In the land of the bitter cedar

On Monday, October 7, 2024, as the world painfully commemorates a year of violence and destruction in the Middle East, a new front is on fire. The Israeli army has engaged in a military operation in southern Lebanese territory and in the southern suburbs of Beirut.

Over the past year, the tension between Israel and Hezbollah has continued to grow, marked by hostile statements and bombings on both sides. This situation has led to unprecedented destruction and massive population displacements, especially in southern Lebanon. An escalation of violence that now seems to lead to open war between the two parties.

Two Lebanese women from Montreal in time of war

End of September 2024. The fear of a violent military operation, whose toll could only be heavy, hangs over a country already exhausted by decades of political and economic crises.

9,000 km away, Carine Ghali and Farah El-Bizri, two Lebanese women, met us in one of their Montreal landmarks. Together, we discuss their daily life as exiles in this explosive context in the Middle East.

On the brink of the Apocalypse

“Lebanon has been unstable for a long time, too long...” said Farah as she sat back on the large and comfortable sofa at the plush Tommy Café, located on Sainte-Catherine Street in Montreal. “As early as October 7 [2023], I felt that Lebanon would be affected at some point.” She picked up her phone, nervous, to answer a text message.

Originally from Saïda, Farah came to Canada in the summer of 2006, at the age of 15. She landed in Montreal after a perilous crossing to Syria, fleeing the ongoing war between Israel and Hezbollah. From Montreal, she keeps a close eye on the successive crises her country is going through.

We met her after a demonstration on Saturday, September 28, 2024. By then, more than 700 people had gathered in Montreal to express their anger at the deluge of bombs dropped on southern Lebanon and the southern suburbs of Beirut.

During our interview, Farah seemed to be affected by the turn of events. “The building where I lived in Beirut five years ago was destroyed last week. I can't believe it. It's a nightmare. Going home will now be just a memory,” she confides. Her neutral voice betrays a habit of dealing with these tragedies. In fact, the Lebanese Ministry of Health has recently announced a tragic toll of 2,350 deaths in Lebanon since October 7, 2023.

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Two days later, we meet Carine in the early evening in a café near Atwater. Only three days have passed since the assassination of Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah. A strangely calm atmosphere reigns in the establishment, with employees and customers glued to their phones. Connected to the same ills, those of their country.

Carine left Lebanon at the age of 29 in 2022, two years after the devastating explosion in the port of Beirut. “It was an apocalypse in just three minutes... The economic situation in the country could not bear such a disaster. The future in Lebanon has become impossible for me,” she says, with sadness in her eyes.

Indeed, the country of the cedars has been suffering political paralysis for a decade, which has been exacerbated by a locked multi-confessional system put in place at the end of the civil war. This situation has hampered economic and social progress.

The institutional status quo, combined with endemic corruption, has led the country into an economic crisis that the World Bank considers to be one of the most s since the middle of the 19th centur. 

In 2020, the explosion at the port of Beirut dealt a fatal blow to the country, causing numerous shortages. Since this tragedy, the inflation rate has reached alarming levels.

“My days are X [formerly Twitter, editor's note] and Insta, then refresh, refresh, refresh...” describes Carine, mimicking the operation with energy. When we meet her, the Israeli army is preparing for a ground incursion into southern Lebanon. Later that night, Iran fired nearly 200 missiles at Israel, . A Palestinian fatally hit by debris in Jericho in the West Bank.

Carine was supposed to visit her parents in the country 15 days before we met, but nothing went as planned. She evokes this disappointment pragmatically: “If the flight was cancelled, it may be a sign of destiny. It's more careful. But I am always ready to go! ” she said. Her words reflect her tension between the obligation to stay and the desire to leave...

The two women spend their time scrolling through their networks, caressing behind the glass the hope of a lull.

“It was like in Black Mirror ”

We asked Carine about the explosion of the pagers, which occurred on September 17. “It was like a story out of Black Mirror. Innocent people have also died or been injured, but no condemnation! ” she exclaims. In fact, neither Canada nor the United States condemned these explosions, which maimed and killed numerous civilians. This attack was a turning point, says Carine, who was already foreseeing a tragic sequel by then.

Her concerns were quickly confirmed. The military methods adopted by Israel, often described as destructive and disproportionate by international NGOs, made her fear the worst. “Only Israel can raze [a residential complex] to kill a single person with impunity,” adds Carine, a former Beirut resident, referring to the operation that led to the death of Hassan Nasrallah, former secretary general of Hezbollah.

“Seeing images of the southern suburbs of Beirut on September 23, I had a flashback of the explosion of 2020. I had the impression that the attack was happening in my room. I almost fainted,” says Carine. “I couldn't stay alone, I was at the bottom of the hole,” she adds, glancing at the entrance to the BHive Café. His distress gives way, stealthily, to a smile, then to a wave of his hand.

It is her twin brother who greets us. He too left Lebanon for Montreal in 2022. Coffee in hand, the civil engineer seems to be a regular visitor and joins friends to discuss the latest news from Lebanon.

