Lebanon: War and Politics in a Fragmented Society

Lebanon

Lebanon War and politics in a fragmented society

Charles Winslow

London and New York

First published 1996 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 © 1996 Charles Winslow All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Winslow, Charles Lebanon: War and politics in a fragmented society/Charles Winslow. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Lebanon—History—1946–. 2. Lebanon—History—1918–1946. I. Title. DS87.W56 1996 956.9204′3–dc20 96–5890 ISBN 0-203-21739-X Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-21787-X (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-14403-5 (Print Edition)

Dedicated to Maribeth Davis Winslow Wife, Mother, Editor

Contents

List of figures

ix

Preface

x

Note on transliteration 1

Peoples and history to 1840

xii 1

Introduction Purpose The problem The basic argument Ancient times The Maronites arrive Mamluk times Other early communities Ottoman times Fakhr al-Din The Shihābs Bashir II The Egyptian invasion 2

Wars and independence: 1840–1914 Bashir (Qasim) III The war of 1841 The war of 1842 The Double Kaymakamate The war of 1845

27

vi

A decade of peace The 1858 rebellion in Kisrawān The civil war of 1860 The Règlement Da‛ūd Pasha Yusuf (Bey) Karam Other Mutasarrifs The end of the Mutasarrifate 3

Greater Lebanon: 1915–1943

50

Lebanon under Jemāl Pasha The Allied occupation The Mandate period The Mandate system Constitutionalism in Lebanon War clouds Independence 4

The independent Republic: 1943–1958 The French legacy The Constitution The French leave Dilemmas at the beginning Politics and the system Politics and the economy Politics and corruption Al Khūri’s Khūri’s second term The customs union The gentle coup Camille Chamoun Cold War entanglements

75

vii

5

The civil war of 1958

103

Toward civil war The war of 1958 The American intervention Winding down the war 6

The best years: 1958–1970

126

Back to normal The Shihābists President Charles Hilū Deterioration The June war of 1967 Palestinian involvement The Cairo Agreement 7

Toward civil war: 1970–1975

159

The elections of 1970 Suleiman Franjieh Deterioration and violence Moving toward war The military cabinet The undercutters The issues Other organizations and militias 8

Civil war and intervention: 1976–1982

194

The civil war of 1976 The war complex The war in the south Outsiders invade The Israeli invasion of 1982 9

Permanent war: 1983–1990

226

viii

The Gemayel presidencies Gemayel entangled America entangled Neglect and beyond Hopeless division Bombs, hostages, and hijackings Violence and stalemate Turf battles Border war and turf battles Wars of consolidation The Ta‘if Agreement 10 Syria stops the war: 1990–1995

267

Aoun and Ja‘ja The departure of General Aoun Progress under President Hrāwi Regional linkages Release of hostages Politics and reconstruction War and occupation The future The long-term future Appendix I: Religious sects of Lebanon

289

Appendix II: Dynasties and rulers of Lebanon

291

Epilogue

293

Notes

295

Index

322

Figures

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 2.1 2.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 7.1 7.2 8.1 8.2 9.1 9.2 10.1 10.2

The divided city of Beirut

xiii

Eastern Mediterranean ninth century BCE The topography of Lebanon Coastal enclaves and traditional regions of Lebanon Traditional feudal districts of Mount Lebanon Major regions, cities, and towns of Greater Lebanon Traditional locations of Lebanese communities Incidents of violence: 1947–1962 Incidents of violence: 1958–1969 Announced public projects: 1958–1969 Incidents of violence and public projects: 1964–1970 Incidents of violence: 1970–1976 Announced public projects: 1970–1976 Incidents of violence: 1975–1982 Incidents of violence: 1980–1986 Incidents of violence: 1985–1991 Areas of strife and turf battles Summary of incidents of violence: 1947–1991 Major rivers of Lebanon

8 10 14 23 29 32 127 136 137 144 170 171 215 223 246 250 280 287

Preface

In this monograph, I have tried to provide both a history and a political analysis of civil/sectarian strife, past and present, in Lebanon. After brief reviews of ancient times and the medieval period that led to the establishment of the Shihābi Imarah of Mount Lebanon (1697–1841), the book examines the civil war periods of the middle nineteenth century, giving particular focus to the Druze-Maronite war of 1860. These are treated comparatively with other Lebanese conflicts: those occurring in the First and Second World Wars, in 1958, in 1975–6, and during the long period of civil strife and foreign invasion from 1978 to 1990. The fifteen years of civil/sectarian war from 1975 to 1990 resulted in either death or injury to a million Lebanese and Palestinians; much of the country’s infrastructure was destroyed; and its great entrepôt city, Beirut, was reduced to ordinary status. It was a tragedy that played itself out, for the most part, beyond the world’s headlines, a long saga of massacres and bombings which seemed to have no purpose or end. The end did come in 1990, when the Syrian Army ousted General Aoun from B‘abdā Palace and installed occupation forces in the country. Though engaged in political reform and reconstruction, the Lebanese have yet to regain their independence. My study of Lebanon begins with the proposition that the politics of those who live in the Levant is a function of their geostrategic situation, both past and present. Batted back and forth by greater power on the outside, Levantines are “conflict prone” in the sense that they find it especially difficult to organize and maintain major systems on their own and are continually the victims of outsiders who do. An additional theme developed in the book examines the politics of the Lebanese in terms of the “inside-outside game.” Because people in the strategic Middle East, including Lebanon, are continually used by outsiders for external purposes, they have learned to use outsiders for internal purposes. Both victims and perpetrators, the Lebanese take net losses from the interplay that occurs in this process. In the final chapter, the book offers ideas on how the “inside-outside” game might be institutionalized so that the Lebanese, along with others in the area, could exercise a reasonable form of political self determination. It concludes by suggesting a policy agenda aimed at preserving an independent Lebanon within the context of a Middle East peace settlement. Sadly, the chances of such a

xi

eventuality coming about in the near future seem remote. There seem to be too many fortresses filled with bitter and vengeful hearts to make it possible. The conviction, perhaps bias, that pervades the pages of this book is that people in the Levant must choose to be governed by secular institutions. The alternative is inequality, strife, poverty, and dependence. Can they make this choice? The following is dedicated to the belief that they can. This project began as a study of the civil war of 1860 in Lebanon and grew into a much larger (unpublished) work of which the following is an abbreviated version. I have had the support of many colleagues over the years, and to all of them I owe a great debt of gratitude. Professor Wadie Jwaideh of Indiana University got me interested in Mount Lebanon. Professors P.J.Vatikiotis and the late Edward H. Buehrig took special interest in sponsoring the expanded project; their help and comments have been invaluable. I have also benefited greatly from the comments and/or writings of many other Middle East hands. Among these are James Spagnolo, Kamal Salibi, Iliya Harik, Michael Hudson, Jean Said Makdisi, John Entelis, Peter Gubser, Edwin Prothro, Cathy Witty, Samir Khalaf, and Michael Suleiman. I also want to remember the late Malcolm H.Kerr who, many years ago, allowed me to accompany him on a brief series of speaking engagements at small colleges in Indiana. Besides basketball (Malcolm’s son is now a star player for the National Basketball Association Chicago Bulls), we talked about Lebanon, where he grew up and went to school. Malcolm, in all respects, was a remarkable person; his writing, conversation, and example often kept me going. This work would not have been possible without the help and encouragement of my associates here at Indiana University in Indianapolis; my colleagues John McCormick, William Blomquist, and Richard Fredland have often had the bleak task of keeping me at work on the project. I also received assistance and counsel from many associated with Routledge, especially David Croom, Gordon Smith, Caroline Wintersgill, and Judith Willson. None of the above, of course, is responsible for the shortcomings of the book. Finally, I must mention the patience of my family—Donald, Emily, Evelyn, Clara, and Kyle—for putting up with my long absences from them. They, along with my wife, Maribeth, have had to share my burdens.

Note on transliteration

Arabic names for persons and places, especially in Lebanon, pose numerous difficulties for anyone trying to transliterate them into English. Words of Turkish or Aramaic origin may be given an Arabicized transliteration by some scholars, e.g., Salīm; a Turkish version by others, e.g., Selim; or a colloquial rendering by still others, e.g., Sleem. The problem is further complicated by the fact that many Lebanese writers and publicists only know the spoken Arabic names for familiar persons and places. Unfortunately, they do not agree on an English language spelling for the colloquial Arabic, e.g., Hamādah, Himādah, Hmādah, Himada, etc. Adding to the problem in Lebanon is the fact that the French versions of Arabic, Aramaic, and Turkish names vary considerably from the English, even though both use essentially the same script, e.g., Chehab and Shihāb. One solution would be to use only the classical Arabic version of the names in question and use all the diacritical marks needed to transliterate that language according to formal linguistic criteria. To do so in this case, would make the text burdensome for all but a few scholars. Therefore, I have followed a policy of using a minimum of diacritical markings but employing those I do use to help the reader distinguish Arabic terms which, without the marks, would be spelled the same but mean different things, e.g., Nāsir and Nasīr. When a word requires more than one macron, I have in general chosen to use only one and employ it to enhance pronunciation, to indicate where the emphasis falls on a long vowel, e.g., not Kisrāwān, but Kisrawān. Some words have undergone mutation because of popular usage, e.g., Janbalāt has become Jumblāt (as a compromise between Junblat and Joumblatt). Obviously, such well-known English language versions as Nasser and Tyre have been kept as they are and not transliterated as Nāsir and Sūr.

The divided city of Beirut Source: Based on map of Multinational Force areas of responsibility, Robert B.Houghton and Frank G.Trinka, Multinational Peacekeeping in the Middle East, Center for the Study of Foreign Affairs, US Department of State, Washington, 1984, p. 75

1 Peoples and history to 1840

INTRODUCTION Lebanon is a small, Levantine state located on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean, suffering, at present, from internal disorder and the military encroachments of Palestinians, Israelis, and Syrians. The residue of its most recent period of civil war—proxy militias caught in a syndrome of attack and reprisal, occupation forces on patrol, and politicians retreating to separate communities—has left the state in a condition of incoherence and dependence. Having only 4,015 square miles of territory, Lebanon is about the size of Connecticut, i.e., a bit larger than the Yellowstone National Park, but “with a more lethal wildlife,” as old hands in the diplomatic establishment used to say. At present, the Lebanese are beginning to recover from fifteen years of civil war and are attempting to rebuild their country, but they are also forced to tread water, so to speak, while awaiting the “peace process” to yield agreements among their neighbors that would make a normal national life possible.1 During the past two decades, the Lebanese have experienced a terrible time: civil war; military intervention; occupation; and the interminable bloodletting of snipers, assassins, and car bombers. From the 1830s to the 1860s, the peoples of an even smaller jurisdiction than the present Republic were periodically embroiled in domestic turmoil combined with external intervention. A half century later, their descendants experienced blockade, starvation, and invasion during the First World War, at which time their Turkish rulers were replaced by the French. They were subjected, once again, to violence and military intervention during the Second World War when the French were forced to exit and the independent Republic was established. Major upheavals—the NasserChamoun struggle in 1958, the bitter civil war of 1975–6, the Syrian intervention and bombardment in 1977, the Israeli invasions of 1978 and 1982, and the continued limbo—have since shaken the Lebanese and nearly deprived them of their state. With so many factions commanding firepower (their leaders on the take from various paymasters), with so many different levels of politics, local, regional, and international, being played through Lebanon, it takes a great deal

2 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

of perspective, perhaps a penchant for fantasy, to believe that there will once again come a day when Lebanon is an independent Republic. PURPOSE To find hope, this narrative will pursue two lines of attack: to tell the story of Lebanon, both positive and negative, and to frame the Lebanese experience in an appropriate geopolitical context. Indeed, the country has a unique story to tell. In spite of the present disaster, the thirty-year period preceding the outbreak of civil war in 1975 was one of considerable achievement for the Republic. The Lebanese engaged in competitive electoral politics through which they were able to institutionalize the transfer of power; they enjoyed individual freedoms of press, property, and person which approximated Western norms; and their laissez faire economy resulted in both commercial expansion and monetary stability. If we do not make the mistake of measuring achievement by the claims which the Lebanese establishment made for itself or by the unrealistic demands for distributive justice expressed by its critics, Lebanon, for all its glaring weaknesses, was making progress in social pluralism and democratic government. Moreover, this was progress on the part of a people not imported from European cultures but indigenous to that setting. Lebanon was a real, and rare, case of a Middle East system trying to institutionalize a confessional mode of democratic pluralism.2 Can Lebanon be reconstituted? Should it be? The following account is pledged to that purpose. Unfortunately, there have been so many participants in the breakup of the state, so many categories of political actors involved, that it is of little value to look for a single cause or to locate the main culprits in the matter. Outsiders were certainly major perpetrators of the disaster. If, however, foreigners were the main factors, as some Lebanese suggest, how was it possible for them so easily to use the locals for their “insidious” purposes? As this account will try to show, the causes of civil war in Lebanon have been sufficiently indigenous to suggest that the Lebanese do more than blame people beyond their borders for their dilemmas. Whether in 1860 or 1975, the incendiary persons and events causing civil strife are no mystery. The mystery is why this latest conflict, unlike those of the past, was not contained. If answers can be found to this question, there is hope that the recent debacle will not turn out to be the final chapter in the story of independent Lebanon. To contribute to that hope, this account will offer a conceptual framework for thinking about the reconstitution of Lebanon in a policy-applicable fashion. The concluding chapter details a four-level framework in which local, community, national, and regional requisites are given a lexical ordering. It will attempt to indicate an ordering of requisites going in both directions, for those who are solving problems at the most general level will not be directly involved in their solution at the most particular level. Choices will require analysis, patience, and

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 3

reciprocity; they will also need to be driven by aspiration. Finally, the text will indicate those policy goals that are valid for reasonable decision makers to set. THE PROBLEM Lebanon’s condition is no accident. Rather, it is a paradigm of what it is to be Levantine: to be vulnerable, relativist, and conflict-prone.3 Lebanon’s predicament, as a subset of the problems in the Levant and the larger Middle East, must be seen as a function of three interrelated (circularly caused) dilemmas.4 These, treated as categories of mutually reinforcing causes locked in a syndrome, are as follows: 1 geostrategic vulnerability 2 economic marginality 3 ethical relativism The first of these, geostrategic vulnerability, has meant that the Lebanese must live in a “corridor” through which armies pass back and forth, preventing them from having the time needed to institutionalize a stable, reciprocal political process. The second, economic marginality, plagues its victims with a scarcity of resources that can be taken from the Mediterranean ecology on the edge of the desert. Thirdly, an ethical relativism pervades relationships. This ethic arises from the combination of turmoil and scarcity that so easily comes to Lebanon’s shores. The result is a basis for choice which emphasizes the “cut” of the pie rather than its “size.” It is these general conditions of life in the Levant, legacies of landform and location, to which we attribute the area’s extraordinary degree of social fragmentation.5 These conditions not only reciprocally “cause” each other, they recapitulate the permanently unsettled result. Strife-torn Lebanon has represented only one extreme example, a cause and victim of the Levant’s pernicious dynamics.6 Since the “war of all” is always nearby, no matter what our condition, the remedies for Lebanon, if there are any, should be instructive for all of us. But what do we mean by the game-theoretical term, “conflict prone”? What conceptual role does it play? Are the Levantines in general, and the Lebanese in particular, more susceptible to being “conflict prone” than other peoples of comparable development? Is the disease curable? THE BASIC ARGUMENT We begin with the following propositions: To say that the Lebanese are “conflict prone” is not to suggest that they are particularly warlike or are more determined than other peoples on acts of conquest. We should not associate conflictproneness with the size of war or level of destructivity that a society is capable

4 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

of. Conflict-prone societies do not fight “big” wars; they cannot enlist the loyalties and cooperation of a sufficient number of people for such a purpose. The extremes of individualism, as well as the hyperdefensive psychology that permeates their outlook, prevents them from organizing for long-term, largescale public activities. The individual in such societies relies on kinship for his social cement; his cities, with their twisting narrow alleys, are a labyrinth of private encampments; his politics are informal and ad hoc, conducted between persons not within systems; and his law is given from above, allowing only individuals, not corporate bodies, to act as legal persons. Beyond this, his religion links him truly to the Creator and only mythically to the community. In Damascus and Beirut, the Levantine’s house surrounds his open spaces; fortified, he is isolated and atomized. Nothing is permanent, and life is cheap. Even a wealthy man can depend only on himself and those who depend on him. A detached interest is unthinkable, and even generosity has an ulterior purpose—to maintain the dependency of others that is so necessary for safety in a world of individuals. At the root of conflict-proneness is ethical relativism. The individual, in his precarious habitat, perceives value only as a relative measure between himself and another; he does not see it in absolute terms as a measure of himself vis-à-vis what is possible. The conflict-prone person is preoccupied with differences in size of the cuts of the pie rather than the size of the pie itself, one that can either grow or shrink. An extreme ethical relativist, relishing his comparative eminence, might even accept an absolute loss in order to enjoy a larger cut of a smaller pie rather than a smaller cut of a larger pie.7 Game theorists refer to such perceptions of value as “zero-sum” (involving transactions in which the gains for one person result from the losses in like amount for another). The sum of value for the two is zero; only a redistribution, a transfer payment, has occurred. Presumably, no growth has taken place; the pie of values remains the same, fixed and closed. Or has it? While, hypothetically, the pie has not gotten smaller, the reality is different, both materially and psychologically. Cutting each other up over a fixed pie of values, relativists generate conflict that, over time, results in an absolute loss of material. Psychologically, the losses are perhaps even greater, since the loser from the transfer payment loses more from his interrupted expectations than the winner gains from the opportunity that caprice has brought him: opportunity, moreover, which he could not have planned for nor incorporated into a network of relationships. In the larger view, mutual reciprocal rip-off on the part of relativists is not just zero-sum but negative-sum. The pie gets smaller and the community loses.8 Universalized, this ethical relativism could hardly remain compatible with a stable order. Under such conditions, it is difficult for the individual to act with any degree of personal detachment; his public consciousness cannot go far beyond the tie of kinship, the faction, and the sectarian community. Even within these allegiances, betrayal happens often enough. After a time, what Murray’s

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 5

Handbook says of the “Syrian” applies to the Lebanese: “His patriotism is confined to the four walls of his house.”9 In such a society, concerted efforts by an individual are likely to be intermittent in character; focused on short-range goals; and divisive for the organization in whose name he acts, splintering its membership. Notions of comity beyond kinship have no place; concepts of natural law find no favor; and veins expand while eyes bulge over every haggled exchange. When applied by members who subscribe to it, this norm reinforces its own efficacy in circular fashion. The amoral relativist does not expect integrative behavior on the part of others and acts so as to make integration unlikely to pay off when it does occur. By recapitulating itself, the norm continuously proves its value as a guide—one whose peculiar revelation comes from the inevitable ill consequences of failing to heed it. Among the Levantines there are no patriots, just saints and martyrs. People are caught in a terrible dilemma, torn between grasping and hiding. The young are angry, their elders weary, and only the illiberal survive.10 It is understood, of course, that the ethical tendencies outlined above are present in all societies at all levels of organization. Some societies, however, come to a threshold, a point of critical mass relative to centrifugal forces, beyond which it becomes unstrategic for their members to take a chance on cooperation. Levantine systems have usually managed to survive at the edge of this threshold, while Lebanon seemed to have gotten beyond it. Nor is it suggested that the measure for performance of societies ought to tend entirely in the opposite direction, that peoples should only cooperate, that they ought to develop the organizational capacity and public ethic to fight “big” wars. If Levantine emotionalism and individualism make human disasters of a European magnitude impossible, so much the better. The dabke (folk dance) is certainly preferable to the goose step. On the other hand, it is important to identify conflict not with the amount of destruction one people can impose on another but with the degree to which peoples are able or unable to act in concert for good or ill. Further, it is crucial to see that it has been no accident that Levantines find it difficult to act in concert, that their societies are conflict prone and may ultimately produce European amounts of destruction during their longer period of never-ending “little” wars. Levantine peoples, especially the Lebanese, are caught in an eddy. Geopolitically vulnerable at the global center, they are overurbanized and on the economic margin. Holding long memories of conflict and salivating over its relativistic residue, Levantines find it difficult to break out of the trap. Played out reciprocally, their victories only drag them down further. Razor sharp as individuals, their team play is miserable. But why? How did this state of affairs come about? Geopolitically, the Levant has the misfortune to be located at the very crossroads of the globe, situated between continents and peoples. From a purely strategic view, this pivotal area acts like the four center squares of a chessboard. Pieces located on the four center squares control more of the board than do pieces located anywhere else. In the Levant, as in chess, competition for the center is unremitting and lethal.

6 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

Pawns are used, initially, to probe and make contact. Some even hang back, get stuck, and are isolated by the fury that ensues when the larger pieces come to play.11 This geopolitical center attracts power from further afield, not merely from aggressive motivation but from defensive as well. All and sundry rush to the front so as not to be second in case war breaks out; and, in the rush, it usually does. The larger pieces—the bishop, the rook, the queen, assisted by the knight’s deadly pincers—must traverse the center to get to other places, to bring power to bear against the other side. Hyperstrategic, the Levantine square is an especially unholy place. It is generally recognized that longevity is not a characteristic of those pieces which move to the four center squares of a chessboard. Likewise, large-scale, integrative development under conditions of political stability has not occurred indigenously for those peoples who have made cultures in the Levant. The incredible fact is that in 5,000 years of recorded history, no indigenous Levantine culture has ever organized the area as a whole. On the other hand, outsiders have: the Assyrians, the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines, the Peninsula Arabs, the Mamluks (of Egypt), and, for over 400 years, the Ottoman Turks. In fact, the grandest times of cultural efflorescence for the peoples of the Levant have occurred only when outsiders have provided the political cement. Just as the center pawns do not last long in most chess games, and (via another metaphor) the grass is all scruffed up near the middle of an (American) football field, so also have the peoples of the Levant been politically scruffed up over the millennia of great power contention in the area. Unfortunately, to bring it full circle, turmoil at the geopolitical crossroads attracts the very intervention from the outside that recapitulates it on the inside.12 Outsiders often play one group off against another in the Levant; they, in turn, are used by Levantines for factional advantage. For Lebanon, the problem is even worse. Not only is the country vulnerable and in the geopolitical vortex, but it also possesses specific geographical features which keep its peoples separated and undefended. Lebanon has mountains which divide but do not protect and rivers which bisect but do not traverse, leaving its peoples with the worst of both worlds—topographical features which segment the country yet leave it open to invasion. This exacerbates, on a smaller scale, the fragmentation and instability endemic to the Levant as a whole. As a result, the people of Lebanon try to use outsiders as weights against their indigenous opponents, while outsiders try to magnify the divisions among the Lebanese as a way of using them more easily. Even more vulnerable than other Levantines, the Lebanese often demonstrate stronger allegiances to outsiders than to their neighbors on the Mountain. ANCIENT TIMES While the particularism and conflict-proneness of the Lebanese is partly a function of their geostrategic location, it is also due to specific historical

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 7

circumstances. The country has a long history in which certain traditions and behavior patterns have evolved. As a home for ancient coastal settlements; as Phoenician city states; entrepôt centers (under Persian, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine rule); as a haven for dissentients (during the Umayyad and Abbasid periods); and as semi-independent chieftaincies (under the Egyptian Mamluk and Ottoman Turkish Sultanates), the mountains and coast of Lebanon have often operated politically as separate entities. The mountains, many of them tree covered until the nineteenth century, gave water and protection to their inhabitants. Because of them, historical Lebanon has served as a refuge for a great variety of groups, sects, and individuals who have had to flee the larger systems nearby. The rawāsab (residue) of other peoples and cultures have discovered the independence of the Mountain and have been stubborn to keep it. The result has been to pack a great deal of diversity into a small area. Although artifacts give ample evidence that prehistoric people lived throughout the coastal areas of the eastern Mediterranean, fewer skelatal remains have been discovered there than elsewhere in Africa and Eurasia. More is known about the animals they hunted and the tools they used than about prehistoric Middle East people themselves. For historic times, the opposite is the case. The coastal areas below the Lebanese mountains have provided us with one of the longest and most complete records of human habitation anywhere. Whether one looks at ancient Byblos, with its succession of conquerors,13 or the Phoenician city states, a characteristic pattern emerges. Local rulers were never completely independent and had to play the “inside-outside game” to keep whatever degree of autonomy they did enjoy. Using outsiders to help them dominate local rivals, Phoenician rulers often found themselves abandoned in time of need or (more likely) taken over by those they called on for help. Although the Phoenicians went to sea, founded colonies, and projected their own influence beyond their city states, they never organized the eastern Mediterranean area under their own jurisdiction. Others did. Akkadians, Egyptians, Assyrians, Neo-Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Romans, and Byzantines were able to organize such enclave states as Sidon, Tyre, Berytus, and Aradus into their systems, imposing various degrees of hegemony on them. These city states may well have reached their zenith of prosperity and cultural contribution under (accommodating) imperial rule. Yet, they always maintained their characteristic pattern—small, separate, and connected as much to outsiders as to one another (see Figure 1.1). Under the Romans, these cities were important factors in imperial trade as well as in its later politics. The area gave Rome one of its Emperors while Beirut was a center for the study and practice of law. These coastal enclaves also figured in early Christianity. Jesus, himself, had visited Sidon; Peter, according to tradition, founded the church (42 CE) in Antioch.14 Paul sometimes took refuge in the early Christian communities of Sidon and Tyre. Eventually, the area became Christianized and under the control of Byzantium. By 640 CE, after only seven years of war, the Arab Muslims were able to conquer the whole of Syria up to the Taurus Mountains, including the cities

8 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

Figure 1.1 Eastern Mediterranean ninth century BCE Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

along the maritime plain of Lebanon. The Mountain soon became linked to the Islamic world with its center, under the Umayyads, in Damascus. Even if the people of the more remote settlements knew little of the Arabs from the south, they may well have welcomed the change. Islamic taxation was lenient, and, as “people of the Book” (ahl al-Kitāb),15 Christians had to be treated with respect.

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 9

But the area also received another people at this time, highlanders descending into the mountains from the north. These Jurājimah, (later called Mardaites), had been induced by the Byzantines to move down from their home territory in the Amanus and occupy the Mountain. From its heights and inaccessible valleys, these bands skirmished with Mu‘āwiyah’s troops, raided the local population, and soldiered in preparation for the counterattack that was expected to win back Syria for Byzantium. After paying tribute to them periodically, the Umayyads finally organized an expedition and dispersed the Jurājimah.16 Setting in various parts of Syria, these people amalgamated with the local population which, according to Maronite historians, became the core of the Maronite people. Before the Jurājimah, historians had recorded the affairs only of peoples living along the coast; little note was taken of the Mountain’s inhabitants. With the Jurājimah, however, the Mountain had become (for the first time) a locus of power. An intermittent and minor affair to be sure, but Lebanon, as something different from the systems around it, had experienced a beginning. The Jurājimah had conducted their raids from settlements deep in the mountains; they had operated from inside Lebanon (see Figure 1.2). From the eighth through the fifteenth centuries, a decentralized pattern of feudalism developed as Umayyad, Abbasid, and Zengid outsiders set up a system of tax farms to which the indigenous, Aramaic-speaking villagers were tied. Partly independent, partly subordinate to the systems on the outside, Shi‛ite amirs, followed by Maronite and Druze feudatories, contended for control over the peasantry. The loose feudal pattern to emerge was that of highland adventurers only tenuously linked to the various religious affiliations that had fled to the Mountain. During the early period of (separate)17 Lebanon, bases of operation for the feudal order stemmed from centers located in the hills not far from the coast and in the “rift” regions of Wadi al-Taym and the Biqā Valley. Feudal power moved further up the valleys as religious sect gradually became the basis for communal affiliation. Peasants gave product and service in return for some protection, but they were not tightly controlled. It is likely that villagers could move from one location to another according to the dictates of a rugged, but ambient, environment. Whole villages, especially in the north, may have regularly relocated from winter to summer quarters, following flocks to higher elevations in the summer and trading with the coast in the winter. We can assume that many of the mountain dwellers were only partially controlled by the feudal structures that were established. Feudalism in Lebanon at this time was decentralized, resembling more the pattern of Europe than that of Asia. Mountain dwellers owned land and could transfer it to their heirs; some could even become minor feudatories themselves. THE MARONITES ARRIVE As previously noted, the Maronites moved from their center on the Orontes into the Qadīsha valley early in the eighth century and expanded as more Christians

10 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

Figure 1.2 The topography of Lebanon Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

fled to the Mountain to avoid persecution. Few in number, the Maronites may have gained adherents through their association with the Mardaite (previously Jurājimah) warriors whose raids caused trouble for the Abbasids and perhaps

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 11

attracted additional dissentients to the Mountain. Very likely becoming the feudal class that eventually controlled the peasants of the Maronite areas in north Lebanon, these chiefs, known as muqaddams, exercised their power within a decentralized feudal system that, before the eleventh century, hardly extended beyond the walls of the Qadīsha Valley (for sects. see Appendix I). When the Crusaders arrived in 1099, several delegations of Maronites descended from the mountains to offer their services, and, at times, members of the sect fought along side the Franks against their Muslim adversaries. Accustomed to independence, the mountain dwellers were willing to use any ally to help weaken their Sunni rulers. Over time, Maronite relations with the Crusaders seems to have promoted some of their fighting men to the top of the feudal hierarchy at the expense of others.18 The result was a militancy seldom matched by resources, not to mention the additional strain placed on existing rivalries. There were both regional and religious divisions within the Maronite community, especially on the question of links to Catholicism. Patriarchs and lower clergy located near the coast (in the vicinity of Jubayl and Batrūn) were able to lead their flocks back to the Roman Church and were more active collaborators with the Europeans. Higher up, in the district of Bisharri at the head of the Qadīsha gorge, power and theology were linked to other problems. In Bisharri, some members of the sect did not want to conform to the demands of the Vatican and be forced to give up the distinctive rituals they had inherited. Though the record is sketchy, the monothelite belief may also have remained strong for some (now unknown) prelates who had support from their muqaddams.19 Other Christians arrived to settle in the mountain sanctuary, often heterodox but non-Maronite, e.g., the Jacobite monophysite communion. Indeed, early Maronite historians complain of renegade muqaddams and antipatriarchs.20 MAMLUK TIMES Although several (semi-legendary) Maronite chieftains—Sim‛an and Kisrā for example—gained fame in fighting on the Crusader side, and other Maronite and Druze clans won a few victories in rebellion against the Mamluks, their struggles for independence were costly. Beginning with Baybars, the Mamluks periodically led expeditions into the mountains, destroying towns, slaughtering their inhabitants, and burning their crops. Although their rebellions were never brought to an end, a major setback for the Mountain dwellers occurred in 1305 when the Mamluks brought an army to Lebanon and, with their Buhturid allies, defeated a coalition of mountain dwellers at Ayn Sofār. After extensive preparations, some 50,000 of the Mamluk recruits moved high up into the Mountain to crush the coalition of forces led by the Druze. The Maronites shared in the disaster at Ayn Sofār and were most certainly among the many mountain dwellers who lost their lives in the massacre. Later, the Mamluks launched

12 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

another attack, ravaging the Maronites and chasing them back to their traditional centers high up in the Qadīsha valley. The Buhturid clan, having come to the Gharb somewhat earlier, had fought as auxiliaries to the Mamluks in the battle at Ayn Sofār. They had been put in charge of the local halqā, a cavalry corps established to defend the coast between Beirut and Sidon. A remarkable clan, this Druze family controlled the south central foothills of Lebanon from 1147 to 1516 and remained politically significant for another century under the Ottomans.21 They had to collect taxes, win at war, keep their political options open, and always be in a position to react quickly to changing circumstances. Over the years the Buhturids skirmished and dealt with Crusaders in Beirut, Zengid and Ayyubid attabegs in Damascus, Mongols and Mamluks battling for that city, and (more particularly) with Saladin and Baybars. They also had to contend with local feudatories in the Gharb for local pre-eminence. At times they nearly lost their holdings; at other times they were able to expand them. Some of the basis for Buhturid independence lay in the fact that they were able to pass on their fiefs to their descendants and keep power within the family. Yet they were always faced with the fact that the Mamluks could, at any time, confiscate a fief previously granted. Buhturid independence became less a problem for both sides once the last of the Crusaders had been driven from the region. The fifty-six-year reign of the Buhturid, Nāsir al-Din Hussein, coupled with a similar forty-two-year period of rule by the Mamluk, al-Nāsir Muhammad, resulted in a prolonged period of fruitful relationships. Initially, both parties struggled with holding onto power and stopping the rebel movements that repeatedly flared up during these years. Mutual cooperation brought the Buhturs a stipend from the central treasury, and they were equipped for a role in the elaborate policing system which stabilized Syria during al-Nāsir’s long reign. The Sultan was able to employ not only his local forces, i.e., the halqā commanded by Hussein, but also carrier pigeons to deliver intelligence as well as fire beacons to relay signals over the mountains between Beirut and Damascus! Following the long reigns of both the Mamluk Sultan and the Buhturid Amir, decline set in for both systems. The Buhturs were faced not only with the deterioration of the Mamluk system but also with local (Turkoman) rivals, used by the outsider to keep local leaders in conflict and weak. Though they suffered from the weakness in Cairo, the Buhturs, in continu ing their long tradition of loyalty to the Mamluks, joined them in the hopeless resistance to the Ottomans. Needless to say, the family was not favored when, after the destruction of the Mamluks, the Ottoman conqueror, Salim I, carried out a reassignment of Lebanese fiefs a year later. As supporters of the Ma‛ns, they did continue to play a political role during the Ottoman period but, by then, had to share their power with a number of other feudal lords in the Gharb. Rivals of the Ma‛ns, the Alam al-Dins, finally killed off the Buhturid clan altogether in 1633 (for dynasties, see Appendix II).

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 13

OTHER EARLY COMMUNITIES While the Maronites and Druze were the two communities most instrumental in developing the political traditions of later Lebanon, other sects were politically important as well. Shi‛ites (Matāwilah) have often been dominant in various parts of Lebanon. Long settled in the Jabal Amil of the far south, they have also resided in the Biqā and in the central mountain districts. When the Fatimids controlled Syria, Shi‛ites of various persuasions dominated nearly all of Lebanon. Matāwilah, Nusayris, and Ismā‛ilis lived in Wadi al-Taym and the Shūf before the Druze missionaries arrived early in the eleventh century. Some became Druze; others did not. Shi‛a chiefs controlled Kisrawān several centuries before either Druze or Maronites moved in. Their families from the Ba‛albek region, the al-Hamra, Hamādah, and the Harfūsh, controlled portions of the central and northern mountain districts during the Mamluk and Ottoman periods. Sunnis had long lived in various parts of the country—in Wadi al-Taym, the Biqā, and the Akkār regions, some from Arab tribes, others of Turkish or Kurdish origin. There were also Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholics, Syrian Jacobites, and “establishment Sunnis” living in the cities and towns of Lebanon.22 These were usually subject to feudal chiefs not of their own sect (for the traditional regions of Lebanon, see Figure 1.3). OTTOMAN TIMES In contrast to the year 1305, when they had been able to deploy a force of 50,000 against the Lebanese mountain dwellers at Ayn Sofār, the Mamluks were, in 1516, only able to assemble a coalition of 13,000 to confront the Ottomans. In August 1516, the decisive battle took place at Marj Dabīq, north of Aleppo. The Mamluk Sultan, Qānsuh, was killed when his coalition disintegrated, and the Egyptians were routed. By April of the following year (1517), the Ottomans under Salim had moved through Syria, down the coast of southern Palestine, conquered Egypt, and put an end to the Mamluk Dynasty.23 The Mamluks had hastened their demise, during the last few years of the Burji dynasty, by trying to enforce an unenforceable centralization on their Syrian holdings. Salim employed a more appropriate strategy. In the case of Lebanon, he gave amnesty to the lords of the lower feudal order and confirmed them in their old fiefs, and, in this fashion, left Syrian administration largely as he had found it. Since few of the Mountain’s inhabitants were Sunnis, the Ottomans enrolled them as ra‛īyah (herd) of the Sultan, to be governed according to the rules of the millet system. In brief, this system allowed the non-Sunni subjects of the Sultan to be ruled by their own authorities as long as these subordinated themselves to Ottoman authority and paid tribute to the Sultan for military protection. Generally, the Lebanese were permitted to reside in their own communities and be governed by local authorities in civil and religious affairs.

