Lebanon’s Palestinian Dilemma: The Struggle Over Nahr al-Bared
Lebanon’s Palestinian Dilemma: The Struggle Over Nahr al-Bared
Table of Contents
  1. Executive Summary
Lebanon’s Elections Portend Protracted Political Vacuum
Lebanon’s Elections Portend Protracted Political Vacuum

Lebanon’s Palestinian Dilemma: The Struggle Over Nahr al-Bared

Although attention naturally is focused on possible ripple effects on Lebanon from Syria’s conflict, it would be wrong to ignore the unresolved legacy of the battle that shook the Nahr al-Bared Palestinian refugee camp five years ago. The risk of renewed flare-up, already significant, is now compounded by the regional crisis.

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Executive Summary

2012 marks the fifth anniversary of one of Lebanon’s bloodiest battles since the end of the civil war: the deadly, three-month war pitting a jihadi group against the army in the Nahr al-Bared Palestinian refugee camp. Since then, the camp’s displaced and resident population has suffered from slow reconstruction of their residences, a heavy security presence that restricts their movement and livelihood as well as the absence of a legitimate Palestinian body to represent their interests. Today, there are bigger and more urgent fish to fry, none more so than dealing with the ripple effects of Syria’s raging internal conflict on inter-sectarian relations in Lebanon and the risk that the country once again could plunge into civil war. But it would be wrong to toss the refugee camp question aside, for here too resides a potential future flare-up.

In Lebanon, attention typically shifts seamlessly from one crisis to another. What may look like a sign of stability should be a source of concern. It is the manifestation of a political system almost entirely focused on managing symptoms of conflict without genuinely tackling their causes. Instead, the state, refugee population and UN agency should work together to speed up the reconstruction of Nahr al-Bared by freeing up as much land as possible for residential use; minimising the presence of Lebanese security forces in the camp; removing discriminatory laws in the camps; and introducing a Palestinian body to represent the refugees’ interests in decision-making.

The conflict that erupted in May 2007 brought face-to-face the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF) and a previously unknown Islamist fundamentalist group, Fatah al-Islam, based inside Nahr al-Bared. A bank robbery swiftly snowballed into an armed confrontation against the militants who killed several soldiers at an LAF checkpoint on the camp’s perimeter. Backed by a public incensed by pictures of the soldiers’ corpses, the army entered the camp, from which state security forces traditionally had been barred since 1969. Lebanese forces prevailed, but in the process much of the camp was devastated and 27,000 residents were displaced.

From all this destruction and loss, something good was supposed to come out: a model of coexistence between the state and Palestinian camps. The government appears to have taken the task seriously, developing a new vision, the so-called Vienna Document. It has yet to live up to expectations.

Camp reconstruction, led by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees (UNRWA) and funded by international donors, has lagged. Responsibility for this falls on inefficient contractors and a tug-of-war between on the one hand the army and the Internal Security Forces (ISF), which want more space in the camp and, on the other, UNRWA, which needs more land to build residential buildings. Living conditions likewise are unsatisfactory. The LAF has imposed a strict permit system that restricts access to the camp by both Lebanese and non-resident Palestinians, isolating Nahr al-Bared economically and socially. Because the ISF gradually is expanding its presence in the camp, the refugees fear that the discriminatory employment and property laws they face in Lebanon will be imposed for the first time in a camp, thereby severely affecting their livelihood. The Vienna Document does not allocate a meaningful governance role to Palestinian entities, thus marginalising the local population when it comes to key decisions regarding camp management and security.

The Palestinian refugees – and Lebanon – deserve better. The typical model of camp governance has serious flaws and is in need of repair. Power traditionally lies in the hands of Popular Committees comprising unelected faction leaders who derive most of their legitimacy from their weapons. With state security forces essentially banned from interfering, residents often complain of chaos and inter-factional strife in large, armed, and unregulated pockets immune to Lebanese law and order. Nahr al-Bared offered a real opportunity to build something different insofar as faction leaders had lost out – because they no longer possessed weapons and because they no longer enjoyed the trust of refugees who largely blamed them for failing to protect the camp.

