July 6-25,2006 By Kail C. Ellis, O.S.A. Father Kail Ellis, O.S.A., Dean of Arts and Sciences at Villanova University, was visiting family in Lebanon when the Israeli air strikes began on July 12, 2006. The following diary is a powerful reflection on his evacuation experience and the situation in Lebanon. |
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July 6, Thursday - I am due to leave Philadelphia for London at 8:55 p.m. and catch a plane for Beirut on Friday. The purpose of the trip is a short vacation to see some relatives and friends, and to use an airline ticket before it expires. I plan to return to Philadelphia on July 15. This is probably my twenty-fifth trip to Lebanon. My first visit was in fall 1957, when I had just turned seventeen. At that time, my parents agreed to send me to Beirut for several months to stay with my maternal uncle, Joseph Hobeiche, and his family. The purpose of this visit was to learn about Lebanon’s culture and language and our family’s Maronite Catholic history. Early in life, most likely through the influence of my mother’s stories, I had developed a strong interest in Lebanon. This pleased her for, as she later told me, she always wanted one of her children to experience Lebanon first hand so that at least one of us would understand what she was saying when she talked about her homeland. As the youngest of her children and just out of high school with no other obligations, I became the lucky one. That trip proved to be historic. In July 1958, I was there to “greet” the Marines whom President Eisenhower sent to prevent the spread of Communism in the Middle East and to calm the civil war that threatened Lebanon’s independence. The catalyst was the July 14th revolution in Iraq, which overthrew that country’s Hashemite monarchy and established a republic allied with the Arab nationalism of Egypt’s leader, Gamal Abdel Nasser. Throughout my adult life, I have maintained a personal and academic connection to Lebanon. I wrote my doctoral dissertation on U.S. policy toward Lebanon in the Lebanese Civil Wars of 1958 and 1976, have organized scholarly conferences on Lebanon and the Middle East and published in these areas. In the 1990s, I established ties with two Lebanese universities: The Lebanese American University, on which I served as member of the Board of Trustees from 1996 to 2003, and the American University of Science in Technology in Beirut, where I spent the fall 2005 semester as a consultant to their developing school of arts and sciences. I expect that this will be another routine visit. Around 4:30 p.m., I receive a call from British Airways informing me that the flight has been delayed until midnight. Around 9 p.m. I arrive at the British Airways counter to find it deserted except for one attendant, who proceeds to check me in. I assume everyone else has checked in but when I enter the lounge, I find that there are not many people there, either. At 11:30 p.m. I go to the gate where boarding is taking place. The plane is not very full despite the purported summer rush. As I find my seat the pilot welcomes us and announces that the reason for the delay is that a passenger on the inbound flight from London had a heart attack, diverting the plane to Iceland so that he could receive medical treatment. I think, “Not a very good beginning.” July 7, Friday - We land at London Heathrow at around 11 a.m. This shortens my wait by about two hours, which is good. I get a snack and check my e-mail. There’s nothing much new. I board the British Mediterranean flight for Beirut and take off at 2:00 p.m. The plane is packed with tourists and people going home for vacation. We arrive on time at 8:30 p.m. I get my baggage and clear customs with no problem. My friends, Samira Mennasa and Houda Kmeid, are waiting to take me to Kattine and where my cousin, Jouhaina Hobeiche, lives. Kattine is in the mountains of Kesrowan, about twenty-five miles north of Beirut. It is a beautiful area that has special meaning for me; it is the ancestral home of my mother’s family. We have supper, and after a few hours my friends leave. July 10, Monday - In the morning, Dr. Nabeel Haidar, the Provost of the American University of Science and Technology (AUST), calls to invite me to lunch in Beirut. He sends a taxi. Mrs. Sakr, the President of AUST, and Nabeel’s brother, Adnan, a professor at the University of Arkansas who is visiting from the States, join us at the Sultan Ibrahim restaurant in the Beirut neighborhood of Ashrafieh. Afterwards, Nabeel calls a taxi for Adnan and me. Adnan has an appointment with Ghassan Tueni, the editor of the prominent Lebanese newspaper, An-Nahar, at his paper’s headquarters in downtown Beirut. (Adnan, along with Sam Hazo of the University of Pittsburgh, has recently edited a book of poetry by Tueni’s late wife, Nadia.) It’s amazing how much tragedy the elder Tueni has endured over the years. Not only did he lose his wife to cancer some years ago, and a son in an automobile accident, but his last remaining son, Gebran, who was editor of the newspaper and an outspoken critic of Syrian policy in Lebanon, was assassinated by a car bomb last December. I recall interviewing the elder Tueni in Washington, D.C., in the late 1970s, when I was researching my doctoral dissertation on Lebanon’s civil war. At the time he was the Ambassador of the Arab League to the U.S., and he received me with great kindness. After we drop Adnan off, the taxi takes me to Safra, a small seaside resort town on the coast midway between Beirut and Byblos. There I stay with my cousins, Alain and Desiree (Alain is Jouhaina’s son) and their three daughters: Sara, 13 years old, Sandra, 12, and Serena, nine. Desiree and the children, along with Samira, Houda and Viviane Joseph, Alain’s sister, have planned an overnight trip to the Crac des Chevaliers, a magnificent eleventh century Crusader fortress in Syria. This "fortress of the knights" was the headquarters of the Knights Hospitaller in Syria during the Crusades. I have wanted to visit this castle ever since I saw of photo of it in my high school history book. July 11, Tuesday - We leave in two cars – Samira and Houda drive. Our destination is Tartous, Syria, where