. There is no birth spacing. There was one woman who gave birth to six kids in six years.” One nurse mentioned that there are many women interested in family planning, but they are often unable to afford birth control:

“A significant number of women are seeking family planning services. But they cannot afford an IUD [intrauterine device]. The Ministry of Public Health [MoPH] used to give out birth control, but it had bad side effects. Women want to stop having kids, but they can’t afford the pills, so they havemore children, and their poverty increases. It is a cycle.”

The nurses at the local clinic provide home visits for new mothers, and help them deal with any problems they might be facing. One of the practices the nurses promote is breast-feeding. They believe that only 5 percent of the women in the community do not breast-feed; however, the age at which they will stop breast-feeding their children varies between three months and one and a half years old. Another improvement noted since the clinic opened is the higher per-centage of children who have been vaccinated. One of the nurses explained:

“When the dispensary opened 15 years ago, not all of the kids were vaccinated. I started visiting the houses and taking appointments for the women to come vaccinate their children. We got really good feedback from the World Health Organization for doing home visits … Now everyone has their vaccinations.”

The clinic provides the vaccinations for free, but charges LL5,000 ($3.3) for the consultation. Yet one local woman explained the situation differently:

“We get vaccinations at the dispensary. You pay LL 5,000 ($3.3) for someof them, but some of them cost more, up to $20. Some families cannot af-

ford them if they are more than LL5,000 ($3.3). They will get the ones for LL5,000 ($3.3) but not the other ones. They keep postponing getting the vaccinations, so they eventually get a disease. Three-quarters of the villagehave problems paying for the more expensive ones.”

While children in Jmeijme face many of the same problems as children across the country, such as the flu and colds, they are at risk of other health issues not found in other communities. Children are negatively affected by being forced to work in the fields at a young age. Children often end up working extremely

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long hours in the sun and some have complained of problems associated with the heat. Children have also been injured by the tools used in the cultivation of tobacco. One nurse at the clinic further explained, “Kids have problems with coughing, allergies, and asthma …There is a new trend that we have seen that some kids, around age three or four, are having allergic reactions because of the pests found in tobacco.”

Children have also been adversely affected by the wars in the region, most recently the 2006 war. Not only were children killed and injured at the time, but due to the UXOs in the area many children have since died. Far too often, chil-dren mistook the UXOs for toys and were injured or died as a result. One key informant explained, “Also, many children died because the bombs looked like balls – they were all different shapes and colors.”

A long-term effect was the psychological impact that the children have faced since the war. One key informant described the situation:

“There are a lot of psychological problems, especially for the children. They heard the sounds. Now if a door closes they get frightened. There is one case of a 13-year-old girl who, after the war, stayed in her house for over ayear. She refused to go out of the house.”

Additionally, the low socioeconomic status of the family contributes to the health problems found in children: “The income is not always enough to cover the basic needs of the families. They just buy the basics and this affects their health. The kids get sick throughout the whole year.”

As mentioned previously, there is one local clinic where residents can seek treatment and advice for basic health issues. The clinic was founded 15 years ago by an Islamic committee and the Ministry of Social Affairs. There are two nurses in the clinic between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m., depending on the day. They complete mostly first aid, emergency care, and administration work. Prior to the 2006 war, other doctors were also present at the clinic, such as a gynecologist and a pediatrician, but all of the specialists left in 2006 and 2007. Now, there are two doctors that come one day each, on Thursdays and Saturdays. The clinic charges LL5,000 ($3.3) for a consultation and does not charge for medica-tion, although one nurse said, “Here we only have ‘semi’ medications, not ‘real’ medications. There is nothing for kids, not even panadol. We get the medication from MoPH. If we have anything to give out the doctor writes a prescription for it.” It was also mentioned that because the clinic is a joint initiative between the MoSA and an Islamic committee, it receives less support from the government than other MoSA clinics.

The clinic mentioned receiving support from some international organiza-tions after the 2006 war, like International Medical Corps (IMC), but after the 2007 Naher el Bared crisis in the north, the funding was pulled from Jmeijme and used to help clinics in that area.

While most villages in the area have small clinics, they are not able to cover

all of the needs of the residents. One key informant explained, “Most of the vil-lages have clinics, small ones. They are mostly run by organizations. But not all of them are able to treat all cases.” One major problem noted among several key informants is that small clinics often give out expired medication:

“Some dispensaries here give out medication that has already expired. And people don’t look at it. A friend of mine has diabetes; he is young. And one month ago a dispensary gave him expired medication and he had a very bigproblem because of it. He almost died.”

There are public and private hospitals in Tibnine, Bint Jbeil, and Tyre. There are also services affiliated with various institutions and organizations, some run by political groups and religious orders. One resident of the area noted that all are welcome to seek services at the Hezbollah hospital, and they charge rea-sonable fees, like those in the public hospital. A private Christian hospital is currently being built. One key informant described the situation: “Most of the hospitals here are not well-equipped to accept all of the cases, especially, the emergency cases. People go to Saida or Beirut. Even in Tyre the hospital is not well-equipped.”

Another issue in the area, like many other communities, is that very few households have health insurance. One woman estimated that as few as 20 per-cent of the families have any health insurance. A nurse at the Jmeijme clinic was unaware of the exact numbers, but said, “Only the employed people have health coverage,” which is likely very few given the high rates of employment in agriculture and construction. Unlike other communities with no political affili-ation, some community members are able to receive services because of their alignment with Hezbollah or Amal. Others skip seeking medical consultations and go directly to pharmacies where they self-prescribe medication.

The general health of the community in Jmeijme seems to be deteriorating over time due to several factors. One key informant explained the situation in the area: “They used to raise animals at home – chickens, goats, sheep, etc. Things were healthier. People used to live very long lives. People used to get a lot of ex-ercise because they were working on the land a lot.” The change from an active to more a sedentary lifestyle is causing various health problems, most specifically, chronic diseases. One of the nurses explained:

“Blood pressure and diabetes increased over time because people are notworking like they used to. There is no physical activity. They have a sed-

entary lifestyle and neglect is affecting their health. In the old days, with farming, they did everything manually. No one had symptoms of the things we see today. We used to burn the fat. But now because we have becomedeveloped and developed tools for farming, the health is decreasing.”

Another reason given for the high prevalence of chronic diseases was the prevalence of war in the area. One nurse said, “Diabetes and blood pressure are mostly because of the fear of a war, and that people neglect their health.”

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Another woman from the community provided further insight: “We never relax. We never sleep with a good conscious because we live on the border. We are in a constant state of fear. It [illness] is from despair and fear.”

As mentioned previously, one nurse also alluded to the fact that people do not take care of themselves:

“They don’t take medicines regularly. If someone doesn’t have money they will skip their medication for a month and the situation deteriorates. They don’t go to doctors regularly. They wait until it gets really bad and then go. They wait until it gets complicated.”

This apparent neglect may have more to do with the financial situation of the residents, being unable to afford consultations and prescriptions, than pur-poseful neglect of their health.

One factor that is quite alarming is that these chronic diseases are becoming more prevalent among the younger generation. One nurse described, “These, especially blood pressure and diabetes, are increasing, even among young people like 20 to 23 year olds. They are now taking medication for chronic illnesses.” She continued saying that people suffering from these may pay up to $100 per month in medication.

The nurse also mentioned that asthma and allergies are quite common in the area. She explained this health issue as resultant of the local environment:

“People have asthma and allergies because of the humidity in the houses. Many of the houses have leaks and are very humid. Even the new housesbuilt after the war were not built properly so they are having the same prob-lems. So people have lived their whole lives with these problems of humidity and leaking, which became chronic problems. Also, these problems are because of the poor environment. The soil is very polluted since after the war. We noticed the problems because of the coughing of the children thatcame to see the doctor. They had only small problems at first, but the parents couldn’t afford to buy them proper medication or treat them. So they become worse and it turned into a chronic disease. The allergies are to plants and to the dust and substances that came from the machine guns. It went into the soil. A lot of the soil is not clean.”

Disabilities are prevalent in the area, caused by injuries due to the war, as well as defects at birth. One woman mentioned a girl in the community who was born with disabilities. Her family needs to pay $400 per month for her medica-tion. One key informant explained the additional problems that children with disabilities face:

“There are no services for disabled children. Hospitals are not equipped. Schools are not equipped. There is not even one school in the area that is equipped. They don’t go to school, at least not in the region. If the families have money they will send them to a private school outside of the region. There is a mix of all kinds of disabilities, mental and physical. A lot ofdisabilities are from the war. There is one center specialized in mental dis-

abilities. It is a school but they don’t sleep there. But it is not enough for them. There are so many villages and only one school. It is too far for manyof them to go there.”

The lack of service provision and support for the disabled, perpetuates their already difficult situation. As one woman explained:

“I have a son who was injured in the war. He is disabled now. He sits in ashop all day. He has three kids. We get no assistance from anyone. Some-

times he makes only LL10,000 [$7] in the store. He has a disability card, but it doesn’t help him. He doesn’t even have a house. He stays with us or with his brother. He used to work in someone else’s land before he was injured.He was injured in the fighting in the 1990s and he needed to have an opera-tion, but it was delayed.”

There are a few seasonal variations in the health status of residents. In the winter flu and subsequent infections are more common. A key informant further explained, “People are more sick in the winter because the families don’t have money to have a heater or to buy wood for the heater. They might turn it on sometimes but not all of the time. If they need to buy wood, it is costly and fuel is also costly.” One resident noted that there are increased costs for medication and treatment due to the higher prevalence of illnesses in the winter. In the summer diarrhea and viruses, either from bad food or swimming in the river, are more common. There was also an outbreak of eye infections in 2010, which the residents believe were caused by the river water too.

Quite surprisingly, given the historical situation, the nurse did not believe that there were any mental health issues in the area:

“There are no severe mental health problems. But there is the usual frustration caused by the economic and financial situation and the political situation. There are no cases of post-traumatic stress disorder. We become stronger after each war. We become resilient. We have become so resilient that we are affected when someone dies, but only for a short duration. Wehave become used to it. It is normalized.”

Other health issues mentioned by the residents and nurses were: epilepsy, liver problems, and other infections. Key informants believe that the chronic dis-eases are a direct result of the conflict and tensions that have faced the village for decades. The asthma and allergies prevalent are most likely caused by the poor housing conditions and potentially due to the environmental conditions caused by the war, for example the dust released from the machine guns or chemicals in the soil. Disabilities are prevalent in the area, many of them caused by the war or the explosion of cluster bombs that litter the area in its aftermath. While the local nurses were unaware of any severe mental health issues, it is evident that the war has deeply affected the villagers psychologically. This is evidenced by comments constantly referring to past problems and their desire to relocate away from the border.

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Like other rural communities in Lebanon, social assets have historically been among the greatest assets of the community, though generally over time these have weakened. The caza of Bint Jbeil presents an interesting case study because of the different religions present in the area, as well as the conlicts that have taken place. During the Civil War, as one key informant explained, “There were some clashes between Christians and Shiites in the area. After the war, and until now, there are some people who have problems with religion.” This sentiment is quite common across Lebanon, as the memories of the recent Civil War linger. Yet, the 2006 war seems to have reintegrated the groups and improved the social ties between and within the villages. As the Shiite villages were being targeted, many residents fled to, and stayed in, the Christian areas. Key informants describe families sharing the same house and the same food throughout the remainder of the war. After the war, the residents of the area worked together to clear the debris and rebuild their houses. While the feelings of connectedness between the groups may not be as strong as they were at this time, they are present, and they represent a large improvement over earlier social divides in the area. One man said, “The community relationships are very good, especially with Safad el Bateekh [the neighboring Christian village]. We are integrated together.”

Likewise, within the village, there have been changes over time. Generally, residents agreed that historically the social relationships were better than they are today, but there was disagreement over whether these relationships are still strong now. One woman explained her view of the social ties in the past:

“Thirty to 40 years ago life was more beautiful here because there was aconnection between the people and they had an affection towards each other. If I had one piece of bread, I couldn’t eat it if I knew that other people were not eating anything. There was lots of sharing before. Now people are not as close as before. One indicator is that people used to visit each other during religious ceremonies, and now it is not happening. Now people are thinking about their daily hardships and how to make a living, so they don’t have time for each other. Still now, if anything happens people will come together. If someone dies people go to see the family. But before there wassocial cohesion. Everyone was helping everyone else.”

Many villagers seem to agree with this woman’s description, that while rela-tionships have generally decreased over time, residents, friends, and family mem-bers are still able to depend on each other in times of need. One man said:

“People are still caring, they stand together at funerals or at other celebrations like weddings. People who come from outside enjoy being here because people are generous, even though we are poor. People are nice, simple, humble, and we like to have fun and meet new people. We are very hospitable.”

Another man explained how the social ties end up acting as an informal safety net, helping the people in times of need, not only in Jmeijme, but all over Leba-non: “It is very hard to find someone in Lebanon who is starving because of the social relationships. The social capital has not changed over time. It is still the same. You can tell by the relationships with the neighbors.” Yet, not all villagers agree with these statements. One man stated, “Everything is hard. No one loves each other anymore. If people loved each other then this would be the most amazing village. There is nothing positive here.”

Organizational and institutional support in the village have been sporadic over time, either increasing or being interrupted at times of conflict. Prior to the war, the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) and other organizations had been providing medical support through the employment of doctors at the local clinic. However, their services were interrupted during the war, and the nurses claim that all but two doctors left immediately, or shortly after the war. As mentioned previously, organizations immediately responded to the situation after the war was over, and provided much-needed supplies, such as blankets and fuel for families, as well as supplies for the clinics. Other donors, mostly coun-tries, supplied funding for the reconstruction of buildings and houses, though the funding was stopped before many were complete.

Residents mentioned that many organizations have come to the area and completed informal studies, though nothing substantial had been conducted previously. An employee at the municipality explained that the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) has previously planted trees in the area, pro-vided employment opportunities, and is currently working on a project to filter used domestic water so that it can be used to water crops. Signs with the Interna-tional Labour Organization and Action Contre la Faim/Action Against Hunger (ACF) logos were also present in the community.

Perhaps the largest source of support that the community has received is through the humanitarian wings of the political groups Hezbollah and Amal, who are both active in the larger area. One key informant explained the changes that took place as a result of the rise of the parties, not just for Shiites, but for the whole area: “They do a lot of services for their members. The whole region benefits from having the parties here. They made a lot of schools, and because of their presence you can find official hospitals.”

At first sight, there seems to be an abundance of natural capital available to the village of Jmeijme, although there have been many changes over time, contributing to some of the current problems for the community. As mentioned earlier, Jmeijme’s residents used to depend on various agricultural crops and livestock as their main source of living. One community member remembers, “Before there weren’t any machines to make the land flat for farming, so we used to use cows and donkeys to flatten the land.” Over time, and mainly due to the prolonged Civil War, land suffered from abandonment. When farmers were able

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to start using the lands again, much of it was in such a poor condition that they could not afford to restore it to the condition needed for the previously planted crops. Because they were no longer raising livestock and needing large amounts of feed, there was more freedom in terms of what they could plant. Additionally, as a branch of the government purchases tobacco at the end of the season, it is a guaranteed income for the residents, and another reason why many decided to move into tobacco production.

Many villagers made tobacco farming their main source of income, although they continue to rely on other small crops and jobs to supplement their revenue during the offseasons. However, the opportunity to grow crops is dependent on the amount of land available to the villagers. One woman from the village ex-plained, “About 50 percent of the people own their own lands and 50 percent rent the land. They have had these lands since the time of their ancestors.” Another explained that their ancestors were the ones who sold the land, many generations ago, leaving their families in difficult positions today. While there ap-pears to be copious amounts of land in the surrounding areas, “There is a lot of unused land that cannot be used for building because it is too steep, and cannot be used for farming because it is too rocky.”

Yet some still own enough land to farm, although not all of them use their own land. A woman explained why some villagers rent their land to others:

“People rent land from other people, like people from Jmeijme. People who rent their land do it because: 1. They don’t like to work in agriculture 2. They are better off so they don’t need to invest in this land. Or, 3. Theydo not have enough children to help with the farming. If it is just a hus-

band and wife, they will rent it because they don’t have enough help to farm the land.”

A road in Bint Jbeil

Some people who do have land grow vegetables and olive trees for their own consumption. The ones without land either rent land from those who do not wish to work it or work on other peoples land as day laborers.

The land has suffered from the years of neglect and conflict, and many be-lieve it is not as productive as it once was. One key informant whose family farms olives and tobacco explained:

“The seasons after the 2006 war were very bad. It wasn’t like usual. The olives, until now, are not producing the same as they used to produce before. An engineer said that it was because they were affected by the sounds and the shocks. Also, maybe they [Israel] used toxic materials.”

The lands continue to be affected by the UXOs, which have not yet fully been cleared.

The repercussions of the war on the land, as well as the change in crops, have had a large effect on the community in terms of sustainability and health. One key informant further explained:

“The problem is that we transformed from a productive community to aconsumer community. We used to have parsley, tomatoes, thyme, cucum-

bers, most of the vegetables. We used to plant them near the houses. Butnow we go and buy it from the shops. We never used to eat things like pre-

packaged food. But now we do it a lot. We used to have chickens at home and now we go buy chickens from the shops.”

This was similar to both the nurses’ comments, as well as the comments of el-derly members of the community, who lamented the lack of fresh food that used to be available, as well as the decrease in physical activity among the residents.

One key informant mentioned a solution to some of the problems that the area is facing in terms of natural capital that is being implemented in other areas of the country:

“Now you can see that the world is consuming a lot of organic plants, fruits, and vegetables. The region here is still fertile. The land is still virgin. We can benefit from organic foods in two ways; we can produce organic food [tosell] and we can consume organic food. It will help us to increase our in-

come and at the same time help with the health of the community membersand decrease diseases.”

He believes that new crops are not being planted because farmers feel tied to the guaranteed income they can generate from tobacco. Any alternative crops would require extra marketing and labor in order to ensure their success and profitability.

The community is doing fairly well in terms of the physical infrastructure and assets available in the area. Both electricity and water have been available since the 1960s, although this has inevitably varied during the times of conflict and reconstruction. One woman remembers:

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“We got electricity more than 30 years ago. It changed our lives! Before we had to handwash clothes, but now we have washing machines. I was young when it was installed. I remember being happy about it. We didn’t used to have televisions or fridges. There was one man who was living abroad andhe brought his TV back with him, the whole village used to go watch it.”

Currently the electricity supply alternates between being on for four hours and then off for four hours. While no houses have generators, some use battery-powered lamps when the power is off.

One nurse explained the situation regarding water in the village:

“The water is not potable but everyone drinks it. Only a few people buy potable water. People who cannot afford to buy water drink water from the tanks [on their roofs]. The water comes from another village to a large tank in Jmeijme, which fills the wells, and then those fill the tanks on the roofs. But this has chlorine and calcium in it. People also save rainwater and filter it and drink it. This is why they have problems with their kidneys. They have infections and dialysis because of the water and the sand in the water. They think it is normal because it happens to everyone, even the children. They have normalized it.”

There are some problems with gaining sufficient access to water during the summer months:

“We don’t get it much and we have to buy it. We get a truck that comesaround to fill up the tanks. A few people buy gallons of water, but it is ex-

pensive. The truck costs LL20,000-30,000 [$13-20] per delivery. The tank might last a couple of days or more, at most up to a week.”

There are no formal sewage networks in Jmeijme, or Bint Jbeil. A pit is cre-ated underground and the soil and rocks are used as a natural filtration system. There was no mention of related health problems, most likely as there are no water sources nearby to become contaminated with raw sewage: “Here there are no rivers, or any other water sources.”

Unlike many other poor communities in Lebanon, who cannot access fi-nancial services, Jmeijme’s residents frequently use banking services, although potentially to their detriment. Many members of Jmeijme mentioned that most residents of the village are in large amounts of debt, both to banks and local vendors. The major reason that families are taking out such loans is that they only receive one payment per year for the tobacco crops, based on the quantity and quality of the harvest. This is normally paid around January. Families are unable to sustain themselves over the course of a whole year on this lump sum income, and as a result, resort to borrowing both from banks and local shops. According to community members and key informants, anyone with a license to grow tobacco is able to take out a loan from a bank. For one license, each person is able to receive a loan of LL4-10 million ($2,667-6,667), which does not have to be paid back for three years.

Families are taking loans not only to pay for their farming inputs, but also to cover their expenses such as school tuition, health care costs, and food. This has resulted in a cycle of debt where people are taking out one loan to cover another one. One shop owner explained:

“Sometimes people take loans to cover their other personal debts. Mostpeople are taking more debts to cover what they already owe people. For ex-

ample, there is a man that owes me money and he is taking a loan to pay me back and cover the cost of his children’s illnesses. People keep taking new loans. They take out a loan to be able to farm tobacco. So, everything that they make will go back to paying the bank back. But most people can’t pay back what they took. It depends on the farming season if they can or can’t. People don’t just take it to cover the cost of tobacco farming. They take it tocover the debts from schools, grocery stores, diesel, etc.”

One key informant feels that the banks were taking advantage of the people already living in a vulnerable situation:

“You can get a loan of up to $6,000 just because you have a tobacco license. The people who rely only on tobacco buy on credit all year, but the amount that they get from the tobacco crop might not be enough to pay back theloan to the bank and the interest for that year. But people don’t have an-

other way to live. They can’t live all year without any money. The banks take advantage of the situation. The bank is catching them by the neck. The people have to go to cash their tobacco checks at the bank, so the bank willtake his money back over the years.”

The financial situation of community members was especially affected after the 2006 war, when many lost all of their possessions, as well as lost their liveli-hoods for at least the immediate period after the war. One local resident stated, “All of the communities have been affected by the economic problems since 2006.” Another resident in Jmeijme succinctly summed up the financial situation in the village: “We are in a constant state of debt.”

The Shiites in Lebanon, as well as the general area, have suffered from ne-glect by institutions throughout history. Under the occupation residents felt left out by the Lebanese government, as it was unable to enter the area immediately and only provided basic support to the communities. One key informant noted that even after the liberation, the Lebanese army did not enter the area due to security concerns. Instead, Hezbollah and UNIFIL were present in the caza.

One key informant mentioned the effect of the political parties, Hezbollah and Amal, in the area:

“It is not hurting anyone socially. On a community level, or between com-munities, it is not hurting, or causing more damage. The damage has al-

ready been done … Historically the Shiite community didn’t have a lot of schools or health centers in their regions. But when Hezbollah and Amal came they gave the Shiite communities some self-respect. They made thecommunities feel like they had a role. They were important. They had an ef-

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fect and a role at the political level, which they didn’t feel before. Hezbollah and Amal came and kind of freed the people from an aristocratic control over them … The rise of the parties was a positive thing, especially for the Shiite communities. It didn’t harm the Christians, but it didn’t give them any benefits. Christians don’t have representation in the region, but it is notthat they are not able to state their opinion. This is not causing the poverty.”

While Jmeijme has a municipality, it has only been in operation over the past two electoral cycles. One employee explained that the municipality is working on various projects, like making the area greener. They have also compiled a list of vulnerable residents who they are trying to help. But residents are concerned about not having their voices heard. As one woman said:

“We don’t have anyone to voice our concerns to. Even the sheikh and the elderly don’t have authority or power. We don’t have anything to be happy about. The municipality doesn’t take care of us. Even the political partiesdon’t care. They just care about themselves.”

In terms of seasonal changes the residents of Jmeijme operate on a set yearly schedule, as dictated by the tobacco harvest. While work takes place throughout the year, they are only paid once a year, which affects their financial situation and their ability to meet their daily needs. Many community members try to obtain extra work in construction during the summer months. For this reason, as well as the additional expenses in the winter, they are better off in the summer. Also, the few residents who do live in Beirut are more likely to return and provide a boost to the economy of Jmeijme during the summer.

Seasonality also impacts the health of the residents. Health is often worse in the winter due to the flu and infections, as well the fact that residents are often unable to afford proper treatment and medication. Although the decreased water availability between July and October also contributes to the health problems.

Residents have become used to the seasonal changes; they plan their lives around the changes that take place throughout the year. However, they are much more anxious about the frequent shocks which occur in the region. While residents are accostomed to the yearly variations in climate, employment, and income, they feel unable to make any long-term plans, for fear that another conflict may erupt and interfere with, or destroy, these plans. One local villager explained the uneasiness in which all of the residents of the area are constantly living:

“People are afraid for the future. Everyone, inside themselves, because of the economy, the war, from the shocks and bad situations. People are afraid. The media creates propaganda that we are not afraid, that we will fight, etc. But we are sick of starting from nothing every five years. We want peace ofmind.”

Conclusion

Jmeijme experiences the multidimensionality of poverty that is largely caused and sustained by its location next to the border and previous historical events. The repeated violence and conflict, and the 20-year occupation, have not only regularly destroyed any developmental gains made by the community, but also prevented it from having the security and stability needed to move forward. The constant state of vulnerability present in the region prevents investment in edu-cation and livelihoods, both to the detriment of future generations as well as the current generation seeking a way out of the cycle of poverty they are living in. The effects of the constant shocks are compounded by the fact that the Shiites in Lebanon have historically been marginalized and neglected. Fortunately this has been changing since the emergence of the various Shiite movements; although one could say that the neglect and marginalization continue today. Although the poverty in Jmeijme is not immediately obvious upon entering the village, it is not any less real than the poverty present in the other communities studied.

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1. Quoted in (Norton, 1987) p. 142. (Norton, 1987) p. 183. Quoted in (Norton, 1987) p. 184. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 135. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 316. (Chehabi, 2006) p. 2397. (Chehabi, 2006) p. 2398. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 1079. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 10710. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 11311. (Shanahan, 2005) p. 11312. (Bint Jbeil: Frontiere of our Soul, 2011) However, other sources cite different num-

bers of villages. For example, Localiban lists 36 villages located in Bint Jbeil (lo-caliban, 2009)

13. (World Vision Lebanon, 2010)14. (UNDP) (b)15. Those with tobacco licenses are more easily approved for a loan from the bank; see

section “Tobacco industry in Lebanon” for more information16. (UNDP, 2006) p. 1217. (UNDP, 2006) p. 1318. (UNDP, 2006) p. 1219. (Handicap International, 2008) p. 420. (UNDP, 2006) p. 1221. (UNDP) (b)22. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. x23. (UNDP) (b)24. (ILO, 2002) p. 525. (ILO, 2002) p. 526. (Halabi, 2010)27. (ILO, 2000) p. 528. One dunam is equal to 1000m2

29. (ILO, 2002) p. vii30. (ILO, 2002) p. 631. (Bassim, Y. R., 2000) 32. (Cortbawi, R., 2010)33. (Bassim, Y. R., 2000)34. (ILO, 2002)35. (Halabi, S., 2010)36. (ILO, 2002) preface37. (ILO, 2002) p. 1138. (ILO, 2002) p. 3439. (ILO, 2002) p. 20

40. (ILO, 2002) p. 1641. (ILO, 2002) p. 1442. (ILO, 2002) p. 17

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ARAB EL HAROUQ1

A Bedouin tribe in the Bekaa Valley2

“We in Lebanon have become blind to anything that is not organized according to the sectarian order. We recognize communities, but only in as much as they can be placed within the confessional system. All other peoplewho live in Lebanon and who may or may not carry the Lebanese citizen-ship are transparent: we look straight through them and do not see them.”3

The Bedouin in Lebanon are a group of communities scattered mainly across the Bekaa Valley that remain unseen in spite of their tents, temporary shacks, and very basic houses. Most of their villages do not even appear on maps of the country. There are about 13 tribes with an approximate population of 100,000-150,000;4 of which about 65,000 are located in the middle Bekaa area.

The term bedu comes from the word Bedouin,5 which refers to people who traditionally lived in the baida, the semi-arid and steppe land of Northern Arabia. Historically, the tribes were constantly on the move with their tents, grazing their camels and sheep. As national borders were established across the region, their seasonal migrations became more of a challenge. They became less mobile and either settled or migrated within a more limited area. Historically, the Bedou-ins have led frugal but self-sufficient lives. Those that settled in Lebanon still adhere to tribal traditions and structures, as do those who are spread across Syria, Jordan, and Iraq: “They are ruled by a tribal system specific to them, and by a tribal identity built around customs and traditions no one can circumvent.”6 But as their lives here have grown increasingly stationary, this is slowly changing.

* * *Hussein7 is getting married. His family has been living in the area for at least

30 years. The family lived in Kfarzabat and then in Saida for three years prior to

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moving to their present location. He was born in Hamiyeh. For about 25 years, their home was a tent. Then in 2007, they were finally able to buy a small piece of land and start building a house. They used to keep sheep, so they sold some of the sheep to buy the land and the building materials. It is the building of this house that is enabling Hussein to finally get married. Before whenever he had wanted to get married, a bride’s parents would say no because his family had no house. He still lives with his mother and some of his other siblings, and when he gets married, his new bride will move in with his family as he will be unable to afford a separate house.

Today, Hussein works for a company for a daily wage of $14. But things are expensive, and he says, “It’s not enough for a sandwich and a cigarette.” How-ever, it is a permanent job, although he has no social security benefits and the job involves hard work outside in the sun. He usually only works for 15 days a month because of weekends and holidays.

Hussein has four brothers and one sister. Their father died a year after the family moved into their newly built house. Hussein remembers a hard child-hood. When he was born, his father had no work. They just had seven or eight sheep, and they used to walk with them while they grazed. They would borrow money from herd dealers to buy more sheep. Then when the sheep reproduced, they would sell the offspring for a small profit and return the money. In the summer, they did not bring the sheep home, but would sleep in the valley with them. Though he does not work with sheep anymore, his brother still does.

Hussein’s cousin works in agriculture. He rents land to plant vegetables and crops. But for the past 10 years, he has been losing money as rent and labor have become very expensive. Hussein’s cousin has children – two boys and three girls – to take care of. As things got worse, he sold what little land he had and his wife’s jewelry to pay off his rising debts.

Hussein is grateful for the house they have. It used to be very cold in the winter in the tents as they only had carpets on the hard ground. The house is essentially only a skeleton, as most of it is not yet finished. What will be the living room contains only a few plastic chairs and some flimsy mattresses on the exposed cement floor. The kitchen contains a refrigerator. The only room that is near completion is the master bedroom, which will be used by Hussein and his new wife. The other family members still sleep on the mattresses. Hussein and his family are still very much in the building process, and he is aware that it will take quite some time before the house is completely finished and furnished. “One year we put in a window; another year we do something else,” Hussein explained. Yet somehow they are able to cope with life as it comes. “Life is hard ,but thanks to God,” Hussein said.

Saad8 is a shepherd. He is not getting married any time soon. His life is with the sheep. He roams with them and sleeps out in the rain and cold with them. He dreams of what life could be: “I hate my life. I think of how bad my life is. All my

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life is with sheep. I want to live like normal people. It is my dream to get rid of the sheep and find a woman who would take me abroad.” But his father doesn’t want to sell the sheep because “he is used to the work. He loves them. I tell him, ‘Father, let’s go learn about a new business.’ He says, ‘No, we cannot go work under other people.’ I say ‘Dad, life has changed. People went to the moon and we are still working with sheep.’” Saad says that there is almost no communica-tion between him and his father: “I can’t tell him or anyone about my problems. He only cares about the sheep – if they ate, how they are, etc.”

Saad was born in the area where they live. His father has two wives and Saad now has 18 siblings – 12 brothers and six sisters. One of Saad’s brothers died from the cold in the mountains. As they had no money to take him to a doctor; the family lacked the means to prevent his brother’s death.

Saad has never been to school. The whole family works with sheep and milk. They deliver the lambs and cut the wool in the spring. They spend the winters in a very old cave in Bhamdoun in Mount Lebanon and come back down into the Valley in the summer. Some go in cars while three of them take the sheep. It is a walk of about two days.

Saad is 22 years old and single. He explained, “I will not get married before I am 35. Even then maybe it will be hard because I will have no house. We are [now] 12 boys and each year one gets married. We build a room for each groom. We build one house [really just a room] per year.”

The life of a shepherd is hard. Saad says:

“The worst thing in life is sheep. I can’t go to weddings or funerals because I can’t leave the sheep. The other day my grandpa died and I couldn’t go to the funeral. Life is hard. You cannot leave the sheep. In the winter, we sleep in the valley and it starts to rain on you. We always sleep with them. We can’t leave them. If you are in the valley and you are walking with them and it starts raining … you can’t find a roof. I have three little siblings that are going to school now. The little ones walk with the little sheep.”

Saad dreams of learning a new skill and working in a city (for example, as a carpenter). But he knows that if he did that, he would not be welcome at home anymore and would have to ‘sleep outside’ (he would be kicked out of the house).

Hussein and Saad are only two of the faces of poverty within the Arab el Harouq tribe and the larger Bedouin community. There are many other stories, and each is unique. But the common thread through them is that people feel that they have no options in life and cannot choose what they want. Saad told the interviewer, “It is always better for you because you can move around and go have fun. All of our life is like this.”

As noted in Chapter 1, Sen defines development as having the freedom to make choices regarding one’s future. Poverty among the Bedouins of Lebanon is defined not only by low income and other indicators of development but also by a sense of marginalization, a lack of capacities, and an inability or lack of freedom to make choices impacting one’s own future.

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Bedouin migration and settlement in Lebanon

The Bedouins trace their roots back to the Northern Arabian steppe as early as 6000 BC.9 While many today believe that to be nomadic is backward or uncivilized, but the roots of the Bedouins’ nomadism are more complex. Dawn Chatty,10 one of the leading researchers on Bedouin issues in the Middle East, explains, “It is important to keep in mind that pastoralism, the way of life of the Bedouin, was an off-shoot of agriculture, not a precursor to it, suggesting that, in evolutionary terms, it is a sophisticated adaptation to both environmental and political pressure of the central-ized state.”11

The Bedouins believe they originate from one of two ancestors, Qais (or Adnan) or Qahtan (or Yemen). Since this time, the Bedouins have further subdivided “into prominent units which may challenge each other in contestations, or group together to face larger challenges.” Chatty explains that these groups are used to address conflicts and demonstrate both economic and social strength.

Bedouins moved into Lebanon, specifically the Bekaa Valley, as early as the 13th century, where they continued to migrate in and out of the valley seasonally. The Arab el Harouq tribe was part of the Fadl tribal group, one of the more popu-lous tribes of these groups. “The better known and larger tribal confedertations in the badia of Northern Arabia and the Bekaa Valley included the ‘Aneza Hassanna [Bu’Eed, ‘Eedeen], the Fadl [Huruuk, Haramisha, Faour], the Mawali, the Beni Khalid, the Naim and the L’Ouways.”12

The Bedouin in the Bekaa were involved in the struggle against the Ottoman Empire during the great Arab Revolt of World War I. The tribes favored the estab-lishment of an independent Arab state, which would have included the Bekaa Valley. The tribes even fought against the French Mandate authority in Marjayoun and Rayak, as they believed the authority to be illegitimate. While they lost these battles, they continued their struggle through general strikes. They did not believe that for-eign soldiers should be in the country. Later on, the French Mandate would greatly affect the tribes due to land redistribution policies, which divided up significant areas of the pastoral lands used by the Bedouins in the Bekaa.

Perhaps due to the historical tensions between the French Mandate authority and the Bedouins, when the census was being completed in 1932, many Bedouins actively chose not to participate. Chatty explains, “Much of the reasoning they of-fered for this evasion suggests that at that time the tribes thought that such evasion was an act of nationalism, a resistance to colonial distribution of land and bound-aries. Though, eventually this deliberate evasion would have unforeseen negative effects on the tribes: “The irony is that, while some of the Bedouin evaded the Cen-sus13 count for the sake of the ‘nation,’ the new nation created by the French legis-latively excluded the Bedouin and marginalised them even further in the process of state formation. Without a nationality, the majority of the Bedouin tribes residing in the Bekaa Valley were not able to purchase land in their own name, nor did they have access to education and public health care. Statelessness also had severe implications for employment opportunities in the country. As the French sold off pasture land in the Bekaa Valley for agriculture, the Bedouin were increasingly pushed to reduce their migrations, to reduce their herd size and to build houses for themselves and their families. In order to sustain their livelihoods, some Bedouin began to seek


According to key informants, the Arab el Harouq tribe is the largest of the Bed-ouin tribes in the Bekaa. Chatty explains that it is a sub-tribe originating from the Al-Fadl tribal group.16 The Arab el Harouq settlement is spread across the five municipalities of Zahle, Ayn Kfarzabad, Kfarzabad, Turbol, and Dalhamieh (Bedouin settlements are often dispersed across multiple municipalities).17 The tribe’s main settlement is called Faour. It is a large rural area with pockets of houses and tents, and is not currently a registered geographical entity with the government. Because the tribe is spread out over five municipalities, it doesn’t re-ceive services from any of them. A commonly argued point was, “If we had our own municipality, we wouldn’t have a garbage problem. We would have more electricity and more access to water. The roads are in bad condition. It would be different.” The borders of the community are Kfarzabad, Zahle, Bar Elias, and Turbol. Speaking generally about informal settlements across the Bekaa Valley, Chatty describes:

“These places exist as geographical entities (generally on the borders of municipal districts) but not as legislative ones; they do not exist on Lebanese government maps … they lack basic infrastructure, and have no sanitation networks, piped water, electric networks, or roads. They lack basic publicservices such as schooling and health care.”18

employment opportunities in agriculture.”14

This discrimination and marginalization of the Bedouins in the area was contin-ued by the newly formed Arab nations after the foreign mandates in the area ended. Chatty explains that policies were implemented to continue these practices and force the Bedouins to settle. In Lebanon there were no specific government policies re-garding forced settlement. However, the Bedouins were “unrecognized and denied nationality” and their settlement came as a result of “restrictions imposed on move-ment by the rapid privitalisation of land ownership, and the Bedouin’s own quest for economic and educational opportunities.”15 Additionally, Chatty explains that many faced harassment by authorities as well as surrounding community members, which included acts such as burning their tents and preventing the Bedouins from accessing their pastoral lands.

These events are some of the most important in shaping the redundant situa-tion that the Bedouins face today. While the tribes attempted to fight and strike for issues affecting their well-being, the authorities attempted to control them and force them to settle, but did not help support them by providing any government services. Ultimately it was the lack of efforts to support and integrate the tribes that pushed the Bedouins not only off of the land they had been working and living on, but also to the edges of Lebanese society.

Source: Chatty, “Bedouin in Lebanon: The Transformation of a way of Life or an Attitude?”

(2010)

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The Arab el Harouq settlement, Faour, is about 20 km2. It is a big area with small pockets of families with their houses or tents spread throughout. About half the land is owned by members of the tribe in parcels of 2,000-50,000 m2. The rest of the land in the area is owned by the government. There is a river that ran through the area, but it has been dry for years. It is dry even in winter, when there is usually plenty of rain.

The tribe traces its heritage back at least 400 years to a prince named Faour, from Wasset in Iraq. The sheikh explained that the area of the settlement is named after the prince, and they claim that he built the Faour Bridge, located in the middle of the area. They were a nomadic people of the Syrian Desert (which goes into Iraq), moving between Homs in Syria, the Bekaa, and parts of Mount Lebanon, and formerly spending the winter months in Syria where it was drier and not as cold. Viewing the term bedu as discriminatory, they identify themselves as Arabs who have been in Lebanon for a very long time.The sheikh of Kfarzabad said, “The tribes have been living in Lebanon for hundreds of years. How do we know? From cemeteries that date back hundreds of years. Cemeteries are a very sacred topic for Muslims. All over Lebanon our ancestors are buried.” The earliest known temporary settlement in the Faour area was established in 1914 when some would come to work with the animals and in agriculture. The first house was built in Faour in 1925. Others followed in 1932, with more settling in the 1950s. Over the years, other members of the tribe who had settled in Saida, Baabda, Jabal el Ram, the mountains of Akoura, Keserwan, and elsewhere also moved and settled in Faour.

With settlement came changes to the tribe’s nomadic lifestyle. Though a part of the population (about a 100 families) of Faour continue to go to Baalbek and the west Bekaa during the summers to work, they always return during the win-ters. Others may go to the cities to sell things or for work, but they return to their homes in Faour. Some go south during the cold winters, where it is warmer. This way they save on the cost of wood (burned for heating). They rent land there and live in a tent. A few still take their sheep up to Bhamdoun and to the south. They live in tents when they are gone, but they always return to their permanent homes in Faour.

Other than visits for weddings and family occasions, very few venture out of eastern and southern Lebanon for any length of time. It is extremely rare that any community members would travel abroad. Out of the whole tribe (which is Muslim) only 10 have undertaken the Haj, something that is expected of all Muslims who have the financial means to make the pilgrimage. One man com-mented, “They can’t afford it. It is $4,000 to go. No organization will help you go. Its $1,500 for the plane ticket and then there are other expenses and gifts etc.” Another reason they don’t travel is that they face discrimination. During a group discussion, one man commented, “The young people would love to travel, but there is no chance. The Arabic speaking countries won’t accept them. It’s

easier for us to get accepted into Europe, but because we have no education, we can’t travel. No one understands us.”

The romantic images of the wandering Bedouin tribe are no longer a reality. An older man in his fifties summed it up: “We all live in this area. We get married and stay in this area. We don’t leave the area to live. We will always stay here.”


Many community members estimate the Arab el Harouq tribe to consist of 15,000 people, with about 10,000 living in or around Faour.19 Since they have settled, most of the tribe is in Lebanon, with very few members still in Syria. All are Sunni Muslims. Community members estimate that there are up to 20 family groups, all of whom are descended from one ancestor. One community member stated that the main families of the tribe are the Sabra, Sadoreon, Rahal, Eshile, Shein, Shamamta, Isbiah, Saloun, Shahee, Nimber, Sehail, Bshama, Affhad, Aasy, Khusham and Tamee. Most marry within the tribe, with a few marry-ing outsiders. Some of the tribe received Lebanese citizenship either in 1932 or 1994, though there are still thousands who do not have citizenship.

Bedouins and the Lebanese citizenship

Hiba Morcos, a researcher from the University of British Columbia writes, “This is a human rights issue of the first order. Denying them citizenship in turn is blocking their access to political participation, education and healthcare.”20

Lebanon’s original law regarding nationality dates back to 1925 (before it had even become an independent country and was still part of the Ottoman Empire) and states that citizenship be granted to all descendants of men who lived in the geographical area that is now Lebanon in 1914. The last census in Lebanon was conducted in 1932 when it was under the French Mandate. Only those who regis-tered that year were declared Lebanese, thereby allowing their descendants to inher-it citizenship. While some Bedouins registered as Lebanese at that time, there were many reasons why others didn’t, or couldn’t. For many, this issue was not of great importance to them. As Morcos says, “To the Bedouins back then, they were pasto-ralists and their relationship was to the land and not to the newly formed state, and especially not to French foreign rule.”21 Others feared the obligations that accompa-nied having citizenship – joining the military. One man said, “We have been settled since 1932, before the French. Some parents didn’t register their children because they didn’t want them to send them to the military. They were afraid because at the time it was very dangerous with the Turkish, Ottoman Empire and the World Wars.” There were those who couldn’t process their citizenship due to the lack of necessary

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paperwork, as fairly extensive documentation was needed. There was another group who had not yet settled at that time, as many did not give up their nomadic lifestyles until much later than that.

An article by Marcos, in the British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, states the following about the 1932 census and the Bedouins in particular:

“One important result of the 1932 census was that an unknown number of people who had resided in Lebanon for generations, were not countedas Lebanese, and were denied citizenship as result of the enumeration process … Article 12 stipulated that only Bedouins who ‘normally’ reside on Lebanese territories more than six months were to be counted as Lebanese, an instruction which resulted in the exclusion of Sunni Muslim Bedouinspartly because they could not prove the length of their residence on Leba-nese territory.”22

The Bedouins had no other opportunities to gain citizenship for more than 60 years, until in June 1994 when the Lebanese Government passed the strongly contested Decree 5247.

“But bureaucracy, government disorganization, local politics and negli-gence meant that many were denied nationality and some were left in sur-real situations where certain members of a single family were granted citizenship while others were left with green laminated laissez-passer papers.”23

The reality was that many Bedouins could not get Lebanese citizenship. The Director of Multi-Initiative on Rights: Search, Assist, and Defend (MIRSAD), in a correspondence from 2002, stated that Bedouins born in Lebanon are not entitled to Lebanese citizenship under the June 1994 Decree 5247. On whether the decree allowed stateless Bedouins to become Lebanese citizens, he stated:

“There is no eligibility standards [under Decree 5247]. The government considers naturalization as a gift by the state, not as a right. The names [of those who were granted Lebanese citizenship] were chosen without any defined requirements and prerequisites. The document (Decree) consists of 1300 pages.”24

In a study published in 2010, Dawn Chatty explains that the 1994 citizenship drive was only extended as far as those to whom the Lebanese government had granted ‘under-study’25 status in 1958. Furthermore, in 1994 nationality was only “extended to Bedouin men and women as bachelors and spinsters”26 and not as married persons. This meant that many who were already married with large fami-lies registered as singles. Someone who registered as a single in 1994 could not pass their nationality on to their children, leaving their children without nationality. To complicate matters even more so, in 2000 the Lebanese Maronite League submitted an appeal against the 1994 Nationalization Law on the grounds that it disrupts the sectarian balance of the country, hindering the execution of the law and placing the nationality status of many on hold.27

In spite of the confusion, some in the community were able to get Lebanese citi-zenship in 1994. But quite a few were not able to take advantage of the opportunity as others were actually denied citizenship. This problem continues today and will only get much worse in the future, as one woman commented:

In the area around Faour, besides the Arab el Harouq tribe, there are scat-tered Lebanese villages and a handful of people that belong to other Bedouin tribes. There does not seem to be any animosity towards members of the other Bedouin tribes. A non-Arab el Harouq tribe member commented, “There is no one else here from my tribe. There are no problems because we are from a different tribe. It’s normal.” There are also a few Syrian gatherings of migrant workers living in tents temporarily in the area.

There are an estimated 1,500 children between the ages of four and 12, and another 300 youth between the ages of 13 and 16 in the community. Many now believe that there are a higher percentage of women than men, though no reason was given for this difference. This has resulted in an interesting sociologi-cal problem. A woman said, “A decision will be made that every man must marry two women from now because there are a larger number of females and fewer men.” Similar comments were heard from others. At the time of the interviews

“Not everyone has citizenship because at the time they had to pay LL50,000 [$33] for every child and adult. Some couldn’t pay for their whole family. All of the kids now don’t have it because we don’t have money. My son is 20 years old and he doesn’t have it. They weren’t registered at birth because we had to pay. Both me and my husband have it. The government doesn’t accept to give it to them now [those without the citizenship], even if the mother and father have it. Now it is all about politics. They could have given it before but not now. If the child is less than one and the parents have the citizenship and they are appropriately registered, then they will get the citizenship. But if they are older than one they have to go to court and get a decree from the government.”

One older man said, “I have citizenship but none of my kids do because my wife does not have her citizenship.” Many residents explained that in order to get citizenship, both parents must have it. They must then register their children within one year of birth and pay LL50,000 [$33]. However, this fee is relatively high for people with low incomes and many children. Meaning that it is becoming increas-ingly common to find that the older generation has citizenship but few of their children do. As those who were not registered at birth will eventually get married and have their own children, without some sort of intervention, the problem is likely to perpetuate until fewer and fewer Bedouins have the citizenship, as was the case before 1932.

Even though approximately 10,000 Bedouins, across the country, acquired the nationality through the 1994 law, this does not provide them with all of the same rights as those who received citizenship prior to 1994. The law requires a 10-year waiting period before one may receive all of the benefits. This includes the right to vote, the ability to obtain work in certain sectors, the right to legal land ownership, as well as birth registration. However, because of the appeal submitted in 2000, the waiting period has been extended indefinitely, effectively eliminating any of the potential benefits of having the nationality until the dispute is resolved.28

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the elders had not yet confirmed this decision, but many community members were speaking about the possibility of it occurring in the near future. Currently, most men do not take two wives. Although, according to Islam, men are allowed to have up to four wives, only a few of the older men have a second wife. This trend seems to be based on economic rather than social concerns: the men must be able to provide for each wife and their children. One woman commented, “The man can marry four women if he has a lot of money. If he has no money he will only have one wife.”

The average family size is seven to 10 individuals. Some families are larger, though very few are smaller. One family consists of a husband, his 22 children and two wives. Eloping is forbidden and in the past the punishment could be very severe; a few interviewees noted that women had been killed for eloping. But times have changed. “Now, if a couple elopes, they [the bride’s parents] take money, around LL5 million [$3,333], from the groom. If he is a stranger, they take LL12 million [$8,000] and then they reconcile.” The sheikh also plays a critical role. One woman commented, “If a girl wants to get married and her parents don’t agree and she elopes, [the sheikh] will interfere and bring them together again.”

In the past some marriages were arranged by the parents and the couple was not allowed to see each other before the wedding. However, now it seems the younger generation decides who they want to marry, rather than let the decision be made by their parents. A woman commented:

“Now very few get married within their own families. Before, you had to marry your cousin. The girl had no choice. The parents could kill her if she refused. There are still some people like that. But now it’s different. If she doesn’t love him, then she doesn’t have to marry him.”

Arab el Harouq women preparing food for a wedding

However, there still seem to be some guidelines even though times have changed. One male participant in a focus group explained, “Men should choose a wife from the tribe. If not from the tribe, then from the village; if not from the village, then from another Arab village. Finally, if not another Arab village, then they can marry outside.”

Some girls get married as young as 12 and 13 years, and the boys around 15 and 16 years. However, even this is changing. In earlier times, “if a guy wanted to get married, he didn’t have to build a house. He prepared a tent 500 meters away from where his parents lived.” Now the expectation is that they will have a “house” (or a separate room) before he can marry. This is delaying marriage for the men until they are significantly older (30 years or beyond). One man de-scribed the situation of two from the community, “Two older boys are engaged but they can’t get married because they have no house.” Because of this, some people may remain engaged for years before getting married, if the girl’s parents agree to let her get engaged without the man owning a house.

Perceptions of the community

The Bedouins in Lebanon, like some other groups in the country, suffer in many aspects of their lives because of prejudices imposed on them by the majority populations (this is also discussed in relation to the Dom community in the chap-ter on Hay el Gharbeh). These mainly result from inaccurate generalizations and ingrained biases, which do not necessarily reflect the reality of the com-munity. They reflect a wariness of those who are different and a disdain for any group that finds itself on the lower echelons of the social hierarchy. Hierarchi-cally superior groups tend to hold two opposing viewpoints about the Bedouins: that they are poor because that is how they choose to live, or that they are actu-ally rich but give the impression they are not in order to increase aid, support, or sympathy. Generally they do not agree that hardships faced by the Bedouin community are in any way connected to the decades of oppression and social and economic exclusion imposed on it.

A collection of the comments gathered by the researchers demonstrates the views and perceptions of non-Bedouins about the tribe:

“They have money; they are not poor.”

“They have nice cars and big houses.”

“They collect garbage and sell it, like bottles and cans. They say that peoplecan make a lot of money in this, like $200 per day.”

“They are not engaged in political life. They get paid so they vote.”

This was also found by other researchers in recently released studies. Chatty notes, “Such discriminatory attitudes are widespread and reach to all levels of

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Lebanese society; politicians, policy makers, service providers and neighboring residents all hold negative stereotypical attitudes towards the Bedouin.”29 Anoth-er researcher, Faysal el Kak from AUB, studying the effects of the lack of health policies geared towards the Bedouin community, explains how the health policy makers view the Bedouins: “They are stereotyped as ‘living outside society’ be-cause they ‘marginalise themselves,’ being ‘illiterate’ and ‘having big families,’ and always ready to ‘engaged in illegitimate behaviour.’”30

The Bedouins themselves are very aware of the perceptions of others. They blame this discrimination for their inability to integrate into the wider society surrounding them. They feel, perhaps rightly so, that their status as Bedouins affects their ability to obtain employment, access health and education services, and improve the situation of their community. The following are only a few of the comments from the Bedouin community acknowledging the inferior status placed on them by others:

“They call us Bedouins. They mean you are a Bedouin and have no rights. They accuse us of being Bedouins. We used to be Bedouins. But now we are settled and have buildings. They still call us Bedouins even though we aresettled now. They try to provoke us by calling us Bedouins.”

“The government considers us third class because we are Bedouins – so wehave no rights.”

“When a girl meets someone that works with sheep she thinks he is tough and dumb and doesn’t know anything. She thinks that people that work withsheep don’t understand things, or they will hit women.”

Even though the Arab el Harouq tribe has been settled in the area for a long time, its members are not recognized as part of the national fabric of society because they are not proactive participants in the Lebanese confessional system. Though the Bedouin are Sunni Muslim, their ethnic identity trumps their re-ligious identity, setting them apart and providing one cause for their margin-alization. Their mobility, seemingly different cultural practices, and dress raise suspicion. Though many of the older people within the Arab el Harouq tribe now have citizenship, prior to getting it, they could not access public services that other Lebanese could. Unfortunately, there is a new generation growing up within the tribe who do not have citizenship.

Livelihoods

The Arab el Harouq tribe is probably better off economically than some of the other Bedouin tribes in the Bekaa. As the Arab el Harouq started settling from 1914 onwards, they moved from working with animals and being shepherds (pastoralists) to being agriculturalists. While there are still some shepherds, the majority work as day laborers on farms or in factories in Zahle and other urban

centers in the Bekaa. Many families still keep sheep (100-500), while others may have cattle or chickens, though this is not their primary work or source of income. Many community members explained, there are no permanent jobs or government jobs.

Besides working in the fields, some farmers grow their own vegetables and herbs, such as onions, garlic, beans, potatoes, lettuce, parsley, and zucchini. This may be on their own small plot of land, or they may have rented the land. One woman described the situation:

“There are very few people here who own land. The others work on other people’s land. We pay them [to rent the land] and then we harvest it. We pay LL200,000 [$133] per dunam per year without water. With water it’s like LL400,000-500,000 [$267-333] per year. We get to keep the harvest. At the start of the year we pay for the next year. The owners of the land are Lebanese from Bar Elias, the surrounding areas, Anjar, Turbol, etc.”

Work in agriculture is mostly during the summer, with the most work being available between June and November. After the harvest, many of the men will go to Beirut to sell the vegetables. Every day they go in the morning, leaving around 4 a.m., and come back by nighttime.

There are some men who work in the surrounding towns as mechanics, in aluminum or in furniture making. There are others who drive trucks. Out of a community of 10,000 people, only a few dozen men are in the army; they have a regular income and social insurance for their families.

The women work alongside their husbands in the fields, as well as doing additional work, such as selling crops in the surrounding cities and packing veg-etables and fruits. However, much of this work is seasonal. If the women have small children they likely stay at home to take care of them, unless the nature of the work permits the women to bring them along (for instance women often bring small children with them when they are working in the fields).

A little boy caring for his family’s goats

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Many children drop out of school as early as grade 4 or 5 in order to work as agricultural laborers or in factories and workshops in the nearby towns. In poorer families the children may never attend school and could start working as early as age eight. One community member estimated that only 40 percent of children in the tribe were going to school. There are estimates that at least 200 children under the age of 15 are working in trades and construction in the surrounding towns.

Seasonality affects most of the work being done by the community. For most of the agricultural laborers, there is no work in the winter months. Even for those working in the town, work is reduced during the winter, as demand lessens. So whatever they earn over the summer has to last them through the winter months. One middle-aged man said, “One of the biggest problems we face is that only five percent of the people have work in the winter because everyone else works as day laborers [in the summer]. People need to borrow all winter and have to repay it in the summer.”

However, there are some entrepreneurial individuals within the community. One woman talked about her business: “I collect herbs and go and sell them in Zahle. I make more money than employees.” Others sell animal products. A woman described, “We sell the milk. Someone specialized in selling milk [for large-scale distribution] comes to get it. He gives us LL500-700 [$0.33-0.47] per kilogram.”

Income sufficiency

The men who work as day laborers (whether in the towns or in the fields) earn between LL10,000-15,000 ($6.7-10) per day, depending on the type of work they do. The women earn less, around LL6,000-7,000 ($4-4.7) per day. But none of them has any kind of social insurance or rights. As described by one man, “[Household] income varies according to the number of family members who are working. If there are a lot of people working [the family] can make LL400,000 [$267] per week.”

A new challenge for the Arab el Harouq tribe is that Syrian migrants will complete the same work for less. While a Bedouin man may work for LL15,000 ($10) a day, a Syrian migrant worker is able and willing to work for between LL7,000-10,000 ($4.7-6.7) per day. For those permanently living in Lebanon, it is impossible to work for such a low salary, as the cost of living is much higher than in Syria. One community member described how the Syrians are able to live on such a low wage:

“The Syrians take LL7,000 [$4.7] per day. They [only] eat olives and olive oil. They bring all of their food and whatever they need from Syria, as it’s cheaper there. So, $5 is enough. They even bring their own cigarettes. They eat tomatoes and peppers and they smoke, but that is it. They bringchickens and goats to eat. They are here for eight months and buy nothing.”

Children and youth earn on average LL40,000 ($26) a week in the workshops. Those who work with their families in their fields likely earn a small amount of money, which would go directly towards the income of the family. Some of the children also collect tin and other metal lying around and sell it to factories. They may earn LL1,000-5,000 ($0.7-3.3) per day selling the metal.

The agricultural workers do have some benefits working as day laborers in the fields. Many landowners permit them to take vegetables for their personal use: “While they are working they can eat all the potatoes and lettuce they want.”

While the Arab el Harouq tribe may be better off than some of the other tribes, income sufficiency is still a challenge. One man in a focus group said:

“All we care about is bringing food to the table. We only work and eat. There is no politics or terrorism … We eat one to two meals a day – things like potatoes, greens, but no meat. Only 1 to 2 percent can have meat. It is too expensive. It has been like this forever because we don’t have permanent jobs … Half of the population live in tents because they have no money tobuild. If they had money they would build brick houses.”

Another man explained, “The cost of a house now is LL30 million [$20,000].”One member of a family commented, “Households need LL20,000 [$13] per day for their expenses but many times will only make LL5,000 [$3.3] per day.” One woman, referring to her husband, said, “He has a pickup truck and uses it for work during the day. He lives day by day on what he earns; there is never anything extra.” Another man said:

“We must go to Zahle to buy or sell anything. No one wants to sell anything in the community because people don’t have money to pay upfront. If someone from the community is selling anything, they will go all the way to Zahle because there they will get cash for their goods.”

The same man continued “Most don’t have money to eat well. If they have no money, they just glean from the fields and will often eat just one time per day. If they eat more than once a day it is always the same food.” This is one aspect of food insecurity.

Education

Formal education was not part of the life or culture of the nomadic tribes. As a community member explained, “We used to go to Syria, to the desert, to the mountains, to the south, everywhere. We didn’t need to get educated. We worked with our parents.” One man commented, “Through my experience in this com-munity, we Bedouin Arabs have high illiteracy. Not just here but also in Baalbek and the north.” Nowadays there are still very high illiteracy rates among both the elderly and the younger generation. One sheikh estimated that 90 percent of the elderly are illiterate, as well as 30 percent of those under 15.

It was only as they settled that some families started sending their children

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to school. Even now among the Arab el Harouq tribe, one community member estimated that less than half of the 1,500 children receive any schooling.31 There is a very high dropout rate, with the majority dropping out around grade 5. This is mainly due to financial reasons. Also, in the past certificates were given upon completion of grade 5, so for children who were not going to complete further education this was seen as a natural stopping point, and sufficient to obtain basic employment. Today, people continue to drop out due to the marginalization of the community; many feel that education will not help them secure employment and that it is more important to drop out in order to help their families who are struggling financially.

There are no public schools in or around Faour. There are three government-run elementary schools in Turbol, Bar Elias, and Kfarzabat. Some go to school in Zahle but it is more expensive. There was a private school located quite close to Faour, called Hamra School, but this closed 10 years ago as it was expensive and people could not afford the fees.

Even for those who have citizenship and can go to public school, the costs involved put it beyond the means of most families. One woman estimated the costs: “The registration for school is LL50,000 [$33] per year. Transporta-tion is LL200,000 [$133] per year per child. It is about LL30,000 [$20] per month if they go to school in Turbol. If they go to another school, then its about LL50,000 [$33].” Some families indicated that they were able to cover the cost of tuition; however, as there are no schools located in Faour, monthly transportation is too expensive given their limited income. This prevents families with several children from sending all of them to school.

Some orphanages will accept children if the parents are very poor and not in a position to care for them. One man said:

“Some kids, when they reach grade 9, pretend to be orphans so they cango to an orphanage. So they live there and don’t pay for food, transpor-

tation, anything. Some of the kids live in boarding schools in Beirut and West Bekaa. There are at least 250 children from here in boarding schools [orphanages].”

For a child to be accepted into an orphanage, or institution, there should be a report that at least one of the child’s parents is either sick or dead, or that the child, himself or herself, is sick. Those who are accepted into the orphanages and boarding schools get to see their family occasionally. One man said, “My children are in a boarding school in the west Bekaa for education. It’s like an orphanage and I only see my kids for half an hour every two months.”

Institutionalized children in Lebanon

In a 2008 Save the Children report it was noted that, “Lebanon has the highest percent of institutionalized children in the world, the majority of which are not or-phans.”32 The Ministry of Social Affairs reported in 2006 that there were 32,484 institutionalized children in Lebanon.33 Many children in institutions are placed in there due to family problems, most often related to poverty. Throughout the inter-views community members explained that parents who are unable to afford tuition and other education-related expenses might place their children in an institution or orphanage if they feel that it will increase their access to education, therefore improv-ing future opportunities. Families often place children with disabilities in institutions as they may not be able to provide the proper care for them or they cannot afford the elevated associated costs of special education and health services.34

A handful of students do go on to university. There are about 20 university graduates in the community. One of the university graduates said:

“We were seven girls and two boys in my family. The others went up tograde 5. My sister and I could finish school because we were in an orphan-

age. They gave us a scholarship [to go to university]. We couldn’t have done it on our own. [Since graduating] I have applied to many companies butnone would accept me.”