14 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

Figure 1.3 Coastal enclaves and traditional regions of Lebanon Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

Stopping in Damascus on his way back from Egypt (in 1517), Salim I held audience for various delegations from the surrounding region. According to the traditional version of the event, a local chief, Fakhr al-Din ibn Uthmān, so impressed the Ottoman conqueror that he was made “Sultan” of the Mountain.24

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 15

Unlike this Ma‛nid chief of the Shūf, the others, it is implied, were confirmed in their previous privileges but only as amirs at a lower level of the feudal hierarchy.25 The Ma‛nid line lasted from 1517 to 1697, ruling parts or all of Mount Lebanon with o nly a few interruptions. Their rule was often contested by other Druze chiefs (such as the Alam al-Dins of the Yamani faction)26 or by other local rulers in the area (such as the Sayfas of Tripoli). Notably, at Salim’s audience in 1517, the Maronites were not represented. Their condition at this time seems to have been fragmented almost beyond comprehension. Just before Salim was distributing feudal holdings in Damascus (1517), the Bisharri muqaddamate had been forcibly cleansed of the Jacobite (monophysite) heresy and was vulnerable to power struggles from within the Maronite community. At a time when the seat at Bisharri was in the hands of an infant, a rival muqqadam married into the Ayyūb family and set himself up at Aytu.27 The ensuing quarrel lasted some forty years, ending with both wings of the Ayyūb line reciprocally reducing one another until they were finally destroyed altogether by Shi’ite and Melkite clans from the Anti-Lebanon (for sects, see Appendix I). Meanwhile, the (Turkoman) Assāf amirs at Ghazīr had been brought to Lebanon by the Bahri Mamluks to help control the area immediately north of Beirut following the exodus of the Crusaders and the crushing of the heterodox Muslims in 1306. Like the Buhturs further south, the Assāfs had held the watch (halqā) along the coast and were allowed to tax-farm the hinterland. Performing services similar to those of the Buhturs, though not as faithfully, the Turkoman Assāf were also able to pass on their fiefs as an inheritance. Like the Mamluks and Ottomans, the clan was both Sunni in sect and ethnically Turkic, allowing them more freedom to play politics like the majority power. Sometimes cooperating, at other times competing, the Assāfs did play their hand correctly at Marj Dabīq (where the Ottomans defeated the Mamluks). For this move, the Ottomans gave them an expanded domain and a minimal tribute to be paid annually to the Sultan. The Assāfs moved their seat to Ghazīr, on a strategic ridge between Kisrawān and Munaytra. After a period of struggle and confusion, the Amir Mansūr (alAssāf) came to power in 1523. He spent nearly twenty years consolidating his power, playing off the Qaysi factions against the Yamani, quashing rebellions, killing competitors before they could kill him, and generally serving Ottoman interests. From 1541 till his death in 1580, Mansūr’s rule over much of north Lebanon was nearly unopposed, and his moderate taxation policy attracted people of various sects to Kisrawān. Mansūr made use of both Shi‛ites and Maronites in his administration. His chief stewards were drawn from the Maronite family of Hubaysh, and their political skills helped sustain the Amir’s nearly sixty years of rule. Whole villages moved into his realm, and the area enjoyed a period of unprecedented prosperity. After Mansūr’s death (1580), his son succeeded him but was murdered by the Pasha of Tripoli.28 The Assāf line

16 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

came to an end when the winner in Tripoli, Yusuf Sayfa, married the loser’s widow at Ghazīr and absorbed her feudal possessions as his own. Ghazīr never again became a seat of power, but it had given stability and prosperity to Sunnis, Maronites, and Shi‛ites in a single system that brought various sectarians to live on common ground according to accepted feudal practices. Ghazīr was only an ephemeral moment, yet it was an instructive experiment in independence for the people of the Mountain and served as a precedent for the Ma‛ni Amir, Fakhr al-Din II. FAKHR AL-DIN In 1585, at Jun Akkār north of Tripoli, a troop of bandits raided a caravan carrying Egyptian tribute to Istanbul. Culminating a series of insubordinations, rebellions, and acts of independence in response to direct rule, this event triggered a punitive expedition designed to restore Ottoman control in the mountain districts of Syria. One of the chiefs, Qurqumās (ibn Yunis) Ma‛n of the Shūf, may have been involved in the raid on the caravan and, in the face of the Ottoman expedition, was forced to flee into the further reaches of the mountains. During the subsequent invasion of the Shūf, in which thousands were killed and the countryside devastated, Qurqumās died after a long period of privation in an inaccessible cave near Jezzīn.29 The son, Fakhr al-Din (the Great) was twelve years old when his father lost his life resisting the Ottomans. His mother had managed to have the boy taken out of the Shūf to Ballūnah in Kisrawān to be cared for by the Khāzin family, Maronites who had earlier moved to that village to take advantage of the better conditions existing under the Assāfs of Ghazīr. In 1590, at the age of seventeen, Fakhr al-Din obtained a fief in the Shūf and began the fabled process of developing a political base and expanding his power. He recognized that he could not survive by remaining one of a number of feudal small fry looking periodically for ways to defy the Ottomans, then running to hide in the mountains when the Sultan sent forces to hunt them down. Thus, to avoid the usual disasters, Fakhr al-Din and his advisors used his factional and kinship ties to develop a series of local alliances. These he used, at first, not to win military engagements but to build up his political base in Lebanon. After spending a decade building alliances, the Druze Amir came into some good fortune. The Ottoman Sultanate was momentarily weak and preoccupied, and Fakhr al-Din was able to have the district of Sidon returned to the Ma‛ns. He was also able to add Beirut to his holdings without attracting opposition from Istanbul. Another dynast, Ali Janbalāt of Aleppo, failed in a rebellion in that city and fled to Lebanon.30 Fakhr al-Din allied himself with the Janbalāts, giving them lands and peasants to “protect.” This family (the Jumblāts today) converted to Druzism and served the Ma‛ns as an additional force for controlling the local clans in the Shūf. Becoming stronger, Fakhr al-Din began to build up the economic infrastructure of the kingdom, bridging the main rivers along the coast, fortifying

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 17

castles and strong points, and encouraging trade with the Europeans. Quietly adding Safad, Tiberias, and Nazareth in Upper Palestine to his domain, Fakhr alDin endeavored to maintain correct relations with local Druze leaders as well as with those of the surrounding districts. He attempted to keep the Sultan satisfied by sending him lavish gifts. Yet, Fakhr al-Din was a threat and would have to keep winning to survive. The Druze Amir decided to build up his own military force, independent of the nearby feudatories. Therefore, he assembled an army of some 40,000 mercenaries to serve as the core of a much larger military establishment, totaling perhaps 100,000 men (counting the retainers of feudal allies). Fakhr al-Din then attempted a major gambit. To counter the inevitable Ottoman military response, he forged ties to Italian powers, to the Dukes of Tuscany and even the Vatican. Before long, the Ottomans were aroused and moved massively against Fakhr alDin. There was no rescue attempt from Italy, and (in 1512) the Druze Amir had to flee into exile in Europe, where he hoped to raise an expeditionary force for use in Lebanon. When, in 1617, the Sultanate was again weak, Fakhr al-Din was able to return to his country and rebuild what had been achieved earlier, expanding his power and domain even beyond what had been achieved before. With weakness in Istanbul, Fakhr al-Din was once again in sight of his goal: to govern an independent jurisdiction in Lebanon. Murad IV (in 1624) even declared the Druze Amir “Lord of Arabistan.” Now ruling from Dayr al-Qamar, the Ma‛ns prudently paid tribute while embarking, once again, on a policy of trying to build up the local economy. Encouraging European architects, irrigation engineers, and agricultural experts to help develop the country, the regime succeeded to such an extent that travelers reported on the better conditions in Lebanon at this time—cultivation of fruit trees, construction of aqueducts, and residences in the European style. By 1633, however, Ottoman military power had been restored, and the Sultan declared Fakhr al-Din a rebel and gave orders for an assault on the Mountain. The Amir and his sons, who commanded his forces, put up a valiant struggle but lost the key military engagements. Italy again failed to send assistance, while local feudal allies abandoned the sinking ship. With everything caving in on him, Fakhr al-Din, like his father before him, escaped to a castle (Qal‛at Niha) and then to a cave near the waterfalls at Jezzīn. There, he was finally discovered and captured.31 Taken to Istanbul, the Druze Amir attempted to refute the charges laid against him but failed and, in the spring of 1635 (with three of his sons) was publicly executed. Of his male children, only one, Hassan, was spared (later becoming an important Ottoman official). Even though it ended in disaster, Fakhr al-Din’s achievement was remarkable not for the military victories—although they were crucial—but for the pains he took to build up the infrastructure of his realm to make it economically viable. Lebanon’s mountains and tradition of independence made it possible for the Druze Amir to plan beyond the skimming operation forced on local officials by the Ottoman system. But the Ma‛ni regime needed to be more valuable to

18 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

maintain than to destroy. This was the game that the Buhturs had been willing to play; they were able to win and quit when ahead. The Amir Mansūr of Ghazir was also careful to rule within realistic boundaries. In hyperstrategic Lebanon, the Druze Amir, like his predecessors, needed to play conservative to keep his realm. Although Fakhr al-Din failed to keep it, his expression of independence for Lebanon lived on. The departure of Fakhr al-Din from Lebanon did not end the Ma’nid line. The amirs who followed, however, were much weaker and in competition with the Alam al-Din clan which led the Yamani faction against the Qaysis.32 Mulhim Ma’n, a nephew of Fakhr al-Din, gained control of the Shūf and, by 1658, had added the districts of Batrūn and Safad to his domain. At this point, a period of raids and reprisals, extreme even for Lebanon, ensued as the Ma‛n versus Alam al-Din (Qaysi-Yamani) vendetta continued without let up.33 Ahmed Ma‛n, the Amir Mulhim’s son, succeeded his father in 1667 and managed to defeat the Yamani Alam al-Dins and take charge of the Druze Mountain. Unfortunately, the war with the Alam al-Dins raged on to such an extent that, during his last years, the Amir was virtually a prisoner in his own palace. Finally, in 1697, Ahmed Ma’n died without leaving a male descendant. THE SHIHĀBS The various feudal chiefs convoked a conference at Samqanīyah (near Dayr alQamar) and passed over the Alam al-Dins in favor of a relative of the Ma’ns in the female line, Bashir Shihāb I. The Shihābs were Sunnis, not Druze, and came not from the Mountain but from Wadi al-Taym. In deciding on Bashir I, the Druze chiefs at Samqanīyah decided to keep the Imarah (Amirate) securely in the hands of the Qaysi faction and to reserve a maximum freedom of action for themselves in their own districts. This independence seems to have been the main concession extracted from Bashir 1, and he was eventually demoted to a regent for the twelve-year-old Haydar Shihāb, who was favored in Istanbul and was in a more direct line of succession from the Ma‛ns. Bashir I proved to be more than a caretaker, however, and expanded his control into the Jabal Amil, south of the Mountain, while showing no inclination to turn the reigns of power over to the young claimant. Haydar forced the issue in 1706 by managing to have his uncle (Bashir) poisoned. Haydar had learned the ways of the Ottoman system sooner than expected.34 Soon after Bashir’s murder in 1706, Haydar Shihāb took the throne at Dayr alQamar—the Imarah’s first Hakim, as the ruler of Mount Lebanon was then called. If the Vali’s (Viceroy’s) purpose in exchanging Bashir for Haydar was to contain the power at Dayr al-Qamar, he must have soon regretted his gambit. Taking power in 1707, Haydar moved quickly to gain control of the Jabal Amil by appointing his own governor of that district in 1708. Sidon was furious and immediately deposed the youthful Shihāb prince in favor of Yusuf Alam al-Din

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 19

who, with a contingent of the Vali’s troops, expelled Haydar from Dayr alQamar the next year. Once again the Qaysi faction was roused to action. Its leaders closed ranks and encircled the isolated Yamanis in the capital. In 1711, the Alam al-Dins moved out of Dayr al-Qamar for an attack but were cut down to the last man at Ayn Dāra.35 Following Ayn Dāra, Haydar put his own supporters in power. The Ab‛l-Lams were raised to the rank of amirs, and a tradition of intermarriage between them and the Shihābs was begun, not unlike that which had joined the Buhturs and the Ma‛ns and, later, the Ma‛ns and the Shihābs. Higher rank and enlarged holdings were the rewards for other local chiefs who had fought on the winning side, e.g. the Abu Nakads, the Janbalāts, the Imāds (Yazbaks), the Talhūqs, and the Abd al-Maliks. The Amir, Haydar, also instituted new changes within the ranks of the Christians. The Khāzin sheikhs of Kisrawān had played an important role in the victory over the Alam al-Dins and were rewarded with lands and political privilege. From this influence, greater numbers of Maronites came south to work Druze lands, an immigration that was encouraged by the sheikhs. They were soon to inhabit nearly all parts of the Mountain, changing the social character of the countryside. Dayr al-Qamar and Jezzīn, for example, became Maronite towns. Moreover, by the middle of the eighteenth century, the Shihābs’ administrative secretaries, usually designated mudabbirs, were Maronites. This, of course, was not new. Maronites had been informally prominent in both the Assāf and Ma‛n houses. What was new was that, after 1711, both Maronite Khāzins and Druze Janbalāts could legitimately take part in choosing the person who would rule from Dayr al-Qamar. Also, under the Shihābs, the matter of succession was better institutionalized and more successfully insulated from power higher up in the Sultanate. Having become physically disabled during the last years of his rule, Haydar abdicated in 1732 and designated his oldest son, Mulhim, to succeed him. Becoming Amir alHakim in 1732, Mulhim ruled until 1754, when illness forced him to hand over the Imarah to his brothers, who continued his realistic approach.36 They ruled jointly (accompanied by much partisan heat) until 1762, when Ahmed resigned, leaving Mansūr to rule alone until 1770. He, in turn, passed on the power at Dayr al-Qamar to Mulhim’s oldest son, Yusuf, who had already attained his majority several years earlier and held the Jubayl district. The uncle’s abdication took place peacefully, and the nephew took his seat in Dayr al-Qamar, uniting the two Imarahs into a jurisdiction which extended from Sidon to Tripoli. This DruzeMaronite Imarah remained the basic jurisdiction of Mount Lebanon until France created the larger state (Greater Lebanon) after the First World War. During his first few years in office, Yusuf successfully met strong challenges to the north and south, turning back an attempt by the Hamādahs to retake Jubayl and Bisharri (1772) and assisting the Ottomans against Zāhir al-Umar, an upstart in Galilee (1775). Yusuf was Hakim from 1770 to 1788 (except for the year 1778 when his brothers, Sayyid-Ahmed and Afandi, briefly held office). His main problem, especially from 1778 to 1788, was al-Jazzār Pasha, the Vali of Sidon, who ruled from Acre.37 Jazzār called for a ruinous amount of taxes, and Yusuf’s

20 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

brothers even outbid that sum. This three-way bidding war—between Jazzār, Yusuf, and the chiefs—continued, and the regime at Dayr al-Qamar finally decided to use force to gain relief from Acre’s insatiable appetite. This attempt by Yusuf and his mudabbirs, S‛ad and Ghandūr al-Khuri (his son), failed. Chased from Dayr al-Qamar by his protégé, Bashir (II) in 1788, Yusuf was captured, imprisoned, and (after engaging in a final bidding war) executed in 1791. Conditions on the Mountain bordered on civil war. Had the manāsib (feudal lords), with their Hakim, been able to take up the cause against Jazzār, they could have resisted the Vali’s arbitrary demands. Unfortunately, they were busy levering each other and maneuvering for position; they could not unite as they had been able to (in 1697) at Samqanīyah. BASHIR II A decade earlier, a young Shihāb, Bashir II, had appeared at Yusuf’s court. He was well received, given duties to perform, and quickly gained a reputation for his astute conduct at the palace. Without resources and far removed from the traditional line of succession, the young man must have seemed a safe Shihāb to have around. A cousin of the Amir Yusuf, Bashir II had been raised in near penury by foster parents. His father, Qasim, died soon after Bashir was born but had earlier converted to Christianity. Bashir and his brother Hassan were also baptized (though Bashir’s faith later in life is open to conjecture).38 At court, the young Bashir had accommodated himself to Yusuf and gained experience in the ways of Druze-Maronite politics. Useful at court, Bashir was also discovered by the kingmaker among the manāsib, Sheikh Bashir Janbalāt. Janbalāt was looking for an unencumbered Shihāb to be his candidate to replace Yusuf as the Amir al-Hakim. Bashir took note of the overtures but kept quiet; he was poor and dependent. However, Yusuf’s desperation for resources (to accommodate Jazzār) provided Bashir with the opportunity he needed. Yusuf had enticed one of the (lesser) Shihāb amirs from Wadi al-Taym to visit Dayr alQamar and, once there, had him murdered. Bashir was chosen to go to Hāsbayya to assess the dead man’s fortune for tax revenue, i.e., sequestration. Assess he did, but also, in the process, Bashir managed to marry the dead man’s widow, herself a woman of great means. His situation was even more promising, because his new wife (Shams) was from a family which had long enjoyed connections with the Janbalāts. Back at Dayr al-Qamar, with both money and kinship to help him, Bashir could now consider Janbalāt’s offers. In 1788, some of the Jazzār’s officers staged an uprising in Acre. When, initially, the uprising looked to succeed, Yusuf threw in his lot with the rebels, wanting to do whatever he could to get rid of Jazzār. As reviewed above, the uprising failed and, soon after, the Vali was able to defeat Yusuf in battle, forcing the Hakim to abdicate in favor of Bashir II. Three years later Yusuf was executed, and Janbalāt, the kingmaker, had gotten his man in office.

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 21

But not for long. Because Jazzār was in a position to play games with the various Shihāb factions, Bashir’s initial taste of power lasted only two years (from 1788 to 1790). Strife continued, as various Shihābs played “musical chairs” with the office; Bashir II was Hakim for a short time in 1793, again for four years (1795–9), and finally gained a near permanent foothold on the office after 1800. Except for periods of exile from 1820 to 1822, he ruled the Imarah, without interruption, from 1800 to 1840. Counting the earlier years when the young Amir was bounced in and out of office at the whim of the Vali, the great Bashir was the major player in the Imarah’s politics for over fifty-two years. One can hardly doubt the political skills of a person who lasted that long in Lebanon. Yet, it could be argued that his policies also contributed to the destruction of the Imarah as well. Enjoying a brief respite from the Pasha and having Janbalāt support, Bashir II, in 1796–7, conspired with others to attack the Abu Nakads in Dayr al-Qamar, kill the five brothers, and seize their properties. This raid was the first of a number of political moves the Amir al-Hakim made, gradually to consolidate his power inside the Imarah. The Abu Nakads represented an especially grievous source of local intrigue; they were supporters of the sons of Yusuf. Moreover, their properties provided the Hakim with both resources and much-needed political patronage to dis tribute to future victims who had collaborated with him, e.g., the Imād sheikhs. He fished for the small fry nearby, as Jazzār never failed to fish for him. Napoleon’s invasion up the coast in 1798 caused the Hakim problems, but once the French siege at Acre failed, Bashir was able to retrieve his status at Dayr al-Qamar. Jazzār died in 1804, and his (ultimately) moderate replacement, Suleiman Pasha, cooperated sufficiently so that Bashir was able to expand his power and, for two decades, rule Mount Lebanon with little opposition. He continued his policy of reducing the number of feudal chiefs who could intrigue against him and, over a period of time, eliminated the Imād sheikhs, the sons of Yusuf, their mudabbirs (who had become quite powerful), the Arslāns of the Lower Gharb, the Talhūqs of the Upper Gharb, and the Abd al-Maliks of the Jurd. The distribution of their lands, however, strengthened not only Bashir II but also Bashir Janbalāt, who soon emerged as the wealthiest landholder in the DruzeMaronite Imarah.39 Once all of these lower feudatories had been destroyed, the Mountain was left with only a triangle of powers: Bashir II at Dayr alQamar; the great sheikh, Bashir Janbalāt, at Mukhtāra; and the Vali of Sidon (Suleiman) at Acre. The structure had been simplified but was still unstable (see Figure 1.4). Not to be outdone by the Sheikh, who was the wealthiest man on the Mountain, Bashir II (in 1806) ordered a new palace to be built at Beit alDin, a few miles up the Damūr valley from Dayr al-Qamar, and it was completed in 1814. This grand edifice, with its famous fountains supplied by an aqueduct that brought water from a stream ten miles away, not only provided the ruler with the symbols of oriental magnificence but also gave him the high ground above Dayr

22 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

al-Qamar, a perpetual source of dissidence. The Amir and the Sheikh continued to work together, adding parts of the Biqā to the Imarah and becoming owners of vast tracts of grainproducing land. They cooperated on several other military and humanitarian ventures, earning credit with both the Porte (the Ottoman government) and the local population. From Acre, Suleiman Pasha’s moderate and regular fiscal demands resulted in other benefits for the mountain dwellers. In matters of personal conduct, much of the informal administration of the previous era was replaced by more institutionalized procedures. There is evidence that the combination of Shihāb rule and Janbalāt wealth actually improved the lives of ordinary people. Registers were kept, negotiated agreements recorded, and population grew. Documents give evidence of considerable village home rule; people owned property and shared in its watering; the peasant, perhaps, even experienced some stability.40 But Bashir had to face difficulties as well. In 1818, the Turks decreed new restrictions on non-Muslims which the Maronite clergy resented, causing the dilemmas of the Hakim’s real faith to surface for the first time. Having reduced the local feudal lords, Bashir had become increas ingly dependent on the Patriarch. When Suleiman, the Viceroy at Acre, died in 1819, his replacement, Abdullah, decided to return to al-Jazzār’s policies. Accordingly, the new Vali requested an exorbitant tribute from Bashir, forcing him into exile. The “playthings” that the new Viceroy in Acre put in Dayr al-Qamar, Hasān and Salman Shihāb, could not contain the 1820 ‛ammīyah (a series of Maronite uprisings that began in Antilyās), and Bashir had to be called back to office. He then gathered his forces and quickly crushed the rebellion. But, unfortunately, the politics of the Mountain had begun to change. For a Maronite Hakim, partly beholden to the church, to enforce the ruinous taxation of a Sunni system and crush an uprising of his flock was difficult for the Patriarch. Maronite clergy, largely drawn from the peasant classes, had played a part in staging the uprising; Maronite nationalism was on the rise. Thus, when Bashir II joined Abdullah in trying to retrieve lands lost to the Viceroy of Damascus, they failed and both were deposed. The Patriarch looked the other way when the Hakim went into exile in Cairo. There, in 1822, Bashir conferred with Muhammad Ali, the modernizing Viceroy of Egypt, who was able to bribe the Sultan into forgiving Abdullah and allowing Bashir to return to his old seat of power. (It was during his exile in Cairo that Bashir promised support for Muhammad Ali’s future conquest of Syria).41 In the meantime, while Bashir was away, Sheikh Bashir had decided to sponsor a new Shihāb for the position at Dayr al-Qamar. When the Amir did return from exile, he refused to make peace with the Sheikh. Trying repeatedly to get back into the Hakim’s good graces, the latter finally had to flee to the Hawrān and then, in trouble with Damascus, went on to the Akkār region above Tripoli. Seeing that the Hakim was about to confiscate his lands, Bashir Janbalāt returned to the Shūf, gathering support along the way. In 1825, Janbalāt assembled his alliance at Mukhtāra and

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 23

Figure 1.4 Traditional feudal districts of Mount Lebanon Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University Note: Smaller districts not shown

marched on Beit al-Din, but Bashir II won the ensuing battle, forcing the rebels into exile in Syria. Bashir Janbalāt, himself, was captured, taken to Acre, imprisoned, and (at the urging of Bashir II) executed by Abdullah.

24 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

With the great Sheikh out of the way, Bashir (1826) proceeded to tax, fine, and confiscate the iqtās (feudal holdings) of the Janbalāts, redistributing lands to the Abu Nakads (those who had remained loyal to him), to the Talhūqs, and to members of his own family, especially his son, the Amir Khalil. Shihāb candidates from the Muslim faction of the family were blinded, making them ineligible to rule. Relations between the Hakim and the Patriarch improved, and correspondence shows that Muslims and Druze, as well as Maronites, increasingly sought the Patriarch’s intervention with Bashir, most often to get back confiscated land. With the vacuum in the Druze districts, however, it was not long before the Patriarch was intervening in disputes between Maronites and Druze, a direct challenge to the traditional prerogatives of the chiefs. Bashir’s centralizing activities had undercut the feudal system. Moreover, his palace was in the Shūf, the traditional home of the Druze chiefs; where, as the Hakim for a Druze-Maronite Imarah, he had become a Maronite ruler. THE EGYPTIAN INVASION In 1830, Muhammad Ali demanded Syria from the Porte as a reward for his efforts in trying to prevent Greek independence. Istanbul offered much less, so, in November 1831, the Egyptians began their campaign to acquire Syria. Muhammad Ali’s son, Ibrahim, moved into southern Palestine, taking the coastal towns without much resistance and was at the walls of Acre by November. The Ottomans were weak and exhausted; the European powers were occupied; and Ibrahim had a modern, battle-tested army under his command. Acre stood in the way, and, during the siege, Ibrahim requested the assistance from Bashir that (we assume) the latter had earlier promised Muhammad Ali. The Amir tried to avoid committing himself but was threatened with an invasion unless he cooperated. Thereupon, Bashir declared on the side of the Egyptians and remained unwavering in his support for them to the end. Acre finally fell on May 27, 1832. Meanwhile, as the siege was in progress, Bashir assisted Ibrahim in gaining control of all the major towns nearby: Sidon, Dayr al-Qamar, Beirut, and Tripoli. Within two months, all of Syria was under the control of the Egyptians, and Sultan Mahmud was now forced to send his own army. By the end of the year, Ibrahim had won a series of battles against the Turks, moving into Western Anatolia and in position to threaten Istanbul itself. On many occasions, Ibrahim called upon the Amir al-Hakim to assist him militarily —against the Viceroy of Damascus, against Druze rebels in the Hawrān, to conscript the Druze, and to help quell revolts in the mountain districts whenever they occurred. These military actions, along with Muhammad Ali’s modernization program for Syria, encroached on the prerogatives of the traditional elites, even among those non-Muslims who, presumably, had the most to gain from it. Bashir’s local support was undercut, his political base became narrower and narrower. Forced to choose between the Egyptians and his own

PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 25

community, the Amir continually chose the former. Both lost before he could switch sides. The eventual outcome might have been different had Muhammad Ali received quick title to Syria, but matters on the diplomatic front worked against him. The Turks and the Russians signed the Treaty of Hunkiar Iskelesi, giving the latter nearly carte blanche to intervene in the Dardanelles. The Ottoman army was still vulnerable, but the Russians had placed a rook on one of the four center squares and checked Muhammad Ali. This turn of events so frightened the European powers that, after some hesitation, they began to make preparations to intervene on behalf of the Ottomans. At about this time, a new series of revolts against Egyptian rule broke out, first in Palestine (1834) and soon after, in Tripoli and Latakia, north of Bashir’s Imarah. No longer independent, Bashir had to furnish troops to help crush these revolts. Revolts also erupted in Wadi al-Taym and in the Hawrān, and the Hakim was called upon for help. Bashir’s troops were able to combine with other forces to end the troubles in Wadi al-Taym but he was then required to rearm the Maronites to help end the rebellion of the Hawrān Druze. This he did, but the operation appeared to pit Maronite against Druze, a very dangerous precedent. Ibrahim continued to defeat the Ottoman forces sent against him, and Bashir was able to assist him in putting down local rebellions. Together, they maintained firm control of Syria until the middle of 1840. After that, the situation for the Egyptians and their ally at Beit al-Din deteriorated rapidly. European diplomacy, led by the British, began to move against the Russian threat; agents from Britain and France worked the Mountain for support. Ibrahim understood that the Druze (and other Muslims) would be inclined to revolt but expected his Maronite ally, Bashir II, to keep the dhimmis (Jewish and Christian subjects) on board. After all, for them, a modern, rationally administered Syria was surely preferable to the Ottomans. But other changes, besides those introduced by Muhammad Ali, were occurring. Among the common people of the Maronite community, something akin to the earlier ‛ammiyah (of 1820) broke out. Aided by some of the chiefs, various Shihāb candidates, and the lower clergy, they made proclamations, elected wakīls (representatives), and sounded the call throughout their districts. Bashir had forces but no allies. The Maronite revolt spread quickly, threatening the Egyptian occupation and taking away soldiers needed for the war against the Ottoman army. Acting on the stipulations agreed to at the Convention of London, British and Austrian warships appeared, bombarded Beirut, landed troops and arms at Junieh, and made contact with local rebel militias. Ibrahim’s army was forced back into the mountains at al-Hadath. The Europeans were then able to occupy the whole coast, and the Egyptian force began to fall apart. British agents continued to try to get Bashir II to switch sides, but events overtook the negotiations. Finally, at the battle of Bharsāf (in the Matn), Ibrahim’s army (already shrunken from disease) was crushed. The British fleet and local rebellion had succeeded, and Muhammad Ali’s project was lost for good.

26 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840

Though never completely coordinated, Lebanese groups had managed enough collaboration (in 1840) to conduct several firefights which assisted the powers in forcing the Egyptians to leave Syria. Once again, the people of the Mountain were able to demonstrate that, as separate communities, they would strive to preserve their traditional independence. But it was not clear, at this time, that they could do anything with it. The people of Mount Lebanon had gotten both good and bad from their Amir al-Hakim. He had ruled with a steady hand, but his centralizing policies had also undercut the traditional support from the feudal class he needed to maintain his independence. Isolated from the chiefs and unable to build on newly emerging nationalist forces, Bashir could only rely on the foreigner. Unfortunately for him, so could his opponents. Leaving Beit al-Din on October 12, Bashir II went to Sidon (with full retinue), where the British picked him up and took him to Malta. Soon after, the British placed the Shihāb they had been grooming, Bashir Qasim Shihāb, in charge of the Imarah. Bashir III then hastened to take his seat at Beit al-Din, and Lebanon descended into utter chaos. Wiser than his contemporaries about power, Bashir II made sure that, before sailing for Malta, his servant had handed over a large sum of money to the Patriarch. Bashir knew that this was the one person whose help would be needed if he was ever to return to power. But the Amir al-Hakim never did return and died in exile in 1850.

2 Wars and independence: 1840–1914

BASHIR (QASIM) III For the next two decades, the Mountain was host to various forms of conflict: most notably periodically from 1840 through 1845, in 1852, 1858, and 1860. Of these, the harakāt of 1841–2, 1845, and 1860 amounted to general civil war.1 These were decades of convulsion as well as transformation for the Lebanese. During this period the Egyptians were expelled; the Druze-Maronite Imarah came to an end; and the formal structures of the feudal system were abolished. Born in conflict, the Lebanese were to give birth to even more.2 Near the end of Bashir’s rule, the Ottomans issued a firman investing Bashir Qasim Shihāb as Hakim. Supported by British agents, Bashir Qasim organized a Maronite militia and was given weapons for mountain fighting. It was his unit which, in guerrilla style, did most of the killing of Egyptian soldiers at the battle of Bharsāf and dealt the final blow to both Muhammad Ali’s project in Syria and Bashir’s rule in Lebanon. Not very astute, Bashir Qasim acted as if he had simply been elevated from the commander of a Maronite militia to the ruler of a Maronite “state.” He conducted himself as if he were no longer subject either to the Mountain’s traditions or to Ottoman control. The first important issue Bashir III faced came to a head when the Druze chiefs returned from exile and demanded to be reinstated with their estates and former prerogatives which, in the southern districts, had been handed over to Christian landowners. The new Hakim not only refused the Druze claims outright but further reduced their judicial functions. Even when firmans were issued by the Porte authorizing the restoration of their feudal privileges, Bashir III refused to execute the decrees. The Patriarch made things worse when he issued a circular (irlām) urging the Christians living in the mixed districts to renounce the legal authority still held by their Druze chiefs. By this time, the Christians were the majority in the Druze areas, and many had become wealthy during the Egyptian period when most of the Druze chiefs were in exile.3 On the other hand, the Druze had cooperated in the rebellion that ended Egyptian rule; they were on the winning side; and they expected to return to their feudal privileges. Bashir Qasim and the Patriarch, for their part, were happy with the

28 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

new order which Muhammad Ali had established, but they did not have Bashir II and Ibrahim to enforce it. It soon became obvious to the diplomatic establishment that Bashir Qasim could not stay on in Dayr al-Qamar, but, unfortunately, they and the Patriarch could not agree on a replacement. THE WAR OF 1841 In the autumn of 1841, a Christian was caught shooting a partridge on the land of a Druze sheikh near the Druze town of B‛aqlīn. A melee ensued and several persons were killed. A Christian force set out from Dayr al-Qamar to attack the Druze at B‛aqlīn, killed seventeen, and returned sounding the clamor of victory. Before long, Druze warriors had surrounded Dayr al-Qamar and were poised to rid themselves of the Maronite Hakim. War cries reverberated throughout the Mountain, in Jezzīn and in Zahleh. The fighting quickly spread to other parts of the country. The Druze ravaged numerous villages in the Jezzīn area and, with Ottoman complicity, managed to regain control of the Shūf. Christian forces from Zahleh, Ihdin, B’abdā, and Jezzīn tried to relieve Dayr al-Qamar without success. As the Christians were moving toward the capital, the Druze of Rāshayya (a town on the Anti-Lebanon side of the Biqā) were mounting an attack on the Greek Catholic stronghold of Zahleh (see Figure 2.1). With some assistance from the Shi’a of Ba’albek, the people of Zahleh managed to defeat the Druze, chasing them out of the Biqā Valley.4 Yet Dayr al-Qamar remained surrounded, and the Druze were preparing to attack other Christian settlements. Several notables tried to get the war stopped. They recognized that a DruzeMaronite conflict would only help the Ottomans, that if the Druze lost their feudal privileges, Christians would lose theirs. When the Druze initially surrounded the Hakim’s palace, Colonel Rose of the British detachment galloped to Dayr al-Qamar to avert a slaughter, but the Druze and Turks had agreed secretly to cooperate in attacking it and the Christian quarter. Forces from the Maronite centers won a few engagements but were unable to come to the aid of their Hakim. The Druze eventually managed to infiltrate some armed men into the town and surrounded the Amir’s palace. A subsequent attack slaughtered a great number of Christians and resulted in the capture and shameful treatment of Bashir III. While one Janbalāt (Na‛aman) was trying to limit the conflict, another (Sa‛īd) took part in a massacre of over 200 Christians at Saghbīn. About this time, the Porte’s own representative in Beirut, Najīb Pasha, made plans to go on the pilgrimage. His absence, presumably, would allow escalation to continue until the Lebanese system destroyed itself. Druze bands rampaged; Maronite forces stumbled over each other; the Patriarch took refuge with the British; and the Ottoman representative planned to leave. Richard Wood, the British agent who was endeavoring to save the Imarah, was finally able to persuade the Muslim ‛ulama, the Druze chiefs, and the Turkish Pasha to end the bloodshed. Once pressure had been exerted in Istanbul and the appropriate orders were issued, the fires of intrigue and passion began to

WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 29

Figure 2.1 Major regions, cities, and towns of Greater Lebanon Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

burn themselves out. More than 3,000 lives were lost, villages torched, and crops destroyed. The Maronite clergy had threatened, and the Druze took booty. Fighting had been sect against sect, a terrible precedent for the Lebanese. The European Powers continued to exert pressure, and the cumbersome Ottoman machinery finally began to crank out a new approach to Lebanon. The

30 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

unfortunate Bashir Qasim was dispatched to Istanbul, and a new governor, Umar Pasha, was sent to make those appointments to office which might placate the various adversaries making their claims. For the most part, the Powers sought the independence of Lebanon while Istanbul hoped to convince them that direct rule was the only solution to the country’s endemic strife. Prepared to employ a veneer of tanzimāt5 constitutionalism and take advantage of the conflictproneness of the mountain dwellers, the Turks expected to supercede the local rulers with their own administrative control. On the Mountain, the Druze, initially, were delighted with the turn of events. They had rid themselves of the Shihābs and were able to reoccupy their previous holdings, which would surely give them dominance in the south. True to the requisites of the local ethic, they immediately began to overplay their hand, lording it over the local Christians and taking every opportunity to demonstrate their revived power and prestige. Similarly, many Maronites were averse to obeying a power (the Ottomans) that was weaker than their own European friends. Before long, the Druze became so “active” in re-establishing their presence that the situation in the Shūf once again deteriorated to the point of war. Indeed, Umar Pasha was forced to send his own troops into the area to control the situation. In an attempt to mollify the Maronites, he decided to incorporate some of their number in his army, soldiers who had formerly served Bashir II against the Druze rebels in the Hawrān.6 Thus, within the space of a few months, the Druze were turned from enthusiastic supporters of the new regime to implacable opponents. For their opposition, seven of their chiefs were jailed. In the meantime, the Ottomans were attempting to persuade the Powers that direct rule was the only solution and were circulating petitions among the Lebanese, especially the Christians, calling for this change. Although the Maronite Church opposed direct rule, some members of both the Druze and Maronite feudal class, as well as some among the Greek Orthodox, favored it. According to Colonel Charles Henry Churchill (who lived in Lebanon at this time), the Turks bribed and intimidated the mountain dwellers to the hilt and undermined what would have otherwise been the majority’s clear choice, namely, to reject direct rule and bring back a Shihāb to govern the Imarah.7 The Maronite feudal chiefs, like their Druze counterparts, were increasingly faced with policies that threatened their traditional roles. Lebanon’s new trade relationships with the Europeans had brought hard times to the landowners, and an obvious solution to their dilemmas was to join with the Druze manāsib (feudal lords) in demanding the restoration of the traditional Druze-Maronite state.8 Soon after the 1841 clashes died down and Ottoman plans were clear, some of the Druze sheikhs did try to interest the Maronites in a new alliance. Each side, however, insisted that it would cooperate only after the other had acted first. This arrangement amounted to a “mutually impossible demand” which, by its very nature, could not have been reconciled.9

WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 31

THE WAR OF 1842 Unable to come to an agreement with the Maronites, the Druze decided to act alone and, late in 1842, rose in rebellion once again. On this occasion, Yusuf Abd al-Malik of the Jurd and Shibli al-Aryan of the Shūf gathered Druze fighting men from the Jurd, Wadi al-Taym, and the Hawrān; moved into the Shūf; blocked the road to Damascus; and surrounded the Turkish Governor, Umar Pasha, in his palace at Beit al-Din. Trapped, and without water or supplies, Umar might have capitulated to the Druze demands had not the Pasha in Beirut been able to bring up a force from the rear that, when combined with Umar’s beseiged troops, was able to defeat the rebels. Shibli al-Aryan had been expecting a force from Antiliyās to come to his relief, but the Christians there were unable to agree and left him dangling. Turkish concessions to the Maronites at the last minute had artfully separated them from the (possible) coalition. Some of the Druze fled to the Hawrān; others were captured and added to the already large number of Druze sheikhs in Ottoman prisons. THE DOUBLE KAYMAKAMATE Following this episode, the Porte replaced Umar Pasha and adopted a new plan, suggested by Austria’s Prince Metternich. It called for dividing the Mountain into Christian and Druze districts and selecting a Maronite kaymakam for one and a Druze kaymakam for the other. The activities of the kaymakams were to be both administrative and judicial, thus usurping many of the traditional functions (and revenue sources) of the mu‛qāti‛ji.10 Major problems occurred at the outset. Originally, the plan was intended to give representation on the basis of religion alone; but, unfortunately, Druze lived in the Christian area and Christians lived in the Druze area (see Figure 2.2). In the latter case, the Christians outnumbered the Druze by a two-to-one margin, so that implementing the plan as originally formulated would have given the Christian Kaymakam authority over more people in the Druze area than that possessed by the Druze Kaymakam. Recognizing this fact, the Ottoman Governor chose to implement the agreement by dividing the Kaymakamates into two territorial areas and made himself the administrator for the Christians in the Druze areas and the Druze in the Christian areas. Neither the Druze nor the Maronites would cooperate satisfactorily with the new arrangements, and it was impossible to find a way to give representation to those persons living in the mixed districts. Other schemes were tried, including the establishment of “wakīls” (agents) reporting to the kaymakam of his own religion, but these also did not satisfy the chiefs. The Druze had never made use of them and were not about to surrender their political power to Christian wakīls.