But the new model that is taking form is not the answer. It is failing the basic task of restoring refugees to a normal life – at least as normal a life as refugeehood can allow. The relationship between camp residents and the state has not improved; rather, given the overwhelming security presence, refugees tend to see the authorities in the least appealing light: not protecting them, but rather protecting the country from them. They fear enforcement of discriminatory laws. Rigid permit requirements and rough treatment at camp checkpoints hurt intercommunal relations, already significantly damaged by the conflict which many Lebanese blamed on Palestinian refugees for harbouring jihadi militants and during which some Palestinians felt their Lebanese neighbours had been either complicit in their displacement or unwelcoming in the crisis’s aftermath. Most importantly, lacking an effective representative, Palestinians in Nahr al-Bared feel more disenfranchised than before.

There is still time to get things right. Should that be the case, the experience of Nahr al-Bared – after all the death and destruction it has endured – could help put relations between Palestinian refugees on the one hand, and the Lebanese and their state on the other, on firmer and sounder footing.

Beirut/Brussels, 1 March 2012

Election officials carry ballot boxes and election material to be distributed to polling centres, ahead of the parliamentary election, in Beirut, Lebanon. REUTERS / Mohamed Azakir

Lebanon’s Elections Portend Protracted Political Vacuum

On 15 May, amid a continuing economic meltdown, Lebanese voters chose a new parliament. In this Q&A, Crisis Group expert David Wood parses the results and assesses the implications for efforts to resolve the country’s deepening crisis.

What happened in the parliamentary elections?

Lebanon’s national elections on 15 May saw the Shiite Islamist movement Hizbollah and its allies lose their parliamentary majority. New parties drawn from civil society and the 2019 protest movement made significant inroads. But, in the end, the established political forces – encompassing both Hizbollah’s bloc and its long-time foes – remained in control of 90 per cent of the legislative seats.

The balance of power in parliament has nonetheless shifted, with no clear majority coalition or easy path to forming a government. Hizbollah and its partner Amal – the “Shiite duo” – won all the seats reserved for Shiite MPs. Their Christian ally, the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM), held seventeen of the eighteen seats it won in the 2018 polls, after which it was the party with the largest share. It was the nominal independents once aligned with Hizbollah, Amal and the FPM, who cost the bloc its majority. All were either voted out or quit the coalition before the polls. Women candidates secured eight seats – the highest number to date in Lebanese electoral history – with affiliations ranging from traditional political parties without progressive agendas to civil society groups.

The biggest surprise was the performance of the civil society and protest movement activists.

The biggest surprise was the performance of the civil society and protest movement activists, most of whom are fresh faces in formal politics. They scored thirteen seats, some of them representing districts far beyond Beirut, the capital city. In several instances, their gains came at the expense of high-profile establishment politicians associated with Hizbollah’s bloc, such as Faisal Karami, scion of a major family in the northern city of Tripoli, prominent Druze leader Talal Arslan in the Mount Lebanon town of Aley, and Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party head Assaad Hardan in the south. These new forces oppose Lebanon’s sectarian or “confessional” system, which parcels out parliamentary seats (and some other positions) among the Catholic, Sunni, Shiite, Orthodox, Druze, Alawite and Evangelical communities.

Yet the candidates with non-traditional affiliations were not the only net winners. The Lebanese Forces, a Christian party led by Samir Geagea, also achieved substantial gains, becoming the largest party in parliament. The party now has nineteen MPs and has pulled ahead of its main Christian rival, the FPM. It is deeply opposed to Hizbollah, whose forces under arms it views as undermining Lebanon’s national security, sovereignty and economic development. This issue divides Lebanon’s two main establishment blocs, with the parties that demand Hizbollah’s disarmament opposing those that do not. All these results make for a murky overall picture, though competition between the two main blocs – that led by Hizbollah and that comprising its adversaries – will continue to be a major dynamic.

Do the electoral gains for alternative political forces usher in a new era for Lebanese politics?