The challenge for the university graduates who were interviewed was finding jobs upon graduation. All of them claimed they had insufficient wasta or influ-ence to get work, and many said they face discrimination because they are Bed-ouins. The graduate continued:

“I graduated from studying business but I can’t find a job because I don’thave wasta. I went to LAU (Lebanese American University), a private uni-

versity. The reason I got educated in a private university was because there was a political party that supports orphans by giving them free education. I studied banking and finance. If you want to work here in a bank you need someone with a lot of assets to recommend you. But in the tribe there is noone with these things to help.”

All this has created a sense of hopelessness. Comments like, “It is worthless to continue studying” were heard repeatedly. One man described:

“We spent a lot of money getting educated. I graduated four months ago and now I can’t get a job. My brother graduated two years ago and he is still without a job. The main reason we can’t find a job is because of wasta. When you apply, the first thing they ask you is who you are and who you arefollowing [politically]. Rich families get jobs before poor families.”

Yet there was an acknowledgement by outsiders working in the community that education is of value. A doctor commented, “All of the problems come from a lack of education.” To date, there are no plans by the government or anyone else to provide accessible education to the community.

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Because of poverty and lack of diversity in their diets, there is malnutrition among Bedouin children in the Bekaa, though the instance is lower than that among the Bedouin children in Akkar (North Lebanon) and Palmyra and Aleppo (cities in Syria). This is attributed to low intakes of macro and micronutrients, which have a long-term impact on the development of children. The generally poor nutritional status of Bedouin children is attributed to frequent droughts, difficult living conditions, scarcity of fruits and vegetables, and the lack of extra income sources.35 However, the children in the Bekaa Valley fared better because of the availability of fruits and vegetables.36 While the values in Figure 5.1 are dated (1994) and may not be as relevant today, they indicate a history of long-term nutritional problems.

Figure 6.1: Nutritional status of Bedouin children aged 6-10 years in Lebanon and

Syria under different nomadic pastoral systems.

Bekaa(Lebanon)

Akkar(Lebanon)

Palmyra(Syria)

Aleppo(Syria)

Severely stunted (% of children 2 Z-scores below reference population)

6.8% 14.8% 24% 41.1%

Mildly stunted (% of chil-dren 1 Z-score below ref-erence population)

41.8% 43.2% 69% 70.5%

Severely underweight (% of children)

3.9% 5.7% 7% 14.7%

Mildly underweight (% of children)

26.3% 48.9% 67.5% 64.7%

Source: Baba, Shaar, and Hamadeh, “Nutritional status of Bedouin children” (1994) p. 247-259

Most families average between one and two meals a day, some manage three. Few manage to eat meat on a regular basis because it is too expensive, though it is usually consumed on special occasions, like weddings, along with rice and burg-hol, labneh, olives, tabouleh, and french fries. Carbohydrates are a big part of their diet. One woman said, “We mostly eat potatoes. They are ‘the king of the table.’ We eat them in sandwiches and with hamburgers.” Because it is possible to store potatoes, the community eats them through the winter, along with grains. In the summers they eat more vegetables and less grain.

Animal protein is not a large part of the daily diet for most people, even though many keep chickens. One woman commented, “The chickens only give

eggs in the summer. In winter they can’t because they are cold. We don’t sell them. We only get two to three eggs per day.” Some families act as caretakers of other’s properties. They live and work on the land for most of the year. They may raise chickens for the owners of the land, in which case they are able to eat the eggs that the owners don’t sell. Nobody considers using the chicken for meat as it takes away from their daily subsistence. Dairy products like milk, cheese, and labneh are also very much part of their diet and some families raise cows for this purpose.

In terms of grain consumption, the community uses wheat for baking bread, in addition to rice and burghol eaten with many meals. If they are working as hired farm laborers, community members can take vegetables and other pro-duce from the fields for their own consumption. This is a big help to the families. When families are harvesting, it guarantees that they will have at least some food: “He is able to go to his family and friends who grow food to get some if he needs it.” At other times it is a struggle to make sure that the family has enough to eat. Many members of the community spoke of this difficulty: “When you are hungry, all you can think of is how you can produce enough for your children.”

The major nutritional problem is the lack of food diversity, which then re-sults in micronutritional deficiencies. One man commented, “Most people have enough to eat … but the problem is that they are eating the same thing for every meal.” For children an issue is that they may not be eating food that is suitable to their stage of development. Another man mentioned this, saying, “Often chil-dren are forced to eat food that isn’t appropriate for their age but it’s all that they have. For example, kids under the age of one are eating potatoes.”

Breast-feeding is not common even though there is some awareness of its benefits. One woman said, “They don’t do it to preserve their own health. It ruins the shape of their body. But their milk is better than a bottle. I know that breast-feeding is good for the health of women. It prevents diseases.” Those who do breast-feed their children do so for about a year. Those who do not, give their children powdered milk. This is expensive for them – around LL14,000 ($9) per kg – and is a strain on their resources. Those who cannot afford to buy powdered milk or infant formula give the children milk from cows and goats.

Practices around pregnancy and childbirth are changing. Older members of community still remember a time when there were no medical services available. According to one woman, “My mother gave birth among the sheep in Anjar.” Another woman recalls, “My mom was pregnant and about to give birth. She went to bring wood [from outside] and when she came back she had the wood and a baby on her back. When my mother gave birth to my older sister she was alone.” One mother described the traditional practices surrounding childbirth:

“Before we used to give birth in our houses. But now [we give birth] in hospitals. This changed 10-15 years ago. We used to get the help of a midwife [TBA], who was an old woman from the area. You would open your

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legs and then the baby would come out. The women of the neighborhood would gather around and the midwife would start pulling the baby. This was all at home. The father would wait outside. They used to be upset if theyhad a girl. They were happy to have a boy.”

As alluded to in the previous quote, practices are starting to change, as one woman in a group interview commented:

“Life is better now that we are settled. It is easier. We have schools, homes, and facilities. Before women had to give birth and it was very painful. The midwives [TBAs] used to help. Now they give birth in a public hospital in Zahle. No one does it in the house anymore. Now they visit doctors beforethey give birth. They get vitamins, and monitor the child’s condition.”

A recent study examining gender issues and access to health case released by Nisrine Mansour, (a research fellow in the Refugees Studies Center at the Uni-versity of Oxford) came to similar findings when interviewing Bedouin women. The older women had given birth at home often with the help of a traditional birthday attendant. This often occurred after a long day of work, and almost immediately after the birth the women continued with their work. Now, more women are seeking certified medical help from doctors or midwives to assist them with their deliveries. One of the husbands who participated in Mansour’s inter-views remembers this change occurring around 1987 or 1988. Now, most of the younger women use pregnancy tests, ultrasounds, and have prenatal care. This change was supported by family members who viewed previously used methods as having higher associated health risks. Yet, interestingly, both the older women and the younger women in Mansour’s study explained that giving birth at home was easier than the practices used today. They found that with medical assistance the process was more painful and troublesome.37

While the vast majority of women today are giving birth in hospitals or with trained medical personnel, some interviewees noted that birthing practices are still dependent on what a family can afford. Among the poorer families, a woman explained:

“The women deliver in their houses. We have no social security, so we have no money to deliver in the hospitals. The public hospital charges LL300,000 [$200] to deliver there. And we don’t have that kind of money. Women don’t seek care during their pregnancies. There are no trained midwives butthe old women [TBAs] with experience help the women.”

In terms of access to health care the Bedouins are marginalized in two dif-ferent ways. First of all, it has been well-documented that the rural areas of the country often lack even the most basic of health care services, which has a large impact on the health of all of the communities there, not just the Bedouins. As the Bedouin tribes are most often located in rural areas, they are firstly affected by the lack of available services. As noted in a study by Faysal el Kak, “... the Government’s approach to the peripheral and remote areas of the country, is

one of marginalization and neglect. This explains the lack of any social, de-velopmental or agricultural policies specific to the needs of those areas.”38 The lack of public services in rural areas was a common complaint heard among the Lebanese interviewed throughout this study as well.

Compounding this fact is that Bedouins are also a marginalized and stig-matized group because of their ethnicity. In the same study by el Kak, he inter-viewed policy makers from governmental ministries, UN agencies, local NGOs, as well as private sector policy makers. He found that they not only lacked information about the specific health status of the Bedouin, but they lacked any general knowledge about the communities. He notes:

“Most of the policy makers interviewed had little or no knowledge of theBedouin population estimates, identity status and normalisation, geographi-

cal distribution in the rural peripheral areas of Lebanon, range of mobility, common health problems, or provision and use of health services.”39

They also “hold unrealistic stereotypes about Bedouin and Bedouin health issues …”40 Consequently, there are no health policies or initiatives that specifically target the health needs of the Bedouins, besides the national vaccination cam-paign, though this is intended to target all the children in the country. Unfortu-nately, el Kak also explains that the vaccination campaign is not reaching all of the Bedouin children, though this may not be only attributed to marginalization at a policy level.41

The lack of knowledge regarding the Bedouin communities and the discrimi-nation towards them is not limited only to those involved in the development of policy; it was also identified among health practitioners in the field. One com-munity member, who assisted with the recently released studies, explained that many women, especially those seeking services for prenatal care, have experi-enced discrimination by health professionals:

“We found out that there is discrimination between Bedouin women and the non-Bedouin women. It is not just the fault of the doctor. Also, it is the fault of the women too. Some doctors are good and some are not. They skip her turn when she is waiting. When they see the Bedouin clothes they think she doesn’t understand. The doctor doesn’t explain her situation to her. Hejust writes the prescription and gives it to her. Then she [the Bedouin wom-

an] has to go outside and ask [someone else] what is wrong with her. But it is also the fault of the Bedouin women too because they don’t claim their rights. They are paying too. It is not acceptable to just take the prescriptionand walk out. She should ask what is wrong when he gives it to her.”

Mansour, who studied the access issues affecting women seeking reproduc-tive health services, further explains this situation. Though the Bedouin commu-nities have increasingly been seeking medical assistance over the past 20 years, their lack of full integration into the health care system is attributed to the “back-wardness” and “less-civilised norms of rural and nomadic people.”42 She argues

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that this view of the community is a misconception, and that their use, or lack of, health care services has more to do with the institutional discrimination of these communities, and less with Bedouin traditions and cultures. While she does acknowledge that cost, financial difficulties, and a lack of transportation play an important role in the Bedouins’ ability to seek health services, the major barrier to access is intrinsic in the health care system itself, creating a lack of trust on the part of the women. She explains:

“… Bedouin women’s perception of, and engagement with, the health care system are hindered more by the inconsistencies and shortfalls of the health care system than by any specific barriers stemming from their waysof life. Their access and use of health services are underpinned by institu-

tional discrimination against their ethnic group at various levels of health provision.”43

While community members do experience some discrimination in accessing services, the availability of health care facilities in the area is improving; a health center funded by the Hariri Foundation opened within the past two years, as well as a new public hospital in Zahle. This clinic is now the nearest health care provider for most of the pockets of houses within the community and has the po-tential to alleviate the lack of health case services in Faour. However, it remains unclear how useful the clinic has been to community members since its opening and whether this is caused by the misconceptions of the community members themselves or problems inherent in the clinic.

In her study, Mansour described that community members often have mis-conceptions in terms of the services available, even those located within the community: “Some non-governmental dispensaries were dismissed as almost as expensive as the private clinics, and as suffering from shortage of medication.”44 This attitude was also found among interviewees in Faour. According to doctors interviewed, a consultation at the Hariri-funded clinic is LL5,000 ($3.3) and an appointment with a specialist is LL10,000; however, most of the community members perceive the clinic to be much more expensive than what the doc-tors quoted. Community members noted the cost of a general consultation to be anywhere from LL10,000 to LL30,000 ($6.7-20). Similarly they explained that appointments with a gynecologist cost LL50,000 ($33) and a pediatrician LL20,000 to LL25,000 ($13-17). They continued to explain that medicines on average will add another LL30,000 to LL50,000 ($20-33) and they are often not available from the clinic. Supporting Mansour’s findings, the lack of avail-able medication within the dispensary was a problem confirmed by the health care professionals in the Hariri clinic, reinforcing at least some of the percep-tions that the community members may have about the clinic. Another difficulty mentioned by community members was that although the clinic was built in the community, Faour itself is quite large and many community members must still find transportation in order to access the services.

Faysal el Kak explains that certain services are often provided to these com-munities in proportion to the size of the voting power they represent. When community members were granted citizenship and were allowed to vote, they became a strong force within the country, and political parties were keen to in-crease their voter bases. El Kak explains:

“After the Naturalisation Law of 1994 Bedouin gained sizable voting power that allowed them into the loop of what is commonly known in Lebanon as ‘political clientalism.’ In this loop, Bedouin receive social and health servicesthrough certain political parties, especially those of similar sectarian affilia-tion, in return for their votes.”45

He continues to explain that before the elections two major health centers were opened in two Bedouin areas (he does not mention which areas specifically), but that, “The centers employ few Bedouin, are highly medicalized and costly, and are not by any means specific or sensitive to Bedouin needs.”46 Some com-munity members and key informants alluded to the fact that this was most prob-ably why the Hariri-funded clinic was built in the community. The Sunni-based political organization was hoping to increase the proportion of Sunni votes prior to the election. The lack of specific programs and policies related to the needs of the community may be another reason for their hesitancy to access services, even though the center is located relatively close to most of the community.

Either due to certain misunderstandings on the part of the Bedouins (for example costs) or mistrust stemming from the issues mentioned earlier, Bedouins might miss out on services of actual use being provided by the Hariri clinic. For example, many parents explained that they had not vaccinated their children because they could not afford it. Prior to the presence of the Hariri clinic, the families had to take their children outside of Faour to get vaccinations. They re-ported that the transportation fees, combined with the vaccination costs were too much for them to afford. Although the Bedouins now have much easier access to vaccination services, a group of doctors at the Hariri clinic reported that they still face difficulties in trying to vaccinate the children from the community:

“We are doing a vaccination campaign. They don’t bring their kids for vaccinations. First vaccinations are free. The government provides it for free. They just consider anything related to Hariri is expensive … We give the first vaccination for free to encourage them to come back. We included 500children in the first session – all for free. We went to their houses to encour-

age them to bring them but we can’t keep going. We invite them to themosque to get vaccinated.”47

As a result of such campaigns, the majority of the children in the community have been vaccinated; however, it is obvious that certain preconceived notions and skepticisms remain on the part of the residents.

It remains unclear how successfully the clinic has integrated into the com-munity. The doctors at the clinic reported having 2,000 patients since it opened,

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though the doctors also reported servicing areas other than just the Bedouin community. It was obvious from the interviews that there are mixed perceptions from the community in terms of seeking health services there. One sheikh com-mented, “There are four or five doctors at the dispensary; it is well organized with registration cards and good procedures.” Yet, only one community member reported accessing services there, also confirming the point that proximity to health services does not correlate with the use of these services by community members. Interestingly, the woman mentioned that she received the services for free, something that was not outlined by either the community members or the doctors at the clinic itself:

“My daughter was sick. The Hariri dispensary gives free drugs. They helped my daughter. They do not give you money but they give you free servicesand medications.”

As most of those interviewed do not use the Hariri clinic, they mentioned visiting the new public hospital in Zahle or another clinic in Kfarzabat. Besides these health care options, some go to private doctors in the surrounding towns. As many have no social security and lack nationality “they cannot benefit from the financial support provided by the Lebanese Ministry of Health (MoH) for hospitalization.”48 Bedouins must pay for the health services they access. One man complained, “It’s too expensive; we can’t afford it. Nothing is free.” Those who have citizenship are eligible for assistance while attending public services, although there is still a small cost associated with this, which may deter the poor-est in the community from seeking services.

Others do not even try to get any medical help because they cannot afford it. One older woman said, “God is the doctor, so you don’t need any other doctors.”

Some mentioned that they use traditional medicines and healing practices that have been passed down through the generations. One man said:

“This tree [planted near the house] is a defender against insects and animals. It is 18 years old. It is good to plant it near the houses. We planted it when we built the house. It is a kind of nut. And here is a eucalyptus tree. We use it when we have a cold. We take part of it and boil it. We use it topurify the house. When your nose is blocked you can put a towel over boil-ing water with the plant in it and it will get rid of the blocked nose.”

Common health problems mentioned were diabetes, heart problems, blood pressure, cancers, and neurological problems. Some blamed environmental issues for cancers and other health problems. One agricultural researcher work-ing in the area mentioned, “Nitrates in the soil should be 14 percent but they are currently at 500 percent. Because of this the government this year has blocked the use of nitrates. So people are using a new type of fertilizer.” Smoking, among both adults and youth, was mentioned numerous times as one of the prominent health problems in the area. Some adults explained that the youth are spend-ing some of their already small income to buy cigarettes. However, this trend

is common throughout Lebanon and there is no evidence to suggest that it is higher among the Bedouin community than in other communities.

Interestingly, one of the community members who helped with Chatty’s re-search studies identified lack of awareness of health issues as one of the chal-lenges facing the community. For example, women were often unaware of breast and cervical cancer, and the need to be frequently tested for these diseases and illnesses. She mentioned that the lack of awareness was particularly common among women. Though as the research was focused on the reproductive health of women, it was not clear if this was true of other demographics as well.

Despite all of these facts, the overall perception is that is that the Bedouin are a healthy people. Comments like the following, from both community members and as key informants, were not unusual:

“We are strong because of the agriculture.”

“They don’t get ill easily because they are used to being outside in the coldand snow. So it gives them immunity.”

Chatty succinctly summarized the health situation facing the Bedouins in Lebanon: “The government sector has limited programmes in the rural country-side and relies heavily on international and national NGOs to provide resources to state-run clinics and hospitals. The Bedouin, largely without nationality iden-tification cards, are unable to access public health services and face discrimina-tory behaviour in private clinics.”49

Bedouin men and women working in the fields

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The Arab el Harouq tribe faces many of the same vulnerabilities present in other poor communities in Lebanon, but it is notable for its marginalization. In addi-tion to sharing the physical marginalization common to most of the rural poor, the tribe experiences intense legal and social marginalization, which drive the dynamics of its poverty. This has implications on community members’ access to education, health services, social security as well as employment opportunities.

The impact of their legal marginalization, or in other words lack of citizen-ship, is significant and is one of the issues that makes the whole community vulnerable. Most families have some members who are citizens and some who are not. Within the adult generation, some may have been permitted to register, while others were denied citizenship. Whether the children were registered most likely depended on the family’s financial situation at the time of birth. The lack of citizenship is sustaining the cycle of poverty in the community. One person commented:

“If a child [without citizenship] needs to go to a public hospital, they won’t accept him. The schools won’t register children with no IDs. They cannotget a job in the government. They cannot get a driving permit. They can-

not register property in their name. They cannot register marriages with the government. He has nothing that identifies him as who he is, unless he gets a paper from the mukhtar. He has to go to Syria illegally [cross the borders illegally]. Some that try to go illegally die, or get imprisoned. Their childrencan’t get citizenship.”

The dream of the community was summed up by one man, “I am hoping that one day there will be a decree that gives the citizenship to our children. We are going to ask for our rights to citizenship. Our children need it. A lot of people live as if they don’t even exist. We are like forgotten people.”

The Bedouins’ difficulty in accessing services is compounded by their blatant social marginalization and inability to integrate into the larger framework of Lebanese society. The surrounding communities, even those that are supposed to be providing support for them, such as the NGOs and health service provid-ers, often use discriminatory terminology when referring to the Bedouins. They believe that the conditions in which the community is living are lifestyle choices, not the result of discriminatory treatment. In reality, the maltreatment of the Bedouins is a direct cause of many of the issues that they are facing today. The Bedouins are unable to obtain meaningful employment, even if they are uni-versity educated. Studies have shown that there are impacts on their health, as they suffer from long waiting times, poor treatment by health professionals, and a lack of information regarding their health condition. The Bedouins are by and large socially excluded from the other communities in Lebanon who believe that they do not fit in with the Lebanese sectarian system. This forces the Bedouins to live on the outskirts, both physically and socially, of the larger nearby towns, for instance Zahle.

All of these aspects have impacted the current identity of the Bedouins. While previously their group dynamics were dominated by their historical tradi-tions and culture, often closely associated with their nomadic lifestyle and pasto-ral livelihoods, these no longer hold true for all community members today. The large majority of the Bedouins are predominantly settled, at least for most of the year. The families are trying to educate their children, and gain meaningful em-ployment. Some, but not all, have moved out of the tents and into more modern houses, even if they are sparsely furnished. Yet, even with these attempts, both the Bedouins and the surrounding Lebanese communities note that they are not fully integrated into the Lebanese society. People from surrounding communities note that the Bedouins are distinguishable by their clothing, accents, and way of life. Despite the fact that they have been living in the area for decades, they are still viewed as outsiders who do not belong. Most of the Bedouins have a desire to settle and gain access to services and stable employment, yet there are others who continue to hold on to a more traditional way of life. Either way, until they are accepted by the majority communities in the country, they will remain seg-regated, stuck in a period of limbo somewhere between their old lifestyles and their aspirations for change.

Chatty recognizes similar findings in her study of the Bedouins in the Bekaa Valley:

“The Bedouins see themselves as ‘Lebanese’ and seek nationality papers inorder to access government services and to vote. Their tribal identity is per-

vasive; it is expressed in dress, in dialect, in collective history and memory of movement, in the attachment to herding even if practiced by very few members at present, and in particular social practices related to birth and marriage. Some Bedouin regard themselves as modern, having left behind many of the old social customs which they regard as being at the root oftheir discrimination. Others remain particularly proud of their tribal iden-tity and history of mobility.”50

Despite the major obstacles that the community is facing, there is a sense in the tribe that its members have been able to improve their lives in some regards. A local research assistant who helped with the recently released studies said:

“Other tribes are closed. We are open. Whenever we see people we open our hearts. We are very generous … In this tribe we have changed from old habits and traditions, without the help of outside. We helped each other. We created an organization. Nobody helped us. The politicians don’t help us.There are no schools.”

This is a strong example of the social capital that has not only helped them sur-vive, but in some cases prosper as well.

The tribe is proud of its generosity. One man commented:

“We are known for being generous. We are problem solvers. We are known for being preserving people. When a person is in need we help them and we

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act as if they are one of our own family. If a poor person dies we will all give to make sure he has a proper service. We go around and collect money and tell them it is for someone in need.”

Another said, “We are generous and honest with people. We love strangers. We treat girls respectfully. Whether they are strangers or in our own community. We respect women.”

This tribe’s social capital has created a network whereby community mem-bers support each other during the hard times – this acts as their social safety net. As one key informant explained, “They are divided into families and each family has a leader.” It’s the responsibility of the leader to ensure the well-being of the family. An older man said, “We help each other. If someone is poor and needs an operation we will collect money for him. If someone dies or becomes in charge of a big family then we will collect money from all the families. We ask for people in need.”

Others from outside the tribe have also experienced this generosity. One man living in the nearby village of Turbol recalls how the tribe helped them during the Civil War:

“We know them. We know them individually. We never had any problems with them. There were no incidents [between us and them], even in the war. When the roads were closed and the people from Turbol couldn’t get their daily needs [as the village is located away from the main highway, which they could not access], the people from Faour helped us get meat, etc.”

However, this feeling of gratitude towards the Bedouins is either fairly rare or long forgotten, as most other villages and nearby cities discriminate against the tribe.

Apart from their ability to work long hours in the fields or factories, the community has very little developed human capital. Most said that they had never received any kind of vocational training. Only five community members of those interviewed said that they had received some training. One now works as a hairdresser, two as barbers, and the remaining two as nurses. Those who work in workshops in the nearby town have learnt the necessary skills on the job. Access to technology is even more limited. According to community members, the whole village has three phone landlines and it is estimated that only 1 percent have access to the Internet.

In terms of political involvement, the tribe varies considerably. Some mem-bers of the tribe prefer not to partake in the political arena. One group of men asserted, “We are not involved in politics at all. We are not in the parties. We only stay together. We are only with the government; we support the government.” Those who have citizenship are courted by political parties for their votes. But the reality was summed up by one man, “They all come and visit us in elec-tions. We support those who promise us projects like roads, schools, and clinics. But when we vote for them they forget about us.” Another man said, “Every

election, they come to us and show us plans for a school to be built locally but after the election nothing happens.” It seems that during elections, politicians provide small gifts of money ($50 or $100), fuel, or cell phone recharge cards in order to sway the votes in the community. “The problem with this community is that everyone accepts small things around election time, then we suffer the entire time between elections.”

This was also found by Chatty, who explains, “Some Lebanese politicians are beginning to listen, especially as the Bedouin in Lebanon are a potential block of Sunni Muslim voters in a country where sectarian interests are paramount and where the identity of the state is still unresolved …”51 The voting block of Bedouin voters is worrisome to the nearby Christian residents of Zahle, who are concerned about the potential effects of a large Sunni bloc in the area, even more so if that bloc is made up of residents that they do not feel are part of the Lebanese social framework.

Maybe because they are Sunni, they have received some help from the Hariri Foundation, though not many other organizations provide aid or support to the community. Another organization, the Muslim Association for Islamic Projects, has done community education on topics like Islamic morality and healthy living. Members of the community made it very clear that no money was provided and there was no teaching on extremism. The International Center for Agricultural Research for Dry Areas (ICARDA) in collaboration with the Lebanese Research Academy has done extensive research on crops that would be appropriate for the area. They sell seeds that are used by farmers.

The one capital that the community has had in abundance is natural capital, though even this is slowly changing. The Bekaa is fertile and has water, a rarity in the Middle East. One man put it, “We have water. Our land is rich in water. We dig wells. We don’t buy water.” Yet, community members have noticed changes in recent times. Ground water used to be available 35 meters below the surface. Now ground water is found at depths of 60-65 meters and in the summer as deep as 150 meters. Many mentioned that there have been variations in weather patterns and a decrease in rain and snow. For example, the river running through the community has been dry for years. One girl explained, “There was a river here but it is dry. It is usually dry. It has been like this for a long time. Even in the winter [rainy season] it is dry.” The strain on the water resources for both agricultural and personal use is increasing with the growing population. One man in a group interview said:

“For water we have a well. But you also need electricity [to pump water from the well], so without electricity there is no water. This is our only source of water and we drink it. Water comes from Anjar but it doesn’t come here. This is government water. We only have to pay for the cost of digging the well. There is one well for every 10 houses. It costs $10,000 to dig one. When there is no electricity there is no water. We have enough water for allof the houses all year.”

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Some in the community have small plots of land – primarily those who have citizenship, as the citizenship allowed them to register the land and obtain prop-erty deeds. Others rent land. One of the researchers at the agricultural center explained that three or four people (non-Bedouin) own most of the land in the area. People must pay the landowners to rent the land, usually on a seasonal or yearly basis. This does not include the price of water, which is often very expensive. Each family chooses what type of crops to plant, and then uses the social capital within their family to help with the planting and harvesting. After the crops are harvested, the adults in the family take the crops to Zahle, or even Beirut, to sell. One man described what is happening with the land surrounding his house: “The land around here is 70 dunams. It is someone from Zahle that owns it. People rent the land from the owner but we are not involved. It is $100 per dunam per year. So the total is $7000.”

As Lebanon recovered from its traumatic Civil War, much of the public in-frastructure was rebuilt and new infrastructure developed. Yet in Faour, most services are either lacking or unaffordable, impacting the physical capital of the community. Electricity is erratic and may be available anywhere between 2-10 hours a day. Unlike many other areas of Lebanon, where generators provide power during hours when the grid does not, there are no generators in the com-munity. Because of the poverty, most cannot afford fuel for heating in winter and as a result use firewood. There is no sewage system and most of the sewage is disposed of in the river. Some have a septic tank for their toilets, but these invari-ably overflow in winter. One woman described the costs of having a tank:

“We should pay to empty the tank. Some families do. You pay LL70,000 [$47] to have the driver come to empty the tank. But sometimes if the tank is large he has to come twice. So then you pay LL140,000 [$93]. We have toempty it three or four times per year.”

People believe that the sewage is leaking into their water supplies, which is causing illnesses. Also, surrounding municipalities bring their garbage and dump it in the community, where it is burnt. Many residents complained of allergies they believe to be connected with the smoke from the burning garbage.

The main reason for the lack of proper infrastructure and services is because the community is split between five municipalities and none of them takes re-sponsibility for making the necessary improvements. One man complained:

“We have no municipality of our own. We go to the other municipalities [the ones they technically belong to, but don’t feel like they belong to] and they don’t answer us. It would be different if we had our own. We have to vote in other areas, not in our village. If we had our own municipality we wouldn’t have a garbage problem. We would have more electricity, more access towater. The roads are in bad condition [not paved]. It would be different.”

There is a lack of financial capital to act as a social safety net for the families in the community. One community member’s comment, “We can’t save money. We don’t have enough to save” was reiterated by many others. One man sum-marized it by saying, “We don’t need financial services because we don’t have money to deposit in the banks.” During the winter months only about 5 percent have work and any sort of income. As a result they end up borrowing heavily all winter and then having to repay what they have borrowed in the summer. They borrow from their families, neighbors, and sometimes the landowners where they work. Some may sell some of the cattle that they have to make it through the winter. They usually don’t borrow money from stores, though they may take food on credit from the butcher and a few other stores. In spite of these challenges, the perception in the neighboring communities is that the Bedouins have money. A comment from a doctor at the clinic summarized this well: “They are expecting to receive everything for free. So when the fees are little, they don’t appreciate it. There is money here but it’s a problem of attitudes.” The lack of financial capac-ity is having an impact on the community in many ways. For example, one man described how their lack of financial capital impacts their health: “There are a lot of health problems; diabetes, heart problems, blood pressure, neurological problems. It is due to the bad financial situation.”

The main coping mechanisms of the Arab el Harouq tribe stem from its social capital. The network of families enables the community to cope through difficult seasons. One man said, “The only source of financial help is family and friends”; this comment was made by many other community members as well. One woman summarized this best: “The community is one voice. If we have a wedding we all invite each other. We support each other in the funerals. If there is a bad financial situation then the families will help.”

The home of a Bedouin family – many still live in tents

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Comments from the community:Marginalized and alone

“No one helps us.”

“No one is fighting for us. Nobody is working for us. People only care about themselves.”

“Each day we work. We can’t save. We work one day, come home, find someone sick, eat, then work again. We can’t save at all.”

“Richer families don’t help us. They don’t look at us.”

“Our people are left out and nobody helps us. Very few get help.”

“In Lebanon it is like fish. The big ones eat the little ones.”

Conclusion

The Arab el Harouq tribe continues to live in ambiguity, wondering why they cannot belong to Lebanese society and establish lives while accessing the benefits the government offers its citizens. They are constantly navigating between the perceptions that the Lebanese have of them and their own reality. One Leba-nese, commenting on the Bedouins, said, “They are marginalized. No one wants them. They don’t belong here. They are intruders, strangers. They have their own cultural practices. They won’t ever be part of society.”

The reality of the Bedouins was summed up by one man from the tribe: “We get no help at all. Poverty can lead to a lot of problems and crime. There is a lot of poverty here. We are very, very poor and we get no help from any one.” Marginalization stemming from the lack of citizenship has increased poverty in the tribe. Increasing poverty has in turn deepened negative stereotypes of the Bedouins and increased their marginalization. It is this cycle that perpetuates the poverty of the Arab el Harouq tribe, and it is this cycle that must be broken if poverty is to be addressed in a serious way.

1. Also spelled “Huruuk”2. This case study is of the Arab el Harouq tribe and may not be representative of the

other Bedouin tribes in the Bekaa.3. (Tales of the Baida - Bedouin Folk Tales from Lebanon). The author of “Tales of

the Baidu” is Hamra Abu Eid of the Abu Eid community and he has recorded the orally transmitted history of that community.

4. (Chatty, 2010) p. 265. The Arab el Harouk tribe prefers to be called Arab as they see the term bedu as

derogartory. This was also found in (Chatty, 2010) p. 22 6. (Tales of the Baida - Bedouin Folk Tales from Lebanon)7. A pseudonym8. A pseudonym9. Fagan (1986) quoted in (Chatty, 2010) p. 2310. In 2006 the European Commission provided funding for research projects analyz-

ing health care issues for marginal people in desert and rural settings. From this funding came four papers, supervised by Dawn Chatty, looking at Bedouin health issues in Lebanon. The studies involved researchers from both the University of Oxford as well as the American University of Beirut (AUB). The EU project docu-ment is entitled “Improving Access to and Quality of Reproductive and Child Health Care to Marginal Peoples: Bedouin of Lebanon and Jordan.

11. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2312. (Chatty, 2010) p. 23, 2413. This is further explained in detail throughout the chapter 14. (Thomas, 2003); (Haj, 1991) as quoted in (Chatty, 2010) p. 24 15. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2516. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2417. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2618. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2619. This number was estimated by a local NGO worker. Other estimates from the

community ranged up to 40,00020. (Naharnet)21. (Naharnet)22. (Maktabi, 1999)23. (Naharnet)24. Quoted in (Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada)25. In 1958 the Lebanese government gave ‘under-study’ status to those Bedouin

who had not registered in the 1932 census conducted by the French Mandate. ‘Under- study’ status states the person’s place of birth to be in Lebanon, but does not equate to full nationality or full access to services. Chatty estimates that in 1994 only 10,000 Bedouins out of the total population 100,000-150,000 Bedouins were offered nationality arising from their 1958 status (Chatty, 2010) p.26.

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INTRODUCTION 1

26. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2627. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2628. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2629. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2830. (Kak, 2010) p. 3231. The sheikh claims that all the children are in school32. (Ressler, 2008) p. 95.33. (Ressler, 2008) p. 96.34. As is or has been the case in many countries, there are some in Lebanon who be-

lieve that having a child with a disability is a punishment from God for committing a sin or other bad action. The children are therefore often stigmatized, isolated, or hidden even by their own families.

35. (Baba, Shaar, Hamadeh, & Adra, 1994)36. (Baba, Shaar, Hamadeh, & Adra, 1994)37. (Mansour, 2010) p. 45-4738. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3339. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3140. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3141. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3342. (Mansour, 2010) p. 4243. (Mansour, 2010) p. 4244. (Mansour, 2010) p. 4845. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3446. (el Kak, 2010) p. 3447. In Lebanon, the common practice is that the government provides the vaccination

for free; however, the community members must pay for the consultation fee. The cost of the consultation depends on the clinic, and sometimes it may be subsidized in order to provide it for free. Key informant interview.

48. (Mansour, 2010) p. 4749. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2950. (Chatty, 2010) p. 2751. (Chatty, 2010) p. 29

Part 2

POVERTY IN

URBAN LEBANON

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MAP OF URBAN COMMUNITIES STUDIED

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POVERTY IN URBAN LEBANON

Eighty-seven percent (3.6 million) of Lebanon’s population of 4.1 million people live in urban areas, a higher proportion than in most other Arab states.1 With greater Beirut being host to a little less than half the country’s population (1.8 million), urbanization is a major issue facing the country. This is already having an impact on the quality of life, the availability and quality of water resources, the cost of infrastructure, as well as the future use of surrounding natural and ag-ricultural land. Urbanization in Lebanon is particularly acute as it is ranked 28th out of 212 countries worldwide and 5th among the 17 countries in the Middle

Hay el Gharbeh, Beirut

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East and North Africa region in terms of the percentage of the total population of the country, which is urban.2

The 15-year Civil War and the continuing periodic violence along with the lack of a cohesive national urban development strategy has resulted in:

• Improper land use which is consequently prompting the deterioration of physical and environmental conditions

• Urban sprawl without adequate provision for roads and infrastructure, open public spaces, parking facilities, etc.

• Loss of agricultural land

• Destruction of national archeological sites3

Slums and squatter settlements are not new to Beirut and the other major urban areas in Lebanon. They have hosted migrants from rural areas like the Bekaa Valley, the south, and Akkar in the north. More recently the inhabitants include Syrian migrant workers as well as foreign domestic workers.While slums and informal urban settlements are often embroiled in issues of legality and ownership, slums in Lebanon (and in other parts of the world) are character-ized by additional criteria that often arise from the issues of illegality, such as “precarious economic and/or political conditions … high levels of vulnerability, … services and living conditions [that] appear to be lower than other sections of the city.”4

There are three different types of slums and informal settlements in Beirut:5

1. Slums that began as international refugee camps or low income hous-ing areas for international refugees (instituted from 1920-1955)

The oldest slums in Beirut are the refugee camps. These are mainly the Arme-nian camps (organized in 1920s), the Syriac camps (also organized in the 1920s), and the Palestinian camps (organized from 1948 onwards).6 The Kurds occupied abandoned camps and deteriorating parts of the city and did not have a camp assigned to them. Only traces of the Armenian camps in Qarantina remain as most of the Armenians resettled in Karm el Zeitoun, Bourj Hammoud, and later in Antelias. The Syriac camps evolved into Hay el Serya’an, an area of low-income housing. The official Palestinian camps and informal gatherings remain.

2. Slums that began as housing areas for rural-urban migrants (1950s-1960s)

As Lebanon industrialized from the 1950s onwards, it drew a significant number of migrants from the rural areas, especially the Bekaa and south Lebanon. They were drawn by employment opportunities near factories (such as in the Bourj Hammoud area, Sad el Baouchrieh, and Choueifat), and near large institutions (such as the international airport and Regie du Tabac), construction sites, and stone quarries (in and around Jdedeh). These migrants settled in three types of areas:

POVERTY IN URBAN LEBANON 7

I. Slums that developed either as direct extensions of existing refugee camps or in their vicinity: These included areas around the Armenian core in Qarantina (at that time), areas such as Naba’a (south of Bourj Hammoud), Horsh Rahal, and sections of Sinn el Fil along the Beirut River. The other concentration was around Palestinian camps in Tell el Zaatar (in the eastern suburbs), and the Shatila (in the southern sub-urbs) and Mar Elias camps (in Beirut proper).

II. Slums that developed on agricultural land on the outskirts of the city and in violation of urban regulations: These included the four areas of Hay el Sellom (Amroussieh) in the southern suburbs, and Zaaytiyyeh (Fanar), Roueissat (Jdedeh), and Hay el Ayn (Biaquot) in the eastern suburbs.

III. Slums that developed as squatter settlements in areas of contested property rights: These areas include Raml, Ouzai, Horsh el Qateel, Horsch Tabet, Sabra, and Jnah in the southern suburbs and Wata el Mousseitbeh within the municipal limits of the city. These settlements are located on contested land, These land disputes arise out of conflicts over the establishment of land registries during the French Mandate, rising land prices, and political rivalry.

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3. Slums that began as squatter settlements during the period of the Civil War (1975-1990)

Neighborhoods along the edge of the city center such as Mina el Hosn and Qa-ntari as well as those along the “green line” were evacuated by their owners and residents and over time were occupied by lower income families who themselves were fleeing from other areas of the city. These areas then slowly deteriorated, turning them into slums. Squatters also moved into vacant areas around Pales-tinian camps near the stadium, destroying large green areas. They also moved into previously unoccupied areas like the beach resort of Jnah.

Besides all the other issues of marginalization, lack of services and poor living conditions, the key to understanding urban poverty in the Lebanese context is grasping the various types of land tenure that refugees and migrants in the urban areas of Lebanon have. UN habitat’s Tenure System and its Characteristics is a useful framework for understanding the complexities and challenges that the poor in urban areas face (see Appendix IV).

1. (UN Habitat, 2007) p. 62. (World Bank, 2009 )3. (UN Habitat, 2007) p. 64. (Fawaz and Peillen, 2003) p. 75. (Fawaz and Peillen, 2003) p. 7-216. See Palestinian chapter for more information on the official camps

and gatherings.

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HAY EL TANAK

Tripoli

“The bulk of rapid urban growth in developing countries in now taking place in peri-urban areas as poor urban dwellers look for a foothold in the cities and towns where land is more easily available, where they can escape the costs and threats of urban regulation, and where there is a possibility of combining urban and rural livelihoods … It is these sprawling urban peripheries, almost entirely unserviced and unregulated, that make up the bulk of what is referred to as informal settlements.”1

Abu Hassan2 is one of Hay el Tanak’s oldest residents. In the late 1940s, he moved to a small dwelling on what was then a stretch of public land on the coast near the northern municipality of el Mina. The area was not built-up when Abu Hassan arrived from el Mina accompanied by his young wife (a first cousin of his from Akkar, North Lebanon), rather it was mainly fields and wilderness with a lot of wild animals. “We kept the fire going all night to keep the animals away, so people started calling me the ‘king of fire,’” he explained. The area became increasingly built-up and populated over the years, and later on a highway was constructed cutting between what eventually came to be called Hay el Tanak and the sea.

The newlyweds bought their house from some Palestinians who had been living in the area. The majority of the 70-80 Palestinian families that were living there at the time moved to the official UNWRA refugee camp of Beddawi by the mid-1950s. UNWRA’s Beddawi camp offered services and sanitation that were simply unavailable in the makeshift, unofficial settlement of Hay el Tanak. This meant that over time the majority of the refugee population in the area was re-placed by a population mainly comprised of poor Lebanese and Syrian families who simply could not afford alternative housing.

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Today, Abu Hassan’s house has cement walls and an aluminum sheet roof. Inside there are just three rooms: a living room, a small bedroom, and a small kitchen. It is in much better condition now than when Abu Hassan bought it though. He has worked hard over the years to improve it, using any cement he could get to strengthen the structure. Now, however, he cannot improve it further as building is currently strictly prohibited in Hay el Tanak. The land Abu Has-san’s home is on is now owned by private investors, and the government is en-forcing a building restriction on their behalf. Meanwhile, the investors endeavor to evict Abu Hassan and his neighbors so that they can develop the prime coastal property Hay el Tanak stands on. “I don’t want to leave,” Abu Hassan says. “I love building something for myself. I built this and rehabilitated this. I am scared of apartments. Aluminium ceilings are safe.”

Behind Abu Hassan’s house, four of his children have built houses in which they live with their families. In total, he and his wife have 11 children: seven boys and four girls. One of his children died at the age of 27. He and all his sons are illiterate, but two of his daughters finished grades 4 and 5. However, most of his grandchildren are in school. He said, “Education is important for them, for their life. It’s like a religion.” Four of his sons currently have work, but they do not earn enough to be able to save. One sells fish, one works as a carrier, one as a painter, and one in the municipality as a daily worker. They all struggle to make ends meet. For example, the son who is a painter is married and has a daughter; he earns LL90,000 ($60) per week. “He can only earn [enough] to eat,” Abu Hassan said.

The main street in Hay el Tanak

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Unlike many other residents of the area, life was not always so hand-to-mouth for Abu Hassan. He used to travel and had a family business. He also used to work with his father as a plumber on various construction projects.

By his account, the community was not too badly affected during the Civil War: “During the war the Syrians went off, but some stayed. The Lebanese had nowhere to go. This is my country [el Mina]. There was some damage to the furniture and other things.” He recalls a fight at the highway in which 18 people were killed, but he said, “I was strong at that time.” During the war, he would lie about his political ties and sympathies to protect himself and his family. Today, he is a very proud Lebanese national: “This is Lebanese country; not Syrian; not Palestinian.” After the war ended, he worked as a driver and a mechanic until he had a stroke and was partially paralyzed. Abu Hassan now struggles to pay his medical bills and those of his wife, who recently fell and injured her leg. Their significant savings are now gone, and they live on the charity of their children (who give them LL180,000 ($120) per month) and some others whom Abu Hassan helped in the past.

The current problems Abu Hassan and his family face are not unique in Hay el Tanak. People came to Hay el Tanak because they were poor, and life in the area continues to be challenging.. Almost universally, residents of the area face challenges in securing basic services, livelihoods, education, and health care; however, all of these challenges are either exacerbated by or eclipsed by the land tenure crisis the settlement’s residents have faced since the late 1980s. The land they live on was transferred to private property developers as part of a legal exchange by the government in the late 1980s and early 1990s. These private property developers want to evict the residents in order to build on the land (see section “History and legal status of the community”).

Being one of the oldest residents of Hay el Tanak, Abu Hassan found himself appointed the community’s unofficial leader. As the cases against eviction went to the courts and harassment from the police began, Abu Hassan approached various members of parliament and political parties for help. People in Hezbol-lah told him that if the residents were Shiites, they would have helped them. The community is Sunni. Rafiq Hariri, as prime minister, promised to help and was able to stall the court cases while he tried to find an appropriate solution. Unfor-tunately, Rafiq Hariri was assassinated before a solution was found. Others have promised help, but almost none has been forthcoming.

Hernando de Soto, the Peruvian economist and the author of The Mystery of Capital, writes:

“What the poor majority in the developing world do not have, is easy access to the legal system, which, in the advanced nations of the world and for the elite in their own countries, is the gateway to economic success. For it is in the legal system where property documents are created and standardized according to law. That documentation builds a public memory that permits

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society to engage in such crucial economic activities as identifying and gaining access to information about individuals, their assets, their titles, rights, charges and obligations; establishing the limits of liability for businesses; knowing an asset’s previous economic situation; assuring protection of thirdparties; and quantifying and valuing assets and rights. These public mem-

ory mechanisms in turn facilitate such opportunities as access to credit, the establishment of systems of identification, the creation of systems for credit and insurance information, the provision for housing and infrastructure, the issue of shares, the mortgage of property, and a host of other economic activities that drive a modern market economy.”3

Having lived in the area for sixty years and not having legal tenure of his dwelling, Abu Hassan is representative of a poor community that could very likely succeed and prosper if the threat of eviction were removed and the popu-lation was allowed secure tenure on the land on which they live. But Hay el Tanak remains paralyzed. It is a community caught in the midst of changing laws, backroom deals, constant police threats, and harassment by outsiders. Being marginalized from the legal system, the residents have no opportunities to leverage what they already have to improve the quality of their lives. In spite of organizing themselves, their voices are ignored and they are powerless in trying to protect themselves. Marginalization, exclusion, insecurity, and voicelessness are the faces of poverty in Hay el Tanak.


Hay el Tanak is located near the Mediterranean Sea in the city of el Mina, west of Tripoli. The community lives just off of the main road that runs along the sea in the southern area of el Mina. Hay el Tanak is made up of a few dirt roads, each of which is lined with makeshift housing on both sides. The main feature of the community is the corrugated tin roofing that covers most of the housing. This corrogated roofing also gives the community its name: tanak is the Arabic for metal. The houses are made up of various materials, including cement bricks and reinforced cardboard. They were built in a haphazard fashion as residents arrived in the community over the years. More recently, as parts of the houses, especially the roofs, have fallen apart, residents have been forbidden from making renovations, and they have been forced to “rebuild” using blue tar-paulin held in place by tires. This is now the most noticeable feature when one overlooks the community.

According to the newly elected mayor, Hay el Tanak is one of four margin-alized areas in el Mina. Many of the residents explained that the community is part of a larger area called Hara el Jdedeh. One of the community leaders ex-plained that Hay el Tanak currently covers just over 30,000 m2 and that the com-munity is “like a village,” with approximately 1,000 people in approximately 200

households. A researcher completing a study in the area noted that there were exactly 186 families at the time of her assessment. There are between 55,000 to 75,000 people in the city of el Mina, which also has its own municipality.

Residents told stories of being surrounded by wildlife and wilderness when they first moved to the area decades ago. There used to be fruit trees (banana, grape, orange, and lemon), gardens, and a large swampy area. Today there are tall reeds and other plants surrounding the community, and these often also grow within the small gardens of the houses. The vegetation is evidence of the com-munity’s location atop a swamp, which accounts for the fact that during the rainy season the entire area is flooded.

Looming at the edge of the community are massive piles of plastic bottles and garbage, which some local residents sort through and use to make their livelihoods. Children are often seen running barefoot through these piles as they play in the open area. Behind the garbage piles, a newly constructed wall, sepa-rating a recently built gas station and convenience store, now blocks the view of the sea. This was built by one of the new landowners claiming rights to the prop-erty on which the community is living, and it caused the eviction of four families.

History and legal status of the community

There is no record of when Palestinians first settled in the area now known as Hay el Tanak. Given that most Palestinians came to Lebanon during the late 1940s, it cannot have been too long after their arrival that the first non-Pales-tinians moved to the area. Even though the location was not ideal and facilities there were extremely lacking, many of the early residents moved there because they could do so without buying the land or paying rent. Gradually, as one com-munity member explained, “Poor people started to come, like a chain.” Often people who were struggling in their current contexts would hear about the area from a family or a friend who had moved there. People were attracted by the idea of not having to pay rent or buy the land. Slowly the area was built up to its cur-rent size, with families arriving and leaving over the years, the latter group selling their makeshift housing to other poor families for a small price.4

By most accounts, the community was fairly unaffected by the Civil War, though it raged all around and there was some property damage. Those who were able to, fled the area for their safety, but many returned when they felt the situation was secure enough to do so.

Residents claim that while they were never able to rise out of poverty, until about 20 years ago their lives were relatively simple and peaceful. Until then the land they live on was owned by the government. One man said that the govern-ment knew they were squatting there, and he even had a piece of paper ac-knowledging that he and his family had been living there in the 1960s and 1970s. However, around the late 1980s and early 1990s, through a complex Lebanese

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law, the government was allowed to exchange land plots with private owners. Without notice, the land on which Hay el Tanak is located changed hands.5

It was a while before the new owners of Hay el Tanak tried to claim the land. Some residents claim that the new owners’ interest in the land came only after a rezoning of el Mina dramatically increased the value of the seafront property. The previous mayor of el Mina planned to create a tourist destination in the area with beaches, a corniche, and restaurants. As city development prospects came to light, the value of seafront property further increased.

Since then, the community has been fighting in the courts for appropriate compensation with the few resources it has. Other communities in the area around Hay el Tanak have been relocated in the past, but they were offered meaningful reimbursement: enough money to allow them to purchase a house or apartment in the nearby areas. With skyrocketing real estate prices in el Mina and Tripoli, the small amount of money now being offered to some residents would not pay rent even for one year. Other residents have been offered nothing.

Technically, the residents of Hay el Tanak are illegally squatting on what is now private land. The community lives in constant fear of being evicted, often putting their lives on hold to protest against the bulldozers threatening to destroy their homes or to attend court sessions about their cases. The court cases, which have been a back-and-forth battle between the landowners and the residents, are often postponed for various reasons. But while the the legal battles continue, police have prohibited residents from rebuilding their precarious houses – hence the tarpaulin roofs. The police regularly patrol the area to make sure that no repair work or construction is being done. As much as some residents would like to stay (generally those that have been there a long time) and others (the newer ones) want to leave, their fight is for either resettlement or fair and adequate compensation. Abu Walid, one of the informal leaders of the community, stated, “If they want this area, give us compensation like they did for the others.” In the midst of all of this, desperate families with no other options for housing continue to arrive, even though they are aware of the challenges currently being faced in the courts.

Comments from the community:

Poor quality housing

“There are holes in the roof. Our roof is cracked. One year ago my son could have died because the ceiling fell when he came in. When something collapses, we can’t rebuild it because the area is not for us. The police have told us that we aren’t allowed to rebuild, so we just put cardboard on the roof. Also, the toilet floods and the smell is awful. There are problems with the water and flooding.”


Hay el Tanak is made up of Lebanese, Syrians, and Palestinians, although per-ceptions of the actual makeup of the community vary according to who is being interviewed. While one of the community leaders said that there were only 30-40 Syrian families, others debated over whether there was a Syrian or Lebanese ma-jority. An elderly woman commented, “The Syrians come to live here because it is a better life. The majority of the people in the community are Lebanese. There are very few Syrians.” Yet, another old woman claimed, “I know [person-ally] three Syrian families, but they are the majority in Hay el Tanak. They are more than the Lebanese. There is one street that is all Syrian.” This discrepancy may be attributable to the fact that citizenship is not openly discussed – possibly out of fear of discrimination, or perhaps as a result of the presence of many mixed families within the community or families that have migrated regularly between Syria and Lebanon over the years. However, most people agreed that there are few Palestinian families in the community, perhaps only three or four. One community leader, who had drafted petitions on behalf of all the families in the area, estimated that 60 percent are Lebanese, 30 percent are Syrian, and 4 percent are Palestinian.

Many of the Syrians and Palestinians have been living in the area for their whole lives and are considered “just as Lebanese” as anyone else. Unlike some of the other poorer communities in Lebanon where the people live in isolated pockets based on religion or ethnicity, there is some overiding sense of commu-nity in Hay el Tanak; which is unusual for Lebanon. The common crisis around eviction that members of the commmunity face has united them. Abu Walid commented, “The community is gathered because they live next to each other. There aren’t any groups under a certain title.” One Lebanese woman said, “Syr-ians and Lebanese help each other. The relationships are good. They are one of us.” While the crisis around their insecure tenure brings them together, and the residents are eager to say that they are one community, time spent in the area evidences that residents are nonetheless very aware of the nationality differences between the groups. This is not an uncommon way of thinking in Lebanon.

Most of the residents are originally from el Mina, with some from nearby areas like Minye and Akkar in the mountains. The community is mostly Sunni Muslims with no known Christian families. There is a lot of mobility with people and families constantly coming and going, although some families have been in the area for generations. There were no noticeable gender differences within the demographics of the community. While some couples recently moved to the area because they cannot afford housing anywhere else, other families have been living in the area for 50 years, with each subsequent generation born there.

The households in Hay el Tanak vary in makeup. Some are young cou-ples that have just moved to the area, others are widows or female-headed

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households, and some are nuclear family units living together. Many are house-holds consisting of extended families living within the same property, often in connected buildings. This stems from the fact that the community grew slowly over time. The original inhabitants had much more space when building their houses. Then, as the original community members started having children, and the children then got married, it was much easier to build them a house attached to their own or within their property area. For this reason, some of the enclosed properties, which are surrounded by walls, may contain up to five related fami-lies. There is one property with five sons and their families, consisting of 40 people living within the same complex.

According to a researcher who previously studied the area, the housing units are rarely larger than two living spaces (one bedroom and one living room which is often converted into a bedroom at night), a small kitchen, and a bathroom. In some of the houses the kitchens and bathrooms are located outside the house, under a covered area. The large families must make do with the space they have, as they are now unable to continue building. An older woman said:

“I left my house and came to live with my mom after my son died. There are two beds, one living room, one kitchen, one bathroom, and a garden. I live there now with my brother and his wife, my husband, and my mom … Myfamily is six boys and two girls. There are 14 of us living in the house now.”

Women in the area generally get married and start having children some-where between the ages of 16 and 18, although in some families there are girls engaged to be married at as young as 14 years old. The number of children per household ranges from two to 10, with the average for 22 households inter-viewed being 5.7 children. The households with fewer children are usually young couples that have only recently started their families. While some of the women expressed a desire to implement family planning methods, their husbands gener-ally disagreed with them. A few families stated that they refused to have more children until their financial situation was more secure. One man said, “I have two kids. If God doesn’t make things better then I don’t want any more kids. I think large family sizes contribute to poverty.” The man’s wife then added, “People used to give birth to 10 babies, now it’s fewer.”

There are a few female-headed households. In most cases either the husband had died or had left to get married to someone else. The situation is extremely difficult for the women who are left to take care of their children and find the means to support their families.

Everyone interviewed considered the neighborhood to be a good area and with-out the typical problems which are found in poor communities elsewhere. They all stated that there is no crime or drugs, and there are no delinquencies. One commu-nity member commented, “Here people are nicer and cleaner than in other places. They are all nice and good, but they don’t have a chance.” Residents were very adamant that although they are poor, they are good citizens – honest and honorable.

Most people in Hay el Tanak struggle with being perceived as poor and marginalized, especially by the government. The reality is that most are poor, but they want to make clear to outsiders that poverty is not always connected to criminal behavior. Despite the poverty, people often mentioned the integrity found within the community, though people remained ashamed of the situation they are living in. People often said that they were proud of being poor, though they were also ashamed of talking about it. Abu Walid commented, “There is nothing wrong in being poor. We are poor because we have no jobs and because of sickness.” All the interviewees said that they work hard to provide a good life for their families, but they feel as though their neighborhood is one of the poor-est in Lebanon and challenged others to find an area that is poorer.


An honorable and honest neighborhood

“I am proud of being poor, but I want a solution for it. I don’t want to be poor all the time. In the newspaper they said that the neighborhood is a most honorable and honest neighborhood. Though we are too poor, it was mentioned that we are the best and the most honorable neighborhood because we have no drugs, no gangs, no problems. All our children are raised well, and though they work in carrying things, all of them are or were at school.”

Livelihoods

Many community members blamed their poverty on the lack of sufficient em-ployment in Lebanon. One woman said, “There is poverty here because there is no work here. There is no employment. The majority of the men stay at home. That’s the main reason … Not even education will help; only wasta will get us jobs.” While most community members have some kind of work, they do not earn enough to support their families on a month-to-month basis; many cannot find work or are unable to work in winter.

Many also feel that a lack of education was one of the main causes of pov-erty as it increases the challenge of finding gainful employment. Due to their generally low level of education, the majority of jobs the people of Hay el Tanak hold are either seasonal or irregular and unstable. Most of the people inter-viewed were either currently unemployed, had been recently unemployed, or knew many residents that were unemployed.

One job that the community is known for is waste collection. Residents sort through garbage and take out all the material that can be recycled, which they then sell to a company in Tripoli for a very small profit. This work is mostly done by the men and children. Sometimes the men will find things in the garbage that

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can be repaired, cleaned, and resold, and the women then take on these tasks. This is very hard work and the income is minimal.

Some of the men work in trades. At the entrance of Hay el Tanak there are some woodworking and furniture shops, and some car mechanics. While none of these shops and garages are owned by residents of Hay el Tanak, many men from the community work in them. The work is unstable and is dependent on the number of contracts being completed at the shops. Other men work in con-struction jobs outside the settlement, such as tiling. This work is dependent on the amount of work the builder has and on the season: there is little or no work available in the winter.

A few men from the community are taxi drivers, putting in as many hours as they are able to. Although there is more flexibility in driving a taxi, drivers’ incomes are susceptible to the price of benzene and drivers often face more legal troubles – as the profession is government regulated – than other workers. One man had to pay $400 because he had forgotten his license.

Many men in the community work as fishermen, mostly through the nights in the summer. Very few of them are able to work in winter because of the harsh and inclement weather. One woman spoke of a boat accident that almost killed her husband. Fishing in the area is unpredictable, and the income is dependent on the quality and quantity of the catch. The fish are sold to middlemen, and many fishermen said they felt that they were being swindled by being offered lower than fair prices.

Some women work outside their homes, often when their husband is unable to find a job either because the market is particularly bad or because of health problems. Many women expressed a wish to work in order to improve their financial situation, but they were unable to do so because of young children. The women that have employment work in a variety of jobs. Some work with their families in cleaning items of garbage to resell them. Others are cleaners in homes and hospitals. Some women buy goods, such as clothing from the souq, and then sell them locally for a slight profit. There are a few women in the com-munity who have finished high school; this is very rare for the area. They tutor some of the neighborhood children whose parents are able to afford it. A few of the younger girls who dropped out of school early are studying hairdressing.

One woman explained that many homes have chickens, which the family keeps for the eggs. When they have extra eggs, they will sell them to neighbors. Sometimes they will sell a chicken to the neighbors for special occasions. She mentioned that this did not happen often and that families could not rely on this for regular income. She also said that she grows grapevines, the fruit of which she mostly uses for her own cooking but will sometimes sell to the neighbors as well.

One factor limiting employment options for some was the cost of transpor-tation from Hay el Tanak to either el Mina or Tripoli. As the area is located

far from downtown Tripoli and is not easily accessible by public transportation, residents have to pay around $2 a day to travel to and from the area. With the limited income they are making, some mentioned that it is not worth it to make the trip into the city to look for work.

Income sufficiency

While most residents could not state an average income for the community, they all agreed that what they earn is not enough. Most of the work available is con-tract work, such as sorting plastic and garbage or making furniture, and the income from it depends on the amount of work completed. Fishermen’s incomes depend on the quality and quantity of their catch. “There is no security for us. We have no insurance,” a fisherman’s wife commented. A fisherman’s (house-hold) income might vary between $0 and about $30 per day, with the average being $10-14 per day when it is possible to fish. Those who sorted plastic said that they might only make a few thousand Lebanese pounds per day. A few resi-dents stated that their average household income was approximately LL20,000 ($13) per day.

Typically in Hay el Tanak only the man in the house works. As a result most families are dependent on only one income. Sometimes women also work, but this is fairly rare as they are usually taking care of their children. A few of those interviewed mentioned that their elder sons are also working, earning about $10 a day. The parents, however, preferred that their children started saving their money to purchase a house and to use for their own futures. Occasionally the older children who are not married help out with family expenses.

The elderly are particularly vulnerable in not having a livelihood or a steady stream of income, especially if they are not living with their children in an ex-tended family situation. Many of the elderly couples have no income earners in the household. Most of them rely on “allowances” from their children. But more often than not, their children and their children’s families are facing their own hardships as well and are not able spare a lot. This is particularly difficult as many of the elderly are facing health problems and need to pay for healthcare and medication. One elderly woman explained, “I have osteoporosis, hyperten-sion, and diabetes. I have several medications that I need to take, but I can’t afford it; only if God makes things easier or the kids help can I take them.”

The mantra of many residents is, “If you work you eat. If you don’t work, you don’t eat.” One woman said that people must choose between eating and buying new clothes, so they chose to eat. Many families stated that they are unable to purchase enough food to feed their families. Another woman said:

“… some people don’t have money to eat. And I swear to God, that there are some people in this neighborhood that don’t have one loaf of bread in their house … There is no loaf of bread in their house so they can feed their kids.”

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Part of the problem is that there are no nearby souqs or stores where people can purchase fresh food. Residents are forced to either travel into el Mina to buy food, paying $2 for transportation, or rely on the men who come in vans selling vegetables at inflated prices. Many also said that these vegetables are less fresh than those available at a souq outside the community.

Expenses related to their houses vary as there are different kinds of hom-eownership. The early residents of Hay el Tanak did not purchase the land or pay any rent. Some newcomers rent their homes from those who have left, others purchased houses, and some built their houses themselves, often on the land be-longing to their relatives. One woman said that her monthly rent is LL320,000 ($214), which leaves her family with very little for their other expenses. Another family who recently moved to the area paid around $5,000 to purchase their small two-room house. The majority do not pay any rent.