“BHive Café has become our go-to place for 10 days. There are several Lebanese here. We can discuss and understand each other. It's our Situation Room,” says Carine. She too has become a regular over the last few days.

“Our dead never have a story”

In addition to fears about the human and economic toll of this conflict, there is a new concern: that of being abandoned by the world and its complex relationships of power.

Farah, who went to the café this Tuesday for her new ritual, stopped at the next table over to exchange some news, then joined us.

In their daily lives, the two women in their thirties experience a lack of compassion for what the Lebanese people are going through. “[What happens in Lebanon] is a subject that everyone avoids [colleagues, acquaintances]. Even asking for news is stealthy. We go back to the nice weather just after,” explains Farah. Vehement, she continues: “Our dead never have a story. Sometimes I wonder if we leave the world indifferent or if the world hates us. But we got used to it! ”

Exile and its psychological repercussions

Farah and Carine know it, after the calm comes the storm. They are preparing to experience solitude in the eye of the cyclone. “Exile is hard to live; daily life becomes insignificant. Nothing matters when your country is bombed,” Farah says, her palms open as a sign of evidence.

“It's chilling to get messages that start with, 'If you don't find me later...' Even if it's in a light tone, it bodes for the worst,” she adds, less confident.

“Being with the Lebanese community during this difficult time has its advantages, but also its disadvantages. It's comforting to share our fears, but some dramas are intimate,” Farah continues, gravely. The lack of sleep can already be seen on her face.

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Carine calls her parents and grandparents every day, but the anxiety is palpable at the end of the phone: “My grandfather no longer has an appetite. I talk to him often. Sometimes I make jokes with fruit names to make him smile again. But I can't always do it,” she says. “My parents are in a safe place in Beirut. But 'safe' in Beirut, it is only five minutes by car from the places where attacks and bombings take place,” she explains, swallowing the last drops of her cortado in the evening.

Israeli bombardments have pushed many people onto the roads. The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees counts, as of 7 October 2024, 1.2 million displaced, representing over 15 per cent of the population of Lebanon. On the ground, the situation is difficult for these families seeking refuge in the north of the country.

Carine describes a large emotional gap from being away from her own “My life is on pause, my people are suffering, a nightmare. Sometimes I feel guilty for being safe here in Montreal, terrified by the images of my country under bombs. I don't know how long this is going to last.” she continues.

“My friends told me about families stuck for 17 hours with children on the road, with no food, for a trip that should normally only take 45 minutes,” describes Carine, her voice trembling.

The Montreal diaspora is getting organized

While the displaced people are piling up on the roads, Farah's mom, an experienced humanitarian worker, is getting ready to board the first plane leaving Montreal for Lebanon. She chose to leave despite the advice of her contacts who, there onthe ground, advised her against this trip.

She leads Bluemission, an NGO founded in 2022 to help rural and refugee women in Saida, the third largest city in the country, to have access to health care, especially for mental health, and to education. For her, Farah explains to us, it is a call of duty in these times of distress for all Lebanese women.

Her daughter feels helpless. “She will be useful there, unlike me here. Her absence will be a new test for me and my whole family,” she adds. Although she understands her mother's motives, Farah's indecision and concern persist under her cloud of smoke, in front of the coffee.

Solidarity is organized at various levels among members of the diaspora to help the most needy in Lebanon. For example, a fundraiser was organized at Lulu Grocery in Montreal. These initiatives are expected to increase in the coming days.

Carine, a sports coach, brought together fans on the banks of the Lachine Canal for a training session for the benefit of Lebanese Red Cross. “It's the best way to help from Montreal. Every dollar counts! ” she said.

“I was surprised to see so many people from different nationalities coming to train and making significant donations. It was unbelievable. I feel really useful! ” she concludes with pride. Her initiative raised $1,470 in donations.

Sacred union

“The Lebanese diaspora is huge. I hope that the international community will step in to save my country. But it's hard not to think [also] about Gaza,” Farah says, talking about the future in the Middle East.

Indeed, the Israeli army has killed, according to conservative estimates, at least 42,000 Gazans in a year of massive bombings. “Their weapons are much more powerful than in 2006!" exclaims Carine, implying that the IDF's desire to destroy is now more pronounced than 18 years ago.

So far, the Israeli military has not specified its intentions regarding the ground operation in Lebanon, despite the presence of UN peacekeeping forces in the south of the country since 2000. The risk of being mired in a lasting conflict is considerable.

Such a stalemate is feared by the diaspora. “We Lebanese must be united and overcome our political and religious divisions. It is our salvation,” Farah insists. Carine dreams of a future where the country can rebuild itself. “I believe in our resilience. We have been through so much and we are still here.”

A second year of tension is looming in the Middle East and in Lebanon in particular. Calls for a ceasefire, launched through all channels, seem to have no effect. Meanwhile, international efforts are increasing to avoid a regional or even wider war. The bullets and bombs resonate, touching the hearts and minds of those living in exile, like Carine and Farah, who are also victims of this conflict.