Houda has made arrangements for us to stay with the Maronite bishop at his residence. When we arrive at the Bishop’s house in Tartous we find him waiting for us. He greets everyone warmly and is very gracious. After a short rest, he tells us to follow him as well will have lunch at a very nice restaurant high in the mountains. He insists that I go with him and Samira and Houda follow in their cars. He wants to give us a grand tour of his dioceses and let us visit certain shrines and see the construction of a new church. However, he takes us by the back roads which are narrow and tortuous and this makes Houda very nervous. I am struck by the beauty of the area which is called Wadi Nassara–the Wadi of the Christians. The area is home to several Christian villages, populated by Maronites and Orthodox, as well Alawites. Tartous is a beautiful city—much more cosmopolitan than I expected and has a mixed population of Maronites, Orthodox and Sunnis. July 12, Wednesday - Given the roads, Houda and Samira are reluctant to drive, so we rent a minivan to take us to the Crac des Chevaliers. To our delight, the road taken by the driver is much better than the one we were on yesterday. It seems the bishop took us on the back roads to show us the extent of his dioceses. Once we reached the Crusader castle, we engaged a guide named Akram, who conducts an extensive tour of the chapel, the knights’ meeting room, the stables and the fortifications. Sarah and Sandra’s knowledge of the Middle Ages is tested but generally they have a great time. The castle is a huge complex, even more impressive than I imagined. On the bus back from the fortress Samira receives a text message on her cell phone, which she shares only with Desiree. The message says to hurry back home, as there is trouble on the Israeli border; an incident has occurred in south Lebanon. Samira is not sure if this message is serious. When she informs me about it as we are driving home, we realize that it is no understatement. We listen to the car radio and the news is not good. Hizbollah has conducted an operation in which it killed eight Israeli soldiers and captured two. Hizbollah’s goal is to exchange the soldiers for Lebanese prisoners in Israel. The Israelis announce that if the soldiers are not returned, Lebanon’s infrastructure, both civilian and military, will be hit. From Safra, I decide to go to Beirut where I plan to meet Nasser, a communications professor at Villanova, who is in Lebanon for the summer. Nasser has gotten concert tickets for Thursday for a Fairuz concert in Baalbek, the magnificent temple complex of Roman ruins in the Beqaa valley and one of the world’s most famous archeological sites. The concert will take place in the Temple of Jupiter. Nasser insists that I attend. Fairuz is a famous Lebanese diva who now rarely performs in public in Lebanon. She is Nasser’s favorite singer, and is well known throughout the Arab Middle East. July 13, Thursday - During the night, Israel begins its bombardment of Lebanon. The airport is struck and is closed. Other targets are hit. Villages in the south also are bombed. As I am due to leave Lebanon on Saturday, I decide to explore other travel options. I go to the British Airways Office in Gefinor Center in Ras Beirut. The agent I talk to is hopeful that the airport will reopen in a few days, and recommends that I change my ticket to Friday, July 21– the next available opening. Other people are making arrangements to travel through Damascus, Aleppo or Amman, Jordan. That night there is more aerial bombardment in Dahieh, the Shiite suburb of Beirut, and in south Lebanon. July 14, Friday - Things do not seem to be getting better. I return to the British Airways office and find it extremely crowded with customers trying to change their tickets. Several embassies are providing buses from hotels for their nationals to leave Lebanon. The Middle East Airlines office, in the same complex, is even more packed. People are desperate to change their departure tickets from Beirut to Damascus, Homs, Aleppo or Amman. We are advised not to travel to Syria, as the road is very dangerous. The Israelis have bombed the highway at Choutra and Baalbek on the Damascus Road. They also continue to bombard Dahieh, bombing the Hizbollah-operated Al-Manar TV studio and the apartment building of Hassan Nasrallah. They announce later that this is only a warning, as they know that the buildings are empty. I discover that my cell phone -- which I brought with me thinking that it would work only in Europe—also works in Lebanon. I receive a call from a friend in the States who wants to know if I have returned home. I call my office to let them know that I’m all right. As a result, I begin to get calls from worried people in the States. Some advise me about the situation as reported on American TV. They tell me that the Beirut airport has sustained such damage that it won’t reopen for some time; Americans should go to the embassy to make evacuation plans. Catherine Hill, who works with me in the Dean’s office, calls to give me the American Embassy numbers in Lebanon and to tell me that she has gone online to register Nasser and me with the Embassy for evacuation. She also informs me that one of her friends is working on a task force for the State Department for the evacuation of Americans from Lebanon. She gives me a phone number for the State Department in Washington. When I try it, I get a message that it is an undesignated number. I tell Nasser that we should leave Beirut, and think of going to my cousin’s in Kattine in the north. I suspect he will not want to go, as he is worried about his family in the south. They have left their home village for the city of Tyre because of the bombardment around them. Soon, however, Tyre also comes under fire. This brings back for Nasser terrible memories of the civil war and the 1982 Israeli invasion. Two of Nasser’s friends come over and predict that this will be the end of Hizbollah. I’m not so optimistic. July 15, Saturday - In the morning, I decide to return to my cousin Jouhaina’s house in the mountains in case Nasser’s family makes it to his apartment in Beirut. There is a rumor that the Israelis will hit a