Many people outside of Hay el Tanak think that residents in the commu-nity do not have to pay for their electricity. However, electricity in each house is measured by a meter, and one resident said that it costs them between $20 and $50 per month. While some residents have access to generators that they can use during the frequent power cuts, most are unable to afford such a luxury (around $17 per month), and this often leaves them in the cold during the winter months.

There is no sewage collection provided by the city, and residents must pay $50 to have their sewage pits emptied, which is done approximately every two months. If the pits are not emptied, the area around the house will flood.

Health expenses are often what cause the most trouble for the residents of Hay el Tanak, forcing them to borrow money from family, friends, and neighbors or forgo treatment altogether. No one in Hay el Tanak has health insurance, and this forces some to take desperate measures. Some women said that they gave birth at home even though they were sick, because they could not afford to go to a hospital. One woman explained that her daughter has heart problems and is supposed to have a scan every two months to monitor the progress. Since the scan is $200 each time, the last time she had one was two years ago. The daughter frequently asks her mother if she looks sick or if her lips are blue. Her mother lies to her because she cannot bear the thought of her daughter knowing how sick she really is. Two mothers told of their children being in car accidents. One explained, “Our daughter was hit by a car. But since we had no money, the hospital kicked us out. You need money to enter the emergency room, even if you are dying.”

Additionally, the community has to bear the financial strain of the continu-ing court battle over their land. Because of it they are forced to pay for a lawyer and topographer in order to help them with their claims in court and to un-derstand the complicated legal system. The court has already begun fining the residents for each day that they stay on the land. While payment is sometimes postponed during court procedures, many residents have already accumulated

huge amounts in penalties, which they feel they will never be able to pay. Abu Hassan said:

“We had to pay LL10 million [$6,667] or go to jail for six months … We fought the decision and had to pay LL320,000 [$213] instead. This was to evacuate. But only when I die will I leave here. Others are still in the courtprocess and they have to pay $20 for every day that they stay here.”

Education

The level of education in the Hay el Tanak is not very high. For the most part, the current generation of working adults has minimal education. While some have no education, most have completed a few grades of schooling. Only one woman interviewed had completed her Baccalaureate. Despite that, and de-pending on their financial resources, most of the parents are attempting to keep their children in school. The parents see the value of education and want to ensure that the younger generation will not miss out on opportunities because of a lack of education. One resident stated, “The social problems are exclusion and dropouts. There are only a few kids, maybe 1 percent, who never go to school.”

In most of the families interviewed, the girls tend to drop out between grades 3 and 5, though there are a few who have completed high school and even start-ed university. The young boys in the area seem to be less educated than the girls. Some families said that their boys had had no education at all. If they do attend school, they tend to drop out around grade 4, about the same time as most of the girls. One resident commented, “Boys are left in the streets. Some will go to school, but it depends on the boy. Generally, in this area, the boys are not edu-cated. But also, the girls are not very educated.”

There are no schools in Hay el Tanak today, although residents who have lived in the area for years said that there had been a primary school. The build-ing that housed this school was used by soldiers during the Civil War and was destroyed around 1988. All the children in Hay el Tanak must travel outside of the area to go to school. Some children attend school in a nearby area called Ma-sakan. Some of the parents feel that the quality of this school is bad and that it has poor teaching standards. The primary language of instruction is Arabic, but because the school only goes up to grade 9, the children must switch to an Eng-lish or French speaking school when they finish. Many children then drop out because of the increased language demands. One girl who attended the school explained that there are children in grade 5 who cannot read or write. The school would, adhering to a former Lebanese practice, just pass each child into subsequent years until they drop out.6 There is also a private school in Masakan, but it seems that none of the families in the area can afford to send their children there. Some families send their children to the Nassar public school in el Mina.

Most of the families interviewed complained of poor quality schools and

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teachers, regardless of which school their children were attending. They said that the teachers judge the children, which hinders their education. One mother said, “Sometimes the teacher judges the children on their physical appearance and they underestimate their ability. My daughter was smart and knows French better than Arabic.” Another example was of an 11-year-old girl with disabili-ties. She was harassed to the point where she had to leave school. She was then not accepted at any other schools because of her disabilities. Some women also spoke of a change in the attitude and behavior of the children. These women feel that when they themselves attended school, the children respected their teachers. They say this is no longer the case. An older woman said, “Children used to be scared of their teachers, but now it is the opposite; things have changed over gen-erations.” Someone also mentioned that drugs are prevalent in the schools now..

The cost of tuition varies between different schools, with some families paying $20, $50, or $100 per child per year. This does not include the cost of school supplies, books, or transportation, which may be up to $20 per child per month. One mother said that since the prices are so high, she has to send her children to school on foot because they cannot afford to take the bus. Another woman said that tuition fees begin to increase after grade 7. A family with four children attending school will spend approximately $500 on tuition and trans-portation per year, to receive an education that they feel is poor quality. But for most families living here there are no other options.

All of those interviewed claimed that education was important and the key to getting out of poverty. Referring to her children, one woman said:

“We studied, but we dropped out at an early age. If I start working, I will put my small children in school. I like studying; it is very important. The only thing that bothers my heart is that my kids and I are not educated. It is the only thing that ensures a good job.”

Some in the community went so far as to hire tutors for their children to ensure that they would stay in school. A mother and her two daughters who have all finished high school work in the community as tutors.

When asked why children dropped out of school early, the most common answer was the lack of financial means to pay for all of the costs associated with education. Many felt great regret and remorse that they themselves were not educated and are now unable to pay for their children to be educated. When asked if they were removing their children from school to have them work and help the family financially, they replied that this was not the case, they simply could not afford the associated costs of attending school. One woman, who sent her daughters to school but not her sons, said, “Education is very important. We love to educate our children but we can’t. So what can we do?” Some of the daughters of those interviewed had dropped out of school to get married, but the age at which this occurred varied significantly.


Considering the lack of proper hygiene, the cramped living conditions, extreme difficulties in the winter, the ever grinding pressure of poverty, and the uncertain-ties connected with their land tenure, it is surprising that health problems in the community are not worse than they are. “I was surprised that there were no seri-ous health problems. Even though they are poor, they may be attentive to their health. Or they may have adapted over the years,” a PhD researcher studying the community commented. One woman explained that the health conditions that people in the community face are all God’s will; it doesn’t matter where you live, it is out of your control. However, community members spoke of many ail-ments of varying degrees of seriousness during interviews. When the residents were asked about the overall health of their community, the answers varied sig-nificantly from “average” to “good” to “severe health problems.”

Some commonly mentioned health problems were osteoporosis, hyperten-sion, diabetes, asthma, and cardiovascular problems. Some other less preva-lent problems were back issues, strokes, lung cancer, paralysis, and muscular problems. One man also alluded to the prevalence of mental health problems: “There is desperation here, more than you think.”

Parents listed a variety of health problems that their children face. Two mothers said that their children have hemorrhoids; one child needs an opera-tion, but the family can’t afford to pay for it. Many women spoke of various problems that arise as a result of the moisture in their houses, such as kidney and back problems, asthma, and throat and ear problems. The 11-year-old girl

A house in Hay el Tanak

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with severe disabilities has already had four operations to correct her physical mobility and her vision. She still needs further operations, but her parents cannot afford them at this time. Two women said that their infant sons had passed away due to health conditions, but they did not elaborate further. One mother talked about her daughter who has a hole in her heart and needs to have regular scans and an operation, which the family cannot afford. Since the need for surgery has become urgent, the community is collecting money to try and fund the opera-tion for her.

One of the young women tutoring in the community said that the children’s mental health is affected because of the pressures of poverty and the uncertainty of the future. One boy was distressed because his parents beat him, and this af-fected his educational performance.

Many parents spoke of the unhygienic conditions during the winter when they need to carry their children through water when the community floods. They are concerned that the flood water is mixed with sewage water.

Unlike other communities interviewed, all of the women spoken to had had their children vaccinated.

A few of the parents interviewed mentioned the desire to have fewer chil-dren. One commented, “It is better to have only two to three kids. Then your kids can wear nice clothes and eat good food. Now we can only buy clothes on special occasions.”

Prenatal and postnatal care varied significantly among residents. Some said that they had prenatal care every month before giving birth, but others never had any. One woman said that she went every two to three months during her preg-nancy, depending on what her doctor told her. She said that she often went to a regular dispensary, as there are no special services for pregnant women. Some of the women gave birth in hospitals while others used TBAs from el Mina. None of the women reported any difficulties during their childbirths, although some of their children had been born by cesarean section. One woman said that the cost of hospitals influences where they will give birth. While some hospitals are more expensive, she only paid LL25,000 ($17) to give birth.

There are a few clinics, dispensaries, and hospitals in the areas nearby. The large majority said they could only afford to go to the public ones, due to a lack of money. There is a “cheap” clinic in el Mina where patients only have to pay LL10,000 ($6.7) for an examination, according to residents. But one community member felt that the examinations were too quick and not enough attention was paid to the patients. There is also a clinic associated with the Hariri Foundation in Masakan that some visit. Residents report that it costs around LL10,000 ($6.7) for a consultation, LL20,000 ($13) for medications, and LL30,000 ($20) for tests; the clinic does not provide any free services. There is another dispensary in Ma-sakan where residents say a consultation costs LL7,000-10,000 ($4.7-6.7). There are also private clinics in el Mina and Tripoli, though most interviewees said they

could not afford to attend them. One man commented, “I can’t pay more than LL10,000 ($6.7) a month on health care costs.”

Two other facilities mentioned were a private clinic in Bab el Tabenneh (an area in Tripoli) and an Islamic hospital. The private clinic costs LL10,000 ($6.7) for a checkup, but it cannot complete all procedures. One resident said it was better than many public clinics, but they have to travel to Tripoli to use it. The two people who spoke of having had operations had them in Beirut and in Trip-oli. They said the procedures were expensive and that they could not afford to pay for all of the medical procedures that they were recommended to complete.

Because there are no clinics in Hay el Tanak itself, residents must take public transportation or get a ride to the health care facilities. This is not easy for those with physical problems, and it has actually deterred some from completing ex-aminations. One woman explained how she had a herniated disk in her back. Her son would drive her to a clinic, but once she arrived, she could not sit and wait for her turn when there were many people ahead of her because of the pain she was in. Also, she could not walk back to the community by herself. She says that she is “tired of the dispensary” and no longer goes there.

One community member said that if they cannot afford to visit a clinic, they will treat the problem at home. They will visit a pharmacy and explain their problems, hoping to get the correct medication. None of those interviewed had any sort of insurance coverage.

Most of the community members complained of the difficulty in covering health care costs, including examinations, treatments, and medications. One man commented, “If [families] have money, they get health care. If not, then they have nothing.” Another person interviewed indicated the lack of support from external institutions, stating that even though political organizations in the area know of the health problems that people in the area face, they will only pro-vide “LL1,000 [$0.7] per month.” Many people said they had been prescribed medications but were unable to afford them. However, it was noted that many of the elderly in the community often had large amounts of medicine that they kept in their homes, which might belie some of their claims of inability to afford medication.

As the community is fairly isolated from the markets and souq, it is hard for residents to obtain fresh food supplies. The small shops in the area sell only basic nonperishable food items. As a result the residents must find other ways of ob-taining fresh foods. Some of the men from the community will go to the souq in el Mina and purchase fresh foods, mostly fruits and vegetables, and then come back to the area and sell the food at high prices. One woman explained that it is mostly the Syrians that do this job. Some residents are annoyed at having to pay more for the food, but their only alternative is to go to the souq themselves and pay the additional transportation cost. Many feel vulnerable because of their dependency on the vegetable trucks: “If a vegetable seller doesn’t come here, we

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have a hard time getting to the souq, because it’s hard to leave.”Likewise, no meat and only some dairy products are available in Hay el

Tanak, and residents need to go into el Mina in order to purchase these items. One woman said she goes every day, while another elderly woman only goes once every two to three months; she relies on her neighbors to help her. Howev-er, some residents explained that they cannot afford to eat these items every day anyway, as they are too expensive. One woman explained, “We eat three times a day, sometimes less. It depends. Having milk and meat depends on money. We eat diverse foods but milk, etc., are more expensive.”

When asked about breast-feeding and how the women perceived its value, the answers varied. Some women breast-feed their children for months, some-times even years, but “the majority of women in the community don’t breast-feed.” Some women explained that they had milk for some of their children but not others. Most used bottles with milk that they purchased from the pharmacy. One mother commented, “If you don’t have enough money for milk, you can find alternatives like milk and rice, milk and wheat, etc.”


The human capital available to residents of Hay el Tanak is limited. The feeling of exclusion from access to help or information is a common sentiment shared by all members of the area. Those who are Lebanese expressed dismay that their government is not helping them, and they often feel that foreigners have more access to employment and help than they do.

When people face a challenge, most have nowhere to access information with which to help themselves. Some people mentioned that while the police still have control over the area, they do not seek help from them because of all of the problems and confrontations between the two groups in the past. Others mentioned seeking the help of officials or politicians, but this very rarely resulted in any kind of help for community members. Often they would be turned away without the desired assistance, or they would be given only a fraction of what they needed if it was financial aid. Some people spoke of going to the informal leader of the community when needing information, especially regarding the legal situation they were facing. As he has spent many hours learning about the situation, facing the courts, and speaking to the media, he was often much more knowledgeable about the subject than others. Many people also mentioned that they turn to God when they have problems.

A strong sentiment expressed by all of the community members was the feeling of abandonment by most outside their immediate area. Members of the community rarely feel that they belong to any groups other than their family or their nationality within the community. In terms of social capital, people often spoke of receiving financial support from their families and in turn offering it

when other family members are in need. However, other than this, no groups offer any support. “There are no networks or groups for help,” a community member said. Many mentioned that if they were in one of the political par-ties, they would benefit by receiving aid. Most were too dismayed at the empty promises they had received from politicians over the years for them to now join any of the parties.

Some community members have strong family ties in the area, which they use for support during the hard times. As some residents were born in the area, and all of their siblings still live there, they have a strong informal safety net. Additionally, nationality groups tend to welcome their own. Lebanese or Syrians arriving in the area would be more likely to be included within their larger com-munity, whereas minorities, such as the Palestinians would have a more limited social network. Many of the new residents, for example the young couples that moved to the area because of the cheap housing, said they feel much less of a connection to the community.

Perceptions of the trust and reciprocity in Hay el Tanak varied among com-munity members. Some feel that the community is a large cohesive group, “like a family,” where people help each other. These people feel that there is no dis-crimination between any of the groups in the community, and that there are “good relationships between the groups.” Ties are felt not only between families and nationalities, but also between neighbors who share little in common other than living in the same community.

Others explained, “We are not together,” and that each family or nationality sticks together, with little regard for the others living in the area. Some feel that the different nationalities in the area are like “two different communities” (refer-ring to the Lebanese and Syrian groups). One reason explained for the disagree-ment is fights between children that escalate into fights between their parents. Some also blamed the influx of new residents into the area as the source of distrust between neighbors, saying that in the past everyone had felt like family.

A third group felt indifferent to their neighbors, saying that there was little or no interaction between them. One woman explained, “I don’t know about the relationships between people … I know people superficially, but I don’t know any details of their lives … I didn’t have any negative experiences with other people, but I’ve heard of fights between people.” These feelings may have to do with the size and influence of their social networks.

Ironically, the legal situation facing Hay el Tanak has had a galvanizing effect in terms of community cohesiveness. When a bulldozer or the police are threat-ening the area, the whole community will band together to fight against the threat. People will also support each other in court, whether the case is specifi-cally against them or not. One resident said, “Because of the situation, everyone sticks together.”

On the other hand, some residents believe that their neighbors are telling the

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police when they try to rebuild parts of their houses. The police then come and destroy what has been built if the residents cannot afford to bribe the policemen to ignore the violation. Those affected were unsure as to why their neighbors would do this, but some suspected that they might receive a payoff from the police for reporting the construction. This was a major source of frustration for many people whose houses have fallen apart and who are unable to make repairs. One resident suggested that the government was not helping with the situation because there are Syrians living in Hay el Tanak and, therefore, it is not seen as a “Lebanese” problem. Inevitably this creates tension between those who feel this is the case and the Syrian population within the community.

Throughout the community’s history, it has had two informal “leaders.” Abu Hassan was one of the original members of the community, who arrived about 55 years ago, and has lived there ever since. He worked to bring people together and to fight against the courts once the legal issues arose. Abu Walid took over the “leadership” once the health of Abu Hassan began to deteriorate. Since this time, he has been spearheading the struggle that the community is facing. He is in touch with the media, has had the entire community sign petitions, has attended the court sessions, and has met with many politicians to discuss their cause. Many of the community members have come to think of this man as their leader or as the president of the area. Although many of the residents did not feel a connection with their neighbors, they always mentioned Abu Walid as someone who was trusted and respected, and as a strong source of influence in the community.

The outside of a house in Hay el Tanak

The physical assets of the community are limited, poorly maintained, and often problematic in terms of access and functionality. One very noticeable feature of Hay el Tanak is the lack of proper infrastructure. The roads in the community are not paved and are often completely flooded during the winter. Consequently, the houses in the community also flood. Some of the houses were constructed 50 years ago. Others are newer but have been constructed over time with few financial resources, resulting in haphazard building methods and the use of poor quality building materials. As mentioned repeatedly, people feel that their houses are in poor condition and in need of repair, but because of the legal issues they are unable to do any further construction. Many complained of the cold and dampness in winter and the moisture and humidity in summer, which sometimes leads to health problems. Some of the roofs of the houses are made of nothing more than tarpaulin and plastic sheets, which often results in flooding inside the houses during the rainy season.

Most houses have televisions, and some have satellite dishes. However, basic furniture is often lacking. Many residents sleep on mats on the floor, which they fold up during the day. There are often no tables or chairs, and people eat their meals on the floors. Due to overcrowding, many people often sleep in the same room.

Hay el Tanak consists mainly of homes, with a few shops and some garages. Many of those interviewed feel that the area is large enough to merit more gov-ernment services and commercial areas, including a school and a pharmacy or a clinic. Even traveling to the closest town, el Mina, is a challenge for many resi-dents due to financial, health, or family reasons.

When the first residents moved to the area, they set up an informal system of accessing electricity by splicing it from some of the main wires running past the area. About six years ago, the residents wanted to legalize the electricity in Hay el Tanak. The community members were initially told that they would have to pay LL500,000 per house ($333). After going to the courts to protest, the cost was decreased to LL50,000 ($33). However, after one week they heard of a new decision that increased the price back up to LL500,000 ($333), but since they had not paid the full amount on time an additional fine of LL120,000 ($80) was added. One resident said that she had to sell her wedding ring in order to cover the cost.

There is now a meter in each house to monitor and charge for the electricity used. Some pay between LL45,000-65,000 ($30-43) for two months, others pay between LL45,000-50,000 ($30-33) per month. There are still frequent power cuts following a general pattern of four hours on and four hours off. As men-tioned earlier, only some of the residents have the financial means to access a common generator, in order to deal with the frequent power cuts.

Water access is a huge problem for residents of Hay el Tanak. There are wells that provide water for domestic use, but because they are close to the sea,

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the water is salty and cannot be used for drinking. About 10 years ago, drinking water started to be pumped to the houses from a water distribution company, although many still question the quality of this water. One man said that this water is pumped for free, but many residents mentioned that they have to pay for drinking water. Regardless, an elderly man seemed happy that they had finally received drinking water as, “For 40 years we were bringing in our own drinking water.”

The water systems are often shut off for days at a time. Just before the in-terviews were completed, Hay el Tanak had been without water for five days. It was cut off because a new building was being constructed, but the residents had had no previous warnings. Officials had also been planning on cutting off the electricity, until the community protested and spoke with a deputy from the north who fought for their case. During these times the population of Hay el Tanak had to fill bottles with water from the wells and buy their drinking water.

There are no sewage networks in Hay el Tanak. Instead each house has a pit underneath it, which is used to collect the waste. Residents must pay to have this emptied approximately every one to two months, at a cost of around LL75,000 ($50) each time. Many of the pits are small and overflow easily if not emptied frequently or during the rainy seasons. This results in wastewater flooding the streets and the houses, often creating problems between neighbors. Due to the building restrictions, residents are forbidden from constructing larger pits.

There is very little financial capital in the community. Only one man inter-viewed, Abu Hassan, mentioned that he had been able to save money throughout his lifetime, but this was quickly spent on health care costs. Some other people spoke of residents that were able to save enough to move out of the community, some selling their houses and others renting to new tenants.

However, the vast majority lives from paycheck to paycheck. The financial situation of those in the community differs from household to household and is somewhat dependent on how many children there are. Since most jobs are seasonal or unstable, the population is unable to guarantee regular and secure income, increasing their financial troubles. No resident mentioned the need to use, or the availability of, any financial services. In fact, when residents were asked about their financial capital and situation, and whether they were able to save, it was almost a laughing matter for them. It was so preposterous that they would ever be able to use any formal financial services that they had never even considered it.

Sometimes family members or neighbors borrow money from each other if they are in desperate need. This is most often the case for unexpected health problems. A few women mentioned selling their jewelry to be able to purchase their houses in Hay el Tanak or to pay for large costs, like installing electricity.

The major shocks felt by the community of Hay el Tanak pertain to the legal issues they are facing and the subsequent conflicts with the police.

The community claims to have been living peacefully in the area, with the in-formal consent of the government, until the late 1980s when the land changed hands to private owners. Since then the community has been embroiled in this legal battle, fighting for their right to fair compensation.

This fight has been off and on, depending on the political climate of the time; for instance, when Rafiq Hariri was in power, he stalled the court processes and demanded a fair solution for all parties involved. After his death, his wishes were subsequently denied and the court proceedings started again. Certain judges have postponed rulings, waited for further information, or ruled in favor of the community for the short term, but the landowners have been persistent in pursuing the cases and the issue continues to this day.

There have been small battles with the police and bulldozers who have come to demolish homes in the area. The community has banded together and pro-tested, with women and children participating as well. While no one mentioned any injuries during these confrontations, these were major events for members of the community.

In addition to shocks, there are also seasonal challenges with which the com-munity must cope. Without fail, every resident of Hay el Tanak mentioned the horrible conditions experienced during the winter. Because the area was origi-nally built on a swamp, its proximity to the sea and the lack of drainage systems mean that the area completely floods during the winter months. Residents com-plained of flooding both in the streets and in their houses. As the water causes the sewage pits to overflow, the area often floods with wastewater.

To cope, residents do not go outside. If they need to speak with a neighbor they will yell from their door. Parents must carry their children to school, rolling up their own pants and taking off their shoes to walk in the water.

Due to the poor housing conditions, the strong rains also leak through the roofs. The moisture gathers in the houses and many people complained of

Residents sort through garbage and recyclying for items that can be repaired or resold

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health problems associated with the dampness. Abu Hassan’s son, who has lived in the area his whole life, said, “In the winter when it is raining we are walking up the street with water up to our knees. We are trying to sleep with water drip-ping on our heads. When we close the door, it feels like a freezer. There is water all around us.”

Some residents also spoke of the extreme heat and the mosquitoes in the summer months, but this is generally felt to be far less of an issue than the prob-lems they face in the winter.

The other major seasonal change was employment availability. Many of the community members are fishermen, and most are unable to work during the winter months. Sometimes the men try to work in other areas, such as repair-ing boats, but it is very unstable work. Some of their families try to save small amounts during the summer months to tide them over during the winter when their income inevitably decreases, but they find this difficult.

The most significant trend noted by the community members is the gradual increase in population over the years. Since the first community members inhab-ited the area in the 1950s, the number of residents has steadily grown. One of the first community members explained, “People came here slowly, one-by-one. Even now there are people coming and building houses.”


Migration to the area

“To buy the house here I sold a piece of my gold and my daughter sold a piece of her gold. We borrowed money from our family to buy it here. It was $5000 and we paid $1000 for rehabilitation.”

“We built our house from wood, aluminum, etc. We used the wall from our neigh-bor’s house to start. My husband’s friend was living here, and he told us to come and live beside him.”

“When we first came, the police came two times and destroyed what we had built.

We rebuilt because we had no other place to go.”

“I was with my family. Then I got married and moved here. I moved here during

the war. I came here because there is no law; I couldn’t rent somewhere else. I still can’t rent now.”

When speaking about the problems facing their community, the harshest reactions were usually against politicians and the government. Most residents stated that they stopped voting because they were so fed up with social and politi-

cal systems defined by corruption and the lack of work being done to help their case. Many explained that they don’t actually want aid or handouts from the government, but instead they want stable jobs and a viable solution to their prob-lem. Residents feel that they are a burden to a government that would sooner have them displaced than try and offer a meaningful solution for their situation.

Many people stated that their situation would be improved if they were con-nected to a political party, because they would have increased access to resources and power. Yet they maintained that they had no faith in the overall political system. Only one community member alluded to supporting a political organi-zation; all of the others claimed to be neutral, not supporting any party.

The community is completely disillusioned with the political system, as they often receive promises of support and improvements from politicians immedi-ately before elections, in order to secure their votes. One man said, “During elections the government looks around at the community and we start to get attention.”

Only one deputy has consistently tried to help the community. Residents have nicknamed him “the father of poverty,” and he does what he can to stop the court procedures and the destruction of houses. However, being only one person, he lacks the resources to do anything other than advocate for the area.

Since a new mayor was elected for el Mina in the spring of 2010, some residents have high hopes that the situation will change for the better. Many community members feel that the previous government was more focused on increasing tourism and building up the city than protecting its own citizens. A particular point of discontent was a large park that was built in el Mina: one resident queried, “Are the environment and animals more important than us?”

Some residents said they would go to the police for help, as they still have authority over the area, but most members of Hay el Tanak said they were dis-mayed by the way the police had treated them in the past.

Community members often mentioned that the landowners receive more support from politicians because they are rich and have wasta, the connections needed to win their case.

Similarly, there is a lack of support from development organizations. There are no NGOs working in the community. One participant felt that not only their community but also the whole northern part of Lebanon, has been ignored by NGOs.7 Another woman thought that the lack of NGOs present in the com-munity was due to the fact that they were living on illegal land. NGOs would be taking a risk by working there as any work initiated could easily be undone during the land reclamation process.

While there are no NGOs providing development work, there are a few char-ities and individuals who donate goods or money to the community. None of the community members spoken to know who these organizations or individuals are, or why they are interested in donating to the area. One woman comes once

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a month and gives people LL50,000 ($33). Another person comes once or twice per month and gives meat to the residents. Most people thought the frequency of these visits increased during the month of Ramadan.

Many of the community members feel helpless to change their situation. Some were unsure of how they cope during the hard times, just saying, “We manage.” The ability to deal with shocks and difficulties often depends on the family and community ties that a particular resident feels within the area. As mentioned in other sections, there is quite a large informal system of borrowing money, food, and medicines within the community. The residents are interde-pendent, helping each other cope in difficult times.

Only a few residents spoke of selling their assets, mostly jewelry, in order to face shocks or deal with difficult situations. Often people just make do with less, whether it is less food, furniture, educational opportunities, or health care treat-ments.

One woman summed up her experience, which is very similar to that of other residents:

“We take care of ourselves. I don’t know how we live when my husband doesn’t work. We just have the necessary money to eat. We had periods where we couldn’t afford to eat. I borrowed money and opened up a small shop. I have debts to pay back, but that’s ok. Thanks to God we are eatingand drinking.”

The members of Hay el Tanak feel that they have been abandoned and there is a sense of powerlessness as a result. The sentiment is particularly strong among the Lebanese, who feel that their own country won’t even assist them. These negative feelings are mostly directed at the government, as they have offered no source of help for the community. The residents of the area feel voiceless as no one will listen to their problems. One man explained, “The problem is that the government is not with us. In many other countries the government will at least come and listen. Maybe they won’t do anything, but they will come and listen, but not here.”

While most residents feel they are citizens of Lebanon, and often part of the el Mina community, they do not think that others feel the same about them. Many alluded to feeling as though the government only thought of them as a problem, as a scar on the land, standing in the way of developing el Mina into a tourist destination. One woman said, “We are like a disease for them.” Another woman said, “No one looks at us or helps us, not the government, the municipal-ity, no one.”

The residents feel helpless to change their own situation. They are fighting against the landowners who are more powerful in terms of both wealth and connections. The community members have nowhere to turn for help or sup-port, and have no choice or say over what happens to their homes. They are vulnerable to the decisions of the courts, even though they have few resources to

support themselves during this process. One resident explained, “There are no networks or groups for help.”

Many community members feel isolated both physically and socially. Resi-dents often stated the troubles they face going into el Mina because it is expen-sive or they have nowhere to leave their children during these trips. Perhaps even more important is the feeling of social isolation from a place they consider themselves to be a part of. One woman who was born in el Mina said, “We are citizens of Mina, we feel we belong here.” But when these desperate residents ask for help from the municipality or politicians, they are turned away, or even laughed at. One woman stated, “When they cut off the water, I took an empty water bottle to Mina to get drinking water. But the people there laughed at me and asked me what I was doing. I had no water for several days.” Another man said he did not think they would even let him use the bathrooms in the munici-pality building.

The media has helped the community in the past in giving them a voice (however limited) by coming to the protests and conflicts when the police arrive. The community has been interviewed several times, allowing residents to express their side of the story. Unfortunately, as one man said, “Nothing has changed to help our situation.”

In a documentary made about the community one man said:

“We have children and no one looks at us. We have children that need medicine and hospitals. No one asks about us. But the community goes and votes for them [the politicians], but when we ask for help they don’t answer. I went to the deputies because my son’s treatment cost me LL4 million [$2667]; I went and knocked on the deputy’s door. He told us that he had money to support us, but he gave us LL100,000 [$66]. What will that do for me? Will that feed his son? The LL100,000 [$66] won’t feed anyone. In these days LL100,000 [$66] is like LL1,000 [$0.7] … No one looks at us,no one cares about us.”

Comments from the community: Dreams and hopes

“The community needs houses. We don’t care if it’s only one room. Instead of giving us money, I wish to have my own house and I would reimburse people for it later.”

“I wish I could leave tomorrow, that God could help and I could just leave … I don’t want huge amounts of money, just enough. The owners have the right to claim their land. It is theirs after all.”

“There are 186 families and about 1000 people. I want my country to look at these people. Some of them don’t have money, like me, but I am better off than other people here. Look at these people, and make a house for them. Instead of taking people out of here and instead of giving money to them, I want the government to give them a place to stay. We don’t want charity. We want to have proper landlords and pay for our houses.”

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Conclusion

Land tenure issues, similar to the ongoing dispute in Hay el Tanak, are becom-ing increasingly common in impoverished communities across the country. Be-cause of migration into urban areas and the need for laborers in construction and other industries, people settle on available land and often live undisturbed, sometimes for decades. As the value of the land increases and changes hands into private ownership, the residents become illegal squatters overnight.

The residents of Hay el Tanak are not poor because they live in Hay el Tanak. The poor have come to Hay el Tanak because they have nowhere else to go. So they live in Hay el Tanak with few services, in deplorable conditions, and often unable to access and maintain secure and regular jobs and income because of where they are located.

Surprisingly, and in contradiction to perceptions of the poor as being manip-ulative and trying to get all that they can, the residents or Hay el Tanak recognize the legality of the private owners’ claims to the land they live on and only want justice and to be treated fairly. Some residents feel sympathy with the landowners and acknowledged that they were living on their land illegally. Many residents explained that they thought they should leave the land, but were entitled to fair compensation, as has been the case in the past with similar situations. Some, but not all, residents expressed a strong desire to leave the area because of the poor housing and sanitary conditions; however, they have nowhere else to go. Others, mainly those that have been living there for their whole lives, said that they would never leave the area. They expressed a clear sentiment that it is their home, and they could never move into an apartment after having lived in Hay el Tanak all their lives. But because they are poor, they are powerless; because they have a limited voice, they are marginalized.

1. (UN Habitat, 2009)2. A pseudonym3. (Institute for Liberty and Democracy, 2009)4. While they do not own the land on which their houses were built, they do

“own” their houses because they built them.5. The following are pictures taken of maps obtained by community members

showing the official parcels of land and the current layout of houses in Hay el Tanak:

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6. In following a former Lebanese practice called automatic promotion, schools were unable to fail a child until they reached grade 4. This often resulted in children being moved to subsequent years without the necessary skills. Upon reaching grade 5 many children would be forced to repeat the grade, sometimes dropping out at this point.

7. There are NGOs working in north Lebanon. Some of them are: The Safadi Foundation, The Hariri Foundation, The Mikati Foundation, and World Vision.

HAY EL GHARBEH

Beirut

Abu Khalil1 will work at any job he can get. Lately he has been selling narguileh pipes. Hay el Gharbeh has been his home since 1985, when he moved with his family – around the same time as hundreds of other families – looking for better opportunities. For a while during the Civil War, he and his family were forced to leave the area and move to Khaldeh, an area south of the Beirut International Airport. When they came back they settled into the same house that they had left, which he inherited from his father.

A street in Hay el Gharbeh

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The area around their home used to be quite empty and open. But today it is a crowded shantytown. The house used to be a small wooden shack. Today it is no bigger, but the walls are now made from cement and the roof from cor-rugated metal. Though it is a small place for his family of eight children, he has gotten used to it since he cannot afford to pay rent anywhere else.

He has three boys and five girls. His eldest daughter is 22 years old and mar-ried with children. His youngest child is two and a half. He is a part of a larger family of 17 brothers and sisters, all of whom have children of their own. As he says, they are now his “tribe.” Ethnically Abu Khalil and his kin are Dom, specifically from the Turkmen tribe. His wife, who is also Turkmen, is from Syria. Abu Khalil has Lebanese citizenship, as do all his children, though there are many Dom who do not.

The families of his five brothers who live around him provide the social safety net that enables them to get through hard times. Sometimes he borrows money from them, and at other times from local storeowners. They solve their own problems and rarely even greet others in the community, much less socially mix with the other communities in Hay el Gharbeh.

His wife helps him to support the family financially. Sometimes she cleans houses in Beirut. But none of the work that she has is stable. At times she will have work all week and at other times she won’t have any. His brothers work in restaurants selling narguileh. None of their wives works outside the home. Abu Khalil feels that once he has a stable job, he does not want his wife to work clean-ing houses either.

Only some of his children are in school. Two of his daughters go to the school run by Tahaddi Association – a charity providing health and educational services in Hay el Gharbeh.2 Another boy and girl dropped out recently; he says they weren’t doing well. He cannot afford to send them to any other schools. All of his children have been reasonably healthy. Whenever they have health prob-lems, they are able to get free medical assistance from the clinic that Tahaddi Association runs, but this service has only become available in recent years.

Abu Khalil is the face of poverty in the informal urban settlement of Hay el Gharbeh in Beirut, a poverty that is more than just a lack of financial resourc-es. The urban poor here belong to small, tight-knit groups of families or clans, linked by ethnicity and religion, that support each other but have little access to other social services unless they are offered by charitable organizations. Even though some may have been here for a long time, they remain socially isolated, economically vulnerable, and powerless to improve their conditions. Though they may vote (if they have Lebanese citizenship), they receive few benefits from any political party and hardly any services from the government. In essence they remain voiceless.

Few people realize that Hay el Gharbeh exists, as most wrongly assume that it is part of the adjacent Palestinian refugee camp. Since it is not, the community

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does not receive any of the benefits or services available within the camp. One key informant working for Tahaddi Association explained that people “don’t understand that this area is Lebanese. They [other Lebanese] criticize and say, ‘Why are you helping Palestinians when there are people from Lebanon that need help.’” Indeed, a nurse working in the community said, “I was surprised to see people living like this in Lebanon. You hear about it in other places but not here in Beirut.”

Dom in Lebanon

Very little is known about the Dom in Lebanon and the surrounding countries. A recently released report by the NGO Terre des hommes (Tdh) called A Child Protection Assessment: the Dom people and their Children in Lebanon provides some extremely valuable insight into the communities, as it is the first study of its kind in the region.

The Dom communities are commonly mistaken as Bedouin, and while they are distinct groups with very different histories and cultural practices, both are minority groups in Lebanon and face similar issues in terms of marginalization and discrimi-nation from majority communities. (See Arab el Harouq chapter for more informa-tion.) They are commonly referred to, derogatorily, as the Nawar.

While the Bedouins are pastoralists originating from the Arabian Peninsula,3 the Domari Society of Jerusalem notes that the Dom, a nomadic group of perform-ers, originated from India. Accounts tell of thousands migrating towards to Persia, between the 3rd and the 10th centuries, where they were invited to perform in the Iranian courts.4

There is speculation that the Roma in Europe and the Dom in the Middle East share similar origins, but that over time the two groups began to refer to themselves using different terminology. The groups in the Middle East and North Africa started using the word “Dom,” which means “man” in their native language, Domari, while the groups in Europe and North America adopted the term “Rom” or “Lom.”5 To-day Dom communities can be found in most countries of the region, including Leba-non, Syria, Jordan, Israel, the Occupied Palestinian Territories, Cyprus, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Turkey.6


Hay el Gharbeh fits the UN’s operational definition of an urban slum or shan-tytown, namely in that it has a combination of inadequate access to safe water, inadequate access to sanitation and other infrastructure, poor structural quality of housing, overcrowding, and insecure residential status.7 (See appendix IV)

Geographically, Hay el Gharbeh is part of the Ghobeiry municipality in southern Beirut. It lies between the Camille Chamoun stadium and the main road of the Sabra “camp” and the Shatila Palestinian refugee camp, just south of the area of Daouq. Its name means “western quarter or area.” It was named

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in the early 1980s in order to identify it as a separate area west of the Sabra and Shatila Palestinian areas so as to spare it from the attacks on the camps during the Civil War.8

The area north of Hay el Gharbeh, called Tareq el Jdedeh, used to be known as the “Arab Farm,” as tribes from the Arabian Peninsula and Iraq came and settled there at the beginning of the 20th century. However, the area began to lose its rural nature in the 1940s and 1950s as more families arrived from places such as el Bashura and el Basta. By the 1960s and the 1970s new families such as the el Baghdadi, Saab, Hallak, and others arrived. All this resulted in significant urban development throughout the area.9

Historically, the land on which Hay el Gharbeh is located was privately owned by individuals and, during the 1930s and 1940s, an Egyptian company. It was outside the city limits of Beirut at that time and was land that was left over when the old airport for Beirut was built along the coast. The airport and the adjacent land were located on the plain of Ouzai.

In 1936 the land was partitioned into parcels identified as 1824, 1922, 1986, 189, and 187. The owners of the land were Mr. Tabet and Mr. Rifai. How-ever, their descendants were involved in disputes over the various properties until about 1950, and as a result the land was held either by the bank or the munici-pality. The Shatila camp was established by United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) for the Palestinian refugees of the 1948 Arab-Israeli War and was located on adjacent land, which used to be occupied by the French military. The camp was named after a Mr. Chatila, who owned land next to the former French military area. Originally the western limit of the camp was the old Saida road, which was built by order of a court along a previously existing path.10 Though the old Saida road officially separates the camp from the above-mentioned properties, by 1960 the road had begun to look like an internal road of the camp.

As the Palestinian population in the Shatila camp grew, it spread southwards towards the area now known as Sabra. It also spread west across the old Saida road, especially into the areas 1824 and 187. By 1960, there were more than 3000 Palestinians in the Shatila camp and in its unofficial extension west in the areas of 1824 and 187. In the 1950s the government initiated urban planning in the southern suburbs of Beirut. In 1955 the government expropriated the west-ern side of most of the five parcels of land to build the stadium.11

By the beginning of the Civil War in 1975, the other three parcels of land (1922, 1986, and 189) were partially occupied by illegal squatters. By 1982 what remained of all five parcels of land was fully built up and by 1987 the area was crowded. Much of the built up area on the western sides of parcels 1824 and 187 was destroyed during the later part of the Civil War in the 1980s. Yet, despite the destruction, most of the people continued to live there. What has developed on those two parcels of property since the Civil War is an illegal settlement and a shantytown.

Though Hay el Gharbeh borders the Palestinian area of Sabra (which is not one of the official UNRWA camps), each area has a very different demographic makeup. Sabra has an estimated population of 12,000 people in a little less than 250 acres.12 It is a poor neighborhood adjacent to the UNWRA Shatila camp and is an unofficial gathering of Palestinian families, which has in more recent years swelled with Lebanese Shiites displaced from southern Lebanon and other foreign populations looking for cheap accommodation.

Hay el Gharbeh is located on a slight hillside, which slopes from the west-ern edge of the settlement, near the newly built airport highway, down towards Sabra. Standing at the top of the hill overlooking the settlement, the built up area of high-rise buildings in Sabra stands in sharp contrast to the slum-like con-ditions of Hay el Gharbeh. The dwellings were originally mainly shacks made of wood or corrugated metal sheets. Though most of the dwellings now have brick walls, the roofs and many of the walls are still a patchwork of cardboard, plastic sheets, and other discarded material. Hay el Gharbeh is mainly residential with a few workshops, businesses, and shops along the borders of the community. Those who have lived in Hay el Gharbeh for two generations say that there have been no major changes in the past 10-12 years other than the area becoming more crowded.

There are still no precise boundaries to Hay el Gharbeh, as it continues to grow and evolve. Initially the 1824 and 187 parcels of land had been identified as Hay el Gharbeh. Today the boundaries of the community are not just physi-cal, but also psychological and social. The boundaries of the community can vary based on the perceptions of the person one talks to. For instance, communi-ties within the area often define the boundaries in terms of the areas occupied by those that share their nationality or ethnicity. During the interviews it was not unusual to hear opposing statements such as: “There are no foreigners here,” or “The majority is Syrian,” neither of which is true.

In the early 1990s, right after the Civil War, the community was less crowded than it is now. When the founders of Tahaddi Association started visiting the area during the early 1990s, there were a lot of security checkpoints manned by militias and a visitor could not walk around the area alone. The land is now owned by the municipality, but people build on it illegally and rent or sell the property they have built at will. As one key informant commented, “There are no documents to prove who owns what.”

Even though the area was identified as separate from the Palestinian camps nearby, Hay el Gharbeh was bombed during the Civil War and many fami-lies moved into the stadium along with Palestinian families from the neighbor-ing camps. Others fled to areas like Khaldeh, south of the airport. In 1992 the people in the stadium and many families in the area around the stadium were expelled in order to rebuild the stadium. Since then there has been a steady trickle into the settlement of people from the south, the Bekaa Valley, and from

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Syria. There are still a few Palestinians left in Hay el Gharbeh. The main popu-lation influx occurred about 10-15 years ago. This was also the time when people started building on the site rather than living only in wooden shacks.

During the 2006 war many left out of fear because the area was so close to Haret Hreik, which was bombed extensively. In May 2008 many of the Dom people, who are Sunnis, escaped from the area as they felt particularly vulnerable because of the potential for a Sunni versus Shiite conflict. Most of the families who left during these two episodes have since returned.


Hay el Gharbeh is a mosaic and patchwork of different groups and communi-ties. All the major segments of the community have been there for at least 13 years now, though there are new, smaller additions to the mosaic. There are Lebanese Shiites from southern Lebanon, the Bekaa Valley, and other parts of Beirut. There are Dom, who are Sunni, some of whose families are originally from Syria, though not all. The Dom people are broken down into a number of tribes including the Turkmen, Kanju, Asmar, Hassan, and el Ali, among others. The Tdh report found that 72 percent of the Dom assessed have Lebanese na-tionality13 (see textbox “Dom populations and Lebanese citizenship”), although the Kanju tribe, in particular, lack legal status. There are also Syrian migrant workers who are not Dom. There are a few Palestinians along with some Egyp-tians, Iraqis, and a few other foreigners, for example Sri Lankans. Interestingly, there are no known Christian families in the area.

Dom populations and Lebanese citizenship

Many of the Dom received citizenship through the naturalization law (decree 5247), which was passed in 1994. Cause for concern is that over one-fifth of those studied by Tdh still do not have citizenship, affecting their ability to access public services.

Twenty-one percent lack any nationality (a small percentage have either Syrian or Palestinian nationality). Among this group it was reported that 6 percent have applied for Lebanese citizenship and are awaiting approval, though because of their “under-study” status they do have some rights and some access to government ser-vices (see Arab el Harouq chapter for more information about the under-study status and citizenship issues). A full 15 percent are classified as “Non-ID” and have no of-ficial identification papers. The study mentions that a very small number once had citizenship but lost it because they had not registered their families for generations.14

Those who do have citizenship have increasingly been able to access government services, which have provided some positive impacts on the community. For example, the Tdh report notes a clear generational gap in educational attainment between those born before and after 1994, when the naturalization law was passed (see section on Education).

Among the newer residents in Hay el Gharbeh are a few young men from Syria who are going to university in Lebanon. There are also some Lebanese who have salaries (about $600 a month) but who choose to live in Hay el Ghar-beh because it is closer to where they work and enables them to save on transpor-tation costs. This is part of a growing trend in Lebanon where people, because of the high cost of real estate and the lack of adequate transportation, choose to continue living in informal settlements near their place of work rather than moving to other parts of the city.15

Interestingly, given that all of the groups in the community are poor and marginalized in the wider context of Lebanese society, an informal social hi-erarchy has been created among the residents in the area, generally with the Lebanese citizens at the top, the Dom communities at the bottom, and the other foreign populations in between. Even among the Dom tribes there seems to be some social stratification, with the Kanju tribe ostracized by the other tribes.

The groups in Hay el Gharbeh live as small self-contained communities with very little awareness of or interaction with other groups in the area. One resident’s comments reflect this attitude clearly. A Lebanese Shiite woman said, “There are Nawar [Dom] but we don’t speak or communicate with them. There is no interaction …” Others reflect this attitude as well. Another Lebanese Shiite woman commented, “The area is mostly Syrian. No one talks to anyone. If anyone comes around, you have to hit them and then they won’t come again.” She doesn’t talk with anyone in the area other than very basic greetings. This type of distrust between the groups in the area has been partly fueled by periodic episodes of violence.

The most reasonable estimate, from both community members and key in-formants, is that about 10,000 people live in Hay el Gharbeh, although this is impossible to verify, and the number is constantly changing. Initially the area’s population was predominantly comprised of men, many having come alone from other parts of Lebanon or from Syria to look for work. These men would live together, often sharing one room. Many of them have since brought their families to live with them, which has pushed up the rents in the area. On any given day, mostly women and children are visible in the community as the men are out at work. However, the gender balance may not be equal in Hay el Ghar-beh; one key informant estimated that up to 20 percent of the men from the community may be in jail.16

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Dom populations across Lebanon

There are no official estimates on the number of Dom living in Lebanon. While the Tdh study attempted to provide such information, the researchers came across dif-ficulties in reaching a definitive estimate, though they were able to approximate the number of Dom living in certain communities where extensive household surveys took place. It is estimated that there are 150 households and 922 Dom residents in Hay el Gharbeh, making up half the number of Dom living in Beirut. The other half are found in the area of Horsh (Sabra). Regional differences were found in terms of the average household size, with the largest number of people per household in Beirut, and the smallest in Saida. 17

Figure 9.1: Estimated size of the Dom populations in selected areas of Lebanon

Region Estimated number ofhomes

Average household size

Estimated size of the Dompopulation

Beirut 300 6.15 1,844

Saida 187 5.30 990

Tyre 48 5.79 278

Total 535 N/A 3,112

Source: Terre des hommes, “A Child Protection Assessment” (2011) p.18-20

There are few older people in the community as they usually remain in the villages the families have come from. There are very few in Hay el Gharbeh who are over 60 years old. The occasional household has one or two elderly family members. The community is mostly people of working age and there are a lot of children around. This trend can also be explained by the fact that the Dom population in Lebanon is extremely young. The recent assessment found that 50 percent were under the age of 14 and almost 90 percent of those sampled were under the age of 35.18

While there are some very young families with just one or two children, a typical household consists of between four and eight children. There is the rare single-parent household where the husband has divorced his wife. There are also a few men who have two wives and, as a result, two families.

Mobility

Unlike urban slums in many other parts of the world, there isn’t that much mo-bility in or out of Hay el Gharbeh. It is not a floating community. If anything, overtime, there has been a significant influx into the area, with few able to leave. While there have been many newcomers, most families have been there for be-tween six and 10 years. Some families have been there for at least two genera-tions. Many, as they get married, will bring spouses to the area from other parts

of Lebanon or from abroad. Likewise, some will leave the area if they marry someone from elsewhere.

Historically the Dom communities were nomadic. In some countries in the region they continue a semi-nomadic lifestyle, though this does not seem to be the case in Lebanon, contrary to popular opinion. The Tdh report noted that only 13 percent continue with any sort of consistent migration. Some attributed this change in lifestyle to be a consequence of receiving nationality.19

War and civil conflict have also influenced in- and out-migration from the area. During the 15-year Civil War, families at times moved into the area to escape fighting in the south, while at other times families moved out because of the settlement’s proximity to the Palestinian camps and the constant threat of violence that resulted. Families that left the community often went to places like Khaldeh and the Camille Chamoun stadium.

One Lebanese Shiite woman described how she eventually came to settle in the area:

“I was living in the south and we were displaced. My husband’s father died in a massacre 17 years ago. That is why we came here. Fifty families used to go around to the restaurants to beg for food. We had no means of living. We came to the area because the housing was free. But the house was made of aluminum [corrugated metal]; there was no cement. We found the housewe are currently living in and moved here. My husband found work carry-ing things on his back. We were very poor and we had no money. Eventu- ally we changed the house into a ‘real’ house [with cement]. My husband worked only a few days a week, so even the children sold things to make money. All my sons have wives from the south. They left the house when they were 15, 17, and 20 years old. My sons didn’t have any money to livehere, but they were able to find a place to rent in Dahiyeh.”

Again, during the 2006 war, families moved out because adjacent communi-ties like Haret Hreik were being bombed. During the incidences of violence in 2008, many Sunni families left the area fearing a wider conflict. In every one of these instances, most of the families returned when the conflict or violence ended, as they had nowhere else to stay permanently.

The cost of these migrations was significant. One interviewee explained:

“Some of the people that were fleeing were hit by bombs and small arms fire. All of the houses were robbed during the war. People took the windowsand doors and sold them … People didn’t even dare turn on their car head- lights. But they didn’t hit this area.”

Many people who come to Hay el Gharbeh come because they cannot afford to live anywhere else:

“My family lives in the area because we can’t afford to live anywhere else. Here we don’t have to pay rent [many do pay rent]. Previously we lived in Khaldeh, but because it was overcrowded the municipality came and we had to leave. There the social aspect was better, even if the houses were

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worse [made from wood]. Here we face many more problems – health problems, environmental problems, and pollution problems [garbage]. Ourhouse caught on fire twice. We have no one to talk to when we face prob-

lems in the community.”

Considering the length of tenure of most families and their inability to afford to live anywhere else, in many ways there is an element of permanence to Hay el Gharbeh, as most people see this as their home even if they are not there by choice. Yet, however long the families have been living in the area, there remains a reality similar to the one that other marginalized communities face; they have no power or voice. As the community continues to squat on government and private land, their living situation is left in an extremely vulnerable state, and they are susceptible to being evicted or having their houses destroyed by the au-thorities at any moment. One key informant working in the area explained the views of the community members, “All of them think the situation is temporary; either the government will compensate them or kick them out.” In fact, in May 2011, there were clashes between the Internal Security Forces (ISF) and residents of the community as the ISF destroyed some of the recently built shops in the community and one home. Key informants explained that the confrontation in-volved shouting, tear gas, and shooting. The residents lit tires on fire to protest, but eventually a bulldozer destroyed some of the newly constructed buildings in the area. As these communities are already marginalized socially and economi-cally, events like this greatly impact those who have lost their homes, all of their belongings, and their investments.

A house in Hay el Gharbeh

Livelihoods

Families in Hay el Gharbeh usually have one wage earner, typically the man. The wife may occasionally work outside the home to supplement the man’s income, though this varies between the different communities that make up the mosaic of Hay el Gharbeh. Within some families in the Dom community, women are the primary wage earners, with men finding work only occasionally – though the perception among outsiders that Dom men rarely ever work is not true. Among the Syrian and Lebanese communities the majority of the men are the wage earners, with few of the women working. If the children are in their late teens or young adults (especially if they are boys) and are not yet married, they also work and contribute to the family’s income.

Very few men in Hay el Gharbeh have steady jobs. Those who do may work in a store or a restaurant (as waiters, selling narguileh, or slaughtering chickens, for example). Many work as day laborers in construction, as heavy equipment operators, or as drivers. Some work in the vegetable market in Sabra or try and sell things on the street. Others play drums at weddings to supplement their meager incomes. One key informant noted that some of the Dom men collect things and then sell them in the streets. Those working for daily wages or selling things on the street are especially vulnerable when the weather turns bad and they are unable to work. There are a couple of stores, manoushe shops, and some workshops located in the community. Some of the owners of these shops live in Hay el Gharbeh.

Comments from the community: Mobility among community members of Hay el Gharbeh

“Only people that have a poor financial situation will come to the community.”

“We used to live in Bourj el Barajneh. I came with my own family. We were renting a house [there] but it was too expensive.”

“We came here because the land was free and we could not afford to buy land.”

“Everyone built their house. But the land is the government’s land. I am worried, very afraid that something will happen and I will have nowhere to go. I don’t know about my rights.”

“We came here because we could not afford to live anywhere else. But even here it feels too expensive … We are working more but the salary is the same and the rent is more expensive, LL200,000-250,000 [$133-167]. The owner said that he would kick us out if we could not pay, but we have nowhere else to go.”

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Not many of the Syrian and Lebanese women work outside the home. They may try to get some work if their husband’s income is insufficient; however, their decision not to work may have more to do with cultural values than income sufficiency. Some women are also unable to work because of the presence of young children in the house and the need to stay at home to care for them. It was found that 25 percent of the Dom women in the communities studied in the Tdh report were working. The report states, “Even though the overall number of women working is low, it is considerably high in the context of Arab societ-ies in which men are traditionally the breadwinners.”20 A younger Dom man whose wife works commented, “Once I get a stable job, I will not let her work.” The most common work women in Hay el Gharbeh try to get is cleaning work in Beirut. Some are very industrious and will do anything. A couple of women mentioned having worked in a sewing factory. Some peel garlic and prepare parsley for restaurants, which they can do in their own homes while continuing to care for their children. One woman interviewed picks up empty cans and sells them to get money for food.

Alot of the men are illiterate and therefore are limited in the work that they can do, which is usually hard physical labor. When women do seek work, it seems to be easier for them to find it than men. According to one of the founders of Tahaddi association, this can have a very negative impact on the self-esteem of the men as they feel that they should be providing for their families. The Tdh report comes to similar conclusions, noting that women working outside of the house is a source of conflict between husbands and wives as the men’s traditional roles have been altered.21

In midst of the struggle for livelihoods in Hay el Gharbeh, there is a trend among some of the Dom families to send their younger children to work. The most common work that these children are involved in is collecting “garbage” (cans and bottles) that they can sell for money. The interviews indicated that a small number were involved in begging and other street work on Fridays. Par-ticipants explained that Fridays were selected because some schools are closed on Fridays, in accordance with the Islamic holidays, and some employees receive their paychecks on Friday, and therefore may have increased amounts of money or be feeling more generous. Interestingly, the Tdh report found that 50 percent of the Dom adults explained that Dom children worked in begging on the street, yet only 6.8 percent admitted that their own children begged. It can therefore be assumed that children begging is more of a common occurrence than parents are willing to admit, most likely due to the negative stigma associated with it. Some of the children interviewed who admitted to begging explained that they were doing it to help their families financially, while others were begging in order to buy things for themselves. The report explains that because of their limited education and skill set, they are forced to work in these types of endeavors to gain any financial independence.22

As evidenced by the slowness of community members to admit to begging, the community is eager to be perceived as respectable. This desire is reflected in the earnestness of community members to point out that they are hardwork-ing, honest employees. As one woman said, “People in the community work in normal jobs like shop owners, employees. They work to sustain their families and needs.”

Children working and living in the streets

Lebanon has ratified two International Labour Organization Conventions (No. 138 and 182) that pertain to working children. These set standards for the minimum age of employment (14), the types of work that children may be involved in, and at what ages they may be involved in each. However, child labor is still common in Lebanon. The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) estimates that there are 4,000 chil-dren between the ages of 10 and 13 working and 29,000 between 14 and 17 working. Another 9,000 within those age groups are looking for work. Children are often working in dangerous conditions for very little money. Common types of jobs for chil-dren are: working on the streets (begging, selling small items, washing cars, shinning shoes, etc.), painting, delivering groceries, helping in workshops, unskilled labor, help-ing in restaurants, and collecting metal. Certain groups are more likely to be involved in exploitative labor practices, namely Lebanese children from low-income families, the children of migrant workers, and Palestinian and Iraqi refugees. Often these children have dropped out of school early, which may be because their families are unable to pay for the tuition, or their income earning capacity is needed to support their families. UNICEF estimates that 95 percent of working children aged 10-13 and 84 percent of 14 to 17-year-old children are illiterate. While, in theory, Lebanon has taken some steps to regulate and monitor the conditions in which children are working, they are rarely put into practice as the related ministries lack the resources needed for proper implementation. Additionally, while child labor is illegal, most are working out of necessity to support their families, therefore dismantling the sector completely may be counterproductive to helping those most in need.

Unlike many other countries, most of the children working on the streets do not actually live there. Usually they have houses and families but are forced to work on the streets due to the low-economic situation in which their families find themselves. These families depend on income derived from all family members in order to meet their basic needs. Some others have fallen into situations with gangs who force them to beg and sell, and take their profits. Sources say that the number of children work-ing or living on the streets is impossible to determine. One key informant, operating a safe house for vulnerable children estimated that 15 percent of those on the streets are Lebanese, 55 percent are foreigners, and 30 percent have mixed Lebanese-foreign parents. As most of the children are foreigners, they often do not have identification papers, meaning that they are unable to attend government-run public schools and do not have access to public health services.

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Income sufficiency

The average income for a family is $300-700 per month. Among the Dom com-munities it is particularly low: 75 percent noted receiving an income of less than LL500,000 ($333).23 Those with reasonably steady jobs or seasonal jobs get paid either weekly or every two weeks. Many of the men are constantly looking for additional contracts and work to supplement their incomes. Others get paid daily or earn whatever they can from selling on the streets.

Insufficient income, the lack of regular employment, and the constant strug-gle to find work puts a tremendous strain on most families’ ability to manage their finances, as well as cover basic education, health, and living costs. Most of the families interviewed have borrowed money from their neighbors or extended family, or they have bought things on credit from the local store. Each month, these debts have to be paid back. One family commented, “The trend is that people get paid on a weekly basis [on Saturday]. So during the week we eat what-ever we can. On Saturday and Sunday we buy better food that we cannot afford to have during the week.” For those who are day laborers, the challenges are even more significant. One man said, “If I work, we eat. If not, we don’t eat.”

The cost of living, even in the informal settlements of Beirut, is high. Rent (for those who pay rent) in Hay el Gharbeh is $75-200 for one or two rooms, a small kitchen, and a toilet. Basic expenses for water, electricity, food, cigarettes, and phone for a family of six are about $400-475 per month – excluding rent. Those who do not send their children to the Tahaddi Association school have additional expenses of school fees and sometimes paying for the bus for the chil-dren to go to school. Most families said that they had little left over to buy any-thing else, such as clothing.

Education

There is a fairly high level of illiteracy among the women in Hay el Gharbeh.24

The men fare slightly better, though few mentioned having an education higher than grade 7. While exact education rates among the whole community are not known, the recent Tdh report provides some insight into the Dom communities across Beirut, Saida, and Tyre. It was found that 77 percent of those surveyed had never attended school, though this number increased significantly when ex-amining those who were born before 1994. Generally, among those born before the naturalization law 85 percent had never attended school, though the rates in Beirut are higher, falling at 91 percent.25

In spite of this, there is an expressed desire among most of the parents that their children be literate and receive at least a basic education. One mother stated, “I have three children in a public school outside the community. I would like them to graduate from school no matter what the cost. I would take any job that is respectful to my honor to educate my children.” Another mother who has

four of her six children in a public school said, “They like to learn. I hope they will get a good education and have everything that I was deprived of. I want them to live outside this area.”

The school run by Tahaddi Association is the only one situated within the geographical boundaries of Hay el Gharbeh. The majority of its students are from the Dom community. The school provides free education for all children attending. Lebanese and Syrian families tend to send their children to schools in the surrounding areas, including one private but government-subsidized institu-tion immediately adjacent to Hay el Gharbeh. The government subsidizes half the tuition at this school and the parents pay the other half. If for some reason parents are unable to pay their half, they can get assistance from a charitable organization. Palestinian students usually attend UNRWA schools.

The Tahaddi Association school cannot offer the same credentials to the students as other Lebanese schools. It offers only five years of education at the moment. The school is meant to help children from a marginalized community who did not commence studying at a normal school. To help these children, they try and accelerate the government curriculum to accomplish as much as possible in the five years that the children are there. They take children between the ages of eight and 14 years. If parents try and enroll their children at a younger age, they are encouraged to enroll their children in a “normal” school instead. Nor-mally, the children have never attended a school and have never studied anything before they attend the Tahaddi Association school. When a child enrolls at the age of eight they start at the kindergarten level. By age 14, students may reach grade 3 or 4. They use the Lebanese government’s curriculum but don’t stick to it rigidly. Oftentimes even the kindergarten level in the government curriculum is too high for the children; they must learn things like letters and how to hold a pencil. So the teachers will start off with informal educational games and activi-ties in order to lay an even more basic foundation for learning, which is often lacking.

There are more boys at the Tahaddi Association school than girls. At the kindergarten level the class is about 60 percent male. As the grades go up, the number of girls decreases. At the time of research, in grade 3 there were only two girls, and in grade 4 only one. The parents sometimes take the girls out of school to do house work or to take care of younger siblings. The other school on the edge of Hay el Gharbeh, which has predominantly Lebanese students, has a more balanced ratio of boys to girls.