32 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

Figure 2.2 Traditional locations of Lebanese communities Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

THE WAR OF 1845 The rigidity and hostility among the various communities continued unabated, and in less than a year the Druze-Maronite war of 1845 was in full swing. The Druze held a conference at Mukhtāra and settled their own Janbalāt-Yazbak

WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 33

divisions as a preliminary to taking action. The Maronites, recognizing that plans were being made at Mukhtāra, held their own meeting at B‛abdā where the Shihābs assumed leadership.11 The Christian forces attacked first, moving quickly through the upper reaches of the Barūk river valley in the Shūf, burning Druze villages as they went. Their goal was the Janbalāt palace at Mukhtāra, which had become the center for the Druze opposition. At Mukhtāra, the Maronites were surprised by a fusillade from a large Turkish force drawn up in front of the fortress. This attack, combined with the Druze, threw back the Christian advance and forced their retreat from the Shūf. In the Matn, where the Maronites vastly outnumbered the Druze, they also began to get the upper hand but were again stopped by Turkish troops just as they were putting their enemies to flight. Also, from the beginning, the Christians were divided. Greek Orthodox leaders, who wanted their own kaymakam, refused to join the campaign, and the Khāzin sheikhs, still jealous of the authority of the Christian Kaymakam, refused to join with their forces. The key battle of the 1845 war was fought at Abayh. There, the Druze engaged the Maronites (led by the Shihāb amirs) in a fierce encounter that ended with the rout of the latter. Again, Turkish forces served as a reserve by blockading the Christians and holding the Shihābs hostage in their own palace. With victory in their grasp, the Druze now began an assault on Christian villages in the Matn, pursuing the fleeing Christians and killing as many as they could.12 By late summer, the protests of the European consuls began to have an effect, and the Turks were persuaded to intervene and stop the fighting. In the meantime, the Powers were able to get the Porte to send the Ottoman Foreign Minister, Shakib Effendi, to the scene. He arrived in Beirut during September of 1845, having already consulted with the consuls and local leaders, and proposed a kind of primitive version of the confessional system later adopted by the French and utilized by the Lebanese during their period of independence. A DECADE OF PEACE The Règlement Shakib Effendi was the last of several attempts to institutionalize the “Double Kaymakamate.” In this case, the Porte divided the Mountain into two administrative units, one Christian and one Druze, each headed by a kaymakam to be assisted by a council (majlis) composed of members for each sect (Sunni, Druze, Maronite, Greek Orthodox, and Greek Catholic—with an advisor for the Shi‛ites). In this arrangement, there would be a Druze area and a Christian area, but all sects would have access to representation in both areas. In addition, the wakīls established in the previous version of the Kaymakamate were retained for use in the “mixed districts.” Although this series of structures threatened to bring chaos to the feudal system, it did provide a more modern administrative system for the Mountain. Individuals could find representation beyond the Patriarch and the chiefs on a basis they understood and could, perhaps, indulge in a little more politics and a little less war.

34 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

Although, from the outset, there were problems with implementing it, the Règlement brought more than ten years of comparative calm to Lebanon. The secret of its success was that it could never be effectively implemented. Moreover, in this instance, unlike previous attempts, its non-implementation was equally ineffective for everyone. In fact, Lebanon witnessed ten years’ return to tradition, barely concealed by the new institutional trappings. The Khāzin sheikhs in the Kisrawān once again demanded exactions from their peasants, the like of which had not been available to them since the time of Bashir II. The Druze sheikhs were even more defiant, complying with neither the Druze Kaymakam nor the Turkish authorities. The rift between the Druze and the Ottomans lasted nearly ten years, a major reason so little large-scale violence erupted for that decade. Near the end of this period, in 1852, the Turks decided to order the conscription of the Druze, who thereupon fled to the highlands of Wadi al-Taym and declared rebellion. The attempt by the Ottomans to put down this rebellion proved fruitless, as did trying to incite the Maronites to take the field against them. While a few skirmishes between the communities did break out, most of the campaigning was staged by France and Britain. The French Consul had tried to get relief for the Christians from their Druze overlords, who had been ignoring the authority of the Kaymakams. On the other hand, the Druze had turned to the British for friendship as a counter-weight to French support for the Maronites. The rebellion of 1852, therefore, took on an additional dimension for Lebanon: overt rivalry between the Powers.13 Unable to crush the rebels in Wadi al-Taym (and the Hawrān) by the end of 1852, the Ottomans, under British influence, withdrew their previous demands on the Druze sheikhs, allowed their return to the Mountain, and collaborated with them on the formation of a special Druze detachment to fight in the Crimean War. Though never sent, the establishment of this military unit indicated an acceptance by both the Druze and the Turks of a new relationship, one that would be lethal in 1860. THE 1858 REBELLION IN KISRAWĀN Between 1852 and 1858, the Mountain’s politics was characterized by clashes over personalities and interference on the part of French and British agents. While the Druze chiefs mostly ignored the new instrumentalities established by the Règlement Shakib Effendi, the Christian sheikhs busied themselves with trying to determine who would be their Kaymakam and what status he and various wakīls would have. These, in turn, began to represent the church and especially its younger clergy, who were sympathetic with the Maronite peasants. Ironically, under the kaymakams, peasants living in the “mixed districts” had access to protection from the excesses of their feudal lords not available to those living in the all-Maronite district of Kisrawān. Thus it was more of an advantage to be a Maronite peasant in a Druze district than to be a Maronite peasant in a Maronite district. In this way, Ottoman institutional reform gave added impetus

WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 35

to the breakdown of peasant-sheikh relations among the Christians and not the Druze. The peasant rebellion of 1858 emerged from a dispute between the Maronite Khāzin sheikhs and the Christian Kaymakam, Bashir Ahmed Abu‛l-Lam. Bashir Ahmed was determined to uphold the powers of his office, and these often were in opposition to the traditional functions of the sheikhs. In carrying out his duties as Kaymakam, Bashir Ahmed encountered resistance and retaliated by arresting several of the Kisrawān sheikhs. They, in turn, surrounded the Kaymakam at his place of residence in Brummāna and forced him to flee to Beirut. Bashir Ahmed had often used the Maronite Church and its local clergy to limit the power of the feudal class. As his politics in this regard became increasingly transparent, the Khāzin sheikhs began in earnest to organize against him and to promote his rival, Bashir Assāf. However, their attention was so riveted to the vicissitudes of the competition between Bashir Ahmed and Bashir Assāf that they failed to see the truly momentous developments taking place among the Maronite peasantry. These presaged a breakdown of the feudal order altogether.14 The Khāzins (in 1858) began circulating petitions and organizing meetings as a means of convincing the Ottomans to dismiss the “unpopular” Bashir Ahmed. An initial meeting was held in Ghazīr; wakīls were selected; and the lords were led to believe that the populace was organizing on their behalf. These organizational efforts backfired, however, when it soon became evident that what the people really wanted was to have their own grievances heard, and these turned out to be grievances, not against Bashir Ahmed, but against the Khāzin sheikhs themselves. Economic conditions had worsened for the sheikhs, and they had become more demanding. They acted as if they owned the peasants (on a status basis) when, in fact, they were little more than landowners.15 Having organized the peasants in order to get rid of their Kaymakam, the feudal lords of Kisrawān had helped organize their own demise. Led initially by Salih Sfayr of Ajaltūn, the people were encouraged to elect wakīls, present their grievances, and bring their protests to the feudal lords themselves. When the sheikhs first realized they were confronted with a peasant revolt, they were both astonished and uncompromising, but their fulminations and reprisals simply intensified the animosities of the peasants against them. Finally, when the sheikhs agreed to negotiate with the peasants, the latter responded by increasing their demands. Under the leadership of Tanyūs Shahīn of Rayfūn, who had been made Sheikh Shabāb by the peasants, additional meetings were held and action planned. In early spring of 1859, hostilities escalated, and the Khāzins were forced to flee for their lives. Several were killed, their homes plundered, and their crops seized and distributed. As the Khāzins were being ousted from Kisrawān by Tanyūs and his populist bands, the Druze were busy settling differences among their factions and uniting behind Sa‘īd Janbalāt. After holding consultations with Khurshīd Pasha, the Ottoman Governor, they began planning for war. At the same time, the high clergy of the Maronites, spurred by their populist movement in Kisrawān and

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worried about the activities of the Druze, began to urge their co-religionists in the mixed areas to take action. If it was acceptable from the Patriarch’s point of view for the common people to free themselves from their Maronite chiefs, surely it was just as necessary, if not more so, for them to be free of their Druze chiefs. The call to action in the mixed areas, however, could not be made on the basis of feudal status but only on the basis of religious sect. Druze peasants showed no signs of rebelling against their chiefs or trying to undo their traditional feudal obligations. Thus, revision of the feudal order in the south meant that Maronite peasants (and perhaps other Christians) would, ipso facto, be opposing the Druze. Differences would not be those of status but of sect. THE CIVIL WAR OF 1860 The squabbles over kaymakams and the peasant insurrection in Kisrawān spawned an outpouring of “nationalist” fervor from the Maronites and plotting for war on the part of the Druze. From the way the war was conducted, it is evident that the latter had conspired with local Ottoman officials not to interfere with Druze attacks and even to assist them where possible. On the other hand, Maronite preparations were considerably less discreet, with various clergy actively engaged in mobilizing their war effort.16 The Bishop of Beirut, Tubiyya ‛Awn, has been singled out by several observers of these events as one whose actions were especially inflamatory. His Maronitism was of the radical sort. Bishop Tubiyya organized some of the younger Maronites, encouraging them to continue on the warpath even after the Patriarch had attempted to cool things down.17 He reportedly told the Christians of Dayr al-Qamar that if they refused to fight the Druze, he (‛Awn) would “cause” the Christians and Druze to go to war.18 The growing hostility expanded beyond the Maronite-Druze confrontation as the Greek Catholics of Zahleh mobilized and some of the Greek Orthodox declared their readiness to join in a Christian war against the Druze. From the spring of 1859 on, both sides hastily brought in and distributed large numbers of weapons. The Druze were united and showed no signs of squabbling among themselves. The Christians were led by bishops, muleteers, and leftover Shihābs. Some of the Orthodox were decidedly unenthusiastic about the coming war. Indeed, it is clear that, on the Christian side, almost no one with any military experience was prepared to take charge. Who would lead the Christian legions: the muleteer from Rayfūn, the Maronite Bishop of Beirut, the Greek Orthodox Bishop of Sidon? Whatever the case, it would not include the Khāzin sheikhs. They would not fight for a Patriarch who had let the peasants walk all over them. Similar to the case in 1841, where a Christian was caught poaching on Druze land, an incident occurred which rapidly escalated the violence between members of the two sects as they prepared for war in 1860. Near Beit Mīri, in August of 1859, two pack animals collided with one another, precipitating an armed affray. Several people were injured on both sides, and battle cries were raised.19 The Patriarch tried to calm Maronite tempers, but his efforts were

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fruitless. Bishop Tubiyya ‛Awn issued inflamatory proclamations and Tanyūs Shahīn, from Kisrawān, promised 50,000 men. In the spring of 1860, sporadic incidents broke out—hijackings, beatings, killings—and before long, the Christian inhabitants of the Druze areas were in panic, abandoning their villages and fleeing to Christian strongholds. The Greek Catholics of Zahleh took the initiative, sending out a badly organized force of 3,000 men to attack the Druze at Ayn Dāra. There, they were met by a much smaller Druze force which sent them in retreat. Tanyūs Shahīn mustered a force of his followers from Kisrawān and proceeded to B‛abdā to protect the Shihābs resident there. Convinced that Shahīn’s undisciplined troops would more likely invite the Druze than protect the Shihābs, the latter persuaded the Kisrawānis to withdraw, preferring to depend on the Turks for their protection. Yet, no sooner had Shahīn’s Christians withdrawn than the Druze attacked, sending the inhabitants of B‛abdā and nearby villages stumbling down the hillsides to Beirut. (The last Hakim from Lebanon, Bashir Qasim Shihāb, a blind old man by this time, was captured and hacked to death by the Druze marauders.) Panic ensued among the Christians in the Druze areas, but their attempts to mobilize for war were hopelessly confused. Local officials and the consuls seemed to agree that the Druze had scotched the Christian drive and could be persuaded by the Ottomans to desist. They failed to recognize, however, that the conflict was no longer a traditional battle over interests; it had become a struggle inflamed with religious hatred. Soon after the rout at B‛abdā, the emboldened Druze initiated the first of two attacks on Dayr al-Qamar. They burned part of the town and, though suffering severe losses, forced the desperate Christians to surrender. The next day, Tahir Pasha arrived from Beirut with a Turkish force sent to restore order, and the Druze agreed to withdraw. In doing so, some of their number began a large-scale rampage, attacking Jezzīn and the villages on the sides and in the valley of that broad amphitheater that lies below its waterfalls. These ferocious assaults and burning of villages produced the intended panic, and the Christians, pursued by their attackers, fled as best they could down the mountain slopes toward Sidon. Perhaps as many as 1,200 persons were killed in the Jezzīn area and 300 more at the hands of Muslim fanatics in Sidon itself. At Hāsbayya and Rāshayya, in Wadi al-Taym, a pattern of cooperation between the Druze attackers and the local commanders resulted in wanton slaughter (see Figure 2.1 for location of regions and towns). At Hāsbayya, the Druze launched their typical surprise attack, surrounding the town and threatening to overwhelm its defenses. When the Christians asked the Turkish commander to let them take refuge in the serrai (fortress), he assented. Once under his control, he then proceeded to disarm the Christians and, after a delay caused by protests from the consuls, threw open the gates to let the maddened Druze rush in. Every man between the ages of seven and seventy was slaughtered, perhaps 970 in all. A similar episode occurred at Rāshayya, where Ismā‛il al-Atrash brought a force out of the Hawrān, surrounded the town, and succeeded in getting the doors of the serrai thrown open to him. The result was a

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massacre of some 150 of its inhabitants, including the leading members of the Sunni Shihābs who had sought protection there.20 At Zahleh, on the western edge of the Biqā Valley, the Druze could surely remember the severe thrashing that the town’s Greek Catholic militia gave them in the first Druze-Maronite war of 1841–2. In June of 1860, soon after their victories in Wadi al-Taym (south of Zahleh), the Druze advanced toward the town. Its Christian townsmen twice ventured forth to pre-empt the Druze attack but were thrown back in both encounters. Hoping for help from the Maronite districts in the north, the Zahlites retired inside their walls to wait out a siege. Populist leaders such as Tanyūs Shahīn (with his Kisrawānis) and Yusuf Karam (with his own militia from Ihden) had remained almost untouched up to this point; yet they had large numbers of armed men at their disposal (though of uncertain military value). For reasons that have never been fully explained, none of these ever came to the assistance of Zahleh even though, according to the townspeople, aid had been promised.21 Convinced that Yusuf Karam was coming, the Zahlites opened their gates to what they thought were his forces only to find that they had been deceived. The Druze had painted crosses on their flags to mislead their enemies and were able to ride their Trojan Horses right into town. Hundreds were killed in the battle for the town and in the retreat to the coast following the Druze onslaught. Even the defeated and humiliated Christians of Dayr al-Qamar were not to be spared a slaughter. Following Zahleh, the Druze forces descended on the defenseless “first town” of the Christians, burning and plundering it for its considerable spoil. Once more, the hapless residents sought protection in the serrai, in this case the old palace of the Shihābs. Then followed the familiar pattern. The Christians were disarmed by the Turks who opened the gates for a massacre by the Druze warriors. The Turkish regiment did nothing to stop the violence, and more than 2,000 people lost their lives. Pressure from the Europeans finally induced Khurshīd Pasha to call the leaders of the two sects together to present them with a set of peace proposals. These both sides accepted. All was to be forgotten, no compensation assessed, and the blame placed on the malfunctioning of the Kaymakamate. While the “Peace Convention” actually consecrated the Druze victory, it also provided for a greater degree of direct rule by the Governor, perhaps the object of Ottoman strategy all along. Even the Christian leaders, at that time, seemed to accept the outcome and did not request European military intervention.22 Although a furor erupted in Europe over the massacres, the Peace Convention might well have ended the tragic story had it not been for a later event that occurred outside Lebanon. In Damascus (July 9, 1860), the Muslim population, aided by soldiers of the local forces, set upon the Christians in that city and slaughtered nearly 5,500 of them in one day. Christians throughout the Levant were now persuaded that pogroms against them were being officially sanctioned by the Ottomans. Whole communities in Galilee suddenly converted to Islam. When news of this unprecedented outbreak of horror in Damascus reached Paris,

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the French government immediately dispatched a squadron, and a month later General d’Hautpoul landed in Beirut. The Turks also reacted by sending Fu‘ād Pasha, a respected professional, to Syria, where he immediately commenced an inquiry into the affair. Fu‛ād punished the local ruffians in Damascus with utmost severity. Some 170 officials, soldiers, and locals were summarily executed, including Ahmed Pasha, the Governor in Damascus. The Turkish commanders in both Hāsbayya and Rāshayya (subordinates to officials in Damascus) were also executed: they had obviously connived with the Druze in the massacres of those two towns. Fu‛ād Pasha then proceeded to Beirut, perhaps intending to deal as harshly there with the killers as he had in Damascus. In Lebanon, however, both Christian and Druze had acted to incite the war, and it was not easy to determine guilt. Fu‛ād Pasha made the mistake of asking the Maronite notables for a list of those Druze whom they thought deserved to be executed. The Maronites presented a list of 4,000 persons—more than half the total number of 8,000 adult men of the Druze community in Lebanon—whom “these ecclesiastics wished, in cold blood, to consign to death.”23 After continued haggling, the Christians managed to reduce this list to a mere 1,200 individuals but refused to give public testimony against them in person, claiming they all deserved death.24 As it turned out, most of the Druze who were sentenced to capital punishment or exiled to Tripolitania had already fled to the Hawrān. Eventually, most had their sentences commuted. The French force did march over the Mountain and back but was engaged more in relief work than in military activities.25 THE RÈGLEMENT Finally, the Turkish government convened a meeting of the representatives of the Powers in the form of an international commission presided over by Fu‛ād Pasha, who had acted so resolutely in reasserting law and order in the Levant. After a long and difficult period of negotiations, the Commission produced the Règlement organique which reorganized Lebanon, limited it to the Mountain, and created a new jurisdiction called the Mutasarrifate. This governorship would be headed by a non-Lebanese Christian, directly appointed by and accountable to the Porte. An Administrative Council was instituted to assist the Mutasarrif (Governor), and it provided for representation on a sectarian basis, a feature that was further developed when the French established Greater Lebanon after the First World War. With more than 12,000 people killed in the Levant in 1860 and an aroused public in Europe; Britain, France, Prussia, Russia, Austria, and the Ottomans signed the Protocol of August 3, forming an International Commission to (among other things) establish a new political accord for the communities of Lebanon. From the work of this Commission came what was formally known as the Règlement et protocole relatifs à la réorganization du Mont Liban, signed on June 9, 1861 and amended on September 6, 1864. It accomplished the following:

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1 provided the Mountain with a distinctive and separate status within the Ottoman system; 2 specified that the jurisdiction would have a Christian governor (mutasarrif) whose authority was largely independent of the Ottomans; 3 created an Administrative Council to apportion taxation and supervise in spending the revenue that was raised; 4 gave the Council a consultative role in the Governor’s employment of Ottoman troops; 5 divided the country into six districts, each with its own mudīr (director) and council, appointed by the Governor in consultation with local leaders; 6 and (where possible) further divided each district into smaller sectarian cantons which were, in turn, further subdivided into village communes of approximately 500 persons, each headed by an elected sheikh. In the mixed areas, this official represented only those from his own sect. These, in some respects, were only its major formal achievements; informally, the Règlement accomplished even more. It introduced some legal “play” into the local political game and, by setting the precedent of having as the ruler a Christian who was not Lebanese, reduced communal strife on this crucial question. The settlement also established the practice of allowing the European consuls to intervene in important matters, e.g., to appoint and reappoint governors and to alter the provisions it had established by amending the Règlement.26 Significantly, the Administrative Council and the appointed Governors began to identify with the needs of the new jurisdiction; the Council in particular began to defend the system as constituted. Moreover, it established a species of electoral politics on both a republican and sectarian basis, a dual mode of representation that, at the time, was the only realistic way for the Lebanese to manage their rivalries. The consuls also tended to serve as an executive agency in reserve, acting as a clearing house for communal interests. It must be emphasized, of course, that the Powers partly ruled Lebanon during the period of the Mutasarrifate. They provided much of its constitutionalism and participated in the orchestration of political change, especially that which involved the transfer of power. The consuls, sometimes together and sometimes separately, also intervened from time to time to protect their creation. One such intervention occurred in 1864, when the need to alter the basis for choosing the Administrative Council arose. The French suggested a conference for amending the Règlement and proposed a nine-member Administrative Council with the Maronites receiving four seats; the Greek Catholics, the Druze, and the Greek Orthodox receiving one each; and the Sunnis and Shi‛ites (together) getting two seats. The British and Russians came back with a proposal to establish a twelveman council, giving the Maronites four seats; the Druze three; two for the Greek Orthodox; and one each for the Greek Catholics, the Sunnis, and the Shi’a. This apportionment upheld the sectarian basis for representation without giving

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France’s Uniate protégés an absolute majority. This arrangement was agreed to and maintained for the duration of the Mutasarrifate. Other changes, beyond those involving the Administrative Council, also had far-reaching consequences. Each village, no matter what its sectarian composition, was to have only one elected sheikh, and these, as a group, would select the members of the Administrative Council. Moreover, in the mixed districts where the hostilities of 1860 took place, a candidate for an allotted Council seat would find it necessary to solicit votes from electors of other sects if he wanted to win. In the Matn, for example, the candidate for the Maronite seat was forced to obtain the vote of a Druze, a Shi‛a, and a Greek Catholic to defeat his (Maronite) opposition for that seat. This combination of territorial and sectarian representation “greatly diminished the possibility of a candidate holding extremist sectarian views being elected.”27 In short, the revision of 1864 was a “package deal” that not only made the system more representative but strengthened the Governor (at the expense of the traditional holders of power) and reduced the influence of the Patriarch. Finally, as a vote of confidence, the Powers reappointed the first Mutasarrif, Da‛ūd Pasha, for an additional five-year term and allowed him to continue the Lebanese experiment. DA‛ŪD PASHA The first Governor of the Mutasarrifate, Da‛ūd Pasha, was a compromise choice. After extensive bickering and maneuvering, the consuls finally decided on a nonLebanese, Armenian Catholic as the only person who would not negate any of their essential interests. In 1861, Da‛ūd was appointed with only the British in opposition. As a man from a minority sect of a minority religion in a Sunni system, Da‛ūd went to Lebanon determined to prove that Christians could prosper in a reformed Empire. Soon after taking office, according to the American missionary, Henry Harris Jessup, the new Mutasarrif held a reception for the notables of Lebanon and, in an address to them, used the following illustration: A doctor fell sick, and called in a fellow physician and said to him, “We are three, you, I, and the disease. If you help me, we will conquer the disease. If you help the disease, you will conquer me.” So we in Lebanon are three; you, the people, I, the ruler, and the traditional animosity of races in Lebanon. Help me, and we shall conquer it. Help it, and you will ruin me and yourselves together.28 Da‛ūd recognized the disease, the amoral relativism of the Levantine ethic; and, with his allusion to a structural problem, seems to have anticipated the game theorists’ conception of conflict. The difficulty of Da‛ūd’s position is evident when the many sources of opposition to his authority are considered. A satisfactory choice for the French in

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Istanbul and Paris, Da‛ūd did not have strong support from many French officials on the scene in Lebanon. The British had pointedly voted against his appointment and would wait for him to fail. The Maronite Patriarch, Bulous Mas‛ad, who had played a role in the Druze-Maronite civil war, was irrevocably opposed to anyone but a Maronite holding the office. He and his bishops had been part of the problem in the past; they would be part of the problem in the future. In addition, Da‛ūd was faced with the disease—the sects, the rivalries, the disparate regions of the country, and its questionable viability. On several occasions he pleaded with the Ottomans and the Powers to increase the size of his jurisdiction by attaching Beirut and the Biqā region to it. Besides the difficulties he had with his immediate rivals, Da‛ūd was also vulnerable to the structural limitations on his power. The unique status of Mount Lebanon was a concession that had been forced on the Ottomans; they were not plumping for its success. Da‛ūd’s program was not their program, and they did not always cooperate with him, e.g., Beirut’s tax base was not made available to improve the infrastructure of the Lebanese hinterland on which the city depended. In addition, until 1864, Da‛ūd had to deal with an Administrative Council that regularly opposed his policies, especially those which required money. He also had to put up with the many agents (wakīls) appointed by each of the six sects to be continually “at the governor’s elbow.” The town of Dayr alQamar was itself a source of trouble. The Druze chiefs were gradually returning to the Shūf and, in several instances, displayed their vengence against the Maronite land-owners who had replaced them. The feudal district of al-Manāsif, in which the capital was located, had traditionally been under Druze control. There was still plenty of opportunity for political intrigue in the mixed districts. Evoking memories of the recent past and warning the towns-people of Dayr alQamar about the future, Da‛ūd told them: You were poor, and I left you alone; today you are going to be rich; you are going to receive your indemnity. Be as peaceful in prosperity as you have been during the last three years, and I will look after you.29 In fact, Da‛ūd was more successful in the fractious south than in the north where the Maronites still hoped for their state. Most important, he was able to win the confidence of both the French and British, especially those in Lebanon. It was this relationship that enabled the outside to provide the political cement that held the inside together. During the final two years of his tenure in Lebanon, Da‛ūd’s program had begun to bear fruit. Most of the country was pacified and paying taxes; local administration had become more regularized; and the new infrastructure of roads and schools was beginning to pay off in the expansion of commerce. Da‛ūd’s confidence and determination in his self-proclaimed mission grew by leaps and bounds. He was sure that, by this time, the European consuls had come to believe him indispensable and that the Lebanese public would actively support his plans

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to annex Beirut and part of the Biqā to Mount Lebanon. But Da‛ūd had one additional adversary, a man who, like himself, was ambitious and reformist. This was Muhammad Rashid Pasha, Vali in Damascus of the recently established Vilāyet of Syria. Both he and Da‛ūd wanted their jurisdictions to succeed, but Da‘ūd also wanted to be elevated to the rank of Vali, i.e., the Viceroy of the Vilāyet of Lebanon. This larger jurisdiction, with Beirut as its capital, would gain the allegiance of the Lebanese and serve the interests of the Powers. Were this to happen, however, it would also come at the expense of the Vali in Damascus. When Rashid Pasha shifted the customs revenues of Beirut to the Damascus treasury, Da‛ūd expressed his annoyance at this change and began a campaign to have Beirut attached to his jurisdiction. At this time, the question of the Mutasarrif’s reappointment was also under consideration, and Da‛ūd, certain of success, decided to tie his reappointment to the disposition of Beirut and its customs revenues. Thus, against the advice of the consuls, he suddenly appeared at the Porte and threatened to resign. Da‛ūd apparently believed that the Powers would rather put pressure on the Porte to make the changes he demanded than take a chance on a replacement. In this assessment, he proved to be mistaken. By the time the French Ambassador in Istanbul had persuaded Da‛ūd not to resign, Fu‛ād Pasha was in the process of “kicking him upstairs” to another (Christian) post in the Ottoman government. Da‛ūd did not meet all his goals in Lebanon but did take the first steps toward creating a new state. He also cooperated in the peaceful transfer of power, an important precedent. Although his work was unfinished, the first Mutasarrif was able to leave with honor.30 YUSUF (BEY) KARAM The most difficult domestic opponent (along with the Patriarch) for Da‛ūd Pasha was Yusuf Karam of Ihden, near Bisharri in north Lebanon. Yusuf began to attract a following when the Druze-Maronite conflict was brewing and recruited a small militia to assist his co-religionists in the south. Though he played no significant role in the 1860 war,31 by its end he had become the most prominent of the young Maronite leaders and was eventually appointed Christian Kaymakam of the northern districts. Although Kaymakam for only a brief period, Karam compiled an excellent record, playing a role in mediating between the peasants of Kisrawān and the Khāzin sheikhs and impressing the British and French representatives. Once the Powers had intervened and imposed the Règlement, Karam undoubtedly hoped to become the Mutasarrif. When it was decided that only a non-Lebanese should hold that office, he was greatly disappointed and did not stay for long in any of the positions to which he was appointed. Suspect in the eyes of many Christians, and not on good terms with either Da‛ūd or the Patriarch, Karam’s star had dimmed far below his expectations.