tunnel in Beirut or a bridge in the north. The night before, they hit a bridge on the Tripoli road to the Syrian border at Nahr Bared. Later, they also bomb the lighthouse on the Beirut Corniche and military installations in the ports of Jounieh, Amchit and Tripoli. The cell phone networks go down. A terrible feeling of isolation sets in. July 16, Sunday - I celebrate Mass at Kattine with Jouhaina and Samira. Everyone is depressed. Afterward, I receive a call from Catherine’s friend, who tells me that the Embassy knows Nasser and I are in Lebanon and that we are on the evacuation list. Meanwhile, several other people call, all very worried. I try to assure them that we are safe. Lebanese TV is full of pictures of the death and the destruction caused by the Israeli bombardment. Nasrallah speaks again, this time from his TV studio. (When he spoke on Friday, he promised “all out war” on Israel.) This means that the destruction of Lebanon will continue. Hizbollah has lobbed missiles into Israel—Haifa, Accra, Tiberius—and eight Israelis are killed at the Haifa train station. Israel promises a severe response. In Tyre, the Red Cross building and surrounding neighborhood are bombed. There are many casualties, almost all civilians. CNN’s coverage of Israel’s dead and wounded is extensive. As for Lebanon, only the damaged airport runways and footage of people fleeing to Syrian border crossing are shown, not the wounded, dead and the destruction of the towns and villages in the south. Perhaps the correspondents are unable to reach the south. Nevertheless, the reporting is somewhat deceptive. The CNN correspondent speaks from downtown Beirut where life seems to going on as normal. I call Nasser and find that he is very upset and worried about his family. They have fled to Tyre. So far they are safe. July 17, Monday - We wait. Israeli planes are flying overhead. We hear they have bombed the bridge in Dora, which is on the highway leading north. The airport has been hit yet again. My cousin and a neighbor go to the local supermarket for groceries. They return saying that the lines were unbelievable. Panic and food hording have begun. People are buying up bread. I try to call out but there is no network. I wonder how the Embassy can contact us if the phones do not work. The phone network returns and I am able to get through to Nasser. His family is trying to get to Beirut via a circuitous route in the Chouf Mountains. I go to Jounieh with Samira to check my e-mail. When we arrive, we can’t get to her office because there is no electricity to operate the elevators. I go next door to an Internet café, but I can’t access the Villanova’s e-mail system. I try the Internet again at Safra to no avail. It seems that the lack of access is not due to the war; Villanova’s Internet system is down. Nasser calls to ask if I’ve had any news. I tell him that Catherine’s friend called to advise us not to go to the Embassy, as they can’t handle the crush. Our only option is to wait for a call. They are evacuating according to priority, people from the south, those with medical needs and American students who are stranded in Lebanon. I repeat that she said we are on the evacuation list, but that we have to be patient. Nabeel has been able to get his two daughters, who have been visiting from the States, and his brother Adnan to Amman, Jordan via Syria. They will arrive in New York tonight. We hear that the ATM machines and banks are no longer distributing dollars – only Lebanese pounds. This is extraordinary, since dollars are used interchangeably with Lebanese pounds, with dollars the preferred currency. There are reports that taxi rides to Syria now cost $1,000. The price of vegetables and other staples is rising because the truckers are risking their lives on the roads. People are buying supplies, store shelves are emptying, and gasoline is rationed. Driving back to Safra with Samira, we encounter a friend of hers who is visibly distraught. She is a widow, and is trying desperately to phone her son, who took a bus to Damascus to catch a flight to Abu Dhabi. The woman heard that the Chatura road had been bombed again, and she is frantic to reach her son. She finally gets through to him on her cell phone while we’re there. He tells her that he is at the Syrian border and is safe. However, there are hundreds of people at the border crossing, and he doesn’t know if he will be able to catch his plane. The fear on the poor woman’s face is heartrending. Several people from the States call again. I try to assure them that I’m all right, but that the people in the south are suffering an unmitigated tragedy. There are signs that the war may not spread to Syria—Israel is assuring the Syrian regime that it is only concerned with Hizbollah—but also that the fighting will not end soon. Samira has been asked to mobilize people to gather bedding and towels for the refugees who have sought refuge in the schools. All public, private and Catholic schools have been ordered opened to receive them. Desiree, who works for the Ministry of Public Health, is gathering medications. The Lebanese Red Cross is also very busy. The Safra Marine resort complex has no vacancies due to the influx of refugees from the Dahieh section of Beirut and the villages of the South. God help those who cannot pay or escape by other means. The airport, the port of Beirut, Zahle, and an army barracks in Tripoli and Jamhour are all bombed. There are several killed and wounded. President Lahoud finally makes a TV appearance, visiting wounded soldiers in Jamhour. (Previously, we saw only the Prime Minister, Fouad Seniora, on TV.) De Villepin is here from France as is the UN delegation. There are widespread reports of Bush’s private conversation with Blair that Hizbollah should “stop this s…. and it will be all over.” The Lebanese newspaper The Daily Star mentions that there are now 40,000 refugees. It runs photos of civilians killed by Israeli strikes on the bridge at Ramelieh. July 18, Tuesday - I remain in the mountains. People continue to call from the States to update me on evacuation plans they have heard on TV. The news reports here show foreigners being evacuated; there is much criticism of the slowness