There are 10 teachers at the Tahaddi Association school along with a speech therapist. To teach the parents and the children the importance of responsibility, the school has a policy that the children cannot miss too many days of school, otherwise they will not be allowed to continue. For many families from the Dom communities, this is the first generation that has learned to read. This is a source of real pride, and as a result there is a waiting list for admission to the school.

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One teacher explained, “This school has a different system than other places. There is a focus on basic education (with all courses) and personal character, life skills, values, and personality. There is a policy of nonviolence. So the kids like to come to the school.”

Not all the children in the community go to school and often this is due to the lack of finances. Parents often remove their children from the school in the middle of the year because they cannot afford the tuition fees. For parents who cannot access the public education available, there are few options. One Syrian migrant said, “None of the kids are in school. They used to go to school in Syria but I did not enroll them here because it is too expensive.” Her eldest child was in high school before dropping out. Her second child continued until grade 9 before also dropping out to start working and to help the family financially. “I am sad because other kids go to school, but my kids come home from work and they are dirty. They were doing well in school before they left.”

While many parents desire their children to get at least a basic level of edu-cation, many children do not finish primary school. Some children drop out to work in unskilled jobs due to lack of finances. Once they start earning some money, they are not motivated to go back to school. One key informant men-tioned that girls are sometimes pulled out of school by their parents in order to get married or help their families with the household chores. Boys are sometimes removed from school if they have repeatedly failed grades. At this point, their parents may encourage them to start working. Among the Dom community, some additional reasons for children dropping were mentioned. Some parents will send their children out to beg. The children often get caught and are put into institutions.26 In other cases, the parents travel constantly and take their children with them. For some Dom girls, their parents will send them out to “dance” when they are as young as 12-14 years old. A good number of these girls are sent to the Gulf countries or to Syria, where they get “paid a lot.”27

While much of this is discouraging and disconcerting, education is slowly changing attitudes. One teacher at the Tahaddi Association school mentioned:

“Ever since I started working here seven years ago, there has been a slow change. On the level of individuals [kids] you see a difference between those that are attending school and those that are not. The main barrier is the mentality of the parents and their lifestyle. For example, one student was always tired. So I went to see his parents and find out why. It was because they always have people over at their small house. I told the parent that he should make rules within the house first so that his child could succeed. Butprobably it won’t change. The children are changing but not the commu-nity or the family …”

Similarly, among the community members spoken to, there are glimpses of hope. One Dom mother has all her children in school apart from the ones who are too young to be registered. Likewise, both of her sisters have registered their children.

Another woman’s comment demonstrated the changing attitudes of the community: “If I can afford it, I would put the kids in school; I know the value of it.” One middle-aged man, a Dom, summarized it best:

“Education is important. It is like the light. If you are not educated, then you have your eyes closed [this is based on an Arabic proverb]. Because Iam not educated, I am here now. If I had an education, it would be differ-

ent. The only reason people don’t get an education is because of financial reasons. Everyone wants it.”

Yet the realities of the poor and the entanglements of poverty allow only a few to break out of its vicious cycle by being able to access a complete education.


There are not as many gastrointestinal problems as one would expect in Hay el Gharbeh, a slum with poor water and sanitation facilities. However, there are many other health related issues, most of them similar to those of any urban population. According to one doctor working at the Tahaddi Association clinic, there are the usual communicable diseases, such as upper respiratory and viral infections including bronchitis, colds, and pneumonia. Ear, nose, and throat in-fections usually increase during the winter months. There are cases of muscular and skeletal diseases and chronic diseases such as diabetes and scabies (which, according to a doctor are found in higher instances in Hay el Gharbeh than in other areas of Beirut). Considering the crowded living conditions, it is surpris-ing that there has only been one outbreak of TB reported in the community. It occurred in 1994 and one girl died from the disease. In the past year there was one case of meningitis where a boy of 11 died. Skin diseases and rat and insect bites seem to be quite common because of the poor hygienic conditions. There are no reported cases of HIV/AIDS, though there is also no screening done in the area. However, doctors expressed concern that there should be testing due to the prevalence of drug use and sex workers in the area. Many cases of sexu-ally transmitted diseases (STDs), especially among women, are treated at the Tahaddi Association clinic, which might simply be because a higher proportion of female patients seek medical consultations. There are also problems related to extensive smoking.

The lack of proper maternal health care available to the community makes the women particularly vulnerable. All of them have access to a range of con-traceptives (pills, IUDs, injections, and condoms) through dispensaries. However, many do not use them and rely on the “natural method.” Some of this has to do with cultural attitudes, especially among the men, who want more children. On the other hand, from anecdotal evidence it seems that a lot of women have abor-tions because their husbands do not want another child. Other times the woman will have this procedure done in secret. Early marriages are quite common, some

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women reported having been married and given birth to their first child by the age of 16. It is rare to find a single 18-20 year old girl in the community. This puts the lives of young women at considerable risk, not only because of their young age but also because of the lack of proper prenatal care in the community.

The Lebanese women with nationality have the ability to go to a hos-pital to give birth at subsidized costs. The Tdh report explains that the Dom women with citizenship also use public hospitals where they pay approximately LL40,000 ($27) for the delivery and a three-night stay. The Palestinians may use the UNRWA services, such Haifa Hospital. Others, including those without IDs may give birth at a private hospital, if they can afford the high costs. Others still give birth at home, often using the services of a TBA, but sometimes rely-ing on families or neighbors to help with the process. Some pregnant women go for prenatal checkups, but this may be only once or twice throughout the pregnancy. Very few go for any postnatal checkups. Usually, the only times they go for checkups is during the pregnancy or after the birth, if there are problems. The incidents of maternal mortality are low. One of the doctors at the Tahaddi Association clinic said that she was aware of only one or two maternal deaths in recent years.

It is suspected by some of the medical staff at Tahaddi Association that infant mortality rates may be higher in Hay el Gharbeh than in other areas of Beirut. The causes seem to be related to illnesses, diseases, and accidents. Occasionally parents also mention the ‘evil eye’ as a cause for infant mortality. Almost all the cases are unreported. One doctor stated, “Once people have built up immunity they are OK. But they wait too long to get help [or help for their children]. So they have decreased quality of life.” This information should be taken with caution though, as there have not been any formal studies to back up their suspicions.

Comments from the community:Making sacrifices to access health care – one mother’s story

“I was seven months pregnant and my daughter was 1 year and 1 month old. She got sick. She couldn’t eat anything and started swelling. I sold some jewelry to go to a hospital outside the area because my husband wasn’t doing well with his selling things and he was also sick (though we didn’t know it then). My daughter was in the hospital for a while and then she died.

“I gave birth to my son with the help of a TBA in our own house. Then we found out that my husband had TB and couldn’t work for two years. I got pregnant again and would take my son with me to work cleaning houses.”

Besides the usual colds and other communicable diseases, one problem that is commonly seen at the Tahaddi Association clinic is children involved in ac-cidents. There are no designated areas in Hay el Gharbeh for children to play, so they play wherever they find space; for example, on the roofs. There are regular incidents of children falling off of the roofs and getting injured. Additionally, many Dom children get cuts and infections on their feet because they do not wear shoes. Other accidents include getting hurt while playing with garbage, getting hurt because of the lack of safe playing areas, burns because of unsafe cooking space or from playing with fire crackers, vehicle accidents, and environ-mental hazards (such as pollution from inhaling cigarette smoke or smoke from burning garbage) are some biggest challenges that the children face because of the poor living conditions, and these contribute to the significant number of in-juries and health problems that they face.

Many of the children are vaccinated, though not all. The Tahaddi Asso-ciation clinic vaccinates children when it can, and the Palestinian children are vaccinated through UNRWA. Unfortunately many of the parents, especially the Dom parents, do not see the benefit of vaccination. According to a doctor in the community, their attitude is often, “He’s not sick; why would I bother?” How-ever, overall there has been a change in the attitudes towards vaccination and there is greater motivation to get children vaccinated, especially amongst those who regularly attend the Tahaddi Association clinic.

The stress of living in a poor and marginalized community is linked with cases of hypertension, diabetes, depression, and other mental health issues. Ac-cording to the doctor, depression seems to be more prevalent among women, particularly those who are Lebanese. One nurse explained why these issues do not seem to be as prevalent among the Dom women: “The Dom women learn to accept their situation. They are taught that life is like this, so they don’t expect it to be any other way.” The women who come to the clinic want to talk about such issues as the death of a child, family problems, stress, grief, where and how they live, how they are stuck at home with their children, the fact that they have no money, that they have to report to their in-laws, and the violence they experi-ence from their husbands. These experiences reflect the reality of all the groups in the community regardless of ethnicity or religion. Though much more rare, there were also cases of depression found amongst the male Dom. They seem to be related to the high unemployment rate among this demographic, which generates feelings of insecurity and inadequacy because they are unable to find jobs and provide for their families.

Intermarriages appeared not uncommon within certain segments of the community – especially among the Syrians but less so amongst the Dom. The marriages are often between first cousins. The health practitioners in the com-munity suspect that genetically related health problems arise from these inter-marriages. Some children have died because of recessive diseases.

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There are a number of health facilities and services that the population at Hay el Gharbeh can access. As mentioned previously, the Tahaddi Association runs a clinic and is the only primary health care provider in the community. The Amal party has a clinic just outside the area. There is a public hospital (the Hariri Hospital) and an Arab University supported private Egyptian clinic nearby. The Palestinians use the UNRWA hospital. Among the various groups in the community, the Dom appear to have the worst health because “they seem to have few resources, little money, no citizenship, and no ‘know-how’ to manage their resources. They don’t even try to change; they accept life as it is. They feel everything is against them so they end up giving up.” Amongst the Dom, the Kanjus have even less access to health services. Some cannot access the public hospitals as they are not citizens and they don’t have the money to go to a private clinic. They have problems getting to the Tahaddi Association clinic as the path to the clinic goes through areas occupied by groups that are hostile to them.

Very few within Hay el Gharbeh have health insurance because many do not have secure jobs or Lebanese citizenship. This limits their options with regards to accessing health care. They either go to a free clinic, though there are not many and they do not treat all health issues, or they take loans from each other to go to a private clinic or hospital. The few with health insurance may go to the govern-ment hospital and receive care at subsidized rates.

It is important to note that though the community experiences food insecu-rity, they are not chronically hungry.28 Some families do not have the resources to buy food if they do not find work on a particular day, and thus, “will go to bed hungry.” One woman described her situation:

“Sometimes we eat and sometimes we don’t when my husband can’t find work. Sometimes we will eat one time per day in the morning. It is irregular. I give my [infant] son water and sugar instead of milk because milk is veryexpensive … I get our food from the vegetable market – potatoes, cucum-

bers, tomatoes. Sometimes at the market they throw out vegetables and Iwill take those.”

There is enough food available in the area and all the groups within the com-munity may access that food. Most women buy vegetables and groceries from the market in Sabra. For the extremely poor the access may not be on a regular basis. The main nutritional problem is the lack of micronutrients like vitamins and iron, and the lack of food diversity. They eat a lot of starches like rice, po-tatoes, and pasta because these are cheap and easy to cook. A typical meal in-cludes bread, rice, or potatoes. Stews are quite common but will be cooked with vegetables and without meat. If their income increases, they will add lentils to the stew. They eat a lot of vegetables, but they do not eat as much fruit because fruits are seen as a luxury. Often they cannot afford good meat, so they do not eat much of it. Some people keep chickens. Their protein intake comes mainly from cheese, yogurt, labneh, and lentils. One woman said, “If my husband works, I will

go and get food. If we have no money, I will just bring eggs, labneh, and cheese. We eat typical Lebanese food because it can feed a lot of people and it’s not so expensive; it’s made with lots of rice. If there is money, we’ll cook other things.”

Most buy food daily; the majority does not have refrigerators to store food for longer periods of time. Most homes are only equipped with a small gas stove which serves as the “kitchen” for a household of 8-12 people.

The food insecurity and the lack of food diversity impact the health of the women and children in particular. One nurse explained that obesity is common among the women because of high carbohydrate intake and the lack of physical activity. It is also quite common for the mothers to give their children money to buy junk food and snacks rather than fight with them to eat the healthier foods, which are available in the market. Junk food in Lebanon is relatively cheap, and it can be used to feed a large family on a small budget. As a result many children are underweight or have micronutrient deficiencies.

The challenge to developing a healthy community among the poor is sig-nificant. There is a sense of hopelessness and this has a direct bearing on the health of the community and of individuals. One of the doctors at the Tahaddi Association clinic reflecting on his own experience said:

“When I first came I was eager to see change. I perceived things differently. But then I went through a period of thinking that things can’t change. For example, I wanted to give someone medication to treat problems so that hecould live longer; he responded ‘Why would I want to live longer?’”


Hay el Gharbeh experiences a range of vulnerabilities, of more types perhaps than any of the other communities studied. Oftentimes in the other communi-ties, one prevalent vulnerability was apparent – be it related to land tenure, loca-tion, or access to services – but in Hay el Gharbeh an array of issues negatively impacts the ability of residents to be respected, self-sufficient members of society. However, no single issue generates such immediate instability as to eclipse all others.

Many of the other poor communities in Lebanon are homogenous groups, made up of one religion, nationality, ethnic, or political group. As described earlier, Hay el Gharbeh is a patchwork of different and self-contained communi-ties and groups bound by family, tribal, ethnic, or religious obligations, which greatly affects their social capital. Positive relationships between the different communities are essentially nonexistent, meaning that there is little community support or action in order to improve the situation of the area as a whole. In fact, most of the community is divided between the groups – physically, socially, and psychologically. Each segment of the population occupies a different area in the community.

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Marginalization of the Dom communities in Lebanon

Using labeling theory, Tdh explains how the larger groups in the country have his-torically marginalized the Dom communities, though over two-thirds of the Dom surveyed do in fact have Lebanese citizenship. The report explains that itinerant communities are often labeled as deviant groups because they do not appear to conform to societal norms. Outsiders perceive differences such as their nonseden-tary lifestyle, their clothing, and their social and economic activities – thought to include begging and prostitution – despite the fact that these may not really exist. Even the term Nawar, as they are most commonly referred to by other groups, is ex-tremely derogatory, signifying selfishness, stinginess, and dirtiness or chaos.29 One Dom woman explained some of the discrimination she has suffered:

“In Khalde [where they used to live] journalists came and wrote about us in the newspaper saying that we work in prostitution, kidnap our children, eat human flesh, etc. They wrote bad things about us, like we send our kids to beg. Some do but not all of us. When people see us they will hide theirpurses or pick up their children because they are scared of us. Another ste- reotype by outsiders is prostitution. Many people offer me money to sleep with them. I feel bad; do I look like a prostitute? No, I am not like that. Not all people are the same. I get hurt when people think of me like this. So Icry. God will punish them. No one believes us.”

The dominant groups fail to see the living conditions of the Dom as a result of their social, cultural, and economic marginalization and instead attribute these conditions to lifestyle choices and traditional customs. Many of the stakeholders who participated in the Tdh report actually believe that the Dom communities have more money than they will admit to, which they associate with illegal activi-ties, and that their living conditions and social exclusion are an active choice made by the Dom themselves.30

Unfortunately, many of these stereotypes have been internalized by the Dom communities. Tdh uses stratification theory to explain this concept, which exam-ines how people view themselves in relation to their position in a social order or setting. Unfortunately, researchers from Tdh, as well as from this study, noted that the Dom, when referring to themselves, often mention the negative characteristics that other groups attribute to them. The report states, “The lack of self-ascribed positive attributes of Dom identity means that many Dom have no pride for their identity.”31 This has resulted in many from the Dom community trying to assimi-late into mainstream society in order to avoid discrimination. For example, it was found that many of the adults were not teaching their children the Domari lan-guage as a protection mechanism, in order to spare them from prejudices.32 The Tdh report summarizes, “… far from the prevailing perceptions amongst Leba-nese and Palestinians, the Dom in Lebanon are not clinging to some “traditional” identity … they are eager to achieve a better standard of living, even if this means rejecting aspects of their own culture.”33

One of the doctors interviewed clearly explained these dynamics: “The gypsies are the most marginalized and then the migrant workers.With the gypsies there are preconceived notions and social discriminations.

This has large consequences on some of the groups, for example the Kanju tribe, who are not able to access the Tahaddi Association medical clinic because they are in conflict with the groups controlling the area in which it is located. One woman described her husband’s situation, which is just one of many similar examples heard throughout the interviews:

“The Shiite won’t buy from his shop because he is Palestinian. He looks Shiite so they will come in, but when they hear him talk then they know he isn’t and they won’t buy from him. The Syrians used to come buy from his shop but in 2006 everyone left and there was no one to come buy from him. Also, close to him, there is another Shiite butcher so people [the Shiites] goto him instead.”

Oftentimes in Hay el Gharbeh, social support networks are found within the smallest unit of the community, the family. For some, like the Dom, this support system may extend to higher levels, such as those from the same tribal or ethnic group. Similarly, some of the Syrians and Palestinians may be able to depend on their fellow countrymen. In Hay el Gharbeh these loyalties are of value in terms of physical and social protection, as well as access to an informal borrowing and lending system in times of financial difficulties. One nurse at the Tahaddi As-sociation clinic elaborated, “People have no access to help; they only go to each other. They don’t have anywhere else to go. Sometimes they go to Tahaddi As-sociation for help.” Yet, for many in Hay el Gharbeh, these social networks are neither large or influential enough to have a significant impact on the well-being of the community members. As most of the families within the community are struggling themselves, there is only so much help that they can offer each other. One woman described, “My sons try to help me financially, but each of them has five or six kids, so they can’t even help themselves.”

A Lebanese woman’s comments clearly show the alienation prevalent in the community: “No one loves anyone here. Everyone is alone … I don’t feel like I’m part of any group. I am on my own. I don’t trust anyone. My problems are my own.”

They are ‘dirty,’ ‘they steal,’ ‘they hide money,’ ‘they are beggars,’ ‘they don’t want to be any better off,’ ‘they send their children to beg.’ All of thegroups discriminate against them. This affects their lives through low self-

esteem, especially the children. The children know what people think about them: ‘This is what people think about us, why would we change?’ The bad comments don’t help them. It defines them. And education is not enough to get out. It affects access to services, for example, schools will tell them they are full. But if we go with them then it’s ok. If they go alone with money it will be harder but they might let them in. There is pressure from otherparents not to let them in.”

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Yet, there have been times when some elements of the community have uni-fied and participated in collective community action. There have been a few striking examples of the community’s capacity to overcome challenges, such as when the groups mobilized to gain access to electricity, water, and a sewage system (explained more fully later in the chapter). Similarly, although there are few details available, it seems as though the community members stood together during the recent conflict with the ISF, in order to protect the houses and shops of the residents. So, while they may not help each other with day-to-day prob-lems, it seems as though the community comes together when dealing with par-ticularly difficult issues.

Along the same lines, the human capital found within the community is most often linked to community members’ individual social groups. When people seek advice and information, they often turn to those within their own social net-works, usually the elderly members. One Lebanese woman commented, “When there are problems people seek the advice of the elderly who have status in the community.” Sometimes the elderly members from the various groups meet in order to solve more widespread problems between the different populations. One key informant explained that this is also prevalent within the Dom com-munity: “When this [conflicts] happens they sometimes have an elder who will try to solve the problems between the two tribes.”

One of the biggest vulnerabilities that Hay el Gharbeh faces is a lack of physical capital, though some aspects have improved slightly. Contributing fac-tors to the particularly weak infrastructure are the fact that Hay el Gharbeh is located in the southern area of Beirut, which was devastated during the Civil War and again impacted by the 2006 war, and that the land is still owned by the government and private owners, effectively making all development there illegal. It does not help, of course, that the area attracts some of the poorest people from across the country and that rehabilitating the infrastructure is usually completely beyond their financial means.

Hay el Gharbeh has seen an improvement with regards to availability of water and electricity and access to a sewage system. But significant challenges still remain. Like most urban slums and illegal settlements, no utilities or services were initially available in Hay el Gharbeh. Over time, collective action by parts of the community resulted in the availability of electricity and water, although both are often sporadic or of poor quality. One resident explained:

“When we first arrived there was no electricity. Twenty-five families worked together to get a well and then we had access to water. For electricity we got together and went to the electricity company, and we did it again to get sewage. The electricity was in 1997-98. We went to the company and told them the address. They said that area didn’t exist. We would show them the burns that kids had from the candles. The women and children would go. Finally they gave us electricity. Then we had to go individually to get it foreach house.”

Water crisis in the southern suburbs of Beirut

“About two-thirds of the southern suburbs’ needs for potable and usable water are not being met. Water is alternatively obtained wither through stationary and mobile tanks or artesian wells, most of which are polluted and thus represent a health hazard.

“Al-Ghandir River springs from Wadi Shahrur and passes through the southern suburbs. It is nourished by many large springs, along which various agricultural and industrial activities are established. High levels of lead, zinc, chrome, nickel, and cadmium (heavy minerals), in addition to ammonium, sodium and potassium are recorded …

“Beirut and its suburbs face many problems of interpenetration of sea water. After the 1960s and 1970s, they witnessed a continuous economic boom that re-quired providing additional water for domestic use (mainly due to population growth, postwar reconstruction, migration towards the capital, abusive exploitation of under-ground water sources, decrease in the average rainfall in addition to the torrential rain that flows into the sea before being used). This depleted the underground water reserves and the basic sources no longer satisfied the population needs. The absence of proper water management definitely aggravated the problem.”

Source: Arab NGO Network for Development, “Development Reforms in Lebanon” (2008), p. 54

Whereas before there was no electricity whatsoever, the electricity supply now, like in much of Beirut, is erratic. There are generators but access to them is unaffordable for most of the community. Those who can afford one pay between LL5,000 ($3.3) and LL14,000 ($9) per month for a few hours of electricity. Water is available from the government but most believe it is of very poor quality. As a result many access water from the various wells in the area. Most pay between LL15,000 ($10) and LL20,000 ($13) per month. Some buy water for drinking; others filter the water they get. (See textbox “Water crisis in the southern Beirut suburbs.”)

There is only a limited sewage system available and many homes had to dig their own septic tanks. When there was no sewage system, the area would flood and water and sewage would enter the houses. When a sewage system was finally installed, it appears work on it was not done properly. There are reports that the smell is now worse and that sewage and water seep up from the ground. Houses still flood during the winter months, and some sewage problems remain.

Besides water, electricity, and sewage, there is very little other infrastructure in the community. Other than one small portion at the upper end of Hay el Gharbeh, the lanes and alleyways are not paved. Most of them are gravel or mud, they are uneven and often littered with broken glass, rubble, or garbage. One Dom woman described the area around her house, which she explained has become an informal garbage dump: “I am ashamed when people come to

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visit me because of the trash outside. I am disgusted to walk through it. Even if we are poor it is not an excuse to be dirty. If it were up to me I would clean the whole place up.”

In addition to the flooding and sewage issues, there are other problems re-lated to the poor construction of the houses. Most of the houses are in a deplor-able state, often made of little other than cement blocks, corrugated metal, and reinforced cardboard. The houses are hot in the summer and cold in the winter, because of the drafts, which come through the holes in the walls and roofs. One woman described, “My house is humid and my child has lung problems. The doctor said that it is because of the living conditions. But we can’t do anything about it.”

Many have limited assets, appliances, or pieces of furniture within their households, though usually more are found in the Lebanese households. Those with any kind of regular job may have a refrigerator. Yet surprisingly, almost all have a television and a satellite dish. A comment made by a social worker ex-plained this apparent contradiction between experiencing a lack of income and having the ability to afford a television:

“A family without a television is very poor. This is the minimum that each family has. It is the only thing that they have to have fun. It is the cheapestway of connecting to the outside world and the cheapest way of entertain-

ment. I would be very worried if there was a family without a TV.”

In a community that experiences social exclusion, as well as high illiteracy rates, having a television is one of the only ways of learning about the outside world.

There is a lack of financial capital and resources available to the community. Community members do not have access to banking services, such as loans, as most do not have steady incomes. One Lebanese woman said, “I don’t even know where the banks are. I keep my money at home with me. But I can’t save. We can barely afford living expenses.” They take informal loans from each other and occasionally from local stores, although, since most of the families are struggling to get by, they cannot always rely on this coping mechanism. Some of the Syrians explained that they had problems affording things in Lebanon as the costs are much higher than they are in Syria, for example the costs associated with education, which resulted in them not enrolling their children in school.

Interestingly, no natural capital was mentioned by any of the community members.

One point of contention among some of the community members is that the adjacent Palestinian camps receive more support, though none of this sup-port is extended to Hay el Gharbeh. One Palestinian woman living in the area explained, “There is a lot of financial aid to the camps but we don’t get any because we live outside and not in the camps. It’s like we are living off the map.” Additionally, when it comes to social institutions, there is very little support from

NGOs, other than the Tahaddi Association. As with other informal gatherings across the country, this may be explained by the fact that NGOs are weary of working in an area from which they may eventually be evicted due to land ten-ureship issues. Some also mentioned the presence of religiously affiliated po-litical groups in the area that provide support mechanisms for their members, although this was difficult to verify due to the sensitivity of the topic.

One very noteworthy aspect of the poverty in Hay el Gharbeh is the commu-nity’s vulnerability to shocks at both a national and local level, including both ex-ternal conflicts and internal tensions. As mentioned earlier, the area was greatly impacted during the Civil War. Similarly, the war in 2006 and the conflict in 2008 also had an effect on the community. Fearing that these periods would escalate into a widespread conflict, many of the families fled the area, only to return to their homes to find that they had been vandalized and robbed. Additionally, the community is located in a politically sensitive area where there have been clashes as recently as January 2011 when the opposition toppled the government. In the following days there were conflicts at the main Kola intersection, as well as in the neighborhood of Tareq el Jdedeh, both in close proximity to the area.

Throughout the interviews, key informants noted the large impact of clashes occurring within the community, and between Dom families in particular. The conflicts and violence often result in injuries, casualties, and long-term grudges between the offending groups, usually forcing family members to flee the area. Right before the time of the interviews two tribes were fighting and, subsequent-ly, many of the men had fled to the mountains. In the past whole families gener-ally fled, but now it’s mostly just the men who go, especially if the children are in school. Members of the Tahaddi Association staff explained that many of the houses have weapons and, unfortunately, fights between the tribes don’t end until the one that has been wronged has taken revenge, or the offending tribe pays a sum sufficient to cover the loss of the other.

Another shock that affects the community is the constant threat of eviction. While this may not be as prevalent as in some of the other poor neighborhoods in Lebanon, such as Hay el Tanak where the displacement of the community is actively being pursued, it is nonetheless a prevalent issue. As mentioned earlier, in May 2011 the ISF came and destroyed numerous shops and one home. One man explained his fears of living on government land: “I am worried, very afraid that something will happen and I will have no where to go.” In a community already struggling to survive, these measures are massive setbacks affecting their ability to act as self-sustaining members of society.

There is evidence of new trends emerging in the area, increasing the prob-lems faced by the community members. Reportedly, physical insecurity, drugs, and prostitution have risen significantly in the last few years. One woman said:

“There is a lot of fighting because of rent and addictions – for example, hashish, heroin, and paint thinners. Young boys make trouble and steal.

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Some boys can’t afford drugs so they use paint thinner. Some girls sell their bodies. They need to make an income for their families. People see it as a normal way to survive. People steal from the Syrian workers because they have money.”

Much of the problem seems to be related to the high rates of unemployment among the youth, as explained by a nurse working in the area: “They are addict-ed to pain killers which they get from Sabra. Since nothing is controlled there, this community can get anything they want from there. But the drug problems are very secretive, so it is hard to know if there are any trends.”

Another trend, which is closely linked with the community’s lack of social capital and has increased tensions within the area, is the influx of newcomers who are perceived as different from the longer-term residents. One elderly Leba-nese women said, “Then people started coming; it became overcrowded with people from different backgrounds … There are different mentalities and differ-ent ways of thinking.” The social fragmentation is most evident in community members’ attitudes towards the Dom people as already explained above.

The sense of powerlessness and voicelessness in a marginalized community like Hay el Gharbeh is evident in many different ways. The lack of Lebanese citi-zenship for many living in the community restricts their ability to access public health care, public education, and social security. Complicating this factor is that the poor in Lebanon may not always be aware of their rights, as explained by one key informant: “People are not always aware of the policies that affect them, for example having an ID. They don’t know their rights because they are not educated or exposed.” Citizenship in Lebanon is often a political issue. One woman working with Tahaddi Association explained that political groups gave Lebanese citizenship to some as a attempt to gain their support in elections: “Gypsies [Dom] … most of them have Lebanese nationalities now. The politi-cal leaders came and gave them cards so they could vote for them.” Yet, many still lack citizenship. There were many different reasons given as to why some of the Dom did not have citizenship. One woman explained that her parents’ marriage was not properly registered, and as such she and her siblings were not able to receive nationality. Unfortunately, this has had many significant impacts throughout her lifetime, most likely leading to the dire situation she is living in today. She explained:

“This affected me in many ways. I couldn’t go to school, so I couldn’t work. Many jobs require someone to read and write [she can’t]. But I have tried to do other jobs. Some won’t take me because they require an ID. I can do anything, I can’t read and write, but I’m intelligent. I can do anything but I don’t have an ID. I can’t go to the hospital because I don’t have an ID. To give birth I had to go to a private hospital that costs $300-400, but if I had an ID I could pay LL30,000 [$20] at a public hospital … My children don’t have IDs either.”

Others lack citizenship because of birth registration issues. This was often linked with the inability to pay for birth certificates, or to pay the midwife who needs to issue the birth certificate, who then would withhold the necessary pa-perwork. One of the Tahaddi Association staff further explained this problem and the subsequent issues:

“Many [Dom] hold Lebanese nationality. If they do not it’s because they can’t pay for birth certificates, which creates a cycle of “paperlessness” for the next generations. When they don’t have proper papers then they can’tregister at schools or at clinics. Some midwifes will withhold a birth cer-

tificate if they are unable to pay for her services. If they eventually get the money they may able to get the papers. But if she leaves the area or they don’t have a good relationship with her, they may never be able to get them. Also, if the mother marries someone who does not have nationality then the children will never get it, for example to a Palestinian.”34

While all the foregoing often results in the community being voiceless and powerless, there have been extreme circumstances under which the community has made itself heard, such as in its campaigns for water and electricity. However, it has been unable to sustain its voice, perhaps due to its lack of economic clout, its own fractious environment undoing the unity it needs to be heard, or simply exhaustion resulting from frustrating and thankless battles with the authorities.

In terms of political institutions, the community is very much self-governed, though the structure of leadership and governance is highly informal. When there are problems, people seek out the advice of elders who have status within their group. There are also some men within the various groups to whom people may go for help solving problems. The “heads” of the various groups will work to solve problems as they arise in order to keep the peace. However, the lack of any formal governance structure in the community leaves the inhabitants vulnerable.

Many mentioned that the army and police do not enter the area unless specif-ically called, though sometimes when this happened in the past they did not only arrest those involved in the problem. One woman explained what has happened upon calling the police into the community: “Even though you have rights, you go to prison.” Another community member spoke of a mass arrest of 25 people after a fight. Fear of detention may contribute to the community’s unwillingness to contact authorities and the following sentiment expressed by one resident: “There is no governance, no police, no army, no nothing.”

If there are problems affecting the Palestinians in Hay el Gharbeh, the Popu-lar Committee35 from the nearby camp gets involved. One Palestinian resident de-scribed, “There are problems within each group. Even though there are different people involved, the Popular Committee will talk with Hezbollah and Amal and get them to talk to their people in order to solve the problems. The Popular Com-mittee also works with the army and government if there are problems that they can’t solve.”

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The presence of political groups like Amal, who wield considerable influence in the area, have a mitigating effect on certain types of violence. One young man explained:

“There were many conflicts between people, but since Amal came people are afraid to get into fights. We are affiliated with Amal, so I feel protected if I get into a fight. People attack each other with knives … But Amal recruited me so I am protected.”

However, those without any political affiliations are more vulnerable and without wasta. One young man illustrated the point with his situation: “If I had a reference I would have already gone to get help to put my children in school. But I have only God.”

A doctor at the local clinic who has been working there for over seven years summarized the situation in Hay el Gharbeh:

“The Lebanese Shiite have better health. They have access to better services … The controlling factor is Lebanese (political and military), so they get better things. The Dom are marginalized. The Palestinians are not in a good relationship with other factions. Also the process of employing people makes it easier for the Lebanese. The Dom are very nice. They even say that they are the lowest caste in the community. The housing is better forthe Lebanese. It’s not cardboard.”

Conclusion

Hay el Gharbeh is one face of poverty in Lebanon. A marginalized community, it is home to people and groups who live on the edge and are often powerless and voiceless. Yet the poor in Hay el Gharbeh have a resilience and a sense of community within their own ethnic, tribal, or religious groups that enables them to survive and makes life bearable. There is a growing sense of despair as they look at the future, and of insecurity because of the lack of legal tenure on the land. Violence is both an internal and external reality, and problems such as drug addiction, prostitution, and high unemployment among the youth are emerging. There issues are fraying even the internal fabric of each group, the one existing safety net for an otherwise highly vulnerable population.

1. A pseudonym2. Tahaddi Association is a charity providing health and educational services

in Hay el Gharbeh. The word Tahaddi means “challenge” in Arabic, and refers to challenging poverty. The association was founded by Dr. Agnes Sanders and Catherine Mourtada.

3. (Chatty, 2010) p. 22-234. (The Domary Society of Jerusalem n.d.)5. (The Domary Society of Jerusalem n.d.)6. (The Domary Society of Jerusalem n.d.)7. (UN-HABITAT, 2007) p. 28. (Rifai, 2004)9. (Rifai, 2004)10. (Clerc-Huybrechts, 2002) p.23111. (Clerc-Huybrechts, 2002) p.23412. (Tristam, 2008)13. (Tdh, 2011) p.1814. (Tdh, 2011) p. 18, 23, 88 15. (Lebanon: Development Disorder, 2010) p.5916. This comment was not mentioned by any of the community members,

though this may be because they were unwilling to admit that any of their relatives are in jail. Additionally, if there is a high number of men in jail, this may have more to do with the fact that many of the men in the community do not have citizenship, and less to do with the fact that they are committing illegal activities. The Lebanese Authorities have been known to jail those people who cannot produce official identity papers.

17. (Tdh, 2011) p. 19-20 18. (Tdh, 2011) p. 2019. (Tdh, 2011) p. 1920. (Tdh, 2011) p. 2621. (Tdh, 2011) p. 2622. (Tdh, 2011) p. 54-5523. (Tdh, 2011) p. 2724. The Tdh report found similar results noting that 81 percent of females had

never attended school, compared to 73.6 percent of men, (Tdh, 2011) p. 2425. It should be noted that among school-aged children (4-16 year olds) 68 per-

cent reported never having attended school, though the average in Beirut is lower, at 48 percent, (Tdh, 2011) p. 23

26. The Tdh report also found that children were being incarcerated; however they also heard of less severe punishment such as fine and short-term deten-tions, after which they are often released far from their homes. (Tdh, 2011) p. 56

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27. Similar findings were noted in the Tdh study. One man interviewed in that study worked as a security guard for the girls dancing in the United Arab Emirates. He claims that the girls can make up to $100 per night, or $3000 per month. The best ones can earn up to $7000 per month. Though, un-fortunately, he also mentioned that this payment is not just for dancing and also depended on the girls making themselves “sexually available” for the clients. (Tdh, 2011) p. 58-59

28. There are various definitions of food security. Some of the various defini-tions are: a guarantee that a family has permanent and regular physical and economic access to a basic supply of food whose quantity and quality are sufficient to meet their nutritional needs. The availability of food and one’s access to it. A family and household are considered food secure when they do not live in hunger or fear of starvation. It also refers to the availability of sufficient and nutritious food for the population. It is the ability of an individual to access sufficient food on a day-to-day basis.

29. (Tdh, 2011) p. 3130. (Tdh, 2011) p. 30-32. This perception among outside groups was also noted

in the observations made by the researchers while conducting this assess-ment.

31. (Tdh, 2011) p. 3432. (Tdh, 2011) p. 33-3433. (Tdh, 2011) p. 3534. In Lebanon, a Lebanese mother who marries a foreigner is currently not

able to pass on her citizenship to her children, effectively eliminating their ability to seek government services, and any other rights afforded to Leba-nese citizens.

35. For a more detailed explanation about the Popular Committees and their function see the Palestinian refugee chapter.

KARM EL ZEITOUN

Beirut

Beniamin1 has lived in Karm el Zeitoun for 70 years. He used to work in a leath-er factory, but during the Civil War the owner left and he lost his job. Today he runs a small convenience store, which his family has owned for fifty years. Benia-min never married, though his three brothers and three sisters have all married and have children. Only one brother still lives in Lebanon; the rest live in France. He can still recall a time when Karm el Zeitoun (which means the olive grove)

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lived up to its name and was full of olive trees. He remembers moving there with his family and when they built their house. Beniamin is Armenian2 and has Lebanese nationality. His Armenian Orthodox Christian faith and identity are important to him: “I follow Jesus and I go to church sometimes.”

Though many Armenians who used to live in Karm el Zeitoun have left for places such as America, France, and Canada over the past 30 years, Beniamin is happy where he is: “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to be here. Life is good, everyone is good. People love me.”

Imad3 is a painter who works six days a week and earns between $100 and $150 a week. He is Syrian and only moved to Karm el Zeitoun in the summer of 2010. He is not married and shares a house with three or four other Syrian men who are either electricians or painters. He too likes the area: “This is a nice area … It is decent. There are no troubles in the area.”

Mihret4 is from Ethiopia and has been in Lebanon for seven years working as a domestic worker. She shares a small two-room house with another woman. She works freelance and is paid by the hour. Her work is often part-time, but that is only because there is not enough available. “I have no savings, just like many Lebanese people,” she said. Her support network consists only of female Ethiopian friends. She does not socialize outside her group of friends other than going to the Evangelical church and to Bible studies. Her faith is important for her in coping with the difficulties of life. For the last few years she has been in the country illegally as she is unable to afford the $1000 a year for a work permit.5 She likes Lebanon. “There is no work and no jobs in Ethiopia. It is better here,” she said. Sometimes she is able to send money to her sister back home. Other times, when she runs short of money, she borrows from friends, but she always pays them back at the end of the month.

Ali6 is a 22-year-old Shiite Muslim. He was born in Karm el Zeitoun and has lived there all his life, but his family is originally from Kifar Kila on the southern border. Two years ago, Ali gave up studying because “I wasn’t doing very well with my grades.” He now works in a restaurant full-time. His father works in silver. He has five brother and three sisters, all of whom are now married, unlike Ali. One of his brothers is a doctor, but the others are “nothing,” although Ali pointed out that one of his sisters trained to be a kindergarten teacher. They all have “good enough” salaries. All except one of his siblings are living nearby but outside of Karm el Zeitoun itself. Ali likes living in Karm el Zeitoun. “I want to stay,” he said. “I wouldn’t go if I had a chance.”

Beniamin, Imad, Mihret, and Ali comprise only some pieces of the mosaic that currently makes up the community of Karm el Zeitoun. For the most part, the various groups within Karm el Zeitoun are cohesive and willing to help and support each other. However, the community at large still distinguishes between various religions and nationalities. For example, residents will often refer to their neighbors as the “Muslims,” the “Christians,” or the “Armenians.” There have

KARM EL ZEITOUN 10

been times of tension between the various groups in the past, mostly in parallel with conflicts occurring on a national scale. However, almost all acknowledge that things are currently calm in the community. In fact, most of the groups are living side-by-side, instead of in segregated units with clear divisions as is the case in other mixed communities in Lebanon. Yet, there is one glaring example where this friendly treatment towards each other differs; the foreign migrant and domestic workers are marginalized from the rest of the community. Often, they live in their own isolated areas or in a group of houses on one street. The other residents claim to know nothing about them, only alleging that they are increas-ing the problems and crime within the community. They justify this isolation by saying that the foreign nationals form their own communities. Yet, as far as mixed communities in Lebanon go, Karm el Zeitoun is a model of how most groups can live together in relative peace, even supporting each other in times of need, though not all groups within the community are afforded this treatment.

Unlike some of the other urban slums around Lebanon, Karm el Zeitoun is not defined by extreme poverty. Rather, it is an area that at one time was a reasonably safe and homogenous part of town, but that is changing quickly. As the younger generation of Armenians (who have been the majority in the com-munity since its beginning) either emigrate or marry and move out to other parts of the city or country, new migrants are moving in, attracted by the area’s cheap rents and central location within Beirut.

Enrica Morlicchio of the University of Naples writes about the changing nature of European poverty and the ensuing debate. She identifies two types of poverty: “traditional poverty, which was passed on from one generation to another and was linked to economic factors, [and] the new urban forms of pov-erty consisting of a concatenation of negative events (loss of job, income, hous-ing, family breakdown, separations and divorce) which led to an incapacity to run one’s own life and be good consumers …”7 While the negative events she mentions may be similar to what is experienced by families and individuals in Lebanon, these have been further complicated by the Civil War, population dis-placements, and the resulting destruction of the economy. A new event impact-ing people’s lives in Karm el Zeitoun is the influx into the area of single migrant workers looking for cheap accommodation.

The poverty in Karm el Zeitoun is not generational nor, for most, is it resul-tant from the marginalization of particular groups within the community. Unlike other mixed communities, the creation of completely closed subgroups has been more limited. It’s not the poverty of an urban slum in Asia, Africa, or Latin America where the basic infrastructure is nonexistent. It does not easily fit the UN’s operational definition of an urban slum.8 It resembles the poorer parts of many large European cities where the infrastructure is rundown, crime and sub-stance abuse are on the rise, the housing is overcrowded and of poor quality, and basic services are either overloaded or no longer existent. It is not a shantytown

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that has grown organically; rather it is a planned community that has deterio-rated over the decades as events and history have overtaken it.


Armenian migration into Lebanon began in the early 1920s, followed by a con-tinuous influx throughout the decade and into the 1930s, as French authori-ties helped the Armenian populations of Cilicia move and settle in Syria and Lebanon. Later, many continued their journeys on to Europe and the Americas. Of those that chose to stay within the region, most congregated in and around Beirut, eager to remain a cohesive community with its own identity. The newly arrived refugees lived for almost 10 years in two refugee camps: Saint-Michel (established in 1921) and Qarantina (established in 1923) in north Beirut. Ini-tially, conditions in the camps were miserable: residents lived in tents and tempo-rary structures, there were regular outbreaks of diseases, and poverty was wide-spread.9 After it became clear in the 1920s that a return to Turkey and Soviet Armenia was no longer possible, a major effort was initiated under the French Mandate and the League of Nations, in consultation with the Armenian com-munity itself, to try and permanently settle the Armenians. The development of “Armenian quarters” in the Achrafieh hills and in Bourj Hammoud, the marshy area along the Beirut River, was central to this initiative. A committee consisting of the Nansen Office10 and the French Mandate was set up to plan, coordinate, and implement the resettlement.

The mandate administration had its reasons for resettling the Armenians away from the camps. Unrest was a constant threat to the stability of the camps due to their deplorable conditions, and the camps themselves occupied valuable land at the entrance to the Beirut Port. The mandate also viewed the Armenians favorably for strategic reasons. Having received sanctuary and help from the French Mandate, the Armenian population tended to favor French candidates in local elections. In addition, due to the delicate religious balance in the coun-try, the mandate welcomed the increase in the size of the Christian community through the integration of the Armenians into Lebanese society.11 When the Treaty of Lausanne recognized a new Turkish state that incorporated much of the Armenian region within its borders, the French Mandate granted Lebanese citizenship to the Armenian refugees in Lebanon.

In the late 1920s, the mandate administration explored various resettlement options before finally deciding on Karm el Zeitoun.12 The Armenians who were to be resettled there had to pay part of the money needed to buy a plot in the area on which they could build a house. This was possible because many of the Armenians had found work in Beirut or in small workshops in the camps. The remainder of the money was lent to the person, and the plot remained the prop-erty of the committee of the Nansen office until that person had fully paid back

the amount borrowed, which usually happened within a few years. The refu-gees built their houses themselves with some material provided to them by the committee.13 After the initial settlement by the Armenians, other groups, mostly Lebanese Christians, started arriving in the community.

A 70-year-old Armenian still living in the community recalled:

“We were here when it was full of olive trees … We are the oldest peoplehere. We came here when it was all sand and darkness; there was no elec-

tricity. There was no one here. We were alone. We were the first ones to pipe water to our houses. We know the very old people here, but we don’t knowthe new ones.”

The priest of the Armenian Church explained how the community was structured: “Seventy years ago, it was all Armenian. The principle idea was that you built the houses around the church and the school. There were about 450-500 families. But some of them left for Antelias (an area north of Beirut), the mountains and other countries.”

The 15-year Lebanese Civil War, which raged from 1975 to 1990, caused major population dislocation and movement, much of it based on ethnicity and religion. The populations of both Karm el Zeitoun and Bourj Hammoud grew during those years as Armenians living in other areas of Beirut and Lebanon affected by the fighting moved to the relative security of these Armenian en-claves. Warring parties were kept out of both areas by the Armenians’ own com-munal militias.14 Nonetheless, there was considerable damage. One Lebanese Maronite [the community] woman who lived in Karm el Zeitoun throughout said, “During the war it was affected a lot. Some houses were destroyed and rebuilt, and many people died. Our landlord’s mother and sister died.” Another 70-year-old woman said, “Seven people died in the house in front of me, the area was fully destroyed. The area was kteer destroyed. It was horrible during the war … I used to hide with the kids in the kitchen.” Along with the in-migration of newcomers to both areas, a number of businesses, particularly the gold crafts, moved from the old souqs in the downtown areas of Beirut to Bourj Hammoud. This brought a new vitality to Bourj Hammoud, which then became known as a commercial district of Beirut. Karm el Zeitoun missed out on the benefits of this influx of commerce as very few businesses moved there.

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Garo the outlaw and the rooftops of Karm el Zeitoun

“Garo was an outlaw who lived in Karm el Zeitoun and was chased by the police for seven years. During those years he never left Karm el Zeitoun but used it as his hide-out. Through local social support and a rooftop network that functioned continually as a means of escape, he was able to prevent the police from capturing him several times. The rooftops of Karm el Zeitoun, interconnected and continuous, cease to be spaces of excess, where water containers, antennas and old useless objects are stored or disposed of, and become spaces with social significance affecting the lives of the inhabitants. They become hideouts, means of escape and transgression …”

Source: Bsat, “Building [in] fragments” (2009), p. 78

The end of the Civil War also brought new groups into Karm el Zeitoun. These consisted mainly of people from other parts of Lebanon who migrated to Beirut in search of employment and opportunities. Karm el Zeitoun offered them cheap accommodation, as the Armenian residents were only too happy to make extra money by renting out rooms and houses. This not only changed the demographic makeup of the community, but it also forced the expansion of the area. Being limited on all sides by major streets, the expansion was vertical, and the roof of one dwelling became the porch of a new dwelling further up the hillside.

Karm el Zeitoun is located on a steep hillside sloping downwards from west to east, separate from the more well-to-do area of Achrafieh. It is bordered by a local highway (Elias Sarkis Boulevard) to the north, Sheikh el-Ghabi Street to the west, the Patriarch Douaihy Street to the south, and at the bottom of the hill to the east, the Beirut River, the bridge over it, and the Peugeot company, a notable local landmark. An area once filled with olive groves sloping down to a natural river is now covered by buildings and streets, which slope down to a concrete channel. One key informant explained, “The bridge is a boundary. Before, it was all one area to the Beirut River. It was a natural channel, not concrete [as it is now]. It used to be an orchard of olives.”

“The plan of Karm el Zeitoun is that of a grid sliced by two main axes, from which minor parallel alleys emanate until they reach the steep edges where they transform into stairs that lead down to the lower levels.”15 It would seem that a grid system (which, according to one key informant, was designed by a Canadian architect) was used to plan the area regardless of its unsuitability for a hillside community. Rabih Shibli, an architect and city planner at the Center for Civic Engagement and Community Service at AUB who led an assessment of the area, commented, “The main problem is because of the grid on the hill. It has led to sewage problems, drainage problems, and accessibility issues due to the [steep] stairs.” While the layered and stacked houses and the numerous stair-ways have a certain charm, access to the area is a nightmare for the elderly, the

disabled, and for families (especially with children) whose homes do not border a street but are on an alley or at the end of a flight of stairs. One steep set of stairs consisted of over 80 uneven, and often broken, steps. A researcher from AUB who had interviewed people in the area said, “The old people feel trapped because of the stairs, so they don’t leave.” An elderly woman confirmed this: “I don’t go out because of the stairs.” The stairs also present a hazard for the com-munity’s children. Having no other area in which to play, some have fallen on the stairs and injured themselves seriously. The priest of the Armenian church explained, “… a 5-year-old fell on the stairs and suffered brain damage and pa-ralysis. He died after two years … another boy fell and broke bones in his arms and legs. It is very slippery because the water goes down the steps.”

The stairs of Karm el Zeitoun

“… the stairs penetrate the houses, go over them, above and in-between; their land-ings become porches and their steps become spaces for socializing, playing cards, dry-ing laundry, cooking smelly food like frying fish or barbequing, sunbathing on a good day, and so on. The stairs gain new meaning and start to function differently; they are no longer mere access ways but spaces with an acquired social baggage of meanings.”

Source: Sandra Bsat, “Building [in] fragments” (2009), p. 77)

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One of the oldest residents said:

“When we started building the houses, they built the stairs. But there was no planning. There was no structure when they were building the stairs. There was no one in charge. The big stairs were built by the municipality. Near the individual homes, people built the stairs by themselves in order to have access to their own homes.”

The Armenian Orthodox Church, St. Jean de Baptiste, and some offices are located on Ararat Street, one of the main streets running through the area. Though there are convenience stores throughout the area, most of the shops are on Sheikh el-Ghabi Street, the largest street in the area. The whole community is extremely crowded and overbuilt, and there are no public spaces; nor is there any sign of green. Shibli, referring to their urban renovation project (which is discussed in further detail later in the chapter), remarked, “We had wanted to create public spaces because there are none. People use any space they can find.”

Some note the clear difference between nearby Achrafieh and their commu-nity. One interviewee commented, “Here is different than Achrafieh: they are rich.” In fact, many residents of Karm el Zeitoun moved from Achrafieh either during the war or afterwards as their families grew and as the rents in Achrafieh began to soar.

Socioeconomic boundaries are also perceived within Karm el Zeitoun itself. According to many, where residents live on the hillside correlates to their socioeconomic status. Some of those interviewed believe that the area at the bottom of the hill, adjacent to the two highways, is a less desirable living space. One key informant explained, “The foreign workers live on the edge of the community – the Ethiopians, etc., they live near the highway.” The priest of the Armenian church said, “The lowest income [areas] are down the stairs.” One researcher with experience in the area further explained the situation: “At the top and at the bottom there are different atmospheres. The bottom is poorer with older houses. The top is more [affluent]. It is a transition area between the two.”

Yet, due to social reasons, some residents’ perception of which area is better is just the opposite. A Muslim man who has lived in the area for 20 years said, “At the top there are more problems, like drugs. One woman got harassed by a boy, and he stole her phone. It is dirty on the streets at the top.” Another young Lebanese man commented, “There is a difference between the upper and lower areas. There are gangs of guys there; there are lots of drugs in the upper areas.”

Either way, the stairs and the hillside location ultimately affect relationships and the residents’ well-being. As Rabih Shibli said, “The physical barriers lead to mental and social barriers. For example, it seems to be ‘gated’ at the bottom. There is one area at the bottom that has three physical barriers [the highway running along two sides and the Beirut river].”

There is a sense of nostalgia among the older residents who have lived in

the area for a long time. One resident, whose family owns some property in the neighborhood, described, “It was better before. I love the old stuff, how the buildings looked. It was more beautiful before. Now you can’t park; you can’t walk on the streets. Before it was more like you were in the mountains. There were trees before.” The reality today is that Karm el Zeitoun has evolved into a mixture of illegal and unplanned construction, with only glimpses remaining of a former life in what may once have been a nice area to live. One long-term resident, who has been there since 1969, explained when much of this construc-tion took place: “During the war people built houses and that is why the density of the population increased …You weren’t allowed to build before [the war], and now you are also not allowed to build, because the parcels of land are too small. It is all private land, not government land.”


Although Karm el Zeitoun originated as a homogenous Armenian Orthodox Christian community, founded by the refugees who were resettled there from the temporary camps near the port, today it is better viewed as microcosm of Leba-non’s culturally and religiously heterogeneous society. Karm el Zeitoun, with its mix of religious and ethnic groups, displays to a degree the dynamics between the various groups found on a national level. In addition to the Armenians, the area includes Lebanese Christians, Shiite Muslims from south Lebanon, and more recently Sri Lankan, Filipina, and Ethiopian domestic workers (mostly fe-males) and male migrant laborers from Egypt and Syria (who tend to be Sunni Muslims). There are also a few residents from Bangladesh and Sudan, and some who are Druze and Alawite. There are some “mixed” families, such as a Filipina married to a Lebanese or a Malaysian with a Lebanese father. The foreign mi-grant workers only started moving into the area about five or six years ago. The most noticeable demographic change (besides the recent influx of the foreign migrant workers) is that the younger generation of Armenians has moved out, leaving only the elderly. One researcher explained, “The elderly people are Ar-menians … now there are no younger ones.”

The most commonly mentioned population size of Karm el Zeitoun is around 10,000 people. According to key informants, it has now become very much a transient population and, with some residents living in Lebanon illegally, it is difficult to get specific numbers detailing its religious and ethnic makeup. One local shop owner explained, “There are many people but you don’t know how many. You can’t tell how many are living in each building.” People believe that the Christian population still comprises half of the community. The priest of the Armenian church estimated that there are about 210 Armenian families in Karm el Zeitoun with about three to five persons per family. The growth of the Shiite and foreign migrant worker populations since their arrival has made them

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a significant element within the community.Though the population continues to swell, individual family sizes have de-

clined over time. The priest explained, “People don’t have more kids because of space in the house and expenses.” Others have said that the Lebanese families used to have 10-12 people in a house with one large room, one bathroom, and one kitchen, though family sizes among the Lebanese are also decreasing. In some cases, the bathroom and kitchen may be shared with neighbors. The mi-grant workers, both male and female, tend not to be married. One key informant said, “They come without their families.” Among them, the women are mainly Ethiopians, with some Filipinas and Sri Lankans. There do not appear to be any Syrian women living in the area. Groups of four to 10 migrant workers often live together and share the rent. Some local shop owners complain that “they spend little money and they send it all back home.”

An evolving community

The changes in Karm el Zeitoun over time, both physical (agricultural to urban) and demographic (homogenous to heterogenous), have driven the transforma-tion of the community to its present state. The turning point in the structure of the community was the Civil War. One long-term resident, who owns some property in Karm el Zeitoun, said:

“Before the war there was a lot of money and things were cheaper. Be- fore the war they didn’t give permits to build. However, during the war no one [government officials] cared. They couldn’t stop us. There was no police. They wouldn’t give us permits because it was old infrastructure. We still can’t build now. We took advantage of the situation [during the war] to build. Even if it was bombed, people would build again. It was cheap to build.”

Not only did the war inflict some destruction and cause loss of life, but the major influx of people from other areas caused a significant growth in the number of people residing there, changing the socioeconimic make up of the area. One community member stated, “Some people who came during the war have houses outside [the community], but they will not leave Karm because they have a life here.” An older Maronite woman said, “Poverty was initially here or people wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Before, people were able to meet their own needs, but after the war people lost their jobs and expenses in-creased.” The priest at the Armenian Church added another perspective: “Some people were OK 30 years ago. But they got poorer because of their age; they had kids that left them and who don’t help. These kids had their own kids, so the expenses increase and they can’t give anything to their parents.” A mother living near the highway put it succinctly: “The history of the community piled up to create the problems that are here today.”

After the war, further physical changes took place. When the highway along

the edge of the community was built, around 15 years ago, it defined more clear-ly where the boundaries were. The highway is raised; the lower stories of the houses are in its shadow, while the upper stories overlook it. Yet, surprisingly, its impact seems to have been minimal. A woman living next to it commented, “The highway was built 15 years ago. It didn’t affect us. We got used to the noise, and we don’t have a problem living beside the highway. It improved the area ” A young Muslim man who has lived in Karm el Zeitoun all his life said, “I used to play football where the highway is. Before, there was a two-way road, but there was no barrier and the road was in bad condition … [Now] it is easier and safer for people here and the appearance is better.” But not everyone likes it. One long-term resident said, “When the highway was built there was a lot of noise and dirt … Now there are noise and car accidents, but they are the only effects.”

There has not been much input for development projects in the community. However, two initiatives physically impacted the area. As downtown Beirut was after the war and the previously mentioned highway, which leads to downtown, was constructed it was felt that Karm el Zeitoun was an eyesore and that some-thing needed to be done to improve its aesthetics. An “embellishment” project was started in 1997 on the initiative of two banks and Help Lebanon, a local humanitarian NGO.16 They painted the facades of the houses in the “south vil-lage” yellow and pink using patterns designed by volunteer artists and architects. Help Lebanon was then able to acquire additional funds to paint the remaining external areas. The “west village” was painted yellow and blue. The north neigh-borhood was painted using the designs of an Argentinean artist. The governor of Beirut, commenting on the effect, called the area Tallat al-Sununu, which means Swallows’ Hill.17

More recently, Shibli and the Center for Civic Engagement and Commu-nity Service at AUB, with funding from the Hariri Foundation, did extensive interviews in the area and identified the deteriorating conditions of the stairs, as well as the isolation of the community within the greater context of Achrafieh, as major problems. Based on the interviews and a thorough spatial analysis, the goal of the project was to construct a pathway that would create new urban public spaces and link Karm el Zeitoun with the surrounding neighborhoods as well as improve the conditions of the dilapidated main staircase. The project had the potential to improve the livelihoods of the local merchants by increasing foot traffic through the area. Special events would also have an impact on the community by bringing in people from all over the city. However, funding issues did not allow for the full scope of the project to be implemented and as a result the center only succeeded in renovating the major set of stairs in the community.

There is disagreement among the residents as to the impact that these projects have had on the community. One resident commented, “The only new things are the painting of the houses, the stairs, and the highway. Yes, the painting of the houses was important. And I wish they would do all the stairs.”

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Some did not feel included in the changes that are took place. One woman, whose house was painted, described, “We don’t know who painted the houses or who built the highway. The houses were painted into the ‘red camp’ and the ‘white camp.’ This was 10 years ago. They didn’t ask for permission; they just came and started painting.”

The stairs may have had a wider impact for some community members. Not only did they impact the physical structure, they also had an effect on residents’ perceptions of themselves and their status within the community. One man ex-plained, “The [new] stairs gave people more status: ‘we are now different.’ The people away from the new stairs are envious of this [project]. Their [the people whose homes are adjacent to the stairs] perception of themselves changed, but their income is the same.” While some were grateful for these projects – “The stairs are better than nothing” – others have wondered why the focus was put on the stairs: “The stairs are secondary; the most important thing here is the houses. The community members didn’t let the researchers into their houses. But the researchers need to go into the houses to see the difficulties.” A young Lebanese man also explained, “It [the stairs] didn’t connect Karm to the outside. People will use the stairs, but it’s the same people that used the old stairs.”

Some believe that despite the degradation and overcrowding that took place during and after the Civil War, things have improved recently. Comments like the following were heard during the interviews:

“The area is better physically.”

“The buildings here have changed for the better on this street.”

“There used to be sewage beside the stairs. The mayor fixed the sewers.”

The demographics in the area have also continued to change since the end of the Civil War, and as a result, deep relational and social changes have oc-curred as the community has evolved. A Maronite Christian man who has been a long-term resident said, “Mainly people are moving away from each other. It is something that hurts. People don’t want to talk with each other. In my gen-eration there were only a few people who got married and then moved out of the area. In the younger generation, the kids get married and move.” It was fairly common to hear people discuss the decreasing social bonds over time. One Muslim woman commented, “Before the war it used to be different, it used to be friendly and people were close with each other. This made the difference.” A shop owner said, “I used to sit outside and talk to everyone, but that changed over time. Maybe because of TV, AC, work, stress, pressure.”

Even since the end of the war, there have been some times of tension be-tween the communities. One Armenian man explained, “Political problems occur, Muslims leave because they are the minority here. It is quieter now be-tween the Christians and Muslims.” A Muslim woman who has lived in the com-

munity a long time said, “There are both Sunni and Shiite. Before the war there was a lot of Shiites who built houses. But after the war, when there was more racism, they sold their houses …” Yet, overall the communal relationships have been reasonably peaceful and there is a fairly high level of tolerance, and even acceptance, between most groups. The Armenian priest commented, “Muslims, you don’t sense it, but they are living and walking with you. There are no reli-gious problems between the different groups.”

Legality, tenure, and mobility

As in many of the other poor communities in Lebanon, the legality of one’s housing and the legality of one’s status in the country (for example, with the foreign migrant workers) are critical issues for the residents of Karm el Zeitoun. These factors are often interconnected with the length of tenure and mobility in and out of the community. They also have implications on the deteriorating quality of the housing in the community.

In Karm el Zeitoun, the problems with land ownership and the legality of new buildings started in the 1950s. One Armenian man, who has been living in the area for over 50 years but built a new house during the Civil War, explained his situation: “It [construction] was not controlled. We wanted to build things but there were no papers. An Armenian told me, ‘Don’t worry; no one has all the papers.’ So we built and that’s how the problem started.” Now, he owns an apartment in a building but not the land the house is built on. There is little legal paperwork to back up his claims. He continued:

“With the land problems we are just waiting to see. We can’t do anything. No one will agree to buy the house because we don’t have a legal paper from the government that registers us to pay taxes. We started paying taxes but we didn’t get the paper so we stopped paying, and now we have a lot of back taxes to pay.”

His case is not unique in Beirut, due to the complications of the Civil War. During this time, some landowners left the country, and in their absence others built on their land, either taking advantage of the lack of enforcement or be-cause they were unable to find the rightful owners. This has resulted in legal battles between these landowners and those that built the houses.