Not right now and not any time soon. To be sure, the new political forces’ showing reflects the growing rejection of Lebanon’s ruling elite since the 2018 elections. In October 2019, when large protests erupted across Lebanon, demonstrators blamed the country’s leaders for decades of neglect and corruption. These long-term failures of governance had culminated in a crushing economic crisis, which the World Bank considers one of the world’s biggest financial collapses since the 1850s, and which continues to worsen. At the outset, the protest movement stayed largely free of the country’s notorious sectarian and political fault lines, which the established parties habitually use to divide and rule the population. The protesters forged a broad alliance around the demand to eject the political class wholesale – irrespective of sectarian or political identity – under the rallying cry “all of them means all of them” (must go).

The 15 May polls seem to have revived something of this unifying spirit, which until then appeared to have disintegrated. Mass demonstrations became rare after October 2019, with the notable exception of protests concerning the disastrous Beirut port explosion in August 2020. In the election campaign, parties claiming the 2019 movement’s mantle often competed against one another rather than presenting unified lists. It seemed that the competition among different opposition lists might weaken their chances, but this turned out not to be the case. In most districts, voters rooting for change converged on a single party slate, producing results that exceeded most observers’ expectations for electoral success.

Yet that success needs to be viewed in context. Despite their dismal record in public office, Lebanon’s established political forces still control 90 per cent of the parliament. This enduring popularity suggests that when it comes to elections, time-tested mobilising methods, such as leveraging patronage and instigating sectarian fears, still have traction.

Patronage is arguably a more useful political tool than ever.

Patronage is arguably a more useful political tool than ever. The economic collapse’s sheer depth has made many Lebanese even more dependent than before on the various material favours, from jobs to cash handouts, that the established political leaders have been doling out for decades. Living standards have deteriorated dramatically across the country since October 2019. Heavily dependent on imports, Lebanon burned through the dwindling foreign currency reserves needed to buy essential goods. Lack of foreign exchange means that the state is no longer able to cover the cost of fuel and other subsidies. The electricity grid provides just two hours of power per day and many households can no longer afford skyrocketing bills for backup diesel generators.

The Lebanese lira’s massive devaluation has pushed up the price of imported goods, triggering runaway inflation, at a rate of 84.9 per cent in 2020 and 145 per cent in 2021. While 150,000 Lebanese lira bought $100 in early 2019, the same amount is worth around $5 today. The currency collapse has disproportionately affected low-income Lebanese, who struggle to pay for food, medication and other necessities. The UN Economic and Social Council for Western Asia estimates that over 80 per cent of the population now lives in multidimensional poverty.

Amid this chaos, Lebanon’s political elites are well positioned to purchase the support of desperate constituents. Ahead of the elections, reports abounded of parties offering citizens money and other material incentives in exchange for their support at the ballot box. In Lebanon’s most impoverished regions, some parties allegedly offered voters up-front cash payments of just one million lira – less than $35 – for their vote. In other cases, candidates allegedly promised to reward voters with improved individual access to basic services, like electricity, fuel and health care. In the coming years, unless the gloomy economic outlook brightens, needy constituents will be even more tempted to avail themselves of the patronage networks that the established leaders control.

Fear of violence also helped the ruling elites deter voters from straying toward recently formed opposition groups. In October 2021, violent conflict broke out between rival groups in Tayyouneh, a residential suburb of Beirut. Rhetoric from the parties linked to the incident – including Hizbollah and Amal, as well as their opponents, the Lebanese Forces – emphasised their capacity to protect the communities they represent, even as the country disintegrated. These appeals carry special weight in Lebanon, where memories of the nation’s brutal civil war (1975-1990) are still fresh. With the state’s security forces struggling to pay and feed soldiers and policemen, many Lebanese feel that, in such perilous times, it is a bad idea to upend the political status quo. This apprehension, which future violent incidents would likely deepen, could continue to limit the new opposition’s political reach.

Runaway inflation has left many Lebanese struggling to pay for food, medication and other necessities. CRISIS GROUP / Michelle Malaney

How long will it take for a new government to be formed?

