Sunday's spasm of violence bodes ill for Lebanese stability. But
the real problem is that there's nobody in charge.
BY MITCH PROTHERO from Beirut, Lebanon
The
streets of Beirut's working-class Sunni neighborhoods started filling up with
all the signs of trouble by about 9 p.m. on Sunday night. Young men on scooters
clustered together, barricading their neighborhoods with burning tires and
overturned dumpsters. But even cynical observers of Lebanon's descent into
chaos couldn't predict how bad it would get.
The
youths' fury stemmed from a killing earlier in the day of two prominent Sunni
religious figures from north Lebanon, who died in a hail of bullets at an army
checkpoint. But how and why the two men -- strong supporters of the Syrian
rebellion just over the border -- were killed quickly became moot in the eyes
of the frustrated young men of Beirut. The Army, long a symbol of national
unity in a country torn apart by religion, now appears to have become their
enemy.
Tensions
between Lebanon's political movements, which are divided between supporters and
enemies of the Syrian regime, are nothing new. Just last week, the northern
city of Tripoli witnessed clashes after a Lebanese security agency arrested a
popular Islamist activist. But what happened on Sunday night went well beyond
Lebanon's normal dysfunction.
It
all began when a group of openly armed men attempted to close the office of the
Arab Movement Party, a Sunni group allied with Hezbollah. The party members in
the office were armed but badly outnumbered, and they confronted the group of
furious young men on the street, forcing the Army to intervene. Usually, the
presence of the Lebanese Army calms such incidents. But not this time.
I
was on the corner of Beirut's Tareeq Jdeideh neighborhood when things turned
bonkers. Attackers opened fire with multiple automatic weapons on a group of
arguing men and soldiers. The soldiers ducked for cover along with the
civilians: A young soldier and I fell behind a Volkswagen sedan for cover as
scores of kids sprinted down the street away from the gunfire. Several were hit
in the back as they fled.
It
was impossible to see the source of the gunfire, although it was direct and very
close. As rounds bashed into the car and ground around us, the young solider
and I decided we were far too close to the front. Waiting for a lull in the
firing, we both counted off "one, two, three" and he stood up to run
back toward better cover.
The
soldier stood up with his M-16 ready to spray covering fire for our retreat
when he was promptly shot through the shoulder. He paused and stared down at me
with a confused look on his face. "Run, man, run," I hissed at him,
deciding that he was better off running wounded down the street to his mates,
while I was now much more comfortable laying where I was for the time being.
He
ran, and I could see him get into a Humvee, his wound serious but not
life-threatening.
Bad
as it was at the front of the street, where I appeared to be the only one
without a weapon, the block we were trying to reach wasn't much safer. Armed
kids on scooters were using the anarchy to try to assassinate soldiers from
behind. One boy even drove up the street with a face mask on, pulled a pistol,
and pumped a few rounds into the back of a soldier who was returning fire down
the street in the other direction. I heard the pistol shots and saw the soldier
fall, and my colleague witnessed the gunman casually drive away and hand his
mask to one colleague and the gun to another, who zipped away into the night.
At
least three people were killed and more than a dozen wounded in the mayhem. As
tensions mount between Sunnis and the pro-Syrian neighborhoods of Tripoli,
fears that the rage would spread to Beirut were realized in force Sunday night.
How
did it all unravel so quickly? The May 20 violence was the culmination of a
steady drumbeat of humiliation for Lebanon's Sunnis that stretches back for
years. In May 2008, militiamen belonging to Hezbollah and its allies ended a
long-simmering political crisis by invading Sunni neighborhoods of West Beirut.
Then, as the Arab Spring unfolded across the Middle East, the main Sunni
leader, Saad al-Hariri, was forced from the premiership by a Hezbollah-led
coalition. And now, as a primarily Sunni rebellion rages against President
Bashar al-Assad, Lebanon's Sunnis are once again outraged at their government's
efforts to clamp down on their attempts to aid their co-religionists across the
border.
Unusually,
yesterday's violence didn't spread outside of traditional Sunni strongholds.
Tareeq Jdeideh lies alongside the Shiite neighborhood of Chiya, and the fear
was that the chaos would draw in gunmen from Hezbollah and its chief ally,
Amal. But Sunday night seemed more about revenge toward the army for the
earlier shootings, months of pent-up frustration from being saddled with a
government perceived to be doing Syria's bidding, and an effort to cleanse
Sunni neighborhoods of proxy parties aligned with the Syrians and Hezbollah.
Moreover,
the experience of May 2008 has shown that the Sunnis are nowhere near capable
of tangling with Hezbollah's well-trained and equipped fighters. By 11 p.m., I
was in a Shiite neighborhood just a few hundred meters away, talking to sources
who described a mobilization by Hezbollah and its allies for a potential
conflict. While that skirmish never arrived, Hezbollah forces did mount an
operation late at night to extract the beleaguered staff of the Arab Movement
Party -- sending in several SUVs to make sure their allies got out.
Despite
being one of Lebanon's largest communities, the Sunnis have never been able to
match Hezbollah's street power -- another fact that has added immeasurably to
their humiliation.
"The
government kills us. Hezbollah can do anything they want without thinking. They
can take the entire country over if they like," moaned one Sunni partisan
on why they weren't pushing the fight toward their main rivals. "The
Sunnis have nothing."
That's
actually a pretty fair assessment. Lebanon's Sunnis don't hold real political
power in Beirut today: Prime Minister Najib Mikati, a Sunni, is by all accounts
a decent and honest man, but he is forced to walk a tightrope between his
pro-Assad coalition partners, who are responsible for elevating him to the top
seat, and his friends in the Syrian regime who have repeatedly threatened to
invade parts of the north if the Lebanese Army does not get tough on smuggling
to the rebels. Whether he's a colorless technocrat doing his best in a tough
situation or a Hezbollah and Syrian stooge, he can hardly be seen as a
representative of the Sunni street.
It's
this complete lack of real political leadership that bodes ill for Lebanon.
Since Hariri's departure last year, no Sunni political leader has gained the
respect and national patronage machine -- critical to getting anything done in
Lebanon -- to take his place.
Rafiq
al-Hariri, Saad's father and the country's longtime prime minister, once held
the community together through force of personality and generous financial
backing from the Saudis. However, his death in 2005 -- allegedly at the hands
of men affiliated with Hezbollah -- has left a hole his son hasn't been able to
fill with anything beyond money. And it would appear the Saudis have withdrawn
their backing for Saad as he waits out events abroad.
"The
Shiites have [Hezbollah leader Hassan] Nasrallah and [Amal leader Nabih] Berri
to tell them when to fight and when to stop, and their people listen," one
frustrated Beirut Sunni told me late in the evening as he checked the casualty
reports on his phone. "The Sunnis? We have a poster of a dead man."
As
Lebanon descends into lawlessness, it's hard to see what would assuage the
anger of this proud community, which feels alienated from its own government
and caught between a regional civil war.
It's
only going to get worse: The government's response to the violence will almost
certainly be the tightening of pro-Assad forces' control over the Army, police
and intelligence services. There's already been a quiet movement within the
ministries to stack the bureaucracy with those sympathetic to Hezbollah and its
allies, and the arrests of Sunday night's partisans had already begun by Monday
morning.
But
as Lebanon drifts further into Syria's orbit, a large community of very angry
people began rebelling Sunday night. And the path ahead is neither clear nor
safe.
-This commentary was published first in Foreign Policy on
21/05/2012
-Mitchell Prothero is a writer and photographer based in Beirut
-Mitchell Prothero is a writer and photographer based in Beirut
No comments:
Post a Comment