of the US evacuation. Other countries have been able to evacuate their nationals much earlier—and free of cost. U.S. officials originally plan to have Americans pay for their own rides home by making them sign promissory notes before they board evacuation ships. Eventually, CNN reports that Bush has waived the evacuation fee due to protests from some members of Congress. CNN carries the Larry King program from Monday night; the participants criticize Israeli’s destruction of Lebanon as disproportionate. July 19, Wednesday - Forty US Marines land to assist in the evacuation. The airport is hit yet again, and the U.S. states that it opposes a ceasefire. Israeli planes can be heard overhead. July 20, Thursday - The evacuation is not going well, and people are panicking. The Lebanese fear that once all the foreigners are gone, the Israeli bombing will intensify. The television shows clips of people going to the Beirut Port even though they have not received a call from the Embassy. I’m beginning to think this is not going to end well. Around 9 p.m. Nasser calls. He tells me that he was able to get through to the Embassy, and they have confirmed that no one is being called! It is simply unmanageable for them to do so. Nasser has been advised to go to Dbeye (a small marina north of Beirut), for evacuation tomorrow by 6:00 a.m. He asks if we should go. I hesitate, knowing that it will be chaotic and because I hold on to the hope that this madness will end soon. Nasser asks me to call the Embassy to confirm that there will be other ships during the week, but I can’t get through. The network is busy. I remember Nabeel telling me that the former American Ambassador to Lebanon, Vincent Battle, has returned to Beirut and has been asked to assist in the evacuation. I call Nabeel to see if Ambassador Battle has any information. Nabeel gives me his telephone number, and I’m able to get through to him. Battle says that there will be five U.S. Navy ships coming to Lebanon on Friday, and that the evacuation will continue until everyone who wants to go has gone. If I want to leave, then tomorrow (Friday) is my best bet. Battle acknowledges that the trip will not be pleasant. The ships will ferry evacuees between Beirut and Cyprus or Turkey. Battle ends our conversation by saying that he looks forward to working with me on the AUST board of trustees. (I think, “Well, this is optimistic. Will there be anything left to Lebanon by the time the Board convenes?”) I call Nasser to tell him what Battle said. He talks things over with his family, and decides he will go. I have a discussion with my cousin Jouhaina, who is concerned. She doesn’t want me to leave now, advising that I wait until the bulk of people have been evacuated. I decide that it’s best to go now. Who knows when the opportunity will present itself again? It’s better to get it over with, even though I know it will a difficult trip. Jouhaina arranges with her neighbor, Tony, to take me to Dbeye, which is near his workplace at the Nestle Company. July 21, Friday - I arrange to get up at 5:30 a.m. Fortunately, a call from the States at 5:20 awakens me. Jouhaina makes coffee for Tony and me. By the time we get off it’s 6:20 a.m. I’m concerned about the delay, but there is nothing I can do. We are turned around at various checkpoints, but finally make it to the gathering place, an overpass bridge on the main highway. A crowd of hundreds of people has formed, and there is absolutely no order. Someone says that there is a line for people with children, but there is no real line. Hundreds of people are standing, pushing, and shoving. People carry small infants, push babies in strollers, and hold small children by the hand. They also juggle large suitcases. I don’t think there’s a family with fewer than three children under the age of six. Two Army trucks form a barrier to the inner compound, where it appears the processing is taking place. This is deceptive. Marines are on the trucks, as well as Embassy personnel who speak Arabic and appear to be Lebanese. One of them gets very upset with the crowd and shouts at them in Arabic they are lucky to be there. They should be grateful as this is the only way they can leave; they wouldn’t dare go through Syria. Another person from the Embassy tries to calm him down. Some of the Marines make several announcements on a loud speaker, but it is impossible to hear what they are saying. Progress is measured in inches and takes hours. People are shoving and trying to get to the head of the line. I call Nasser’s cell phone. He says he’s by the trucks, which means he must have gotten there much earlier than I did. Some people in the crowd are carrying green sheets of paper that certify they were there yesterday, but were turned away due to lack of space on the ships. This must have been terribly frustrating. After what seems like an eternity, I arrive by the trucks. By this time, people are trying to hand over their babies and small children to the Marines. The Marines are baffled as to what to do; they tell the people they cannot be responsible for the children. Some parents have been separated from their children, on different sides of the barrier. People are handing over infant formula, milk for the children and luggage (not the one small bag we were instructed to carry but huge suitcases). The Marines decide to let families go first, which is good, but means that I wait still longer. It’s hot and the only relief people have is bottled water, which the Marines are distributing. They advise people to drink; many children are dehydrated. They also announce that if anyone is feeling ill, the Red Cross will take them to the hospital. There are several elderly people, including some in wheelchairs. A few plastic chairs are brought for them to sit on. On this side of the truck barrier there is hardly room to breathe. Everyone is cheek by jowl, with strollers and suitcases pressing in between. Helicopters fly overhead from the Embassy. I think to myself, if only I could move I would get out of here and go back to my cousin’s. But I’m wedged in and can’t even budge. Most of the people appear to be of Lebanese origin, expatriates who have come home on