I live in fear of the ‘inevitable’ war that will tear my life apart

The air on the streets is thick with fear and worry. The whole country fears what will become of us.

Imagine what it’s like for all-out war to be on your doorstep. 

Dozens of strikes every day claiming lives by the hour. Fighter jets swooping low over the capital and cracking the sound barrier. Tens of thousands of people displaced. 

For Lebanon, this is our cold, hard reality right now. 

Ever since the events of October 7 and an escalation of war in Gaza – one of Lebanon’s closest neighbours – we’ve been caught in the fray too. And we feel like we can’t do anything but watch and pray that it doesn’t spill over. 

Lebanon is no stranger to conflict with Israel.

Following a bloody war in 1982, 18 years of Israeli presence in Lebanon came to an end in 2000. Then 2006 marked the most recent violent uptick when the Hezbollah, a powerful militant here in Lebanon, kidnapped some Israeli military officers and the tit-for-tat retaliation led to a fierce 34-day war, followed swiftly by a UN-brokered ceasefire.

Periodic skirmishes on both sides of the border have maintained a near-constant state of hostility – currently, no peace treaty exists. 

With the recent assassination of high-ranking military officials – both in our capital of Beirut and Tehran in Iran – our small country is now threatened to be pulled right into the centre of this escalation. In fact, political leaders warn that a retaliation will be ‘inevitable’ as it must be met with a declaration of strength.

On the ground, the people of Lebanon have constantly feared that we are standing on the brink of a full-blown conflict ripping our lives apart. But over the past week, it has felt closer than ever. 

The air on the streets is thick with fear and worry. The whole country fears what will become of us. We fear what will happen if or – as it seems now – when troops cross our borders, and for the bombing to spread. 

My family and friends are postponing plans to celebrate birthdays, weddings, and travel. Their work, as bankers, teachers, and salesmen, has gone on hiatus. Our lives are on hold until a war – that we pray will never start – is over. 

As for me, my work as a humanitarian aid worker and representative of Action For Humanity in Lebanon will only ramp up.

As aid workers, we have had to ensure that plans are finalised with local authorities, and strategies are in place for every possible outcome. Should the war come to our doorstep, thousands will be forced from one end of the country to the other.

They will be left without food, water, medicine, and shelter. We will do our best to ensure they have what they need, but – even with all the time in the world – we could not prepare for the anticipated fallout of a wider regional conflict.

In fact, my international colleagues from places like the US, France, and Türkiye have been encouraged to leave by their governments. My friends – many of whom are British – have left the country in the last 48 hours. 

Even if I had that choice, I wouldn’t take it. This is my home, and I – along with Action For Humanity – will do all I can for my people.  

For those of us old enough to remember the war of 2006, this is a feeling we recognise. While that war kicked off hot and fast, this has been a slow burn.

However, the same sense of anxiety is lingering. As they always do, people are looking for any lifeline they can find: a passport to leave the country, or even just a safe place to stay away from what may soon be a frontline.

This isn’t a crisis that has exploded overnight, but a deadly cancer of conflict spreading since last October – choking the life out of any hope of peace. Many people of the world don’t realise how close we are now to a disastrous conflict. It could be hours away.   

Violence has been all too common in southern Lebanon. 

According to UN OCHA, 1,700 homes have been destroyed and 14,000 are damaged. On top of that, over 500 have been killed. But if it spreads, the loss of life, displacement, and suffering – it will be historic in its scale. 

Working for humanitarian aid agencies, we are preparing for the worst-case scenario, but praying for the opposite. We want what is happening in Gaza to stop, not to be replicated in Lebanon. 

I fear that when war comes to Lebanon, infrastructure like airports, roads, bridges, and power plants will be the first to go. Our hearts break when we see schools and hospitals bombed in Gaza. We fear this will happen to us. 

Without electricity, and with no way to transport back-up power sources across cities, sanitation and plumbing will be lost. While humanitarian organisations like ours will prioritise clean drinking and bathing water, this won’t be enough to sustain the millions that may go without.

If all of that happens, medical facilities will be crippled, disease and starvation will follow soon after, and thousands may be killed. As always, no one and nowhere will be safe from a war.   

Here in Lebanon, fear is high and hope is low. But the UK and its people can do something. 

With a strong voice, you must call for restraint. Continue to lobby your government. Use every platform at your disposal to call for a ceasefire in Gaza, and for all action to be taken to avoid further conflict in Lebanon.

Use social media, contact your MP, donate to organisations who are working on the ground, take to the streets, and voice your opinions to anyone who will listen. Collective action is a powerful tool when we choose to use it.

War is not the answer, it is the problem. Peace is the only solution. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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