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Returning to the north, Karam once again started to organize his own movement, causing excitement and attracting a following. His message was that the Mountain was being ruled by foreigners, contrary to the traditions of its peoples. Da‛ūd’s response to Karam’s resignation was to try to scotch the incipient rebellion by rearranging the old feudal pieces. An Abu‛1-Lām was sent back to the Matn while Amir Majīd Shihāb was put in charge of the north where Karam was raising the fuss. Following some disturbances in the Kūra region involving some of Karam’s sympathizers, Da‛ūd ordered his arrest. Soon after, an Ottoman troop took Yusuf Bey to Beirut, and then, accompanied by Fu‛ād Pasha, he was exiled to Istanbul. Claiming that he had been wronged, Karam began a campaign to return to Lebanon and, instead of waiting for arrangements to be worked out, simply slipped into the country on his own in November of 1864. Unable to get the consuls to intervene, his supporters soon stirred up trouble in the north even as Da‛ūd was conciliating them.32 After the French informed the Maronites that they would not tolerate their secessionist movement, Da‛ūd was given a written statement from Karam promising to recognize the Mutasarrif’s Muttasarif’s authority and remit the required amount of taxes to Beit al-Din. However, Karam was not satisfied with this arrangement and continued to act with independence. More confrontations occurred, and Da‛ūd once again sent Turkish troops north to arrest the Bey. Afterwards, there ensued what could be called Yusuf’s Yusuf’s period of “internal” exile, a protracted series of small engagements that kept him on the run. For nearly the whole of 1866, the Bey from Ihden played cat-andmouse with the Governor’s troops, conducting a kind of guerrilla warfare in which he sometimes just disappeared, only to reappear later with locals recruited along the way. His forces fought a few pitched battles but mostly moved about in a fashion to keep the government insecure, demonstrating, once again, the difficulty of controlling dissidents in the inaccessible heights of Lebanon. Finally, in November of 1867, Karam came out of hiding with about 150 men and marched from Batrūn into Kisrawān. His troop finally met the Lebanese militia in the valley of Abu Firān near Beit Shabāb, and, after a brief skirmish, a ceasefire was arranged. Taking sanctuary with the Patriarch, Karam negotiated his surrender to Da‛ūd and indefinite exile. He was never to return to Lebanon. Still, Karam’s influence on politics in the Mutasarrifate remained potent for another decade. He ended up in Paris and there, with his longtime supporters, the Bey precipitated the crisis that kept Da‛ūd from being appointed to a third term as Mutasarrif. Ordered to take up his exile in Algeria, Karam escaped to Belgium. From there, he wandered to Austria, Italy, Corfu, and Istanbul, hoping for a chance to re-enter Lebanon. In 1873 through 1875, and in 1877, Yusuf tried to organize armed expeditions to “liberate” his country. Until Karam’s death (1889) in Naples, “his return was inevitably rumoured during every crisis that affected Lebanon.”33 In many ways, Karam was the paradigm Lebanese militia commander. Partly self-made, he continually applied to the outside to help him with the inside, never able to satisfy either. The Bey’s words were shaped in the

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context of ideals that went beyond his personal interests, but his deeds revealed a disposition that never ventured beyond the next opportunity. As Professor Spagnolo puts it, “For Karam to be subservient to Daud’s policies was a psychological impossibility. His independence of character made him a hero but his restricted view of politics was to drive him to rebellion.”34 Yusuf Bey, wanting to lead a new state, had pushed his way into an impossible complex of forces. He ended up like so many Middle East expatriates, writing about injustice and trying to regain power. OTHER MUTASARRIFS Franco Pasha, often referred to as Franku Bey Qusa, was formally invested as Governor on July 27, 1868, although he had already taken over the office three weeks before. Although he died after serving less than half his ten-year term, Franco is important for having successfully administered the transfer of power without major incident. That the transition occurred peacefully was partly due, of course, to the cooperation of the Conference of Ambassadors, but credit must also go to the Règlement itself. The communities gradually began to see its value, and even the Maronites were prepared to defend the legal order it prescribed. Moreover, Franco Pasha was adroit in managing the array of relationships both inside and outside Lebanon fairly well. Until just before his death, the Mutasarrif stayed on excellent terms with Rashid, the Vali of Syria, and was able to keep the consuls at arm’s length. Rivalry between the sects remained remarkably muted during this period as they all had a chance to play politics. Although Franco tried to increase his tax revenues from the Maronites, who paid the lowest rates in the Empire, he gave in gracefully to their traditional resistence in such matters. He was forced, instead, to beg the Ottomans to replenish the treasury at Beit al-Din. When Franco Pasha died in 1873, the French were reasserting their strength in the Levant but, unable to get agreement on their first two candidates for Mutasarrif, the French finally had to compromise. Rustum Pasha, a Roman Catholic, was appointed for a ten-year term, and he turned out to be the most successful of the Mutasarrifs of Mount Lebanon. Though, undoubtedly, Da‛ūd was the greater figure, given the problems he faced; full success had eluded him. Rustum, on the other hand, continued the development of Lebanon’s infrastructure, left the country’s administration in good order, avoided personal corruption, and managed to serve out his full term. He was forced to conduct his activities at a time when the Ottomans were undergoing a constitutional crisis in Istanbul—the time of Midhat Pasha’s constitutional program (1876), the convocation of a legislative assembly, and its revocation in 1878 by Abdul Hamīd. This protracted crisis posed both hazards and benefits for Rustum and the Lebanese. The Maronites began to give the Governor less support, making the most out of every grievance to undermine his authority. His insistence on legality and an end to traditional corruption put Rustum at odds with the local

46 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

bishops, whose powers of patronage he had sharply reduced. These clerics responded by launching a campaign of complaints and accusations at the Governor’s expense, hoping to generate support in Paris and among the Maronites. Their campaign failed, however, and Rustum was able to deport two of the clerical troublemakers and gain acceptance by the Powers for his action and, more importantly, protect the legal strictures of the Règlement. Rustum’s action against the clerics sustained his policy of loyalty to the Porte and legality on the Mountain, enabling him to complete his term without a major blemish on his record. Meanwhile, France was involved in a new “Catholic policy” in the Levant. Paris would now use its Eastern Christians, not the Mutasarrifs, to hold back the British. The benefits of this grand cause came from the amount of attention which France suddenly began to bestow on her clients in the Levant. New roads were built, and advances were made in education and health. Especially significant was the commitment France made to building and controlling a railroad network in Syria.35 French activity and community would proclaim France’s presence in the eastern Mediterranean. The new policy also hurt Lebanon. Indulging the Maronites tended to strengthen their resistance to financing the progress and development that Mount Lebanon needed. This refusal to provide the Governors with sufficient revenue coincided with a growing economic crisis for the Ottomans. Rustum, in his last year, was forced to cut salaries, including his own, and eventually reduce the number of persons working for his administration. While Lebanon’s economy continued to grow, her political infrastructure did not undergo commensurate development. What did develop was corruption. Starved for revenue and prevented from developing their own port (at Junieh), the next three Mutasarrifs, Wasā, Na‛ūm, and Muzaffar (Pashas) began to adapt to the personalism of Lebanese society by financing themselves directly, i.e., by placing the political and administrative services they had to offer on the market. An ancient tradition, the complexity of the sectarian situation along with rapid economic growth in the Mutasarrifate pointed the way toward an increase in corruption far beyond what the previous Mutasarrifs had allowed. The means used and the results obtained were sufficiently widespread to keep the country at a controlled simmer, and, generally, the Governors were able to serve out their full terms. An interesting case in this regard involves Muzaffar Pasha who, in the 1890s, devised several important institutional advances for the Mutasarrifate but gained little credit for them due to his personal failures. His wife, Marika, took money from job-seekers while her son, Fu‛ād, managed her corrupt activities from his position as head of the Mountain’s security forces. According to one report, Marika would write the decrees of appointment herself and force her “weak” husband to sign them. It is said that, on one occasion, she even went so far as to lock the Mutasarrif in his bathroom until he ended his resistance and complied with her wishes.36 Ineffectual at home, Muzaffar’s political methods also did not measure up to his ambition. In moving rapidly to change traditional practices, the

WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 47

Governor had not taken pains to build a support base for his program. When it became known that Muzaffar’s enemies in Istanbul were working assiduously to deny him a second term, his authority in Lebanon quickly evaporated. The Polish Mutasarrif, neither successful with his program nor his family, had a heart attack and died on June 12, 1907. The conservatives were now ascendant in the Mountain’s politics and were able to secure the appointment of Franco’s son, Yusuf Bey Qusa, to be the Mutasarrif. Yusuf returned the anti-reform politicians (under Wasā and Na‛ūm) to their posts but did not, in fact, allow influence-peddling to resume at previous levels. Rather, he quickly let it be known that he was prepared to emphasize his authority as one administering directly for the Porte. That Yusuf’s intentions were serious became clear when, in 1908, he pushed the Administrative Council to approve higher rates for both land and poll taxes, something that had been attempted repeatedly, without success, since 1864. Discreetly threatening to dissolve the Council while, at the same time, promising to increase the salaries of its members got quick results. Lebanese were to be taxed at a rate close to what others in the Empire paid. Unfortunately for Yusuf, events soon occurred that made it difficult for him to continue his version of strong rule. In July 1908, the Young Turks initiated a series of military moves which led to the reinstatement of the 1876 Constitution and a return to parliamentary political life. Within a year, Sultan Abdul Hamīd had been removed from power, replaced by the Committee on Union and Progress. These events allowed the Lebanese unprecedented freedom of action. Numerous schemes were hatched, some Pan-Islamic, others calling for an Arab or Christian jurisdiction that would have gone beyond the boundaries of the Mutasarrifate. The Administrative Council, which forced several concessions from Yusuf, might well have developed into a genuine legislative body had the contention been less bitter and personal. But politics in Lebanon was highly personal, and institutional norms were seldom defended unless they supported a particular personal or communal advantage. During the period of the takeover by the CUP, some cooperation between the legalistic Yusuf and the Council had occurred. Several liberal politicians, hopeful that a Lebanese version of the CUP might emerge in the Mutasarrifate, were even led to believe that the Governor favored the gradual development of legislative powers for the Administrative Council. But as the campaign to strengthen the Council failed to gain support, the tide turned against reforms. After 1910, Yusuf fought back and, in the ensuing disturbances, arrested several of the most prominent supporters of the Council’s prerogatives. During the last two years of his term, the Mutasarrif had all but suspended the Council and rendered the Règlement a dead letter. In 1910, when Yusuf closed the door on the Council’s initiatives, Lebanon was still very much a traditional society. The list of demands for reform that had become part of Muzaffar’s program in 1902, representing what many believed to be the pressing social needs of the time, were still largely unmet two decades later. According to Khalaf, this fact suggests “that after a lapse of more than

48 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914

twenty years, little was accomplished in the way of transforming these and other dimensions of social life.”37 The British Consul, Henry Cumberbatch, had also become disillusioned with the personalism in Mount Lebanon’s politics. The politicians, in his view, were a nuisance and gave no thought to society’s need for political stability. THE END OF THE MUTASARRIFATE Having vetoed a second term for Yusuf, the French awaited the usual counterattack from the Porte on their preference, an Armenian Catholic holding a high position in the Ottoman government. While this notable was rejected, another Armenian Catholic, Ohannes Bey Kuyumjian, did become the compromise choice. He served as Mutasarrif from late 1912 to early 1915, at which time the military government that had taken power in Istanbul decided to rule Lebanon directly through their own Muslim administrators. Kuyumjian’s appointment was accompanied by a Protocol, agreed to by the Powers, that provided for the first significant revisions of the Règlement since 1864. The revisions strengthened the Council by giving it budgetary powers, control over the conduct of its members, and a more democratic basis for choosing its members.38 Some redistricting was also mandated, leading to more meaningful elections. The Council’s Vice President, Habīb Pasha Sa‛ad, had been in charge of the Mutasarrifate for the previous five months and, along with the Council, was not prepared to concede to Ohannes Bey the range of executive powers normally exercised by the Governor. Kuyumjian Pasha did not challenge the Council and its experienced Vice President. Elderly and unenergetic, he and the Council functioned together smoothly, accomplishing virtually nothing during the two-year period prior to the outbreak of the First World War, insisting, instead, that the Ottoman subsidy was sufficient to meet expenses. Obviously, democracy was beginning to have its effect. In 1914, the Turks went to war and subjected Lebanon to a military occupation. In 1915, the Turks suspended the Mutasarrifate and recalled Ohannes Bey to Istanbul, annulling the Règlement and abolishing the Administrative Council. The Porte then appointed Muslim Governors: Ali Munīf Bey (1915–17), Ismā‛il Haqqi Bey (1917–18), and Mumtāz Bey (July–September 1918). The war was a terrible time of suffering for the Lebanese. They were faced with military occupation; their property was sequestered, their forests destroyed, and a blockade imposed. Massive starvation ensued. Finally, the British invaded, drove out the Turks, and the French took over. Even with these tumultuous events, some of the constitutional principles of the Règlement carried over to the Mandate of (Greater) Lebanon that the French established after the First World War. Indeed, even some of the military government’s appointees as Governor made notable contributions to the future of the country. The second of the Porte’s appointees, Ismā‛il Haqqi Bey, was a Shi‛ite who took a special interest

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in Lebanon. He ordered a general economic and social survey of the land and people under his control, the first of its kind in Lebanon.39 Although accompanied by violence and corruption, without question the Mutasarrifate was a net success in the development of a Lebanese polity. It was a time of confrontation with new forces, of meddling by the Powers, of transition, and of a gradual awakening. Some of the Mutasarrifs were gifted leaders, some terribly narrow in their outlook. None of the sectors of power had a free hand, so it was the competition among them, especially among the Powers, that helped Lebanon get better government than any single source of authority was prepared to give. Constitutional principles and practical political experience were carried over from the period of the Mutasarrifate to the later times of the Mandate and Republic. Mount Lebanon, for a half century, was generally recognized to be “the best governed, the most prosperous, peaceful and contented country in the Near East.”40 On balance, the period was not so “peaceful” as it was pivotal, a time when the Lebanese were building their state.

3 Greater Lebanon: 1915–1943

LEBANON UNDER JEMĀL PASHA When, in 1914, hostilities broke out in Europe, the Turks were allied with the Central Powers led by Germany and found themselves at war with Britain, which had been their major prop throughout most of the nineteenth century. With the help of the Germans, the Turks hoped to rouse Muslims to the cause and declared a jihād for that purpose. Initial military moves into areas of Turkish population in the Caucasus pitted them against the Russians and eventually failed. Early the next year, in February 1915, a Turkish army under Jemāl Pasha tried to cross the Suez Canal to move against the British force there but was driven back. By keeping large numbers of troops occupied, these moves helped Germany more than Turkey. More importantly, another part of the grand strategy also failed; the Turkish jihād did little to attract the masses of Muslims who were needed to win the war. After a year’s campaigning, the Turkish military was overextended and, even with German assistance, could not withstand the counterattack. Soon after their successful defense of Suez, the British tried unsuccessfully to force the Dardanelles with their fleet. A month later, in April 1915, British troops undertook their great gambit at Gallipoli, landing a massive army and intending to drive straight to the Turkish capital itself. This plan, conceived by the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, would have opened up the Balkans as a highway from Istanbul to Germany. The landing, however, could not be sustained, and the British had to evacuate their troops, losing 25,000 in the process. This monstrous debacle may have prolonged the war in the Middle East by a year. Unfortunately, it was a year of terrible hardship for the Lebanese as thousands died from famine. Throughout most of 1915, the war in the eastern Mediterranean was stalemated, with inconclusive fighting being carried out along the coast of the Sinai. Early in 1916, the British launched their attack against the Turks along two routes, invading Syria from Egypt and moving into Mesopotamia from their base at the head of the Persian Gulf. Conquering Syria would deny the Central Powers access to this strategic corridor and push the Turks back into Anatolia. By invading Mesopotamia, the Allies hoped to link up with the Russians in the

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Caucasus and close the ring, thereby containing any eastward advance the Central Powers might make toward India. Encountering resistance only at Baghdad, which held out for nearly a year, the British (Indian Expeditionary Force) moved steadily through Mesopotamia and had gotten to Mosul by the end of the war. The main British force in the Syrian campaign, commanded by General Allenby, proceeded from the Sinai coast to Jerusalem, then (after the climactic battle of Megiddo) to Damascus, where it was joined by the troops of the Arab Revolt, and finally on to Aleppo which was still resisting when the armistice of October 1918 ended hostilities. On Allenby’s right flank were the Sharifian forces led by Amir Faisal and (as an advisor) Colonel T.E.Lawrence. On Allenby’s left flank, after the Battle of Megiddo, was a column sent up the coast to free its towns from the Turkish blockade, an effort that was critical for the Lebanese. By the war’s end, the situation in Lebanon was desperate; the Turkish embargo had shut off most of the food supplies and brought on mass starvation. The Turks had savaged much of what they could get their hands on in order both to incapacitate the local, often disloyal, population and to supply their own forces. Once freed, British military administrators cooperated with the small numbers of American mission staff still operating in Lebanon to release a few hoards of foodstuffs and organize the relief effort. Amir Faisal’s Sharifian forces also sent a representative to assist, but his presence turned out to have more of a political than humanitarian effect on the situation. Indeed, the political situation in Lebanon was as difficult to remedy as was the misery that had befallen its people. The Porte’s administrative presence had fled as the British column advanced up the coast and joined with the main army to besiege Aleppo and, eventually, clear the Levant of Turkish forces.1 The British then controlled the whole of geographical Syria and divided it into several zones to be administered by the military, pending further definition and implementation of wartime agreements. These agreements were, in some respects, contradictory in what they had promised. In the correspondence between Sir Henry McMahon and Sharīf Hussein ibn Ali (formal head of the Sharifian forces that had conducted the Arab Revolt), the British had promised to give support to the creation of an Arab state in Ottoman Syria.2 The British had also promised to help in the establishment of a “national home” for the Jews in Palestine, and, in the Sykes-Picot Agreement, had divided the prospective areas to be taken from the Turks into those portions to be placed under French control and those to remain in the hands of the British. What had been promised to whom was deliberately left vague, partly because of the political complexity of the situation and partly for the sake of expediency. Without going into this much debated controversy, it is clear that the recipients of these promises—the Sharifian Arabs, the French, and the Zionists—believed they were entitled, in each case, to more real estate than their overlapping claims made it possible to give. In Lebanon, these sectors of influence also rushed to fill the vacuum left when the Turks were evicted, each wanting the British to

52 GREATER LEBANON: 1915–1943

acknowledge its particular claim. This problem was further complicated by the fact that some wanted to attach Lebanon to a larger state; others would have detached all or parts of it to create a separate jurisdiction.3 When they went to war in 1914, the Turks had subjected Lebanon to a military occupation. The next year, they suspended the Mutasarrifate and recalled Ohannes Bey to Istanbul, annulling the Règlement and abolishing the Administrative Council. The Porte then appointed Muslim Governors: Ali Munīf Bey (1915–17), Ismā‛il Haqqi Bey, (1917–18), and Mumtāz Bey (JulySeptember 1918). The wartime experience for the Lebanese, and many others in (geographical) Syria, was not significant so much in what it created but in what it destroyed. What was destroyed was all vestiges of attachment by the Arabicspeaking peoples of the Empire to its Turkish rulers. In Lebanon, attachment was slipping before the war; by the war’s end, it was nonexistent. Both Turkish and Allied policies were responsible for this change in allegiance. Two months before the war broke out, militants of the CUP were able to get the government to unilaterally abrogate the centuries-old capitulations, impose direct rule on the provinces, and use the new German connection to drop all pretenses of working toward a decentralized Ottoman system. This last act, of course, assisted the Arab nationalists in giving support to the Sharifian Arab Revolt, which ended up providing important assistance to the British invasion. In Lebanon, these policies resulted in the removal of consular influence, declaration of the draft for all citizens, and, in 1915, the abolition of the quasi-autonomous Mutasarrifate and its rule by a Turkish-appointed governor. When war did break out, the Lebanese were trapped between an Allied naval blockade of the coast and military control directed by Jemāl Pasha from Beirut. Supplies could not reach the Lebanese from the sea; those from indigenous producers were subject to the Turkish control and often sequestered for the war effort. Though trapped by the war, the Lebanese were not inactive. To contain Lebanese activity against the Turks, Jemāl Pasha initially tried conciliation, hoping to attract the local population to the Muslim solidarity that a declaration of jihād supposedly called forth. Failing to cross the Suez Canal and having information on the stirrings of Arab nationalism and plottings of the radical al-Ahd group among the Arab officers, Jemāl decided on strong measures against the local population. These measures included the following: direct military rule; infiltration of organizations followed by execution of those considered disloyal; embargo against imports (including desperately needed food); and sequestration of locally produced agricultural products. He was, after all, in charge of Lebanon where a desire for autonomy among the Christian communities was an already established fact. Having meagre forces at his disposal, Jemāl fully recognized the vulnerability of his position. With his small force, he had not only to keep order along the coast and in the mountains of Lebanon but also to contend with the intelligence gathering activities of the British and French. Both of these had numerous clients within Jemāl’s jurisdiction.

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The British operated mostly in the south, nearer to their planned invasion route and to their clients among the Druze of Lebanon. Possessing an uncontested naval presence, they first began paying for information by using the coastline in the south to dispatch and pick up couriers. Among the hundreds of natives used in this fashion, only seven were discovered and executed by the Turks. Obviously, Jemāl’s men were not able effectively to counter the British operation and were hardly more effective against the French, who had set up shop on the island of Arwād about a mile off the coast of Tripoli. The latter discovered a great number of people who were willing to help, wanting to get rid of the Turks as well as believing that independence was coming. Stories came to the island telling of mass starvation, of whole villages being abandoned, as the Turks blocked all sustenance from reaching the remoter areas to punish its disloyal subjects.4 The Karam clan in Ihden was active against the Turks as were the Khāzins in Kisrawān, two of whom were hanged for their collaborationist activities. Perhaps the key contact on the Mountain for the French was the personal secretary of the Patriarch Huwayyik, Father Bulous Aql. In charge of numerous clerical couriers, he was especially well placed to receive and transmit information. As for the Maronite clergy, at least one priest, collaborating with the Allies, was caught and executed during the war. By far the most famous event of Jemāl’s period in Lebanon was that which took place on August 21, 1915, at the Place des Canons in Beirut. At that time, Jemāl Pasha had eleven persons, suspected of either disloyalty or collaboration, quickly tried and publicly executed in the main square, known today as Martyrs’ Square. This tragedy happened partly because of a terrible oversight on the part of Georges Picot, the French Consul General in Beirut. In the rush to leave when the war broke out, he left a list of persons in Syria who could be counted on to oppose the Turkish regime, either because they supported France or were active as Arab nationalists. His former translator, Phillipe Effendi Zalzal, led local authorities to where the list had been hidden, enabling Jemāl to uncover a large number of possible subversives. In all, fifty-eight individuals were tried and sentenced to death; forty-five of these were either out of the country or avoided arrest; two were given reprieves; and the other eleven, ten Muslims and one Christian, were disgracefully hanged. This public display of terror was only a prelude to additional steps taken as part of the wartime policy of repression. Hundreds of people were rounded up and interned, some never to return to their homes, while in May 1916, after more “show trials,” twenty-two more were tried for plotting against the state and publicly hanged. Undoubtedly, this military man, one of three controlling the Empire, intended that his draconian display of retribution serve as an example to others. In fact, it did put fear in the hearts of many citizens and may have crippled any organization for sabotage and revolution that the natives were developing. Lightly defended, Jemāl argued that he had no means other than those of terror to hold the area.5 He claimed that the executions had, in fact, forestalled a rising in Syria. Others, however, have examined this period and see Jemāl’s actions in

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Syria as turning the tide against Istanbul, “causing the Arab Muslims in the area to make up their minds once and for all to break away from the Turkish Empire.”6 Jemāl had perpetrated a “Remember-the-Alamo” for the Lebanese. Throughout the country, the story of his perfidy was passed from person to person and from village to village. It helped consolidate Lebanese opposition to the Turks, an opposition that became permanent as eyewitness accounts were passed from generation to generation. One can hardly measure the significance of these hangings in stimulating people to abandon their Ottoman attachment. This episode, according to Nicholas Ajay, was an epic for Lebanon, an important chapter in the country’s development.7 Once the British column had moved up the coast during September and October 1918, meeting little resistance in Tyre and Sidon and entering Beirut on October 8, they encountered a population in a terrible state of affairs. Emigration on a large scale had already been occurring for the previous twenty years; now starvation and dislocation had reduced Lebanon’s population by perhaps another fifth. Moreover, having just suffered four years of harsh military rule, the peoples in Beirut and on the Mountain naturally wondered if liberation would bring British rule, Sharifian (Arab) rule, or that of the French. One matter, however, had been settled: the Turks were gone and would not be missed. On October 1, 1918, the day that Faisal’s forces entered Damascus just a few hours before Allenby, a local Muslim notable, Umar al-Da‛uq, was invested with authority by the quickly departing Mumtāz Bey and left in charge of Mount Lebanon. Al-Da‛uq immediately raised the Sharifian flag over the public buildings in Beirut and proclaimed it (and Lebanon) as part of an Arab state. A few days later, an emissary of Faisal’s group, Shukri al-Ayyubi, arrived with a token force, stationed it in the city, and proceeded on to B‛abdā where he reconvened the Mountain’s Administrative Council as the new local government. One week after the Turkish authorities fled, the British entered Beirut and, with a small detachment of French Guards, began to organize police and rescue activities. Allenby, himself, came over from Damascus to deal with the uproar that, as could be expected, broke out over these developments. The Maronite Christians were not about to submit to an Arab government formally headed by Sharīf Hussein, Guardian of the Holy Places in Mecca. Their contacts with the French, who were then based on the island of Arwād, had made it clear that they would not be forced to trade one Muslim authority for another. French ships were anchored in Beirut harbor; the country’s soldiers were participating with the invasion forces; and French consuls were armed with the Sykes-Picot commitments. Thus, when General Allenby arrived in Beirut on October 8, he lowered the Sharifian flags and placed Lebanon under a French military administration. Those supporting the Arab cause felt the British had dealt them a terrible setback. However, as if to leave the future somewhat ambiguous, Allenby surprised the Catholic side by giving his blessing to the Administrative Council and leaving it in charge of the local government. Significantly, the majority of its members (from the Christian communities but not all Maronites)

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were opposed to a French takeover and, therefore, not necessarily disposed to the Maronite point of view. THE ALLIED OCCUPATION In the difficult period following the end of hostilities, General Allenby tended to operate at two, perhaps contradictory, levels. At the first level, the British Commander in Chief established three main military zones and placed them under the control of Occupied Enemy Territory Administrations (OETAs). These divisions corresponded roughly to the areas of Palestine, Lebanon, and the rest of greater Syria as called for by the broad outlines of the Sykes-Picot Agreement. Although French military personnel had been put in charge of what eventually became OETA West, it was the British who had conquered the area from the Turks, and General Allenby was the supreme authority. French and Arab commanders, including the Amir Faisal, were entirely subordinate to the British in Syria pending a future peace settlement. They had been assigned administrative duties in such cities as Beirut and Damascus and were to keep strictly to their military role. At this level, all political bets were off; the important questions had to do with restoring order and organizing relief operations. The French and the British, in November 1918, even issued a proclamation claiming that the object of their policy was the “liberation” of the peoples of Syria so that, as an exercise of their own initiative, they could freely live under governments of their own choosing.8 On the other hand, the implication was that future political arrangements were still pending; nothing had been decided. In fact, a great deal had been decided. At the second level of operations, military moves were made that precluded native self-determination, moves called for by already signed “secret” agreements. In the first place, Syria was divided into military zones that looked suspiciously like future political divisions. There was an OETA South (Palestine) for the Jewish National Home, an OETA West (Lebanon) for the French, and an OETA East (Syria-Jordan) for whatever BritishFrench negotiators agreed to. The French were advancing their claims, but Faisal and the Arabs had helped the British conquer the area. For the Sharifian group, the divisions were worrisome, not because they were divisions, but because they did not correspond to Arab plans. The implied jursidictions were British, not Arab, and the thrones that might become available would suit European interests, not those of the Arab movement. The Arabs unrealistically saw Britain, with its large army, as merely “temporary” while the British, with their French allies, seriously underestimated the nationalist passions that the promise of selfdetermination had unleashed. All of these claims, those of the British, the French, the Arabs, the Jews, and the Uniate Christians, impossible to resolve in 1918, remain unresolved even today. Soon after Allenby’s forces had occupied the coast and the complexion of its military administration was determined, the British and French, together with

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local administrators, conducted a massive relief effort that, by all accounts, was extraordinarily successful. Within a year, food supplies, medical services, and schooling had returned to normal levels and were even poised for greater advancement. Resistance to the British, and later the French, continued in the north for several years after the Armistice, in Tripoli, in Alexandretta, and further north in Cilicia. In November 1919, fulfilling their wartime promises to the French, the British began to evacuate OETA West and were replaced by the French under General Gouraud. Although Faisal was the Commander in Damascus, it was clear by this time that he was not going to have a free hand in Syria’s future. Accommodations he had reached with the French and the Zionists in Paris were incompatible with the sentiments of the Arab nationalists back home. Returning to Syria, Faisal decided to cast his lot with the nationalists and declare for independence. The previous summer, in response to inquiries from the KingCrane Commission, the Amir was the Arabs’ clear favorite to be Syrian head of state. On March 8, 1920, Faisal was proclaimed King of Syria; prominent members of the Christian community swore allegiance to him; and even the Muslims on Lebanon’s Administrative Council came to Damascus to pay him homage. Unfortunately, for every trip Faisal had made to European capitals to secure his kingdom, a Maronite emmisary from the Patriarch had made one to prevent it. The Lebanese Catholics were indignant over this turn of events; certainly, this scion of Mecca was not their king. Of greater importance was French determination not to be outmaneuvered in Syria. On April 24, 1920, the Peace Conference met at San Remo, and France was assigned the Mandate for Syria. Attempts at an accommodation with General Gouraud failed, and on July 24, a small band of Faisal’s forces met the French army at Maysalūn Pass and, after a six-hour battle, were thrown back in disarray. On August 7, General Gouraud entered Damascus and raised the French Tricolor. After a few additional attempts to reach an accord with the French, the Amir left Syria for Italy and, finally, moved on to Baghdad where, in 1921, the British installed him as King of Iraq. The diplomatic imbroglio between Britain, France, and Kemalist Turkey over what constituted the Mandate—questions involving Cilicia, Alexandretta, and the Mosul district—was not finally settled until the Treaty of Lausanne was concluded in July 1923. Cilicia and (eventually) Alexandretta went to the new Republic of Turkey; the Mosul district was added to the British Mandate in Iraq; and France received a Mandate for the area now comprising present-day Syria and Lebanon, i.e., geographical Syria minus Palestine and Jordan. The war had lasted from 1914 to 1918, the peace process from 1918 to 1923. It had taken longer to settle the war than to fight it. THE MANDATE PERIOD Only during the two decades preceding the First World War had the French made it the cardinal point of their policy to gain and hold a position in the Levant. A number of factors contributed to their success in that endeavor. France

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had its traditional ties to the Porte and especially to the Christians of Lebanon; it projected a considerable cultural influence to the area. French diplomacy had also been consistently reliable in supporting the British-led balance of power in that crucially strategic region, and the French were competitors but with caution and restraint. France was a factor, of course, in the European balance of power, a necessary weight against the German challenge. On the other hand, France could contribute almost no military capability to the war effort in the Middle East; Britain possessed most of the power-in-being. It is likely that the French would not have received anything more than Lebanon in the settlement had it not been for an additional resource at their disposal. French capitalists had built and owned a large portion of the social infrastructure in Syria. France was materially on the scene. France was able to make its business and financial interests in Syria its top priority because, at this time, the Young Turks were continually short of funds and could easily be pressured into concessions by those with capital. After the turn of the century, Germany became a competitor, having 60 percent of the controlling interest in the Anatolian-Baghdad railroad compared to only 30 percent for France. Italian commercial ventures and presence in Libya (taken from the Turks in 1912) also gave the French cause for alarm. After 1910, a nearly hysterical climate developed in Paris around the question of losing in Syria. Expecting the Empire soon to fall apart, various leaders and publicists waged a passionate campaign to persuade the Quai d’Orsay to consolidate those commercial links which would give French capitalism a preponderance in the Levant. Control of railroads was the cutting issue. France did not want competition on the line linking Damascus to the Baghdad railroad; the French worked to prevent the Germans and Turks from building a line from Alexandretta to Aleppo. But the French were anxious to extend their own Syrian rail links; a line to Lydda and on to Egypt was planned. Those favoring more involvement in Syria argued that control of the railroad network would bolster France’s case for the Syrian property should it eventually fall into the hands of Europe. At the height of the hysteria (1909–10), French tactics with the Turks verged on blackmail, but in early 1914 the Quai d’Orsay did conclude an agreement that was advantageous to both sides. In return for a loan of 800 million francs, the Porte conceded to France nearly every demand it had made concerning railroads and commercial guarantees in the Levant. French capitalists would be allowed to construct 1,790 kilometers of new railroad and to administer the Damascus-Dera‛a portion of the lucrative Hejaz line. According to William Shorrock, “As a result of the FrancoTurk accord, …an economic sphere of influence was delineated for France in Syria. And this fact was recognized by both Germany and Turkey.”9 In the British Foreign Office, Louis Mallet commented to the effect that Turkish independence in Syria was vanishing before the advance of French financiers while, in the House of Commons, Sir Mark Sykes declared that the concession which France had extracted from Turkey “must, whether the financiers desire it

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or not, pave the way to annexation.”10 Since the British were involved in similar tactics in the Persian Gulf, there seems to have been an unwritten understanding between themselves and the French that palpable interests in the Arab part of the Ottoman Empire would dictate its division should the Turks fail. As for the French, they had made their loan and received the concessions just in time for the war. Six weeks after the battle at Maysalūn Pass and the entrance of the French into Damascus, General Gouraud, the new High Commissioner, proclaimed a (provisional) statute governing the Mandate and dividing up its territory. Syria was initially cut up into five “states” through which the “two state” solution the French had decided upon could be implemented. After 1924, the Aleppo and Damascus units were combined and became the state of Syria that, with the states of Greater Lebanon, of the Alawis, and of the Druze (Jabal al-Duruz), constituted the whole of the Syrian Mandate. Except for the Alawis, the Maronites, and a major faction of the Druze (perhaps 20 percent of the population), these divisions were vehemently opposed by the local populace in Syria. While a Federal Council to coordinate policies among the states was established by Gouraud, both Greater Lebanon and the Druze state were significantly excluded. France was keeping its promises to the Patriarch to separate Lebanon from Damascus. This was the “two state” solution. When General Allenby turned over the main responsibility for administering the West Zone to the French in 1919, Lebanon was beginning to recover from the deprivations of the First World War. During the preceding two years, when the Sharifian administration was still operating in Damascus, the British appointed Colonel de Piepape to manage the West Zone, part of which included the Sanjaks of Beirut and Mount Lebanon. Acting for the High Commissioner, Georges Picot, who could not take up his post immediately, was Robert Coulondre. Early on, while Faisal’s Sharifian government remained in Damascus, Beirut was the headquarters for the French operation in Syria. The (Maronite) head of Lebanon’s Administrative Council, Habīb al-S‛ad, had initially tried to recognize Faisal but switched his support to the French when it became clear that the Sharifians would not last. Another local, Emile Eddé, returned on the ship that brought Coulondre and began his career as an intrepid nationalist by having a falling out with the acting Commissioner. Eddé had played a major role in making the Maronite case for a Lebanon separated from Syria. He had worked closely with Robert Coulondre and Georges Picot on the “project” but discovered that the Quai d’Orsay was not anxious to move as quickly on independence for the Lebanese as Eddé had hoped. The French were, in fact, planning for an extended period of tutelege for the people of Syria, and although their Christian clients in Lebanon would, no doubt, learn quickly, they would still have to take the full course. In 1919, of course, no one knew exactly how the French would choose to govern Syria and, more to the point, what kind of Lebanon they would create. While it was clear that there would be a separate Lebanon, it was not clear what

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size it would be or what peoples would be residing in it, a question of both numbers and religious affiliation. The Mutasarrifs, during the previous period, had continually sought to enlarge their jurisdiction. At a minimum, they wanted to add Beirut and the Biqā to their domain. In 1919, however, the Biqā was attached to OETA East; it might well not be included in the “new” Lebanon. France then faced the same problem that has always been a dilemma for the Lebanese. Lebanon needed to be large enough to be economically viable but small enough to make political sense. To make a credible case for a separate Christian jurisdiction, France needed to include in it only those areas where Christians lived. Yet, to draw borders around the Christians and create a viable state was as difficult in 1919 as it is now. To the diplomats in 1919, the demographic figures for this “proto-Lebanon” were significant. At the Peace Conference, the British offered a population survey of the Ottoman Empire based on adjustments (from an American source of some obscurity) of the Turkish census of 1914.11 The relevant figures are for the Sanjaks of Beirut and (Mount) Lebanon, the latter being the former Mutasarrifate. The 850,000 persons counted in these two jurisdictions, included together, adds up to about two-thirds of the population which inhabited Greater Lebanon at that time. There were approximately 310,000 persons counted in the Beirut Sanjak and 540,000 in that of Mount Lebanon. According to these figures, Muslims were about 42 percent of the population in the Beirut Sanjak, 17 percent of Mount Lebanon, and 26 percent of the two taken together. These figures were bitterly contested by the various sides at the Paris Peace Conference; they were, after all, ammunition for those trying to make a case for their own view of self-determination. The documented undercounting of non-Muslims in the Ottoman 1914 census might well have resulted in overcompensating them in 1919. Whatever the case might have been, the additions to these two Sanjaks that the French made in creating Greater Lebanon, areas mainly to the east and north, were inhabited mostly by Muslims. Thus, by 1932, the date of the first and last census held in Lebanon, Muslims comprised about 46 percent of the total while the Maronite community, so insistent on having a separate state, made up no more than 30 percent of the country’s population. Since that time, of course, when Christians may have comprised 54 percent of Lebanon’s population, demographic surveys have shown that Muslims now outnumber Christians in Lebanon by a two-to-one margin, with the Shi’ites as the largest single sect. THE MANDATE SYSTEM Greater Lebanon was established and separated from the rest of Syria in 1920, but the final frontiers of the Mandate were not determined until after the Lausanne Conference in 1923. Even then, due to American complaints, the project was unfinished; and the French had to tie up some loose ends in 1924. The difficulties for the Mandatory Power at this time did not come from the Arab nationalists or remnants of the Sharifian forces—nor even, for the most part, from

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separatist communities. The problems were, in fact, with the Turks who, after the armistice expired, fought French occupation forces in the north. The Syria that France eventually controlled was south of the Baghdad railroad and, after 1937, excluded the district of Alexandretta. Once their status was finally formalized, the French made an impressive commitment to their project in Syria. In contrast to the small staff the British made use of in Iraq, the French installed a pervasive officialdom in Syria. Heading all of it was the High Commissioner in Beirut who was responsible to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for administering all the Mandated territories including semi-autonomous Lebanon. He acted for the Syrian and Lebanese jurisdictions in foreign affairs, and his staff exercised wide-ranging powers (along with native authorities) to initiate, supervise, and veto decisions made locally. Each “state” had its own governor with councils, bureaux, courts, and staff, all of which had French personnel attached to them. The whole machinery of French control established for all of Syria, including Lebanon, was duplicated at each regional level. It was clear that French élan was behind this grand effort to civilize the Levant. The Crusaders had returned. In Lebanon, where the High Commissioner was always close at hand, the country experienced a succession of four French Governors: Georges Trabaud (1920–23), M.Privat-Aubouard (1923–4), General Vandenberg (1924–5), and Leon Cayla (1925–6). Between the High Commissioner and the Governor was a Secretary General in charge of designing and imple menting the French strategy of political and economic development for the Mandate. The man who, more than anyone else, drew up the program of reform that the French hoped would modernize Syria was Robert De Caix, Gouraud’s choice as the first Secretary General. From 1919 to 1923, he put through his ideas of organization which “laid the foundations of a new Lebanese administration”12 and enlisted the talents of a new class of native Lebanese, mostly Christian, who had recently graduated from the Protestant and Roman Catholic missionary schools. Due to the efforts of De Caix, the first two High Commissioners, Gouraud and Weygand, not only developed a Lebanese civil service but also established a new electoral law, a new currency, new laws regulating land tenure, and a reorganized police and local militia. The Secretary General placed great hopes on the eventual creation of a federation of states through which the particularism of the Lebanese, Alawi, and Druze could be squared with the general Levantine reality that had grown up over the years of Ottoman rule and that had partly been put together by the construction of roads and railroads. For the grand design to work, the French needed to be able to shape appropriate institutions for specific regional needs without undermining the integrity of the Mandatory’s mission as a whole. Inevitably, however, advancement for Lebanon meant inattention to some other area or for Syria as a whole. The audience of various Syrian nationalists; of the several Druze factions; of Orthodox, Sunni, and Alawi partisans in Latakia; of the many communities in Lebanon; and of other divisions in the Jezīra region would, with ever watchful eyes, be looking at the differentials and making the

