Two weeks spent in a Lebanon made up of crisis and poverty, the return plane left a few hours before a missile hit the Golan, a few days before a building exploded in Beirut.
Pietro, Alberto, and Giovanni encountered a country on its knees, yet where the specter of war did not appear to pervade everything. They learned about our aid projects, discovering the strength of hope and resilience even where living conditions seem unbearable.
Pietro tells of a country that "would never have told that was in war", before 27 July. This apparent calmness of the Lebanese population in the face of the very real – today, unfortunately, more than ever – danger of open conflict seems incomprehensible to us; But we must reflect on how the eyes with which we, from here, observe the development of the conflict, clearly see the succession of events and their political implications, but arethe inevitably short-sighted in the face of what is the daily perception of those who live the emergency every day. In constant alert, nothing is more effective than simply continuing to live: as Fadi Bejani, head of our projects in Lebanon, also says, "We cannot stop. We will not let this whole situation force us to stop living or hoping."
It is with the amazement of having known this new gaze that the young people tell us today about "their" Lebanon: we share their reflections in the hope that the escalation will stop, and with the commitment on our part to continue, thanks to our projects on the ground, to help as much as possible.
Peter's Lebanon: a country that resists any simplification
In these two weeks in Lebanon, between Tripoli and Beirut, I have not only seen the major tourist attractions, from Byblos to the old city of Tripoli to the museums of Beirut, but I have also observed the living conditions and poverty that afflict the country since 2019. The economic crisis has in fact destroyed the country, causing the collapse of the state and, therefore, of the various public services.
This is visible from the state of the roads and the jungle of electric cables that bring electricity from private generators to homes, since the public service only works for two hours a day. Beirut, the country's economic and tourist center, is deserted: the Lebanese abroad, who usually returned to the country in the summer, were absent this year, so the skyscrapers on the waterfront were without lights: the illuminated floors could be counted on your fingers. In fact, the threat of war has been added to the economic crisis.
This, however, was more impalpable than ever. Before the Hezbollah attack on July 27, none of those I met showed serious concerns about a possible confrontation. This surprised me: the day after I left the country, an Israeli missile hit the Shiite neighborhoods of Beirut, but I would never have said, in the two weeks I was in Lebanon, that that country was at war.
That said, other problems and frictions seemed evident to me: first of all the economic ones, the ease with which you go from the houses abandoned after the explosion of the port to the buildings whose windows were promptly renovated, from the latest model large SUVs to the small cars of thirty years ago. Secondly, there is the great confessional problem, the coexistence in the same territory, of different religions: Christians, Sunni and Shiite Muslims and finally Druze, all armed with their militias. Added to this are external pressures: Israel and Iran in the first place, the United States and the Saudis, but also actors that the Western public often forgets, such as Iraq or Syrian refugees.
This confusing list of suggestions reflects what I perceived of Lebanon: an unprecedented complexity, made up of different levels without any of these prevailing over the others, a country that resists any simplification and that needs, perhaps in more peaceful times, a visit. But, finally, a people who, despite their divisions, are closely linked to their land, Lebanon, and who refuse to emigrate because, despite everything, they have hope and love their fellow citizens. It is with this, hope and love, that I finally want to remember the close-knit team that works for Pro Terra Sancta in Beirut, between distributions, psychological support and business consultancy.
Pietro Marchesani
Alberto's Lebanon: what does it mean to be Lebanese?
What does it mean to be Lebanese?
It is a question that the people who live in the Land of the Cedars themselves struggle to answer; There are the mountains and the sea that separate them from those around them, but internally they appear in doubt when they try to say what keeps the nation and those who live in it together: Muslims, Sunnis and Shiites, and Maronite Christians, three categories that represent only a small part of the mosaic that has made up Lebanese society for just over a hundred years.
While the number of Palestinian and Syrian refugees inside the country is growing, poverty is increasing, the middle class is disappearing, inflation is increasing and fighting is taking place in the South, the country is headless, without a government capable of guiding its people towards a rebirth.
In such a scenario, realities such as the Custody of the Holy Land and the Pro Terra Sancta Association appear to be fundamental: they, in fact, support those in need – I think back to the morning spent in the working-class neighborhoods of Beirut where we met two of the families that Pro Terra Sancta regularly helps: sick people who have nothing but continually thank the Association and God for everything they receive.
In the same way, the commitment of these works favors the birth and development of places of peace and encounter, essential for healing the wounds of a society prostrated by so many trials and made up of "parts" that often do not know how to communicate with each other; I am reminded of the summer camp run by the Franciscan Convent of Tripoli where for a month about twenty young people, Christians and Muslims, spent their days playing and being together. The same need meant that families of different cultures and religions decided to send their children to the same place: the result was not only to meet the friars, but also to get to know each other.
As Father Quirico, superior of the convent of Tripoli, said, "the discovery of the other is something that creates solidarity; This is where trust comes from. The people who come to the Convent trust us because we help without making differences or excluding anyone; In this way, even those who use our services slowly begin to trust, not only in us but in anyone they meet."
Only in this way is it possible to get to know each other and learn to live together; This appears to be the way to rediscover what it means to be one people.
Alberto Perrucchini
Giovanni: story in images
Giovanni Dinatolo