The ownership issues create problems, if ever people want to leave the area. The elderly Armenian man used his situation as an example:

“We have to pay for the land. We have to pay $3,000 per square meter. It is not worth it. The landlord could sell the land to a Saudi. We haven’t paid. We can’t pay. We would split the cost with everyone in the building because it’s for the land. The split should be fair so that the big apartments have to pay more than the small apartments. It is expensive, too expensive. It would destroy us if we had to pay. If the landlord comes and we pay him to buy the land then he should give us the paper.”

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Unable to leave, due to the time and resources invested in their current prop-erties, which they are legally unable to sell, and with no perceived viable reloca-tion options (due to due to sky-rocketing rents, for example), people in situations like this remain trapped within their present circumstances.

Further complicating the housing situation, “landlords subdivided the houses to make smaller apartments” in an apparent attempt to accommodate more people and increase their profits. As more people moved into the area, rents increased (though they are still lower than similar areas in Beirut). A Christian mother living near the highway, who recently moved in, said, “We are renting. It is expensive because it is not the “old rent” (see textbox “The ‘old rents’ in Lebanon”). The rent increased since we moved in.” The foreign migrant work-ers who are there without their families and are willing to share accommodation have been a major cause of the rise in rents. It is more profitable for landlords to rent to foreigners than to Lebanese. One man explained, “If the foreigners come and stay here, it [the rent] will increase a lot … but the landlord can evict the foreigners whenever he wants. So the rent will keep increasing.” As many of the foreigners are living and working in Lebanon illegally, they do not have legal re-course for breach of rental contracts or abuse by landlords. This gives landlords the power to not only charge foreigners a higher rent for their apartment, but also to end the rental agreement anytime they have a better offer. The foreigners are powerless to seek any legal action due to their status within the country.

This also creates tension between the long-term residents, often the Christian Lebanese and Armenians, and the landlords. Unable to increase the “old rents,” landlords are using other informal means to try and force out the residents. A resident who has lived there for 30 years said, “I have been paying the same rent since we came. That is why he will not fix the roof for us. The owner does not want to rehabilitate the house because I am paying the old rent.” Speaking about the poor quality of many of the houses, which the landlords are unwilling to upgrade in hopes of driving out those with “old rents,” and the divisions within the houses to increase the number rooms and therefore the number of tenants, a recently arrived resident to the area said, “There are humidity problems. It is isolated in one wall. You can see the crack in the wall because of the water inside the walls. It’s because all of the buildings are stuck together. Also the sun doesn’t shine into the rooms.” The landlords are also resorting to a custom [many re-ferred to it as the “new law”] of renting for only between one to three years. After this period is over they are able to increase the rent, which forces those who are unable to pay to leave the area in search of cheaper housing. One long-term resident explained, “Now people know about the land issues. The landlords can come and kick them out at any time, especially under the ‘new law.’ So you can’t rent forever. The contract is only for x years. If the rent increases and the people [the residents] can’t pay, they will be kicked out.”

The “old rents” in Lebanon

In 1992 Lebanon passed a renting act that allowed tenants who signed their leases before the Civil War (which began in 1975) to continue paying the originally agreed upon rental price.18 This has resulted in some families paying as little as $150 in rent per year. Due to inflation and the devaluation of the Lebanese currency, this is far below the other Lebanese rental prices today, which often start at $1000 a month. For example, in other areas of Achrafieh the real estate market is very expensive, with prices as high as $14,000 per square meter.19 Under this law, landlords do not have the ability to increase the rent for the old tenants; if these tenants leave on their own will, landlords are free to charge market value to the incoming tenants.

In 2002 it was estimated that 48.8 percent of the households in Beirut were rent-ing their lodgings.20 As a result these rental agreements have wide-ranging impacts. The government estimates that there are approximately 170,000 families who are still under the old rental contracts.21 Many of the families, such as those in Karm el Zeitoun, are already struggling to meet their basic needs. If forced to leave, they would be unable to afford to rent in any other location in Beirut, meaning they would have to leave the city, and often their employment, schools, and social net-works. Landlords, on the other hand, have been losing hundreds of thousands of dollars over decades in lost rental incomes. Other “new” renters, who started their lease after the 1992 law, believe that they are being unfairly charged an excessive amount to make up for this lost income.

This situation has created tension between all parties. Renters feel that the land-lords are purposely keeping their buildings in squalor conditions, hoping that the tenants will chose to move out on their own. Many say that the landlords are just waiting for them to leave, so that they can sell off their properties for apartment tower development. Landlords claim that due to their low income, they are un-able to afford to maintain their buildings properly. New tenants, such as the foreign migrant workers in Karm el Zeitoun, who are able to afford a higher rent, split between many tenants, often bear the brunt of their neighbors’ anger, who feel that they are pushing them out of their own community. Others claim that the country is being sold off, mostly to rich buyers from the Gulf and other Arab countries, forcing residents out of the capital, which is being taken over by foreigners.

This issue, like most things in Lebanon, is also marred by the complicated politi-cal situation. One former minister continues to rent a 500 m2 apartment downtown for only $300 a year.22 Many believe that politicians may be unwilling to change a law that they themselves benefit from. However, in August 2010, rumors started that the Lebanese Parliament may be passing an updated law to rectify these problems. The vice-president for the Committee for the Rights of the Tenants stated that they had heard that the price of the rents would gradually be increased until they reached market value, and that tenants would be forced to sign new contracts on a three-year basis (likely what the residents of Karm el Zeitoun described as the “new law”). He estimates that as much as 20 percent of Lebanon’s population could be forced to leave their apartments.23 Other proposed laws in the past have provided the ability for landlords to evict tenants under the “old rent,” if they pay them a percent-age of the value of the property. While the price ranges between 20-40 percent of the value, tenants argue that this is still not enough for them to afford rent in other locations in Beirut, and they would be forced out of the house and neighborhood that they have lived in for decades.

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This situation is in turn creating problems between the Lebanese and Arme-nians on one side and the foreigners moving into the community on the other. The long-term residents blame the foreigners for these problems.

While some have commented on the transient nature of the population and the high rates of migration in and out, others seem to have a sense of stabil-ity and community in Karm el Zeitoun. Comments like the following were not unusual:

“My father wants to live here. He came [from abroad] five years ago and he wants to stay.”

“I am satisfied. I love life here. I don’t want to go somewhere else”

“I like it here because I was raised here, even if there is poverty here and poor infrastructure. Everything is close. There are schools, hospitals, etc. It is easy to live here. I am in touch with my neighbors but not in their privatelives. When people are good, everyone will know it.”

Others came, and stayed out of necessity: “The rents are cheap here, that is why I came.” Another said, “We used to live in Jounieh. Because of financial issues we sold that house and came to live here 20 years ago.” The influx of new residents is countered by a slow but sure out-migration from Karm el Zeitoun. The Armenian priest, observing the changes over his years there, said, “People are leaving the region, slowly, one by one. They are going to Bourj Hammoud or Achrafieh.” One wonders if he is referring mainly to the outflow of long-term resident Armenians who are now being replaced by other ethnic and religious groups.

Some foreign migrant workers whose residency and work permits have ex-pired, and who are either unable to renew them or have decided not to, choose to live in Karm el Zeitoun. The choice of neighborhood may have to do with more than just the cheap rents. One local resident described, “Not all domestic workers come here legally. Some of their resident permits expire, but they don’t bother to renew them because they live in an area where no one [the authorities] will come and check them.”

Migrant domestic workers in Lebanon

According to the 1997 UNDP report A Profile of Sustainable Human Development in Leba-non, foreign workers can be categorized into four different employment sectors. Afro-Asian women are working in the domestic sector in both private homes and busi-nesses. Egyptian, Sudanese, and Syrian men work as cleaners and janitors, mostly in commercial establishments. Males from Egypt and Syria are employed as laborers in construction, farming, garbage collection, workshops, etc. Lastly, Western Europeans and some Arabs have migrated to Lebanon to work in careers requiring a specific skill set.24

Ray Jureidini, an expert in the field, conservatively estimates that there could be as many as 430,000 foreign workers in Lebanon.25 The Central Administration for Statistics noted that 74,909 work permits were issued in 1999. Most working in the field agree that this vastly underestimates the reality as many foreign workers are working illegally without a permit. For example, Syrians, who do not need a visa to enter Lebanon, can easily access illegal employment opportunities.26

Migrant domestic workers (MDWs) are the most vulnerable of the foreign work-ers for numerous reasons. Principally, MDWs are not included in Lebanese labor laws, and are therefore denied many of their basic human rights. Moreover, MDWs are legally obliged to live with their employers, where they may be subject to various forms of abuse and maltreatment.

Prior to the Civil War the role of a domestic worker was mainly filled by Lebanese (often young girls from rural areas), Syrians, Egyptians, and Palestinians. However, over time the work became undesirable for Arab women because “of the servile na-ture of the tasks, the conditions of work and relative low wages, but also because there is now a racial and discriminatory stigma attached to domestic employment.”27 Cur-rently, the role is largely filled by Afro-Asian women. These women began migrating to Lebanon in the 1970s, from countries such as Philippines, Sri Lanka, Ethiopia, Bangladesh, and Nepal.

While the exact numbers of MDWs are impossible to estimate, due to the large number of women working illegally, Jureidini (2010) estimates that there are around 160,000 MDWs in Lebanon, with the majority coming from Sri Lanka (100,000), Philippines (30,000), and Ethiopia (30,000).28 Other sources, based on NGOs’ and embassies’ approximations, are somewhat higher, with the top estimate falling around 200,000.29

The MDWs status within Lebanon falls into three categories:

• The first contains those who are legally residing in Lebanon. To come to Lebanon, MDWs must be sponsored by an employer, a process which takes place through an employment agency in the sending country and an employment agency in Lebanon. This is known as the kafala system. The employer becomes fully and legally responsible for the woman sent. They must pay for various expenses, such as her flight to and from the country (although for various reasons they often do not end up paying for the return flight), her work permit, her residence permit, and her health insurance. This system creates dependency on the employer, leaving the domestic worker vulnerable to abuse. Employers often feel that since they

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bear the responsibility for the women, and have made a financial invest-ment to bring them to the country, they have the right to lock the MDWs in their homes and confiscate their identity papers. On some occasions, the women are living with someone they believe to be their legal spon-sor, only to learn in the course of their employment that their “sponsor” has not processed their papers and that they are, in fact, working ille-gally. If found to be working illegally, the migrant worker almost always incurs the penalty; the sponsor is very rarely held accountable.

• The second category involves a situation in which an MDW has finished her contract and desires to stay in Lebanon “legally.” The MDW may be able to find a Lebanese who will sponsor her papers but will allow her to freelance (work in other homes or business establishments) for a given number of days per week. This arrangement may take place if the Lebanese household cannot afford to pay for her entire salary, or does not require her to work during the entire week. Sometimes the do-mestic worker will live with her sponsor, but many times she will choose to live outside with other domestic workers, often from her country of origin. Although, according to one key informant, to be entirely legal the MDW should actually be living with her sponsor. Usually this law is not enforced.

• The last group are MDWs who stay in the country illegally and com-plete freelance work without obtaining any legal papers. This usually occurs if an MDW stays at the end of her contract or if she leaves a contract before it is terminated. In this case the worker will freelance in houses and business establishments and live on her own with other domestic workers, but she will not have any working or residence docu-ments, meaning she is vulnerable to arrest and detention.

MDWs report various types of abuses by their employers. According to a 2010 Human Rights Watch (HRW) report, the most common types of abuses reported by MDWs were “nonpayment of wages, excessive working hours, forced confinement in the workplace, lack of time off, inadequate living conditions, confiscation of identify documents, exploitation by labor agencies, and verbal, physical and sexual abuse.”30 One study found that 35 percent of the MDWs interviewed were not allowed to leave the house, and only 1 percent held their own passports.31 A shocking example of this was described by one NGO worker who witnessed forced confinement during the July 2006 war, when some employers, who were fleeing from the bombings in southern Lebanon, locked up their domestic workers to take care of the house and pets while they were gone.

MDWs also complain of harsh physical punishment, such as being hit, slapped, punched, kicked, or burnt. There have even been cases of rape and murder.32 In one interview with Human Rights Watch (2010) a Filipina woman explained, “Madame would slap my face, and take my head and push me into the wall.” The abuse became worse, as her employer started hitting her with a baseball bat. Once when she was locked in her room, she escaped from the 3rd floor apartment by climbing down from the window.

Even though she went to the police to report her case, they immediately returned her to her employers. The abuse continued as her employer hit her with the bat on her legs, hands, and hips. Finally she was able to escape and reach her embassy.33 Tales such as this are common among the women who are able to escape and report their stories; however, many more are trapped in the apartments and are unable, or too afraid, to leave.

One major cause of concern is the extremely high death rate among MDWs in Lebanon. Between January 2007 and August 2008, Human Rights Watch reported that there were at least 95 MDW deaths, on average one per week. Of these, 40 were classified as suicides and 24 were caused by women falling while trying to escape from high-rise buildings. Human Rights Watch suspects that not all of the cases deemed as suicides are in fact suicides; many more were likely escape attempts. In speaking with the family and friends of these women, it was noted that the women regularly complained of the abuses that they faced at the hands of their employers. One former ambassador explained, “Don’t call this an embassy. We have become a funeral parlor. People die. Natural deaths, accidents, suicide. When they try to run away, accidents happen.”34

A main street in Karm el Zeitoun

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Livelihoods

Livelihoods in Karm el Zeitoun partially depend on the ethnic group the indi-vidual or family belongs to. Some of the residents rely on rental income, while others, specifically older Armenians and Christian Lebanese, receive remittances from family members aborad. Some own shops and convenience stores – mostly in the area. A number work for the municipality, while others work in factories, as drivers or taxi drivers, or as deliverymen. There are bakers, restaurant work-ers, artisans, and a woman who keeps chickens to sell the eggs. The foreign female migrants work as domestic workers in houses or as cleaners in offices. The male migrant workers, both from other areas within Lebanon and from other countries, work in construction, as electricians, plumbers, painters, or in garbage collection – most of them as day laborers. Some families have members in the army. But work for many remains unstable. One key informant stated, “People are waiting for jobs. They work for three months and then they don’t have work for five months. Most women work and the grandparents look after the kids.” A Christian NGO called Morooj al-Mahabba provides services in the area, includ-ing initiatives to address unemployment or irregular employment: “We try and seek jobs for people. If they come here, they will leave their names and then we will contact them if we hear of any opportunities.”

Income sufficiency

As is to be expected, incomes vary. For workers and casual laborers, incomes range between $15 and $25 per day. The domestic workers and cleaners can earn about $200-$300 per month, although they often make less than this. Ac-cording to the Armenian priest, those with the highest earnings tend to be Chris-tians. Their standard of living is reflected in the larger houses they have. He continued to explain how those making less than minimum wage survive, partly due to the support of others:

“The lowest incomes are between $300 and $350 per month. They have families or neighbors that help them. For example, they buy milk for eachother. They all buy things for their poor neighbors. It’s not OK to give mon-

ey, but they support each other in different ways … They will be ashamed if you give them money. It’s like buying them. But they don’t feel bad if youare helping them. They will say ‘God bless you.’”

Some families have multiple wage earners, while others are supported by only one working adult. There are multiple reasons why a family might only have a single wage earner. For some it may not be culturally desirable for the wife to work; other households are headed by a single or divorced mother. At times one parent cannot work because they must care for children or members of the family with disabilities or illnesses.

Comments from the community:A mother’s story

“My son was handicapped since he was born. So I paid a lot of money. He died [two years ago] at the age of 25. He went blind when he was young. We paid a lot of money for treatment. Part of it was paid by social security and part of it was paid by us. He also had asthma. Though his last operation was risky, we decided to do it. He lived 3.5 years after that.

I moved here when I got married. I am from Beirut. I was living in Hay el Syr-ian. I still have family there. I came here for two reasons: we didn’t find any empty houses in the other place and we didn’t have to pay a deposit here.

“We are renting our house. When we came here we already had problems with the humidity. Both parts of the house are the same age, but we did some renova-tions and the front area is not exposed to water as much. We cannot do anything inside because it is made of sand and would collapse. We had an incident where the wall collapsed. I don’t know if the other houses are the same. The owner doesn’t want to rehabilitate the house because we are paying the ‘old rent.’ He said he wants us to leave on our own, so then he can raise the rent.

“My husband went to grade 2. He didn’t do any training after he stopped school. He was a driver with the municipality. He was there for 20 years. We needed insur-ance because there were some periods of time when we were buying medication ourselves but we couldn’t afford it [the medication] anymore, which is why my husband switched jobs. Two years after he started working in the municipality he got insurance. For the first 10 years he worked as a carrier. He was also carrying garbage and that is when he got a herniated disc. So then they got a special driving license for him. And then he started driving. He now works on a daily basis. He has social security. He has renal failure in one kidney and the other one is 70 percent functional.

“I had two sons. One died. The other is with the army. I have one girl who is married but is getting a divorce. The process of getting a divorce is expensive. She is a nurse. She can’t finish her education because she is in debt. I have another daughter who is sick with asthma and I have asthma too. We have asthma because of the housing conditions. We didn’t have it before.

“We are Lebanese Maronite. I belong to a group that takes care of disabled people. It is not religious; we have Christians and Muslims. We bring them food. I have been in this group, which is linked to a church in Achrafieh, for 20 years. So we bake cakes, etc. and bring them to the people. We do animation for the kids. It is our own initiative. Even if I am poor and don’t have money, what will it cost to bake two cakes a month and bring them?

“How do I keep going on my hardest day? I rely on God. I gave him everything and he knows better than me. I never rely on anyone; I only rely on God. I light a candle and I pray. We passed by a time with no money and we didn’t have anything to eat. There is a shop where you can borrow money from him when you really don’t have anything, and pay him back after.

“What do I dream about? I dream that God will accept what I am doing. I dream of a house because I am worried about the future, that one day we may not have a house. I don’t want a castle; I just want a one-room house. I am not the kind of person that wants big things. I just want a small house because that will allow me to be humble. You should love yourself the way you are.”

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Relatively low levels of income and often not having multiple wage earners in a family results in income insufficiency and the inability to cover emergency expenses. A woman who owns a convenience store said, “My daughter had a sickness and we went to the hospital. They wouldn’t let her go in without paying $1000. We couldn’t pay this.” Another older Maronite Christian said, “We passed a time with no money and we didn’t have anything to eat. There is a shop where you can borrow money when you really don’t have anything, and you pay it back afterwards.”

The average “new rent” for one or two rooms, a bathroom, and kitchen is $150-$350 per month, as opposed to the old rents which are as low as $300 a year. Some of the larger rentals are as high as $500-$600 per month. The cost of electricity varies based on household size and the time of the year, but one key informant estimated the price to be approximately $27 per month. There are also expenses for water (paid yearly), medicines and treatments, school-related purchases (including tuition, transportation, uniforms, and books) for those with children, and transportation. This leaves very little, if anything, to spare at the end of the month. One woman ex-plained, “There are many problems, like in any area. There are water and electricity problems. Things are expensive.” The migrant workers may have an easier time cov-ering their rent and utility expenses, as these are split between more income earners, but their wages are often considerably lower than what the Lebanese earn, meaning that they likely still have difficulties covering costs or accumulating any savings.

Education35

There is a high level of literacy in Karm el Zeitoun compared to other poor communities in Lebanon, which often have high dropout and illiteracy rates. Most residents have some level of schooling, and a reasonable proportion have finished secondary school. While the older generation may not have had as much education, the community wants the current generation to get the best education possible. Many of the adults were forced to stop their schooling during the Civil War. In contrast with the other communities studied (in which it was noteworthy to have even reached high school), in Karm el Zeitoun the most common un-derstanding of a lack of education is not having finished high school. It is within such a context that the following comment can be understood: “Not all adults here are educated. My husband did not even reach grade 9. I went to the 3rd year of technical school for becoming a secretary.”

Comments from the community:Continuing education

“Two of my kids are studying. One left at the age of 16 because he didn’t like educa-tion; now he is in construction. The older tried Brevet two times and failed. Now she is working in a clinic as a secretary.”

“Our oldest son left school at grade 9. His dad didn’t want him to work in construc-tion so he went and studied to be a baker. I wish he was more educated. My second son was in hotel management but now he is in the army.”

“My children went to 6th or 7th grade. One left to work … Some didn’t want to be educated so why would we spend money if they don’t want to be educated? But now I regret it. I know it’s important. I wish I was educated and I will encourage my grandchildren to be educated.”

While education is desired by most in the community, some children will complete grade 9 and then drop out. They will then either go to trade school and receive technical training, or work in such places as restaurants. Some others continue their education all the way through the university level. One young man from the community explained his family’s situation: “There are two of us in university and one is going to go soon. We need to focus on studying.”

There seems to be a higher percentage of children from Karm el Zeitoun attending private schools than from other disadvantaged areas across the coun-try, giving them a better quality of education and consequently a wider range of opportunities. Residents’ ability to send children to private schools may be partly due to support and financial aid from key stakeholders in the com-munity. One local NGO worker stated, “The mayor has wasta with the pri-vate schools and gets them decreased tuition.” One mother explained that the priest was helping to pay the tuition for her children. Likewise, the Armenian

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Church is helping 35 underprivileged students from the area to attend an Ar-menian private school. Some of the families stated that they would place their children in private schools for their first few years of schooling and subsequently move them to public schools when they could no longer afford the tuition.

There are no schools (other than the Lebanese Evangelical School for the Blind) in Karm el Zeitoun itself. There used to be a school connected with the Armenian Orthodox Church, established soon after the church was built in 1935. However, the school closed in 1996-97, as it became too expensive to run and it did not receive any financial help from the government. The Armenian community also closed two schools in other areas and focused their resources on one large school in Bourj Hammoud. Some Armenian children from the com-munity now attend private schools in Naba’a or in Bourj Hammoud.

In a country where special education for children with disabilities is often lacking, Karm el Zeitoun does offer distinct and, to most, unknown services. Twice a week Morooj al-Mahabba offers space within their center for use, free of charge, by organizations focusing on children with disabilities. The 142-year-old Lebanese Evangelical School for the Blind is also located in Karm el Zeitoun. The tuition is free and the school caters to the needs of the blind and mentally disabled. The director of the school explained, “It is a last resort to come here, you only come if you cannot be integrated into mainstream vocational training.” The school has been in this location since the 1980s, after having moved around other areas during the war. Commenting on the need for such an institution, the director continued: “There is a high level of disability here … There is a high level of disability here because of intermarriages, which can result in children with mental disabilities. Some cases are due to hereditary issues and others are a result of problems during pregnancy. ” Although the school is located in the area, the director noted that some families still “prefer to send their children to a school from their own religion.”

Mold inside a house in Karm el Zeitoun

The children of migrant workers

While migrant workers have been coming to work in Lebanon for some time, many are now starting to bring their families with them. Their children are often removed from schools in their home country, but upon arrival in Lebanon families often find they cannot afford the increased costs of tuition in that country. Others, such as MDWs, are having children in Lebanon, though due to their sometimes illegal status, their children cannot be registered with the government. INSAN, an organization that works with this community, believes that there could be as many as 2,000-3,000 children of migrant workers in Lebanon.36 A Save the Children report notes that the children of migrant workers are more likely to be exposed to social and domestic violence, are marginalized, spend significant amounts of time alone, and are undocumented; all of these factors are likely to increase their vul-nerability.37 Because they have only recently arrived, this group receives very little help or support from NGOs.


Even though most residents talked of food being expensive in comparison to other areas (for example, Bourj Hammoud), all types of food are available within the community. However, one’s financial situation dictates what one is able to purchase. When asked about the positive aspects of the neighborhood, a long-term resident commented, “In this area all is available. Whatever you need is here. We can adapt. It all depends on the budget, but all is available in the small shops here. Some things are more expensive than in other areas: for example, vegetables. Some things are cheaper than outside.” The priest from the Arme-nian Church also explained, “If you shop here $100 doesn’t get you very much, but if you use the $100 and shop somewhere else it will get you much more. Here to buy ham and cheese it will cost LL7,000 [$4.7]. In Bourj Hammoud it costs LL4,000 [$2.7]. This area is expensive, both Achrafieh and Karm el Zeitoun.”

The food availability has had a positive impact on the nutritional status of the children. The health issues that the children face are not nutritional; rather they have more to do with the condition of the houses. Because of the mold and the humidity, there are a high number of cases of respiratory illnesses. These ill-nesses are prevalent not just among the children but also among the adults. One elderly woman, who has been living in the area for decades, described, “The kids get sick because of the humidity in the house, the flu, etc. I lost weight because I was sick and because of the housing conditions.” The other health issues among the children are birth defects and injuries resulting from accidents, such as those that occur due to the steep staircases. Other than the respiratory issues, there are no specific health issues that adults face that are different from those found in other areas.

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Almost all the residents of Karm el Zeitoun have access to health care facili-ties and services. There is a clinic sponsored by the Hariri Foundation on the main road just outside the area. One resident said, “The services are good. It is LL5,000 [$3.3] to get a card which allows people to get a consultation.” Ac-cording to staff members, the Morooj al-Mahabba NGO has a dispensary and access to a surgeon, a gynecologist, a general practitioner, and a dentist, all of whom either offer their services free of cost or at reduced rates. There are plans to expand services to include a pediatrician. This NGO also refers residents to nearby hospitals. The surgeon is able to refer patients to the government hospi-tal, where they may do the surgery free of charge. They also have an agreement with two medical labs that gives referred patients a 65 percent discount for tests conducted. A second dispensary has been operating in the area for 40 years. They provide consultations with a dentist, a general practitioner, and a pediatri-cian. Last year over 350 patients visited the clinic, although not all of them were from Karm el Zeitoun; others from outside the area come for the inexpensive services offered. Nurses there mentioned another dispensary in the area called Dammes de Charité.

The main concern for many of the residents who do not have regular jobs is that they do not have health insurance. This means that visiting private clinics can be very expensive. As such, the health services that local NGOs offer are critical for such people. However, some residents are wary of the dispensaries in the area and prefer to save the cost of the consultation by going directly to a pharmacy. Others believe that since the services are cheaper they are lacking in quality. They therefore chose to spend more money and visit the private clinics, often by borrowing from others.

One increasingly prevalent health problem mentioned by residents was drug use, and there have been a number of deaths related to drug overdoses in recent years. Some feel that the problem is more prevalent in specific areas within the community. A new resident commented:

“There is a reputation of violence and gangs and hard habits. People’s perceptions are right about some areas and wrong about some areas here. If you walk around [different areas within Karm el Zeitoun] you can feel the difference. You don’t see guys hanging out on the street here [in this particular area].”

A local NGO worker reported:

“There is a lot of drug use. There are overdoses. Last year 10 guys died from overdoses in two to three months … There is hash and heroin. It is more among boys than girls. It is more acceptable to hear that boys died from an overdose. If a girl died, they would hide it.”

Interestingly, a number of residents said that drug use started during the Civil War and continued since then. It is perceived that the availability and use of drugs and alcohol abuse have resulted in an increase in violence in the area.

This has been a major concern for the mayor, who is associated with Morooj al-Mahabba. This organization provides some recreational programs for the children and youth in the hopes that these will provide alternatives to becom-ing involved in drug use. Yet,it is felt much more is needed in order to tackle the problem. The mayor described:

“People are happy that we offer these services because it takes kids away from drugs. Socially speaking it is not enough … There are social needs – projects for drug abuse prevention, recreation activities to keep kids away from delinquencies. This is the responsibility of the government, but where is the government? We were the first who mobilized drug abuse prevention activities. Now the government is meeting to discuss these issues because they noticed that people are dying each week. The solution is to catch the dealers. The government should do this. The solution is not to rehabilitate one or two people. They should help organizations build sports clubs so adolescents move away from this [drug use]. We started to do scouts, but wecouldn’t continue because of the lack of money.”

Many residents commented on there being commercial sex workers in spe-cific areas of Karm el Zeitoun, but no one provided any further details, and no evidence was noted by the researchers. Community members believe that this is a problem closely linked to the arrival of the migrant workers.


The dynamics of Karm el Zeitoun’s poverty are extremely complex in that some of the community’s greatest vulnerabilities are also its greatest assets. The social capital, physical capital, and perceptions of connectedness with the surrounding area both help and hinder the residents of the community. The following section outlines these three topics, and is followed by further details on other assets and vulnerabilities affecting Karm el Zeitoun.

The large-scale mobility, both in and out of the community, has had an impact on the social capital available to the residents. Although the Armenians arrived in Lebanon over 70 years ago, and they all have citizenship, they are still viewed by the Lebanese as a distinct group. One Armenian woman explained, “The Lebanese keep telling us that we are ‘Armenian’ even though we have the nationality and have been here for a long time. We are from here, we are not from outside.” While the Armenian community does have positive relationships with their neighbors, it was obvious from the interviews that they tend to keep to themselves, perhaps as a result of their difficult history and other populations’ continued perception of them as a distinct group. The same Armenian woman continued, “The Armenian community is close here. Wherever you go they are close.”

Though the community began as a settlement for the refugees, Lebanese

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Christians quickly moved into the area as well. Likely because of their shared religious ties, there were no problems mentioned between these two populations. Over time, the community continued to diversify. Unlike other poor commu-nities that have attracted marginalized groups, Karm el Zeitoun has attracted people from all backgrounds who, due to unfortunate and unforeseen circum-stances, have been forced to relocate to a more affordable or more secure neigh-borhood. For example, one elderly woman explained that she originally came to the area because she was divorced and could no longer afford to live where she had been previously, “I lived in Achrafieh for 22 years and I was married. Then I got divorced and came here with my nine kids … When I originally came I didn’t like the situation. I didn’t want people to see my situation because I was divorced. I didn’t want to talk to my neighbors because I didn’t want them to talk behind my back.” Others mentioned coming because of the cheap rents and not having to put down a deposit, like in other areas. Many told of arriving during times of conflict, when they were forced from other areas of the country. This diversi-fication has turned Karm el Zeitoun into a microcosm of Lebanon as a whole, which has significantly impacted the social ties and bonds within the community.

The perceptions regarding social connectedness within the community vary quite significantly. Some of the negative sentiments regarding these relationships were found among the older residents who have lived most of their lives in this area. They are the ones who have witnessed the change from a homogenous Armenian and Christian community to a very diverse population, made up of groups who have, historically, been in conflict with each other. Comments like the following were not uncommon: “The neighbors were better before. [Now] people talk a lot about each other and I don’t like this.”

A side street in Karm el Zeitoun

Others talked about the community in somewhat more positive, though not ideal, terms. One Muslim woman explained that while she herself does not ex-perience a social support network in the community, she observes strong rela-tionships between other residents:

“There is a mixture of people. People talk to each other when they are outside, but then they go into their houses. There is no racism. People drink coffee together. Yet you can’t depend on your neighbors for help. They stand and look at each other. When I moved here I had troubles in the neighborhood. I didn’t feel like people would help me. Some people have harassed my kids, especially my daughter. The neighbors are not like family. My children also don’t have friends.”

Another woman went further, describing that while relationships are lacking, community members can depend on each other when in need: “There is friend-liness. I might not get in touch with my neighbors but if something happens then I will support them.”

Still others spoke of a having a deep affection for the area; they would not leave even if given a choice. Many attributed this to the social bonds that they had created within their sub-neighborhoods.

Comments like the following were often heard during the interviews:

“We have good relationships between neighbors. We are helpful to each other.”

“We are friends with the Lebanese. Most of the customers here are Lebanese, more than Armenian. We have lots of Lebanese neighbors, theyare helpful.”

“I love it here because of my neighbors and I know everyone because I have been here for so long.”

The social capital that residents have tends to come from smaller geographi-cally defined areas within Karm el Zeitoun, with each street making up a com-munity within a community, so to speak. Key informants also noted the presence of unmistakable community bonds and social safety nets within these areas, de-spite the lack of strong relationships on a wider community level. One key infor-mant who worked closely with the AUB development project explained her view about the area, “People that live on secondary roads are all like family. They or-ganize events together. They have managed parking. All of their life takes place on the side street. They have a ledge where they sit and they do everything. They have birthday parties together on the streets.” Another example of this was pro-vided by the priest of the Armenian Church:

“Three days ago a grandmother was telling me that each street has theirown story. Each street is like a family. They know the other streets, but rela-

tionships are the strongest within each street. They help each other if they are sick; they worry about each other if people come home late; they give each other their keys. And the next street will have its own story.”

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These smaller units have acted to increase the social relationships between groups, even among those of different backgrounds.

While there have been tensions along sectarian and religious lines – espe-cially during the Civil War – for the most part this seems to be a thing of the past. One elderly Armenian man explained the situation during times of unrest: “During the wars we [the different religions groups] were distant, and there were some conflicts. But when the wars ended, the problems ended and we all went back to normal.” Now, many people acknowledge social relationships that cross national and religious boundaries. One Christian Lebanese woman said, “People are helpful. If you are nice they will be nice. If you are bad, then they will be bad. We have good relationships with non-Lebanese, especially Syrians and Armenians.”

Yet, there is still one group that remains extremely excluded in terms of the overall community makeup – the foreign migrant workers (usually excepting the Syrians). This recently arrived group is creating tensions within the community, especially with the older Lebanese and Armenian residents. It is immediately evident that, even given the sometimes fragile relationships among the greater population, most residents of Karm el Zeitoun would band together against the migrant workers. One NGO worker stated, “It is a community here. If some-thing happens people will go help each other, among all groups. I am speaking about the Lebanese, not the domestic workers. They have their own commu-nity.”

The community members blame the foreign migrant workers for the rising rents and potential evictions, as landlords are aware that they can charge more to a group of workers living together than they can to one Lebanese family. As explained by one Muslim woman, who has lived in the area for 14 years, “There were relationships between domestic workers and Lebanese, but now there is bitterness because the rents are increasing and they are taking work from the Lebanese.” The resultant tensions and bitterness affect how migrant workers are perceived by the Lebanese; some spoke of problems and crime in the com-munity, which were perceived to have increased around the same time that the workers arrived. One researcher recounted the perceptions of the other resi-dents in the community, “The domestic workers are the source of the problem. For example, they have the reputation of prostitution and drug dealing. At night when it is dark and hidden, at the bottom of the community, it is isolated. No one goes there. So there is potential for these acts.” While it was impossible to verify this correlation during the research, many of the community members expressed certainty that they are the cause of increased problems in the area.

Luckily, the foreign workers have formed their own communities, usually based on nationality. Their common language (or dialects), and background, as well as the marginalization and difficulties they face in Lebanon work to bring these communities closer together. While those spoken to seem to be aware of

the perceptions of others, they do not necessarily seem unhappy in Karm el Zeitoun. Some of this may be attributed to an enhanced social support net-work resultant of the growing size of these particular sub-communities within the area.

Since the community as a whole is relatively large – around 10,000 people – and diverse, it would be unrealistic to expect to find an area that is completely cohesive and provides a social connectedness between all of its residents. Yet, each individual side street creates a smaller sub-community, which serves as a safety net for the households on it, often regardless of nationality or religion – something quite unique in Lebanon where these communities have typically disagreed and clashed with each other. While many spoke of a decrease in social ties over time, it remains quite remarkable, given the recent history of civil war and conflict, that these groups do manage to live side-by-side, often helping in each other in times of need. Until recently, all of the different groups in the area have managed to integrate within the wider framework, often becoming integral members of the smaller sub-communities. It remains to be seen whether the newly arrived migrant workers will eventually integrate into Karm el Zeitoun, or whether they will continue to be the outsiders, looked down upon by all of the other groups.

Another paradox found in Karm el Zeitoun pertains to its physical capital. At first glance, the area appears quaint and charming, with its small alleyways and brightly painted houses, yet upon closer inspection it becomes obvious that the infrastructure is deteriorating, literally falling apart in many places.

The area has access to electricity, water, and sanitation, and most of the streets are paved. Yet, quite a few problems remain after years of neglect and hardship. Many of the stairs are crumbling (although the major one was recently rehabilitated). Rain also makes the stairs slippery and more difficult for the el-derly to navigate. In fact, as previously mentioned, the condition of the stairs has also proven to be a trap keeping the elderly stuck in their homes as well as a safety hazard for children. The area experiences frequent power cuts, as do many other areas in the city. A few of the residents have access to generators, for which they pay extra. Similarly, water supply is infrequent. One resident ex-plained, “Water comes two days off and one day on. It doesn’t come up to the third floor. People fill their tanks with water and pump it up to the top [floors]. We keep drinking water in large bottles and pump this water to the bathroom.”

The older houses have deteriorated while some of the more recently con-structed buildings are of poor quality, as many of them were built during the war. Significant problems result from this. There are numerous complaints of leaking roofs and damp walls contributing to mold within the houses. The sewage and drainage systems have only recently been upgraded, as the rate of construction in the area increased, but there are still major problems. One researcher who had spent time in the area described some of the problems: “When it rains, the stairs

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and the houses flood because of the old designs … There are sewage and drain-age problems all along the side streets.” She also heard many residents complain of rats in the neighborhood, most likely resulting from the sewage problems. People put blocks in front of their houses to keep the rats out.

On the other hand, Karm el Zeitoun is in many ways fortunate for the in-frastructure that is available in the community. Other impoverished communi-ties across the country lack almost all but the most basic physical capital, with residents living in corrugated iron and cardboard shacks. Due to the existence of the physical infrastructure, albeit in less than optimal condition, the residents of Karm el Zeitoun are somewhat relieved of the constant struggles and concerns that residents of other poor urban neighborhoods face on a daily basis. Yet, there are still many improvements that can be made, especially in comparison to the surrounding upscale neighborhood of Achrafieh, which is properly maintained, has access to water, and only short, regularly scheduled power cuts.

Finally, the perceptions of connectedness to Achrafieh both help and hinder the community. As mentioned above, Karm el Zeitoun does not look like some of the shantytowns that dot the various outskirts of Beirut. Its paved roads, the colorfully painted buildings, and the absence of wooden and tin shacks provide a veneer of respectability. However, it is a part of town that has seen better days, especially in comparison to the adjacent areas, which are home to Beirut’s elite and upper class. One key informant explained, “People from Achrafieh call it the slums. But don’t tell that to anyone here, that it is called the slums.” Over time it has gained a negative reputation. A woman who has lived there for a long time said, “I don’t like the fact that when you say ‘Karm’ people think it’s bad. They think of drug abuse and that the children are not good.” Another Lebanese resident said, “My parents didn’t want me to marry my husband [who was from Karm el Zeitoun]. My family was upset because I was living in poor conditions, so they don’t come here. They didn’t even come to my daughter’s wedding. I am upset.”

This has created both a physical and social exclusion of Karm el Zeitoun within the larger area. Those living outside do not enter the neighborhood, as they see it as being lower class than where they live. This negatively affects the economy of the area, which is then solely dependent on it residents, whereas those living in Karm el Zeitoun often leave the area to make purchases and run errands elsewhere. The AUB team working on rehabilitating the stairs also no-ticed this problem. Their original idea was to create a circuit of green and open spaces to attract those from outside into the area, thereby increasing the amount of foot traffic, improving the economic situation of the local merchants, and creating social interactions between residents from Karm el Zeitoun, and those from surrounding neighborhoods. Unfortunately, due to funding restrictions, this was not possible. As alluded to above, there is also social discrimination against those living in the community. Many residents mentioned having had negative

reactions when they told people where they live, because of the misconceptions regarding the area: “Some people from outside say its bad, some don’t care for it. Some people have a negative attitude when people say they are from here.”

Yet the location of the community, next to the prestigious area of Achrafieh, allows the community members to maintain some dignity and respect regarding their situation. Many of those interviewed mentioned living within Achrafieh and the reputation that Achrafieh has, often lumping Karm el Zeitoun into the same category. One Christian woman gave her perceptions about the area, “From his-tory until now, Achrafieh has been known as being the fanciest and richest area.” One of the key informants from AUB had a similar notion: “People in Karm still want to belong to Achrafieh. So they put money towards their priorities, which is belonging, for example, with their clothes.”

This reputation has provided the community with some esteem and honor that is not found in other poor communities. In fact, albeit rightly so, community members do view their situation as being better off than those living in other marginalized areas. When told about the other communities involved in the study, many immediately reacted with sentiments like “Haram …” realizing that their situation was not nearly as dire as that of others. This sentiment has also translated into a desire to remain in the community. Another resident comment-ed, “I don’t want to leave Achrafieh because I was born here and raised here. I would be like a fish out of water. I love it here.” The prosperity of Achrafieh has provided them with increased feelings of importance and stature, perhaps sub-consciously, that allow them to cope with their daily situation and maintain even a small amount of dignity that is lost in other poor communities, despite the fact that those living in Achrafieh proper do not view residents of Karm el Zeitoun as part of their community.

Comments from the community:Varying perceptions of poverty

“I like it here because I was raised here, even if there is poverty here and poor infra-structure. Everything is close. There are schools, hospitals, etc. It is easy to live here. I am in touch with my neighbors but not in their private lives.”

“There is material poverty; there is no money. Some have no furniture; they sleep on the ground.”

“Not all the people are poor. I’m talking about monetary poverty … You can’t say one group is more poor.”

“People here are not very poor, but they are poor. It is like Bourj Hammoud and Naba’a. There is no help here except the stairs … Not all the people are in a bad con-dition. Some people are living in a bad situation. They eat from the garbage. Some people are in a good condition.”

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In comparison to some of its neighboring areas, the human capital in Karm el Zeitoun is quite low, but when analyzed against other impoverished communi-ties across the country the area is doing quite well. Access to education, training, and technology is much more available than in other areas of the country. This is perhaps related to the fact that Karm el Zeitoun is located in an urban setting with educational institutions nearby.

Although the community faces fewer difficulties than others in terms of financial capital, there were still many worries expressed by community mem-bers. Many families mentioned their dependence on remittances; this was espe-cially prevalent among the elderly. Some were concerned about the vulnerability that arises from depending on others for the main portion of their income. Many spoke of the inability to save and create a financial safety net should any shocks arise, which they blamed on increasing prices and unstable employment situa-tions.

At a community level, several social institutions, for example churches and organizations, help where they are able in order to make up for the lack of financial capital. For example, the Armenian Orthodox Church plays a major role in addressing needs and in providing various types of support. The priest at the church explained some of the services they offer to the community: “We help by collecting clothes. We bring food to people two times a year. We can’t do more … There is a family with no money and someone in their family died. We talked to the people in Bourj Hammoud. They gave them the coffin, the car, everything for the funeral.” He continued, demonstrating the social connections within the community, “The church is for all of us, not just the Armenians or locals.”

Yet, even given the changing social fabric of Karm el Zeitoun, in a country like Lebanon the physical presence of religious institutions like a church (or a mosque) defines an area. This creates an unconscious tension between the com-munity defined by the church and those who don’t belong to that community. While there are other churches in Achrafieh that people from Karm el Zeitoun also go to, the Armenian Orthodox Church, which was built during the resettle-ment of the refugees, is the main church within Karm el Zeitoun. One report explained:

“The church is the [primary] religious institution in Karm el Zeitoun, de-spite the multitude of ethnicities and religious backgrounds present. It func-

tions as an icon and signifier of a power structure that is asserted through its presence. It is well taken care of, newly painted and clean, independent ofthe surrounding fabric with space left vacant around it. Aside from its reli-

gious connotations, the church becomes a tool for manipulating the powerstructure in Karm el Zeitoun; it identifies a group of people, the Arme-

nians, and presents them with the right of territoriality and dominance. The function of the church as an object of power becomes more and morecrucial with every newcomer to Karm el Zeitoun; it immediately puts every-

one, non-Armenian Orthodox, in opposition as the ‘other’ to itself, claiming the Armenian body as the ‘identity’ of the place …”38

This along with the fact that it borders Achrafieh identifies Karm el Zeitoun in the eyes of the general public as a Christian area, even though the demographic composition of the community is gradually changing.

To counter the perception that the residents do not belong to the community, the mayor of the area established Morooj al-Mahabba in 2001. It is one of the only organizations with a physical presence in Karm el Zeitoun. The mukhtar of registered the organization with the Hariri Foundation so that it could support people who would normally not be able to receive help from others. One em-ployee explained that the organization is meant to support all of the community members: “The organization doesn’t differentiate between Christians and Mus-lims, either in the dispensary or the organization. We will help all.” However, the basement of the NGO was recently turned into a church, effectively portray-ing it as a Christian organization. This addition may hinder the involvement of Muslims in accessing their services. Another organization present operates a clinic, as explained previously. There also used to be an association for all the women of Karm el Zeitoun, which was not fully explained in the interviews, is not functioning any more.

While the social institutions seemingly work to decrease the tensions found within the community, tensions remain at a political level, though there were few overt signs of political institutions in the community. One Armenian resident commented:

“There are three Armenian parties. If a fight happens, you will side with the Armenians. If it is Lebanese versus Armenians playing basketball, you will cheer for the Armenians. But if there is a fight between two different Armenian political parties, then the groups will fight with each other. It creates conflict.”

Yet, others found that the social ties and relationships within the community were enough to overcome their political differences. One man said, “There is political diversity, but there are no problems because we are all friends. Friends don’t bother with each other’s political parties.” One major issue noted by resi-dents, similar to other poor communities, is that they lack the support of politi-cians, as many do not vote in the area: “People [politicians] come out at election time, but then they don’t care after that.” This problem was also noted by key informants:

“It is one of the poorest areas of Beirut. It has been left out by the government. They get no help. There is no rehabilitation or development … The government doesn’t help much because of politics. There are people from different backgrounds and political parties, so there is no support.”

While these political issues affect most in the community, one group is par-

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ticularly vulnerable due to their voicelessness: the foreign domestic and migrant workers. This is most likely a result of their often illegal status in the country, meaning that they are unable to complain about any maltreatment or abuse to the local authorities. Additionally they are seen by the other residents as a major threat due to their ability to pay higher rents and their perceived delinquencies, effectively isolating them from what could be their greatest asset, the social capi-tal provided by the wider community.

Comments from the community:Dreams and hopes

“I will buy a house outside of this area because here the houses are old.”

“My dream is to work with people that are sad. I want to help people that are poor.

I am poor but that is where my heart is.”

“We are not desperate. We have hope that we will get better.”

“I want to leave but the rents are high in other places …Where do you want me to go?”

“I am happy the children are taking something from me. If they face a similar situ-ation, they will act in the same way. I tell them they can dream and achieve these dreams; they shouldn’t stop dreaming.”

Conclusion

Karm el Zeitoun is a community in transition from being a homogenous middle-class suburb of Beirut to an area that attracts migrant workers because of cheap rents. Many elderly and long-term residents cannot afford to live there any more, while the newer migrants into the area are not looking for community but only a place to sleep while they work to earn the money they need to survive. The result is that very little attention is paid and investment made to maintain the area and upgrade the services available. While initially the community may look quaint, upon close inspection it is obvious that the infrastructure and the quality of housing are dilapidated.

To a notable extent, Karm el Zeitoun might be understood as a microcosm of Lebanon. Each of the current mix of groups in the area, as is the case across Lebanon as a whole, has a label. As a result, Karm el Zeitoun, like Lebanon, is a community that has negotiated the social space within it so that its diverse residents may live side-by-side. The ethnic and religious groups represented in Karm el Zeitoun understand the social rules essential to this and adhere to them, but this understanding does not translate to a high level of support between the different groups. As in Lebanon as a whole, people tend to look to their

own group for support, and relationships of mutual support or charity across groups do not form naturally or easily. Also, as is the case on a national scale, the most recent migration into the community is of domestic workers and other foreign migrants. This group is marginalized and made vulnerable both within the community and the state. A further parallel can be found on the subject of out-migration. Migration out of the community has mostly been of the younger and best-educated generation. They leave in search better jobs prospects. This same demographic is also the most likely to emigrate from Lebanon in quest of more and better opportunities. This younger generation leaves behind it an older one that reminisces and idealizes the pre-Civil War period as a sort of golden age. In Karm el Zeitoun, they talk of a time when the area was covered in olive trees; while in Lebanon, older people talk frequently of Beirut as the Paris of the Middle East and reflect on how life was simpler, greener, and healthier in the past. For an understanding of some of the core dynamics of Lebanese society, a close study of social interaction and perceptions in Karm el Zeitoun, while not exhaustive, is undoubtedly revealing.

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1. A pseudonym 2. In Karm el Zeitoun, and across Lebanon, the descendants of the Armenian refu-

gees are still referred to as Armenian, even though they have been given Lebanese citizenship. In order to distinguish between the different groups in the community, this chapter will also refer to them as Armenians.

3. A pseudonym4. A pseudonym5. In order to be legal in the country, domestic workers should have a valid work

permit, residence permit, and should be living with their employer (sponsor). Some girls may try to arrange freelance work, while finding someone to sponsor them for proper documentation. This situation is still technically illegal, though the laws are not always enforced. Arrangements may vary, but sometimes the girls will pay for their own work permits and residence permits, which, under normal circum-stances, are paid for by their sponsors. See textbox “Migrant domestic workers in Lebanon” for more information.

6. A pseudonym7. (Morlicchio) p. 18. The UN’s operational definition of an urban slum or shantytown is an area that is

a combination of inadequate access to safe water; inadequate access to sanitation and other infrastructure; poor structural quality of housing; overcrowding; and insecure residential status. ( UN-HABITAT, 2007)

9. (Hediger & Lukic, 2009) p. 3010. The newly formed League of Nations founded the refugee office which was later

called the Nansen International Office11. (Hediger & Lukic, 2009) p. 3512. (Hediger & Lukic, 2009) p. 3013. (Hediger & Lukic, 2009) p. 3914. (Hediger & Lukic, 2009) p. 4115. (Bsat, 2003) p. 116. (Karm al-Zaytun Habitations) 17. (Karm al-Zaytun Habitations) 18. (Luca, 2010)19. (Luca, 2010) 20. (Li Monthly, 2002)21. (Luca, 2010)22. (Zawya.com, 2005)23. (Luca, 2010) 24. (UNDP, 1997) 25. “This number does not include those who entered the country illegally, or the ‘il-

legal’ employment of those whose permits have expired and not been renewed, those who are working with only tourist visas, and those who are unemployed.” (Jureidini, 2002) p.1

26. (UNDP, 1997)27. (Jureidini, 2002) p. 228. (Jureidini, 2010) p. 2 29. (Jureidini, 2010) p. 2, (Human Rights Watch, 2010) p. 13, (ILO, 2005)30. (Human Rights Watch, 2010) p. 2031. (International Labour Organization, 2005) p. 832. (Human Rights Watch, 2008) p. 30 and (Human Rights Watch, 2010) p. 1633. (Human Rights Watch, 2010) p. 2434. (Human Rights Watch, 2008)35. Generally this section does not refer to the MDWs as not enough information was

gathered to see any trends among the community.36. Interview with INSAN as quoted in (Ressler, 2008) p. 4037. (Ressler, 2008) p. 4038. (Bsat, 2003) p. 3

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INTRODUCTION 1

Part 3

REFUGEES

IN LEBANON

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MAP OF REFUGEE COMMUNITIES STUDIED

342 343

REFUGEES IN LEBANON

Lebanon is very familiar with refugees and displaced populations. Over its his-tory, the various conflicts and violence that have periodically wracked the coun-try have displaced people within the country and forced many others to become refugees. For example, in 1860, as a result of the conflict between the Druze and the Maronite Christians, thousands of Christians fled to Damascus seeking refuge. A hundred years later during the 15-year Civil War (1975-1990), Leba-non hemorrhaged people looking for peace and security elsewhere.

A Palestinian refugee camp in Beirut

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Lebanon has also hosted refugee populations. In the 1920s there were signifi-cant refugee influxes of Armenians and Syriacs (part of the waves of deporta-tion undertaken by the Ottoman Empire from what was to form modern day Turkey). The largest group today is the Palestinians who were displaced start-ing in 1948. The official number cited by UNRWA of those registered is about 425,000,1 approximately 10 percent of Lebanon’s population, though a recent study sites the number to be closer to 260,000-280,000.2 Besides the Palestinians, UNHCR estimates that there are about 51,000 refugees and asylum seekers in the country.3 The most recent and largest group has been from Iraq. They rep-resent 80 percent of the 9,000 non-Palestinian refugees in Lebanon assisted by UNHCR. Lebanon also serves as the Regional Resettlement Hub that facilitates the resettlement process throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Refugees and asylum seekers from other countries include those from Sudan, Syria, So-malia, and Sierra Leone.

Figure 11.1: 2011 UNHCR planning figures for Lebanon4

Source: UNHCR, “2011 UNHCR country operations profile – Lebanon” (2011)

Lebanon is not a signatory to the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees or its 1967 Protocol, nor does it have legislation or administrative procedures in place to address the specific needs of refugees and asylum-seekers. The protection framework, as a result, is inadequate, and refugees are often at risk of being fined, detained for considerable lengths of time, and deported. Doraï and Clochard commenting on this write:

Type of popula-

tionOrigin

January 2011 December 2011

Total in Country

Of whom assisted by UNHCR

Total in Country

Of whom assisted by UNHCR

Total 31,650 9,950 31,950 9,950

Refugees

Iraq 29,700 8,000 30,000 8,000

Sudan 100 100 100 100

Syrian Arab Rep.

50 50 50 50

Various 150 150 150 150

Asylum-seekers

Iraq 400 400 400 400

Sudan 400 400 400 400

Syrian Arab Rep.

150 150 150 150

Various 700 700 700 700

11REFUGEES IN LEBANON

“As a consequence, asylum seekers and refugees, in the absence of clear legal status, are considered de facto as illegal migrants, whether or not they have entered the Lebanese territory illegally, which is the case for a majority of them. Thus, the classical distinction carried out between asylum seekers,refugees, economic migrants and illegal migrants … [does] not fit migra-

tion patterns accounted for in Lebanon since the beginning of the 1990s.”5

An alley in a Palestinian refugee camp

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The Lebanese legal framework is inadequate with regards to refugees. The term “refugee” in Lebanese law only appears coupled with the word “Palestin-ian” and in the law of 10 July 1962, which regulates entry to, residence in, and exit out of Lebanon. Within Part 8 (Articles 26-31) is the definition for political asylum: “Any foreigner, subject to a prosecution or sentenced for a political of-fence by an authority other than Lebanese, or whose life or freedom are threat-ened for political reasons, can claim to be granted the political asylum” (unof-ficial translation).6 The commission that determines whether political asylum is given or not, is also the authority for granting refugee status, and considers only specific cases and claims of particular individuals. This commission is chaired by the Minister of the Interior and includes senior officials from the Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Directorate General of the General Security in Lebanon.

However, Lebanon has signed the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which states in Article 14 that “Facing persecution, any person has the right to seek asylum and to profit from asylum in other countries.” Lebanon is also a signatory to the 1984 Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, which states in Article 3 that “No State Party shall expel, turn back or extradite a person to another State where there are substantial grounds for believing that he would be in danger of being subjected to torture.” These were transposed by Law no.185 of 24 May 2000 into Lebanese Law. In addition, the preamble of the Lebanese Constitu-tion states, “[Lebanon] is a founding and active member of the League of Arab States; it is accountable for its treaties; it is also a founding and active member of the United Nations Organization, accountable for its treaties and for the Uni-versal Declaration of Human Rights. The State implements its principles in all fields and domains with no exception” (unofficial translation).7

In 2003 Lebanon clarified its status. In a memorandum signed between UNHCR and the Lebanese Directorate General of the General Security, it specified the role of UNHCR within the country. While stating that it is not a signatory to the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees or its 1967 Protocol, it says:

“Whereas Lebanon does not consider itself as an asylum country due to several social economic and demographic considerations, in addition to the problem posed by the presence of the Palestinian refugee population on itsterritory;

“Whereas Lebanon is not an asylum country and the only viable durablesolution for refugees recognized under the mandate of UNHCR is the resettlement in a third country, the term ‘asylum seeker’ shall mean, for the purpose of this Memorandum, ‘a person seeking asylum in a country other than Lebanon.’”8

Since Lebanon is not to be considered an asylum country but only a transit coun-try, the following process was instituted:

“… refugees are allowed to claim asylum at the regional office of the UN-HCR during a period of two months following their entry on the Leba-

nese territory. If they are granted the status of refugees, they register at the General Security. A temporary residence permit is then issued and given to them. Refugees acknowledged by the UNHCR since the signature of thememorandum are given a six-month residence permit, awaiting the resettle-

ment in a third country.”9

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1. (UNRWA) (a)2. (Chaaban, et al.) p. 243. (UNHCR, 2011)4. The figures for refugees from Syria are from before the 2011 crisis in Syria.

Since the onset of the crisis a significant number of people have crossed into Lebanon, some staying for short periods while others have stayed longer. There has been much debate as to whether they should be categorized as refugees.

5. (Doraï and Clochard) p. 1-26. (Doraï and Clochard) p. 37. (Doraï and Clochard) p. 48. (Doraï and Clochard) p. 59. (Doraï and Clochard) p. 5

EL BUSS and JAL EL BAHR

Palestinian refugee communities, Tyre

El Buss is one of the 12 official UNRWA camps in Lebanon, while Jal el Bahr is one of at least 39 unofficial settlements of Palestinians, often known as “gatherings.” There is a lot that is similar in the stories of these two communities and their history of seeking refuge, but they are in many ways very different. The main differences pertain to matters of security of land tenure and access to services. The following chapter tells the stories of two communities; they are not completely distinct stories, there is much overlap, and for this reason the chapter should be read as a whole in order to more fully comprehend the situation that the Palestinian refugee population in Lebanon faces today.

History: memories and seeking refuge

Memories are often all that refugees, who have lost everything else, have. Over time, the narrative gradually changes from the harsh realities of daily life in Palestine to a sense of a past that was good and secure, a past that seems idyllic. Yet hidden in those memories is a history that is processed subconsciously in the context of exile to produce a collective diasporic memory. The Palestinian camps, being places where refugees continue to live without being able to resolve the individual and collective traumas of the past, have become repositories of collective memory. These diasporic memories are important as they ensure the survival of the Palestinians as a people.

350 351

Rosemary Sayigh, an anthropologist and oral historian, sorts through the memo-ries and history, and writes:

“‘We lived in Paradise’: this remark, so often heard from older Palestiniansin the refugee camps, would be dismissed by many as mere sentimental-

ity. It is true that these dispossessed peasants have recalled their homes in Palestine from a present so bleak that their poverty and class oppression there tend to be blurred. But there is truth in their view of peasant life asgood, for, in spite of poverty, ‘our land provided us with all our needs.’ Vil-

lage and clan solidarity formed a warm, strong, stable environment for the individual, a sense of rootedness and belonging. The proof of the strength of peasant social relations is that they survived in dispersion and helped Palestinians themselves to survive.”1

There is a lot of controversy about what kind of life Palestinians had before they left Palestine. As Sayigh writes, “Zionists exaggerated both the ‘backward-ness’ of Palestine’s peasants and the potentialities of the land under their own management.”2 This is not to deny the fact that life was difficult in the rural areas and that poverty was real. Sayigh continues:

“The causes of poverty of the fellaheen of Palestine were similar to those of other Middle Eastern peasantries, and can be grouped into three main categories: (i) difficult climatic and soil conditions; (ii) class subordination; (iii) absence of a positive state contribution.”3

However, many known Palestinian researchers point out the fact that most families were self-sustaining; elders remember their family lands being fertile and plentiful, producing the most delicious fruits they had ever tasted. Veteran jour-nalist, Robert Fisk quotes a woman’s memories from her life in Palestine before coming to Lebanon:

“I come from a village called Um Al-Farajh. It was in northern Galilee. My family had three houses in the village. We used to make olive oil to sell to the other villages around. We grew wheat and made flour. My husband was Mustafa Zamzam and we had three orchards – two with olives and one with citrus. We even grew grapes on the side of our houses. We had all kinds of fruit – we had everything.”4

This sense of connectedness to the land and the ability to provide for them-selves were not the only capacities that Palestinians had. Villages were tight-knit communities that supported each other in times of need. Often villagers lived side by side with people from other religions without any problems. Fisk continues:

“She said it never occurred to her or her husband that her village would be harmed or its people endangered. ‘We used to visit Jewish people,’ she said. ‘There was never any problem. We took our sick people to a Jewish doctor …’”5

However, as the nascent Israeli state sought to consolidate its power and

identity in 1948, Palestinians were forced to flee from their lands in search of safety. Many thought they would be returning within a few days, or, at the most, a few weeks. Most families brought their house keys with them. They locked the doors to their houses and left behind all of their money and valuables, as they were so sure of their return. Yet, this fateful time was the catalyst for the current situation that Palestinians in Lebanon face: utter poverty, lack of human rights, and lack of the support necessary for them to change their situation.

Mohammad was 14 when he was forced to leave Palestine following the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. He, along with an estimated 140,000 other Palestinians, crossed the northern border into Lebanon. The Palestinians who fled to Leba-non were mostly from the northern areas of the country, such as Upper Galilee. Other Palestinians sought refuge in Syria and Jordan.6 Mohammad clearly re-members leaving his homeland:

“They told me that it would only be 10 or 15 days, and then we would be able to come back. They told all of the children and women to leave until a settlement could be reached. The men came later. We took a truck; the truck was full of clothes. The kids were sitting on top of the clothes and we were laughing and so happy. We were excited to be going to Lebanon, because Lebanon was known for tourism. We were excited to see a new country. We heard so much about Lebanon from the people that used tocome to Palestine to work. But all of our mothers were crying.”

Mohammad is now 76 and living in the el Buss7 camp, one of the 12 official UNRWA refugee camps in Lebanon. He has since had five children and a suc-cessful career as a photographer, but his memories of his childhood are no less vivid than they were at the time he left.

“At first we went to Qana [a village in south Lebanon] because we had friends there. They used to come and work in Palestine. They helped us to get a house. I was the youngest. My two older brothers were going to work in Tyre. About two or three months later we came to el Buss. ”

Like many other Palestinians at the time, upon arrival Mohammad’s family found temporary shelter in the homes of the Lebanese, in tents, or in rented apartments.8 Families were often forced to move around many times, before finally settling in one location. Most often, families from the same villages tried to find accommodation and shelter in the same areas, allowing family ties and community bonds to persist, recreating their social support network in the time of crisis.