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invidious comparisons. It was not simply that there were conflicts of interest between the generalists and particularists in Syria but that each of the particular communities was itself divided. There was a developmental need for a federation but no political basis for it. France could supply the federative cement but not without behaving like the ruler of a unitary state. The intense and pervasive tutelege by the French in Syria resulted in widespread civil strife, the most destructive of which was the Druze revolt in 1925 that quickly spread to the rest of the country and lasted for two years.13 Indigenous nationalists, in and out of the country and in and out of prison, attempted to expand the various sectors of rebellion into an all out struggle to gain independence. At different times, the Hawrān region, Damascus and its suburbs, Homs, Hama, and Aleppo were sites of bitter and protracted fighting that resulted in several military setbacks for the French and a great deal of suffering for the native populace. The initial rebellion in the Druze area also spread to southern Lebanon for a brief period; rebels controlled the Biqā on several occasions; and the strife periodically spread to Tripoli and the Akkār in the far north. Additional outbreaks took place along the frontier region bordering Turkey, over an obese, and eventually hanged, prophet in the Alawi District, and over Kurdish separatist demands in the Jezīra district. Civil strife once again became widespread in 1936, when the Quai d’Orsay refused to ratify the Syrian Constitution as well as in 1938–9 when France was negotiating the cession of Alexandretta to Turkey. The rebels were signally unsuccessful in coordinating their activities, and at no time did the strife occupy the Mandate as a whole. In most areas, even during the worst times of violence, administrative measures were carried out in a normal fashion. This struggle in its many phases never completely abated and served to cripple France’s mission civilisatrice. Of the many advances in Syria which must be credited to the French, few of these were political. Although vast improvements were made in the administrative apparatus, stubbornness on the question of national self-determination made it impossible for the Mandatory power to leave Syria with any comparable advances in the conduct of politics. CONSTITUTIONALISM IN LEBANON Because the Uniates (Maronite, Greek, and Armenian Catholics) in Lebanon had traditionally been clients of France, its tutelary apparatus had more success in moving the country toward constitutionalism than in the rest of Syria. The French Mandatory authority faced much less resistence in Lebanon than in the rest of Syria and could find more collaborators. Not that the French authorities, by any stretch of the imagination, were home free. Conflict did erupt from time to time but only became serious during the Second World War period of the Mandate, when anger and obstructionism finally sent the French packing. In 1918, an attempt to resettle Armenian refugees resulted in an outbreak of violence among the Muslims in Beirut. In 1923, fighting broke out between the

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Druze and Christians in the Shūf, resulting in many casualties and requiring government intervention. A special court was set up to punish the offenders, whose traditional intercommunal feuds were not acceptable to the new (French) administration. Beirut, of course, was the scene of riots over various issues involving the French, e.g., in praise of Kemal Attaturk’s success at forcing France out of Cilicia, in rallying to the Arab cause during periods of the 1925–7 civil strife in Syria, in rioting over an influx of refugees, in plans to settle Armenians and Assyrians in Lebanon, or merely in political protest over unpopular actions taken by the Mandatory that were at odds with local demands. In 1924, a notorious bandit chief, Mulhim Qāsim, led a series of raids in the Biqā which forced the French to send troops. Further rebellion broke out in the upper Biqā during the nationalist uprising in Syria; Ba‛albek was under rebel control for several weeks in 1925, as was the Akkār region. Even Tripoli was occupied briefly. The most serious extension into Lebanon of the Arab uprising occurred in southern Lebanon, most notably at Wadi al-Taym on the western slopes of Mount Hermon. Druze from the Hawrān, led by the anti-French faction of the Atrash clan, came to rouse their Druze cohorts to join the struggle. They were able to occupy Hāsbayya and, on the other side of the Valley, Marjayoun, as well as several nearby Christian villages. An attempt was made on the Shi‛ite center of Nabatīya, not far from Beaufort Castle and, most importantly, on the Christian town of Rāshayya. Had this town fallen, the Druze from the Hawrān and the Shūf might well have combined to take the rest of the Biqā, much to the discomfort of the French. A gallant resistence on their part, however, relieved the local garrison at Rāshayya; the Druze were turned away, and south Lebanon was kept out of rebel hands. It was not until the next spring (1926), though, that two French columns, one from Qunaytra and the other from Marjayoun, were able to clear out all the dissident forces. Proclamations by radical, expatriate nationalists, at this time, also hurt the independence movement. Minority communities, such as the Greek Orthodox, the Shi‛ite Muslims, and some of the Druze factions, initially cooperative in the struggle against the Mandatory power, began to have second thoughts as some nationalists seemed to identify a unified Syria with its majority Sunni community. Control by French administrators was aggravating, but it did protect the smaller communities from being pressed into the service of a Sunni state. From the rebellion of 1925–7 came one benefit, the start of a constitutional process in the Mandate which, while inconclusive for Syria, did result in a constitution for Lebanon. In early 1926, Henri de Jouvenal was sent to Beirut as High Commissioner, replacing General Serail, whose inept and rigid policies had done much to expand and prolong the hostilities. He immediately gave permission to the Representative Council to act as a Constituent Assembly and draft a constitution, which would be subject to restrictions that protected the Mandatory’s privileges. Though these were not minor—rights to control foreign relations, to veto important legislation, to dissolve parliament, and to arbitrate disputes between Syrian states—the Lebanese drafters, fearing the tumult

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happening in the rest of Syria, had little trouble in improvising a document acceptable to the French. De Jouvenal, a liberal who was also determined to protect French interests, did not hesitate to suppress resistance to the Council’s work from all quarters. Petitions were organized by the Unionists, who fulminated against separation, while others, like the Patriarch, demanded a smaller, more homogenous Lebanon, less subject to French control. After many weeks of discussion and consultation with the High Commissioner’s office, a draft was accepted, and Lebanon, on May 24, 1926, was proclaimed a Constitutional Republic. The Constitution provided for an appointed Senate, an elected Chamber of Deputies (the old Representative Council), and a new President, Charles Dabbās, a Greek Orthodox. Auguste Adīb Pasha, a Maronite of repute, was asked to head the first of many cabinets that were to follow during the next few years. The Lebanese had been launched into modern times with a document that remains the formal constitution of the country today. The French had gingerly put one toe in the water to see how political development in Lebanon might work. They tried to cover themselves even more in the draft constitution for Syria (of 1928), but its provisions attracted so little support that nothing much came of it. On the other hand, in Lebanon, the French had given its peoples some Western-style rights and institutions; but, as a multitude of critics pointed out, France had not gone very far toward granting the country real independence. One might say that the Constitution of 1926 provided the political machinery for the Lebanese to govern themselves according to French preferences. It would not have worked except that, for many Lebanese, the alternatives were far more dangerous—a smaller Lebanon difficult to defend or a Lebanon dominated by Syrian Arabs. Even so, these initial, conditional steps toward constitutional forms only barely worked; the election of a President during a joint session of both legislative houses proved cumbersome. Moreover, the excessive division of primary institutions for such a small country gave people too many opportunities to manipulate its politics. Some of the complications were dealt with by amending the Constitution. An initial amendment, in 1927, abolished the appointed Senate; a second amendment, in 1929, extended the President’s term from three years to six years but made it non-renewable. President Dabbās, however, whose first term came by appointment, was elected to a second term. A word should be said about the leading exponent of Lebanese constitutionalism at this time, Michael Shihā, the major force behind the Council’s 1926 draft. As an ardent “Lebanonist” and (Roman) Catholic, Shihā believed in the necessity of the larger Lebanon that the French had established. But he had also witnessed politics in action among the Lebanese and felt his country could survive only if ways were found to control the traditional conflict among the sects. To maintain themselves, he thought the Lebanese would find it necessary to use traditional means, most of which would operate on an informal, non-institutional basis. In other words, the Lebanese would have to use tradition to defend against force. The only imprescriptible duty of the country’s citizens was

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loyalty to a separate, historical Lebanon. The essence of Shihā‛s approach, writes Kamal Salibi, was that a Lebanese constitution should not “lay down hard and fast principles for cooperation between the various confessions, but…leave the traditional process of give-and-take to operate spontaneously.”14 One can hardly imagine a more “Levantine” enunciation of constitutional principles, a conception that assumes, even if unconsciously, the permanent presence of a Mother Protector. Without her, the process of spontaneous “give-and-take” in Lebanon, if put to the test, would surely engage no inconsiderable amount of ordnance. Of course, Shihā‛s constitutional ideas went beyond the notions of informalism and spontaneity suggested by the above passage. He called for an equitable representation of the various sects in Lebanon’s public institutions, but neither fixed the exact proportion of government positions to be given out to the sects nor reserved specific offices for them. Bringing about “equitable representation” would result from the “give-and-take” of politics conducted through various “unwritten agreements” as circumstances warranted. In this vein, it should be recalled that Lebanon’s first President was Greek Orthodox, a community not unfriendly to the nationalist cause; the first few Prime Ministers were Maronites, unlike the situation in later years when this office was reserved to the Sunnis; and the most prominent Sunni officeholder in the early years, Sheikh Muhammad al-Jisr, made a serious bid to be elected President. In fact, in 1932, when the rivalry between the two Maronite hopefuls, Emile Eddé and Bishāra alKhūri, produced a stand-off, Eddé supported the al-Jisr candidacy as a means of provoking a crisis. He was so successful in this effort that the French felt compelled to suspend the Constitution and dissolve the Assembly. Later, in 1935, after the French had restored some legislative powers to the politicians, even a Protestant, Ayyub Thābit, held a high office. He was named Secretary of State (the second most important post) in a government led by Emile Eddé. Thus, in the early constitutional years, some precedents were established which, if they had been maintained, might have helped the country avoid the worst evils of confessionalism. Shihā, of course, accepted confessionalism as a fact of Lebanese life, realizing that the people would never trust a government in which they had no means of protecting themselves as communities. But he also realized, as some of his compatriots did not, that the communities would have to share power. It was his conception that by refusing to assign portions of power and specific offices to the confessions, Lebanese politicians would possess greater flexibility in arranging the shares. Unfortunately, there were other more pernicious precedents that accompanied those mentioned above. The excessive maneuvering among the Maronite and Greek Orthodox politicians for the presidency, rivalries that were personal and entirely devoid of considerations of public policy, soon forced Lebanon’s politics into the confessional mold. Eddé and al-Khūri, for example, would huff and puff, not to win the race, but to blow the house down. There was plenty of “spontaneity,” as Shihā intended, but also more “take” than “give.” In fact, the French, during these years, were the

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constitution of Lebanon, and they were not unhappy to play divide-and-rule while the Lebanese played musical chairs. Shihā’s concepts of “consociational democracy” might have worked, but Lebanon’s confessionalism did not.15 During the period of non-constitutional government between 1932 and 1937, the French allowed the Lebanese to return to normal public life in stages. The High Commissioner, Henri Ponsot, once again chose Dabbās to head a caretaker government made up of persons who were known more as administrators than as politicians. The French upgraded the office of Secretary of State, making it the key conduit through which they temporarily administered Lebanon. Under close supervision from the Mandatory, this office was held by members of several sects, both Christian and Muslim. Ponsot also supervised the election of a new Chamber of Deputies with twenty-five members, including seven directly appointed by the High Commissioner. French rule through Lebanese technicians during this period brought many benefits, appreciated more by ordinary citizens, perhaps, than by the politicians. Under Damien de Martel, who had been appointed High Commissioner in 1933, the Mandatory authority, without consulting the Chamber, offered the Lebanese a new civil code, replacing that of the Ottomans still in force at the time. New rules of administrative conduct were promulgated and enforced, and corruption was noticeably reduced. The office of President, which at times during this period had been left vacant, was put up for election by the recently reconstituted Chamber. This attempt, by de Martel, to gradually move the country back to constitutionalism led to the election of Emile Eddé by one vote; his rival, Bishāra al-Khūri, went into opposition. None of the ministries that the weak Eddé was able to form could govern, so the French continued to rule while making plans for a new stage in Lebanon’s constitutional development. In late 1935, the Quai d’Orsay made plans to conclude draft treaties with its two states in the Mandate, Syria and Lebanon. These involved new constitutional documents for both countries, a full return to parliamentary government, and special rights and privileges for France. The concept devised by the Foreign Office was modeled on the Anglo-Iraqi Treaty of 1930 through which (in 1932) Iraq became independent and gained membership in the League of Nations. The treaties encountered energetic opposition in France but were given an unexpected boost by the election of Leon Blum’s liberal government in 1936. The drafts were agreed to, signatures obtained, and preparations made to grant a limited form of independence to Syria and Lebanon. Although neither of the treaties was ever finally ratified by France, the Draft Treaty for Lebanon did go into effect in that country and provided it with the essential constitutional structure that governed the independent Republic after 1943. Under the Treaty, Lebanon was to be sovereign, separate, and closely tied to the French. Though not formally in control of the country, France would have a special status in the “Alliance” and would reserve for itself all the usual privileges—supervision of the armed forces, the currency, and litigation involving foreigners. The French Ambassador was to take precedence over all

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other diplomats, and the two countries were pledged to close cooperation in foreign affairs. Pending final ratification by France (which never happened) the French High Commissioner would have remained at his post with his powers unchanged. Although the spirit of 1926 was still in effect, several structural changes were instituted at this time that left their indelible mark on the later Republic. By far the most important of these was an agreement between the High Commissioner and President Eddé that each of the Lebanese sects was to have fair representation in the government. Annexed to the Treaty, this agreement amounted to strict confessionalism in practice. In 1932, Muslims had called for a census of Greater Lebanon, thinking that it would lend substance to Sheikh Muhammad al-Jisr’s candidacy for President. It was al-Jisr’s view, based on extrapolations of the last Ottoman census, that a new count would reveal a Muslim majority in the larger Lebanon that the French had created. Because the Ottomans had seriously undercounted the non-Muslims in 1914, the Sheikh’s extrapolations proved to be mistaken. On the other hand, the size of the Muslim community, which the 1932 census revealed, frightened many Christian separatists.16 It also worried the French. Therefore, the agreement between de Martel (representing the French) and Eddé (representing the Christian separatists) satisfied both parties. Its provisions were annexed to the Treaty and imposed on the Lebanese because both France and the Maronites wanted to codify a separate Christian state in the Middle East. Unfortunately, Shihā‛s “giveand-take” on the part of the establishment had not brought coherence to the system but confessionalism. Once enshrined in the constitution of an independent state, the structures of confessionalism would make it difficult for the country to remain independent. Why should the Muslim majority (in Syria) want a confessional system? Thus, confessionalism would only protect Christians from a Muslim majority as long as help from the outside was available. Keeping it available would mean dependence. In July 1937, the High Commissioner issued a decree establishing a new Chamber to consist of sixty deputies, two-thirds elected, the other third appointed, all on a proportional basis according to the 1932 census figures for each sect. To strengthen the office, the French also extended the President’s term to six years. In September, Emile Eddé was again named to hold that position. A new factor was a change in political orientation of some Muslim politicians. In the minority, relative to the al-Khūri faction, President Eddé asked a Sunni Muslim, Khayr al-Din al-Ahdāb to form a cabinet. This Sunni Prime Minister set a precedent that was to become an unwritten rule for the future, namely, that a Maronite Christian as President of Lebanon would be balanced by having a Sunni Muslim as head of government. The approach to confessionalism employed at this time was later extended to all six of the major sects; an important cabinet post had to be held in reserve for each of them.17 This broadening of the political base coincided with a broadening of nationalist sentiment. Al-Ahdāb had been an ardent unionist, and by deciding to

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join a government under the presidency of the foremost Maronite Christian separatist, Emile Eddé, he signaled a change in orientation that was occurring among several Sunni Muslim notables, e.g., Abdullah al-Yāfi, Khalid Shihāb, and (eventually) the al-Sulh brothers of Sidon, Riyād, Sami, and Taqi al-Din.18 They had begun to think of themselves as Lebanese, to identify with the fortunes of the country as a separate state. Their new spirit of cooperation came at an opportune time. Civil strife intensified in 1936 and 1937 because of announced plans for the draft treaties as preparation for the independence of, not one, but two states. Tripoli was the hotbed of resistance, but violence and strikes erupted throughout the Muslim areas of Lebanon. Nationalists were incensed that the final result of French tutelege would be a Syria without Alexandretta or Lebanon, a truncated Syria without natural outlets to the Mediterranean Sea. By formalizing a separate client state, the French had made sure they could always keep one foot in the door; their Christian clients would still need them. Independence might come, but the French would not have to leave. WAR CLOUDS During the last few years of renewed (but unratified) constitutional life, protest died down as war loomed again in Europe. Lebanese politicians gained some practical experience in parliamentary government, and while maneuvering among personal cliques continued, the results were less disruptive. Several new trends developed as political life under a better code of procedures and with less corruption made it possible to conduct almost normal administrative activities. Political parties of various types had begun to appear soon after 1926, operating sometimes, but not always, within a Lebanese frame of reference. Some of these parties, such as the Constitutional Bloc of Bishāra al-Khūri and the National Bloc of Emile Eddé, were simply personal political organizations committed to supporting the perennial candidates who founded them. Others, however, attempted to gain a broader appeal, whether on purely national issues or those of an ideological character. Reacting to the strong-arm tactics employed by some of the Muslim bands who opposed the separation of Lebanon from Syria, Pierre Gemayel (Jumayyil), a Maronite druggist from Bikfayyā, founded the Katā‛ib (Phalangist) Party. One of its purposes was to discipline and rejuvenate Christian youth and develop a sense of solidarity among the Lebanese. Wanting to rebuild the national character after a millennium of dormancy, the Katā'ib adopted some of the trappings of fascism which were fashionable at the time. The Sunni Najjāda organization appeared soon after to counter Christian solidarity with Muslim solidarity. The Lebanese Communist Party emerged during this period as did the Syrian National Party of Antoun Sa’ada, with its Pan-Syrian doctrines. Kamal Jumblat (Janbalāt), the French-educated Druze chief, organized his Progressive Socialists, a part personal, part ideological party. In addition, Lebanon played host to a number of small, store-front organizations, usually ephemeral and often linked to outside interests. Moreover,

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many Lebanese, both Muslim and Christian, belonged to the Arab nationalist, unionist groups that were struggling both for independence and the retention of Lebanon as part of Syria. As ineffective as most of these organizations were, they did stimulate more people to engage in the political process than had ever been involved before. The parties served to mobilize the Lebanese, assisting their efforts to seize independence when the opportunity came. Other trends were developing; as, in Salibi’s words, “a new Lebanon emerged into being.”19 Only the dead weight of its primordialism could stop it. One trend that emerged after 1937 is especially instructive; its cultivation today might help rescue Lebanon from its present difficulties. This was the tentative, but partly successful, effort by major notables to broaden their political bases in order to hold office, especially those of President and Prime Minister. The reward for abandoning strict confessionalism in one’s political appeal might be to win public office. Bishāra al-Khūri was more successful in formulating his program in this spirit than was his rival, Emile Eddé. The latter had attached himself so closely to French indulgence on behalf of the Christian separatists that once France had left, Eddé’s career was finished. In contrast, al-Khūri linked a number of organizations across sectarian lines to mobilize support against the French in 1943. The electoral process worked best, in the later Republic, when slates had to be devised that required voters to elect persons not of their own sect in order to be represented in the Assembly. Michael Shihā, whose daughter had married Bishāra al-Khūri, continued, as a journalist, to promote the idea that the sects of Lebanon had to share power. Candidate al-Khūri attempted to develop this “constitutional” point, hoping to attract support from among Muslims as well as Christians. France had promised the Lebanese independence and League membership by the end of 1939. By May of that year, it was clear that Paris would not honor its promise; too many politicians favoring French grandeur opposed such a move; and too much danger lurked nearby to make it safe. Military bases were being reinforced throughout the Middle East, and the Lebanese were compelled to recognize that they were, once again, caught in the clutches of world events. The High Commissioner, M. Paux, found it necessary to declare a state of emergency in July 1939; in September, he suspended the Lebanese Constitution. No one, of course, expected the rapid collapse of France in 1940. M.Paux was soon forced to leave for France, and eventually the office was placed in the hands of General Henri Dentz, previously an intelligence officer under General Serail and, one assumes, partly responsible for the stupidity of French policies at the time. Stephen Hemsley Longrigg describes Dentz as an “uninspired but respected Alsatian…a loyal Vichy follower and conscientious defeatist. His tenure of office was destined to be uniformly unfortunate.”20 In 1940, economic conditions were harsh, and the Lebanese were terribly apprehensive, fearing a return of the famine of 1915–16 and wondering what would happen to them this time. Germany had descended on Greece, and Rommel’s Africa Corps campaigned against the British in North Africa. The

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Italians possessed Libya, and Marshal Pétain’s collaborationist regime controlled Syria. The British, of course, had a military presence both in Iraq and Palestine. Some Syrians hoped that the Germans would become their liberators, and it was popular to support them, especially during the first years of the war when the Nazi machine seemed to crash through all the barriers before it. Others, however, were not anxious for a German triumph, believing that it would be easier to get independence from a defeated France than a victorious Germany. Experienced Levantines, having little choice in the matter, decided to adopt a wait-and-see attitude. Politicians in Lebanon ran in circles until the French, and later the British, imposed military restrictions on their activities. What did happen was, perhaps, the least expected of all the rumored possibilities. In “independent” Iraq, Rashid Ali al-Gaylāni pulled a coup and attempted to move over to the German side. Connected to this event were German demands that Marshal Pétain’s Syria be made available for transshipment of military supplies, especially aircraft, to assist their new friends in Iraq. Once Rashid Ali’s intentions were clear, the British attacked the Iraqis from their Habbanīyah base not far from Baghdad and put an end to the proGerman regime. As this episode was unfolding, however, and after much stalling on the part of the Vichy government, the Germans did finally get permission to move some aircraft and munitions to bases in Syria, a threat which the British did not take lightly. Once the tank battles against Rommel in North Africa had begun to turn in Britain’s favor, it was able to give attention to the possible pincer coming toward the Canal Zone from German bases in Syria. Thus, the British opened a campaign against the mixed French forces of General Dentz in Syria.21 The attack, launched from both Palestine and Iraq in June 1941, had to overcome an unexpectedly stubborn resistance from the Mandate’s (Vichy) forces and lasted for a little more than a year. The difficulty of the British (and Free French) operation in Syria was due to the Pétain decision that to save France from Hitler he would have to abide by the German-French armistice agreements. General Dentz remained strictly faithful to that decision. Since General de Gaulle’s Free French Army was also involved in the British invasion, it was believed that Dentz could be persuaded to change sides. General Catroux, formerly a governor in Indochina and a more senior officer, had left Pétain and gone over to de Gaulle. General Dentz, however, refused to consider this option, insisting that loyalty to France required obedience to those in command. He did not, however, make use of all the assistance that the Germans had offered, i.e., Stuka bombers against the attacking columns. The political hazards of doing so were obvious; saving Syria from the British might require handing it over to Hitler. Also at issue for the Vichy government were the Empire’s possessions in North Africa. The Germans had warned Pétain that if his soldiers in Syria opened the doors of the country to the British, Hitler would retaliate by taking Algeria and Morocco from France. General Dentz ended up by serving neither master very well. Briefly interned by the British, he was eventually imprisoned in France where he died in 1945.

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For the Lebanese, Dentz had been merely another colonial overlord. For the Allies he had stood in the way of their sealing up the porous underside of Eurasia. The Middle East, of course, became crucial in the war effort. Hitler had attacked Stalin and, in so doing, provided the Allies with a way to defeat him. By giving Stalin supplies, Soviet soldiers could be used to destroy the German army. The Americans and British established the Middle East Supply Center and developed a massive logistical network and supply “train” through the Middle East that routed goods from the coast of Syria, into Mesopotamia, through Persia, and on to sustain the Soviet army along the Eastern Front. The people in the area were employed in producing, warehousing, repairing, and shipping war matériel. By 1942, they had been fully mobilized to help defeat the Axis. Although military activity was the main event in Syria and Lebanon during the war, politics did not remain at a standstill. Beirut was closed down by martial law and nighttime curfews, but Damascus was left open. Most of the Francophile natives sympathized with the Free French and, therefore, opposed the Vichy administrators. Corruption and the black market, along with the hardships of war, provided everyone with plenty to complain about. In addition, there were the quislings whom the French collaborationists employed to keep control. In Lebanon, such was Emile Eddé, whose longtime commitment to France always made him useful. Strikes and violent protest in Lebanon forced Eddé out, and he was replaced for a time by Alfred Naccache and finally by direct rule. Unrest in Syria was even worse, a continuation of the rebellion against French rule and a threat to the Allied war effort. To receive as favorable a domestic reception as possible and, thus, aid the war effort, the British insisted that a promise of independence for the peoples of Syria and Lebanon be issued on the day that the invasion began. The wording of the proclamation (which led to later disputes) was a subject of negotiation between the British and the Free French, one which had to strike a balance between the military situation in Syria and the political situation with General de Gaulle. He was not only difficult to deal with but, at times, had difficulty distinguishing himself from his country. Countries are notoriously inflexible negotiators. General Catroux, commander of the Free French forces on the scene, proved to have a reasonable view of the Syrian situation and, on receiving general instructions from de Gaulle, agreed with General Wilson, his British counterpart, on the following: In the name of Free France,… I come to put an end to the Mandate and to proclaim you free and independent. You will therefore be… sovereign and independent peoples…. Your independent and soverereign status will be guaranteed by a treaty in which our mutual relations will be defined. The treaty will be negotiated as soon as possible between your representatives and myself…a great hour in your history has struck: France declares you independent by the voice of her sons who are fighting for the life and for the liberty of the world.22

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This proclamation was to be the source of much misunderstanding between the British and the French long after the campaign had ended in victory for the Allies. General de Gaulle insisted that the promise had been contingent on subsequent negotiations in which the traditional interests of France had to be taken into consideration. On the other hand, his own delegate, General Catroux, had signed a proclamation that was printed on leaflets and dropped from aircraft onto the Syrians and Lebanese. What de Gaulle saw as a British scheme to ease France out of the Middle East was, in fact, a clear and unequivocal declaration of independence for the peoples of the Mandate. The year was 1941, and Britain had not signed an armistice with Germany. The British military situation was perilous; its resources stretched to the breaking point. Nor, by the spring of that year, had either the attack on the Soviet Union or the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred. Britain needed to wrap up the campaign quickly, not preserve French grandeur. Moreover, the British were the main force in the invasion and occupation. For that reason, General Spears, forced to deal with de Gaulle on this issue, insisted on an adherence to the promise of independence. His compromise was to allow the Free French to take over the administration of Syria and Lebanon much sooner than had been planned. The Vichy forces of General Dentz (along with other personnel of the Mandate) were allowed to choose between joining the Free French or being repatriated to France. About two-thirds chose to go home. This allowance, agreed to by the terms of the surrender, so infuriated de Gaulle that he commanded his staff to exercise the full authority of France in the Mandate as if no proclamation of independence had been made. He simply claimed that any new status for Syria and Lebanon was subject to future negotiations for the treaty he had called for. It was one thing to promise independence and another to call for negotiations. The General’s purported “intentions” sounded like a repeat of those voiced in 1936 when independence had been promised but not delivered. The people of Syria and Lebanon had heard this before. INDEPENDENCE On the assumption that independence would be granted, British commanding officer General Spears suggested a return to constitutional life in the Mandate, to be followed, as soon as possible, by elections. The French gave grudging agreement to this policy, and the political scramble was on. In Lebanon, President Naccache resigned, and France installed a caretaker cabinet to administer the changeover. Much to the dismay of the British, the French advisors supervised the political process and election with the intensity of prewar days; a multitude of advisors watched every step that the locals took. The provisional ministry, under Ayyub Thābit, then attempted to enfranchise all the Lebanese living abroad who had not yet adopted citizenship in the countries where they resided, a move meant to ensure a French Lebanon. The British, meanwhile, were actively trying to encourage the Lebanese to resist such tactics

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by the Mandatory personnel. General Spears openly called for elections, resulting in de facto independence for Lebanon. Once Thābit was removed, the seats between Christians and Muslims were redivided (thirty to twenty-five respectively); and, after very energetic campaigning, elections were held. These were remarkably free and uncontrolled; moreover, while Emile Eddé’s supporters of the French won handily in the Maronite strongholds, Bishāra al-Khūri’s candidates won sizable majorities everywhere else. The newly elected Chamber met in September 1943, elected alKhūri as the country’s President and Riyād al-Sulh as the Prime Minister. This government, as well as the new one elected in Syria, presented identical notes to the French Delegate General, M. Helleu, requesting changes in the constitution that would, in a word, confer independence on the two countries and transform the French presence into what would be appropriate for an embassy. The Maronite President and the Sunni Prime Minister declared that they were elected to lead the government of an independent and sovereign state, the Republic of Lebanon.23 Yet, there was never a single date during this period when Lebanon became independent, just as today the country is not fully independent. Independence from France came then, as it will again come (from Syria), through a protracted series of events which galvanized the Lebanese against a common adversary. Having the protection of an additional outsider, Great Britain, also helped bring about Lebanon’s moment of solidarity, a time when a variety of leaders worked together to make the most of the wartime opportunity. Moreover, as Michel Shihā had hoped, all the sects shared in it. On November 9, 1943, Jean Helleu returned from a consultation with de Gaulle in Algiers and made it clear that the government’s request for independence was premature; it would not likely take place until many years had passed. French responsibilities had not been fully rendered; more tutelege was needed. Lebanese response to Helleu’s announcement was clear and unequivocal. The Chamber voted the appropriate constitutional amendments in defiance of the French, and the vote was unanimous. The Delegate General then decided to round up the leaders of the government and reimpose French control. On the 11th, he had them summarily rousted from their beds in the middle of the night and carted off over the Mountain to the prison at Rāshayya. Again, the response was clear and unequivocal. A general strike paralyzed the country, and the organized resistance was nearly unanimous. The Christian Katā‛ib and the Muslim Najjāda cooperated in leading the opposition to the French action. Two members of the cabinet, Habīb Abu Shahlā and Majīd Arslān, escaped to the mountain village of Bshamūn and set up a temporary government. The pathetic Emile Eddé, put in power by the Delegate General, governed no one. The action by the Lebanese, backed by the British, completely isolated the French. At the urging of Britain and the United States, General Catroux was sent back to Beirut and given authority to resolve the crisis immediately. Within five days of his arrival, Catroux had replaced the pre-emptory M.Helleu and given orders for the

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release of President al-Khūri and his colleagues. The government immediately resumed its duties, and the Mandate, for all practical purposes, had ended. Once again, Lebanon had exerted itself for independence. But the French had not entirely given up trying to maintain a special presence in Syria and Lebanon. There was still the possibility of gaining a preferential status by means of the projected “treaties.” In May 1945, only a few days after the end of the war, a detachment of the Troupes Spéciales landed in Beirut to reinforce the French military forces still stationed in the Levant (as part of the war effort). Syria and Lebanon again rose in protest, seeing the French action as an attempt to force unfavorable terms on them in the treaties soon to be negotiated. The British intervened, and the issue was put before the United Nations General Assembly at its first meeting in London. Although no formal resolution was ever passed, the debates indicated that nearly all the members opposed France on this question. Isolated once again, the French were forced to relent. By April 1946, French troops had left Syria, and on August 31, 1946, the last soldiers of the Mandatory left Beirut for Marseilles. France was finally gone, and Lebanon was free to make its own mistakes. In this, her politicians showed no hesitation. By what measure do we judge the French Mandate in Lebanon? What were its successes and its failures? Do we judge it a failure because Lebanon, at the moment, is broken and adrift? Or could we not argue that Lebanon’s present difficulties demonstrate the truth of the French assertion that its supervision was still needed long after it was compelled to leave. It could be argued, perhaps, that it was because of the French approach to its development that Lebanon was not ready for independence—that instead of trying to teach the country to walk, France had, too often, walked for it. The grand project of the French was confronted by too many ambiguities to allow us much of an answer to these questions. Perhaps “antinomies” is the more accurate term. France was continually forced to adjust its interests to those of the host population, to square Greater Lebanon with Mount Lebanon, unionist Syrians with separatist Lebanese, and military requirements with political realities. It ended its stay in the Levant having left a tremendous imprint but without completing its mission. The French, with the help of the local population, were able to change things more than ways (though they changed both). No doubt, France was more successful in shaping Lebanese society than it was in shaping that of the Syrians, e.g., nothing comparable to the confessional system created by the French for Lebanon lived on in Syria. Yet, it may have, in the process, created an impossible political jurisdiction. In the long run, the processes of social transformation begun by France, whether in schooling or banking, may be more decisive than those that produced the political dramas. If so, then France may well have improved Lebanon’s prospects at becoming a modern state. More than anything else, however, France may have simply tried to do too much, attempted too great a transformation. One principle of modern secularism, and the politics it makes possible, is that how we do what we do takes

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precedence over what we do. This principle insists on the priority of means over ends, of the instrumental over the substantive. The French, in Syria and Lebanon, were consumed with the results that their grand project was to deliver. They spent huge sums of money and expended enormous talent and effort in creating structures from which these results would emerge. They would create a new Syria and Lebanon in the French mold. But how? By molding them into modern systems, of course. “But how?” is something that the people would have to learn. It was the “how” of doing that the French were afraid to let happen. Doing, on the part of the Lebanese and Syrians, would surely have meant practicing their own politics, their own business, their own regional relations. It would have led inevitably to the exodus of the Mandatory and her loss of power. As Machiavelli might well have pointed out, for France (in 1918) to come to power in Lebanon by way of the British meant that it was likely at a later time (1941) to leave in the same way.

4 The independent Republic: 1943–1958

THE FRENCH LEGACY As surveyed above, Lebanon’s independence from France came over a period of time and through a series of troublesome events. From the Allied proclamation of June 1941, the arrest and release of the government in November 1943, and the protracted diplomacy that rid the country of French forces in 1946, the Lebanese demonstrated surprising talents in pressing their case before the world. They demonstrated both a degree of tenacity and an ability to finesse their way through the many problems they encountered. According to Walter L.Browne, Lebanon’s success in achieving independence “was a political miracle.”1 Yet in the wonderful acts of winning independence—the strikes and protests, the intercommunal solidarity, the careful diplomacy—the effort to determine what was to be independent and how it was to be organized was lost. It was easier to oppose the French than to establish Lebanon. There were several reasons why the Lebanese were able to postpone doing anything serious about the latter problem, i.e., facing up to their own (indigenous) dilemmas. The Wilsonian project, which the League had adopted, assumed that the Mandatory would prepare the people of the Mandate for selfgovernment. In fact, the French could never quite bring themselves to decide on such a course; the grandeur of the Empire was too crucial for them. For this reason, they had designed the systems in Syria and Lebanon to facilitate their rule, not to assist their wards toward self-government. Greater Lebanon was too large to serve the Lebanese Christians, but it was just the right size to serve the interests of the French in keeping their clients divided and weak.2 The electoral law, as a corollary to the constitution of 1926, was designed by the French to serve in a similar fashion, i.e., to pit the Lebanese against each other so that the High Commissioner could act as an arbitor. Parliament was not created as a national institution to foster patriotism among the Lebanese. According to Lowell Pinkerton, American Consul General, the French, along with some francophile Lebanese, were hoping “that this country and Syria might one day be integrated into metropolitan France, as is Algeria, with direct representation [for the peoples of Syria and Lebanon] in the French Chamber of Deputies.”3 Thus,

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when the Constitution was amended by the al-Khūri regime in 1943, essentially all that was done was to remove the governmental mechanism France had created from French hands and place it in the hands of the Lebanese. The colonial apparatus was in native hands, but it was still a colonial apparatus. While the French had conceded some electoral, parliamentary, and executive powers to the Lebanese during the Mandate period, these were only partial; and, as was the case with the Administrative Council of the Mutasarrifate, the outside power could always have the final say. Thus, in 1943, when Bishāra al-Khūri and his Chamber took office, the fifty-five deputies possessed necessary but insufficient legislative powers, and the President could virtually rule but without a fully developed army and police force to enforce his authority. The French Troupes Spéciales had been withdrawn before the Lebanese system had become strong enough to establish an adequate replacement. How would the French system work without the French? The answer was, “Only with great difficulty.” Indeed, modernist idealism combined with traditional “feudal” politics to get things done, while a system of patronage was used to fill in for the absence of the Troupes Spéciales. Bishāra alKhūri, by being especially adept at governing through patronage, set the precedent. He conducted his programs and exerted his authority, such as it was, more through rewarding his supporters than by enforcing the law. As political theorists have shown, it is much more expensive to reward for compliance than to punish for non-compliance.4 Governing through patronage rather than punishment turned out to be politically expensive for Lebanon’s fledgling officeholders. Thus, with British assistance, the Lebanese had removed the French and inherited the facade of a democratic republic. Many students of Lebanon would be wondering whether the partial amounts of freedom and democracy which the country had received would serve as a self-correcting process, ultimately leading to a modern political system. Books incorporating such phrases as “improbable nation” and “precarious republic” testify to the scepticism which many scholars have evinced toward the Lebanese question over the years.5 In the 1990s, journalists, writing about Yugoslavia, sometimes referred to the “Lebanization” of the Balkans. Was this term employed to symbolize an extreme form of “Balkanization,” or has Lebanon become the new paradigm for insoluble division?6 The verdict on the French legacy is still out. THE CONSTITUTION A brief comment on the Lebanese “Constitution” may be helpful at this time. More than most countries, the Republic has made use of a partly written and partly unwritten constitution. But we must distinguish between use of a constitution and adherence to constitutionalism. Because a genuine commitment to the latter has not yet developed in Lebanon, it is, perhaps, accurate to say that the country did make remarkable progress in establishing a “government of laws

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not men” but has ultimately fallen short of this ideal. During the best days of the Republic, the “Constitution” has been formalistic and in dire need of change; in its worst days, it has been inoperative. The essentials of the Lebanese Constitution, providing for the electoral system, the legislative and executive structures, and the organization of the courts and bureaucracy, was adopted from the document devised by the French Mandatory power in 1926. A side-agreement to the constitutional program, agreed to at French insistence, was that all the religious sects be given fair and equitable representation in the legislature. Adherence to this agreement resulted in Lebanon’s characteristic confessionalism which, before the Ta‛if Agreement and Syrian occupation, allowed Christians six representatives in the Chamber for every five that the Muslims had. Thus, the total number of members in the legislative branch had to be a number divisible by eleven, and, before the Ta’if Accord (1989), the Lebanese had convened houses of 55, 77, 44, 66, and 99 members. Another important element of the Constitution is the National Pact, (al-mithāq al-watāni), which represents both a political deal and an attempt to explain Lebanon’s separation from Syria. In a speech by the veteran Sunni politician, Riyād al-Sulh, and given explicit acceptance by such Christian leaders as Bishāra al-Khūri and Henri Far‛ūn (Pharaon), the basic concepts of the Pact were first made public. The agreement, in short, was that Lebanon would be independent as a country but Arab in its foreign policy. The Muslims would agree to accept the separation of the country from Syria while the Christians would agree to allow the government to cooperate with the other Arab states in regional affairs. This meant that the Christians would have to let go of France and the Muslims, Syria. In addition, after much arduous diplomatic work by Henri Far‛ūn, Lebanon would become a founding member of the new association of independent Arab states, the Arab League. One additional, unwritten provision, stemming from Lebanon’s past confessionalism, also became part of the Constitution. According to this “informal” provision, each of the six major sects, the Maronites, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Sunnis, Shi‛ites, and Druze had to be appropriately represented in the top echelons of government. Traditionally, this was further broken down to reserve the presidency for the Maronites, the office of Prime Minister for the Sunnis, and the office of Speaker of the Chamber for the Shi‛ites. Sectarian qualifications have partly stuck to other offices as well. The army’s chief commanding officer has always been a Maronite; the Minister of Justice has often been a Greek Orthodox; and a Druze has often headed the Defense Ministry. Administrative posts were also allotted according to sectarian proportions, leading inevitably to a bureaucracy burdened with superfluous personnel pro-rated among the sects. France intended that Lebanon’s Constitution should protect each of the separate communities from any majority that might emerge. Constitutionally, the Lebanese were to be maintained as a thoroughly segmented society.