holiday. Finally, after about three hours, I am allowed to pass the truck barrier. At first glance this appears to be progress, but the ordeal has only begun. Once inside, I again call Nasser who says he’s about to board a ship, the USS Trenton, for Cyprus. He thinks that my ship will go to Turkey. After showing our passports, we are directed to enter the first of many tents that have been set up. Initially, there appears to be some processing going on, but that turns out not to be the case. People are just standing in line, waiting. Every once in a while the line moves forward but it is extremely slow. My back is killing me and I can’t stand anymore. I sit on my suitcase; other people sit on the ground. People are frustrated, but generally patient or resigned. At last we reach the end of the first tent, only to enter the second. People are standing six to eight abreast. I notice other tents ahead of me that are set up to the left and lines of people going to yet another tent! This continues for another six hours. Finally we reach a tent where our passports and bags are checked yet again by Embassy personnel, and we are scanned by a hand-held metal detector. I think we’re almost done but again that’s not the case. We are directed to another tent where we stand (or sit on the ground) for another two hours. People are eating what food they have brought with them. The Marines are handing out bottled water and C rations for the children. It’s spaghetti with meat sauce that some people, for religious dietary reasons, don’t eat. After some time, this line begins to move. We stand and wait to be called forward to where the Embassy personnel are stationed. About ten staff members are entering names and passport numbers into computers. The people are instructed to have only one family member engaged in the processing to facilitate the procedure. At last, a female Marine asks if there is anyone traveling alone. I raise my hand and am ushered through to be processed. I think the worst must now be over as I’m directed to go to the shoreline where people are waiting on an unfinished macadam road for a boat to take us to the ship. This proves to be another two-hour wait, and there are no tents to shelter us from the hot sun. Every so often, a Marine assures us that we will board a ship in 30 minutes to an hour. It is confirmed that we are going to Cyprus, for which I am grateful, as that is nearer than Turkey and will expedite the evacuation. I call Jouhaina to tell her that I’m about to board. It has now been 12 hours. She’s shocked it has taken this long. I tell her that I will call her once I reach Cyprus. I also call my friend Jack Deegan at our Augustinian house in Villanova to let him know I’m boarding. One of the Marines explains the delay. It has to do with the ship getting the proper ballast. It has to be low in the water. I admittedly don’t understand the hydrodynamics. Around 8 p.m., we hear a loud noise signaling an amphibious boat coming ashore. It carries Marines who will assist in the evacuation. Not only will the people on the beach be evacuated, but also the Marine personnel and a bulldozer. I’m not sure why the bulldozer is there; there was no evidence of any earth being moved. The Marines are ready to assist people who need them, especially those with children. As we move toward the boat, the macadam road disappears, and suddenly we find ourselves on a steep gravel incline. The Marines are trying to keep things orderly, but people are anxious to board. Mothers are pushing the baby strollers but they soon grind to a halt, their wheels stuck in sand and gravel. The fear on the faces of the mothers is palpable. The Marines come to the rescue, helping to carry the children and strollers. For the life of me I don’t know why someone hasn’t collapsed or died by now. The boat is like the ones you see in films of the Normandy landing. The flap of the boat is put down at the water’s edge, and people scramble aboard. I step in the surf, hoping that my feet don’t get soaked (I don not relish the thought of wearing wet socks for the next fourteen hours). I notice others are stepping gingerly, but that’s the least of our worries. There is no place to sit on the boat, so people stand or plop on the life preservers that are strewn on the deck. The luggage is put to one side, to be off-loaded once we arrive at the larger ship. The ride is rough, and a medic offers seasickness pills. Several people ask for them. Some people take their camera out and take pictures. The journey takes half an hour; the boat pulls right into the bowels of the ship that will take us to Cyprus. The Captain of the USS Nashville and his crew formally welcome us. There is a big hand-lettered sign that says, “Welcome to the Evacuees from Lebanon.” Once again we are processed, and our names checked off. My back and legs are killing me. I think of the gym I’ve joined and thank God I’ve been doing leg and back exercises these past few months. I make my way to the main deck, where I tell a sailor that I am very tired and need a place to sit. He gives me some water, and tells me chairs and cots are available along the deck. I go to where they are being set up, but they’re not yet ready. I return to where I was and meet the same sailor, who asks me how I made out. I tell him they’re not yet ready to receive people, so he escorts me to the top deck where he says it is cooler. He finds me a chair and at last, I am able to sit. He then tells me he’ll be right back, and a few minutes later he brings me a plum, an orange and two cookies. I am amazed by the kindness and solicitude shown by these young Navy and Marine personnel. The deck is filling up and people are being given cots and mattresses to sleep on. I can see the lights of Beirut in the distance. I am offered a mattress, which I thankfully accept. I never thought being able to lie down would feel so good. Every muscle in my body aches. Another sailor offers me a blanket. Although it is still very hot, I keep it just in case. I use another blanket and my sweater as a pillow and fall asleep, exhausted. During the night the wind picks up, and it gets quite windy. I don’t know what time the ship finally pulls out, but I think it is