Under the French Mandate el Buss was originally established as a camp for the Armenians in 1939. Some of the buildings in el Buss were constructed for this population, but as the Armenians left, Palestinian families arrived and occupied these houses in the early 1950s.9 These existing structures, enabled some of the refugees to move into buildings right away, unlike in other camps where all of the early inhabitants started out living in tents. Over time those that

12EL BUSS and JAL EL BAHR

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did start out in tents in el Buss moved into basic cement-block houses with cor-rugated aluminum roofs. One of the men from a political organization in el Buss explained the early situation: “Before there were Armenians here. This room [where the interview took place] was from the Armenian time. They came here before the Palestinians came here. El Buss and Rashadieh were the first camps built.” Another elderly man, who also came from Palestine, remembers, “We ar-rived in Tyre. There were Armenians here, but they got the citizenship, and so we went and stayed in the houses of the Armenians who left. Some people didn’t have houses so UNRWA gave them help [tents]”

Mohammad continued:

“When we arrived [in el Buss] we started going to school in a church, with the Red Crescent from Dubai. There were only three teachers, two men and one woman. They were teaching us everything. There were classes until about grade 7. And then other organizations came and took over. At this time we started getting help from many organizations, and that’s when the older people started realizing that they had lost their land and they had tostay here.”

Another resident of el Buss also explained the feeling among the newly arrived refugees that their time in Lebanon would be temporary; all of them believed they would be returning shortly: “Most of the people still had their keys from Palestine with them. [When we left] my father asked why we didn’t leave more food there, so we would have it when we went back.”

The international community realized that a humanitarian crisis was grow-ing, and the situation was not about to be resolved any time soon. As a result, the United Nations General Assembly established the United Nations Relief and Works Agency in the Near East (UNRWA) to provide relief for the hundreds of thousands of Palestinian refugees who had been forced to leave their home-land.10 (See textbox “UNRWA” for more information).

Like many others, Mohammad’s education was disrupted and eventually ter-minated due to the consequences of leaving Palestine:

“When UNRWA came they were only providing an elementary school. When you wanted to go to the next level there were Evangelists that had started a school in the camp, for about another two years. So you had tochange schools very often because not all of the schools had all of the classes. It was at this time I realized that we had no money. When I would ask my parents or brothers for money for books, they would tell me that there wasn’t any. They wanted me to continue with school but I dropped out and started working as a fisherman with my brothers at night. Then I startedworking in the electrical field, and then I was employed in a shop for electri-cal appliances.”

Another elderly man experienced a similar situation:

“I was in grade 4 when I left Palestine. Then I stopped getting an education once I got here. Some people continued studying. Some people got the

chance to continue studying. A lot of it depended on their economic situa-tion. But I can still read and write.”

While Mohammad tells his own life story, he inadvertently intertwines the developments and progressions of the complicated political situation that punc-tuated it – a testament to how much the politics of the time affected everyone, even those who did not want to be involved. According to an ICG report, “In the early stages, refugees took a low profile and steered clear of political activ-ism.”11 There was growing tension between the Maronite Christians, who were still the most prominent group in the country at the time, and the Muslims, who were growing in number and political strength. For this reason, strict mea-sures were imposed on Palestinians in Lebanon to stem the degree of political sway the predominantly Sunni refugee population might amass. They were pro-hibited from forming gatherings of more than two people; they needed special permits to move around the country; and they were not allowed to read news-papers or listen to the radio in public spaces.12 One of the elderly camp resident remembers:

“We have never had any comfortable times since coming here. When we first came we had some rooms here because of the Armenians. But most people were not lucky and they lived in zinco houses and tents. Then they built their houses. From a security perspective, the Lebanese officers would fine us if we threw water on the ground [as the the roads in the camp weresandy, unpaved paths the water and sand mixed to create mud, which dirt-

ied the officers who were patrolling the area]. We needed a permit to go to Saida. You could get a fine for being outside after 9 p.m., even if you were just with your neighbor. We were being strangled, and things didn’t get anybetter.”

However, even with these measures, the refugees eventually became involved in political life. Mohammad explains:

“The young people went and joined the political parties. One day they were with one, and one day they were with another. It was according to their ideas. Then there were the losses in 195613 and 1967,14 and then the PLO [Palestine Liberation Organization] party came [to Lebanon].15 While this was happening, I left my job in the shop, bought a camera, and started working as a photographer. I started going to people’s houses and takingpictures of their kids for a quarter of a lira. In 1959 I got married.”

Like other Palestinians at the time, Mohammad was able to travel abroad, something which became much more difficult as time went on.

“The first time I went to Libya was in 1965 with my kids and wife, because there were many incidents in Lebanon that would have affected my children’s education. I remembered that my parents wanted me to get an education and I wanted the same for my kids. In 1965 we went, and they started studying right away.”


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Mohammad noted that his family moved back and forth between Libya and Lebanon several times: “We went each time because of the war in Lebanon, because I wanted my kids to get an education.” At that time it was easier for Pal-estinians to get permission to travel; some also took refuge in the Gulf countries and some in various European countries. These travels from Lebanon were a continuation of their “forced migrations.” It was their way of coping with their increasingly difficult situation after being expelled from their homeland. As ex-plained by Mohamad Kamel Doraï, an expert in Palestinian emigration issues, “… civil war, economic difficulties, and legal discrimination have led them to emigrate from Lebanon to find work, asylum, and a stable juridical status …”16

On 13 April 1975 the 15-year Lebanese Civil War began. One of the trig-gering events was the killing of over 20 Palestinian civilians on a bus. The hard-ships facing the Palestinians increased as the Civil War progressed. Many groups targeted the Palestinians, believing that they were responsible for both the war’s outbreak and its intensification. During the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, much of the PLO infrastructure, as well as some of the camps, was destroyed. It was at this time that the PLO leadership was finally forced to leave and Palestin-ians in Lebanon were by-and-large left without any form of protection.17

Mohammad explained that around this time he was able to “buy” his eldest son a scholarship that would allow him to study in Russia. In 1982, the family was facing financial difficulties, so two of the sons also started working as pho-tographers in order to fund their own education. Eventually, the younger sons were able to start university in Lebanon. Mohammad’s sons continued studying until fighting broke out between Amal18 and the Palestinians (in a conflict which became known as the “war of the camps”), during which his sons were all im-prisoned. Some of the sieges of the camps lasted for months. Most Palestinians remember this as a particularly brutal time. They were not allowed to leave or enter the camps; they often ran out of food and water; and thousands were in-jured and killed. One elderly man remembers:

“From the first day they took all of the boys above 18 years old to prison. I was 16 and I got beaten. There was no military here to protect us, so they came in easily. It was a hate against Palestinians. It was not a religious hate. It wasn’t Sunni vs. Shiite. They burned people in their houses and many people were killed.”

However, quite surprisingly given these horrific accounts, el Buss seems to have been less affected than the other camps. One local NGO worker in el Buss explained:

“From 1948 to 1982 we were ‘far’ from the wars. It was a peaceful camp. We got influenced by the war, but less than other camps. Even in the war with Amal all of the camps were badly affected except this one, because it was more peaceful. This was because Amal could enter the camp quickly because there were no warriors or resistance, so it ended pretty fast.”

Similarly the UNRWA website states, “Because of its relatively small size and lo-cation, the camp was spared much of the violence that other camps experienced throughout the Lebanese Civil War.”19

Once the camp wars ended and his sons were released, Mohammad applied to work once again in Libya, and eventually brought his family there. However, his youngest son, who had just finished high school, was not able to start univer-sity there because he needed wasta. Mohammad had also heard that there were now more job opportunities in Lebanon, and, for these reasons, they decided to return. During this time, his eldest son, who completed his studies in Russia, had returned to Lebanon with his new wife. While Mohammad’s family was return-ing from Libya by boat, Mohammad received bad news: a woman onboard told him, “Don’t worry, your son is fine; it was only your house that was bombed.” As this was the first Mohammad had heard of this, he was deeply affected:

“I didn’t believe her. I thought he was dead. I didn’t tell my wife. I wanted to wait and see. Then we got stuck in Syria because there were problems with our papers because we were refugees. We had to stay there for one extra day. [Upon arriving in the camp] we saw that the house was bombed, but our son greeted us and he was OK. There was nothing wrong with him. But thewhole trip was very stressful for me.”

After this, Mohammad’s family was lucky as most of his sons were able to complete their studies and find work. Mohammad restarted his photography business, and started filming weddings. He is very proud of his career as a pho-tographer and of his successful adjustment during the difficult transition period to digital cameras and computers.

In many ways, Mohammad’s life is similar to that of other Palestinians after they left Palestine. Families moved around and between different villages, camps, and sometimes countries – if they were lucky. Education had always been of the utmost importance to most families in Palestine, and the refugees struggled to continue providing their children with even basic schooling; although for many, such as Mohammad himself, their education was interrupted and they were never able to continue. The main income earners made every effort to continue providing for their families, often being forced to switch jobs numerous times, depending on the situation in the country. Life for the Palestinians during this time was one of adaptation and survival; everything they had known had been lost, and they remained marginalized in Lebanon due to the camp wars and as-sorted other problems.

The story of the Palestinians is one of victimhood, yet for many in Lebanon they are also seen as perpetrators who brought strife and multiple Israeli inva-sions. Even though the refugee population has been relatively powerless since the PLO leadership was driven out in 1982, it continues to be perceived as a threat to Lebanon’s security and delicate sectarian balance. Consequently, the group remains actively marginalized by the state.


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Palestinians in Lebanon today

Estimates as to the current number of Palestinian refugees residing in Lebanon vary. Official UNRWA statistics have cited over 400,000; however, this figure reflects the number of Palestinians registered with UNRWA.20 For example, it does not take into consideration the large number of Palestinians who have mi-grated. A recent study published by the American University of Beirut (AUB) and UNRWA cites a significantly smaller population: 260,000-280,000.21 How-ever, one thing is certain, the Palestinian refugees who fled the 1948 fighting, and their descendants now form “one of the world’s most long-established refugee populations.”22

According to the AUB–UNRWA study, 53 percent of the refugees are female and over 50 percent are under the age of 25. It also found that there is an average household size of 4.5 members (approximately 2.5 children),23 yet the interviews conducted for this study revealed much larger family sizes. Many stated that in previous generations, families had up to 12 children, with an average-sized family being around eight children. Parents noted the increased financial strain that comes with having a large family and commented that most couples are now only having around four children in order to cope with these financial difficulties.

It is estimated that 62 percent of the refugees currently residing in Leba-non live in one of the 12 official UNRWA camps located around the country.24

UNRWA rented the plots of land on which the camps are located on 99-year leases. While initially 15 camps were established, three were destroyed during the Civil War and never rebuilt.25 There are five camps located in the south of the

A street in el Buss camp

country. Ein el Hilweh and Mieh Mieh are located in and around Saida. Bourj el Shemali, Rashidieh, and el Buss are in Tyre and the surrounding areas. The other camps are Bourj el Barajneh, Shatila, Mar Elias, and Dbayeh (all located in and around Beirut), Nahr el Bared and Beddawi (in the north), and Wavel, also known as Jalil, (in the Bekaa Valley).26

Palestinians in Lebanon fall into three categories in terms of their status within the country:

• Registered: These refugees are registered with both UNRWA and the Lebanese government. They have access to all UNRWA ser-vices, regardless of whether they live in official camps or not. Most Palestinians in Lebanon fall into this category.27

• Non-Registered: These refugees are not registered with UNRWA, but they are registered with the Lebanese government. This could have taken place for a variety of reasons, such as having left Pales-tine after 1948. Additionally, gender discrimination inherent in both Lebanon and UNRWA means that a registered woman who marries an unregistered man will lose her status and not be able to pass it on to their children.28 Originally non-registered Palestinians were not able to access services from UNRWA, but in 2004 UNRWA changed this policy and they are now able to access all of the same services as those who are registered. It is estimated that there are about 35,000 refugees that fall into this category.29

• Non-Identified/Non-Documented: These refugees are not reg-istered with any agency or with the Lebanese government. They have no identification documents and have a harder time accessing employment opportunities, educational and health services, and as-sistance from organizations. They are even at risk of arrest if they leave the camp.30 There are an estimated 3,500 non-identified refu-gees in Lebanon.31


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UNRWA

In December 1949, the United Nations created a new body, the United Nations Re-lief and Works Agency in the Near East, to provide aid for over 700,000 people who had fled the 1948 Arab-Israeli conflict, namely Palestine refugees. Shortly thereaf-ter, the UN also created the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) with the objective of helping the refugees from World War II. It has since been mandated to help refugees worldwide.32 When UNRWA began operations in May 1950, it was only expected to be a temporary agency. However, the UN General Assembly has repeatedly renewed UNRWA’s mandate: “The im-portance of its unimpeded operation and its provision of services for the well-being and human development of the Palestine refugees and for the stability of the re-gion.”33

While UNRWA was never mandated to define the Palestinian refugee status, its operational definition has had a large impact on this population; it often provides the only international recognition of their refugee status.34 UNRWA’s working defi-nition of Palestinian refugees is: “People whose normal place of residence was Pal-estine between June 1946 and May 1948, who lost both their homes and means of livelihoods as a result of the 1948 Arab-Israel conflict.”35 This definition is limiting for several reasons. First of all, it does not include those refugees who fled the 1967 Arab-Israel War36 (although most of the refugees in Lebanon are “1948 refugees”). Additionally, those who left earlier or later, such as in 1936 (the time of a major Palestinian revolt) or after 1948, are also excluded.37 UNRWA itself notes that this definition is “less than comprehensive,”38 and a study focusing on the legal and practical gaps in the definitions of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon found numer-ous examples of refugees who fell into one of these categories. While technically UNHCR has a mandate to include Palestinian refugees if UNRWA assistance is lost, this does not occur in the Middle East, where there is a division of labor; in short, UNHCR does not service Palestinians in UNRWA countries.39 The right to protection was not included in UNRWA’s original mandate, though it was included in the mandate of UNHCR. A further complicating factor is that the UNRWA definition does not technically include the descendants of the original refugees, although in practice these descendants are usually provided with services, as long as they are living in one of the five fields40 of UNRWA operations.41

Worldwide, there are over 4.3 million Palestine refugees, although only one-third continues to live in designated UNRWA camps. Some have moved into the surrounding cities, and others have emigrated.42 Regardless of whether the refu-gees live in camps, if they are registered with UNRWA they are eligible for ser-vices within the areas of operation. UNRWA operates schools, vocational training centers, primary health care facilities, women’s centers, and rehabilitation centers. UNRWA also provides special assistance, (see textbox UNRWA Special Hardship Assistance Program) such as food aid, to those who are particularly vulnerable.43 However, due to landownership issues, UNRWA is not always able to provide as-sistance with infrastructural issues.44

Profile of el Buss refugee camp

El Buss has become part of the urban sprawl of Tyre; there is little to distin-guish it from the neighboring areas. It is located near the corniche by the sea, next to a busy roundabout, which acts as the transportation hub for buses going north. The main entrance and exit are controlled by army checkpoints; however, there are many small alleys leading from the main streets of Tyre into the maze that is the camp. The UNRWA website estimates that there are 9,500 registered refugees in the camp, and most residents agree with this figure. The camp is ap-proximately 1 square kilometer in size, and although it is a labyrinth of tiny alleys crisscrossing each other haphazardly, it is much less crowded and daunting than some of the other camps across the country. Even so, residents still feel that it is overcrowded. For most of the camps, the physical area allocated to the refugees has not increased since the original rental agreement, yet the populations are often at least four times as large as they were originally. One woman described the evolution of the camp and its population:

“Before it was larger [more spacious]. Cars could go down the streets. Now it is more crowded. People are building next to each other. People came from Nahr el Bared during the 2007 war. They lived in stores because there was nowhere else to go. Some are still here. There are also Syrians here now. They are in all of the camps, not just here … Now there is no place to rentbecause there is no space and it is too expensive.”

There are a few main streets running through el Buss. Located on these streets are some larger buildings, including NGOs, schools, and shops. There are three schools and five kindergartens in el Buss. UNRWA operates a clinic and other NGOs offer various health services, such as helping children with dis-abilities. There is a fairly large presence of aid and development organizations in el Buss, as in many of the other camps around Lebanon. Some have offices and centers inside el Buss. It may seem that the community is fortunate to have so much support, but some community members view it differently. One man associated with a political party explained:

“The organizations [NGOs], hospitals, and schools are taking up half of the area in the camp. So if residents want to build houses, they have to build on top of old houses, which were not well-built in the first place.”

El Buss is unique among Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon in that there are two non-Palestinian spaces located within its boundaries. There is a Leba-nese public hospital, which is used mostly by the Lebanese, especially those in the military. This was constructed before the Palestinians arrived.45 One man stated, “The public hospital was built before 1948. We know because we saw that the hospital is built from rocks from Palestine.” The other building is a Maronite church that is used by Palestinians and Lebanese alike.

Upon arriving in el Buss, both Christian and Muslim Palestinians settled


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within the camp’s boundaries. There have been relatively few major issues be-tween these two communities. One NGO worker stated:

“There are [now] about 15 houses of Palestinian Christians. There are good relationships between the different groups. They greet each other. It is because they have been here for so long. They are well included in the society.”

Most noted that the size of the Christian population living in the camp has decreased over time. One man from a political organization said:

“Some Christian Palestinians left the camp to find jobs. They went to other areas to work. It is sad to say this, but they got the Lebanese citizenship because the Maronites used to rule the country. So they could work outside the camp and they left. It used to be about 40 percent Christian, but now there are only a few families left.”

Recently, other nationalities have been moving into the camps. People noted the increased presence of Syrians, Iraqis, and Jordanians living within the camp’s boundaries. This is most likely due to the cheaper housing available within the camp compared to the other areas of Tyre. Immigration does not yet seem to be a major issue as most feel that the groups are still very much the minority.

Palestinians still occupy the old Armenian houses and the houses they origi-nally built. The only things that have changed are the roofs, which were originally corrugated metal. As the population grew, eventually there was nowhere else to build, forcing residents to start building upwards. Children started to build their familial homes on top of the houses of their parents: “It [the camp] is the same area, but the population is increasing. So now, if someone wants to get married, they have to build on the roof or live with their parents, so it is very crowded.”

Over time the houses have fallen into disrepair. The main reason for this was the building restrictions placed on the community by the Lebanese government and enforced by the army. For years the camp’s residents were unable to bring in building materials in order to make even simple restorations. Recently the army began allowing building materials to be brought into the camp; however, a permit is still needed. A man working for a political organization said:

“Now you need to get a permit to build from the Lebanese army, and then they allow you to build. Before, it was very hard. We used to smuggle in the building materials during the night. You would get a truck and hide all of the material in bags. You had to pay double – once for the building material and once to bribe the driver of the truck for bringing it in [because it was illegal]. The driver would take a lot of money because he was risking goingto prison. This changed two years ago because of pressure from organizations and the population.”

One key informant described the effect this has had on the housing:

“There are about 200 houses that are not livable. They are very old. It is not even healthy to live in them. It is a small room that is not that tall, with

ancient windows – so there is no ventilation. And the ceiling is zinco so it letsthe water in.”

As with many other communities in Lebanon, the average family size is de-creasing. In previous generations it was not uncommon to find families of 10 or 12 children. Most reported that couples are currently having fewer children, usually between four and six. One man stated:

“The size of the family has decreased because of family planning and awareness, but also because of economic reasons. Before there were around 11 children [in a family], and now there are between four and six. People care more about education than before.”

Another woman explained the same trend: “It is also because of the salaries. If you have four kids you can’t afford to buy everything.” As mentioned earlier, the AUB–UNRWA study found that the average household size for Palestinians is 4.5 members; however, information collected during the interviews in el Buss seems to indicate that the average family size is larger than this; the average number of children in the families interviewed was five.


A street in el Buss camp

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Mobility and migration

The original residents of the camp moved around south Lebanon, squatting in small villages and searching for any available accommodation, prior to settling in el Buss permanently. Most of the families currently living in the camp can trace their presence in el Buss to relatives who were among the original residents. Only a few of the families living there now moved to el Buss after the original mass settlement. They arrived around 20 years ago, when housing was still available. Some had been living in villages around the south but desired to live in the camp in order to access UNRWA services more easily, especially educational services for their children. One woman explained, “We got married in 1987. We used to live in Adnune [an area to the north of the camp], but we came here to be able to send our children to the UNRWA schools.”

For decades Muslim and Christian families lived side by side, but over time, many of the Christian families left. The Lebanese government provided some with citizenship, in an apparent effort to compensate for the many Lebanese Christians who were migrating abroad. Julie M. Peteet acknowledges this in a Le Monde Diplomatic article:

“… in a demographic attempt to bolster the Christian population, the Lebanese Government made available Lebanese citizenship to PalestinianChristians. As a consequence, the Palestinian refugee population was con-

stituted as nearly all Muslim.”46

Others left in search of work. One member of the Christian community said, “Before the majority used to be Christian but they left to work. They went to Beirut. Some got the Lebanese citizenship, but not all of them.” Most of the Muslim families have remained in the camp since establishing themselves there. Out of fear for their safety, a few families left for other areas around Lebanon during the Civil War and at other times of conflict, but most returned when the situation improved. One elderly woman explained, “During the war with Amal, I went to live in Tyre for three days. But then I left because I couldn’t stand the life there. I came back to my house here.” While the houses may be rundown and the main desire is still to return to Palestine, some see the camp as their home and feel more comfortable there than in other areas.

Unlike other camps that are more isolated, the city of Tyre has expanded so that, other than the army checkpoint at the main entrance and exit, el Buss is now physically integrated with the city. However, this proximity does not neces-sarily lead to social integration and facility of movement. While, many of the men work outside the camp out of necessity, women, who most often stay at home raising the children, have less contact with the communities outside of the camp’s boundaries. One woman said:

“Usually, we don’t go very far out of the camp. Even though my parents live in Saida, we don’t go there unless there is an occasion, like a wedding,

death, or sickness. Sometimes during holidays we go to Tyre. My husband takes us out. But usually we stay in the camp.”

As basic services are available inside the boundaries and most items can be purchased locally, there is often little reason for the women to leave. Some fear discrimination, as many Lebanese continue to view Palestinians as a source of problems and conflict within an already volatile country.

In terms of Palestinian migration abroad, Mohamad Kamel Doraï describes three cases:

“(1) labor migration in the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s, (2) asylum seekers looking for safety in a third country, which took place between the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon and the war of the camps (1985-87), and (3) illegal ‘refugee migrants’ to Europe seeking both asylum and a better economic situation, which began in the early 1990s.”47

In el Buss, a few residents left Lebanon to study or work during the Civil War, when it was easier for Palestinians to obtain visas and travel permits. One man said, “I was born in the camp. I lived all of my childhood here. I went to the Soviet Union for university. I studied electrical engineering.” Normally the refugees would have to return to Lebanon when their study permits expired. Over time migration became more and more difficult for all Palestinian refugees, but especially for those from Lebanon. The camp residents blame Lebanon’s constantly changing regulations regarding Palestinian travel for other countries’ unwillingness to provide them with visas. According to one key informant, in 1978 Lebanon modified a law and required any Palestinian traveling abroad to have a Lebanese visa for their return to the country. However, at this time many Palestinians were already overseas and were unable to get the newly required visa. This effectively blocked their return to their country of residence. This problem lasted for a few years before the law was finally altered and the refugees were allowed to return. Since this time, other countries have been less willing to accept Palestinian migration from Lebanon. One man explained how this has affected Palestinians’ work prospects: “I got many chances to go to work in Arab countries, but there are problems with the visa because we are Palestinians from Lebanon. But Palestinians from other countries can go.”

During the Civil War, others were fortunate (often those with higher levels of education) and were able to emigrate permanently. One man said, “I have two brothers in Canada and one in America. They studied dentistry, photography, and physics.” These family members frequently come back to visit their rela-tives in the camp. These individuals are extremely important to the refugees in Lebanon, as they often provide much-needed financial assistance to their family members who remain in the camps.

The relatively relaxed immigration policies of the Civil War era for the refu-gees were short-lived, as Mohamad Kamel Doraï explains: “Towards the end of the 1980s the European countries closed their boundaries to asylum seekers.”48


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Yet, emigrating remains a dream for many as they believe that this will solve some of their problems: they will be able to work and earn a decent living, they believe they will no longer be discriminated against, and, by having another passport, they will even be able to travel back to their homeland. One elderly man said:

“I prefer to live outside [Lebanon]. At least I would have another citizenship and that would allow me to go back to my country of origin. In Canada Iwould be a stranger. In Lebanon I am also a stranger. But here I am perse-cuted. I have no rights.”

The emigration process has become next to impossible in recent times, lead-ing many refugees, especially young men, to try and reach Europe illegally. One woman explained her son’s situation: “My son went to Germany. He spent one and a half months going to countries illegally and he even got arrested. But then he got there. He has only been there for one month, so he is trying to get to know people and learn the language.” The process is very difficult, expensive, and is not guaranteed to work:

“The boys go with someone who offers to take them for $7,000. For example, they might go through Turkey and Greece. But once they arrive in Greece the person wants more money from them, and he starts to make problems. Usually the boys don’t have any more money to give him, so they come back. But sometimes they continue until they get there [to their destination]. Sometimes they come back by the same route. If they have no money and nothing to eat, they will go to the government in Greece, andthe government will send them back.”

Even though the Palestinians have been in Lebanon for 63 years, their desire to return to their homeland is just as passionate and prevalent as ever. One man from a political party said, “Palestinians consider themselves as guests here. We don’t want to stay, we want to go back.” Another woman stated, “If they told us we could go back to our own country, we would because here we are refugees and no one cares about us. This is not our country.”

Livelihoods

Like other poor communities across the country, many residents noted that there is a lack of employment opportunities, and they feel that this is a direct cause of the poor economic situation in which they are living. Unlike other populations, Palestinians are prohibited from working in many professions (see textbox “Pal-estinians and the right to work”), which has a strong negative impact on their ability to improve their own situation. One man explained, “The main prob-lem here is unemployment, which creates other problems. For example, there is a small problem with drugs, which is related to unemployment. And health problems are also related to unemployment.” Many of those interviewed were

currently unemployed, or underemployed, and looking for work. The recent AUB–UNRWA study found that only 37 percent of the working age popula-tion is currently employed, which, by international standards, is considered very low.49

Figure 12.1: Percentage breakdown by occupation of those employed50

Source: AUB–UNRWA: Socio-Economic Survey of Palestinian Refugees in Lebanon (2010) p. 9

The men who do have jobs most often work in trades or in agriculture. Some work as mechanics, painters, electricians, carpenters, pesticide sprayers, or in the orange plantations. These jobs are most often seasonal, and as a result, many of the men are unemployed during the winter months. One painter spoke of his work:

“Painting is a good job. But it is not always stable. In the winter you only work when there are leaks in the walls and then they want to paint them. In the winter no one wants their houses painted because you have to put all of the furniture outside [in the rain], so there is less work.”

The AUB–UNRWA study noted that of all of the employed population in the Tyre area, almost a quarter work in agriculture.51

Women sometimes complete higher levels of education, as well as techni-cal training, which provides them with job opportunities, such as in teaching or as teaching assistants, laboratory technicians, secretaries, or hairdressers.

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El Buss Camp 4% 13% 13% 48% 22%

Jal el Bahr 0% 4% 17% 50% 29%

Total11% 5% 15% 46% 23%


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Young Palestinian women work in these types of jobs, usually for NGOs and services in the camp. After marriage, most, but not all women, stop working. AUB – UNRWA reported that only 13 percent of women between the ages of 15 to 65 were employed; however, they are often employed in higher status oc-cupations. Women are more likely than men to be employed in the health and education sectors.52

As mentioned, some, but not many, women continue to work after mar-riage. This generally only occurs if their husbands cannot find jobs. Historically, women have not normally worked outside of the home and are most often in charge of all of the household activities and child rearing. In Islam, these activi-ties have been given just as much importance as the men’s duty working outside the home; they are seen as being complementary roles necessary for the family unit to function. However, as the labor market has become more discriminatory towards men (see the following paragraph), some women have picked up the slack and become the main breadwinners in their homes. This is affecting the family dynamics in some households as the men have lost their traditional roles as providers for their families, and women are filling two roles. One man spoke of his desire to fulfill this traditional role: “If you ask any guy what his dream is, it is to travel and go work outside. Because here there is no employment.”

One significant factor impacting the job market for Palestinian men is the arrival of Syrian migrant workers who are available for similar employment. Syrian men most often come alone and live in shared accommodation, or even in tents, in order to save money. This allows them to work for less, undercutting the Palestinians in a job market that is already known for providing extremely low salaries for day laborers. One woman said, “Syrians work because they get paid less than the Palestinians, and so the Palestinians are unemployed. The Syrians paint, work in construction and tiling, selling clothing, and selling vegetables. But people from the camp can’t find jobs.”

Palestinians and the right to work

A decree passed in 1962 allowed the Ministry of Labor the right to restrict cer-tain professions to Lebanese employees. Supporters of the bill, both within the government and population, have said that this was needed due to the tough eco-nomic times and also to protect Lebanese employment. These reasons are often viewed with skepticism. A recent International Crisis Group (ICG) report sug-gests, “… the real reason behind the discriminatory practice is political, aimed less at protecting Lebanese workers than at perpetuating the refugees’ precarious situation.”53 Other foreigners, who are not Palestinian, are afforded more rights within the Lebanese labor market.54 Out of all of the Arab countries, Palestinian refugees in Lebanon are the only ones treated as foreigners in terms of the right to work.55

Despite a successful 2010 parliamentary vote to amend56 the law governing Palestinians’ right to work,57 at the time of writing Palestinians remain restricted from working in over 30 professions, which, as the AUB – UNRWA report states, “… constitutes an institutionalization of discrimination.”58 Under the law, access to these professions is restricted for Palestinians for two reasons. The first is that these professions are subject to “reciprocity,” which means that foreigners whose countries offer the equal benefits to Lebanese are able to work in these profes-sions. As Palestinians are “stateless” this stipulation outright excludes them. Many feel as though the wording of this law was specifically designed to deny access to employment to the Palestinian population, who are one of the few stateless peoples in the world. One man from el Buss said, “In the law, there is nothing that specifically says the Palestinians can’t work. But the Lebanese treat others as they are treated in the others’ countries. And there is no recognition of the Palestinian state.” The second reason is that there are professions that are limited to Lebanese citizens only.59

Historically these laws have had strong impacts on the psychology of the Palestinians, and even with these recent legal changes there are very few who believe that any real changes will take place. One key informant from el Buss stated, “Parents like to educate their children. But the kids, aged 12-14, are more pessimistic. They say, ‘Even if I learn and get a degree, I can’t work. I can’t be an engineer or a doctor. I can’t get a job.’”

The children have good reason to say this as are there are many unemployed professionals in the Palestinian community. One doctor in el Buss studied general medicine in Ukraine, and because he was not permitted to return to Lebanon due to a change in the immigration law, he continued to study and receive spe-cializations in urology, reflexology, and reproductive sciences. He was the first doctor in the Middle East to specialize in stem cell work. He has invented patents for new types of operations, has been published in numerous journals, and has traveled around the world to speak at conferences. Yet, he is not legally allowed to work in Lebanon. He said, “I work illegally in many hospitals. My Lebanese colleagues respect me and value my work. I know things that the other doctors don’t know.” Due to the fact that he is working illegally, he is not able to receive full compensation for his work, and his activities are technically illegal. While he is a world-class doctor and would likely be able to immigrate to many other countries, he remains in Lebanon in order to help the refugee community. He currently runs a small clinic out of his father’s house.

The laws affect Palestinians across the country. One man from Jal el Bahr explained how his brother has been affected:

“My brother has a PhD in Economics. He taught economics [abroad] and came to live here. He went to AUB and they accepted him [to work there]. When he went to sign the contract and they saw that he was a Palestinian,they told him ‘We are sorry but we can’t take you because you are Palestin- ian.’ He went to live in Dubai and doesn’t want to come back. That was 16 years ago. He swore that he would never come back to live in Lebanon. He has five kids and they all have a good education, but they won’t try to comehere because they know they can’t work.”


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Income sufficiency

Most of the Palestinians interviewed noted that the cost of living was rising, and with their meager salaries they were unable to afford many of their of their daily needs. One key informant pointed out that when boys initially start working, after dropping out of school early, they are only able to make LL5,000 ($3.3) per day. In a focus group most people stated that LL20,000-LL25,000 ($13-17) per day would be an average salary for a trade worker. However, this is not a salary that they can depend on, as the work is not consistent. This amounts to a maxi-mum salary of about $400 per month if the employee has work six days a week. Most thought that, on average, they could depend on $300 to $400 per month. If someone owned his own trade workshop in the camp, the salary reportedly increased to about LL40,000 ($27) per day.

Many people reported difficulty providing for their families due to their low salaries and the constantly rising prices. One woman said, “Everything is expen-sive. Even if you get $30 per day, you have to pay at least LL25,000 [$17] for just eating. If it is only one person working, it is not enough. You need more people working.” However, some interviewed noted that the Palestinian population is not isolated in terms of being affected by rising costs:

“Life here is good, but it is getting more expensive. This is not just for us,but for the whole world. This started happening about one month ago [Sep-

tember 2010]. We noticed it was getting more expensive. I don’t know why. Before tomatoes were LL1,000 [$0.7] for 3 kilograms. Now it is LL3,000 [$2] for 1 kilogram” (see textbox “Rising costs across Lebanon”).

One of the shop owners interviewed explained how he tries to help people: “Often people come but they can’t pay, but I will give it to them [for free]. I can afford to do this once in a while. I lose LL500 [$0.3] to give them only a pack of cigarettes.”

Education

Unlike some of the other camps, there are UNRWA schools located within the el Buss boundaries. One elderly man remembers attending school in the church, before the UNRWA school opened. Now there are five kindergartens60 and three UNRWA schools.61 Prior to the 2010 school year, UNRWA classes stopped at the Brevet level, and students who wished to continue studying were forced to attend schools in other locations, such as the school in the Rashadieh camp. This was a burden on the families who were forced to pay more for transportation. Some of those interviewed noted that they dropped out at this level because of the increase in expenses.

UNRWA is the main education provider for Palestinian students, and very few leave the camp to attend private schools. One Christian Palestinian mother said she was able to send her kids to a private school outside of the camp. Simi-

larly, a school director explained, “There are a few kids that go to school out-side of the camp, because there are only a few whose economic situation is well enough [to do this].” Another Christian mother’s comment demonstrated her dissatisfaction with the school system in the camp, as well as hinting at a divide in the community: “My kids go to school outside because here it is all Muslim and you get a good education [outside]. All of them are Muslim and that’s why we don’t send our kids [to schools here].” On the other hand, some children who live outside the camp commute to el Buss to attend school. Two kindergarten directors explained that there are children from outside the camp who attend their classes, mostly because it is cheaper than other schools. In total, 24 percent and 50 percent of students from the two kindergartens respectively live outside the camp. Some of children are Palestinians from other areas, such as the nearby gathering, Jal el Bahr. Others are Lebanese, Syrian, and Egyptian.

Because UNRWA does not provide kindergarten services, NGOs have stepped in to fill this area of need, which many believe offer higher quality ser-vices than UNRWA-provided educational facilities. However, families must pay tuition to send their children to these kindergartens.One woman sent her son to one of these kindergartens and felt that the quality of education was much higher than what he has received since starting grade 1 at the UNRWA school: “He understood everything and he did his homework there. We only had to review it. It was better quality.” The lack of free kindergarten services from UNRWA prevents some parents from sending their children, as they are unable to afford the extra cost of tuition in the other schools. One of the kindergarten directors said:

“The kindergarten is good, economically, for the parents. We takeLL100,000 [$67] per year. But sometimes the parents can’t pay. Some par-

ents don’t send their all kids to school [kindergarten] because they can’t pay. For example, they will send two out of three kids because they can’t pay for all of them. There are a few who don’t go to any kindergarten at all. Butthey usually do one year at least [of two kindergarten years].”

The perceptions of UNRWA varied between residents. Some thought it was meeting the needs of the community, while others felt it left much to be de-sired. One common complaint was that the children were not receiving enough attention in the schools, and in order to ensure their children passed, parents still needed to hire tutors. One woman said, “Even though my children are at UNRWA, it is like they are at a private school because we still have to buy books, and other things, and pay for a private tutor.” The tutors are usually young men or women in the camp who have completed higher levels of education and tutor students as a part-time job. One young man, who had just graduated from uni-versity, summed up his experience with the UNRWA school system: “There are positives about UNRWA; for example, it’s free.62 There is no burden of paying. But there are negative aspects too. There are 50 students in one class and people


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don’t understand. The teacher gets tired from giving the class.”Many Palestinians across Lebanon believe that the UNRWA education

system is lacking. Often class sizes are very large, and teachers have few quali-fications. One woman said, “The curriculum is too much for the teachers and they don’t know how to teach it. So the kids are not learning.” Because of the demanding curriculum, UNRWA schools have removed all courses that are not seen as essential to passing the national examinations, such as art, music, and physical education. The schools are poorly equipped and they are often miss-ing vital materials needed to teach lessons properly. For a while, some of the busier schools were teaching on a “double-shift,” meaning that teachers effec-tively taught two school days back to back. To facilitate this, students attended fewer hours of class per day, but their teachers had much longer days. Even though there are clearly many weaknesses in the UNRWA system, Palestinian students must still pass the national exams at the Brevet level, which is the same as those being taken throughout the country by private school students who re-ceive a much better quality of education, in order to continue to high school. All of these inadequacies have been cited as causes of high dropout rates among Palestinians in Lebanon. Dropout rates for Palestinians in Lebanon are much higher than for Palestinians in either Syria or Jordan. A Fafo Institute for Ap-plied International Studies report notes, “Grade repetition and school dropout are higher among Palestinian refugees in Lebanon than elsewhere according to both UNRWA statistics and Fafo survey data.”63

The education levels in el Buss appear to be higher than in some other im-poverished communities across the country. However, in terms of the Palestinian community, the area of Tyre has the lowest levels of educational achievement when compared with other areas (see Figure 12.2). Tyre has the highest percent-age of individuals who have never attended school, as well as the lowest number of people who have achieved their Baccalaureate diploma or higher levels of education.64

Figure 12.2: Highest education achievement levels

Source: AUB–UNRWA, “Socio-Economic Survey of Palestinian Refugees in Lebanon” (2010), p. 38

Area Never went Elemen-tary school without a degree

Middle school without a degree

Brevet or vocational

Bacca-laureate or higher education

Tyre 12.3% 19.3% 39.9% 18.4% 9.8%

Total 10.3% 22.3% 33.9% 20.3% 12.9%

At present most children in el Buss are attending school, and many of them until the Brevet level. In the past, when secondary school classes were not avail-able in el Buss, some students dropped out at this point, as they could not pay for transportation to other schools. But since the addition of these classes within the el Buss schools, more students should be able to continue. Some students continue to drop out for financial reasons; they are not able to afford study-ing at technical schools or universities after they finish their UNRWA studies. One local pharmacist said, “Some leave school because they don’t have enough money to continue.” Other students drop out when they are not able to pass the Brevet exam, which is needed to enter high school. At this point they have enough education to be eligible to attend some technical schools and learn a trade. This is the path that many students choose. One woman explained, “My daughters dropped out, because they didn’t pass the official test, at around 14 years old. They took degrees as secretaries in a technical school.” A few from the community completed high school in the camp and then traveled to Beirut to study at university. One young man, who studied chemistry at the Beirut Arab University (BAU), said, “There is help for Palestinians with their university fees. They give scholarships every year you study. After you graduate you have to pay it back. But there is no interest. This helps many poor people.”

There were other reasons for dropouts among the el Buss community. One key informant noted the presence of abuse in the UNWRA school system:

“There is a high prevalence of dropouts because of the physical abuse ofthe children by the teachers. But this has decreased because of the aware-

ness sessions. Now it has changed to verbal abuse. We can hear it because we are right beside the school.”

One of the local kindergarten directors explained how the living conditions are not conducive to learning:

“Sometimes people say they are slow learners, but when you see the situation they are living in, there are different factors. For example, there are big families living in one room. There is no electricity, etc. I see this often. This is not the environment to learn in.”

She also noted that the curriculum was very difficult. Due to parents’ low levels of education, they are unable to help their children study: “Some parents are young and not literate. The new system is hard, so the parents cannot help their children. Most of the parents do know how to read and write, but the new curriculum is very hard and they can’t do it.”

There seems to be a higher dropout rate among young boys than girls. Boys often drop out of school and start working at a young age. One key informant explained:

“Boys drop out more than girls because they are finding jobs. Girls usually stay at home [they don’t work] so they go to school. The first reason that


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boys drop out is that they don’t like school. And then they start making money and this increases their dislike of school, because they are making some money. They start by getting LL5,000 [$3.3] per day.”

Contrary to common opinion that education helps break the cycle of pov-erty, some community members believe that it is better for young boys to drop out of school early, so they may start saving for their futures. As one resident said:

“There is no work, everything is expensive. Boys will travel to go abroadto work, especially if they don’t have a house, because they can’t get mar-

ried. The first thing the father of a girl will ask is whether he [the potentialgroom] has a house or not.”

This requirement means that many boys are dropping out of school in order to start working. One man said, “More boys leave early because they are thinking about their future. If you study six or seven more years, you will still get the same job. No matter how much you study you can’t get a good job, not even picking garbage for the municipality.” Both the lack of quality job opportunities and the labor market restrictions are impacting Palestinians’ desire to continue their education. Many see completing their studies as pointless, as they are not able to obtain meaningful employment even if they are educated. However, this fact is disputed by the AUB–UNRWA study which found that the incidence of both poverty and extreme poverty significantly decrease when the head of household has achieved higher than a primary level education.65

Nutrition and healthThe major dietary issue facing the Palestinians in el Buss was the increase in prices that had occurred over the months prior to the interviews. At the time, Lebanon was facing a food shortage, which greatly affected the ability of the poor com-munities across the country to provide the daily needs of their families. Many of the families spoke of altering their diets, often cutting down on meats and more expensive items, in order to cope. One woman said, “We buy less meat. Instead of buying 1 kilogram of meat, we will bring 250 grams. Even the bread is more expensive and there is less quantity [than before].” One of the kindergarten directors commented on the situation regarding her students, “Most don’t have milk in the morning. Some come with a sandwich or they buy a manoushe and juice for LL500 [$0.3]. They cannot afford to have good food.” She also noted that an organization had completed nutritional testing and found that some children had vitamin deficiencies. Though their diets may have changed, which may affect their micronutrient levels, it appears that families are still consuming enough food.

Residents reported that almost all food items were available within the camp’s boundaries; if not, they were accessible from the areas surrounding the camps in Tyre. There are Syrians who use mobile carts to sell fruits and vegetables within the camp, and there are small shops that sell junk food and canned goods. There are also butchers selling meat in and around the camp.

In terms of the health of children, no major problems were noted during the interviews. A pharmacist said that cases of diarrhea are common; children’s par-ents usually treat this with oral rehydration solutions. Some children are affected by asthma and allergies due to the poor living conditions, specifically humidity and dampness, within their houses. Also, as multiple family members often share one room, it is common for the children to pass sicknesses between each other.

One kindergarten director noted that they currently have 10 children with various disabilities attending their kindergarten. She does not believe that this number represents a higher percentage of disabled children in el Buss compared to other areas, rather it represents the fact that their center is one of the only centers in the camp that will accept children with disabilities.

The Nabil Badron Center is another organization that supports children with disabilities, specifically those with hearing and speech impairments. One mother explained that her daughter, who was born with disabilities, had been at-tending the Nabil Badron Center: “She went there when she was 9 years old for one month. But then she fell and broke her leg, so she had to leave. She is sane in her mind, but not in her body.”

A World Vision Lebanon baseline study assessed 451 children known to have various types of disabilities and behavioral problems in the three camps in the Tyre area. Figure 12.3 shows some of the most common types of problems noted among the children surveyed.

A kitchen in a house in el Buss


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Figure 12.3: Selection of disabilities and behavioral problems found among 451 Pales-

tinian children with disabilities in three camps in the Tyre area.

Source: World Vision Lebanon, “Baseline Assessment Report, Right to Education” (2009), p. 15

A key informant explained that there is a high percentage of children who are vaccinated “because its free and the social workers follow up with the parents to tell them it’s time to get the next one. This is one thing that is good.”

One major problem reported in relation to childhood health was the lack of space for children to play. During the field research, children were often seen running and cycling through the small alleyways or passing a soccer ball amongst themselves wherever they could find a small empty space. Parents regularly ex-pressed dismay at the lack of space for their children, and this issue was re-peatedly described among the major problems facing the residents. One woman stated:

“The kids play on the stairs, they play at the school on the playground. They play on the streets, but the neighbors shout at them. They even play on the roofs. Children need to go out and play. If you lock them up, they will start fighting with each other. They like football. They prefer football to computer games.”

Number Percentage

Type of Disability

Brain Paralysis 46 9.1%

Paraplegia 26 5.1%

Bone Deformation 24 4.7%

Sensatory Problems

Visual Problems 102 20.0%

Auditory Problems 79 16.0%

Mental Problems

Intellectual Deficiency 43 8.5%

Trisomy 10 2.0%

Autism 3 0.6%

Behavioral Problems

Learning Disabilities 200 39.0%

Attention Deficit Disorder 122 24.0%

Hyperactivity 48 9.0%

Communication Problems

Pronunciation Problems 36 7.0%

When asked about the space available in the camp, one member of a political party said, “Refugees are not allowed to play, so they are banned from their childhood.”

A rising problem noted not only in el Buss, but also in other camps across the country, is the increase in smoking, drinking alcohol, and drug use among chil-dren and youth. One man said, “It’s a dirty environment here. For example, you can see 8 year olds holding beers and swearing.” This observation backs up one of the conclusions found in a Tdh report about child protection in the camps.66

Palestinian women no longer give birth in their homes, although they often expressed dissatisfaction with the services being provided by UNRWA. One woman reported that if they were giving birth under normal conditions, UNRWA would cover the costs of the delivery. If the women want to have a spe-cific doctor, or have a cesarean section, they have to pay for the bill themselves. One concern noted by an interviewee was that under the UNRWA system, dif-ferent doctors complete the consultations and the deliveries, so if any complicat-ing factors arise, the doctor present at birth may be unaware of these issues. This has led some women, especially those with hypertension and other problems, to seek services elsewhere. But not all are able to afford this luxury: “Poor people prefer to have a doctor that deals with UNRWA so they don’t have to pay.”

A pharmacist referred to the fact that women breast-feed but also use milk formula for their children. One mother said that while she breast-feeds, she be-lieves that up to 80 percent of the other women don’t because “they think their breasts will become smaller and they will get more diseases.” She reported exclu-sively breast-feeding her children until they were four months old, at which point she introduced other foods.

Generally the health problems found within the camp are no different than those found in other poor communities in Lebanon. There are issues of asthma, allergies, chronic diseases, and disabilities. A pharmacist noted some other problems: “The most common health problems are infections, pain in the back or in the feet, stomach aches, and diarrhea.” The pharmacist also mentioned that some illnesses are related to the employment conditions of the refugees. A woman from the community also pointed this out: “My husband has asthma from painting. There is no prevention. It is normal that [people working in certain fields] have health problems. Even for people that work in construction there is no prevention. There are no gloves, masks, etc.” As mentioned, some expressed the belief that the housing conditions were also responsible for some of the respiratory illnesses present among the residents (see textbox “Palestinians access to health care services” for more information).


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Infrastructure

The Palestinians in el Buss have had access to electricity since 1965. Due to fre-quent power cuts, there are two generators in the camp; however, most families cannot pay the LL120,000 ($80) per month required to access these. Some fami-lies choose to split this cost with another family. One woman said, “Sometimes two houses will take one subscription [to the generator]. But you only get half the power. It is not practical because you can’t use as much electricity and you have to be careful what you use.”

One elderly resident remembers originally getting water only from commu-nal pipes around the camp. Residents would have to collect the water from the communal sources and bring it back to their houses. Eventually people bought pipes and secured personal networks. Many mentioned that there were problems with this water and that it was not potable. One man said, “Our taps have filters because you can see that the water is red. It’s not good.” Currently, residents pay approximately LL225,000 ($150) per year for water. Some explained that UNRWA is in the process of bringing in a second water line that “has a good water source.”

Until only a few years ago, the sewage networks in el Buss were above ground. One pharmacist explained, “The situation is getting better. Before, there was waste in the street. The sanitation was in the open air. We had insects and bad smells. Now it is better. There is better health for the people. The sanitation changed about three years ago. It was done by UNRWA.” The UNRWA website verifies this: “The water, sewerage, and storm water systems were rehabilitated between 2007 and 2008.”67

Electrical wires and a water tank on a rooftop

Jal el Bahr – a Palestinian gathering

Ali68 is a 14-year-old boy living in Jal el Bahr, a Palestinian gathering located just outside of Tyre. However, Ali’s situation is not entirely typical of children from the area. Unlike most other Palestinians in Lebanon, Ali’s grandfather chose to leave Palestine in 1936 after getting in a fight with his parents. He crossed the northern border into Lebanon and remained in the south where he married a girl from a local village. At that time, he was offered Lebanese citizenship, so he took it, but Ali’s family still considers itself to be Palestinian.

While Ali’s family maintains its Lebanese citizenship, they continue to live in the gathering, as they are unable to afford to live anywhere else. Ali’s mother explained:

“We have been here for 20 years, before that we moved from area to area. We didn’t have a house. We lived with Ali’s grandfather in another area. Then we came here. We took one room from one of our relatives. We built this house rock-by-rock. It started as a balcony and we built it until it became two rooms.”

Ali has dreams; he dreams of being a doctor. By his age, many of his peers have already dropped out of school and are either working as unskilled laborers or spending their time sitting on the beach, but Ali continues to study diligently. “I study for three to five hours each day. I would study more, but I like to play,” he said. Ali even helps other children from his area: “I help two girls to study. Their mother wants to pay me, but I say no because I know that she has no money, just like my mother has no money.” This is a characteristic that he learned from his eldest brother. One of Ali’s older brothers described how their family became so focused on education, while most other families have high illiteracy and dropout rates: “We studied because my older brother likes to learn. So we were raised like this. We all got used to this. I helped Ali study for five years and then he started to study on his own.” In Ali’s family there are five children, four boys and one girl; he is the youngest. While his sister is unable to go to school due to medical prob-lems, he and his brothers are focused on achieving higher levels of education.

Ali’s oldest sibling studied law and finished his masters. The second oldest brother is continuing his studies in Ukraine, and the third is studying Italian with plans on leaving for Italy as soon as he is able to. Ali would like to study in France. He was able to study French for two years in the UNRWA school he attends before they stopped the classes to focus on the Brevet exam. As Ali’s parents do not have any schooling themselves, they realize the value of educa-tion and push their children to continue studying: “Me and my husband didn’t go to school at all. So, we love that our children are going to learn. We can see how the people that don’t go to school live, and we want our children to have a better life than that.” As Ali has dreams of being a doctor, he realizes that he might be lucky; other Palestinians are not able to practice medicine in


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Lebanon. Palestinians are barred from working in professional and syndicated jobs (see textbox “Palestinians and the right to work”). However, even though Ali does have Lebanese citizenship, there is still a strong chance that he will face discrimination in the job market, as his roots are Palestinian, he grew up in a gathering, and studied at the UNRWA schools. One of his mother’s comments reflected this reality, “The people we work with, the people we sell clothes with, they consider us only as Palestinians. They discriminate against us. There is a lot of discrimination.” While the law should not technically limit his ability to find work, his history and upbringing most probably will.

This is where the differences between Ali’s family and the rest of the inhabit-ants in Jal el Bahr end. Like many other residents, Ali’s parents work in menial jobs that generate little income, and they struggle to meet their daily needs. Like most of the adults and elderly in Jal el Bahr, Ali’s parents have little-to-no educa-tion. All of the community members explained how they are deprived, even for Palestinians, because they do not live in one of the 12 official UNRWA camps. There are no schools or medical clinics in the gathering, and so they must travel to the nearest camp, el Buss, to access these essential services.

The flimsy and dilapidated infrastructure of Jal el Bahr affects the daily life of all of its residents. As the community is living on government land, they are considered illegal squatters. The army prohibits them from rebuilding and re-habilitating their houses, so most of the structures are falling apart (see textbox “Palestinians and the right to own property”). Ali’s mother recalls a time when the condition of their house endangered her son’s life:

“One night Ali was sleeping alone. He woke up, and moved to sleep beside his brother. Right after this, the roof flew off of the house. Normally there is a rock to hold the roof in place. The rock fell right onto where Ali had been sleeping. Now we can’t sleep calmly anymore. We are always on our nerves.We sleep under the parts of the house that have a solid cement roof.”

While Ali has high hopes of becoming a doctor, the odds are stacked against him. Ali’s family is deeply entrenched within a cycle of poverty, from which rela-tively few are able to escape.

Profile of Jal el Bahr

Jal el Bahr is a Palestinian gathering located just outside Tyre, a few kilometers from the el Buss camp. The area is more remote and not part of the urban sprawl of Tyre. The community is located on a sliver of land, squeezed between a busy two-lane highway and the Mediterranean Sea. The houses were built haphazardly in two parallel rows, stretching the length of the community. One row is located only a few feet from the highway, the other half are built on the sand just meters from the tideline.

Jal el Bahr is one of the many Palestinian gatherings established around the country. The Danish Refugee Council (DRC) stipulates the following features as definitive of “gatherings” in Lebanon:69

• a population of Palestinian refugees, including Palestinian refugees who are registered by UNRWA and/or the Lebanese government, or are not registered

• no official UNRWA camp status or any other legal authority identi-fied with responsibility for camp management

• an expectation of clearly defined humanitarian and protection needs, or have a minimum of 25 households

• a population with a sense of being a distinct group living in a geo-graphically identifiable area

Based on this definition there are 39 Palestinian gatherings across Lebanon, although there are other areas that are not included in this total as they have been integrated into Lebanese communities surrounding them. Oftentimes, the gatherings are physical extensions of camps or located in the vicinity of the camps. In total, 23 gatherings are found in South Lebanon: 12 in Saida and 11 in Tyre.70 The recent AUB–UNRWA study estimates that 32 percent of the refu-gee population is residing in gatherings around the country,71 and a DRC report noted that a fifth of this population is located in the Tyre area.72

The population of Jal el Bahr has been increasing over time as the younger generations are having families of their own. Older residents remember initially settling in the area and building the first two houses. A local Popular Committee (PC) member estimated the current population to be 2,100 people, split between 226-230 houses. The DRC report found a similar number of inhabitants (2,200) but found a higher number of households (450).73 There are a few Lebanese households, but otherwise the population is almost completely homogenous. Ac-cording to one key informant, all of the residents in the gathering are registered with UNRWA.

Families are still commonly having between six and eight children, though the building restrictions imposed on the community mean that the number of dwellings in the gathering cannot grow in tandem with its population. As a result, some families – often with up to eight members – live in one room. In the gathering, there is one building which contains four small one-bedroom apartments. As this building is sturdier than many of the other buildings, seven families moved into it during the 2006 war; there were 60 people living within the same residence. A DRC report states that there are 50-60 female-headed households in Jal el Bahr.74

Jal el Bahr stands in stark contrast to the surrounding areas. Other buildings located on this road, one of the two main highways along the coast, are modern


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and new. In fact, a new hotel is being constructed directly across the street from the gathering. There is a large, recently built grocery co-op only a few hundred meters away, and many other small shops line the road. These new, clean, and modern buildings show the large disparity between the adjacent communities and Jal el Bahr, where basic structures are made of cement blocks, corrugated metal, and a patchwork of reinforced cardboard and plastic. Seventy-five per-cent of the houses in Jal el Bahr have aluminum roofs, while 10 percent are made completely of aluminum.75 While the community may look as though it was un-planned and unorganized, the current state of the area is due to the fact that the residents have been strictly prohibited from building and there are frequent army inspections to ensure that no construction is occurring. As the gathering was built on government land and the population is considered to be an illegal squatter settlement, residents are not allowed to make any permanent structural changes to their housing, and as such, resort to plastic sheeting, once used as signs and billboards around the area, in order to try and repair leaks and damages. The condition of the housing in Jal el Bahr is much worse than the condition of hous-ing in the camps. The structures its residents live in are more akin to what people usually associate with a squatter settlement or an urban slum.

There is very little located in Jal el Bahr apart from the residents’ houses. There are a few tiny shops that sell mostly junk food and some canned goods; there is no mosque; and unlike el Buss, there are no organizations based in Jal el Bahr. There are no UNRWA services located in the gathering and residents must go to el Buss or another official camp to access facilities.

A new hotel being constructed behind the houses of Jal el Bahr

Location

Jal el Bahr is highly affected by its surroundings. In fact, much of the lives of its residents revolve around coping with problems arising from the gathering’s loca-tion. Not only has the infrastructure been exposed to rapid degeneration caused by the proximity of the sea and the highway, but people have been injured and even died because of the conditions.

There have been many cases where the houses beside the highway have been hit by speeding cars, not only destroying the infrastructure but endangering the lives of the inhabitants as well. One woman explained how her house has actu-ally been hit twice:

“It is dangerous for the children because the cars come off of the road and hit the houses. One hit our house and the wall collapsed. The car rolled onto its roof and hit the house. The children were in the living room and the wall fell on them. I fainted, and when I woke up I thought all of my children were dead, until they took me to the hospital in Saida to see them. And it happened for a second time on the other side of the house. That time it didn’t affect anyone, just the house.”

A member of the gathering’s Popular Committee (see section “Systems and Structures”) commented, “There is a problem because of the street. There is no speed limit. There are no regulations. Six children have died on the street.” All of the community members interviewed echoed these sentiments. Many feel that they were being unfairly discriminated against because they are Palestinians: “All of the streets around here have lighting [streetlights] except for this street. Maybe it is because we are Palestinian. They don’t light the lights because we are Palestinian. In the dark there are more accidents.”

The problems arising from Jal el Bahr’s location are more widespread than the effects of the highway: the houses along the beach are exposed to the sea, and waves often flood these residences. The seafront houses are also especially exposed to high winds in the wintertime. These winds cause frequent sand-storms. During one interview, a family of six was making use of a small outdoor area beside their two-room house in order to eat. In a matter of seconds, the wind picked up and sand was being hurled at them. Like a well-oiled machine each family member took action, closing the makeshift plastic drapes surround-ing the area and quickly bringing their food inside. They had been through this procedure many times before. But, the meal had been spoiled, as all of the food was now filled with sand. “See!” they said. Prior to this point they had been ex-plaining how they are affected by the weather in the winter. One of the young daughters sighed, “We are all dirty because of the sand.” (See textbox “Vulner-able to shocks.”)

Lebanon’s beaches are one of its main attractions in the summer, but the beach located beside Jal el Bahr looks more like a garbage dump than the glossy


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pictures of beaches used to advertise the country as an international tourist des-tination. Some garbage is actually dumped on the beach, while other trash is washed ashore by the waves. Community members, as well as residents from the city, dump their garbage there. While the beach could be a perfect spot for chil-dren to play in the summer, because of the garbage problem the sand is littered with broken glass and many children have cut themselves. Another problem is the sewage that is drained into the sea. Due to the poor infrastructure in Jal el Bahr, the sewage from the community often leaks into the sea. It was also found by the DRC that there is another pipeline 500 meters from the gathering releas-ing sewage from the city onto the beach and into the water.76

Flooding in the area occurs not only due to the waves crashing into the houses, but also because of the changing landscape. Residents noted that since the construction of many new buildings in the area, the ground no longer has the capacity to absorb the rainwater as it once did. One woman said:

“When it rains the water comes into the house because of the buildings built across the street. Now the land doesn’t absorb the water. So we have had up to one meter of water in the house. This happened at 2 a.m. when we were sleeping. We woke up and there was that much water. When we tried to take the water out, it would just fill up again. Our neighbors came to help us. We had to bail the water out by ourselves, then after this we went to stay with my mother.”

The beach beside Jal el Bahr

History

Jal el Bahr was not always the rundown and dilapidated community that it is today. While the Palestinians in Jal el Bahr share a history common to that of other refugees that left Palestine – migrating around south Lebanon before set-tling – and face similar struggles in terms of education and livelihoods, this com-munity, like any, has it’s own unique history. The first man to arrive in the area, Ahmad,77 remembers the area being isolated from the rest of Tyre: “Before it was a beach and a forest. There were plantations here. People used to come and work in the plantations; that’s why people came here.” He was 16 at the time.

He settled on the land along the beach in May 1949. He worked with his cousin to build the first house in the area out of bamboo and plastic bags: “In the winter we covered it with nylon, but it flew away.” Then they used barrels cut in half to make barracks, but those were also destroyed in the wind. Finally they started building with bricks and used an aluminum roof. He says the roof eventually eroded because of the saltwater.

While they were aware that there were some abandoned Armenian houses in el Buss, one community member explained why they didn’t settle there instead: “We didn’t move to the camp because it was too crowded and we wanted to stay here.” Another man explained that the Palestinians who moved to el Buss and those in Jal el Bahr are from two different groups. Those in el Buss were settled agriculturalists in Palestine, while the ones who ended up in Jal el Bahr were nomadic pastoralists:

“We have many tribes. We [in Jal el Bahr] are all related, at least indirectly. It related back to Palestine. Each tribe was from a village. We come from Sawaa’d, Kufur, Kamana, Haifa, Swatat, Swailat, and Mawaseen. This woman [pointing to a woman present in the interview] is the leader of the Sawaa’d tribe.”

Because this population had been used to moving around, they found it hard to be confined to the buildings in the camp and Tyre, surrounded by large numbers of other people. Another resident said:

“When we came here there were only five or six houses. Bedouins cannot live in confined or crowded places. That is why we could not go to el Buss and why we came here. The government acknowledged that we lived hereand then the area started growing. Then our relatives came.”

Also, at that time UNRWA was not yet formed, and while the camp popula-tion was larger and, therefore, may have been receiving some aid at the time, the people who initially settled in Jal el Bahr had no way of knowing that el Buss would one day be a registered camp with access to services, whereas their settle-ment would remain illegal.