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Although the Lebanese were never able to break through the eggshell that the French had left them in, they were able to peck away at it. In fact, they had rid themselves of a cumbersome upper house even before independence was won in 1943. Other amendments changed the number of electoral districts from five to twenty-six, the membership of the Chamber from fifty-five to (eventually) ninety-nine (before the Syrian occupation), and the country’s currency from the French franc to the Lebanese pound. The old system of mixed courts was abolished, women were gradually enfranchised, and, in 1969, the Lebanese even introduced the “secret” ballot. Many informal changes occurred as well, some quite positive, others just as negative. On the positive side can be counted the good record the Lebanese compiled in the area of monetary stability and economic growth. The Lebanese pound was a strong currency; Beirut was an entrepôt, a tourist center; it was a culturally open city; and Ras Beirut was a place of liberalism in an otherwise more rigid and dogmatic Middle East. On the negative side was the almost unbelievable extent to which clientalism made a mockery of the electoral process and the functions of the legislature. Lebanon’s facade of a democratic republic was used as a means for various members of the old clans and families to compete with one another for elite status. Instead of stimulating genuine political development, this competition (in Lebanon’s oligarchic society where holding office meant so much) only made it easier for the elite to enlist the general populace in its acquisition of more wealth and power. The overall effect of the country’s electoral feudalism was a politically impotent professional class along with a widened gap between rich and poor. Lebanon was developing but not quite quickly enough to keep afloat in the stormy Middle East. THE FRENCH LEAVE What Browne calls the “miracle” of Lebanese independence occurred under very unusual circumstances. Promised independence in 1941, the peoples of Syria and Lebanon (along with the British), pressured the French to make good their word. Paris reluctantly allowed “national” elections to be held, hoping they would result in the election of Emile Eddé and a closeness to the Mandatory that would not require any major changes in the French-Lebanese relationship. Unfortunately for Paris, Bishāra al-Khūri organized his campaign on a different basis from what the French had expected from a Maronite. Born in the south central (mixed) district of the Jurd, al-Khūri was prepared to play politics in the Greater Lebanon that France had created, to view Lebanon as both Christian and Muslim. With colleagues from several sects, he was willing to seek support from all the communities. The Constitution required that all the sects must share in the responsibilities and benefits of nationhood and, in Shihā‛s words, balance the powers held by the several communities of the new state. With British support, al-Khūri made independence from France the essential issue and, in a competitive but manipulated election, put himself in position to be the

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only person the Chamber could choose to be President. Chosen by the deputies on September 21, 1943, al-Khūri informed the the High Commissioner a month later of his government’s intention to amend the Constitution and effectively eliminate French prerogatives. Even in the face of General de Gaulle’s opposition, the Chamber met on November 8 and unanimously passed the requisite amendments transferring full powers to the al-Khūri government. After the French, on November 11, suspended the Constitution and imprisoned the President (and other Lebanese officials), al-Khūri’s politics began to work. He had made contacts throughout the country, and wellorganized strikes and protests erupted immediately. Katā‛ib forces assembled in Beirut to protest; were fired on by the French; and Pierre Gemeyel was arrested. According to the American Consul, George Wadsworth, French forces also fired on a crowd at the American University of Beirut. Muslim women removed their veils at protest gatherings in Beirut and Sidon. Support for independence almost seemed unanimous; the Sunnis, Shi’ites, and Greeks, even the Patriarch, called for the release of the prisoners and restoration of the government. General Spears, Commander of the British Ninth Army, broke off relations with the local French officials and on the 14th hinted at military intervention. American diplomats in Beirut also gave assurances that Lebanese independence would be recognized by their government. The governments of the Allied Powers couched their protests to the Free French in Algiers in terms of the war effort; nothing must interfere with getting local, especially Arab Muslim, cooperation in winning the war. A few days later, British Minister of State, Casey, issued an ultimatum to the Free French in Algiers (their wartime capital) to release the captive officials and restore the amended constitution. Finally, the British, wanting to shift troops from the Levant to Europe, decided that they were about to inherit a messy military commitment. On November 17, they made known their intention to declare martial law within five days. Catroux finally arrived, took over, and released the government from imprisonment. At first, only Bishāra al-Khūri was freed, but the British insisted that the French release all of the prisoners, not as private persons but as officeholders. On November 22, 1943, later declared Lebanon’s independence day, President alKhūri was released and carried to parliament on the shoulders of the crowd. “Long live Sheikh Bishāra,” they shouted; “Down with Eddé!” With the help of French foolishness and British determination to get on with the war, the Lebanese, with six dead and forty wounded, gained their independence, taking charge of government functions on January 1, 1944. The French in Algiers, though badly divided, had by no means given up, appointing a delegate general rather than an ambassador to the new state. In March 1944, a combination of Lebanese francophiles, clerics, some elements of the Phalange, and holdover Fascists from the Vichy administration were rumored to be ready to pull a coup that would require French intervention so as to maintain order and protect the war effort. Even one of their own, General Catroux, was supposedly targeted for assassination. On April 27, as Joseph Karam was preparing to enter

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parliament after winning a by-election, dissidents staged an incident where a French aviator was shot dead while a Maronite priest shot three local gendarmes in an apparent attempt to assassinate the Prime Minister (Riyād al-Sulh) and the other Muslims in the cabinet. Was this simply some “hotheads” acting on their own, as the French claimed, or was it an attempt to foster Christian-Muslim strife requiring military intervention? The answer to this question has never been entirely clear. De Gaulle’s Committee in Algeria was divided on Syria, and perhaps some French officials tried to use Lebanese dissidents to radicalize the situation and bring France back to Lebanon. De Gaulle, in Algiers and later in Paris, made additional attempts to force matters toward a favorable position for France in Lebanon. He kept the Troupes Spéciales on the scene ready to join sympathetic Lebanese in an émeute (uprising) if the situation presented itself. More shiploads of troops were sent to Beirut, replacing some of those already stationed there and giving rise to frenetic suspicions that there would be a net increase in the total after each exchange. The French also talked as if their “responsibilities” would not end until a treaty had given them the guarantees they required. On a few occasions, French military personnel (with sufficient cause) arrested local Lebanese without the government being able to intercede. Therefore, until international pressures finally resulted in negotiations that led to the withdrawal of the Troupes Spéciales (in 1946), the alKhūri government had to begin its independence under adverse conditions. It was forced to take its first steps in self-government not knowing how long it would be able to govern and, like all Lebanese governments, not sure what it governed. DILEMMAS AT THE BEGINNING Only three months had passed when, in May 1944, the cabinet of the fifty-fivemember Chamber of Deputies offered its resignation. Though it was asked to stay, the problems it faced are instructive and symptomatic of things to come. These problems fall into three general categories. First were the French, who continued to act, as much as possible, as if they were still in power. Second was the patronage system that the President had used to achieve so much solidarity in so short a time. And third were the often uncontrollable local situations, endemic to Lebanon’s highland culture, on which the Lebanese government was powerless to act. These abrasions could, of course, be stimulated by the permanent undercurrent of religious strife in the society, but they also could involve nothing more than traditional feuds between clans. One such brouhaha in the north erupted at this time and illustrates how all three categories of problems interconnect. The government had information that some personnel from the French Sûreté Général had taken part in the March coup attempt. Since France still had a much greater force available to it than Lebanon could put in the field, the al-Khūri government could not arrest those individuals bent on overthrowing it. Only the British Ninth Army could have forced the Troupes Spéciales (technically a

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Lebanese force) to comply with Lebanese wishes, but to have done so would have risked an international incident and hurt the Allied war effort. Lacking military force, Riyād al-Sulh attempted the inevitable political substitute for it, patronage. Several by-elections, in both Mount Lebanon and north Lebanon, were scheduled for that spring, and the President sent his Muslim Prime Minister out to these regions to try to influence the results. This gambit not only backfired but reverberated with even more incidents of discord in the mountains and valleys of Lebanon. On April 19, a shootout between the partisans of Zghartā and those of Bisharri took place in Tripoli, resulting in one dead and eight wounded, mostly bystanders. One month later, after the Zghartāites had moved to their summer homes in Ihden (a few miles below Bisharri), a pitched battle broke out between the two towns on the Jabal Mar Elias ridge which separates them. With the government unable to intervene, they ended up “turning the mountain ridge into an oriental battlefield in the best traditions of medieval Syria.”7 But this was 1944, and both sides had carbines and a few machine guns. Even so, casualties were light (also in the medieval tradition), one dead from Zghartā and three from Bisharri. Sheikh Maurice Mu‛awad, of Zghartā‛s most powerful family, was the one killed from the Ihden side; and, unfortunately, his body was quite disrespectfully mutilated. The feud would be continued. This incident, begun with the French, ended with them, too. The Interior Minister, Camille Chamoun, could not restore order and was forced to ask France to do so with their Troupes Spéciales. While the French were able to stop the Zghartā-Bisharri skirmishes in quick order, the real dilemma was not resolved. The new state desperately needed more police and better weapons. The French would only sell the British Enfields they had on hand at five times the cost of their manufacture, obviously wanting to keep the Lebanese poorly armed and dependent on France. The al-Khūri government naturally preferred to buy the Enfields directly from Britain. General Spears then asked the United States, whose lend-lease enabled the British to arm the French, to allow him to sell the weapons to the Lebanese government. Agreement was reached and, once again, the French had been outmaneuvered. Yet, the colonial power was still on the scene and with troops. Amid the usual charges of corruption and fraud, the al-Sulh government fell on July 1, 1944. George Wadsworth, American Consul at the time, seemed to think that, rather than corruption, the real reason for this collapse, and many similar ones, was the Lebanese preference for the French mode of brief government so that as many deputies as possible “may have their turn at a portfolio.”8 In the off-and-on periods of parliamentary activity up to that time (1926–44), only one cabinet had lasted longer than a year; this one had already gone nine months, two over the seven-month average. The Supply Minister and the Minister of the Interior were competing mightily for supporters. President alKhūri replaced his Supply Minister (Osseiran) with two new notables and sent the Interior Minister, Chamoun, off to London as ambassador to Britain. For the

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Prime Minister, the government had fallen; for the President, it was just a cabinet shake-up. POLITICS AND THE SYSTEM The national puzzle that Bishāra al-Khūri pieced together gave him a power base of notables. These entered the Chamber and, when possible, headed the various ministries. The aura of having held office in the past plus the hope of doing so in the future, added up to a great number of “proto-positions” for a patronage politician to distribute. Both the President, Bishāra al-Khūri, and his ever available Prime Minister, Riyād al-Sulh, were without rivals in the art of Levantine patronage. In examining al-Khūri’s modus operandi, it may be helpful to review what the French bequeathed to the Lebanese in the way of governmental machinery along with the politics that emerged from it. As already mentioned, the Chamber was given the power to choose the President but not as a function of popular electoral preference. Lebanon’s confessionalism and segmented society only sent independents and blocs to parliament, and these did not go to the public with identifiable national policies. Their concerns were zero-sum, and no single community could take a chance on policies having an overall impact on the country. The President, after consultation with leading members of the Assembly, chose his cabinet. The cabinet was not able to act independently of the President. Together they could dissolve the Assembly and often did. The Assembly, in theory, had the power to force the cabinet to resign but could seldom put together the necessary coalition of party groups and factions to do so. Once selected, the President could not be removed from office by a vote in the Chamber, a constitutional feature that caused the Republic much grief throughout its history. The system was what the French, in 1926, wanted it to be, a part parliamentary, part dictatorial form of government. There was, of course, an electoral basis for choosing the Assembly, but it had neither a national nor a policy orientation. Therefore, the Lebanese did not directly choose their government; they could only play a role in a competitive exercise that maintained a pluralistic and differentiated elite. Such a role was not unimportant, but a direct election for the chief of state might have forced politicians to represent the whole country rather than some combination of its pieces. The members of the Assembly, in turn, did not come together to make policy but to choose policymakers. It was the President, with his cabinet, who ruled. When the President presided over the cabinet, it acted as a Council of Ministers (majlis al-wuzarā‘), but when the Prime Minister chaired, it was a Ministerial Council (majlis wizāri‘). In the first case, highest policy concerns were taken up; in the second, only routine matters. While it is true that all pluralistic elites and cabinet-type governments behave in similar fashion, in the Lebanese experience the weights almost entirely favored the power of the President at the expense of those who had to go before the voters to gain office.

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The result was a kind of bureaucratic politics instead of the genuine legislative activity that characterizes representative government. The people of Lebanon were unable to organize their politics in such a way as to gain control of the President because he was constitutionally placed so that he could manipulate the officials around him and use the divisions of the country to suit his political needs. While the President was elected to a six-year term (not to immediately succeed himself), deputies were chosen for four years. Between 1943 and 1964, Lebanon had three Presidents and thirty-five cabinets. The average life of a cabinet was seven months, the same during that twenty-year period as it had been under the two decades of French control. Not counting the chaotic situation of the 1980s, two-and-a-half years represents the longest life of a cabinet. That one, headed by Rashid Karāmi, served under Fu‛ād Shihāb, a President who was placed in that office as much by the American government as by the Lebanese electorate. Although Lebanon had thirty-five cabinets over this period, only a dozen Sunnis ever contended seriously for the position of Prime Minister. Between 1943 and 1980, appointments to this office went to members of just four families, the alSulhs, Salāms, Karāmis, and Yāfis, for forty of the fifty-three times it was available. On sixteen occasions, a member of the al-Sulh family was named Prime Minister; the Karāmis have held this office eleven times; Abdullah Yāfi, nine; and Sa’ib Salām, six. The machinery of the government, in combination with kinship and communal ties, resulted in other anomalies. Perhaps only two dozen or so families have actually held power in Lebanon. Many of those represented in the first Chamber (1943)—the Arslāns, Jumblāts, Franjiehs, al-As‛ads, Eddés, Hamādahs, Karāmis, and Salāms—were also represented in the last (fully independent) one (1980). Membership in the Assembly tended to be kept in the family; often sons —once even a daughter -have succeeded the deceased.9 Da‛ūd Pasha, the first Mutasarrif, began the practice of installing the old feudal amirs into positions of the new state. Lebanon’s “electoral feudalism” (before 1980) was partly due to the precedent he set. Bishāra al-Khūri testifies in his Memoires that certain positions came to be considered waqf (mortmain) belonging to given families, e.g., House Speakership for Sabri Hamādah, the Defense Ministry for Majid Arslān, and that of Foreign Affairs for the Taqlās.10 Much has been written about those who have inherited the old feudal privileges in Lebanon, the za‛īm notables.11 There has been some disagreement on the part of scholars as to whether the zu‛āma should be seen merely as modern-day feudal lords or as transitional figures in a developing democracy. Theorists of political development have sometimes used Lebanon as an example of “consociational democracy” and have emphasized the democratic features of its “transitional” politics.12 Though this term is linked more closely to the country’s communalism and, in particular, its confessional system, it also takes the zu‛āma into consideration as subnational leaders within the “consociational” system, i.e. as local leaders within Lebanon’s pluralistic society. Other students

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of Middle East politics, including this writer, have been less optimistic about democratic development in Lebanon.13 Emphasis on the traditional elements of its transitional politics suggests, perhaps, the term “electoral feudalism” as more appropriate to the Lebanese case. To the degree that the traditional bosses have controlled the electoral process, feudalism has been the essential pattern. Where elections have been genuinely competitive, allowing non-elite persons to hold power, democracy has begun to take hold. Data on voting, representation, and elite membership have shown conflicting tendencies—a country which had begun to practice electoral democracy while still in the grip of its traditional leaders, yet a country not quite able to achieve that ”critical mass” of popular control to manage without them. The zu‛āma fall roughly into three categories: “traditional,” e.g., the Arslāns, Jumblāts, al-As‛ads, and Hamādahs; “political,” e.g., the Eddés, al-Khūris, alSulhs, and Karāmis; and “militant,” e.g., organizers of the Phalange, Najjāda, Communists, and Syrian National Party and, recently, of the Amal, Hizbollah, and Lebanese Forces. These categories are not overly distant from those offered by Samir Khalaf where he suggested three types: “feudal,” “administrative,” and “urban.”14 Although these persons, and their organizations, do not all fit a rigid pattern, they do share similar characteristics. The leader controls the organization below him, often armed, and uses it to maintain his political position. This involves distributing patronage, direct governmental services, and payments for votes. Power is marketed. With a few exceptions, the organization attempts to control the political process only in his electoral district and does not offer programs meant to appeal beyond the confines of his confessional or organizational community. The za‛īm’s political approach is geared to the segmented society in which he operates. His activities recapitulate the oftmentioned “mosaic” that people discover in Lebanon. When the Lebanese went to the polls, they chose persons to represent them in an institution that was more like an electoral college than a legislature. Because balloting could decide the major question of power only on the one occasion when it elected the President, this vote was very much worth trying to control or, if necessary, purchase. And, to be sure, the Lebanese found a way to control votes in the Chamber. In deciding important questions, such as the election of the President or Speaker of the House, the balloting is conducted in such a manner as to confirm promises and concessions made outside the Parliament. In casting their votes, for example, Deputies resort to the ingenious but devious practice known as “election keys” by which they enter the name of their candidate in a specific prearranged manner to confirm their predetermined commitments.15 In other words, a given person or group would refuse to support a candidate unless he was able to prove that his “secret” ballot was cast as promised. In a parliament managed through a strong party system, such a practice would

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customarily be carried out by “whips” able to threaten loss of party support for any member prepared to defect. Because power is at stake and the process must be institutionalized, control of such votes is out in the open for all to see. But loss of party support is not a threat in Lebanon, where blocs and coalitions come and go according to the lists that politicians put together for local, rather than national, balloting. So democracy in this instance is somewhat topsy-turvy. The votes in the Chamber, which are meant to be protected, lose their protection so that those who control the votes can be protected. Secrecy in the Chamber is betrayed so that those who control it can remain secret. Michael Shihā and his candidate, Bishāra al-Khūri, were often quite concerned with the political amoralism of the Lebanese. The President often complained that “holding office was everything” for the Lebanese; they thought of nothing else. In an address given in 1928, al-Khūri bitterly complained: As for us, we differ from others in that we are negative blocs. Opinions meet today to destroy what is present but part tomorrow, and we know not why. The party with us is the child of opportunism and the victim of aimlessness at a time when the country awaits a plan or program to uproot some of our evils.16 The fragmentation of Lebanon was reflected in the fragmentation of the Chamber which was reflected in the fragmentation of its cabinet. The President and Prime Minister were the only officials with much freedom of action. Although the President was the more powerful of the two—he could change Prime Ministers at will—the Prime Minister was not without power. He was in a position to interfere with the distributions of patronage needed by the President and could thereby render the latter ineffective. Moreover, as the above remarks by al-Khūri suggest, blocs were created simply for electoral convenience and, specifically, for the power to put together a cabinet and distribute ministerial positions. Henry Pharaon, for example, organized the “Independence Party” in 1946 solely for the purpose of defeating a Riyād al-Sulh cabinet. The slate cobbled together resulted in a bloc that was so diverse in interests that it could not even choose a chairman. According to Elie Salem, when asked by President al-Khūri to form a cabinet, each of the Sunni notables “suggested himself for the Premiership.”17 POLITICS AND THE ECONOMY As could be expected of a new state, much of Lebanon’s first years were involved with maintaining and institutionalizing the new order. Holding office was crucial for prominent families, for, although the country had a laissez faire system, those who operated the economy were forced to maintain close links with the politicians. It was, after all, a Levantine setting, and the government decided, to some extent, who was to be free to engage in free enterprise. Much of

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the political climate was dominated by concern with French intentions, with the question of Palestine, with corruption and possible reform, and with the ever engaging personal intrigues of the politicians. As for the French, the Lebanese demonstrated vociferously in May 1945, when shiploads of new Troupes arrived; there were strikes and protests in Beirut as well as small-scale violence in Damascus. Ironically, the protests were directed as much against the British as the French. Many Lebanese had become convinced that a repetition of the aftermath of the First World War was about to happen, and they were demanding that the British force the French to send as many soldiers out as they were bringing in, i.e., that these were, in fact, shiploads of replacements not additional forces. The question of Palestine also threatened to be very destabilizing to the new Republic as, of course, it has remained to this day. For many Lebanese, especially Arab and Syrian nationalists, this issue was a matter of greater concern to them than the politics going on in Beirut. For them, it was axiomatic that the area south of Lebanon, which the British controlled, should achieve its independence and be handed over to its Arab majority. In 1947, when the United Nations was about to make its historic decision (for the partition of Palestine), passions were raised to the breaking point. Small bombs were set off at the American Legation, at the AUB compound, and near the wall of the Serail in Beirut. Members of the government made speeches and declarations strongly supporting the Arab cause in Palestine and attempted to coordinate its policy with its neighbors through the auspices of the Arab League in Cairo. But no matter how often Henri Pharaon claimed that Lebanon, though independent, was Arab, there were many in the country who believed that when the most difficult sacrifices had to be made, Beirut’s bankers and politicians would not be in league with the Arabs. The emotions aroused over Jewish claims in Palestine and the actions that sovereign Lebanon would take opened up, once again, the question of the country’s legitimacy and of the loyalties of its peoples. And just beyond loomed the question of Lebanon’s unique status as a Christian country. Would Maronites in the upper reaches of the Qadīsha valley make sacrifices for the Muslims of Palestine? With their links to Europe, would they even remain neutral? Unfortunately, questions about corruption and reform were even more complicated. Almost everything needed reforming, and almost everyone seemed corrupt. Individuals defended the validity of Lebanon’s traditions and, at the same time, demanded modernization. They could also be selective about traditions as well as modernity, often preferring new things to new ways. Clayton Lane, Commercial Attaché for the Americans during the period when the Allied war effort was being brought to a close, gives an interesting account of a discussion between himself and Sami al-Sulh, Prime Minister in December 1945. The Prime Minister had earlier complained, only half seriously, that the Americans were placing obstacles in the way of Lebanese development. Because of the war, and Lebanon’s role in the Middle East Supply Center, the money

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supply had increased astronomically without a corresponding increase in goods to buy. Prices had so skyrocketed that the ordinary laborer could hardly buy bread. Al-Sulh had come to the Americans because he trusted them and did not believe they harbored political designs on his country. The Lebanese were individualists, and those who had money were likely to use it only for their own benefit. They were also good merchants and could get the economy going but for the chronic shortages. Would the Americans provide food and materials that would bring down the food prices? The Attaché had earlier presented the Prime Minister with a list of projects he thought would help Lebanese economic development and wanted to know who in the government might be interested. Lane thought dollars would eventually be available to help build an airport, a new port in Tripoli, etc. Sami Bey also had his own list of public projects, but he was alone; no one would help him. If the government did not receive supplies soon, he would be forced to turn to the French. Since the restrictions in question had been imposed by the British, Mr Lane thought it “not a strong expression of Lebanese independence” to turn to the French or ask the Americans to try to get London to change its policy. Although al-Sulh was interested in what the Attaché had in mind regarding development, his immediate concern was with bringing down prices. He then left a list of specific articles that the government needed at once: steel pipes, iron bars, road rollers, motor trucks, etc., none of which would seem to bring down the price of bread in the short term. As he was leaving, Mr Lane promised to do his best to help, and the Prime Minister expressed his profound appreciation.18 What is instructive about this incident is revealed in an addendum to the dispatch where the above conversation is recorded.19 Labeled as “secret” information, the Attaché felt it necessary to inform the State Department of his misgivings concerning the Prime Minister, al-Sulh’s, list. Considering the eagerness of the Americans at this time to engage in foreign aid programs, Lane’s candor is especially significant. In his dispatch, he writes: This conversation left a great deal unsaid. For instance, I could not ask the Prime Minister what he was doing to avoid the transfer of import licenses in the black market at the much higher rates there for dollars, thus causing higher prices for imported American articles. There is reason to suspect that he may be a party to this practice. Certainly some of his officials are, if reliable informants are not greatly mistaken.20 Unfortunately, this was only the tip of the iceberg of the Attaché‛s misgivings about Sami Bey and his colleagues. He continues: The Lebanese Supply Department is under the personal supervision of Sami Bey Sulh as Minister of National Economy. This Department collects a 30 percent special tax on imported goods (decree No. 1771 of June 22, 1945) in addition to customs duties and municipal dues amounting to some 30

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percent The declared purpose of this tax is to cover the deficit of the Supply Department. At the end of 1944, it was officially disclosed that the Supply Department’s budget showed a deficit of some 9,000,000 Lebanese pounds, of which 3,000,000 had been embezzled. The Secretary-General of the Department at that time (Emir Jamil Chehab) proposed that a local firm of British chartered accountants be asked to examine the Department’s books. This was not done, for the declared reason that the auditors’ fee of 20,000 pounds would be excessive. The matter was dropped.21 Clayton Lane notes that Sami al-Sulh’s Department collects its 30 percent tax “in kind” and that an ample supply of imported goods of the sort collected as taxes is available at inflated prices on the black market. Supplies of cereal grains were also available on the black market at a time when the Supply Department’s warehouses were “sealed” to take stock of inventory. Import permits were distributed only to a select group of merchants enabling them to sell their goods at monopoly prices. The Attaché was of the opinion that many import-control laws were passed for the sole purpose of boosting prices. In addition, some merchants refused to take possession of goods they had imported, leaving them in the government warehouses. They felt unable to pay the ruinous fees and taxes to a competitor in the market. Clayton Lane ends his “Comment” with a list of the merchant families whose connections to the government gave them a privileged position. Including such names as al-Khūri and Beydoun, the list reads like a Who’s Who of the Lebanese establishment. Only the old aristocrat, Jamil Shihāb, was trying to implement institutional norms. This case is worth treating at some length because it occurred at the end of the Second World War when soldiers were leaving, money was everywhere, and people had to contend with shortages and high prices. The government had only recently gotten its independence; its politics were uncertain; old hostilities abounded; and lots of people clamored for reform. An ambitious reform program was put forward at this time by Hamīd Karāmi, a veteran Sunni politician from Tripoli. He had taken the trouble to organize others behind his effort, and his bloc, which included Alfred Naccache (Naqqāsh), Kamal Jumblāt, and Henri Pharaon, was prepared to challenge the President on it. These reforms called for: 1 appointing and promoting government functionaries on a merit basis, 2 reforming the judicial system to remove it from the field of political patronage, 3 decentralizing the administrative authority with longer tenure for lower level officials, 4 changing the electoral law to make the Chamber of Deputies more representative, 5 defining the powers of the legislative and executive more clearly to prevent no-confidence votes from occurring on minor issues.

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Though vague, these proposals might have led to genuine structural change. They were seconded somewhat by a manifesto issued jointly by the Muslim Najjāda and Christian Phalange (March 1946) attacking the government for its administrative abuses and calling for action. A lawyers’ strike, demanding higher pay and judicial reforms, was in its second month. There were even those in the Chamber who suggested that the Lebanese switch to a presidential system, arguing that the French-designed constitution had been devised for a Mandate and was not suitable for a sovereign, independent state. Why stick to a system designed purposely not to work? The answer to that question, of course, was that under such a system the President, like the French High Commissioner before him, could rule by default. On the other hand, it could be argued that Lebanon was new and small. There were numerous foes, both inside and outside the country, ready to ambush the government. The Lebanese needed a strong centralized authority; they needed a President who could wield power. The state needed his executive control except where it might interfere with the economy (and corruption). In those areas, hands off; Lebanon was to be a “merchant” state. POLITICS AND CORRUPTION Although besieged on all sides at the time (1946), Bishāra al-Khūri did make assurances to the reformers that he would treat their proposals seriously. He pointed out that much of the government elite was in Paris negotiating with the French on the final terms of the latter’s military withdrawal. The representatives needed the unity of the country to back them up. The President’s request for a delay was credible: the “outside” was threatening. The reformers’ insistence that the delay be brief in duration was also credible: the “inside” was about to come apart. But governments are notoriously reluctant to negotiate their own demise, and this one was no exception. Al-Khūri hung on until his negotiators came back from Paris with their prize, namely, French recognition of Lebanon’s independence. The lawyers ended their strike; conditions improved; a few months went by without scheduling the promised meeting to consider reforms; and in June, the Sami al-Sulh cabinet was replaced by an even weaker one headed by Sa‛adi Munlā. This government was so weak, in fact, that it worked tolerably well, i.e., the President governed much as the French had in the past. While the reforms that were demanded resembled many of those proposed over the next several years, only a few were ever adopted. Some changes, of course, did take place: the mixed courts were abolished in late 1946; the administrative corps was streamlined and partially insulated from personal petitions; and a major public works program, building an international airport, was in the planning stages (some of which verged on the fantastic as several landowner politicians tried to find ways to have the runways built on their property).22

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Politicians continued to call for changes. Sabri Hamādah, in October 1946, called for abolishing the confessional system altogether. Kamal Jumblāt, whose politics often belied comprehension, submitted a detailed proposal in May 1947 for revising the electoral law to secure the secret ballot and eliminate some of the means available to bosses for controlling elections. His proposal also called for reducing the size of the electoral districts so that, instead of a few large ones, each the size of a province (muhafiz), Lebanese would vote in many small ones (cazas), each the size of a district. Like other reform programs, these ran afoul of “Lebanon’s predicament.” First was the fact that the persons threatened by the reforms would have to institute them. Second, Lebanon had no national means of organizing for major reforms. Third, major reforms called into question the very existence of Greater Lebanon as a state. From the point of view of the elite, it was preferable not to have a state in the full sense of the term but to get on with doing business in the traditional way. AL-KHŪRI’S SECOND TERM The main business at hand for Bishāra al-Khūri in early 1947 was to prepare for national elections. It was the opinion of the American Consul at this time that there was no measure which al-Khūri would refuse to take in order to stay in power. Yet, the barriers to his doing so were formidable. Corruption was flagrant and intrusive; newspapers clamored for reforms; and opposition to his continuing in office was widespread. Moreover, to be given a second term would require amending the Constitution, and his bloc did not have the votes to accomplish it. Both opposition to his power and others who wanted to acquire it would bring alKhūri up short. On the other hand, the opposition, though massive, was itself badly divided, and the President had more instruments at his disposal to encourage these divisions than had the “madding crowd” for putting them together. The general plan in the 1947 elections was to make sure that enough government supporters were returned to the Chamber to amend the Constitution and allow the President to be chosen for a second term. Besides specific patronage pledges to individual deputies, al-Khūri promised to expand the membership of the Chamber by twenty-two seats. This offered “listmakers” all kinds of possibilities. It was also his intention to placate several opposition groups with initiatives only the President could take, e.g., allowing the return of several exiled politicians who could hardly be counted upon to bring stability to the state. Wanting to reduce the political potential of his (Christian) rival in the Shūf, Camille Chamoun, the government, in exchange for support from the Syrian National Party, allowed its charismatic founder, Antoun Sa’ada, to return to Lebanon. His speeches soon inflamed most Lebanese, especially the Maronites in the north. Emile Eddé was also allowed to return from Paris, and he immediately took over the leadership of the National Bloc, demanding that his compatriots rid the country of the “fool” in Beirut. Finally, the government allowed Fawzi Qawūqjī, former leader of the Arab Revolt in Palestine, to return from

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Germany (where he had collaborated with the Nazis) and take up residence in his hometown of Tripoli. During the procession that greeted Qawūqjī‛s return, a shootout erupted between two of the city’s factions (led by the Muqaddam and Karāmi clans), killing twenty and wounding many bystanders.23 Although the battle seems to have erupted over a traffic dispute, the underlying causes were well understood by the al-Khūri regime. The arrival of Qawūqjī was as favorable to the Muqaddams as it was, in zero-sum terms, unfavorable to the Karāmis. The regime would get credit from Syrian nationalists, the Patriarch’s mountain dwellers, and anti-Zionist Muslims for the return of these three exiles while they, in turn, brought further divisions to the Lebanese. How could Chamoun, Gemayel, Jumblāt, and Eddé find a way to combine against the President? In the past, each had collaborated at times with the others, but, essentially, they were rivals and appealed to conflicting interests. It was not difficult, therefore, for the regime to impose single lists on much of the voting public; this was preferable to the battles that were bound to break out in Jezzīn, Zahleh, and Tripoli. To be sure, allowing Eddé to come back to his Maronite political base was a substantial concession and allowed the latter to lead the fight against corruption. But corruption seemed more attractive to the Lebanese than French control. Bringing back Eddé, who was associated with French colonialism, was the means by which the “fool” arranged his opposition to suit him. Having all of these rivals at work in Lebanon, splintering the splinters into splinters, was to the President’s advantage. What was the danger in running against persons who could not win? Even with the government’s excessive interference, the elections in 1947 did manage to elicit a great deal of political activity, most of it consumed in the preballoting process of establishing the electoral lists. Since many of these were devised in the absence of opposition lists, determining who would be included was tantamount to deciding who would be elected. It had been hoped that a group of “giants” would collaborate and, from their safe districts, organize a sufficient number of opposition lists to give the regime a real contest. A triumvirate of Gemayel, Chamoun, and Jumblāt did begin to emerge as a possible group of the “worthy and best” to lead the country out of corruption. They were unable, however, to organize any reformist Muslim partners and also found themselves at odds over Eddé‛s candidacy. As one Lebanese commentator put it, “The triumvirate began gradually to realize that while they might be ‘worthy and good/they were also difficult and intransigent.”24 The election for the Chamber of Deputies (which would pick the President) was held on June 3, 1947 and received unstinting denunciation for the amount of fraud and manipulation employed by the regime in making sure that its candidates won. The majority bloc of government supporters won by an average of 80 percent, hardly allowing Middle East observers to classify the election as truly competitive.25 Riyād al-Sulh, having gotten himself on the al-As‛ad list at the last minute, was named Prime Minister of a government whose main goal was to amend the Constitution so that the President could continue in office. The

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two main founders of the state, partners in fashioning the National Pact, had returned to power but without much credibility. Kamal Jumblāt resigned his seat in protest over the way the government had managed the elections. Policemen and military personnel were angry at having been forced to do the dirty work. Most of the leading newspapers agreed on a letter sent to the President announcing their intention not to cover the sessions of the Assembly since it was no longer representative of the people and should be dissolved. One opposition group, calling itself the Union of National Liberation, attempted to convoke an assembly at Sofār in August but was prevented from doing so by the police. Archbishop Mubarak of Beirut was so incensed at being turned away from Sofār that he issued a manifesto calling for civil disobedience against the fraudulent government. Mubarak’s demands for reform were so radical that the Patriarch, who detested the President, even denounced them.26 A second attempt to convoke a meeting was scheduled for September 1947 in Tripoli but did not finally bear fruit until the next November, when al-Khūri finally received a delegation and agreed to hold a constitutional convention within four years. There were informal discussions concerning a proposal to take a census in 1948 in exchange for a constitutional guarantee reserving the presidency for the Christians. Professionals in Beirut recognized, however, that a vague promise to act after four years had gone by meant that nothing would be done to halt the corruption, so the press campaign against the government continued unabated. The President had succeeded in arranging his coveted second term but at the cost of not being able to govern.27 With the climate of hostility so pervasive, nothing much was accomplished by the Chamber for the first six months of its term. The budget was discussed, but no action was taken. Groups published manifestos and reform plans; the politicians complained, but when Riyād al-Sulh challenged them to vote him out of office, no one in the Chamber uttered a word. The al-Khūri “sultans” so controlled the deputies that only seven votes were cast against the unpopular constitutional amendment that allowed the President to succeed himself. Before long, most of the members of the “opposition” were back at their desks cooperating with the government. Major events from the outside had contributed to the revised attitude. The United Nations General Assembly, on November 29, 1947, had passed a resolution recommending the partition of Palestine. Agitation was intense and deflected attention away from the President’s foibles. A few bombs allowed the government to insist on the exercise of its full powers, and since the worst outbreaks of violence came from the Muslim sections of the country, many Christian opponents of the regime took cover under its shell. Riyād al-Sulh was sent to Cairo to meet with the representatives of the Arab League, dispensing little tidbits, from time to time, concerning the “secret” measures that the Arabs planned to take. Indeed, the uproar over external matters lasted long enough to give the regime a grace period of nearly four years. Although corruption increased, the economy improved to offset the distresses. Lebanon did go through the motions of

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assisting the Arab states in their badly coordinated moves against the Israelis, but the activities of its irregulars in central Galilee were essentially passive. A short campaign by the Israelis during the third stage of the 1948 war quickly brought them home. The Arab boycott of Israel, and its extension to all firms which exported to the Jewish state, proved a boon for Beirut, rapidly turning that city into the major entrepôt for the eastern Mediteranean. New, inexpensive labor (and future problems) appeared when 82,000 Palestinians arrived as refugees. These were desperate but also, in many cases, well trained. Although their arrival resulted in many dislocations, as providing for and supplying the refugee camps became a priority, the Palestinians also contributed their labor and skills to Lebanon’s economic take-off. The reverberations from these events were many and various, keeping most Lebanese busy trying to acclimate to the new situation. Not long after the Palestine debacle, there arose a new challenge to the regime from Antoun Sa‛ada and the Syrian National Party (PPS). As soon as he set foot on Lebanese soil, Sa‛ada began making inflamatory speeches, both denouncing the status quo and demanding radical change according to his Pan-Syrian prescriptions. Undoubtedly, he was prepared to begin with less than the whole of Syria because, in early July, PPS forces began to attack military and police posts, apparently as part of a general move to overthrow the government of Lebanon. Attempts by the PPS to settle matters with the Phalange, its main authoritarian rival, had failed earlier and resulted in the usual casualties as well as the burning of a newspaper plant. With the assistance of Syria, Sa’ada was arrested on July 7 and executed the next day. Other leaders of the Party were also rounded up, twelve condemned to death and six actually executed. The government immediately took action to suppress other activities it believed were dangerous to its survival, locking up the Phalange headquarters, imprisoning critical journalists, and initiating a program of compulsory military training. Bishāra alKhūri was able to begin his second term in September 1949, and after shaking up his cabinet, the veteran politician from Sidon, Riyād al-Sulh, once more became Prime Minister. The al-Khūri government had, by now, become almost completely authoritarian in the conduct of its affairs. It routinely jailed journalists and suspended their newspapers. Meetings of reformers would often be summarily broken up by the police while, at the same time, the radical political parties were outlawed and their leaders jailed. The entourage around the President continued to use the government in the customary way, for personal profit. Fortunately, elections were scheduled for April 1951 and offered some hope. Camille Chamoun had become a kind of opposition leader and was successful in pressuring the regime to form a caretaker cabinet to supervise “genuine” elections. With the membership of the Chamber increased by twenty-two seats, it seemed possible to inject some new play into Lebanese politics.