well past midnight. We are told that the trip will take 12 hours. I am awakened again by the wind, and pull the blanket tight. For some reason my thoughts turn to the ancients who traveled these waters, and also to St. Paul, who was shipwrecked off Malta. The Mediterranean can be quite cruel and dangerous. Even though I am on a U.S. Navy ship, I wonder if anyone might want to lob a missile at the ship to create an international incident (casus belli). Such are the wild thoughts that go through one’s mind at times like this. The Navy is very thorough in its accounting of people. Several times announcements are made that some people on the list did not register upon arrival, and that these persons must make themselves known before the ship leaves. I don’t know if they ever do. July 22, Saturday - I awaken around 6:00 a.m. feeling better, but very dirty. Having slept in my clothes on a mattress that was not exactly clean, my pants are black. I also feel sweaty and clammy. Breakfast is being served in the packed galley—scrambled eggs, pancakes, crumb bread and cereal. I negotiate around the crowd and pick up some eggs, pancakes and coffee and go to the upper deck. I find a place to eat leaning on some type of machinery. The Captain announces that the ship is host to 1,119 evacuees. Once the ship docks at Limassol, it will ready itself to return to Beirut for another pickup. All in all, it takes the ship over 24 hours to evacuate, maybe more. This surprises me, although I don’t know why it should since I know nothing about the logistics involved. My experience with the sailors and Marines on the ship has been excellent. They are accommodating, polite and friendly, going out of their way to help people. My thoughts turn to Villanova’s Navy program on the off chance that a graduate might be on the ship. I ask one of the sailors if there is anyone on board from Villanova. “No, Sir,” he replies, “The Navy is big.” He also volunteers that if people want to thank the Navy, they should write to the government to tell them of their positive experience. “When budget cuts are proposed, it’s always the Navy that’s cut,” he said. I notice that people are wearing caps and T-shirts with the USS Nashville insignia, and discover they are for sale in the canteen. I decide to get one but the long line puts me off. It appears that the queuing is by people who are preparing to get off the boat. I discover a passageway to the canteen, and am able to pick up a cap for $10–a bargain and a memento of a mixed experience. I resolve that whenever I hear of people being evacuated due to some natural or man-made disaster, I will be more empathetic, having now undergone a similar experience. But we are lucky, despite our difficulties. We have resources and options. What about the tens of thousands of Lebanese refugees who don’t have a government to look after them or provide basic necessities? The social infrastructure in Lebanon is nonexistent. On BBC and CNN, we hear the air raid sirens going off in Haifa, warning Israelis to go to their bomb shelters. There are no such shelters or sirens over Beirut or the cities of Sidon and Tyre, where the bombardment and destruction are hundreds of times worse than in Israel. The inequities of war are innumerable. Affluent people from the Beirut suburbs and south Lebanon have streamed to the north, either to seaside resorts or to mountain ski resorts such as Fakra and Faraya, where they can rent chalets and apartments. Meanwhile, the poor and those who have had the roads to their villages cut are isolated. Nothing can move. If anyone dares to try the mountain roads to escape, they run the risk of being bombed. And indeed, many have been killed trying to flee. Everything is justified in war. People are told to flee but if they do, they risk being killed. “Collateral damage” it’s called. How can the actions of one leader, Hassan Nasrallah, who was not part of the government and himself never elected to a government office, affect the life and death of a country of four million people by plunging it into war? What is the strategy behind this Israeli offensive? Is it collective punishment of all Lebanese, regardless of affiliation or support for Hizbollah? Why are grain silos, telecommunications, roads and bridges throughout the country being knocked out and destroyed? The public statements of the Israeli government emphasize that Israel wants the Lebanese government to be strengthened so it can to take control of the South and disarm Hizbollah. But if the Army is attacked and the country is destroyed, how can that happen? The Lebanese government’s strategy in the past year of trying to convince Hizbollah to disarm peacefully now seems to make sense. The Lebanese government by itself could never have disarmed Hizbollah by force, despite what UN Resolution 1559 states. Yet given its support by Syria and Iran, what incentive does Hizbollah have to disarm? The argument that the Shebaa Farms are part of Lebanon, hence Hizbollah must keep its arms as a resistance movement is, in my view, a pretext invented by Syria to keep the pressure on Israel to return the Golan Heights. The UN certified that Israel withdrew completely from Lebanon according to the 1978 UN Resolution 425. If Shebaa belongs to Lebanon, then the Syrians should put that in writing. So far they have refused to do so, and Lebanon’s border with Syria remains undefined. The wars of the Middle East seem to be about borders. Not only is Syria’s border with Lebanon undefined, but also Israel’s border with Lebanon is not defined. Both these issues await a peace agreement which, at this point, seems farther and farther away. Will the stalemate over Hizbollah’s arms be broken with this war? History shows that war has never solved anything in this region. The more things change, the more they remain the same. In 1982, Israel invaded Lebanon to expel the PLO, and created a “buffer” zone in the south before it finally withdrew, under the pressure of Hizbollah, in May 2000. Without a political solution there will be no peace. The children born during that occupation are now the Hizbollah and Israeli soldiers fighting today. When will this cycle of violence end? How can peace