Lebanon, or rather Hizbollah, came perilously close to another war with Israel last week. A repeat of the July 2006 conflict may have spelt the end for our tiny nation, given that it is not only blighted by a host of political, economic and social illnesses, but also because there is another destabilising war in nearby Syria, one that has let slip an angry ISIS into the eastern Bekaa Valley.
And while, for the time being, we may have got away with it, the one-day border spat, which was covered briefly but breathlessly by the world’s press, once again reinforced the tedious perception that Lebanon is still a country simmering on the hotplate of chaos.
Many Lebanese who, for reasons best known to themselves, thought the attack by Hizbollah on an Israeli convoy in the disputed Shebaa Farms area of south Lebanon, after a similar ambush by Israel in the Syrian Golan, was something to be applauded. The international stakeholders who have a vested interest in Lebanon moving out of its vicious cycle of corruption, conflict and all-round incompetence will not have joined in the high-fives.
The Islamic and World Banks, for example, are impatient to initiate the Bizri Dam, a project for which they have pledged US$612 million, but which needs parliamentary approval.
Why the rush? Well, we’ll leave aside the fact that Lebanon loses millions of cubic litres every year because it doesn’t have the infrastructure to husband its plentiful water supplies and just say that for morale purpose the initiative should be fast-tracked.
Did I say “plentiful”? You didn’t know that Beirut gets more rain in the winter months than Manchester in the UK gets all year round? And that doesn’t even factor in the plentiful mountain snow that melts in spring and which washes straight into the sea. So now you know.
But there is now even less water to go around, what with the awkward problem of an extra 1.7 million people that have fled into Lebanon from Syria and the two institutions want to do their bit. The World Bank is, after all, dedicated to “reduce poverty and support development”. It has also earmarked other projects to improve infrastructure challenges such as education, roads and electricity, all of which have become further inflamed by the population increase. If Lebanon is to meet the very real challenges that will define its future, it needs to pull its finger out. But despite our historic reputation for foot-dragging, the international community still loves us, so why not work with it?
Only last week the Norwegian government signed a three-year cooperation agreement with Beirut to develop the country’s still pregnant oil and gas sector. The accord involves technical support for the Lebanese Petroleum Administration, as well as the energy, environment and finance ministries. Norway’s foreign minister, Bard Pederson, was polite enough to cite the “great cooperation” between Lebanon and Norway, and promised that Norway would do everything it could to share its experience.
In the 1970s, the Norwegians established the gold standard for utilising natural resources for the common good. Today it is the world’s second and fifth biggest exporter of natural gas and oil respectively. These assets have contributed to the national wealth and stimulated development in other sectors.
But I wonder just how much we are going to listen to the friendly and well-meaning Norwegians. I have written ad nauseam about the cynical way in which Lebanon has handled its oil and gas tenders and how the thoroughly opaque process has highlighted the greed and fractious nature of Lebanon’s sectarian political class.
What makes the situation all the more frustrating is that the Middle East is undergoing its most seismic shift since the creation of the state of Israel. Lebanon is often the purest expression of the rhythms of the region and, while a 50 per cent increase in population in the space of three years would bring most countries to their knees, it must surely only be a matter of time before the social tensions explode.
By then the patience of the international community may have run out and we may only have ourselves to blame.
Michael Karam is a freelance writer who lives between Beirut and Brighton