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Ahmad also remembers that the government tried to relocate the initial population:

“The government wanted us to move to other places, like Anjar and the Bekaa, but we said we didn’t want to go. Some people accepted and moved to other places, but we wanted to stay. Other people started to come fromthe borders and settle here.”

The residents of the community initially found work in the surrounding plan-tations: “It used to be plantations here. If you worked there, you didn’t get paid. They would give you one piece of bread, some sardines, and jam. If you had a small family, that was enough. But it was not enough if you had older children.”

After this, as one man noted, “The population grew slowly over time, one house at a time. The population can’t grow anymore because there is no more space and we can’t build.” After the population in both areas started growing, there was no more space in the camp and the residents of Jal el Bahr lost the opportunity to move to the camp. One woman who was born in the gathering said, “We never had a chance to go to the camp. We would go if we could. But now we can’t afford a house there.”

Jal el Bahr was also affected during the Civil War, particularly during the conflict with Amal. One woman remembers:

“During the war with Amal they bombed 20 houses. They used to do it when we were sleeping. They would put a note under your door telling you to leave the house because they were going to bomb it … So many people left during the war and came back after the war. They had to rebuild their homes.”

Similarly, one man said, “In 1987, Amal destroyed around 100 houses. Everyone older than 16 was imprisoned.”

Even though many residents left the area, they were still gravely affected by the violence. One man recalls, “We went to Saida and then they bombed us there. There were six houses that were “completely closed” [all of their family members were killed]. People came back after the war. Those with money rebuilt and those without money did not.”

It was around this time that the army started controlling the area and forbid-ding the construction and rehabilitation of homes. One man said, “In 1986, they started forbidding us to rebuild. We wanted to rebuild the kitchen so we got wasta and built the kitchen. But they imprisoned me for two days.” He feels fortunate that he was only jailed for two days for making improvements to his house, as he had heard of many others spending a longer time incarcerated for the same actions. For the most part, the army has continued to prohibit any reconstruction in the gathering.

Many residents also mentioned the July 2006 war with Israel as being a par-ticularly hard and stressful time for them. Some families relocated during the war, but others were unable to. One woman said, “We had seven young kids at

the time. Where could we go? Some people escaped and went to el Buss. We stayed here, and after a while you couldn’t leave because of the helicopters and the Israelis offshore. They would shoot us.” While some bomb shelters were still available from the Civil War, residents preferred not to use them: “There were three shelters here, but they were filled with rats and snakes and had bad humid-ity. You would choke if you went in there. You preferred to die in a bombing than go in there.”

The children and youth have vivid memories of this time as well. Ali explained:

“In the 2006 war, they killed a man from here that was very educated. Israel was in the sea in boats. They wanted to come on land but the UN stopped them. After the war when we went to the sea. All of the houses were bombed, so all of their stuff went into the sea. There was food in the sea,and all the fish died.”

Mobility

While the earliest residents settled in 1949, others came much later, some as recently as 20 years ago. Like Ali’s family, some families moved around south Lebanon, trying to find affordable accommodation, until finally settling in Jal el Bahr. Others moved to the area because they married residents there.

Like in el Buss, many people, especially the young boys, are trying to emi-grate. Some go illegally, but the process might be facilitated if they already have relatives in the country they are trying to reach. One woman explained:

“Boys, who are 15 or older, go to Germany. They go to Turkey and then Greece. It costs $7,000-$8,000. They get loans to do it. If they have an uncle working in Germany then he can send them the money to go. Some people went and came back, and they lost their money.”

Another woman said, “Children tell their parents, ‘Why do you want me to stay here and live like you?’ So the parents take debt to send their children abroad. They mostly go to Germany and London.”

The majority of community members explained that the Palestinian youths living in Jal el Bahr are desperate to escape the horrible conditions of the area and are willing to travel to any country in order to be given meaningful job op-portunities. This dream is significantly different from the dream of elders in the area, which is to return to their homeland. One young woman explained:

“First we wanted to go back to Palestine, but it is hard. It is very difficult. It is hard to live here because of that. It is impossible to go back. The parents used to say that we will go back. But then they had kids, and their kids had kids. So now we know it’s not possible to go back. So that’s why we want togo to other countries.”

Another older woman contrasted this opinion, demonstrating the views of many whose only dream is to return: “We want to go back to Palestine only. The young people would like to go to any country.”


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Even though the gathering is located on government land, and the army pro-hibits construction, residents noted that to this day nobody has ever tried to evict them, though rumors have been circulating in the community for some time that the government will try and relocate them, perhaps to Bourj el Shemali camp, also located in the south. Now, with the new hotel being built directly across the street from the gathering, residents think that an eviction is inevitable. They have heard that the owners do not want the eyesore of Jal el Bahr blocking their seafront view. One woman said:

“People from Bourj el Shemali told us that they are building houses in the camp for us. I would accept to go if they gave us a house, but I would not accept to go if they only gave us money, because it would be too expensive [to buy a house]. The people who are moving into the new buildings wantus to leave. They want to build a bridge here.”

Palestinians and the right to own property

Previously, Palestinians, like other foreigners in Lebanon, were allowed to own prop-erty. This law was amended in 2001 and subsequently restricted “any person not a citizen of a recognized state …”78 from acquiring property. An ICG report states, “However ambiguous, the phrase left no doubt as to its intended [Palestinian] tar-get.”79 Similarly, Palestinians are restricted from passing on any property purchased before the amendment, to their children. One man from el Buss explained, “If you have money you can buy a house outside [this is often done by asking a Lebanese to put it in their name], but it is illegal. So you can’t give it to your children. It is inherited to the government [The Islamic Fund – Dar el Fatwa].”

Palestinians in Syria are permitted to purchase one apartment and one eco-nomic asset. There are no restrictions in terms of the property a Palestinian in Jordan can own.80

The law affects all Palestinians across Lebanon but specifically those who are living in areas where they are unable to repair their existing structures, effectively leaving them with no options in terms of improving their living conditions.Recurrent comments heard from residents in Jal el Bahr demonstrated their frustra-tion with this situation:

“There was a family that built a house with three rooms and they [thearmy] came and destroyed the whole thing.”

“We are not allowed to paint or do anything. If they [the army] see newcement, a fence, changes to the roof, etc., they will put you in prison.”

“If you want to put in even one nail, the police will come.”

“You are not even allowed to put flowers in front of your house. If youtry to clean the beach, you will get a fine for cleaning.”

Livelihoods

Most of the men in Jal el Bahr work as day laborers, mostly in the fishing indus-try, but also in various trades and in the agriculture sector.

The fishermen work in groups. Usually one man owns the boat, and he may or may not own the fishing nets as well. The men fish together, sell their catch for the day to a local fish market, and split the earnings; however, the largest share of the income goes to the people that own the boats and the nets. One man who worked as a fisherman for 17 years explained:

“Between February and April you catch the most fish because you can go into deep waters. So you might get $500 per day. But you have to pay $50 for the boat, and the person who owns the nets gets more. Then you divide the rest between the people in the boat. [This is] around four or five people. The owner of the boat gets triple what the other people get; he is the one organizing it. You might make LL50,000-80,000 [$33-53] per day for three or four months. But we don’t work all week. It depends on the weather. [The weather is often too rough to go out.] We might work three days a week. During the rest of the season, those who work near the coast might work 10days a month without making any money. They will take nothing.”

He commented that the income for the fishermen was dependent on the middlemen who purchase their catch: “We sell to a fish market in Tyre. They decide how much to pay for the fish. They might pay LL10,000 [$6.7] for one kilogram and then sell it for LL15,000 [$10] or LL20,000 [$13]. They chose the price.”

When asked about the conditions of fishing, he said:

“Yes, it’s very dangerous. But we know it, and we are used to it. We don’t go into the sea in the high winds. One time, we couldn’t get back here. We had to go to another coast. When we arrived, we were almost dead because the boat was going in and out of the water. There are accidents. For example, we have lost three or four boats and someone died. But these accidents are rare. We do take a lot of risks. For example, if we hear that someone from Saida gets LL1,000,000 [$667] for their catch, then the next day all the boats go there. Now we have cell phones, so if someone gets lost, we cancall each other.”

However, the community explained that Palestinians are not legally allowed to fish. This endangers their main source of livelihood as the police can, and have, cracked down on their participation in this sector. One teenager who fishes said, “If you want to fish, it’s illegal. It’s ‘stealing.’ That is why we do it at night. If they catch us they will take our nets.” Another community member said, “Ev-eryone works in the sea, but you are not allowed to fish. The police come. They will take a lot of money [in bribes] or put you in prison if they catch you.”

The man who worked in the fishing industry for 17 years eventually left, saying that the income it generated was not enough to support his family. He


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now works in agriculture, in the orange plantations. This job is also unstable, and he has two or three months a year without work. He now makes LL20,000 ($13) per day, but has to spend LL3,000 ($2) each day on transportation. Those working in the trades often make LL10,000 ($6.7) to LL15,000 ($10) per day.

The fishing sector is attracting many of the male youth from the area, as there is little skill or training required. One boy said, “I dropped out of school three days ago. I’m 14 years old. I will go work in the sea.” While some other boys work around the community in some workshops and businesses, others spend their days sitting on the beach playing cards and hanging out with their friends. Many have had jobs in the past but have left for various reasons. One reported working in a mechanic shop. One day he was injured on the job. He said, “My boss didn’t help me get the injury fixed. And the next day he fired me.” Some other boys work at the large grocery store down the street from the community. They help people carry their bags to their cars, but they must pay the grocery store LL4,000 ($2.7) per day to allow them to be there. Their wages depend on their tips, and they reported usually making a very small amount, maybe LL1,000 ($0.7), after the charge had been deducted.

There are some community members, especially the young adults, who have completed vocational training but are unable to find employment in their fields. One woman explained that her son studied mechanics, but he had not yet man-aged to find any employment in this sector, so he is currently working as a fisher-man.

There appear to be few women who work outside of their homes. Some work in agriculture, but most spend their days raising their children and completing the daily household duties. Some of the young girls explained that their male family members find it unacceptable for them to work outside of the home, even though they have completed vocational training. One woman explained, “I stud-ied hairdressing and education, but I didn’t finish studying education. The girls learn, but then they stay at home. I don’t want to work. They don’t like women to work.” Others were unable to find work. One woman worked as a nurse in the camps in the south, and Ali’s mother travels around, with her husband, selling clothes to local markets.

Some women also work selling coal on the side of the highway outside of their houses. While they used to be able to raise a small amount of extra income for their families, this no longer seems to be the case. One woman described how the process works:

“I sell coal for LL1,000 [$0.7]. If I sell it, I take the money. I get LL1,000 [$0.7] per bag. If I don’t sell them, then I give them back to the man who brings it to me. I don’t know who he is. I used to be able to count on some money from this, but not now. It is usually people that are driving that stop and buy it, not people from the community. Now it is a very, very smallsource of income.”

Like all Palestinians in Lebanon, residents of Jal el Bahr are greatly affected by their inability to work. One man, who worked as a carpenter in Libya, said, “Here I can’t work as a carpenter. My brother is a mechanic. But he can’t work much either. That is why we are working in the sea.” Ali also described how his family was affected: “My brother studied law at the Arab University. But he can’t get a job. He works as a worker in the university. He is continuing studying now, doing his masters.” (See textbox “Palestinians and the right to work.”)

Income sufficiency

Not surprisingly, the refugees in Jal el Bahr have problems being able to pay for their daily expenses, but more specifically they are unable to cope with any large, unexpected expenses. This is affecting all aspects of their lives: from the ability to eat proper meals, to sending their children to school, to being able to visit clin-ics and hospitals, to their living arrangements. One woman explained, “Those with money buy vegetables and meat. But now, it has become more expensive. Some people prefer tins of peas and things like this. They eat the cheapest way possible.” One member of the Popular Committee described how families are unable to educate all of their children: “If there are six kids in the family, and you want to take them to school by autocar, you have to pay LL90,000 [$60] per month. So families chose the two kids that are the smartest and the rest stay home. Some kids never go to school.”

As Palestinians are not covered by any of the national health insurance plans, many have difficulties paying for needed treatments. One mother remembers when her son was ill:

“My 9-year-old son couldn’t eat for 10 days, and he was dying. He couldn’t eat because he had a problem with his mouth. I took him to UNRWA, but they transferred him to an Italian hospital. They told me that they didn’t have any beds left. I started crying and said, ‘My child is dying,’ but they said ‘Let him die, what can we do?’ Even with the UNRWA transfer, they didn’t accept to take him there. We had to take him to a public hospital and pay LL150,000 [$100]. We needed to borrow money from people becausemy husband works in the sea and we have no money left to pay for things.”

Many residents commented that they are unable to move out of the area legally, as they are prohibited from owning property in Lebanon (see textbox “Palestinians and the right to own property”), but they cannot afford to move to the camps anymore. As the camps are all suffering from overcrowding, the rent has increased, and there is no space left to build. Families in the camps are build-ing upwards, on top of their parents’ original homes; there is no space left to erect anymore groundfloor buildings. One mother spoke of her son’s situation:

“My son got married and he wanted to rent a house in el Buss. It wasLL200,000 [$133] per month, and you had to pay for two months in ad-

vance. He is working as a worker and only makes LL15,000 [$10] a day. So


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he can’t afford to do this. So him and his wife moved into our house and we gave them one room.”

The young married couple lives in a tiny room, located next to the highway. Their bed and refrigerator are next to each other, and they must use the bath-room in his parents’ house, as they are not permitted, nor can they afford, to build a bathroom for themselves.

Rising costs across Lebanon

Many interviewees, not only in el Buss and Jal el Bahr but across all of Lebanon, noted the escalating costs throughout the country, which occurred throughout the fall of 2010.

While most items were noted to be increasing in price, the main complaints heard from residents were focused on the increased costs associated with food products.

One newspaper report noted that the problem stemmed from both natural causes and economic factors. Lebanon experienced an extremely hot summer as well as a very late onset of the rainy season in 2010, which affected the harvest season.81 One agricultural expert interviewed in the Bedouin community noted that due to these variations in climate many crops were affected and Lebanon was forced to import foods that it is normally able to produce locally. This contributed one reason for the rising costs. However, as all of the surrounding countries experienced the same weather-related problems, no one was able to fill the shortage of food. He noted, “The prices of food have increased a lot because the other countries had the same issues with a very hot summer and less production. So no one could fill the gap. There was less quantity so no one could provide the needed quantity of food.”

The Consumer Price Index (CPI), which is used to measure the price of goods over time, increased by over 5 percent during the first three-quarters of 2010. The index is based on 231 different categories, and then divided into subgroups. The subgroup that experienced the largest increase in price over the same time last year was the “food and beverage” category, which rose 10.3 percent.82 One example, giv-en by the Ministry of Agriculture, is that consumers should pay between LL12,500 ($8) to LL16,500 ($11) for one kilogram of beef, but during this time, butchers were charging upwards of LL24,000 ($16).83

Normally food prices rise during the month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast un-til sunset, and then break their fast with a large meal. Food vendors take advantage of this holiday by increasing food prices; however, food prices usually fall after the month is over. In 2010, residents noted that while food prices did increase during Ramadan, they continued to increase far beyond this time. One Palestinian woman noted, “In Eid [the feast after Ramadan is finished] it was cheaper than it is now. It got more expensive after that. In Ramadan it was not that expensive. We used to eat meat everyday in Ramadan. Normally, it is a bit more expensive during Ramadan. Normally, a kilogram of tomatoes is LL1,000 [$0.7]. In Ramadan it was LL1,500 [$1]. Now it is LL3,000 [$2].”

This rising food prices prompted countrywide protests, with residents demand-ing that the government implement measures in order to curb the rising costs.84

Education

There are no schools located within the boundaries of Jal el Bahr. Most of the students commute to el Buss in order to attend the UNRWA schools there, but this significantly increases the cost of attending school, as it costs LL15,000 ($10) per child per month for the autocar. If parents have six children in school, it ends up costing LL90,000 ($60) per month in transportation fees alone. In order to decrease this expense, some parents send their sons walking, while they pay for their daughters to take the bus. As one woman commented, “The boys go on foot. But I don’t trust to send the girls by foot because it is too dangerous.” Whether waiting for the bus, or walking along the side of the highway, their chil-dren are in danger of being hit by the speeding cars passing by the community. Many families reported that children from the gathering had been hit by cars while going to school. This was also found by the DRC, who noted, “Many chil-dren and even adults have been run over by passing cars, and many were killed, badly injured or disabled for life.”85

Only a few families were able to afford to send their children to private school, due to the increased cost of tuition. One member of the Popular Com-mittee was able to pay for his children to attend a private school, but for most this is outside of the realm of possibilities.

Very few of the adults in the community are educated. Most are happy when their children are able to continue studying, even if it puts an increased financial strain on their families. Some even lamented that their children were forced to drop out of school because they were no longer able to help them with their homework, effectively continuing the cycle of poverty.

Among the children, the levels of education found in Jal el Bahr seem to be lower than those found in el Buss. Many students dropped out around grades 4 or 5. A few have continued to Brevet. There are very few in the community who were able to receive a university education or even attend technical schools. The DRC found that eight children are enrolled in secondary schools, four people attend university, and three or four people attend the Sibline UNRWA voca-tional institute.86

Dropping out is common among the children in the community. One member of the Popular Committee noted, “The dropout rate is 70 percent. They usually drop out around grade 6. Girls drop out more. 60 percent of boys and 80 percent of girls are illiterate. I consider those that can only write their names illiterate.” According to a DRC report, there are 400 children from Jal el Bahr enrolled in UNRWA schools in el Buss, while 200 are no longer enrolled in school due to either transportation or financial reasons.87 There are various reasons for the early dropout rates; some are similar to those found in el Buss, but others are very different.

Some of the girls drop out of school, or even stop working, due to familial


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obligations, such as helping their families at home. One woman explained, “I have a daughter who studied accounting and got a job. But I had problems and I couldn’t take care of the house alone anymore. So I made her stop working and help me in the house because I couldn’t do it all alone.” One young woman ex-plained why she stopped studying: “I stopped at grade 5 because I was the oldest. When my mom got sick, I had to stay home and help her.” Girls dropping out early due to familial obligations seems to be a trend that has been prevalent over several generations. One middle-aged woman commented on why she had to leave school: “Me and my sister were both engaged at 14 years old [and therefore forced to drop out]. I was crying all the time and telling my father that I wanted to keep studying.”

As mentioned above, the increased cost of paying for the autocar has a signifi-cant affect on families’ ability to pay for all of the costs associated with schooling. In addition to the autocar, families still have to pay for registration fees, uniforms, textbooks, and stationary. One woman said, “I have to pay for my five kids to go to school. I pay LL75,000 [$50] per month for the autocar [for all of the children]. And my husband earns LL12,000 [$8] per day. It costs $100 for the tuition for the kindergarten.” Some families still have problems paying for the education costs, even if their children walk to school.

It was reported that many children have problems with their teachers, who either do not care about the education and well-being of the students, or who physically or emotionally abuse them. One young man said, “The teachers don’t care about teaching because they have a salary and medical insurance. One teacher would go into the class, close the door, and sleep. The teachers beat us.” One woman said, “My daughter is illiterate. She left school because her teacher made fun of her because she was taller than the other students.” Another woman commented:

“There are shortages in the care at schools. Last year my son came home bleeding from his head, and they just let him bleed all day long at school. The teachers care more about the students from el Buss than the kids that come from outside. This was a bigger problem last year, I think it is gettingbetter this year.”

Her son added, “They hit you in sensitive places like the head and the neck. They hit you with chairs.” A Terre des hommes report also found that physical abuse from teachers was a reason for children dropping out of school.88 Although UNRWA recently banned corporal punishment in schools in an attempt to end this abuse, it appears to be continuing.89

Children from Jal el Bahr also commented that they were being abused and picked on by the students from el Buss. One youth said:

“It’s not that we don’t like school. Everyone likes to learn. I was first in my class until grade 3 or 4. Then there were problems. The kids started to hit

each other. There were gangs against the kids from Jal el Bahr. It is not the environment for learning … Either you have to beat or be beaten.”

Another youth commented, “There are a lot of problems with the kids from the camp. They make fun of us. They call us names and hit us. It is like a mafia.”

Like the children and youth in el Buss, as well as young Palestinians from all over Lebanon, many are unmotivated to continue their education knowing that they will be legally barred from working in many professions upon completion of their studies. One woman explained, “Most kids don’t go to school because what will they work in after they finish? They leave school and start looking for a job.” There is a strong connection between the right to work and the desire to continue education. When asked whether she felt that the recent bill regarding Palestinians’ right to work would have any impact, one young woman replied:

“We don’t think anything will happen. It will only be seen on TV. We haveseen it on television, but we know it’s not true. No one encourages us to be-

come educated, so it’s as if we don’t have the right to be educated. Because, even if you are educated, you can’t work as a doctors, etc. We hope that the law will really change. We have heard that the laws might change, but wedon’t think so.”

Of a group of young boys, who had all dropped out of school at young ages, only one said he was able to read and write. A DRC report found a similar situa-tion, saying, “The majority of children we met in Jal el Bahr were unable to read and write their names because they had dropped out of school before learning to read and write.”90 Indeed, some of the group said they had left school as early as grade 1. However, most of the boys spoke of their willingness to return to educa-tion if there were programs offered to suit their needs and specific situation: “If there was some training to teach us how to read and write, we would go.”


There are only a few basic canteens in Jal el Bahr. Unlike most other communi-ties, Jal el Bahr does not even have manooushe shops, which provide a staple of the Lebanese and Palestinian diet. Some community members noted that there is a vegetable truck that visits the community in order to sell produce, but most often the refugees purchase all of their food needs from Tyre and el Buss. As such, there is an increased cost associated with the need to pay for transportation each way.

Like the residents in el Buss, those in Jal el Bahr were also facing financial dif-ficulties in securing the types of food that they normally eat (see textbox “Rising costs across Lebanon”). One woman stated how either the food prices of most items had increased, or the quantity offered for the standard price had decreased: “Everything here is expensive. Tomatoes are expensive. They are LL3,000 [$2] now. And with the [bags of] bread, they give you less, but it is the same price. You


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used to get 10 pieces for LL1,500 [$1]. Now you only get eight pieces.” Many community members had changed their diets in order to cope with the

rising costs. They were more selective about the types and quantity of food they were purchasing. One woman said:

“We are only bringing half a kilo instead of a full kilo of meat. We buy only what we need. We don’t buy fruits. We prefer to eat real food, not fruits. If we have to choose between apples and tomatoes, we will choose tomatoes. But we still eat the same quantity of food.”

She continued describing how the food crisis was worse than what they experi-enced during the July 2006 war:

“We stayed here during the war, and we had more food than we do now. The roof detached because of the bombings. If we went outside, we would see Israeli planes. But we had more food then than we do now. Then we were getting help from outside.”

Another woman said, “For dinner we eat nothing but a few eggs. Would you accept to eat just this?”

Palestinians’ access to health care services

Regardless of whether Palestinians are employed or not, they are unable to benefit from the national social security and health care policies, such as NSSF.91 Similarly, the vast majority of Palestinians do not have access to health insurance, meaning that they are either dependent on organizations to provide services, or they must pay for these services out of their own pockets. The following table compares the percentages of the Palestinian and Lebanese populations with health insurance.

Figure 12.4: Percentage of Palestinian and Lebanese populations with access to

health insurance

Type of Insurance

Palestinian Population (%)

Lebanese Population (%)

No insurance 94.29 53.3

Private 4.54 4.8

Public 1.17 38.4

Source: AUB–UNRWA, “Socio-Economic Survey of Palestinians in Lebanon” (2010), p. 78

UNRWA is the main health care provider for Palestinians; however, they are only able to partially cover the health care costs of registered refugees, and only recently started partially covering the costs for non-registered refugees.92 According to one key informant, if Palestinians access health care at an UNRWA clinic, all of the costs are covered; however, the services offered at the UNRWA clinics are quite limited. If UNRWA transfers patients to another hospital, usually, they will cover the cost of the hospital stay and treatment, but they will not cover things like medicine, laboratory tests, or x-rays. At some hospitals, UNRWA will cover the cost of the “bed” (staying overnight), while the patient must pay for the actual treatment and medication. According to the DRC, UNRWA has a contract with the Hiram Hospital, located in Tyre.93 One resident of Jal el Bahr noted that UNRWA refer-rals to the hospital are now harder to get: “Before if there was something wrong, you would get transferred to the hospital. But now, if it is not serious then they won’t give you approval to get treated.” In spite of the fact that the UNRWA services are seen as inadequate, most Palestinians are unable to afford to attend any other hospi-tal, as they neither have health insurance nor the financial resources to pay for treat-ment. One man from el Buss said, “Here if you go to the hospital with no money, the hospital won’t help you. One of my friends died on the hospital steps because he couldn’t pay. He was 21 years old, but he didn’t have LL250,000 [$167].” There is one UNRWA clinic in el Buss.

Palestinians also receive health care from the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS), Popular Aid for Relief and Development (PARD), and other NGOs. There is a PRCS hospital (Balsam Hospital) located in the nearby Rashadieh camp.94 Ac-cording to a key informant, until the 1980s, Palestinians could receive services at the PRCS hospital for free. Now, those without a referral or those not the relative of a martyr must pay. Those who are able to afford it may seek services from private hospitals and clinics as well. There are some smaller NGOs offering other health care services, though these are much more limited in scope. The DRC reported the following as the main services available to Palestinians in Lebanon:

Figure 12.5: Main health care service providers for Palestinians in Lebanon

Provider Number of Facilities

UNRWA 2995

PRCS 9

PARD 5

Total 39

Source: Danish Refugee Council, “Needs Assessments of Palestinian Refugees in gatherings

in Lebanon” (2003), p.38

The UNRWA clinics include most basic services, such as walk-in consultations, mother and child health, provision of medication, psychiatric care referrals, and school health programs. Other NGOs offer primary health care services, and pre-vention and awareness activities, such as breast-feeding awareness campaigns.


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Palestinians in Jal el Bahr use the UNRWA services in el Buss as their main sources of health care provision, where, in theory, they should be able to receive UNRWA services for free. However, one woman noted, “I went to the UNRWA hospital but they didn’t want to treat me at first. Then they did treat me, but they charged me LL80,000 [$53]. I don’t know why they did this because it is supposed to be free.”

One resident mentioned that an organization called Popular Help for De-velopment96 had been using one building in the gathering as a makeshift clinic, but this had recently closed when the owner of the building returned. Appar-ently the organization is looking for another building where they can reopen the center. Another woman spoke of a doctor, associated with the political group Fatah, who visits the gathering once a week for an hour. He operates from a house and is able to treat basic problems.

The major health concern for the children of Jal el Bahr is accidents, which they face both in the workplace and in the environment surrounding their homes. Quite regularly, children injure themselves while playing on the beach, most often cutting their feet. One young boy said, “I got glass in my foot from playing football on the beach. No one cleans up. I went to a public hospital so I had to pay money.” Another boy noted the recurrent problems faced because of the highway: “I got hit by a car, so now my ankle is not ok. I need to have an operation and a special device to fix it. It happened when I was crossing the road. A lot of people died here. The street is called ‘the street of death.’” A few other young males noted small injuries occurring in their workplaces, often trades shops. The accidents directly impact the education and livelihoods of the boys by forcing them to take time off school or leave their jobs. Another problem noted by one young girl was the psychological trauma associated with the wars: “The kids used to cry and scream. They were very traumatized. I want to leave. I don’t want to stay here.”

Other major health issues prevalent among the children of the families in-

Like many other UNRWA services, the health program is underfunded and overburdened. The DRC reported that UNRWA doctors see 89 patients per day. Both residents from el Buss and Jal el Bahr noted problems with the quality of UNRWA services. While most people mentioned that the services are free, and that they appreciate this, the unsatisfactory quality is believed to be causing further health problems. One key informant in el Buss explained some of the complaints of the residents:

“The health is not good at all because UNRWA takes care of us but they don’t have qualified doctors. They don’t do proper tests to see what iswrong, they just guess by looking at you. There is no prevention … If some-

one has a serious disease then they have to go to a different organization to get help. Even at UNRWA you need wasta now.”

terviewed were fairly rare. Of the families interviewed, one reported a daughter with epilepsy and another a child with a skin condition. Some young boys ex-plained that when the seawater is particularly dirty and polluted, it causes skin conditions such as rashes.

The adult residents of Jal el Bahr have also suffered due to conflicts, the sur-rounding environment, and their working conditions. Some of the refugees have disabilities sustained during the various conflicts that took place in the area. One woman said, “My uncle is disabled, he got bombed by the Israelis in the 1990s.”

Adults have also been hit by cars when they were walking along the side of the highway. This had devastating impacts, for those affected, such as life-long, recurring health problems, and the inability to work. One woman said, “My husband worked as a worker a long time ago. He stopped working 10 years ago because he got hit by a car. He also has diabetes.” Her family of five no longer has any source of income, as the husband is unable to work due to his health problems, and his wife must stay at home to care for him. They rely on charity from various organizations and people in the gathering.

Back problems are common in Jal el Bahr. With men, the injuries are most often associated with manual labor, but women facing the same problem were unaware of what had caused them. One middle-aged woman spoke of the prob-lems she and her daughter face: “I have disk problems, and so does my daughter. The bones touch each other. I don’t know why. Maybe it is from fatigue or the humidity.” Another woman explained how her back problems have affected her mobility: “I prefer to go to the stores on foot [to save money, instead of paying for public transportation], but I can’t walk very far because I have problems with my back.”

Many other people noted the common incidence of chronic diseases among the community. One woman said, “I have health problems. I have diabetes and hypertension. I get arthritis from the humidity.” Another woman spoke of her husband who has chronic problems: “My husband is sick … He is older than 60, he was born in Palestine. He has allergies and respiratory problems. He gets shortness of breath and he has disk problems. I also have disk problems.”

People frequently complained about the poor quality of water, saying that it was causing health issues:

“I have urinary and kidney problems because of the water.”

“We buy water because we have kidney problems because of the [piped]water.”

“Two people in the house have kidney problems because of the water.There is sand in the water.”


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The AUB–UNRWA study reports that generally Palestinians have poorer quality of health than Lebanese. It was reported that 31 percent of Palestinians suffer from chronic diseases, such as hypertension, asthma, back pains, diabetes and heart problems. This number increases to 83 percent for individuals over the age of 55. In total, only 17 percent of the Lebanese population suffers from similar problems. Chronic illnesses are often highly concentrated among more vulnerable groups, especially those who have suffered from conflict, trauma, and poverty. One elderly man’s comment reflected this: “I go see the doctor frequent-ly. I have hypertension from seeing people living like this.” Additionally, those with chronic illnesses are normally dependent on medication and treatment for the rest of their lives, significantly increasing the proportion of the family budget spent on health care.97

Smoking was commonly noticed among the community members, even with boys as young as 14 years old. Ali explained, “Most people smoke a lot. Some people smoke 100 cigarettes in two days. They spend money for what? Our teacher tells us not to smoke, but he smokes.”

Infrastructure

As mentioned previously, the highway beside the community is a very dangerous aspect of the surrounding infrastructure for the gathering of Jal el Bahr, causing many injuries and even deaths. Similar findings have been reported by other organizations. One DRC report noted:

“We were told of an incident that took place seven years ago when a man with his truck hit and killed a boy. Two years later, the same man hit the

Children waiting to cross the highway (Jal el Bahr to the right)

boy’s sister leaving her with multiple injuries including kidney damage. An- other car crashed into one of the houses and injured six children”98

Community members reported trying to install speed bumps in order to de-creased the speed of the cars and reduce the risk to community members. One man said:

“The first thing that should be changed [in the community] is the street. Wewould add bumps. We want speed bumps. We had them, but the municipal-ity removed them. We made them ourselves with plastic. But the municipality forbids them now, even though we asked for them.”

The DRC assessment team spoke to the Tyre municipality, which reported, “It was not a big problem ‘as nothing had happened recently.’” This is a statement that all community members would strongly disagree with.99

Jal el Bahr suffers from lack of access to electricity, like many other com-munities around Lebanon. One man said that the community was first provided with electricity in the 1970s. Currently, one woman explained, “The electricity should alternate being on and off between 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., 2 p.m. to 6 p.m., and 6 p.m. to 12 a.m. Sometimes if there is a technical problem you will have no electricity for two to three days, until someone fixes it.” During the power outages, most people use candles or gas lamps. Only a few families are able to afford a generator: 5 percent of the community, according to the DRC.100 There is a common misconception among outsiders that Palestinian communities don’t pay for their own electricity; however, this is not true. Residents noted paying between LL15,000 ($10) and LL60,000 ($40), depending on the month. Many community members noted billing “problems” with the electricity company, which has led some residents to start splicing electricity, instead of obtaining it legally. One man said:

“Sometimes the company tries to steal from us. For example, if the price is LL17,000 [$11] they will add a ‘0’ so it is LL170,000 [$113]. We pay for everything we use, but they come later and tell me that we owe them more. They say it is because of the government and taxes. If they steal from us, we will steal [electricity] from them. We get a wire and attach it to the mainwire, and take it to our house.”

Another woman said, “Every three years they come with a big bill, like between LL500,000 [$333] to LL3 million [$2,000]. They say it is taxes. No one pays this, it is too expensive. So they will cut it off, but it comes back. People couldn’t pay this.”

While the community does have access to water from the municipality,101 as noted previously, most residents expressed concern that the water is not clean, and is causing many health problems. This was also found in a DRC report that noted that the water was “non-drinking,”102 although most residents cannot afford to buy drinking water. One woman explained the cause of the problem:


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“The pipes here are 30-40 years old, so they are rusty. If a pipe breaks under the land, we drink the water with the dirt in it. My child has kidney problems because of the water. Four or five years ago they built a new line in the area, but it hasn’t been brought to Jal el Bahr yet. Sometimes we buy our own water, but we can’t always afford it.”

Residents noted paying around LL255,000 ($170) per year for their water bills. It is of interest that the DRC report noted, that water and electricity bills in Jal el Bahr are “significantly higher when compared to refugees resident in the camps.”103

Houses in the gathering have no source of heating for the cold winter months. The poor quality of housing affects the families’ ability to protect themselves from the wind and rain. One man said, “In the winter it is very hard because it is cold and the water comes in. We feel that we don’t have to close our houses because it is already like we are in the open.” Some noted burning wood or coal in order to keep themselves warm. Burning wood is also the method used to heat water for showers, as there are no water heaters located in the community.

Most families have sewage pits under their houses. Some empty these when they are full, but most build new ones instead. One woman explained:

“For sewage we have a barrel in the sand. You dig a hole, put in a barrel, and cover it. Then the waste seeps out by itself. You don’t have to empty it. But sometimes it gets full and floods into the bathroom. So you have to siphon it out or build another one.”

Sometimes, the cesspits are attached to pipes that drain directly onto the beach. While the sand filters some of the waste, a Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) report noted that there are hygiene problems because of this.104 One woman ex-plained that her family of seven has no bathroom in the house: “I have to carry it and throw it in the sea.” All of the household wastewater is carried by pipes into the sea. Similarly, as reported by the DRC, “The sewage of neighboring regions is directed to the sea and passes through Jal el Bahr. The outlet is approximately 500 meters south of Jal el Bahr.”105 This fact is widely known; some youth ex-plained, “The sea is dirty. There is sewage water in it that comes from the city.”

There is no garbage collection from inside the gathering, but the municipal-ity has placed some bins outside of the community. Residents noted that some-times the municipality removes them for periods of time, or at other times, they become too full to use. Consequently, many people end up dumping their gar-bage on the beach instead. Even so, the residents are charged LL40,000 ($27) per year for the municipality garbage service.106 Residents do not like dumping their garbage on the beach as they are polluting their own community, but they have few other options. As one woman explained:

“In all of this area, there is a maximum of three garbage bins. But sometimes the municipality takes them [these bins] away. I don’t know why they take them away. Or they are always full. So people throw garbage on the beach. Or when there is a lot of garbage, they burn it.”

Assets and vulnerabilities of Palestinian refugees in Tyre

As already evidenced through the course of the chapter, Palestinians suffer numerous vulnerabilities on a legal level. An ICG report quotes a Lebanese member of parliament, whose comment pointedly demonstrates this fact:

“Our official policy is to maintain Palestinians in a vulnerable, precarioussituation to diminish prospects for their naturalization or permanent settle-

ment. Our economic and security measures are guided by this. And yet, our real challenge today should be to reconcile rejection of naturalization and acceptance of the need to grant Palestinians their rights and improve their living conditions.”107

The myriad restrictions and limitations placed on Palestinians in Lebanon (they are restricted from working in over 30 types of jobs, do not have the right to own property, lack access to health insurance and social security through their employment, and face restrictions on movement both in traveling to other coun-tries, as well as within the country) have significant daily impacts on their lives. Resultant from these restrictions is the inability of Palestinians to better their situation through access to improved employment opportunities, the inability to move out of the overcrowded and dilapidated camps or gatherings, health con-sequences due to difficulty accessing health care, and frustration over the control of their movements.

There are many other consequences that are directly linked to the legal re-strictions placed on Palestinians. For example, the lack of meaningful work is one of the main reasons that Palestinians are dropping out of school; they see no point in continuing, when they will be barred from many types of employment

Infrastructure damaged by the sea


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later on. In turn, the low education rates are continuing the cycle of poverty in which Palestinians have become trapped since 1948. Whereas Palestinians have historically been known for having high levels of education, some of the younger generations today are less educated than their parents. A report by the Lebanese-Palestinian Dialogue Committee notes:

“The educational level for woman is higher than for men. Today, womenare better educated than their mothers, whereas men are not better edu-

cated than their fathers and grandfathers. Young men are more likely not to have completed elementary school.”108

There are other serious consequences for the psychology of the Palestinians who have a desire to return to their homeland and perceive that they are living in a country that does not want them. During the interviews, the refugees often brought up feelings of marginalization and discrimination brought on by their host country, both through the laws that directly target Palestinians as well as the treatment they receive from the locals. Regarding the Palestinian situation, many Lebanese explain that their country is already struggling to provide for it’s own citizens, and that while the international community created this problem, the Lebanese feel abandoned in terms of finding a solution, and providing for such a large number of refugees.

The following are some comments detailing the thoughts and perceptions of the Palestinians regarding their own situation. Some are directly related to the legal issues they are facing, while others detail the marginalization that the refugees face in Lebanon.

“When I go outside the Lebanese say, ‘You Palestinians!’ They don’t consider us as individuals. They group us together.”

“There cannot be a stable situation for the Palestinians because of the racism of the Lebanese between each other and towards the Palestinians.”

“Palestinians can’t talk, can’t have ambitions, we can’t have initiatives. Howdo you expect us to be productive? We can’t imagine. How can we be cre-

ative?”

“A dog in Germany has more rights than we do.”

“All of the Palestinians are homeless. We don’t have the right to own a home or anything.”

“The Palestinian situation is moving backwards. There is no progress.”

However, not all Palestinians noted feelings of discrimination by the Leba-nese. Some believe that the problems they are facing are more due to legal dis-crimination than personal discrimination by individuals. When asked about the relationships between the Palestinian and the Lebanese populations, one woman noted, “They [the relationships] are normal. We don’t differentiate between

each other. We talk to them.” Another resident from el Buss mentioned, “Some Lebanese are good and some are bad. Some Lebanese respect us.” One woman from Jal el Bahr felt similarly: “The Lebanese treat us as they are treated. Some are good and some are not good.” A resident from Jal el Bahr summarized the dividers and connectors between the two groups:

“Lebanese and Palestinian people are the same. There are many Lebanese who marry Palestinians. We were born here; we are like the Lebanese. The only difference is that it says ‘refugee’ on our ID cards, so we have feweropportunities and rights.”

The social dynamics of el Buss are quite different from those in Jal el Bahr. El Buss is much more integrated into the city of Tyre, there are Lebanese moving in and out of the camp to use the hospital, and there are both Muslim and Chris-tian Palestinian residents. While most explained that the Muslims and Christians get along well, and even help each other in times of need, there were a few com-ments made by the Christian members that indicated there are some tensions between the two groups. This could be related to the fact that the Christian com-munity in the camp has decreased significantly over time, and only a few houses remain. Furthermore, the surrounding community of Tyre is a predominantly Muslim community, meaning that members of this group may face double isola-tion due to their status as both Christians and Palestinian refugees. One Chris-tian woman said:

“You feel that the relationships with the neighbors are very tense because they are watching us. If there are any fights, they take the side of the Muslim person. If the children get into a fight with another kid, they will defend the Muslim kid.”

However, the view of another Christian woman demonstrates a different per-ception about the inter-religion relationships: “The neighbors are nice and re-spectful of our privacy. We share with each other and visit each other. Even in Ramadan when they are getting help, they will give us help. But the other Chris-tian communities in Tyre don’t care about us.” Some of the Christians reported seeking help and support from the priest of the local church, located inside the camp, in times of need.

Largely, neighbors and extended family make up the social support networks in el Buss, though many noted that this has been decreasing over time. One woman explained, “Relationships are acceptable. It used to be better. People used to sleep at each other’s houses and visit without appointments. But now it’s changing – maybe because of the current living situation, or because when you are older you see the past as being better.” Yet, even with the various groups pres-ent, the changing demographics, and the nature of relationships evolving over time, residents of el Buss can still depend on each other in the times of need. One young man described the relationships within the camp:


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“This camp is more open than the others. The army is outside and there is a hospital here. It is not like a camp. Some of our neighbors are Christian, Sunni, Shiite, Maronites, and Armenians. There are no problems between anyone. We get together for traditions, like funerals. When my cousin died everyone came. If Christian neighbors face any problems, we go help them.It doesn’t matter who they are.”

Comments from the community: Perceptions of the other community

“Sometimes I am angry and shout at my kids. But then I stop and I thank God that we are surviving because some people are not surviving. For example, in Jal el Bahr the sea goes into their houses and they need to rebuild their houses.”

“Jal el Bahr is much poorer than here. They don’t even have cement. The sea goes into their homes.”

“El Buss is different than Jal el Bahr. There, there are no organizations. We have schools, health, and cultural organizations. UNRWA doesn’t do anything there.”

“Here is a bit better than Jal el Bahr. There they have sand, and waves, and it is all zinco.”

“Because of the geographical location the camp has many opportunities, like educa-tion and culture. It is more open. I used to go to the library in Tyre to read books. We have political activities. It is very open. There is more education than the other camps.”

“The camps are better because they have stores. They can buy food, work, etc. Here [Jal el Bahr] there is one store with bread and cans of things.”

“In el Buss they all study, the boys and girls. The situation is much better. Girls and boys go to school. It is near their house. They have more opportunities. Here we have to pay for the autocar.”

“We do everything ourselves. If the roof or the window needs to be fixed we do it ourselves. In the camp they have political organizations that can help them. But here we do it all ourselves.”

“The camp is much better than here. Here you feel that you are wasting your life for nothing. There is nothing new happening. Do you feel that there is poverty in the camp? We don’t want to live here. We want to leave.”

Jal el Bahr is much more homogenous in terms of its demographics. Both residents and the DRC report noted the presence of about four Lebanese families, but the vast majority are Muslim Palestinians. While not overtly evi-dent, some members suggested the presence of two different groups within the community, each with strong social ties and each supporting their own mem-

bers. For example, some explained that those families who are linked with the Popular Committee governing the gathering receive more support than the others who are not aligned with the committee. This seems to be a sensitive and complex topic, as most were not willing to divulge too much information. One woman said:

“The Popular Committee doesn’t represent all of the people. I don’t know why, but they don’t help people. They help some people. It is defined by their characteristics. There are some people who asked for help and theydidn’t get it. Or maybe they can’t help everyone.”

Generally, the large family units, and the extended family living in the area, form the base of a social support network. Ali’s mother explained, “All of our family lives here. We are close together. We like it.” Some community members feel that they cannot trust others outside of their families: “We have a big family, so we go visit each other. But other than this, we feel like no one loves each other. They all talk about each other. It is not good. People feel alone. No one is nice.” Another mother said, “You feel like people don’t love you for free. They love you because they have some other interest. I don’t like to have relationships here, but everyone here has their own problems and I don’t like to interfere with other people’s lives.” However, from observations during the assessment, it seems as though these are extreme views and the problem may not be as pronounced as reflected in these quotes. Neighboring houses appear to have formed support networks with each other. In many of the areas visited, there were groups of families sitting outside visiting with each other, and neighbors constantly moving between each other’s houses. One woman gave voice to this impression: “The relationships are good. Everyone is together. We have good relationships.”

A degree of interaction between el Buss and Jal el Bahr is inevitable, as the residents of the latter must visit the former to access many services. However, as-sessments of relationship between the communities differ greatly. As mentioned in the education section, many of the students from Jal el Bahr had experienced problems with the students from el Buss. One young boy, who had recently dropped out of school, said, “The kids there [in the camp] hit us. They would wait for us to arrive and then they would throw rocks at us. We would all hit each other.” But another boy said, “In my class [in el Buss] there are two boys from Jal el Bahr. There are no problems with the kids from el Buss. We all stick together. We are friends with them.”

While residents from Jal el Bahr are forced to go to el Buss in order to receive UNRWA services, there is little reason for residents from el Buss to visit the gathering. On this basis, residents from Jal el Bahr might be more likely to feel a personal connection to the camp and it’s residents, whereas the refugees from the camp may feel no connection with the gathering. One woman said, “We buy everything from el Buss. We have normal relationships with them.” Meanwhile, a woman, from el Buss, noted the lack of personal connection she feels towards


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Jal el Bahr: “We have no interaction with them. There is no visiting between them and us. You feel like it’s by itself. We heard they got evicted.”

There is a large organizational presence in el Buss, offering a variety of ser-vices. As mentioned previously five organizations are providing kindergarten services to make up for the lack of services provided by UNRWA at this level. Three organizations have centers, which are used to help with psychological support and creating a friendly environment for children. There are seven orga-nizations that operate care centers that pursue such activities as identifying chil-dren with disabilities, disability rehabilitation, increasing protection for women, providing family counseling, and helping orphaned children. Two organizations provide vocational training, focusing on education for women and vocational training for children who have dropped out of school. Additionally, there are two international NGOs that focus on child protection and psychosocial care and rehabilitation.109

UNRWA Special Hardship Assistance Program (SHAP)

Families in particularly vulnerable situations, often those who are unable to earn an income for a variety of reasons, are able to apply for special assistance from UNRWA. They must submit an application and be recommended by a social worker before they are eligible. Once eligible, their application is reviewed each year to de-termine if they are still in need.110

Families who are part of the assistance program will receive food every four months, including rice, sugar, vegetable oil, lentils, powdered milk, and tuna. They also receive $10 per person in the family every four months. Additionally, these fami-lies may receive special consideration for other support such as social interventions and shelter rehabilitation.111

Many families, especially those in Jal el Bahr, noted that this assistance is insuf-ficient in helping improve their situations. One elderly man said, “The only help we get [from UNRWA] is hummous, foul, and sugar. It is nothing.”

Yet this help is better than nothing. One woman described the measures that her family took in order to remain on the SHAP list: “We made my son get married because he was over 20 and was no longer in school, so our family could no longer receive the rations from UNRWA. They stopped giving it to us because they said he was over 20 and could work now. But he can’t find a job. He is still not working.”

While there are many NGOs operating in the camp, residents of el Buss had two complaints. One, mentioned earlier, is that the NGOs (as well as hospitals and schools) are taking up too much space in the camp and residents have no more room to build houses. The second is that while they provide services, some community members are still excluded from these services. One woman said, “Once UNRWA donated money to people but it was for people that didn’t need any help. And those that did need help didn’t get anything.” Another woman explained, “When UNRWA came to do rehabilitations [on houses] they helped

the houses that didn’t need any help. Even now with UNRWA you need wasta. Some houses were renovated and others were not. I don’t know why those ones got it and others are still waiting.”

Yet, many residents did describe the help that they were receiving from vari-ous organizations. For example, one mother spoke of the organization UNIPAL (Universities’ Trust for Educational Exchange with Palestinians) that sends people from abroad to teach English in the camps and provide recreational activities:

“There was UNIPAL. They come and teach the children English. My daughter got a diploma from them. These things are good for the children. They are happy. They come home with their faces painted. They go on trips and we don’t have to pay for the trips. The children are the first people fromthe camp to visit the places they go to.”

The situation is much different in Jal el Bahr. When asked whether there were any organizations present in the area the vast majority of the residents said no. One member of the PC explained, “There are no organizations here. There is nothing for sports, there are no kindergartens, there is nothing for the children.” One man mentioned an organization called Popular Help for Devel-opment that had operated a basic clinic and provided services for women and children. The organization was forced to close when the owner of the building returned. A Tdh employee noted that they are also doing work in the gathering, although this was not mentioned by any of the residents. However, it is worth noting that residents in poor communities across the country may purposely underreport the amount of aid they are receiving in hope of motivating more support for themselves.

Many of the residents in Jal el Bahr expressed that they felt excluded from the support offered to other Palestinians because they are not living in a camp. One man said, “It is true that UNRWA takes care of the camps. But none of the settlements outside of the camps has any services.” Another man from Jal el Bahr explained the situation, “In el Buss it is better than here, because they are a UN camp. They have support and help. For example, the municipality takes their garbage and they have UNRWA services. Here we are alone.” While they are able to receive support from the UNRWA services in the camp, this may not necessarily be true of the other organizations.

Additionally, their illegal status may discourage organizations from providing help or setting up centers, knowing that they could be evicted at any time. One elderly man said, “People come here and take pictures and then leave. Nothing changes. The help goes to the camps, but not here because they say it is not legal.” Another woman echoed his feelings: “People are hopeless because all of the organizations come here and do studies and then they leave. People don’t have hope anymore.” Even though a DRC report classified Jal el Bahr as being in the highest category of need in terms of infrastructure,112 organizations may be legally barred from helping or are most likely hesitant to provide aid projects


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that could so easily be dismantled or discontinued.Located in the middle of an urban sprawl, and completely overcrowded, el

Buss has no natural capital. The camp is little more than a concrete jungle, with no green spaces for its inhabitants to make use of. While the camp has slightly more space than some of the other camps, (such as Bourj el Barajneh and Ein el Hilweh), children are forced to play in the cramped alleyways or the lots sur-rounding some of the buildings. Children are so desperate to play and release some energy that they often scale the walls of the school when it is closed to continue using the open space in the yard. One mother said, “Even if the school is closed they will jump the fence. But it’s not safe. I argue with my children about doing this.” Adults spend their time in the alleys sitting on stairs and in plastic chairs, talking with their family and neighbors. The overcrowding leads to feelings of oppression and a lack of privacy; some of the windows are so close together that neighbors can hear each other’s conversations, and the sun cannot penetrate the narrow laneways.

Jal el Bahr should offer much more in terms of natural capital to its residents; however, the garbage and pollution in the sea and on the beach detract from this. Children have been injured playing on the beach and swimming in the sea, and residents have had skin problems because of the poor quality of water. The natu-ral elements have actually had devastating effects on the community in terms of its infrastructure and livelihoods. Houses have been flooded and destroyed due to the nearby sea and the incoming waves, and the salt water has eroded the alu-minum roofs. Residents frequently mentioned needing to replace and renovate parts of their houses due to this problem, an undertaking which is made even more difficult by the army’s constant vigil over the area. A major storm hit Leba-non in December 2010, greatly affecting the community and confirming the de-scriptions the refugees gave of the weather-related problems they frequently face.

However, the natural environment offers some benefits for the community. Fishing provides the main source of livelihoods for the refugees in Jal el Bahr. During many interviews residents would point out their family members and neighbors in the fishing boats trawling along the coast. Although Palestinians are technically banned from this profession, the pay is meager, and the condi-tions are often dangerous, fishing provides them with a small income, which they might not otherwise have.

Vulnerable to Shocks

The autumn of 2010 was unseasonably warm and dry across all of Lebanon, wor-rying residents and farmers because of the effects on the country’s water supply and agriculture. However, in mid-December a severe storm hit Lebanon dumping 200 mm of rain in only a few days (more than one-fifth of the total annual pre-cipitation), with winds up to 100 kilometers per hour, and causing waves up to 10 meters high.

While residents of Jal el Bahr continuously spoke of the horrible conditions that they face during the winter, this storm was even worse than usual. The beach was awash with garbage that had been brought up by the enormous waves. Dozens of houses suffered damage and flooding and one house was entirely destroyed, the walls closest to the sea had been completely torn down by the wall of water which repeatedly crashed into the house. The recently married fisherman who owns the house has no idea how he will be able to afford the repairs, but he thinks he will somehow be able to manage, a demonstration of the Palestinians’ resilience in the face of adversity.

Most of the residents had nowhere else to go during or after the storm. They stayed with family and neighbors until the time when their houses were livable again, increasing the number of people in already overcrowded homes. One wom-an said, “We moved to live with our neighbor, we moved all of our stuff. There are no [glass] windows in my house, only plastic. Now there are eight of us living in one room.” Not only were the houses affected, but also the livelihoods of the community members.

One man who owns a mechanic shop estimates that because of the flooding $20,000 worth of equipment and merchandise was destroyed. Fishing boats and nets were destroyed, leaving the community without their main source of liveli-hood. One man said that he had up to $3,000 of fishing nets that were damaged beyond repair, and a $5,000 boat was destroyed. While UNRWA had come to de-liver blankets and mattresses there were complaints among the residents that these were not being distributed to those in need, instead they were given to those who have affiliations with the Popular Committee. Others mentioned that this is not the type of aid they are looking for: “We don’t want money or food. We just want our houses fixed, like they are in the camp.”

The residents were hopeful that the government would permit them to rebuild, something they are normally prohibited from doing, but it was too early to tell. In Jal el Bahr, a community already deeply affected by chronic poverty, an unpredict-able event such as this only exacerbates the desperate situation they are already facing.

The community possesses very few coping mechanisms in order to deal with shocks such as this one. The residents of Jal el Bahr will spend months, if not lon-ger, recuperating their destroyed and damaged assets; however, in the meantime they will be pushed further into the cycle of poverty.


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One benefit of Jal el Bahr’s location is that in the summer, sea breezes offer a welcome reprieve from the heat and humidity. As one community member explained:

“The only positive thing is that in the summer we have the best life. It is the best view and situation here. We go to the sea. It doesn’t matter if there is no electricity because we have a breeze. We wait until the electricity comesat 11 p.m. and then we go inside. It is better than the camps.”

The situation faced by Palestinians in el Buss and Jal el Bahr is very similar in terms of their access to financial capital; however, there were some comments made throughout the interviews to indicate that residents of el Buss are in a slightly better financial situation than those in Jal el Bahr. Some possible rea-sons for this include the access to services located within the camp boundaries, whereas residents of Jal el Bahr need to pay for transportation expenses, as well as the legal status of the camp, compared to the illegal settlement status of the gathering. Residents of Jal el Bahr often reported paying fines and bribes to the army for building in the area or fishing. The vast majority of residents in both areas mentioned rising prices and their inability to meet all of their needs.

Most community members, in both areas, said that they are unable to save, even if they are working more than one job. Usually, families are able to meet their daily needs, but find it hard to pay for larger expenses such as school tuition or treatments for health problems. One man who works as a pharmacist in two pharmacies in el Buss, said, “I work two jobs, but all of the money I get is used for food and education. I can’t save at all.” A mother of five girls, from el Buss,

Two men inspecting the damage to a house after the storm in December 2010

said, “What [money] my husband earns, we spend. We can never save. The girls always need things.” Similarly, a woman in Jal el Bahr said, “Nobody can save any money. If you work, you can eat. But if not, then you cannot eat. Some people buy with loans [borrowing money]. If someone gets sick, how can they deal with this?”

There are a few different coping mechanisms used by the refugees in order to face their financial difficulties. Those who have relatives abroad depend on remittances in order to help them cover their expenses and deal with shocks. As some Palestinians were able to emigrate during the Civil War, they have since established themselves in other countries with a salary that allows them to send some money back to their families living in the camps. One man in el Buss said, “We send people to work outside because they can send money back.” Another elderly man from Jal el Bahr said, “Those who have families that live outside are better off than those who have none.”

Some residents commented that during hard times they borrowed money from relatives and friends, or they took food from shops with the promise to pay later. This was prevalent in both communities, but perhaps more so in el Buss due to the increased presence of shops. One elderly man from el Buss said, “Many people take [borrow] money from their relatives, friends, or children during the winter months.” He was referring to the winter months being more difficult because of fewer available employment opportunities. He also noted the need for established personal relationships in order for this exchange to occur: “People trust each other. They trust me. They give me things because they know I will pay them back.” A pharmacist echoed this feeling: “Maybe they can buy on credit at big stores. They [the big stores] can sell it to the customers and they will pay at the end of the month. If it is someone I trust, then maybe I will give it to them on credit.” While borrowing and lending does occur in Jal el Bahr, it seems to be less frequent. One woman said, “You can borrow from stores. Some people do it, but I prefer not to because it is hard to pay them back after.” An-other woman added, “People don’t lend to each other. They cannot.”

One man from a political organization in el Buss spoke of how the increase in consumerism has affected the camp residents. This seems to be a difference between the residents of el Buss and Jal el Bahr. He explained:

“Some people have better housing now, for example they have two bathrooms. They care about how they dress. There is more consumption. This is a negative thing. They have debts. They can’t save for their future. They are spending more money than they earn. They get loans from the shop where they buy their clothes. They pay half the price at the time and pay the restlater. For any occasion they want to buy new things.”

Conversely, a woman in Jal el Bahr said, “We want to buy clothes, but the family says we need to buy food first. You can eat or buy clothes.” There are a few potential explanations for these differences depicted by the residents.


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El Buss is physically integrated in the city boundaries of Tyre. Residents may feel an increased desire to be part of the surrounding community by blending in, in terms of their clothes and the way they look. Also, many stores and shops are located both within el Buss and the immediate surrounding area, facilitating their ability to purchase new goods. Alternatively, residents of el Buss may have built personal relationships with the store owners, so they are able to buy things on credit. Jal el Bahr, on the other hand, is more isolated from the city of Tyre than the camp, and it has nothing in terms of commercial establishments within its boundaries. A second explanation for the difference is that it demonstrates that residents in the camp fare slightly better than those in Jal el Bahr in terms of their access to financial capital.

Within each community, there are perceptions that some groups are finan-cially better off than other groups. One Christian woman in el Buss gave her impression that Muslims were able to save more than them. She linked this to the higher number of children sometimes found in Muslims families, and the difference in the desired levels of education: “People with the mosque are able to save. For example the boys start working at age 15, and by age 20 they have a house. They [Muslims] depend on their children.” She continued, still refer-ring to the Muslims: “For sure there are remittances here. Each house has six to seven children, so if one or two go outside [abroad] to work, they are sending money back.” As mentioned earlier, there was a view by some residents in Jal el Bahr that families with ties to the Popular Committee were receiving additional benefits in terms of aid and financial support.

Both Palestinian communities are affected by seasonal changes. In el Buss, the biggest concern is lack of work opportunities during the winter, as much of the employment available is seasonal. One woman said, “My husband paints, but in the winter there is no work.” The lack of employment was compounded by the increased costs during the winter. During the summer months there are no education-related payments to be made; however, in the winter, families must pay for the cost of tuition, other expenses for school, as well as the cost of heat-ing. One resident summarized the situation: “It is more expensive in the winter because there are more needs, like heating, etc. And there is less work.”

While the lack of employment opportunities is also very prevalent in Jal el Bahr, residents are much more concerned with the increased rain, wind, and sandstorms, and the ability of their ramshackle houses to withstand this weather. Residents interviewed were troubled by their powerlessness to fix their houses so that they could better cope through the cold winter months. One man said, “In the winter it is very cold. The doors and windows don’t work. The roof is zinco. And we don’t have the right to make it better.” He continued, “It is very cold. Everything is manageable, but not when it’s cold. If someone is cold and hungry, how can he sleep?”

All households in the community, not just those on the waterfront, reported flooding during the winter months. This was either related to the waves crashing into the houses or the inability of the ground to absorb the rainwater. Ali spoke of his house during the winter: “The sea is dangerous because it goes into the houses. Yes, it comes into this house!” Not only do residents suffer because of the flooding, but, because of the poor construction of the area and the lack of pipes and drainage systems, it is very difficult to remove the water once it has entered the houses. One woman referred to her living room floor, which was covered with water: “We have no way of getting the water out. So it just stays in the house.”

Referring to the leaky roofs, one woman said, “Wait until it starts raining, you will see people running to put bowls everywhere.” A member of the Popular Committee summed up the feelings of frustration many community members have towards their living situation and their inability to change it: “The houses are made of zinco. Seventy percent of the houses are not livable. In the summer zinco is too hot and in the winter it is too cold. In other places you wouldn’t even build with zinco for your chickens!”

Part of the 1969 Cairo Accord, agreed upon by Yasser Arafat and the head of the Lebanese army, permitted the camps to be self-governing. Following this, Popular Committees were formed whose main task was to function as the gov-erning body within each camp. Their main responsibilities are to provide elec-tricity and water to the residents, deal with small problems and conflicts that occur between residents, help to organize some of the some activities that take place within the camps, and provide representation on behalf of the residents to other institutions, such as the Lebanese authorities and UNRWA. The Popular Committees are made up of different members, representing the various po-litical factions present in the camp, and sometime include key members of the community, such as respected, elderly men. However, there are various problems with the Popular Committees. In some camps, there are two different groups, one loyal to the PLO and one loyal to the Tahaluf (an alliance of groups that oppose the Oslo peace accords, which the PLO supports). This results in oppos-ing views regarding the issues they should be controlling as well as uncoordinated efforts to provide the necessary services. There is a lack of financial means to complete the required activities, and as people are often chosen based on their political affiliation, and not their skill level, there is sometimes a lack of capacity within the PCs to effectively manage the community. PCs were also formed for the gatherings. They may represent just one gathering or a grouping of gather-ings. The DRC found that the power and authority of the PCs are the strongest in the southern camps.113

Fatah is much more prominent in el Buss than in some of the other camps. Walking around the alleyways, there is a strong show of support for Arafat, with many posters depicting his photo and supporting Fatah. One man said:


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“Somebody is always controlling the camps. Here it is Fatah. In other camps it is not like this. There are other groups, like Hamas, Jihad, and Islamic groups. The Islamic groups are dangerous for the camp. There are no Islamist organizations here.”