be achieved? As Pope Paul VI has famously stated, “There can be no peace without justice.” The countries of the region must be able to live in peace. Israel, Syria, Lebanon and the other Arab countries must enter into negotiations to achieve a peace agreement. Iran must also be included in this. In return, Israel must negotiate with Syria the return of the Golan Heights and with the Palestinians over Gaza and the West Bank to form a viable Palestinian state. The international community must support and strengthen the Lebanese government and the Palestinian Authority in order to undermine the appeal of the military wings of Hamas and Hizbollah. They must also assume responsibility for their considerable medical, educational and social welfare programs. The legitimately constituted governments must take responsibility for these programs, which give those organizations popular support. The international community must support their efforts. As we leave the USS Nashville, the Captain and his crew graciously bid us farewell. Once again I am struck by the ship’s hospitality. Soon, I take my turn in yet another line to enter the terminal at Limassol. We are greeted by the Cypriot Red Cross, which has prepared snacks and toys for the children. Inside, chaos reigns anew. There are only three people with computers to process over a thousand people. Everyone seems to be pushing and shoving, and children are crying. No ropes are erected to designate the lines. Some people are shouting obnoxiously, accusing others of trying to get ahead in line. “This line is not moving!” is a common refrain. Finally someone from the Embassy attempts to create order. The Marines are brought in and yellow tape is tied to chairs to make three lines. People don’t want to step back even a few feet to make room, fearing they will lose their place. They would rather stand three and four abreast with no room to breathe. The official insists that they move and although he takes a lot of abuse, he succeeds. While we’re waiting, someone says that the Israelis have bombed the transmission towers for LBC, Future TV and the Teleluminiere, the Catholic broadcasting station. These stations have nothing to do with Hizbollah, and support the moderate government. The mobile relay towers are also knocked out, and communication by cell phone with Lebanon is now impossible. A woman holding a baby in front of me begins to cry out hysterically that Lebanon is being destroyed and no one will do anything about it. A woman next to her takes the baby from her arms. My turn finally comes and my name is again entered into the computer. When I finish I try to lift my leg over the yellow tape but to my amazement I can’t; standing for all that time has turned my legs into logs. Someone behind me has to help me, and I feel very embarrassed. I retrieve my luggage, pass through Cypriot customs and go to where the buses are lined up to take people to hotels. I fear additional lines but to my great surprise, I am directed to a bus that leaves as soon as it is filled. Its destination is the Coral Beach Hotel, about an hour’s ride away. I pray that it has bathroom and shower. It’s a beautiful place, and registration goes very quickly. Twelve hotels have been arranged to accommodate the evacuees. I get my room key, and the first thing I do is take a long shower. Now I wait for news about our flight to the U.S. July 24, Monday - I have spent two nights in Cyprus and am just beginning to feel normal. We are given conflicting information; first that we will leave Cyprus on Monday, and then that the departure has been changed to Tuesday. Around 5:45 p.m. on Monday I receive a call that I must be ready to leave by 6:20 p.m. Buses have been provided to take us to the Larnaca airport for a 9 p.m. departure. About a hundred people pile onto buses and it takes over an hour to get there. The airport is very crowded; several hundred buses are pulling in and out. I’m not sure if these hold other foreign nationals being evacuated. After some delay, we check in and I go to the departure lounge. After waiting several hours, I realize that I don’t recognize anyone who was on the bus with me. I begin to panic and find my way to the head of airport security. He doesn’t know anything, either. He makes some phone calls and tells me that an announcement will be made in twenty minutes to a half hour. I go back to the departure gates but there is so much noise that I can’t hear anything. Alarm again sets in and I think that I’ve missed the flight. Why couldn’t they have told us the proper gate, I think. I stand in main concourse hoping to see someone go by. I’m lucky. One of the people who was with me on the bus comes by with an American official and says they are boarding; where have I been? It is now approximately 4 a.m. and we board a military transport plane for Ramstein, Germany. We enter the plane from the rear. There are canvas seats along the side and a double row down the center of the plane. Earplugs are handed out to ward off the considerable noise. No one can talk or hear without difficulty. There are no windows, only small portholes that let in some light. People do their best to make themselves comfortable; some try to stretch out on the seats, but there is a metal barrier between the seats that makes that position very uncomfortable. Children sleep on the floor. The airmen pass out sandwiches and water and do their best to make us feel comfortable. The man next to me, the same one who found me at the airport, tells me that he left Lebanon fifteen years ago during the civil war to study in the States. He has not been home since. In the States he married and American girl and they now have four children. This summer he convinced her to go back to Lebanon for a visit. Although she was hesitant, she reluctantly agreed. Now, he’s afraid she will never go back. The flight to Germany takes five hours. When we land the Red Cross, other service personnel and volunteers greet us. Airmen play with the children and other service personnel take their pictures. The welcome is warm and lunch is provided. Phone cards are also distributed for people who need them to call home. At first, I’m not sure what time it is in