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THE CUSTOMS UNION On the economic front, an indication of developments at this time can be seen in the demise of the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union in March 1950. In 1943, when the two countries gained at least partial independence, they were forced to remain dependent on France for both their financial and trade relationships (although their continued linkage to the former colonial power affected them differently). Both currencies were tied to the French franc and, for a time, guaranteed against devaluation. As their own trade patterns broadened and France grew closer to the other West European economies, Syria and Lebanon were forced to back their own currencies. Their ability to do so was, at first, problematic, requiring economic growth to make it possible. When Riyād alSulh, the Lebanese Prime Minister, and Sa’adallah al-Jabri, his Syrian counterpart, met in 1943 to work out their mutual relations, they decided that there was no better alternative than to maintain the customs union which the French had established during the Mandate period. In fact, when outside powers controlled the area, Beirut had served as the entry point for a kind of “Hanseatic” trade network covering the entire Levant.28 After independence and the loss of Palestine, however, this network was broken up, and the economies of Syria and Lebanon began to move in different directions. Syria’s nascent manufacturing, it was argued, needed tariff protection while Lebanon’s indigenous production in this sector was insignificant. But Lebanon could easily import cheaper goods from other countries and flood Syrian markets with them. Beirut’s rapid growth as a financial center allowed the Lebanese to depend less on their own exports than was the case for the Syrians. For this reason, the Syrian economy was vulnerable to Lebanese trading practices. Damascus terminated the union once it was clear that the al-Khūri government would not alter its policies. Two weeks later, Lebanon closed its borders to all trade with Syria, causing a complete break in economic relations between the two countries. At the end of the year, Syria and Lebanon re-opened their border to trade but, in this case, on the basis of major restrictions demanded by the Syrians. Damascus not only placed the same customs duties on Lebanese goods that applied to other countries but also placed additional barriers to trade with the country. To prevent Beirut from simply re-exporting imported goods, the Syrians required that 50 percent of the combined value in articles coming from Lebanon must be Lebanese in material and labor. The Lebanese, of course, retaliated and, although a series of interim trade arrangements were agreed to and extended from time to time, the two economies were never allowed to reinforce one another as they had before 1950. Politics, as might be expected, also intruded in this case. Damascus was host to an almost comical series of military coups in 1949, and each of them cast its shadow on Lebanon. The fanatic Syrian National Party, which had threatened the country, was thought to have taken its cues from the Syrian military. The leaders of the first two Syrian coups in 1949, Husni Za‛īm and Sami Hinnawi, had each

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been shot when overthrown, and in both cases, Lebanon was at least indirectly involved. When, in December 1949, Adīb al-Shishakli pulled the third coup of that year, he became the military strongman behind the new government and was thought to be sympathetic towards the Syrian Nationalists. Given the PPS program for including Lebanon in Greater Syria, Beirut was understandably concerned about what might be happening in both countries. It is interesting to speculate on “what might have been” if the two countries had preserved their customs union. It is clear that, in the short term, Lebanon benefited from linking itself to world trade and finance at the expense of its domestic production. The prosperity and political interdependence, though, that could have resulted from a larger market, one that included Syria, is what the two societies genuinely needed. But the market, with its laissez faire principles, was not allowed to tug at the politicians. Once Shishakli took control of the Syrian government in 1951, that country embarked on a series of programs that increasingly placed its economy under state control. This trend has never been completely reversed. Where Syria has leaned toward a command economy, Lebanon has leaned toward a“commercial polity,” i.e., for the latter, businessmen and bankers have called the shots. The record also shows that Beirut, while continuing to work on its trade problems with Damascus, put much more effort into forging ties with countries all over the world, especially those which favored free trade. In the long term, however, this emphasis proved politically costly. Lebanon’s free-for-all economy grew but did not provide enough public goods to maintain itself. Far too many people were unable to share in the bonanza. The country’s different approach, for better or for worse, also isolated it from the paroxysms of Arab socialism while allowing it to act as a banker for traditional regimes. Not sufficiently Arab and never revolutionary, Lebanon was cast in the role of a pariah and did little to convince its neighbors otherwise. It is hard not to wonder, wistfully, if Syria, with free trade, might have steered clear of socialism while Lebanon, having a stake in the hinterland, might have used its connections there to save itself. THE GENTLE COUP After the events of 1949–50, Lebanon’s government rapidly became even more corrupt and isolated. The President’s brother, Salim, freely used patronage and police to improve his position relative to Camille Chamoun. The President’s son, Khalīl, was a major conduit through which bribes were exchanged for contracts: LE 10,000 to put up an apartment building, LE 30,000 to build the airport terminal, etc. According to George Britt, “A seaside runway had been extended, contrary to engineering advice, for 600 metres northeastward, into the holdings of deserving friends.”29 In addition, the border with Israel to the south had been sealed while trade with Syria was only a trickle of what it had been. Lebanon’s Tammany Hall politician not only had solidified the opposition but also had just about exhausted the patience of his honest friends and associates. It has never

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been clear why al-Khūri allowed corruption to reach such levels during his presidency. Lebanese were reluctant to blame their President for the shortcomings of his relatives and close associates; he had, after all, succeeded in leading them to independence. But several major events, some of them aftershocks of the previous year, took place, leaving al-Khūri without his customary ability to rig the game. It soon became reasonable to suggest retirement. The first of these events was the elections scheduled for the middle of June 1951. The run-up to the elections resulted in three persons killed and twenty wounded in a ruckus between Kamal Jumblāt’s supporters and Sheikh Salim alKhūri’s police. A former Prime Minister, Sami al-Sulh, was shot during an election meeting in his home, and two citizens were killed and three others injured during the balloting itself. Pre-election violence totaled seventeen dead and over fifty injured. Balloting resulted in a working majority for the government but under different conditions from before. Though not without manipulation, these elections were considerably more competitive than those in 1947. Winners received, on average, a little more than 60 percent of the votes in 1951 compared to about 80 percent in 1947. There were twenty-two more members of the Assembly to try to control, stretching patronage somewhat. Most important, a so-called “Socialist Front” emerged as a popular opposition which included Chamoun and Jumblāt, as well as representatives from the National Bloc, the Katā‛ib, the Najjāda, and even the Syrian National Party. The principals in this group had nothing in common except opposition to the al-Khūri regime. They were able to sponsor rallies in several of the towns, rousing the crowds and increasing anti-regime sentiment beyond anything the government could counter. The second of these events was that Riyād al-Sulh, having survived an assassination attempt in March 1950, was gunned down in the summer of 1951 while on a diplomatic mission to Amman. (The Syrian National Party had finally avenged the death of Antoun Sa‛ada.) Thus, for al-Khūri, the players had changed. Besides al-Sulh, others of the old political establishment died during this period: Emile Eddé in September 1949, and Hamīd Karāmi in November 1950. The loss of Riyād al-Sulh was especially damaging to the President, for he could no longer count on this leader of the Sunnis to help him shuffle cabinet positions. To be able to distribute cabinet positions and rotate people in government was the key to power in Lebanon, one that al-Khūri had developed into a fine art. But beyond tactical considerations, Riyād al-Sulh had maintained his credibility with the Arab-Islamic elements of Lebanon. He could move in Arab circles throughout the Middle East. Kamal Jumblāt and Camille Chamoun could not have mobilized the crowds to bring down Bishāra al-Khūri had Riyād al-Sulh remained at his side. Journalists, lawyers, businessmen, and soldiers had all mounted protests against the government during the previous year, and on September 15, 1952, a third event weakening the government occurred. The shutters on the shops were

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closed, and a general strike began in response to an appeal from the Socialist Front. A week earlier, Sami al-Sulh, the Prime Minister, had resigned in response to criticism from the opposition, and the President had appointed an “emergency” cabinet to take over for an interim period while he tried to negotiate his way out of the mess. His attempt to squeeze through the bars by requesting Sa‛ib Salām to head a cabinet was met by an uproar. The general strike completely paralyzed the country, and a group of fifteen deputies formally demanded the President’s resignation. A delegation of top officials, including the Commander in Chief, Fu‛ād Shihāb, then went to the President and asked him to resign. On September 18, President al-Khūri did resign, placing Shihāb in control until the Chamber was able to elect a new President. Five days later, on September 23, 1952, it chose Camille Chamoun to be President. After several unsuccessful attempts, he was able to form a government with Khalid Shihāb as Prime Minister. CAMILLE CHAMOUN The new Prime Minister asked the Chamber for full powers over a six-month period to give him time to put through a complete program of reforms. This request was granted almost unanimously, and within a month, Khalid Shihāb was able to announce the dismissal of 300 civil employees as a step toward streamlining the government. In all, ninety decrees were issued, giving Lebanon an independent judiciary, defining the administrative duties of the civil servants, liberalizing the press law, and extending voting rights to women. One of the changes which progressives had counted on, the long-sought increase in the number of electoral districts, was also accomplished. The Chamoun government passed an electoral law which increased the number of voting districts from five to thirty-three, twenty-two for single members. At the same time, the Chamber was reduced from seventy-seven to forty-four members, giving citizens a much better chance to force the politicians to compete for their votes. Outsiders were impressed by the vigor with which Chamoun pursued his modernization program. Several agreements were signed with the United States for technical assistance in agricultural development, irrigation, and hydroelectric power. Allotments of large sums for development projects were regularly announced, and the government was able to negotiate an interim economic agreement with Syria. By the time Khalid Shihāb had offered his resignation in April 1953, the Chamoun regime had set the country on a course toward economic take-off. This was undoubtedly its most noteworthy accomplishment. Camille Chamoun, however, was afforded only a brief honeymoon; once the “cabinet of decrees” was gone, he discovered that it was impossible to govern without the “notables.” Criticism had begun even before he was able to form a government. As the Shihāb administration prepared to complete its work, the local vultures hovered nearby to pounce on the government. The demands, in fact, came from all directions—from the left, that reform had not gone far

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enough, and from the right, that it was unraveling the system. Even before Chamoun had put together his first “establishment” cabinet (May 1, 1953) the conflict among traditional rivals and factions was in full swing. In the Jabal Amil region of south Lebanon, clashes broke out between partisans of the Front and those of the traditional Shi’ite za‛īm, Ahmed al-As‛ād. Fourpersons in the village of Badghāni were killed during conflict between the Jumblāt and Arslān clans. The Syrian National Party resumed its activities in Marjayoun while Syria closed its borders with Lebanon after three Socialist-Ba‛thist politicians (Akram Hawrāni, Michel Aflaq, and Salah al-Din Bitār) fled to sanctuary in Beirut. And this was during the honeymoon. After the first regular government was formed with Sa‛ib Salām as Prime Minister, real trouble broke out. This trouble, at least initially, did not come as increased domestic violence; that remained at customary levels. The problem was that Chamoun had no sizable support of his own nor any means of building it without returning to the patronage politics of his predecessor. His British and American friends could help but only with strings attached. Those who put him in power had only agreed on the necessity for change; they had not agreed on what change. As it turned out, they were so divided and, in some cases, politically inept, that the new President was forced to depend on the old politicians for his government. Many of these were Destourians, i.e., drawn from al-Khūri’s “Constitutionalist” entourage. Chamoun’s first attempts to form a cabinet illustrate the dilemma he faced. The reformist but mild-mannered Abdullah al-Yāfi was the President’ dent’s initial choice to form a government but was prevented from doing so when Kamal Jumblāt demanded six cabinet posts, enough to control the government. As leader of the left wing of the Front, Jumblāt had offered a ten-point reform program and insisted that the recent public outcry was a mandate for its enactment. But satisfying the Druze leader would have meant losing most of the rest of the reform group, not to mention the parliamentary old guard who were still the majority in the Chamber. Two other Sunni notables, Sa‛adi Munlā and Rashid Karāmi, also tried their luck but could not bridge the incompatibilities that the situation presented. The Khalid Shihāb “cabinet of decrees” that finally emerged was born of desperation. In April 1953, with the first round of reforms completed, the Khalid Shihāb cabinet resigned, and President Chamoun turned to the old guard for a government. The first of these was led by Sa‛ib Salām, who was almost completely occupied with the problem of trying to bring about a trade agreement with Syria. While the President visited foreign capitals, the Salām government, and its successor under al-Yāfi, struggled with both the Syrians and the oil companies for better financial terms in their respective agreements. Chamoun really needed a success on the economic front; his leadership depended partly on the claim that he possessed international clout. The difficulty with the Syrians was finessed by means of interim agreements, but negotiations with the Iraq Petroleum Company never gave the President the victory he had hoped for.

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Moreover, the reforms, while far reaching on paper, were only partly implemented, especially after the modernist cabinet failed in 1953. Many Lebanese citizens had exerted themselves to get rid of the French and, ten years later, the al-Khūri government, but the old politics continued. Elections, held in June, were more competitive and less corrupt than in the past but resulted in only a few new faces in the Assembly. Without dramatic changes from either the reforms or the electoral process, Chamoun was confronted with the indictment by Jumblāt and the left that nothing had changed, that the struggle had been for naught. At the same time, he was in no political position to satisfy all the vultures hovering near the cabinet waiting their turn. Even though he eventually turned to using patronage, his cabinets lasted, on the average, only six months, as compared to nine months for those of his predecessor.30 Certainly a fighter, President Chamoun energetically promoted new policies but was unable to reform or work with the system. COLD WAR ENTANGLEMENTS The elections of 1953 signaled a new round of reforms, but opposition to the regime also increased. This increase was only partly due to the heat of the campaign which offered its usual, though not excessive, abrasions. One candidate (and feudal boss) from the Akkār region, Muhammad Abboud, was gunned down in Beirut over a political dispute with his cousin. A few bombing incidents occurred; election meetings were broken up; others were banned; and a few communists and nationalists went to jail. The opposition, however, began coming from a new quarter, and it not only neutralized the revived effort at reform but became increasingly sectarian in its emphasis. Lebanon, it was asserted, not only needed domestic reform; it must also be unflinchingly Arab in its international relationships. The question of Lebanon’s Arab credentials became a hotly contested issue soon after Gamal Abdul Nasser consolidated his power in Egypt in 1954. The gradual military withdrawal of the British from the Middle East occurred not because London believed the new systems in the area could be left alone to enjoy the splendors of independence but because the cost of maintaining its presence was prohibitive. In preparing for the inevitable, Britain had proposed the establishment of the Middle East Command as a means of cooperating with its “friends” in the area’s defense. These, whether General Nuri or King Farouk, would have undoubtedly gone along with the idea, were it not for the increasingly radical persuasion of the Arab public. Anti-imperialism, anger over Israel, and the attractiveness of socialist schemes combined to undermine the credibility of the status quo in the Middle East. The governments of Egypt and Iraq, therefore, felt they could not risk a new arrangement with the British, and the MEC proposal failed. But the Americans, thoroughly anticommunist, globe-trotting, and not yet wearing the imperialist label, were willing to try their hand at alliance-making in

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the region. John Foster Dulles, Secretary of State in 1952, was committed both to cutting the budget and getting tough with the Soviets. The solution to this contradiction, according to his military advisors, was to switch from a strategy of defense to one of deterrence. The Eisenhower administration would contain the Soviets by implementing the Radford Plan, with its “sword-shield” concept. Under this plan, American nuclear might would “shield” the free world from its communist adversaries (using the “massive retaliation” doctrine) while America’s “friends” on the periphery of the Soviet landmass would employ the “sword” with the conventional arms it gave them to defend their independence. For this reason, the Americans nearly tripped over the departing British in their zeal to line up the Arabs in MEDO, a Middle East NATO to defend against Soviet power. MEDO (Middle East Defense Organization), as it turned out, was a nonstarter. New leaders, like Nasser, were loathe to bring in the United States so soon after they had gotten rid of the British. Moreover, why choose sides in the Cold War? In a corridor like the Middle East, the Arabs could keep the doors open at both ends so that if one of them closed, they could turn around and go out the other. The Syrians led the way with a deal in 1954 that got them a few (German) tanks from Czechoslovakia. After a coup had ousted Adīb alShishakli, Syrian parliamentary activity was restored and reasonably free elections held. These brought a significant bloc of Ba’thist-Socialists into the legislature who helped move the country to the left and made it palatable for General Shuqayr to open the Eastern door just a crack.31 Nasser’s more celebrated “Czech arms deal,” which brought him a large consignment of Soviet equipment, took place the next year, a time when the Syrians also received a shipment of Soviet T-54 tanks. In the meantime, the Lebanese had learned of the original deal when one of the huge crates, on its way to Damascus, was “accidentally” dropped on the dock in Beirut, revealing a tank. It is believed that President Chamoun’s reconversion to anticommunism dated from this event. When both the MEC and MEDO proposals failed to gain Egyptian acceptance, Dulles decided to seal off the Middle East from the Soviets with a Northern Tier of friendly states. First, Turkey concluded a bilateral agreement with Pakistan; then Turkey and Iraq signed an agreement; Iran joined, and finally Britain. Iraq received the prestige for being the host for the Baghdad Pact (later CENTO) that was established as a result of these deals. Though conceived and sponsored by the American Secretary of State, the United States never joined. Unfortunately, the Pact was only partly defensive; its major purpose was to act as a conduit through which the member states might receive American arms, few of which would ever be directed toward the Soviets. Debate at the time suggests that the Pact was also a means by which one set of American policymakers could explain to another how they had sealed off the strategic Middle East without having to pay blackmail to Nasser and his nationalist friends.32 As it turned out, the Soviets managed to leapfrog the Northern Tier when they sold arms to the Egyptians and Syrians. In all the run-up to these events—the

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discussions for alliances and arms, the questions of true allegiance—Lebanon was caught in the middle. Even worse, President Chamoun was caught with his pants down. At the delicate moment (April 1955) when the Turks were signing up their neighbors to these American-inspired pacts, Chamoun and his Prime Minister, Sami al-Sulh, were in Ankara to discuss the Middle East situation. (Only a few weeks before, the Israelis had conducted unusually harsh raids against Egypt in the Gaza Strip while Turkey had carried out “exemplary” maneuvers near the Syrian border.) The joint statement delivered at the end of their discussions proclaimed that the policies of Turkey and Lebanon were in perfect harmony. The Lebanese had been invited to join the Baghdad Pact but refused, citing their responsibilities to the Arab nation. Earlier, the President had issued a statement that contained all the proper references to Lebanon’s traditional neutrality in Arab affairs. Chamoun had covered himself, yet his meetings with the Turks had been represented in such a positive light that some observers wondered if Lebanon had decided to take sides. As Professor Michael Hudson explained, If the President was pursuing a policy of neutrality, this statement (concluding the talks) certainly did not have a neutral tone in the opinion of many Lebanese. Instead, it appeared to be a gesture of approval for the Baghdad Pact; a slap at Syria, which was at the time in serious conflict with Turkey; and a gesture of defiance to President Nasser, whose diplomatic coup in the Soviet arms deal had captured the imagination of the entire Arab world.33 It is likely that Chamoun did not want to take sides but saw radicalism emerging on all fronts. Moreover, he was not governing a country that could take sides but one where half the population wanted to join the Arab side, as personified by Nasser, while the other sought protection from it. The Lebanese also inhabited a “corridor” but not one where it was safe to leave the doors open. Thus, Chamoun, like any experienced politician in the Middle East, was hedging his bets. Lebanon was neutral but might need help. None of these incidents by themselves brought on the polarization of attitudes that came to a head in the civil strife of 1958. After 1955, however, opposition to the regime intensified again and became increasingly polarized on a sectarian basis. The reasons for this deterioration are complex and involve forces and events both inside and outside the country. Camille Chamoun did not cause the problems but he was also not able to master the situation once the breakdown began. In 1953, as reviewed above, the desire for reforms had come from nearly all sectors, from Muslims, Christians, Lebanonists, modernizers, and radicals. The prevailing view blamed the political system for Lebanon’s problems and assumed that its reform was the first step toward their solution. Indeed, the initial changes effected by the Chamoun administration were accompanied by an unprecedented period of economic growth. Prospects were excellent, especially

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for those who could link up to the modern world. Those who could do so were more likely to be establishment persons than people from ordinary walks of life, but, most important, they were more likely to be Christians than Muslims. What is necessary to recognize in this complex matrix of problems is that Muslims in Lebanon at this time could hardly conceive of moving up in status and wealth through pursuits outside the political sector. Although such movement would have been difficult enough for anyone in the country—as crucial as holding office and having connections were—yet a sizable group of professionals, mostly Christian, was emerging in Lebanese society. As long as Riyād al-Sulh was a major factor in the system, the sectarian imbalance could remain muted. Without this remarkable Sunni politician, and his (musical chair) associates, the al-Khūri apparatus would not have been able to keep Greater Lebanon together. On the other hand, once he was gone, the structural reality of the system the French had created was clear for all to see. The real power allotted to the Muslims, especially in the office of Prime Minister, was only a little more than zero. The House Speakership allotted to the Shi‛ites added almost nothing substantive to it. Muslims were allowed to share in the status the regime distributed, but that was about all. Riyād al-Sulh often complained, as did his cousin, Sami, that real power resided with the President’s “sultans” and that the Prime Minister only functioned as a “whipping boy” for the (Christian) regime. President Chamoun did not even have a Riyād al-Sulh. Thus, the opposition was to coalesce around the demands of the Muslims for more administrative posts as well as for more public facilities, especially in education, where there were far fewer opportunities in private institutions for them than for the Europeanoriented Christians. As the crisis deepened, Sunni complaints about the lack of power in their sector of the confessional system broadened into a more diffuse sort of opposition, into a willingness to defy the system itself.

5 The civil war of 1958

TOWARD CIVIL WAR One mark of the defiance that developed among Muslims during the latter years of the Chamoun administration was the attention they paid to the exciting figure of Gamal Abdul Nasser who was, in his own way, a defiant person. His picture, displayed prominently in homes and shops, communicated the strong feelings people had for Arab independence and national revival. For many of these people to remain loyal, Lebanon and its President had to pass the litmus test; they had to give no encouragement to those who opposed the Arab cause. Remaining neutral in deed might have satisfied this requirement, but in the emotions let loose by the events between 1956 (Suez) and 1958 (UAR), a neutral attitude would hardly have sufficed. Yet many Lebanese, even some Muslims, were afraid of the Arab cause, at least as personified by Nasser. The state apparatus was developed and maintained to protect the one Christian country of the Middle East. Several militias had been organized to help keep the country Christian and separate, and they were available to help a beleaguered President whose own army, drawn from Greater Lebanon, might not remain loyal to him. Unfortunately, events on the outside along with grievances on the inside combined to pull the Lebanese apart. Only a strong Muslim component of a government willing to share power could have kept the population together and loyal to the state. There were three major episodes shaking the Middle East between 1956 and 1958 that required careful and sensitive policymaking by the Chamoun administration. These were the Suez Crisis of 1956, the Eisenhower Doctrine initiated in 1957, and the formation of the United Arab Republic in 1958. In each of these episodes, the Lebanese government felt vulnerable to dangers from both inside and outside the country. In each case, it was forced to walk a political tightrope to stay out of trouble. Also, as each situation developed, mistakes turned out to be cumulative, i.e., initial mistakes compounded later ones. Worst of all, as so often happens in the Middle East, an interstate conflict became personal—in this case, a struggle between Presidents Nasser and Chamoun. If examined carefully, the civil war of 1958 also reveals the fact, well understood

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by game theorists, that bad play in a conflict by one side may elicit even worse play by the other. It is appropriate to begin with the Egyptian President since Chamoun’s departure from the Arab orientation called for by the National Pact was a response to Nasserism and not simply his own initiative. On the other hand, what Kamal Salibi calls Chamoun’s “courageous intransigence” made an early debut and soon became a policy for others to contest.1 Therefore, it is also necessary to see the two Presidents make their political mistakes in tandem. Gamal Abdul Nasser did not adopt Arabism as his international creed during the first few years of his rule following his coup in 1952. He struggled to consolidate his power and acquired a moderate record as a reformer (especially with his land redistribution programs). Nasser’s international stature developed rapidly after he negotiated the British withdrawal from the Canal Zone in 1954, bought arms from the Soviet Bloc in 1955, attended the Bandung Conference as a neutralist the same year, and then seized the Suez Canal in 1956. His conversion to Arab nationalism, more a response to Syrian precedents than to his own conceptions, occurred as a function of these diplomatic triumphs. Camille Chamoun, as already mentioned, experienced a rude shock in 1954 when a shipment of Eastern Bloc tanks destined for Damascus was unloaded in Beirut. The Syrian radicals then received more tanks and were “officially” placed under Soviet protection in 1955. Egypt received Czech arms at that time, and Nasser’s policies began to loom large as an Arab, not merely Egyptian cause. It was not difficult for the militarily weak Lebanese to believe that this new force might sweep them away. In spite of Nasser’s denials of any such intention, he could have let it happen. After all, the grandeur that had come his way had literally fallen into his lap. Why not let Lebanon fall into his lap as well? Nasser’s neutralism, highlighted by the Czech arms deal and his preemptory recognition of communist China, so rankled John Foster Dulles that he reneged on the American promise to finance the building of the Aswan Dam. On July 26, 1956, two days after he learned of the Secretary’s decision, the Egyptian President surprised everyone by nationalizing the Suez Canal. Israel, in collusion with the French and British, invaded the Sinai on October 29, and its two European partners intervened the next day. Nasser blocked the Canal with sunken ships, pulled his forces back, and waited for the Russians and Americans to stop the war. Khrushchev threatened, Eisenhower fumed, and the three attackers had to withdraw. The Egyptian President then capitalized on his good fortune by putting even more emphasis on Nasserism, i.e., the drive for Arab unity and independence. These dramas placed President Chamoun on the cusp between Arabism and Lebanonism. Having had many years of international experience and flanked by an international diplomat in Charles Malik, Chamoun postponed making the difficult choice between Nasser and Eden and called the Arab states to an emergency conference in Beirut. By the time this meeting was convened, on November 13, the Suez intervention had been called off. The resolution, drafted

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by the President himself, was unanimously agreed to by the conferees. Its points were appropriate to the situation, calling for withdrawal, referring to the aggression of the perpetrators, and congratulating the Egyptians and Nasser for their Arab patriotism. Camille Chamoun was on top of things: he had taken the initiative, requested Arab solidarity, brought the Arab ministers together, and dominated the conference. He could even congratulate himself; there was a special credibility in having Christian Lebanon take the lead in condemning Western imperialism. Moreover, the Christian President had managed to avoid breaking off relations with either Britain or France, the only Arab state not to have broken off relations with at least one of the two former colonial powers. Chamoun had successfully finessed Lebanon’s domestic schizophrenia; both personalities had been assuaged, and he had shown himself to be properly Arab without jeopardizing Lebanese linkages with the West. Or had he? No sooner had the representatives of the Arab states gone home but Chamoun’s Sunni ministers, Sa‛ib Salām and Abdullah al-Yāfi, handed in their resignations, bringing down the government. This was a course of action they had promised to take if the President tried to get through the crisis without breaking off relations with Britain and France. Their honor was at stake, and Chamoun could not have it both ways. At first it seemed that he could. Professionals everywhere were congratulating Chamoun on the dexterity with which he had handled the ticklish situation. He could argue that maintaining relations with Britain and France now made sense because it enabled Lebanon to be an Arab voice that the Europeans would listen to; it would help rectify the unfortunate consequences of their foolhardy attack. Lebanon could be an instrument in getting justice for the Arabs. This rationale appealed to the logic of the situation but not to its politics. Justice for the Arabs was about the last thing on Nasser’s mind; he was plumping to win over Arab hearts as he overcame their enemies. Egypt’s victories were clear evidence that he was doing so. The Mandate of Heaven was in his hands—one reason, besides honor, that the Sunni notables felt they had no choice but to bring the government down. Their constituents were also in Nasser’s hands, and he could bring them down. For Chamoun, the cabinet’s resignation seemed to relieve him from another aggravation, having to deal with Nasserism in his own government, an influence that the Egyptian Ambassador worked hard to maintain. But the advantage to Chamoun was only short-term. Nasserists outside the government, with grievances to exploit, were in a position to organize against the President, bringing about an action-reaction cycle that further polarized the country. From Suez on, Chamoun found himself increasingly on the defensive. The opposition gained strength, and he began to listen more and more to the other side, the Christian status quo. Its message. was that Lebanon would either be swallowed by Nasser or by the communists in Syria. Perhaps, the Lebanese ought to find some way to play a role in America’s global strategic program and, in exchange, get protection for the country. That is what the King of Iraq and the Shah of Iran

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had done. President Chamoun told his colleagues on several occasions, “Our time will come. The Russians and Egyptians are busy among the people. We will not be able to resist without strong support from the West.”2 If there was a way to get protection (as Iraq and Iran had gotten it) without joining the Baghdad Pact, Lebanon should do it. Unfortunately for Camille Chamoun, the Americans thought of a way: it was called the Eisenhower Doctrine, i.e., military help for states in the Middle East threatened by Soviet communism. If, in Nasser’s mind, Chamoun’s allegiances were suspect after the Suez War, they were made crystal clear in March 1957 when Lebanon tacitly accepted the Eisenhower Doctrine in exchange for military assistance. The military emergency was finished; General Fu‛ād Shihāb had resigned his post as Defense Minister and returned to command the army; and Sami al-Sulh, whose honor was not at stake, had replaced al-Yāfi and Salām on the Sunni side of the street, taking over the Ministries of State and Defense. The new Prime Minister, in April, received parliamentary approval for the cabinet’s decision to cooperate with the United States for mutual defense against communism and then hunkered down with his friends to prepare the country for elections. The new Chamber was to have sixty-six members, twenty-two more than the one elected in 1954. By the time the election campaign began in May, the opposition had coalesced into the (mostly Muslim) National Union Front while the Chamoun regime had turned to authoritarian techniques, banning Egyptian newspapers, intimidating the opposition, and breaking up their rallies. The National Union Front campaigned on a platform that called for cooperation with the Arab states; rejection of military aid which compromised Lebanese neutrality; and opposition to a constitutional amendment that would allow Chamoun to seek re-election. Government security forces broke up a number of rallies, killing seven and wounding over sixty people. Among the injured was Sa‛ib Salām, who was now the most prominent politician openly identified with the Egyptian point of view. America was coming through with both economic and military aid while the government approved a law authorizing detention of any journalist whose writing was considered offensive to the government. The elections, held in July 1957, were not strictly controlled, but victories were often purchased, sometimes costing as much as $155 per vote. The outcome, even with a vigorous opposition, was never much in doubt; the al-Sulh government won forty-six of the sixty-six seats that were at stake. Several prominent members of the opposition, al-Yāfi, Salām, and Jumblāt, were defeated even though, normally, they commanded strong majorities in their districts. This election was conducted in a fashion similar to the one of 1947 and produced a similar result, loss of public support for the President and a determination to oust him from office. Ironically, it did not take the opposition as long to replace President Chamoun as it had taken candidate Chamoun to remove President al-Khūri. The corrective process in the second case, however, required civil war and an American military intervention.

