Reconstruction is Frustrating Process for Ordinary Lebanese

By Marilyn Raschka

When residents of a country, and the armies of its neighbors, have spent more than 15 years tearing the country apart— and driving out the members of the entrepreneurial class who could afford to leave—the infrastructure is not all that has to be reassembled. So does the economic and social structure. It is the tensions over which of these requirements of nation-building should be given priority that currently preoccupy the Lebanese.

Some critics charge that the present Lebanese government is giving too much priority to business goals rather than to the other aspects of nation-building. Others feel that the Lebanese government's Council for Development and Reconstruction (CDR), working with foreign experts, has been right in setting restoration of water, electricity, telecommunications and schools as its top priorities.

Not a New Phenomenon

But whatever side they take in the national debate, all resident foreigners have learned that there are priorities within priorities. "Mine first" is hardly a new phenomenon in this country where standing in line brings to mind the biblical phrase "the first shall be last and the last shall be first."

Today the person pushing his own agenda into the head of the line may be a prime minister, a parliamentarian, or a clergyman. Each is responding to pressures or his own desire to please an individual or group.

And, just as during the social breakdown that led to the outbreak of overt civil war in 1975, incompetence and insolence still characterize government agencies. Take telecommunications. Long-promised electronic telephone lines are slowly making their appearance. The West Beirut neighborhood of Ain Mreisse recently went electronic after years of virtually no phone service. Each line was assessed at 125,000 Lebanese lira ($75.00) for this changeover. No one complained—except those who woke up on "electronic" day to find their phones as dead as ever.

Considering their job done by throwing the switch, the phone company lost all patience with the complainers from Ain Mreisse and told them, "It's a connection problem, get an electrician."

The people of Ain Mreisse had earlier suffered even worse experiences at the hands of the government-operated electric power company, ElectricitÁ du Liban. Deep ditches, unmarked and unlit at night, snaked their way through the seaside quarter all summer. The citizen had his choice of two rumors: (1) the trenches would house the new phone lines, or (2) the trenches were to carry the new electric lines, converting the neighborhood from 110 to 220 volts.

Confirmation of the second rumor came in a spectacular way. Without warning to users, ElectricitÁ du Liban threw the switch. Thousands of fridges died on the spot, and the exploding lightbulbs recalled the years of exploding bullets and bombs. The Theatre du Beyrouth in Ain Mreisse lost $4,000 worth of equipment in seconds, just one of many such catastrophes. The power company apologized and magnanimously offered to pay for all losses. Just fill in the form, and stand in another line.

Popular Priorities Remain Easy To Identify

This fall, the Lebanese got a frustrating glimpse of what could be done when political power and entrepreneurial skill pull together. Mrs. Nazek Hariri, the prime minister's wife, was the force behind a spectacular one-night-only concert by Lebanon's beloved Fayruz last September. (For a Lebanese view of this event, see facing page.)

In a matter of days the wasteland of Place des Martyrs, once the heart of the city and later ground zero in some of the fiercest fighting of the civil war, now cleared of rubble, was turned into a glorious outdoor concert hall. The square was paved and 40,000 white plastic chairs were placed before a stage consisting of a 52-foot-high replica of an ancient Phoenician ship, its white sails catching the sea breezes. Massive amounts of amplification and lighting equipment were wired up, and a huge mural showed what the city center will look like in the future.

Considering the state of Lebanon's roads, it's not surprising that the paving of the square for one night drew criticism. A newspaper cartoon the following day showed a Lebanese saying, "I wish Fayruz would walk down my street."

Throughout the discussion, popular priorities remain easy to identify: 24 hours a day of electricity, a regular supply of drinking water, roads without potholes, working phones, reduced inflation, affordable housing and a working health care plan.

The realities are different. At present the power grid provides 12 to 18 hours of electricity a day. Most people have to buy drinking water or fill containers from a common source. Streets have been repaired numerous times but construction equipment and truck traffic quickly tear them apart. Phones fall prey to a variety of gremlins. Since the signing of the Taif accords in 1989 there has been a 600 percent increase in the cost of living. Low interest housing loans go to supporters of certain politicians. Medical care is subsidized by the government, but there are so many outstanding bills that some hospitals refuse all but the most critical cases.

Alternative Systems

Political observers warn that alternative systems already are in place for both housing and medical care. Hezbollah in its postwar period has continued to offer subsidized services to its followers. An apartment that would cost $85,000 on the open market is $20,000 when you buy Hezbollah-built quarters.

In fact, nothing has increased faster in price than real estate. In some areas of Beirut land sells for $5,000 a square meter. Outside the city, new roads are often constructed with the aim of facilitating access to real estate rather than aiding trade and traffic.

A critic of the government's priorities put it this way: "Even if all you have is a cliff, get the government to build a road to it and the land will gain value." As the abuses mount, the realities on the ground reflect the need for a rethinking of priorities. For example, although hundreds of schools were ransacked during the civil war, so far only 12 have been rehabilitated. Thousands of families remain displaced because funds to help them rebuild their homes have been mismanaged.

Saddest of all are environmental issues. With virtually no immediate economic value, their chance of being given any priority is as remote as that critic's cliff—and with no chance of a government-built road.

Marilyn Raschka is a free-lance writer who lives in Beirut.