Germany but we are told that there will be a four-hour layover. This stretches into eight hours due to mechanical trouble with the plane. The American Ambassador to Germany and his entourage pay a visit. July 25, Tuesday - The lay over is very organized and around 4:30 p.m. we board for the nine-hour flight to McGuire Air Force base in New Jersey. The plane arrives at 7 p.m., and my friends Louise Fitzpatrick and Jack Deegan are waiting for me. It is wonderful to be back home, but my heart and mind are still with the people of Lebanon, who are suffering a terrible tragedy with no end in sight. Some Final Reflections: As this entry is being written, the war in Lebanon has expanded to the Christian heartland of the country. The people in that area are baffled as to why they are being hit, since they do not support Hizbollah and there are no Hizbollah forces there. Over a million Lebanese are now refugees, a quarter of the population of some four million. Some 100,000 are being housed in schools. Over 700 Lebanese, mostly civilians, have been killed, and many bodies have not yet been recovered. There are another 3,125 injured, a third of whom, according to UNICEF, are children. It is not known how many Hizbollah fighters have been killed. On the Israeli side, 58 Israeli soldiers and at least 36 civilians have been killed to date. Lebanon has been reduced to rubble; power plants, houses, hospitals, schools and the infrastructure have been destroyed. Over 71 bridges have been bombed. An ecological disaster from the Israeli destruction of the Jiyeh thermal power station (on the southern coast of Lebanon) has caused the greatest environmental damage in the history of the eastern basin of the Mediterranean Sea. The facility is still burning after three weeks, and is leaking 70 thousand cubic meters of oil. Medicines and humanitarian aid cannot get through to the refugees and those trapped in their villages. Gasoline is rationed, and the Prime Minister has announced that there is only enough left for one week. UN agencies have reported that shortages could lead to lights going out across the country in a few days. The Israeli naval blockade, strikes against roadways and the airport, and the destruction of main north-south coastal highway linking Beirut to Syria have severed Lebanon from the rest of the world. Meanwhile, the battle continues unabated, as Hizbollah-launched rockets and missiles rain down on Israel. Few will argue that Israel does not have the right to defend itself—but the question is whether destroying Lebanon and killing hundreds of trapped, terrorized civilians is justified in the cause of defense. The Human Rights Watch report of August 3, 2006 states that “since the start of the conflict, Israeli forces have consistently launched artillery and air attacks with limited or dubious military gain but excessive civilian cost. In dozens of attacks, Israeli forces struck an area with no apparent military target. In some cases, the timing and intensity of the attack, the absence of a military target, as well as return strikes on rescuers, suggest that Israeli forces deliberately targeted civilians.” Human Rights Watch has also condemned Hizbollah for firing both indiscriminately and intentionally at Israeli civilians, calling these serious breaches of international humanitarian law and war crimes. But Hizbollah’s actions do not justify the targeting of civilians in Lebanon. Failure to distinguish between civilians and combatants can be judged as a war crime, no matter which side does it. Lebanon had only recently recovered from its long civil war and instability. People were beginning to return to and invest in the country. A national dialogue was taking place between the various factions, including Hizbollah, with the goal of getting Hizbollah to disarm its militia. Now, the longer this war goes on, the more Lebanon’s uniqueness in the region will be undermined. During his visit to Lebanon in
1997, Pope John Paul II said that “Lebanon was a message,” and
that “he wished to declare before the world the importance of Lebanon
and its historical mission which has been accomplished down through the centuries.
A country of many religious faiths, Lebanon has shown that these different
faiths can live together in peace, brotherhood and cooperation.” If Hizbollah emerges strengthened as a result of the current conflict, the balance of power in Lebanon will shift. Hizbollah’s agenda is to create an Islamic state in Lebanon on the model of Iran. It says that it will do so “not by force or violence but by peaceful political action, which gives the opportunity for the majority in any society to adopt or reject it. If Islam becomes the choice of the majority then we will apply it, if not, we will continue to coexist and discuss till we reach correct beliefs.” There is little evidence that Iran is orchestrating Hizbollah’s actions or that Iran is directly coordinating steady attacks on Israeli targets. Conversely, there is speculation that in this war, Israel is acting as the United States’ proxy in fighting Iran through Hizbollah. Whatever the case, according to Anthony Cordesman, a military analyst at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington, the war is leading to disaster. He writes: “Far from Israel being the American proxy in its war against Hizbollah, Israel’s miscalculations have been so serious that its only hope for victory is to have the United States and the international community do for Israel what it can’t do militarily, which is defeat Hizbollah, assemble an international force in Lebanon and bring some sort of endgame to all this.” (New York Times, August 5, 2006.) In the long term, this conflict has the potential of threatening the so-called moderate Arab regimes of Jordan and Egypt by exacerbating tensions between Shi’a and Sunni Muslims. Along with the hands off policy the United States has displayed in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, its disastrous policies in Iraq that have brought that country to the brink of civil war, the war in Lebanon will strengthen radical hard-liners everywhere. Kail C. Ellis, O.S.A. |
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Lebanon Diary