Suspicion, resentment, trauma, destruction – Beirut on the edge

Beirut, Lebanon – “No phones!” barks a burly man as he sails past us on his scooter. I’m out in the city working with media’s correspondent, Ali Hashem. His friend and fellow journalist, Ghaith Abdul-Ahad, who is with us, has just taken a picture of a beautiful old building, nestled among the usual shopfronts and apartments in a busy street in Basta, central Beirut.

Although the man is clearly a civilian – not an official of any sort – Ghaith is quick to heed his order. He apologises and puts his phone away, but the angry man has already turned the scooter around and is approaching, demanding to see the phone and the offending picture.

This kind of tension is more than just bubbling under the surface in this city. Beirut is on edge. In the past month, the city’s residents have experienced one traumatic event after another. First, there were attacks in mid-September as thousands of pagers and walkie-talkie radios belonging to Hezbollah commanders exploded in homes and public places, killing 32 people and leaving thousands injured.

This was followed by countless air strikes on what Israeli forces claimed were Hezbollah targets starting on September 20, mostly focused on Dahiyeh in the south of the city, next to the airport. On September 27, Hezbollah’s leader of 32 years, Hassan Nasrallah, was confirmed dead after Israel dropped 85 “bunker buster” bombs on a southern residential suburb of the city.

The September 20 attack ensnared many innocent civilians, including the family of media cameraman Ali Abbass who lived in the building adjacent to the strike. His son, Mohammed, describes being thrown off his bed as the apartment was engulfed in dust – and then hearing the terrible screams of the injured. Ali immediately moved his family to a hotel where media staff were staying, his wife arrived shaking, still suffering from shock.

A day later, Hezbollah’s media relations unit grants journalists a tour of the destruction and recovery work.

Correspondent Imran Khan and I find ourselves waiting in the dusty street where the strike hit with local journalists and TV crews, before being joined by some of the international Western broadcasters, to make one large media scrum.

Dahiyeh is quieter than usual. There is less traffic but many residents still line the streets, some to observe the media; others, including Ali, are returning to their homes to salvage what they can. Some shops have been forced to close but others are still trying to continue, business as usual.

After a few hours of waiting, we are suddenly given the signal by Hezbollah media officers to approach and we hurry towards the blast site, cameras desperately scrambling for the best position to survey the carnage.