Escape from Beirut (1) - by Guest Blogger Alan Lane

When I met Alan Lane earlier this year on a balmy September evening in London, we started talking about cross-cultural lives as I told him about some of the fusion stories that I have showcased here on Fusion View. We found that we shared a global outlook and an interest in cultures across the world. Alan then told me how he had been in Beirut on business when he was caught up in a war.

This is the first of a three part series that Alan has offered to share on Fusion View about his experiences of the war in Beirut.

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Alan writes:

Israeli jets began bombing the Lebanon on 12 July 2006 in retaliation when three of its soldiers were captured by the Hizbullah Islamic group in the southern part of the country. What followed was a 34 day war.

The frightening reality sinks in at around four in the morning. Through the open balcony door of my hotel room overlooking Beirut comes the distant whine of an Israeli jet aircraft.

Reaching the window, I see and hear the crackle of red tracer fire from anti-aircraft guns. A huge ‘crump’ shakes the building as the aircraft’s guided missile hits the southern suburbs. Nearby, the sky is lit by a fire raging at a fuel storage tank destroyed by a bomb.

Now, for the first time in my life, I am in a war zone and my worst nightmare has begun.

Day 1. I realise I should have known better the previous afternoon. In retaliation for Lebanon’s Hizbullah (Party of God) capturing two of its soldiers on the southern border, Israel had carpet-bombed all airports just hours before I was due to leave Beirut for home in the UK after a five-day business trip.

But I was naïve. Like many others, I believed this was just a warning shot by the Israelis to their sworn enemy.

A sense of panic ripples throughout my hotel, considered a safe Christian refuge in the hills above Beirut. Rumours begin to spread. Had Gulf States embassy groups escaped along the main Beirut to Damascus highway into Syria before it was cut by Israeli bombing? How long would it take for this road to be blocked? The answer comes within hours as Israeli bombs slice through this route crossing the beautiful Bekaa Valley.

By now, it is clear Israel intends to trap Hizbullah – and us by default – within Lebanon’s borders, having already blockaded the port with gun-ships visible from my balcony. We begin to realise this is no short, sharp military response but potentially a long, drawn-out affair leaving us with few exit options.

Day two. Tensions build among my fellow guests. Exit plans are being desperately considered as Israeli precision bombing takes out more roads, bridges and other infrastructure. Night-time bombardment from the air or sea is becoming a regular part of life; and although seemingly distant, we don’t know for how long we will be safe.

Both expatriates and Lebanese consider routes through Lebanon’s northern valleys, a stronghold for Hizbullah. Others opt for the longer and potentially safer coastal route through Tripoli into Syria, or the almost circular drive through Syria into Jordan. Either way, the situation is beginning to mirror Saigon’s last days during the Vietnam War; the only difference being, we hope, that no-one is coming to kill us.

Day three. It is decision time for me and my fellow guests. The coast road is now being bombed and many thousands of evacuees queue at the Syrian border, some with visas, those without often being turned back. Stories abound of refugees walking for several kilometres across the border with their baggage, of people sleeping on the streets of Damascus as there are no hotel rooms available. For those of us left in Beirut, the exit window is gradually closing.

We hear one group took a bus up over the Syrian border and somehow made their way to Aleppo, leaving us wondering how they would make their way from this relatively remote small town noted in the annals of Lawrence of Arabia’s desert campaign.

Dubai-based Briton Paul Drummond and Washington-based David and Lois Khairallah take the gamble and opt for the coastal road by taxi. So too, does a Kuwaiti, who joins a convoy leaving from his country’s embassy in the hills. Paul had been worried about rumours pointing to civil unrest in the Lebanon following the onslaught of war. David and I had spent many hours walking the hotel gardens agonising over the decision.

I, in my cowardice or perhaps good sense, choose to stay and consider my options. I am joined by Tony and his family from New York, who, in generous style says if my government can’t get me out, then ‘we won’t leave you behind’ and I can go with the Americans.

Hour by hour, the hotel’s TV broadcasts in English and Arabic relay the heightening conflict. While Israel pounds Beirut from the air and sea, Hizbullah sends showers of rockets over the border into Israeli territory. We watch transfixed as Hizbullah leader Sheikh Hassan Nasrullah provides a ‘watch this, as it happens’ live commentary while his forces set fire to an Israeli gun-boat in the port with what is thought to be a self-propelled drone bomb.

Meanwhile, the political rhretoric becomes more alarming in this potential scenario for a full-blown Middle East regional war.

Lebanon Prime Minister Fouad Siniora describes Israel’s actions as ‘opening the gates of hell and madness’ while ‘cutting his country to pieces.’ Israel responds by repeating its demands for Hizbullah to be disarmed and threatening to ‘turn back the clock 20 years for Lebanon’ if the captured soldiers are not returned.

Among the guests, Lebanese people I talk to are split on what is unfolding before their eyes. Some see the Israeli action as an unmitigated disaster for their country and a gross intrusion backed by the United States. Others, at this point in time, see it as a way to weaken Hizbullah’s unwelcome influence in their society.

Refugees from southern Beirut continue to pour into our hotel in cars, mini-buses and four-by-fours loaded with personal belongings en route to the border. To my surprise, I am advised by locals to ‘watch what I say’ as some of our visitors are from Hizbullah territory. I tend not to judge those I know nothing about; yet the unwelcome ghosts of Terry Waite’s fate as a hostage in the 1980s drift in, and as a precaution, I check my normally open conversational style.

Meanwhile, down the hill, restaurant trade is still booming as the durable Lebanese insist on trying to live life as normal while the ‘thump’ of bombs can be heard below in central Beirut. Against a history of conflict and culture dating back to Phoenician times, the Lebanese are born survivors and traders with a phlegmatic approach to war and unrest. A 15-year civil war from 1975 to 1990 has cultivated an approach of ‘whatever the risks, life has go on.’

I ask one of the kind and helpful Lebanese staff at my hotel for his views on the situation. His reply is as honest as it is chilling: ‘It is very bad; I think you should leave right now.’

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Next Wednesday: Day 3 continues as, trapped at the hotel, Alan waits for the British Embassy to come up with an evacuation plan.

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

Photo shows view from the mountains in Beirut of Israeli ships blockading the harbour - thanks to Alan Lane