He continued:

“The Popular Committee is responsible for here. It is [made up of] Fatah and groups that are with Fatah. Hamas is also here but not like Fatah. Fatah is more popular and [is here] in greater numbers. They get support from the Lebanese government. This is the situation here, maybe it is different in other camps.”

One man from the el Buss PC said, “The organization has been around since 1971. We work in public life: for example in social problems, infrastructure, health, education, etc. These are the responsibility of UNRWA, but we work with them. We care about everyday issues.”

The prominence of only one political party may be beneficial for the stability of the camp, as one man said, “Even now the situation is very stable, politically, because there is one party controlling everything and there is no conflict with other parties.” It also seems as though the elderly in the camp have some level of influence over the situation: “If there are fights, the old men come and tell them that we don’t want any fighting.” However, not everyone is content with the influence and control of the political bodies over the camp. One man mentioned the fact that politics are often handed-down from parents to their children: “If someone is in a political organization and they are not educated, they are just as ignorant as their parents. The aims of the political organizations are to keep people ignorant, so they can control them.”

In Jal el Bahr, as has been mentioned throughout the chapter, there seem to be two groups, one that supports the PC, and similarly receives support from the PC, and a second group which is against the committee and receives no help. Two quotes from community members demonstrate the stark difference in opinions. One man said:

“We have a Popular Committee, like el Buss, that represents us. They are good, not bad. Whenever help [money or material donations] comes it should be passed to the Popular Committee and they distribute it to the whole area. Even if the help is for one person, they will give to everyone so that no one is left out. When there are problems between people, they cango to them [the PC] and they will help solve it.”

Whereas, another man said:

“The Popular Committee helps themselves and the people related to them. But we are not related to them, so we don’t feel that they represent us. They don’t go to UNRWA and tell them that the zinco roofs need to be changed, because their roofs are cement.”

Community members of Jal el Bahr, which lacks the presence of the politi-cal factions found in the camps, believe that this is both a positive and negative thing. Some residents said that the lack of political factions reduces the fighting in the area; while others feel that they are without protection in case anything were to happen.

Generally, Palestinians feel that they are not supported by the political struc-tures in Lebanon due to the discriminatory laws and the actions of the army monitoring the camps. In Jal el Bahr, this feeling was extended to other organiza-tions as well: “UNRWA and the PLO are supposed to be responsible for us, but they are not taking care of us.” One man in el Buss mentioned the role of the Lebanese government in solving some of the problems that the Palestinians are facing: “We want a strong Lebanese government, we support the government. The government is not our enemy.” However, until the refugees are given more equal rights, and there is less marginalization, residents continue to feel that they need wasta in order to get any support or assistance. One man said, “If you don’t have wasta, you don’t get anything.”

Both communities employ a variety of coping mechanisms in order to deal with the difficult situation in which they find themselves. They use their sur-rounding social networks of family and friends in order to gain both financial and emotional support. One woman from el Buss said, “We have lots of social gatherings. We laugh. We get together.” The Palestinians also depend on their social networks for help during tough financial periods. One woman said, “Our daughter makes $300 per month, so she helps out. Sometimes our son works as a painter also. So we get by.” Another woman from Jal el Bahr said, “People help us because no one works. People see that my husband is disabled and my children are small, so then they help us.” One of the Christian women recog-nized her religion as being a source of support: “I talk to the priest if I have any problems.”

Arguably, Jal el Bahr faces more hardships than el Buss, and their residents appear to have more difficulties financially than the refugees in the camp. This has created both a need for ingenuity and a sense of community within the area. One woman noted how they are able to afford to send their children to school: “For example, my children want to go to school, but they don’t have shoes. So we sew these by ourselves.” While building is outright prohibited, residents find ways around this. One woman explained, “We build our house at night.” This way, the enterprise is not directly visible to the army who come during the day. Others described making rehabilitations indoors, leaving the damaged sections in place on the outside, in order to hide the repairs from the authorities.

The residents have come together to support each other against threats to the community’s well-being. One woman remembers when they were building the highway:

“There was a person who had a store here. The army removed the store


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to build the highway, but they did not give him any compensation. So the whole area protested and closed the road. So they [the army] ended up helping him. But if we didn’t do this, they would have left him alone without helping him at all. Deep down we thought, ‘If they removed one person, they could do that to all of us.’”

Another time when the community has come together was to try and prevent more destruction and death due to the busy highway. The refugees built speed bumps along the highway in order to try and reduce the speed of the cars pass-ing by the community. Although the municipality eventually removed them, the initiative shows that the residents are willing to take action for the common good of the area.

Conclusion

Therese Delpech writes in her book, Savage Century:

“… because of the unthinkable crimes committed all through the last century, that century remains in many respects a century without forgiveness. It is from that ground still accessible to memory that we must set out once more to find promise of a future, in the absence of which no survival is possible.”114

A Palestinian woman in one of the camps in Lebanon made a comment: “Many people made mistakes during the Civil War. But is there no forgiveness?”

The Palestinians in Lebanon continue to face an uncertain future from an unstable present. While most have access to basic services, they are limited in what they can do for their livelihoods and restricted in where they can live. There are even fewer options for the future. While they are very much in the political consciousness of various debates within the country, they remain socially mar-ginalized in Lebanese society.

1. (Sayigh, 2007) p. 22. (Sayigh, 2007) p.213. (Sayigh, 2007) p. 214. (Fisk, 1990) p. 365. (Fisk, 1990) p. 376. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 4. Though estimates vary and some are con-

siderably lower, falling around 90,0007. Spellings of the camp vary, including Al-Bass. 8. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 49. (UNRWA) (b)10. (UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007) p. 211. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 412. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 413. On 26 July 1956 Colonel Nasser of Egypt nationalized the Suez Canal after the

United States, the United Kingdom, and the World Bank denied Egypt previ-ously promised loans to build the Aswan high dam. On 29 October 1956 Israeli forces attacked Egypt with the backing of the United Kingdom and France. Is-raelis occupied Gaza strip and the Egyptian Sinai. Israel was hoping to end the attacks, which Palestinians groups had been waging from these areas. A cease-fire was agreed upon on 7 November but Israel continued to occupy these areas until 1957. (ICRC, 1996)

14. In 1967 there was a 6–day war between the Egypt, Jordan, and Syria against Israel. The war took place from 5 June and ended on 10 June with an armistice. There were heavy losses on the Arab countryside, and Israel increased their territory, by controlling the Golan Heights and parts of Mount Hermon. (Al Jazeera, 2009)

15. The Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) was established in 1964 and moved to Lebanon in 1970, as part of the 1969 Cairo Agreement between Yasser Arafat (the leader of the PLO) and Emile Boustani, (the head of the Lebanese army), though many people wrongly believe that they invaded the country. The PLO was recognized by the UN as the “sole legitimate representative of the Pal-estinian people.” Many Palestinians say that when the PLO was in Lebanon their situation improved as the PLO created institutions and built infrastructure sup-porting the refugees. The PLO also added to the financial situation of the refugees, and there were times when two thirds of the Palestinian work force was employed by the PLO and the resistance movements. Many even viewed their arrival as a message from God; the PLO had been sent to alleviate the suffering of the Pales-tinians. Some believe that the arrival of the PLO in Lebanon was the cause of the Civil War, though a key informant noted that they arrived five years prior to the beginning of the conflict. The PLO was then forced to leave the country following the Israeli occupation in 1982, leaving the Palestinians without any protection and with very little access to services. It is made up of a variety of members including the Fatah party. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1, 4, (Amnesty International,


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2007), Personal and key informant Interviews, Sayigh, 1995 quoted in (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 3

16. (Doraï, 2003) p. 2417. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 518. Amal is a Shiite organization that was started by Imam Moussa Sadr19. (UNRWA) (b)20. As of December 2010 there were 425, 640 Palestinians registered with UNRWA in

Lebanon. (Chabaan, et al., 2011) p. 2421. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 2422. (Amnesty International, 2007)23. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 24. This number has been called into question by local

NGOs. As the methodology is not available within the report it is impossible to de-termine whether this statistic may be accurate or not. One local NGO worker ex-plained that their sampling method could greatly affect this number, as the elderly are most likely to live on the ground floor, and their children and their families live on the higher floors. If the methodology entailed interviewing mainly ground floor housing, this fact would underestimate the members in each family. Key informant interview.

24. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 2425. The destroyed camps were Nabatieh, Jisr el Pasah, and Tall el Zaatar. (Interna-

tional Crisis Group 2009) p. 426. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 2-327. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 428. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006) p. 11-1229. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 430. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006) p. 1031. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 432. (UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007) p. 233. (UNWRA) (c)34. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006)35. Note that the definition refers to Palestine refugees, and not Palestinian refugees.

(UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007) p. 5 36. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006) p. 6037. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006) p. 6138. Quoted in (Frontiers (Rawad) Association 2006) p. 6339. (Frontiers (Rawad) Association, 2006) p. 64, 7040. UNWRA’s fields of operation are: The West Bank, Gaza, Jordan, Syria, and Leba-

non.41. (UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007) p. 542. (UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007) p. 643. (UNRWA and UNHCR, 2007)44. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 11

45. (Bennafla, 2007)46. (Peteet, 2007)47. (Doraï, 2003) p. 2448. (Doraï, 2003) p. 2449. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 750. Jal el Bahr is the focus on the next chapter. It was inserted here for comparison.51. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 852. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 10-1153. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1754. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 17 and personal interviews55. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 1356. As part of the amendments approved in 2010, the National Social Security Fund

(NSSF) announced in May 2011 that Palestinian refugees working in Lebanon are now eligible to receive end of service indemnity benefits. But Palestinian workers still are not eligible to benefit from the NSSF’s health, maternity care or family allowances.

57. Included in the 2010 amendment will be a social security fund for Palestinians. However, this will only cover retirement indemnities, but no other benefits for family, illness, or maternity leave, like the Lebanese have under the National Social Security Fund (Chabaan, et al., 2011) p. 13. During the parliamentary sessions it was not decided how or where this fund would be set up, and many Palestinians are unconvinced that this will ever take place (Personal interviews). The new law is meant to ease the process by which Palestinians apply for work permits, and also supply the permits for free (Muir, 2011). But, one major issue remains the fact that in order to apply for a permit, Palestinians must have a current work contract, which includes paid health insurance. While employees often pay for this insurance themselves (Chabaan, et al., 2011) p. 13., this restriction continues to limit their ability to even apply for the permits, as Palestinians often work in unstable and insecure jobs, where contracts are not normally issued. Some refugees also believe that this is just another way in which they can become entangled in bureaucracy and forced to use wasta or bribery to order obtain work permits (Personal Inter-views).

58. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 1359. Some of the restricted professions, from both categories, include: medical doc-

tors, engineers, pharmacists, professions within the law, architects, nurses, dentists, veterinarians, physiotherapists, hospital owners, drug warehouse workers, medical laboratory workers, dental laboratory workers, teachers (at all levels), certified ac-countants, journalists, technicians, travel agents, news editors, insurance agents, topographers, owners of tourist companies, hairdressers, workers within currency exchange, real estate agents, taxi drivers, driving instructors, publishers, managers of publishing companies, and news editors. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 13

60. The five kindergartens are run by: Beit Atfal Al Somoud, NABAA, Al Najdeh


420 421

Association, Al Iman KG, and GUPW. (Handicapped International and ECHO, 2009)

61. The schools are el Shajara School, Dair Yassin School, and Nimrin School, which are all operated by UNRWA. Key informant interview

62. Palestinian students must still pay a registration fee at UNRWA schools. Students noted that the cost for high school registration is LL100,000 ($67) in addition to a LL15,000 ($10) deposit for books, which is returned at the end of the year. The registration for elementary schools is less expensive.

63. (Blome Jacobson, 2003) quoted in (Age, 2005) 64. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 38 65. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 3666. (Terre des hommes, 2009) p. 667. (UNRWA) (b)68. A pseudonym69. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 4-5 70. Another 17 areas were assessed but were not included either because they did not

have humanitarian or protection needs, they were well integrated with reason-able standards or living, or they were very small. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 12, 14

71. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 2472. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 12 73. Key informant interview and (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. viii 74. A DRC report noted that 20-30 percent of houses in gatherings may be headed by

a female. They explained this large proportion by the death of husbands, injuries incurred in the workplace, or handicaps. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 48, 143

75. (Premiere Urgence & Norwegian Refugee Council, 2009) p. 8776. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 14477. A pseudonym78. Amendment to decree no. 11614. Cited in (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1779. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1780. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 1581. (Mroue, 2010)82. (Daily Star, 2010a)83. (Daily Star, 2010b)84. (Zaatari, 2010)85. (Sharar, 2009) p 8 86. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 145 87. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 144 88. (Terre des hommes, 2009) p. 589. (Terre des hommes, 2009) p. 590. (Sharar, 2009) p. 9

91. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1692. (Amensty USA, n.d.)93. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 14494. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 144 95. The recent AUB report noted that this number increased from 25 (as originally

reported in (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) to 2996. This is a direct translation from the Arabic name, but the accurate English name

is not known.97. (Chaaban, et al., 2011) p. 6398. (Sharar, 2009) p. 8 99. (Sharar, 2009) p. 9 100. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 143 101. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 144 102. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 29. However, an NRC report said that the

water network was “protected by a good chlorination as the free residual chlorine indicates (0.5 mg/L). No contamination was found.” (Premiere Urgence & Norwe-gian Refugee Council, 2009) p. 87

103. (Sharar, 2009) p. 27 104. (Premiere Urgence & Norwegian Refugee Council, 2009) p. 74, 87105. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 144 106. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 144 107. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 16108. (Hillenkamp, 2008)109. Some of the organizations present in the camp are: Beit Atfal Al Somoud, NABAA,

Al Najdeh Association, Al Iman KG, GUPW, the Women’s Humanitarian Orga-nization (PWHO), Nabil Badran Center, Early Intervention Unit, UNRWA social services center, the Humanitarian Endowment for Development and Relief, Terre des Hommes, and Handicap International. This list may not be inclusive of all of the NGOs operating in the camp, as these are the only NGOs listed in (Handicap International and ECHO, 2009)

110. (UNRWA) (d)111. (UNRWA) (d) One key informant noted that until the late 1980s and early 1990s

all Palestinians had ration cards and received food assistance on a monthly basis. It was at this time that the SHAP program was introduced for the most vulnerable members of the community. According an article on the Forced Migration Online website: “Palestinian refugees in Lebanon have the worst socio-economic situation in UNRWA’s five areas of operations with the highest percentage of Special Hard-ship Cases (SHCs). There are approximately 46,204 SHCs and which is about 11.4% of the registered refugee population, in comparison with 8.7% in Gaza and 7.3% in Syria.” For more information see: http://www.forcedmigration.org/guides/fmo018/fmo018.pdf

112. (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 66


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INTRODUCTION 1

113. (International Crisis Group, 2009) p. 1, 22, (Danish Refugee Council, 2005) p. 15 114. (Delpech, 2007) p. 180

Part 4

CONCLUSION

424 425

CONCLUSION

Patterns of poverty

The objective in undertaking this study was to improve the understanding of the qualitative dynamics of poverty in Lebanon. This was accomplished by allow-ing the individuals and groups affected a voice to describe their own realities of being poor – something that has been missing from previous research in Leba-non. While some quantitative and statistical data exists, it needed to be balanced with an understanding of the human face of poverty – the narrative of the poor.

The research methodology moved beyond simple income sufficiency indi-cators to capture the dynamics of poverty, both the causes and consequences, as explained by those who experience it. Poverty measurement tools like the Multidimensionality Poverty Index (MPI), which is quite similar in concept to the Human Development Index, try to capture this by identifying a range of deprivations in an individual’s life and their household. “The measure assesses the nature and intensity of poverty at the individual level in education, health outcomes, and standard of living.”1 The MPI indicators include education (years of schooling and child enrollment), health (child mortality and nutrition), and standard of living (availability of electricity, type of sanitation, access to drink-ing water, the type and quality of the floor in the household, the type of cook-ing fuel used, and the number of assets the household has). In preparing the methodology and framework for the interviews, while tools like the MPI were important, it was quickly realized that they were insufficient for understanding why a community was poor, why its members are vulnerable to external shocks, and what coping mechanisms are utilized to deal with this. Indicators alone are not sufficient in explaining the dynamics of poverty – they only provide a static snapshot of some aspects of poverty. With this in mind other ways of looking at

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or assessing poverty, such as in terms of vulnerability, maginalization, isolation, powerlessness, and voicelessness, were added to the framework and explored and analyzed throughout the study.

Over 200 interviews with 417 participants in eight communities took place over the course of one year. The primary data collection alone thus provides a significant contribution to the knowledge base used to understand poverty in Lebanon. While making any definitive universally applicable conclusions about poverty in the country would be presumptuous, certain patterns were observed and can be extrapolated from the data, and it is in these patterns that the nature and dynamics of poverty in Lebanon are revealed.

In Lebanon there are very specific groups who experience poverty. Groups like the rural communities who live in pockets in the Bekaa Valley, the south, and the north are some of the most poor in the country. Historically these areas have been neglected by the government and have had little access to services. The traditionally poor also include Lebanese who have migrated from rural areas to urban centers, contributing to an extremely large urban population that experi-ences a lack of opportunities and lives in slum-like conditions. According to the UNDP Country Study, 28.54 percent of the Lebanese population in the country lives below the national poverty line; many of those contained in that percentage belong to these groups.2

Nevertheless, the face of poverty in Lebanon is changing. Due to the major changes that have taken place across the region during the 20th century and the devastating 15-year Lebanese Civil War, there have been huge changes in the de-mographic makeup of the country, resulting in the emergence of new vulnerable groups, many of whom are considered foreign in the country. The new vulnerable populations include: refugees (Armenians, Palestinians, Iraqis, and Syrians), the Bedouins, the Dom (also known as gypsies or Nawars), and migrant workers, more specifically migrant domestic workers. The exact population sizes of these groups are unknown although conservative estimates show that they could easily number over 1million people, a substantial number given that Lebanon itself only has 4 million citizens residing in the country. Likely large percentages of these groups also fall below the poverty line, though they were not included in the UNDP Country Study. Unfortunately some of the policies of the Lebanese government make it difficult for these groups to emerge from the cycle of poverty in which they are entrapped. For example, Lebanon is not a signatory to the Conventions for the Right of Refugees and as a result most refugees have limited protection and varying access to basic services. All refugees in the country face an uncertain future, unless they are repatriated to their own countries or are resettled in a third country. The Bedouins and Dom face citizenship issues, though many believe they are Lebanese, and therefore cannot access services provided to nationals. Often these groups are marginalized, living in poverty on the edges of society with very few resources to withstand any emergencies or shocks.

13CONCLUSION

Quite concerning is the emergence of another vulnerable group – children. These children are both Lebanese and expatriates and include the children of refugees, prisoners, and migrant workers, as well as children working on the streets and institutionalized children. Child labor is common in both urban and rural areas, and while Lebanon has protection mechanisms in place, these are contradictory to other policies and often not implemented.

Further trends were evident not only in the causes of poverty but also the ways in which it is manifested, often with clear links between the two. Those lacking citizenship, which may have occurred for a variety of reasons, have dif-ficulty accessing public services and often cannot afford private services, affect-ing their ability to improve their own circumstances. Many of the poor lack sufficient education and skills to participate in the labor market and instead end up working in the informal sector as day laborers, where work is inconsistent and dependent on a variety of factors (such as the stability of the country and seasonal changes). The seasonality of the income has a huge impact on the poor not being able to save, other than for the months when they have work, beyond which there is no surplus. The location of one’s residence also plays a major role in the instance of poverty. Those residing near the southern border live with constant feelings of insecurity and have experienced numerous periods of dis-placement because of war and violence. This has caused a decrease in the liveli-hoods available (constant insecurity serves as a deterrent to investment) as well as repeated damage to their homes and property. Those living in other isolated regions across the country lack access to government services, such as schools, health services, and infrastructure. Many of the rural poor own very little, if any, agricultural land, and are therefore unable to provide for their own needs, never mind produce a surplus that they would be able to sell for profit. The urban poor are often illegally squatting in urban slums, and in many cases experience inse-cure land tenure. The quality of the houses in both the rural and urban areas is consistently poor, and homes are often overcrowded.

Regardless of the cause of poverty, many of the vulnerable populations expe-rience poor health. It is suspected that children experience high levels of micro-nutrient deficiencies, which is evident in stunting found among certain groups. Breast-feeding is uncommon and though impoverished populations often have enough to eat, they lack the variety needed for a healthy diet. Adults experi-ence similar health issues to those in developed countries – diabetes, high blood pressure, and chronic diseases – though the causes for these are often related to constant stress associated with repeated experiences of violence, conflict, and displacement, as well as the daily struggles associated with poverty and margin-alization.

Other elements common to poor populations across the country are the lack of social safety nets as well as adequate coping mechanisms in order to mitigate the seasonality, shocks, and emergencies that they face. These groups often lack

428 429

targeted government programs or policies aimed at reducing their vulnerabilities and alleviating the hardships they experience. Rarely do any of these communi-ties have social security or health insurance, which are most often linked to stable employment and citizenship. In addition, lack of financial reserves and assets or access to foreign remittances, all of which assist others in Lebanon to withstand difficult periods, leaves these communities even more vulnerable. Subsequently the impoverished often resort to desperate coping mechanisms which may in-clude limiting their food intake, dropping out of school, not seeking medical services, or placing their children in institutions.

All of these causes and consequences of poverty manifest themselves in such a way as to create a downward spiral where each vulnerability or shock increases the chance of a new vulnerability. In turn, each new level of experienced vulner-ability heightens the probability of being exposed to new risks.

As evidenced, there was no single universal vulnerability that could be iden-tified across communities, though the poverty found in each community is not absolutely unique either – there is overlap between communities.

For instance, in rural communities poverty is by exacerbation isolation, lack of investment, neglect, and absence of services. Wazzani and Jmeijme in south-ern Lebanon struggled to recover from various conflicts but have never quite done so as they continue to live in a highly insecure part of the country. Ad-ditionally, their remote locations mean they lack government services, although Jmeijme has received increased service provision due to the rather recent pres-ence of sectarian political parties in the area, although this was also likely the cause of the major destruction, which occurred in the area during the 2006 war. As the villagers in Wazzani claim to have no political affiliation, they do not receive any extra support. Mareh and Bajaa in North Lebanon are also located in an isolated region that has been neglected by many governments, with few resources and even fewer investments contributing to the poor socioeconomic status of the residents. While their natural capital was once quite strong, it is deteriorating rapidly. Their plots of land are now too small to be productive and their main water source has recently become polluted. While the Bedouin also experience rural isolation, this is not the main challenge that the community faces. Rather, the Bedouins struggle with issues of citizenship and discrimination that do not allow them to participate in the mainstream of Lebanese society and limit their ability to access public services, something that is limited to only those with nationality – this is the main issue present in the Dom communities as well.

Poor urban communities are more generally in a state of flux trying to incor-porate new migrant populations who create competition not only for space but also for jobs and housing. Land tenureship is often an issue, though the urban poor generally live in poor quality housing and slum-like conditions. By far the most prevalent issue in Hay el Tanak is insecure land tenureship. The residents are actively fighting for their right to stay on the land or be compensated fairly.

While the community is admittedly poor, they maintain that they are good people with strong morals. This was contrasted by the other urban communities studied, Hay el Gharbeh and Karm el Zeitoun, both of which have witnessed an increase in social issues such as drug use and prostitution over the recent years. Hay el Gharbeh is a community segmented by various populations, both foreigners and Lebanese, many of whom have migrated from other countries or parts of Lebanon in search of cheap accommodation. Housing issues (not necessarily land tenureship) are becoming increasingly commonly in Karm el Zeitoun, a community that now hosts almost all of the different communities and populations present across Lebanon. Unlike other mixed communities, Karm el Zeitoun has managed to integrate most of its members, though the recent influx of migrant workers has caused strife between long-term residents and those who have just arrived.

The Palestinian refugees, by far the largest refugee population in the country, lack many basic human rights and the means to pull themselves out of their destitute situation. The psychological impacts of being unable to return to their homeland and their perceived feelings of being unwanted in their country of residence are significant.

Poverty in a middle-income country like Lebanon is often ignored as the country as a whole is not poor. Many within the country even see it as an embarrassment and actively try to cover it up, though most are not even aware of its extent, much less understand its causes and dynamics. While many of its neighbors have plentiful oil and gas reserves, Lebanon lacks such resources and is dependent on service industries like tourism and hospitality, banking and financial services, and on being a transshipment point for trade. All of these are easily disrupted by political tensions, uncertainty, violence, and conflict. This places severe restrictions on the budget available to the government to address issues of poverty.

According to the Human Development Index and the Millennium Develop-ment Goals Lebanon as a country is doing fairly well. It has maintained fairly high access to education, its health indicators in terms of maternal and child mortality rates as well as morbidity rates are fairly good. There is little food insecurity and, overall, nutritional rates are fairly good. All these mask signifi-cant pockets of poverty in the urban and rural areas, and among certain ethnic groups. While there are now some government programs that identify and target the poor, certain foreign and refugee populations continue to lack legal or social protection.

What makes the face of poverty different in a country like Lebanon is that poverty cannot be addressed only by ensuring access to services and subsidies, or by improving livelihoods and income. These are valuable interventions and will prevent extreme poverty but will rarely improve the socioeconomic status of the poor and enable them to move out of poverty. The confessional and com-

13CONCLUSION

430 431

munal structure of Lebanese society does not allow for social mobility. So while the poor may be able to access education up to a certain level, they are unable to move out of chronic poverty and therefore they continue to remain vulnerable. The poor belong to marginalized communities and as a result are either geo-graphically isolated in remote parts of the country or socially isolated in pockets in urban areas. They remain voiceless and powerless because they are ignored by those with influence and power. Yet, in the past 50 years certain groups have benefited from social movements that have empowered the poor and the margin-alized, and provided with a voice that has alleviated their oppression.

Amartya Sen writes in Development as Freedom:

“Central to the challenges we face in the contemporary world is our idea of an acceptable society … What can we do to make society more tolerable? Underlying such ideas lie some theories of evaluation and – often implicitly – even some basic understandings of social justice.”3

In Lebanon, such a re-evaluation of the understanding of social justice is es-sential if poverty in the country is to be alleviated rather than allowed to become ever more deeply ingrained. As has been evidenced across the Middle East in 2011, voicelessness and marginalization are the very traits that eventually lead to social upheaval. Bearing this in mind, and beyond the realities and constraints of confessionalism (which is right now the bedrock of Lebanese society), perhaps it is time Lebanon asked exactly what kind of society it wishes to create and just where do the poor fit into the national agenda.

1. (Oxford Poverty & Human Development Initiative)2. (Laithy, Abu-Ismail and Hamdan, 2008)3. (Sen, 1999) p. 285

13CONCLUSION

432 433

MAREH and BAJAA

The river in the valley below Mareh The road leading up to Mareh

A tractor delivering water to Mareh

An old house in Mareh

Bags full of plants and herbs that have been collected by the villagers

434 435

WAZZANI

One resident’s cattle

Olive orchards and the hills in the area surrounding Wazzani

Crops in a field beside Wazzani

A house in Wazzani

A street in Wazzani

436 437

JMEIJME

Grapevines growing in the caza of Bint Jbeil

Dried tobacco plants

A woman sitting in the rubble after the 2006 war in the caza of Bint Jbeil

A collapsed house in the caza of Bint Jbeil

438 439

ARAB EL HAROUQ

A flock of sheep moving from one field to another for grazing

Women from the community working in the fields

A Bedouin man from Arab el Harouq

Houses in Arab el Harouq

440 441

HAY EL TANAK

Overlooking Hay el Tanak

A house in Hay el Tanak, the reeds and long grass evidence the swampy quality of the soil it is built on

The main street of Hay el Tanak

Dilapidated houses in Hay el Tanak

Plastic bottles collected by the residents of Hay el Tanak

442 443

HAY EL GHARBEH

Overlooking the houses in Hay el Gharbeh

Children playing in the streets of Hay el Gharbeh

Overlooking Hay el Gharbeh (Shatilla in the background)

A house in Hay el Gharbeh

444 445

KARM EL ZEITOUN

The steep hill of Karm el Zeitoun, where people’s roof form others’ gardens

Buildings in Karm el Zeitoun A side-street in Karm el Zeitoun

446 447

EL BUSS and JAL EL BAHR

Alleys in el Buss

A house built on the beach in Jal el Bahr

A fishing boat used by the local men

Houses in Jal el Bahr

448 449

INTRODUCTION 1

APPENDICES

450 451

APPENDIX 1: LEBANON TIMELINE

In reference to this study

19201 September: The State of Greater Lebanon is proclaimed when the League of Nations grants the mandate for Lebanon and Syria to France. It includes former autonomous provinces, which were historically part of Syria.Throughout the 1920s and early 1930s Armenian refugees arrive.

1926 23 May: A constitution is approved by the Lebanese Representative Council and the Lebanese Republic is declared.

1941Free French and British troops occupy Lebanon in June 1941; on 26 November, independence is declared

1943March: An unwritten National Covenant uses the 1932 census to distribute seats in parliament on a ratio of six-to-five in favor of Christians; this ratio was later extended to other public offices. Roles are reserved based on religion: the president must be a Maronite, the prime minister a Sunni Muslim, and the speaker of the Chamber of Deputies a Shiite Muslim. November-December: Members of the recently appointed government, who declared an end to the mandate, are detained by Free French forces. They were released on 22 November, which was then proclaimed Independence Day. France agrees to transfer power to the Lebanese government beginning on 1 January 1944.

452 453

1948The conflict in Palestine escalates and Nakbah (day of catastrophe) occurs in May causing thousands of Palestinians to flee into Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan.

1957President Camille Chamoun accepts the Eisenhower Doctrine, thereby receiving economic and military support from the United States, countering Soviet influ-ence in the region.

1958Internal conflict escalates and develops into a civil war. The US sends marines to intervene at the request of President Chamoun.

1967June: Lebanon plays no active role in the 6-day Arab-Israeli war.

196828 December: Israel raids the Beirut airport, destroying 13 civilian planes in retaliation for an attack by two members of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) on an Israeli plane in Athens.

1969November: An agreement between Army Commander-in-Chief Emile Bustani and Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) Chairman Yasser Arafat is signed in Cairo aimed at ending clashes between the Lebanese army and Palestinian fighters and allowing the PLO to operate from Lebanon in order to continue their struggle against Israel.

1973April: The Lebanese government resigns the day after Israeli commandos raid Beirut and kill three Palestinian leaders who are close associates of Arafat.

197513 April: Civil War begins after Phalangist gunmen kill 27 passengers on a bus in the Ain el Rummaneh neighborhood of Beirut. They were mainly Palestin-ians, many of whom were civilians. The Phalangists claim that Palestinian guer-rillas had previously attacked a church in the same area.

1976June: In an effort to restore peace and restrain the Palestinians, Syrian troops enter Lebanon.

ILEBANON TIMELINE

October: A ceasefire is arranged following Arab summit meetings in Saudi Arabia and Egypt. The Arab Deterrent Force (ADF) is established to maintain peace; it is predominantly Syrian.

197814-15 March: In reprisal for a Palestinian attack into its territory, Israel invades Lebanon, occupying land as far north as the Litani River. Israel occupies south Lebanon. 19 March: Resolution 425 is passed by the UN Security Council (UNSC), which calls on Israel to withdraw from all Lebanese territory and establishes the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (UNIFIL) to confirm the Israeli withdrawal, restore peace, and help the Lebanese government re-establish its authority in the area. By 13 June territory is handed over from Israel to Major Saad Hadded who is controlling Israel’s proxy militia, which is comprised mainly of Christians.

19826 June: Resulting from the attempted assassination of the Israeli ambassador to Britain, Israel again invades Lebanon in an operation called “Operation Peace for Galilee.”14 to 15 September: Following the assassination of Bashir Gemayel, the presi-dent-elect, Israeli forces occupy West Beirut.16 to 18 September: The Phalangist militia attacks the Palestinian refugee camps of Sabra and Shatilla, killing many of its residents. 21 September: Amine Gemayel (Bachir Gemayel’s elder brother) is elected president. 24 September: As requested by the country, peacekeeping forces, comprised mainly of US, French, and Italian troops arrive in Lebanon.

198317 May: Israel and Lebanon sign an agreement to end hostilities, establish a security zone in south Lebanon, and for the withdrawal of Israeli troops.23 October: 241 US marines and 56 French paratroopers are killed in two bomb explosions in Beirut, responsibility for which is claimed by two militant Shiite groups.

19856 June: By this point most Israeli troops have withdrawn though some remain to support the South Lebanon Army (SLA) led by Maj. Gen. Antoine Lahoud. They continue to operate in a “security zone” in southern area of the country.

454 455

1987 21 May: Lebanon annuls the 1969 Cairo agreement with the PLO as well as cancels the agreement reached with Israel in May 1983.1 June: A bomb placed in his helicopter kills Prime Minister Rashid Karami. As a result Selim al-Hoss becomes prime minister.

198822 September: President Amine Gemayel names a six-member interim govern-ment when no candidate is elected to succeed him. The interim military govern-ment is made up of three Christians and three Muslims, though the Christians later refuse to serve. As a result, two governments are formed; the mainly Muslim group operates out of West Beirut, led by el Hoss, while the Christian side is based in East Beirut and headed by Michel Aoun, the Maronite Commander-in-Chief of the Army.

1989March: A “war of liberation” is declared by Aoun against the Syrian presence in Lebanon. 22 October: Following a meeting in Ta’if, Saudi Arabia, The National Assembly approves a Charter of National Reconciliation, known as the Ta’if Accord. This effectively narrowed the power of the president and transferred executive power to the cabinet. Additionally, the National Assembly was altered to have equal numbers of Muslims and Christians, in comparison to the previous five-to-six ratio.November: Shortly after his election, President Rene Moawad is assassinated. He is succeeded by Elias Hrawi. Gen. Emile Lahoud replaces Aoun as Com-mander-in-Chief of the Army and Selim al-Hoss becomes prime minister.

1990October: Aoun takes refuge in the French embassy following Syrian air force attacks on the Presidential Palace.December: The national reconciliation government is headed by Omar Karami

1991The dissolution of all militias is ordered to be complete by 30 April, though Hezbollah (a Shiite party formed during the war) is allowed to remain active and the SLA refuses to disband.

1991May: A Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination is signed in Damascus by Lebanon and Syria. A Higher Council, co-chaired by their two presidents, is established.

July: The Lebanese army defeats the PLO in Saida so that it now confronts the Israelis and the SLA north of the so-called “security zone.” August: The National Assembly grants an amnesty for all crimes committed during the Civil War, 1975-1990. Aoun receives a presidential pardon and is al-lowed to leave for France.

1992February: Secretary-General of Hezbollah, Sheikh Abbas al-Musawi, is killed when Israeli helicopters attack his motorcade near Saida. June: All Western hostages held by Shiite groups have been released. 20 October: The first elections since 1972 take place in August and September and Nabih Berri, the secretary-general of the Shiite organization Amal becomes speaker of the National Assembly. October: Leading a cabinet of technocrats, Rafiq Hariri becomes prime min-ister.

1993July: Attempting to control Hezbollah and the Popular Front for the Libera-tion of Palestine-General Command (PFLP-GC) in southern Lebanon, Israel launches its heaviest attack since 1982, “Operation Accountability.”

1996April: Israelis bomb Hezbollah strongholds in southern Lebanon, the southern district of Beirut, and the Bekaa in the attack known as “Operation Grapes of Wrath.” Over 1000 Lebanese civilians are killed in Qana, where they were shel-tering after being displaced. A truce is negotiated by the United States whereby Hezbollah and Palestinian guerillas agree to stop civilian attacks on north Israel. The truce terms also rec-ognize Israel’s right to self-defense and Hezbollah’s right to resist the Israeli oc-cupation of southern Lebanon. The Israel-Lebanon Monitoring Group (ILMG), with members from the US, France, Israel, Lebanon, and Syria, is set up to monitor the truce; Lebanon and Syria do not sign the understanding.

1998April: UN Security Council Resolution 425 of 1978 is accepted by Israel’s inner cabinet, on the condition that Lebanon guarantees the security of Israel’s north-ern border. This provision is rejected by Lebanon and Syria.November: Succeeding President Hrawi, Emily Lahoud, the head of the Army, is sworn in as president.December: Heading a cabinet that includes no militia leaders and only two min-isters from the previous administration, Selim al-Hoss becomes prime minister.

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1999June: Occupied since 1985, the SLA completes its withdrawal from Jezzine.

2000

March: The Israeli cabinet votes in favor of the unilateral withdrawal of Israeli troops from southern Lebanon by July 2000.April: Thirteen Lebanese prisoners, who had been held without trial for more than 10 years, are released by Israel, although the detentions of Hezbollah’s Sheikh Abdel Karim Obeid and Mustafa Dib el Dirani are extended.May: Israeli forces withdraw from south Lebanon, well before the designated deadline of 7 July, after the collapse of the SLA and the swift advance of Hez-bollah forces.25 May: “Resistance and Liberation Day” – a public holiday.October: Rafiq Hariri is elected prime minister for a second time.

2001March: Israel opposes Lebanon pumping water from a tributary of the Jordan River to supply a village along the southern border.

2002September: Israel does not accept the diversion of the Wazzani River, which supplies 10 percent of the country’s drinking water, they threaten to use military force.

2004September: Syria dismisses the UN Security Council resolution demanding the exit of foreign troops from Lebanon.

2005February: Then prime minister Rafiq Hariri along with 22 others in his motor-cade are killed by a bomb in Beirut. Prime Minister Omar Karami’s cabinet re-signs and there are anti-Syria rallies demanding the withdrawal of Syrian troops. March: Lebanese, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, rally both for and against Syria. The president asks Prime Minister Omar Karami to form a new government, only days after he resigns. April: MP Najib Miqati replaces Karami after he fails to form a new govern-ment. As demanded by the UN, Syria says its forces have left Lebanon.June: Samir Kassir, a journalist who is critical of the Syrian influence, is killed by a car bomb. Following elections, Saad Hariri, the son of former PM Rafiq Hariri and leading an anti-Syrian alliance, wins control of parliament. Fouad Siniora is chosen as prime minister.

2006July: Hezbollah seizes two Israeli soldiers, which results in air and sea attacks by Israel. Thousands of people are displaced from south Lebanon, the southern suburbs of Beirut, and the Bekaa Valley, and civilian casualties are high. Infra-structure is badly damaged across the country.August: After 34 days of fighting and the deaths of around 1,000 Lebanese (mainly civilians) and 159 Israelis, (mainly soldiers), a truce between Israel and Hezbollah is agreed upon and comes into effect on 14 August. A UN peacekeep-ing force deploys along the border with Israel. September: For the first time in decades Lebanese government forces deploy along the Israeli border.November: Ministers from the Shiite parties resign as cabinet approval for a tribunal to try the suspects in the killing of Rafiq Hariri looms. Pierre Gemayel, a leading Christian politician and government minister is killed. December: Thousands participate in demonstrations demanding the resigna-tion of the government.

2007March: After the Hezbollah-led opposition calls for a general strike in January, a tent town springs up in central Beirut demanding more influence in the govern-ment. They remain there for over 100 days.May-September: Fighting occurs in the Palestinian camp, Nahr el Bared, be-tween Islamist militants and the Lebanese army. Over 300 people die and 40,000 residents flee. Large areas of the camp are completely destroyed before the army gains control. May: The UN Security Council votes to set up a tribunal to try suspects in the case of the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri. November: After failing to choose a successor, President Emile Lahoud steps down. The cabinet of Prime Minister Faoud Siniora assumes responsibility for the presidency.

2008May: Clashes between Hezbollah and pro-government factions result in the deaths of over 80 people, precipitating fears of another civil war. Ending a six-month-long political deadlock, Army chief Michel Suleiman is elected president. Fouad Siniora is reappointed prime minister, with the task of forming a new unity government. July: The makeup of a national unity government is agreed upon by political leaders.July: Suleiman and Bashar el Assad, the Syrian President, meet in Paris and agree to work to establish full diplomatic relations between Syria and Lebanon.

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In exchange for the remains of two Israeli soldiers captured by Hezbollah in July 2006, five Lebanese prisoners are freed by Israel. The exchange is acclaimed by Hezbollah as a “victory for the resistance.”October: Diplomatic relations between Lebanon and Syria are re-established for first time since the 1940s, when both countries gained their independence.

2009June: Saad Hariri is nominated as prime minister after the Western-backed March 14 alliance wins 71 of 128 seats in parliament. The opposition, the March 8 alliance led by Hezbollah, wins 57 seats. November: A new government of national unity is formed by Hariri.December: Hezbollah’s right to keep its arsenal of weapons is endorsed by the cabinet.

2010August: Two Lebanese soldiers, a senior Israeli officer, and a Lebanese journal-ist are killed after Israel and Lebanon exchange fire across the border.

2011January: Ministers from Hezbollah and its political allies resign from the gov-ernment causing it to collapse. Najib Miqati is appointed prime minister desig-nate and asked to form a new government.June: Miqati finally forms a new government.

APPENDIX II: METHODOLOGY

Frameworks and models

As mentioned in the introduction, various frameworks and models of poverty were used to construct both the methodology for the assessment and the inter-view guide. The assessment was designed to cover all pertinent aspects of com-munity members’ lives, through allowing them to explain the issues in their own words.

In addition to gathering detailed demographic data, information about liveli-hoods, education, health, history, migration, etc., researchers incorporated the following frameworks:

• DfID’s Sustainable Livelihood Framework: As explained in the Introduction chapter, this framework acknowledges that poor communities have assets and resources that they can use in order to mitigate a variety of vulner-abilities they may be confronted with over time, such as shocks, trends, and seasonality issues. Whereas historically vulnerabilities were seen in terms of only natural disasters and hazards, this framework adopts a wider approach in analyzing social vulnerabilities as well.

• Robert Chambers’ analysis of powerlessness, voicelessness, and isolation: Chambers explains that poor households often lack choices, are easy to coerce, lack influence and social power, are susceptible to exploitation, and are excluded from systems, all of which affects their ability to influence or improve their own lives and remove themselves from poverty.

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Data collection and analysis

Before starting the assessment a national level, wide-ranging secondary data review was conducted in order to understand the main issues and trends present in Lebanon as a whole. Upon deciding which communities would be studied, another review of relevant existing literature was completed, focusing on each specific area and the issues prevalent in that area.

As the study was predominantly qualitative in nature, the main data collec-tion tools were chosen from the Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA)1 techniques, which were found to be the best method for allowing the communities to speak and tell their stories on their own terms. A variety of tools were selected from this methodology. While there were some pre-identified topics and sectors selected beforehand, semi-structured and open interviews were conducted, allowing the participants themselves to guide the process. In addition to interviews with com-munity members, there were also focus group discussions and key informant in-terviews, in order to triangulate information and gain the perspectives of others with particular insights to the issues.

A community assessment tool developed by the research team, which can be found in Appendix III. However, it should be noted that this was used as a guide for the interviews in order to collect qualitative information from participants and was in no way a complete or exhaustive tool covering all of the relevant issues. It was designed to assist and provide direction to the interviews, should such direction be necessary, but the emphasis remained firmly on enabling par-ticipants to speak about issues, problems, and challenges that were important to them, and not on following a strict research tool. For example, with some partici-pants who guided the process themselves, the assessment tool was not referred to at all. The research team, all of whom had various qualitative and quantitative field research experience, was trained extensively in the use of the assessment tool and the project’s data collection philosophy.

While there are many topics listed in the guide, the guide was not designed to necessarily provide all of the follow-up topics that could have been addressed. For example, one of the categories says “Housing Conditions/Living Condi-tions” with no further follow-up points listed; however, depending on the inter-view, the researchers may also have asked questions such as: When was the house built? How big is the house? What is it made out of ? From where did the builders secure the construction materials? Are people able to repair or renovate their houses? Have houses in the community always been built in the same manner?

In order to have the participants guide the interviews as much as possible, the researchers were constantly reviewing the information provided to extract trends and topics mentioned by the community members. As such, the interviews and themes were adapted to specifically address the concerns and issues of each com-munity.

The interviews, for the most part, were conducted in Arabic and translated to English immediately by an interpreter present with the research team. For two reasons it was decided not to record the interviews. Firstly, it enabled an active conversation to take place between the English language speaking researchers and the Arabic speaking interviewees. Secondly, as some of the topics were quite sensitive, it was determined that in order to protect the participants and put them at their ease no recordings would be made. For this same reason, it was also decided not to use any names or identifying characteristics for either the commu-nity members or key informants. At most, the name of the NGO or institution where key informants are employed was used, though not always.

In addition to the interviews and discussions, throughout the assessment re-searchers noted their own direct observations, which were taken into consid-eration in completing the analysis of each community. Researchers also used community-transect walks to allow them to further understand the layout of the each community as well as identify key features, resources and services, and their impact. While community-mapping exercises were initially planned, it was real-ized that this could have dangerous implications for residents given the sensitive political situation in some of the communities under study.

Both during, and upon completion of the community assessment, the re-searchers followed up on key comments of and issues highlighted by the partici-pants using both existing literature and additional key informant interviews with experts in relevant fields. Where available, pertinent information and quantita-tive data, was added to the analysis.

Upon completion of all of the interviews in the community, all of the infor-mation was categorized using the community assessment tool.

As the research progressed, and further information was available (for in-stance additional studies published since the commencement of the assessment) or as events occurred that impacted upon one or more of the communities (for example, weather-related events like storms), these circumstances were taken into consideration, and the analysis and chapters were adjusted accordingly. As such, at the time of submitting information to the publishers, the research was as up to date, as possible.2

Sampling methods

Generally, the researchers’ first points of contact in each community were key informants and stakeholders. From there a snowballing technique was used, in which participants are asked to recommend others who might be interested in participating in the research. In addition to this, a walk and talk method was used, where researchers would independently walk around the community and try to engage people who were not linked with people previously interviewed. As much as possible the researchers tried to engage different groups and popula-

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tions in the communities. It was especially important to ensure those members of the community not connected with the main stakeholders had a chance to speak. In this way, the biases were decreased.

Site selection and research timeline

Through extensive in-depth interviews with numerous key informants and stake-holders, as well as a meticulous secondary data analysis, researchers narrowed down certain criteria and communities that would fit within the parameters of the study. The following guidelines were used to assist the site selection process:

• Select communities located in various geographical locations around the country, in order to provide different perspectives (for example examining a mixture of rural and urban sites, as well as sites from the north, south, Bekaa, and Beirut)

• Chose sites which had not been extensively researched in the past, in order to contribute to the scope of knowledge about impoverished communities in Lebanon

• Take into consideration the various religious, ethnic, and national groups present in the areas, in order to highlight some of the diver-sity present in Lebanon3

• Select sites that were thought to have divergent causes and conse-quences of poverty which would help reveal the complexity of pov-erty Lebanon

While these guidelines were important in determining the research sites, they were not definitive criteria in community selection. For example, it was impos-sible to know beforehand what dimensions of poverty would emerge from the in-terviews. However, through the secondary analysis, as well as the key informant interviews, the researchers were made aware of certain contextual issues before commencing the research, which allowed them to make informed decisions in terms of site selection.

The research was greatly affected by numerous factors, which were beyond the control of the assessment, accounting for the long period of time over which the research took place. Such things as holidays, the weather, and the political situation in the country impacted the research timeline.

The following is an outline of the final research schedule:

• Hay el Gharbeh May 2010• Hay el Tanak June 2010• Karm el Zeitoun September 2010• El Buss and Jal el Bahr October 2010• Arab el Harouq November 2010

• Wazzani November 2010• Mareh and Bajaa Dec. 2010 and Jan. 2011• Jmeijme March 2011

Summary of research activities

In total there were 202 interviews conducted with 417 participants, in the eight communities (see figure II.a).

Figure: II.a Total number of interviews and participants (broken down by community

and role within the community)

Community

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ales

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4

Mareh and Bajaa

27 24 7 0 9 3 8 2 2 55

Wazzani 26 10 10 4 9 4 6 5 2 50

Jmeijme 8 7 9 2 2 2 1 0 2 25

Arab el Harouq

33 29 39 4 5 4 10 6 0 97

Hay el Tanak 20 12 3 0 3 3 5 3 0 29

Hay el Gharbeh

28 12 7 8 1 3 0 2 1 34

Karm el Zeitoun

30 15 12 7 4 3 4 0 0 45

Palestinians 30 31 12 2 1 4 13 9 10 82

TOTAL 202 140 99 27 34 26 47 27 17 417

The participants were broken down by gender, as well as by their roles within the community. For example, it was noted whether the participants were local community members, key informants, or key informants from the community. This latter category includes people who have specific knowledge or expertise about the community, such as teachers, sheikhs, or NGO workers, and who also live in the community. Finally, there was a category outlining the number of children and youth (under 18) who participated. It was never the outright focus

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of the assessment to include children, though it was inevitable due to the re-search methodology: conducting community focus groups, as well as interviews in family homes (see figure II.b).

Figure II.b: Participants broken down by role within the community

As mentioned above, in total there were 202 inteviews conducted in the study. While it was attempted to have these distributed as evenly as possible, there were some variations. The most interviews were conducted in Arab el Harouq, largely due to the fact that researchers were invited to a wedding taking place during the assessment, and many focus group discussions were possible. Additionally, due to the large geographic and population size of the community, two research teams were used for half of the assessment. The fewest interviews were conducted in Jmeijme, as the research was halted due to a sensitive political issue ongoing at the time. However, all of the interviews were of very high quality, and extensive follow-up interviews were conducted with local NGO staff in order to elaborate on some of the issues raised (see figure II.c)

Figure II.c: Percentage of interviews conducted in each community

Limitations

As with any study or assessment, certain limitations can, and should, be acknowl-edged.

One of the primary issues encountered was limited secondary data for some of the communities assessed, such as Hay el Tanak and Jmeijme. This made tri-angulation of information more difficult, especially statistical information, such as population sizes. However, based on the thorough assessments completed within the communities, as well as with key informants, it is felt that each chapter is a fair representation of the community at the time of research.

More female community members were interviewed than male community members (33.6 percent vs. 23.7 percent). This was mainly due to the social struc-ture of the communities, where men are often the main breadwinners and there-fore were usually out of the house during daytime hours when the interviews were conducted. However, because many of the men in these communities are irregularly employed day laborers and seasonal workers, male community mem-bers still accounted for almost one quarter of the total interviewees.

The boundaries of some of the communities, such as Hay el Gharbeh and Arab el Harouq, are not conclusively defined, and as many of these areas are informal gatherings or settlements, they are not even located on government maps. There was a need to define, as best as possible for the purpose of the research, the community boundaries. This was most often done with the help of key informants.

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1. Also called the Participatory Learning and Action (PLA)2. Although, given the extremely large scale of the research, as well as the geographi-

cal scope and number of different participant groups, it is possible that there are omissions.

3. Of course, it was impossible to represent all of the many different groups present in Lebanon.

4. This number does not include those key informants who were asked for their ex-pertise and advice throughout the study. However, there were many who provided valuable insights and opinions, to which the research is indebted.

APPENDIX III: COMMUNITY ASSESSMENT TOOL

Name of the community

Location and history of the community

Describe the geography and physi-cal elements of the community - Presence of services and resources

Describe the national/ethnic/re-ligious groups present in the com-munity- Presence of marginalized commu-

nities or minority groups present in the area

Housing conditions/living conditions

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History of the community - A separate history where possible

of each different group- Develop a timeline of the commu-

nity including any relevant events, such as social, cultural, political, and economic milestones

Mobility and migration

- Describe when and how the popu-lation arrived in this area

- Is there any movement among community members now?

- Is there any movement in or out of the community now?

Describe any legal issues facing the community- What is the legal status of the com-munity in the country?

Demographic and socioeconomic data and profile

Population

- Disaggregate by age and gender, as much as possible given the perceptions of community members and observa-tions

- Population trends over time

Basic household makeup

- Number, gender, and age breakdown, relationships, etc.

- Number of members currently liv-ing with the family/same housing unit (family size)

Perceptions of social status

- Perceptions of outsiders as well as com-munity members themselves

IIICOMMUNITY ASSESSMENT TOOL

Basic forms of livelihoods and types of jobs people do or the ways they earn their income

- Working conditions- What type of work is it? (e.g.: contract

vs. day laborer, stable, etc.)- Seasonal changes- Age people typically enter the workforce- Are women working?

Average income

- Are people paid hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, seasonally, etc.?

Income sufficiency

- Are they able to meet their daily, weekly and monthly needs?

- If not, what are some of the coping mechanisms they use?

How many income earners in the family?

Presence of schools (both in the area and outside the area)

- Details with regards to the levels of edu-cation available to the community

- What is the perceived quality of educa-tion?

- Costs associated with education- Access to informal education, technical

institutes, etc.

Level of literacy

- Disaggregate by age and gender as much as possible

- Are there any barriers to children ac-cessing education?

- To what level are children usually com-pleting schooling?

- Note changes over time

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Drop outs/repetition rates

- Reasons for dropping out - When do children normally drop out?- Are any groups at a higher risk of drop-

ping out?- Changes in drop outs over time

Diet

- Number of meals per day- Typical diet- Where can they access food?- Seasonal changes in consumption/food

availability- Presence of underweight/overweight/

obese community members

Number of clinics and hospitals and details (access to primary, sec-ondary and tertiary health care)

- Where are these located?- What are the communities’ perceptions

of the available health services?- What barriers prevent them from ac-

cessing health services?- Access to social security- Costs associated with health care facili-ties

Illnesses and diseases prevalent in the community

- Mortality and morbidity levels- Are there any groups in the community

who have worse health than the others?

Children

- Health status- Nutritional status- Immunization

Maternal health

- Access to prenatal and postnatal care- Where are women in the community

delivering? - Breast-feeding- Family planning- Have the trends in the community

changed over time?

Other topics

Gender issues

- For example: early marriage, ability of women to work, women’s role within the community, etc.

Children and Youth

- Any other prevalent issues

Dividers and connectors1

Organizations, associations and charities present in the community

- Current development work and support in the area

Comparisons between the community and other areas or communities, or com-parisons to a national standard

Positive aspects of the community

Hopes and dreams of community mem-bers

Powerlessness, isolation and voice-lessness2

- Describe the level of powerlessness, iso-lation and voicelessness that the com-munity experiences?

- Are they able to speak for themselves, express their needs, and access the ser-vices that they need?

- Are they able to influence what affects their community?


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Assets and vulnerabilities of the community3

Assets

Human capital

- What kind of training do people have?- Where do they access information that

is valuable for their livelihoods? (e.g.: sources and networks)

- Are some groups within the community excluded from this information? (e.g.: women)

- Are technologies they use from internal or external sources?

- Do people feel that they are lacking in certain types of information, which if they had it would improve their liveli-hood?

Social capital

- What networks or connections do they have that allow they access to wider in-stitutions?

- Are they members of formalized groups, which allow them leverage in their external relationships?

- Are there relationships of trust, reci-procity and exchanges that provide an informal safety net for the poor?

Natural capital

- Types of natural resources available to the community

- Who and which groups have access to these resources? Which don’t?

- Are there conflicts over the resources?- How productive are the resources?- How versatile are the resources? Can

they be used for multiple purposes?

Physical capital

What infrastructure exists in terms of:- Transportation- Secure shelters and buildings- Adequate water supply and sanitation- Clean, affordable energy- Access to communications

Financial capital

- What type of formal and informal fi-nancial services are available?

- Who has access to them?- What forms do people save (e.g.: cash,

jewelry, etc.) How risky is it? How liquid is it?

- What is their source of income – earn-ings vs. remittances?

Vulnerabilities

What shocks do the community periodically face? What is the im-pact?

- Human health- Natural disasters- Economic- Conflict- Crop/livestock health- etc.

How does seasonality affect:

- Health- Employment opportunities- Prices of their products and produce- Production- etc.

What trends are evident in the community with regards to:

- Population- Resources- Technology- Governance- National and international economy- etc.


474 475

System and structures

Are there political and bureaucratic sys-tems and structures that facilitate or hin-der the development of the community?

Coping mechanisms

What different types of coping mecha-nisms do they have to face periodic shocks?

Other

Observations

1. Dividers and connectors between groups in a community is a concept pioneered by Mary B. Anderson in her framework Local Capacities for Peace (Anderson, 1999)

2. This section was adapted from texts by Robert Chambers (Chambers, 1983), (Chambers, 1997)

3. The following section was adapted from DfIDs model of Sustainable Liveli-hoods (DfID, 1999)


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APPENDIX IV: TENURE SYSTEMS AND THEIR CHARACTERISTICS

Tenuresystem

Characteristics Advantages Limitations

Freehold

Ownership in perpe-tuity.

High degree of security. Freedom to dispose, use as col-lateral for loans, and maximize commercial value.

Costs are generally high, and collateral val-ue may not be relevant if incomes are low or fi-nancial institutions are weak. Property value can go up or down and trap the unwary with property worth less than they paid for it.

Delayedfreehold

Conditional owner-ship; title gained on completion of pay-ments or develop-ment.

Same high security as freehold providing payments made as required or develop-ment completed. Freedom to depose or use as collateral for loans. Maximizes commercial value, enabling people to realize substantial increases in asset values.

Failure to maintain payments or develop-ment may result in eviction and loss of funds invested. Collat-eral value may not be relevant if incomes are low. Property value can fluctuate and also trap the unwary. Expectations of increased values can divert investment from more productive sectors of the economy.

Registeredleasehold

Ownership for a specified period of time from a few months to 999 years.

A secure freehold, but only for the period specified by the lease.

Requires legal frame-work and costs are generally high.

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Publicrental

Rental occupation of publicly owned land or house.

A high degree of se-curity providing terms and conditions of oc-cupation are met.

Limited supply may restrict access. Often badly located for access to livelihoods. Terms are often restrictive. Deterioration may result if maintenance costs are not met.

Privaterental

Rental of privately owned land or house.

Good security if protected by legally enforceable contract. Provides tenants flex-ibility of movement.

Open to abuse by disreputable owners. Deterioration may result if maintenance costs are not met.

Sharedequity

Combination of delayed freehold and rental in which residents purchase a stake in their proper-ty (often 50 percent) and pay rent on the remainder.

Provides security and potential increase in value of delayed freehold and the flexibility of rental. Residents can increase their stake leading to full ownership.

Requires a legal framework and efficient management.

Coopera-tive tenure

Ownership is vested in the cooperative or group through which residents are co-owners.

Good security. Main-tains social cohesion.

Requires a legal frame-work. Restrictions may reduce incentives to invest. Requires double registration of land and of association.

Custom- ary ownership

Ownership is vested in the tribe, group or community. Land allocated by custom-ary authorities.

Widely accepted. Simple to adminis-ter. Maintains social cohesion.

May loose legal status in urban areas. Vulner-able to abuse under pressure of urbaniza-tion. Poor customary leadership may weaken its legitimacy.

IVTENURE SYSTEMS AND THEIR CHARACTERISTICS

Religious tenure systems (e.g. Islamic)

There are various categories of land tenure in Islamic societies.

Tenure facilitates fam-ily and group tenures and acceptable and affordable land man-agement procedures.

Because they are outside the commercial land market, certain lands are often inef-ficiently managed. In-heritance disputes can cause land difficulties.

Non- formal tenuresystems

These include regularized and un-regularized squatting, unauthor-ized sub-divisions on legally owned land and various forms of unofficial rental arrangements. In some cases, several forms of tenure may coexist on the same plot with each party entitled to certain rights.

Some of these non-formal categories such as squatting, started as a response to the inability of public allocation systems or commercial markets to provide for the needs of the poor and operate on a socially determined basis

As demand has intensified, even these informal tenure cat-egories have become commercialized so that access by lower income groups is increasingly constrained.

Source: United Nations Human Settlement Programme (UN Habitat), “Urban Land for All”

(2004), p. 8

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BIOGRAPHIES

Rupen Das is director for community development at the Lebanese Society for Educational and Social Development (LSESD). He is also senior advisor for capacity building for International Partnerships at Canadian Baptists (CBM). He was professor and program coordinator of International Project Manage-ment at the Business School of Humber College, Toronto. His professional ex-perience includes Director for Emergency Response and Disaster Mitigation at World Vision Canada, WV Field Director for the South Pacific based in Papua New Guinea, project manager in Russia (USAID funded project) and in Belarus (areas affected by Chernobyl). He has extensive relief and development experi-ence in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia.

As a consultant he has worked on projects for CIDA, the Canadian DART team, Pearson Peacekeeping Center, Plan Canada, Focus Humanitarian Canada (part of the Aga Khan Foundation Network), World Vision Interna-tional, Health Partners International Canada, and IDSS Consulting (Australia), among others. He is also the author of the “NGO Report on the Government of Vanuatu’s Implementation of the Convention of the Rights of the Child” and “Humanitarian Space in Unconventional Warfare,” in Helping Hands and Loaded Arms: Navigating the Military and Humanitarian Space. He was adjunct faculty at East-ern University in the US and has been visiting faculty at the Refugee Study Center, York University, Toronto. Rupen has been a 21st Century Fellow in the UK and was Visiting Scholar at Harvard University’s School of Education. [email protected]

After completing a B.PHE and B.Sc at Queen’s University, Canada, Julie Davidson has spent most of the last five years in South Ameri-ca, Asia, and the Middle East. She has garnered considerable experience with various local and international NGOs, including the International Red Cross, Medecins sans Frontiers, and World Vision. She recently com-pleted a postgraduate, with honors, in International Project Management at Humber College in Toronto. For the past two years she has been based in Beirut, where she has contributed extensively to development work in, and research on, such diverse communities as Palestinian refugees, vulner-able children, refugees in north Lebanon, and migrant domestic workers. [email protected]

With a B.A. in philosophy and political science and an M.A. in writing, Niamh Fleming-Farrell left Ireland for Beirut in August 2009. Since then she has variously written and edited for an educational pub-lishing company, an independent think tank, and a local newspaper. [email protected]

Profiles of Poverty: The human face of poverty in Lebanon

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