Things can unravel very quickly. On Sunday, we woke up to the news that the Beirut suburb of Shiyah had been rocketed, while later that day missiles were fired into Israel. And as I write this column, I am reading about the murder of three Lebanese soldiers in the eastern border town of Arsal on Monday night. What next?
Even Lebanese optimism has its limits and any hope we had of rescuing the tourist season must surely now have evaporated. Tourist figures were down 15 per cent in the first quarter and that was before Hizbollah announced it had joined the Syrian civil war on the side of the Assad regime. Still, as one waggish taxi driver pointed out, given the number of Syrian cars on the roads of Beirut, we already have all the tourists we need. If only it were that simple.
Our politicians appear oblivious to the impact all this is having on both the economy and investor confidence. Banking deposits may be growing, probably due to inflows from Syria, our balance of payments deficit has narrowed to US$62 million, down from $373m in the same period of last year, and the Central Bank is boasting about its foreign currency reserves ensuring monetary stability. But all this cannot mask the sense of dread in near-empty shops and restaurants. What is worrying is that even with a strong government, holding Lebanon together would be challenging. As it is we don't even have one.
And spare a thought for Tripoli, which has become a battleground for pro- and anti-Assad militias and where the local economy is on the canvas, with business activity falling by 80 per cent in recent weeks. The Lebanese in their infinite wisdom appear happy to let Tripoli absorb all of the sectarian tension, a sentiment that was shared with me in the elevator the other day by my neighbour in Beirut. "Business is good," he said cheerfully looking up from his mobile phone, "as long as the fighting stays in Tripoli", he cautioned before skipping off to the gym.
His is an attitude shared by many Lebanese entrepreneurs and on one level it is, one could argue, an admirable trait to not let a bit of bloodshed stand in the way of getting on with life. In 2006, while south Beirut and the south of the country were being reduced to rubble, the rest of the country just cracked on. The bars and cafes were full; the supermarket shelves well stocked and the ladies who lunch were never anything other than magnificently coiffed.
This defiance of not only being able to live, but also thrive, in the face of death and destruction makes us vulnerable to reality checks and I fear that today, not only is Lebanon marching towards another potentially catastrophic conflict but we are doing so blinded or at the very least blinkered by our dangerous sense of immortality.
My friend Nadir Shehadi, a political analyst who lives in London and so has been weaned off the Lebanese Kool-Aid, told us on Sky News the other night what most of us know but refuse to accept. That we have 1 million Syrian refugees and that the fighting from that miserable country is eating away like a plague of locusts at what is left of our, albeit eccentric, economic model.
But it is also a human story. Ali, the Syrian gardener who has looked after my land for seven years, poked his head around the corner the other day to say hello.
When I asked him about his family - he is father to six children - which he sees for only a few months a year when he returns to Syria, he said that he had heard nothing in two months and had no idea where they were. How does one respond to an answer like that? As we sat on the steps looking out at the Kesrwan hills, I broke the silence. "You know Ali, sometimes not hearing anything is good".
"Yes. I know," he replied, staring straight ahead. "I don't think anyone is dead."
Michael Karam is a freelance writer based in Beirut
Syria battleground is turning Lebanon's economy into rubble
Things can unravel very quickly. On Sunday, we woke up to the news that the Beirut suburb of Shiyah had been rocketed, while later that day missiles were fired into Israel.
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