Government formation is likely to be complicated and time-consuming. Clear procedures apply under the constitution. The president appoints the new prime minister in consultation with parliament. The prime minister then selects the new council of ministers or cabinet. The present government led by Najib Mikati will continue in caretaker mode until the country’s political forces agree on their replacements.

In recent years, making these appointments has been arduous, with political players vetoing candidates to maximise their share of executive authority. Past governments have taken shape only after the country’s establishment leaders – each claiming to speak for a particular confessional group – agreed on a specified balance of power, which divided influence among the various competing factions. The leaders have justified these tactics with rhetoric about securing the interests of the group they purport to represent. Crisis-hit Lebanon would benefit from speedy government formation this time around. Yet it appears more likely that the bargaining will be lengthy, as parties jostle to adjust the balance of power in their favour after the election results.

The stakes are high for the forthcoming negotiations. First, established political leaders face looming decisions about far-reaching reforms, which could fundamentally transform the economy. In April, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) announced a staff-level agreement with the Lebanese government, by which it promised to supply Lebanon with $3 billion in stabilisation support over four years. The IMF conditioned this pledge on legislative and fiscal reforms, which need to be under way before the IMF’s management and executive board can approve the package. The agreement’s conditions – such as restructuring the financial sector, lifting banking secrecy laws and reforming state-owned enterprises – could have serious repercussions for Lebanon’s political and financial elites. Established political leaders will want to secure direct influence over the new government to make sure that any reforms will not affect their interests.

The wrangling could be all the more intense because the new government may have a full four-year parliamentary mandate to carry out the reforms. In September 2021, established leaders consented to the Mikati government’s formation, in part because it would serve only until the next May’s parliamentary elections – a mere nine months. During this period, Mikati’s administration could do little harm to vested interests – especially since everyone knew the big reform issues would be faced after the election. Lebanon’s political elites will be invested in enshrining a new balance of power that will safeguard their commercial interests and patronage networks vis-à-vis other communities.

A further complicating factor is the need for political elites to agree on a new president by 31 October.

A further complicating factor is the need for political elites to agree on a new president by 31 October, when the six-year term of the incumbent, Michel Aoun, expires. The most powerful role reserved for Maronite Christians, the president signs all legislation and, at least nominally, serves as the Lebanese army’s commander-in-chief. Aoun has been angling to anoint his son-in-law Gebran Bassil as his successor. Bassil is chair of the FPM, which Aoun founded. Yet Bassil faces stiff and potentially insurmountable opposition to his presidential candidacy. He has alienated key figures across Lebanon’s political spectrum and in November 2020 became subject to U.S. sanctions on corruption allegations. Should he feel compelled to abandon Bassil’s candidacy, Aoun may well demand political concessions – such as a certain level of FPM representation in the new cabinet – in return. Since the president must sign off on any new government, Aoun can block cabinet formation until his demands are met.

The presidential appointment process presents other issues as well. Parliament elects the president – who requires the support of at least two thirds of sitting legislators. Following the recent election results, it is highly unlikely that any political camp will be able to muster this number without the consent of its main rivals. For this reason, there is a strong chance that politicians will not compromise on a presidential candidate without a larger agreement about the country’s overall balance of power for the coming years.

In the likely event that no new president has been chosen by 1 November, the constitution delegates the president’s powers to the council of ministers. The parties are aware that the new government they are trying to form may, within less than six months, be arrogated all executive power, which further raises the stakes. Should cabinet formation remain stalled until that point, the Mikati cabinet will still be in place. But it remains unclear if, constitutionally, a caretaker government can assume these additional executive powers, which would inevitably prompt further political bickering. If the answer is no, the country could be staring at a political vacuum. The absence of leadership would place reforms, and the arrival of substantial external support, even farther out of reach.

