Dispatches from the present
One million. That is the latest figure from the Lebanese government briefing of the number of people who have been displaced in the nineteen days since Israel launched a series of major air strikes and bombardments on Lebanon in retaliation for missiles fired at it by Hezbollah, the Lebanese Shiite political party and paramilitary group. One million, and rising—that’s nearly one in five residents in Lebanon. Almost all of southern Lebanon and the south suburbs of Beirut have been effectively depopulated, with people seeking shelter wherever they can find it: private apartments or government-run shelters, if they’re lucky, and if not, setting up tents and sleeping rough in Beirut’s relatively scarce public spaces—the seaside corniche, public squares, gardens and beach.
Yet even there they cannot escape the war. Israel has dropped bombs on tents on Ramlet al-Baida, Beirut’s only public beach, killing twelve, as well as hotels in the largely Christian neighborhood of Hazmieh and in multi-confessional Ras Beirut. Twice they struck a building in Bourj Hammoud, a predominantly Armenian Christian enclave east of the Beirut River, claiming they were targeting Hezbollah operatives who had fled there. Whereas in previous iterations of this war Israel has at least claimed to be targeting Hezbollah’s military infrastructure in “Hezbollah strongholds,” a pernicious label adopted before the bombing of actual civilians, they don’t grant us such grace this time; the patterns of strikes is erratic, intense and aimed at the displaced population. Whatever the long-term consequences of this escalation, it has already begun to unleash a political and social crisis in Lebanon.
Lebanon’s sectarian communities, largely hostile toward Hezbollah and fearful of Israel’s targeted strikes, have been swept up in a widespread panic that has only further marginalized the displaced. Many of the refugees, the majority of whom belong to Lebanon’s Shiite community, have faced difficulties in finding apartments to rent in non-majority Shiite areas, as local officials and community members refuse to offer spots to them lest their properties and neighbors also get targeted by the Israeli air force. Building associations across the country, including mine, have banned residents from using delivery services for fear the apps will be abused by desperate refugees seeking shelter from the strikes. When I confronted my building reps about the silliness of this decree—this entire country runs on delivery drivers, who comprise most of the traffic on the road, most of the labor force and most of the economy—they fired back with some deranged story about apartments being broken into across Mount Lebanon and the need for precautions. Our doorman chimed in that his cousin next door had seen three strangers on the rooftop of another building on our street and called the police to investigate. Just two weeks into this war, a paranoid collective logic had set in: any form of Shiite presence means danger and so is best to be avoided. When Israel struck a building full of displaced people in majority-Sunni Dohat Aramoun, local residents responded by burning and trashing vehicles belonging to the displaced and forcing them out of town.
Since the early years of the country’s long civil war (1975-90), which effectively created homogeneous enclaves across the country, sectarianism has shaped virtually all of Lebanon’s existing political, spatial and economic structures. Only in recent years has sectarian fervor cooled down and allowed pockets of multi-confessional life to reappear, particularly here in Beirut.
Yet the latest war has driven this sectarian logic to an intensity not seen since the civil war, fueled by sensationalist news stories and social media rumors about the displaced and secret Hezbollah operatives. One video on X of a man complaining about the lack of furnishings and low-quality food provided for those sleeping at the Camille Chamoun Sports City Stadium incited vitriol about the supposed ungratefulness and arrogance of the displaced. Commenters mocked the old man and the people sheltering alongside him, telling them to go home or to ask Hezbollah for aid if they didn’t like what they’d received.
On X and Instagram, the IDF’s longtime Arabic spokesperson, Colonel Avichay Adraee, posts daily warnings of impending Israeli strikes, while constantly reminding the Lebanese that Hezbollah is taking advantage of their acquiescence and dragging the entire country into an unwanted war. Adraee’s online theatrics are but one feature of Israel’s psychological warfare in this latest round of fighting. On March 13th, the Israeli air force dumped leaflets over Beirut with two messages: on one, asking Lebanese citizens to take the initiative to disarm Hezbollah, and on the other, a more ominous reference to “the resounding success in Gaza.” When I saw videos of those leaflets dropping from the sky, gray flapping heralds, my stomach sank. I’ve seen too many versions of this scene before, and I dread what it portends for those of us still here in Lebanon.
At the same time, hyper-sectarianism is nothing new. It has been the norm for quite some time now. A devastating series of political and economic crises overseen by the country’s political elites have frayed our social bonds. In fact, Israel’s tactics here aren’t all that dissimilar to how our own political elites usually operate: whenever people rise up in the streets demanding justice and accountability for the mismanagement of the country’s affairs, they resort to threats, warning that the country will collapse into civil war. True to form, Hezbollah opponents in the political establishment have inflamed sectarian anxieties during this war. Some have gone so far as to call for invoking chapter 7 of the UN Charter and placing Lebanon under international stewardship, while others have proposed reestablishing the fabled (and unsuccessful) Mount Lebanon Emirate from four centuries ago. Hezbollah officials have likewise lashed out against their internal opponents, promising violent retribution once the fighting stops.
But that’s unlikely to come any time soon. On Monday Israel launched a “targeted” ground invasion to establish a buffer zone up to the Litani River, roughly twenty kilometers north of the border. IDF officials have said the goal is to demilitarize and depopulate southern Lebanon indefinitely, just as they have attempted to do in Gaza. Occupation and ethnic cleansing are only one side of this assault on Lebanon: Israel may be betting that heightened sectarian hysteria, stoked by strikes on civilian infrastructure, will cause Lebanon’s fragile social contract to collapse, quelling any future threats to its interests. And I fear they could be right: after Israel conducted its pager attacks in 2024, I found myself stuck in traffic in front of an ambulance carrying a victim to the ER. As I pulled my car to the side of the road to let the ambulance pass, a man on a motorcycle stopped, looked at me and said, “Don’t move. Let them die.”
Amid all this madness, many are still choosing to resist this sectarian thinking. Mutual-aid networks and NGOs, artist collectives and libraries, a small army of activists, independent farmers, regular folks, working with barely any means and reeling from the latest wars, have still managed to house, feed and medicate thousands of displaced across the country. I am reminded of a quote by James Baldwin: “The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people.” So far this sentiment has kept me from surrendering to despair, but this disaster more than any other has forced the question: How long can Lebanon be held together by this small army? How long will we be able to keep from turning against each other once and for all?
Photo credit: Marwan Naamani, Beirut, Lebanon. Scores of camping tents are erected by displaced Lebanese who fled intense Israeli strikes in southern Beirut to find refuge at Beirut Sports City. March 10, 2026. (dpa/Alamy Live News)