Given the election outcome, protracted negotiations over the new balance of power appear all but inevitable. The FPM in particular will fight hard to retain as much as possible of the leverage it obtained in 2018. The Lebanese Forces, for their part, have made clear that, as the new largest party in parliament, they intend to take an assertive stand. On election night, party leader Geagea wasted no time in intimating the Lebanese Forces’ opposition to re-electing powerful Amal leader Nabih Berri, a staunch Hizbollah ally, as house speaker – a position echoed by other key anti-Hizbollah parliamentarians. Returning fire, the head of Hizbollah’s parliamentary group, Mohammad Raad, evoked the spectre of “civil war” if opposing political forces fail to approve a consensus government. Such bombast aside, both main establishment blocs have indicated that they will not accept just any power redistribution, making the prospect of timely government formation even more remote.

What would an extended political vacuum mean for Lebanon?

In short, nothing good.

A political vacuum in the form of protracted negotiations and an extended stalemate over who governs the country will mean that Lebanon’s economic meltdown continues and perhaps accelerates. Before the elections, Lebanon’s leaders expended considerable resources on maintaining a semblance of financial stability, notably by releasing hundreds of millions in U.S. dollars to arrest the lira’s freefall. With foreign exchange reserves now reportedly below $10 billion, this policy is unsustainable. The currency is liable to crash again.

If the economic decline picks up pace, security risks will almost surely continue to mount. State security agencies have prevented large-scale conflict to date, but these underfunded institutions are now approaching their breaking point. Clashes between rival armed groups – like the tussle in Tayyouneh – may become more regular. A political vacuum could also stoke these dangerous tensions, as sectarian leaders use political polarisation among communities to incite violence. Meanwhile, overstretched soldiers and police will increasingly struggle to contain crime; robberies and kidnappings for ransom are already on the rise across Lebanon.

As Lebanon's economic crisis worsens, underfunded state security agencies are approaching their breaking point. CRISIS GROUP / Michelle Malaney

So, what now?

Ideally, Lebanon’s establishment leaders would form a new government quickly so that it could immediately start working on urgently needed legislation. Heading the list of priorities would be complying with all the conditions necessary to unlock IMF funding, as outlined in the April agreement, which Lebanese politicians hope will encourage other donors to make their own contributions. In this highly optimistic scenario, the leaders would also hold an efficient presidential election during the allotted window, from 1 September to 21 November, rather than allowing it to slip because of a failure to reach agreement. Even if they do pull off these tasks, it is still unlikely that Lebanon would receive significant financial aid before early 2023 – such is the wholesale nature of reforms required. But even though the need for progress is urgent, the reality is that political leaders will probably drag their heels on difficult decisions in the post-election period and forward movement will be sluggish.

On a parallel track, in parliament, Lebanon’s thirteen civil society MPs could form a new opposition bloc capable of disrupting the country’s usual legislative workings in the service of reform. This alliance could help defeat draft laws it deems unacceptable, such as a capital control law that would unfairly favour Lebanon’s banking elites. It could drive the adoption of required legislation, both on economic and social issues, and critically review establishment politicians’ performance. But there are practical impediments to keeping such a bloc together. While the civil society MPs appear united in their disdain for Lebanon’s ruling class, ideological differences may emerge. For instance, they have varying opinions on how to resolve the economic crisis. Another issue concerns each politician’s willingness to cooperate with groups like Kataib – which campaigned with opposition groups but has a history as a civil war militia – and independent MPs who worked with establishment parties until recently. What position to take toward a government that may include representatives or supporters of Hizbollah will likely be another point of controversy among new opposition MPs.

Still, it appears possible that political actors could overcome such divisions by organising the bloc of civil society MPs around a set of guiding principles that allows for a margin of internal differences on some issues and unity on others. For instance, coalition members might agree to oppose the introduction of new regressive taxes, while leaving more divisive matters – like Hizbollah’s weapons – to one side.

In the meantime, Lebanon needs urgent, targeted humanitarian aid – independent of the long-term assistance pledged by the IMF – to stave off total social collapse. Donors should contribute to maintaining essential services, including hospitals, schools and infrastructure for safe drinking water. Where possible, they should provide funding to tamp down the rise in food prices, lest widespread hunger emerge. At the same time, they should keep making any large-scale development aid packages contingent on significant legislative reforms. If donors were to give such funding with no strings attached, they would risk entrenching Lebanon’s political class and rewarding their inaction with yet another get-out-of-jail-free card.