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Soon after the July elections, the government prepared a bill allowing preventive arrest of newsmen; the newsmen went out on strike. The government then accepted a compromise bill, and the strike was called off. A few days later, two newspaper publishers were jailed for insulting the President; the Prime Minister requested emergency powers from the Chamber to arrest anyone considered a threat to the country’s security. All the while, shipments of military equipment began arriving at Beirut port, thanks to Chamoun’s adherence to the Eisenhower Doctrine. These arrivals somehow coincided with government reports of a wave of sabotage and subversive activity directed by Syria. Indeed, several Lebanese policemen were killed trying to intercept smugglers bringing arms across the Syrian border into Lebanon. The President attempted to call a conference of the Arab states to deal with subversion from Syria but got no support from Nasser. Charles Malik, Lebanon’s Foreign Minister, said at the United Nations that the Arab states should not make alliances with communism and went on to defend his government’s claim that the Lebanese were being indirectly assaulted by the Soviet Union through its patrons in Syria. Clearly, by late 1957, the opposition was mobilized to damage the government. Each day saw an attack on its representatives in the outlying districts while bombs increasingly wreaked their havoc in Beirut. The Chamoun regime countered with tighter control over the dissident areas, deporting thousands of Syrians and extending curfews over the Palestinian camps. To demonstrate its toughness, the government also prepared indictments against some 400 members of the opposition for illegal political activity during the recent election campaign that the Chamounists had, themselves, rigged. Included among the (NUF) opposition to be tried were three former Prime Ministers, Sa‛ib Salām, Abdullah al-Yāfi, and Hussein ‘Uwayni. Attacks by government supporters on the persons and property of members of the opposition also intensified. A bomb explosion killed three Syrians in January 1958, and the Prime Minister’s home was the target of a dynamite attack in May. Many charges and counter-charges were made during this prewar period of struggle, and at least two governments fell before open rebellion finally broke out. Though there were several issues involved, the main one driving the government’s behavior was a concern for its own survival. It sought noninterference from Syria and Egypt (the UAR after February 1958) as well as acquiescence from those who demanded reform and a share of power. While the opposition battle cry called for neutralism in Arab affairs, the driving force behind their activity was to do whatever was necessary to prevent the President from engineering an election to a second term. Taking a pro-nationalist stance was a means by which the old aristocrats could get help in ridding themselves of Chamoun. But if they could get help, so could he. All the world could be used to stage the Lebanese drama.

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THE WAR OF 1958 Although organized action against the government had already been occurring since March, the event that set off the full-fledged civil war was the murder (May 8, 1958) of Nasīb al-Matnī, editor of the Daily Telegraph. A Maronite Christian, al-Matnī was harshly critical of the President and, in his last newspaper article, had suggested Chamoun resign. Besides his criticism of the government, this publisher was also in favor of strengthening Lebanon’s ties with the recently formed UAR, claiming that strict adherence to the National Pact was essential for the multicommunal Lebanese. Letters found on his body revealed that he had been warned either to halt his opposition to the regime or be killed. He was a favorite of the NUF, lending some credibility to their claims that they only sought adherence to the constitutional processes which the Chamoun government had flagrantly violated. It was generally assumed that al-Matnī had been assassinated by government supporters and that the President had decided to stay in power at all costs. The country was shaken, and the national struggle began. The National Union Front called for a strike and demanded the immediate resignation of President Chamoun to be followed by the establishment of a caretaker government. Beirut’s newspapers began a three-day moratorium on publishing, and the opposition met to plan its military moves. On May 9, violence broke out in Tripoli, resulting in thirteen dead and over a hundred injured during three days of rioting. Fighting between political factions there worsened the situation. A few days later, the barricades went up in Beirut; rebels traded fire with Lebanese soldiers, and six were killed; the government imposed a curfew and closed the Damascus road; and attacks near the border resulted in damage to the IPC pipeline and the killing of customs agents. Stacks of tires were burnt in the Beirut streets to hamper the government’s ability to move forces into rebel areas. The army, itself, refused to enter these mostly Muslim sectors of the city for the purpose of destroying the rebel strongholds, deciding rather to simply defend government buildings and those areas violence had not broken out. The government then accused the UAR of having instigated the rebellion and informed the British, French, and American Ambassadors that Lebanon was under attack from abroad. It was not long before the government’s term “abroad” meant any area beyond the confines of the Presidential Palace. Lebanon, at this time, never experienced a full-scale civil war; even the national strike was only partially adhered to. The country merely broke down into its partly communal, partly feudal constituents, into the shattered mosaic that it always becomes in bad times. Both control over people and the fighting among them remained local, mostly separated and uncoordinated. The opposition was, itself, the usual ad hoc collaboration between persons of divergent interests who could not have governed the country. It could only try to create chaos and bring down the government, not take power itself. The government, too, was badly divided. Although many of its supporters believed that Chamoun was resisting the wildfire of Arab nationalism which, under Nasser’s leadership,

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seemed likely to sweep through the Middle East, others, entirely committed to an independent Lebanon, believed that the government’s policies were at fault. The most conspicuous division was between the President of the Republic and the Commander in Chief of its army. General Fu‛ād Shihāb had already complained about the move toward cooperation with Western defense policies before the war began; now he refused to commit the army to a strategy that might save the regime while destroying the country. He knew that if the army were to try to put down the rebellion, it would, itself, disintegrate. By holding the army together, he held a vestige of the Republic together. The war continued throughout the summer as part violence and part politics, and Lebanon remained the arena where the policies of outside powers clashed. Of course, Lebanon has historically acted as a venue for the powers’ geostrategic campaigns. The war was a brief but normal tragedy for the Lebanese. Fahim Qubain, in his book on the Lebanese crisis, writes that it could almost have been described as a “comic opera.” In his words: There was something unreal about the whole affair—a succession of scenes taken virtually in toto from Ruritania: an army that would not fight; opposition leaders officially declared “rebels,” with warrants out for their arrest, blandly walking the streets of Beirut in broad daylight with no one laying so much as a finger on them; pitched battles between the army and “rebel” forces stopped, so that army trucks could bring water to the rebels and move their wounded to hospitals; a president virtually a prisoner in his own palace for over two months; a parliament that could not meet; opposition leaders, each with a private army of his own, establishing virtually independent government in his locality—levying taxes and administering justice; and a crisis that was long on bitter words, but short on actual casualties.3 There was also, in Qubain’s words, “a grimmer aspect” to the war.4 A small minority on both sides seemed to care little about what was happening to their country—innocents killed by stray bullets, women and children maimed by bombs, desperately needed infrastructure blown up, the country in financial ruin, shops closed, tourists gone, and sectarian animosities once again inflamed. Qubain evokes the horror and disdain felt by many Lebanese when he writes: “while a tempest in a tea-pot was bringing the world to the brink of atomic holocaust, the politicians on both sides, bargained, held conferences, and issued statements.5 The “atomic” dimension in the 1958 crisis was made evident by the eventual American deployment that had to take the possibility of a Soviet response into account. Short-range Honest John missiles were actually dispatched to Beirut, though not deployed, and some of these were armed with tactical nuclear warheads. Moreover, the content of Egyptian and Syrian media transmissions as well as some of the American decision making indicates the shallowness of character on the part of so many of those involved—a

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shallowness not confined to the Lebanese. On the day that the United States put its military on worldwide alert and made the decision to intervene in Lebanon, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Nathan Twining, told President Eisenhower that the Russians would not dare intervene because “if they do jump us, if they do come in, they couldn’t pick a better time (for us), because we’ve got them over the whing whang and they know it.”6 With that kind of advice prevailing, it is no wonder that President Eisenhower was unenthusiastic about taking action in accordance with his Doctrine. While this period of civil strife in Lebanon remained mostly a series of local, uncoordinated outbursts of violence, forcing its peoples to withdraw to their communal cocoons, there was one force that sought to occupy Beirut militarily and remove Chamoun from power. This was the Druze militia under the leadership of Kamal Jumblāt whose clan was nominally attached to his Progressive Socialist Party (PSP). Jumblāt’s militia had already skirmished against the Lebanese army a month before the war broke out in earnest, and it was an important element in the opposition’s plans to force the President to resign. Arms had been smuggled in from Syria, and “friends” of the UAR cooperated in keeping Jumblāt supplied. Although Syria did not intervene directly, it is evident that a number of Syrians, especially Druze from the Hawrān, did join to fight with the PSP militia. On May 13, the Druze attacked, and nearly captured, the summer palace at Beit al-Din. Unable to take it, they made another attempt two days later but failed and were driven back toward Mukhtāra, the Jumblāt ancestral home and “base” for the PSP movement. Government police and military forces were supplemented both by Na‛im Mughabghab’s Syrian National Party (PPS) fighters and also Majid Arslān’s Druze militia, the Yazbak rival to Jumblāt. Qahtān Hamādah, a Shi‛ite chief from the northern Biqā, also contributed some men to the government coalition early in the Shūf campaign but then withdrew. Holding Beit al-Din, government forces were soon able to launch a counterattack, trying to cross the Barouk river to take Jumblāt’s home base, Mukhtāra, but fell short. A lull in the action ensued while the Druze uqqāl (religious sages) mediated between the Arslān and Jumblāt factions. These two factions reached an agreement, and Arslān withdrew his 300 men from the government coalition, remaining neutral during the rest of the war. The Druze (PSP) force then turned its attention toward the many Christian villages in the Shūf, taking them one-byone in a quickly executed flanking operation to the right of the government’s position. First Batlūn, near Fraydis, and finally Ayn Zahālta fell to the PSP. (At Fraydis, government forces were bombed by their own airplanes and suffered both losses and further defections from the coalition.) At this point, General Shihāb intervened with the Lebanese army, drove the Druze out of Ayn Zahālta, and made an agreement with Kamal Jumblāt that froze the situation for both sides. Shihāb was prepared to use government forces to stop the opposition but not defeat them.

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Two weeks later (late June), Jumblāt launched his last major drive against the government, attempting to take the hills southeast of Beirut as a means of threatening the international airport, located on the coast directly below. On June 30, 1958, the rebels captured the radar facility but could not hold it. For the next five days, they fought government partisans for the ridges overlooking the southern outskirts of Beirut (and the airport), taking, then losing, such villages as Aināb, Qabr Shmūl, and Shimlān. A very large coalition of supporters, including the army, finally drove the Druze from Aināb and Shimlān, and, on July 4, struck them at Qabr al-Shamoun, forcing Jumblāt to retreat into the Shūf mountains. Each side charged that the other had been assisted by foreign soldiers, Syrians and Palestinians for the PSP, Iraqis and Jordanians for the government. Chamoun informed the ambassadors that the war in the Shūf was a UAR-sponsored attempt to overthrow the government. In the same mode, Jumblāt complained that his coalition partners conducting operations in Beirut had acted to prevent him from invading the city. As the PSP was approaching Beirut, getting to within ten kilometers of the city, opposition forces there suddenly ceased attacking the government. This released 2,000 men for use against Jumblāt’s few hundred, and the battle for the high ground was lost. The Druze leader later claimed that members of the opposition (National Union Front) such as Abdullah al-Yāfi and Sa’ib Salām were not willing to share power with his Progressive Socialists. A more likely possibility is that the outcome at Shimlān was due to the same factor that had earlier driven the Druze from Ayn Zahālta, namely General Shihāb. He was willing to prevent the rebels from winning even if he was unwilling to crush them. Although the Druze campaign in the Shūf was the only sustained military effort on the part of the opposition that actually threatened the regime, many other areas in Lebanon were racked by violence and lost to government control. Most of the border area with Syria was beyond the reach of the government, making it easy for arms to be smuggled in. In the southern Biqā and Wadi alTaym, nationalist forces destroyed roads and bridges and generally prevented the army from intervening. In the Ba’albek and Hermil regions, the opposition, from the outset of hostilities, kept the government from maintaining any permanent control. The area was also never controlled by the National Union Front but only by such local chiefs as the Hamādahs, al-Aryāns, and Haydārs. Some Christian villages were left unmolested, but others, as PPS (Syrian National Party) strongholds, were attacked. One such village, Nābi Uthmān, the location of a clandestine PPS radio station, was entered and destroyed. The forces of the Chamoun regime held some pockets in the country; some were controlled by local chiefs; other areas remained unmolested throughout the war. The government had an army camp south of Ba‛albek at al-Sheikh Abdullah and, though besieged, managed to hold it. Other areas, such as the Akkār region in the north; the Jabal Amil in the far south; and Sidon, with its Apple District (Iqlīm al-Tuffah), were held by local bosses, some of whom recruited soldiers and offered assistance to the opposition movement. Most, however, simply

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organized their own administrative apparatus and employed their own forces to maintain it. By far the greatest amount of violence occurred in Tripoli, and it was both continual and lethal. Lebanon’s second city actually had its own civil war in addition to the struggle between the Chamoun regime and the National Union Front. While both the Sunni and Maronite communities were rent by factionalism, the fighting that erupted on May 9, 1958, the day after al-Matnī’s assassination, soon took on a sectarian character. The opposition forces were led by former Prime Minister Rashid Karāmi, whose base centered on the old city inhabited by 40,000 Sunnis. Their attempt to demonstrate, following worship at al-Mansūri Mosque, had been opposed by government security forces, setting off the riot that began the war. The PPS also maintained a force of over a thousand, well-armed soldiers in Tripoli, mostly Christian. Once the rebellion began, they took to the field in support of the government against the mostly Sunni opposition and fought their own sectarian war. At first, the rebels in Tripoli were able to hold their own against the government side, controlling the old city and its port at al-Mīnā. Karāmi acted as the unofficial leader of the rebellion in the north and coordinated his political moves with those of other rebels. Halba in the Akkār region was taken; the airport at Qlie‛āt was under seige. The Maronite Frangieh clan in Zghartā, though not fighting with Sunnis in Tripoli, supported the opposition movement against Chamoun. Unlike the rest of the country, fighting in Tripoli was almost continual from May through August of 1958. During late June and early July, the Lebanese army moved heavy armament into the struggle and beseiged the rebels at the port of al-Mīnā. Heavy damage was inflicted on Tripoli, especially by the major firepower that the government directed at the old city and the port. The rebels managed to get a truce as early as July 2, but it did not remain in force for long and skirmishing continued for another month. In fact, hostilities in Tripoli did not end until Chamoun was out and the leader of the opposition, Rashid Karāmi, became Prime Minister in the Shihāb government that followed. In contrast to other sectors of the war, the Lebanese army had been involved in the Tripoli fighting from the beginning and, with other Christian militias, had managed to contain the rebellion. Very little actual fighting occurred in Beirut proper; certainly no military group led an assault from one area to capture another. In the Lebanese capital, the war was one of barricades and bombs. Opposition leaders openly negotiated and conferred with government, army, and embassy officials. Sniper fire kept rebel-held areas such as the Basta Quarter off-limits to anyone not “officially” allowed in. Yet Beirut was also the seat of the Chamoun government, and, in this Sunni city, the President was surrounded, a prisoner in his own palace. The one serious threat to actual physical takeover had come from the Druze attempt to capture the hills overlooking the airport south of the city. It was at this time, between June 28 and July 4, 1958 when Chamoun’s personal fortunes seemed most bleak.

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Not only were the Druze within ten kilometers of the city at this time but also major areas, both in Beirut and the country beyond, were either in rebel hands or being contested. Tripoli, Sidon, Tyre, the Shūf, the Akkār, and the northern Biqā were resisting the government, which was subject to sporadic attacks elsewhere, e.g., on the Damascus road and in Wadi al-Taym. Government forces controlled only eighteen kilometers of the border with Syria, and both of its airports were being threatened. The President was not only opposed by nearly all Muslims but by the Christian politicians of the National Front and the Constitutional Bloc as well. The Patriarch, Paul Ma‛ūshi, opposed him, and even Bishāra al-Khūri was trying to sound like a replacement. The radio war was hardly less frightening. Egypt and Syria broadcast nonstop denunciations of Chamoun, calling for his resignation or worse. One especially genteel program from Damascus regaled the Arab nation with a soap opera that dramatized exactly how Chamoun might come to his end in a military coup. It went so far as to portray the sounds of the rebels crashing into the President’s office, Chamoun’s cries for mercy, and the shot that, by killing him, brought national brotherhood to the Arabs.7 President Nasser, with his characteristic logic, even suggested to Sa‛ib Salām that Lebanon ought to join the UAR as a means of safeguarding its independence. The government-controlled press in the UAR, by its choice of what news items and commentators’ opinions to report, also encouraged the rebels to overthrow Chamoun. Lebanon’s President was clearly vulnerable to the nationalist and revolutionary psychology being escalated by the Nasserists. Chamoun responded to this period of the crisis in several ways. He first tried to persuade General Shihāb to make greater use of the army in suppressing the rebels. On this matter, the General heeded his own counsel and wisely kept to a policy that distinguished between the interests of Lebanon and those of its President. Unable to receive full cooperation from his General, Chamoun then began distributing the American arms that were pouring into the country to “volunteer” militias, principally the PPS and the Phalange. Aware of the President’s long-standing ties to the former, the Patriarch was furious. The Phalange had begun as a semi-fascist outfit, and the PPS program called for the merging of Lebanon into a Greater Syria. This was hardly the way to defend an independent Lebanon. But it did fit into another approach which Chamoun began to employ, namely, to seek support on the grounds that the war was sectarian and required a strong President to protect Christians from Muslims. Both the Phalange and the PPS (in 1958) were predominantly Christian in organization and membership. They would fight for Chamoun against the Muslim opposition. But the President’s key move was to call on the Americans for protection under the aegis of the Eisenhower Doctrine. He only needed to discover a “communist” threat, not something difficult for either Chamoun or the Americans to find. On June 17, 1958, when Chamoun’s fortunes were at their lowest point, the Lebanese government received a pledge from Secretary of State Dulles that the United States was ready to use troops, if necessary, to preserve

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Lebanese independence. The Soviet Union vetoed a Security Council resolution which would have sent a United Nations police force to Lebanon. The UN had, however, sent an Observer Corps, UNOGIL, to try to determine whether or not the country was being subjected to outside intervention. Its initial report (July 3) was not favorable to Chamoun’s claim that widespread infiltration of arms and personnel from the UAR (Syria) was taking place.8 This lack of evidence made it difficult to invoke the Eisenhower Doctrine. It allowed the United States a basis for avoiding a commitment to Chamoun, an implication made clear by the American President’s own statement, on June 18, that he would be guided by UNOGIL’s findings. The truth, in this case, was a great distance from the rhetoric. Many in the Eisenhower administration, including the President, were looking for a way to avoid crusading in Lebanon on behalf of Camille Chamoun. At the same time, they could hardly have been surprised at the inability of a few UN personnel to locate and count smugglers and infiltrators operating in the mountains of the Anti-Lebanon. Why then, in July, did the Americans (in their policy statements) suddenly discover these infiltrators and much more, e.g., Nasserist machinations, armed intervention, and a communist threat to the independence of Lebanon? On July 14, 1958, Abdul Karīm al-Qāsim (General Kassem) led an armored battalion into Baghdad, overthrowing the pro-Western Iraqi regime and killing its Prime Minister and royal family. King Hussein of Jordan, only recently placed on the throne, was also being threatened by a coup. One of Kassem’s comrades in the Iraqi takeover, Abdul Salem al-Aref, was known to favor immediate union with Egypt and Syria. Arab nationalism of Nasserist inspiration was also a factor in the threat to Jordan although, in this case, it was complicated by the fact that Palestinians, with their own grievances, were the majority community in Hussein’s kingdom. Without question, Nasser’s fortunes, backed by the Soviets, were moving too rapidly against Western interests. The United States could hardly sit still while the other “superplayer,” unopposed, moved his pieces onto the four center squares. On the next day, some 3,600 American Marines came ashore on the beaches of Beirut. Lebanon’s civil war had become an international crisis, and the Americans had decided to intervene. THE AMERICAN INTERVENTION The 1958 military intervention in Lebanon is often cited as one of the bestmanaged operations of its kind, both in military and political terms. The first battalions were able to put ashore within hours of receiving their orders, and additional troops joined them within a short time until total manpower on the ground eventually numbered over 15,000 military personnel. It was an operation requiring the coordinated efforts of all the branches of the American military, and it also had to be conducted in conjunction with a British intervention in Jordan. Only a single American soldier was lost to enemy fire (after the mission had achieved its purpose), and not one Lebanese life was lost to American

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firepower. The politician who called in the force, Camille Chamoun, was eased out of office by it; moreover, to some degree, power was actually transferred to the opposition. In other words, the overall effect of the American intervention was not merely to reinforce the status quo; it helped end the fighting while bringing about real political change. This episode seemed such a picture-perfect operation that it became a model of how “great power” (under international direction and control) might be used to police small conflicts. In fact, a careful investigation of the operation reveals that it was anything but picture-perfect in its planning and execution. A military historian, Roger J.Spiller, of the Combat Studies Institute, has written a fascinating account of the 1958 intervention.9 His revelations show, more than anything else, how difficult such operations are to conduct as well as how little the tactics actually employed at the scene correspond to the plans drawn up to guide those who must carry them out. Moreover, Spiller’s review indicates how difficult it might be for any force (without incredible luck) to engage in a successful police action in Lebanon. Looking at this operation, as well as everything that could have gone wrong with it, may also help us understand the problems of civil strife in that country. At the time orders were given for the Marines to land in Lebanon, a complex of forces from the Sixth Fleet and by airlift were available to the American government. The fleet, in separate dispositions, numbered seventy-seven vessels, including three aircraft carriers. In addition, airlift could bring a sizable army in from American NATO forces in Europe. With refueling, fighter-bomber aircraft (to augment those aboard the carriers) could be flown quickly to the area from their bases in the United States. An immense armada of military forces was, therefore, available to undergird American policies in the Middle East area of “containment.” Whether or not these could be coordinated to become operationally effective was a question that had not been answered by the time the Lebanese civil disturbances had broken out in 1958. A further question also needed an answer even as it does today. Would it be possible to use such forces to serve the political objectives for which they were dedicated? It is important to recognize the ad hoc character of the military capability that was eventually deployed in Lebanon in 1958. As outlined above, the Eisenhower planners had switched the United States to a strategy of deterrence where America’s nuclear “shield” would protect the world from the communist menace while its allies defended the perimeter with their own conventional capabilities that American aid programs would make available. The dilemma was that America could not insure that its allies’ political objectives coincided with its own. It might end up spending a lot of money on local conflicts that had nothing to do either with the Soviet threat or America’s own interests. While foreign policy experts worried about the problem of incompatible political objectives, military specialists were concerned about a more parochial matter. Did not the “doctrine of massive retaliation” make America musclebound? If other countries were not willing to use their forces for the

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objectives America’s global vision considered vital, how could America respond at all? It could hardly use nuclear weapons against Syrian arms smugglers or a myriad of other small, local military challenges the Cold War was bound to present. No doubt America’s nuclear weapons, and the strategic doctrine it attached to them, deterred the Soviets; they also deterred America. Strategic theorists such as Brodie, Wohlstetter, and Kissinger had led the way in criticizing the “massive retaliation” doctrine, but the Pentagon also had misgivings about the Radford Plan (the popular name for strategic doctrine employed by Eisenhower). General Ridgeway, soon after leaving Korea, called for a rapidly deployable military capability, and the Pentagon was given the task of developing a Strategic Army Corps. Operation Bluebat, the code name for the interventionary force that was sent to Lebanon in July 1958, was an assortment of operational units which military planners hoped could be put together and punched in for combat readiness at a moment’s notice. The expansion of Nasserism in general and the Iraqi coup in particular required an American response. The Soviet Union seemed to be doing politically what it could not do militarily; it seemed to be on the way to becoming the dominant power in the Middle East. Responding to the Lebanese civil war and to Camille Chamoun’s political difficulties was quite secondary to trying out the new interventionary capability. Operation Bluebat was partly an exercise to see whether or not it worked, to prove to the politicians that the new strategic doctrine was appropriate. One can almost imagine force planners, with their maps, moving the several operational units around as if they were looking for chess combinations. The sea armada would allow the Marines to get in first to establish a beachhead while naval units provided mobility and cover. An airlift of soldiers and supplies would also begin to move toward a forward base for staging; additional airpower, if needed, might come from anywhere in the world. Various military units, based throughout the world (to establish an American presence), could thus be rapidly combined into a composite force to put out a “brushfire” before it became a major conflagration. Carried out on a global scale, it was an ambitious program, one which, in the end, seems to have threatened both the United States and the Soviet Union with bankruptcy. The genesis and implementation of Operation Bluebat was characteristic of American foreign policy at this time. Unfortunately, as Walter LaFeber pointed out in his study of the Cold War, The problem would always be less a proper choice of the military means than a wise understanding of the objectives. In postwar American foreign policy, the debate over the nature of the Communist threat usually lagged behind the debate over which weapons to use against the threat.10 It is, of course, in the nature of military matters, as with all action, that one must decide before knowing everything that needs to be known; the soldier cannot let decision making be completely “sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.”

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Certainly, the American military intervention was conducted in anything but a “picture-perfect” fashion. Although the units involved had been on alert status for nearly a month, too many of them were engaged in regular military activities at their permanent bases to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. Once orders for the mission were issued, it proved impossible to launch all those earmarked for duty into a coordinated operation. Several of the ships scheduled to arrive first were, at the time, off location and heading to port for repairs. One fighter squadron was prevented from leaving by a blocked runway, and the crews of the aircraft substituted for it had not been trained for the type of engagement their mission called for. One of the twelve crashed on takeoff; seven landed en route; and only four made it to Turkey nonstop as planned. Much of the rest of the air component of the interventionary force operated seriously behind schedule. In one instance, transport aircraft arrived at their forward base ahead of their air cover. The airlift from France and West Germany was also problematic. In at least one case, the last truck of a convoy had to be loaded first, forcing those who had gotten to the airport early to wait for the last one to arrive before they could begin loading. The United States had not received clearance from several countries for overflight, preventing the spacing of arrivals from taking place as planned. On July 16 and 17, 1958, hundreds of aircraft were closing in on Adana air base; some had to go into holding patterns awaiting their turn to land. According to several critics, so many planes were forced to remain on the ground at the same time that it would have required only a few enemy strikes to have put a halt to the whole operation. Once Bluebat was on the ground in Beirut, over 10, 000 soldiers were camped in an area of less than four square miles. Ammunition and machinery were stacked in rows along the runways at the airport waiting for one landing mishap to destroy everything. With soldiers and supplies packed in, as they were during the first few days, even a few bombs from an enemy would have spelled disaster. Doubtless, the ultimate success of the operation was due, more than anything else, to the fact that it met no military opposition. There were a few additional blips on the radar screen of American military performance on this occasion. Most units were using maps made by the French in the 1930s; only a few had updated versions drawn by the British in 1957. Marine, air force, and army units were not using the same radio frequencies. A scheduled, though inexplicable, parachute drop at Qlie‛āt airport north of Tripoli was called off for lack of photographs of the drop zone. Because the reconnaisance aircraft dispatched from Adana did not have the proper equipment to take such photographs, the echelons earmarked for the north had to be packed in with the others at Beirut. Some soldiers were sent to the area without their orders, others without their equipment, and still others without a clear idea of what they were to do or whose orders to follow. The Twenty-fourth Infantry Division in Germany was so cannibalized by the operation that, had an emergency arisen in Europe, it could not have played any role in its prime mission.

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One of the more intriguing problems that emerged during this exercise was the lack of a joint commander for the operation. One week into the intervention demonstrated the need for an American Land Force Commander (AMLANFOR) who, on Admiral Holloway’s request, was duly provided. However, during the previous nine months of planning for such contingencies (one month of it on alert), no decision had been made for such a commander. Perhaps, for political reasons, the Joint Chiefs had not wanted to decide whether it was to be an army or Marine “show.” Indeed, it turned out to be a diplomatic show, one whose success tended to conceal the many errors Americans made in conducting the military operation that backed it up. When Lieutenant Colonel Hadd, making the initial landing, led his Marine battalion onto “Red Beach” south of Beirut, he hardly knew what to expect. Nor could he have known. The situation was extremely fluid with several persons pursuing different strategies. No one was sure what might happen. His orders were clear: move up on the beach a few hundred yards and then, if possible, secure and take control of Beirut’s international airport. His four rifle companies made it ashore, but their supplies failed to follow because their LSTs (landing craft) had hit a sandbar a short distance from the waterline. They managed to establish a beachhead even earlier than their orders had required but with only part of the assigned contingent. Within minutes of deploying, Colonel Hadd received word from the American Ambassador, Robert McClintock, requesting that he reembark and come around to land at Beirut port. The Colonel refused to comply with this demand, having strict orders from his commanding officer to take the beach. He realized, of course, how dangerous it would be to act outside the formal command structure; additional military moves, at that moment, were being carried out under the assumption that his group was engaged in achieving its objectives according to plan. Therefore, Hadd secured the beach and, unopposed, took control of the airport. There, with the cooperation of its administrative personnel, his men were soon able to reopen the airport to civilian traffic. Having met their primary objectives, patrols were detailed, and the battalion bedded down for a calm first night in Lebanon. The next day was surely one of the most difficult non-combat engagements the Marines have ever fought. The problem was that the players in this affair all had different interests to be served by Colonel Hadd’s battalion. President Eisenhower knew enough about military matters not to want to put forces in Lebanon, but his Doctrine said he had to (or it would be a dead letter). Secretary of State Dulles was worried about the expansion of communist influence, but unfortunately, while he was right about the communists, he was wrong about everything else. The Joint Chiefs had the Russians over the “whing whang” and needed to see if they could muster a rapid deployment force out of existing stocks. (The American Congress, at the time, was enamored with the idea of getting tough with the Soviets while cutting the budget.) General Shihāb understood the delicacy of the situation and did not want a detachment of American Marines tracking through the Basta Quarter on their way to the port. Camille

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Chamoun had heard that some of his army officers were considering a coup and wanted the Marines to hurry over to the Palace and save his neck. Ambassador McClintock was sending his operatives hither and thither trying to retie the Gordian Knot. And poor Lieutenant Colonel Hadd, he couldn’t tell the difference between a rebel and an official of the government. As far as he knew, his buddies were running the point for a large force that was going to seal off the roads leading into Beirut and protect Lebanon from a Syrian invasion. Fortunately, most of his colleagues in the American armed forces were caught in a holding pattern over Adana airbase and couldn’t join in the carnival until it was all over. Otherwise, he might have been ordered to take his men out among the mulberry trees, according to plan, and never made it back to witness his country’s victory. The next day was pivotal, and actions taken at that time decided the war. By midmorning it was obvious to those in command that nobody in Beirut knew what to do. A back-up battalion had come ashore earlier and allowed Colonel Hadd’s men to move north toward the port area. At eight o’clock, General Wade (the AMLANFOR) arrived, gave orders for Hadd’s column to begin moving at ninethirty, and then drove to the Embassy for a conference with General Shihāb and Ambassador McClintock. There, Wade discovered that Shihāb was still opposed to the Americans moving into Beirut proper and was concerned that an incident might lead to hostilities between his soldiers and the Marines. (Some of Shihāb’s officers, two days earlier, had discussed pulling a coup.) On his way back from the embassy, General Wade saw that, indeed, several Lebanese tanks had formed a roadblock. The Lebanese soldiers, at that point, readily explained that they were under orders to stop the Marine column but were unsure whether or not this meant opening fire.11 It was clear to Colonel Hadd that a hand signal would not be the same as cannon fire from a tank. What then transpired is best left to Professor Spiller’s own words: Wade sped on to the airport, where Admirals Holloway and Yeager (the commander of the Fast Carrier Strike Force) arrived shortly. As Hadd’s battalion finally began moving toward the city, the two admirals and the Marine general decided to go to the embassy. Unknown to them, Ambassador McClintock and General Shihab were on their way to the airport themselves, and the two offical cars passed each other en route. The ambassador’s car gave chase and caught up just at the roadblock, where Hadd’s battalion now faced the Lebanese tanks. There ensued an impromptu conference, where arrangements were made to have the Lebanese army escort the marines into town (studiously avoiding any contact with the Basta) and thereafter to insure that the American and Lebanese military forces cooperated as much as possible in their operations. This done, Hadd’s battalion moved out once more, but this time with Lebanese jeeps at intervals in the American column, the whole thing led by two official cars containing the American ambassador to Lebanon, the general in chief of the Lebanese army, the American task force

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commander, the commander of the Fast Carrier Strike Force, and the commander of the Marine task force. It was one of the more unusual politico-military processions in American history, and its progress marked the passing of the crisis.12 The conference between gun barrels at the roadblock, almost comical in one sense but critical in another, could not have been better staged to wage peace. It not only allowed the two armies to join in establishing a military presence but also prevented General Shihāb from appearing to have been one of those responsible for it. For the operation to succeed politically, his ability to remain neutral was essential. Although this event was the turning point of the crisis, the American intervention was only in its second day. The massive airlift to Adana had only just begun, and the full weight of the army’s arrival was not to be felt until several days had passed. They did, however, come to Beirut, and it was soon to host 15,000 troops in the pine groves, to have an airport lined up with planes, and seventy-seven warships just off shore. Yet the script had been written and almost everyone followed it. As The Economist commented: Now that [the Americans] have established their bridgehead in Lebanon— and effectively secured the country from a Syrian invasion that never was— the best course might be to sit down with some ice packs and think out a realistic objective for the operation.13 The objective of the United States in Lebanon in 1958 was similar to its overall objective throughout the Cold War: to protect that part of the political status quo which was friendly to the West from coming under the control of a hostile power and to make sure that whatever change did take place did so gradually and without threatening the balance of power. Once encamped, however, a “realistic objective for the operation” was simply to play it by ear (as the Lebanese did). When it was clear that there was no threat of a hostile takeover, just getting out with as little damage as possible became the objective. On the military front, the large force managed to maintain a fairly delicate presence. American soldiers almost never fired back at the sporadic sniper fire they attracted from the Muslim areas of Beirut; their patrols often pushed out into the countryside ten or twenty miles and were treated more as a novelty then a menace by the local populace. At the outset, the intervention received its share of invective from the journalists and politicians who were hoping to overthrow the Chamoun regime. As one would expect, those who wanted a Nasserist solution were never to forgive the United States for its action. But, as the politics began to take shape (under the gun), it became apparent to many Lebanese that the Americans had not come to do Chamoun’s bidding. Nor had they intervened to guarantee Christian control of the state as the Phalangists had hoped. As for the opposition, the Americans gave it little cause for alarm. Almost all of the

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interventionary force remained outside Beirut for the duration of its stay. Only a few troops were allowed into the city, mostly to guard American and British facilities. General Shihāb placed his troops as a buffer between the American positions and the areas held by the opposition. By late summer in 1958, four-man patrols, each with two Americans and two Lebanese, were carrying out policing functions among the civilians. No American was ever given any jurisdiction over Lebanese citizens, and the few confrontations that took place between the two were settled by discussion. The Americans lost eight soldiers in the operation but only one to hostile fire. Sergeant James Nettles was killed by a sniper on August 2 while driving through Beirut in a jeep. Another soldier, on August 22, was wounded by a sniper’s bullet but survived. Opposition areas, especially the Basta Quarter, were strictly off-limits to the American military; they were kept that way until negotiations yielded a settlement and the departure of the inventionary forces. The Marine Corps was given the most difficult assignment, guarding the crucial port facilities directly in the shadow of opposition territory. They were asked to dig in rather than shoot back. Colonel Hadd recounted how difficult such a policy was for the individual Marine: When a youngster lands all prepared and eager to fight and finds himself restricted from firing at a known rebel who he sees periodically fire in his direction and in every instance restrains himself from returning fire, it is felt that this is outstanding and indicates good small unit discipline.14 American soldiers, however, were not the only ones who displayed restraint under pressure. Lebanese had to deal with an influx of foreigners and the arrogance that it entailed, namely, that only geopolitics had made them important. People and politicians alike had to put up with momentous decisions being made without their consent. Yet, within three weeks of the landing, American soldiers were able to visit Beirut during free time between noon and eight o’clock where they shopped and dined, some-times placing the kubiz ‛ammi, (local flat, round bread), on their laps, thinking it a napkin. Often, when soldiers wandered out of bounds, they were lectured (about Antara, Arabs, and American policy) and escorted to safety. Americans were not disliked; they just seemed uncomprehending. On the political front, which was not completely divorced from the military, things went even more smoothly. Ironically, it helped that the Americans, once on the ground, recognized immediately that the problem was different from what had been advertised. They were greeted by an isolated President Chamoun, made more so by their intervention; by an appallingly unenthusiastic General Shihāb, who had to be won over; and by no clear-cut mission determined by oncoming enemy forces. The military, in fact, had to deal with the Lebanese population, essentially a political problem. It even helped that several prominent politicians, some of whom were counted on to support the rescue, in fact denounced it and

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called for the Americans to leave forthwith. Notables such as Adil Usayrān, Shi‛ite Speaker of the House, and Emile Bustāni, a prominent Maronite deputy, spoke passionately in this vein, attracting additional neutral supporters. None of these psychological factors could have possibly countered the sheer weight of military force that the United States had brought in, but they did put some play into the politics by preventing the situation from completely polarizing. It turned out to be so fragmented that American negotiators were never faced with having to serve two masters. Rather they could appeal to (and consult with) fifty. President Eisenhower sent a special representative, Robert Murphy, to Lebanon to work out a political solution. He conferred with President Chamoun, then consulted with the Patriarch, Ma‛ūshi, Ambassador McClintock, and General Shihāb. Within a few days, he had held substantive talks with most of the opposition leaders as well as the heads of the various religious sects. While the UN, refusing to have any dealings with the Americans, brought in additional observers, Mr Murphy continued to talk with other opposition leaders, even the militant rebel, Kamal Jumblāt. Apparently, he was able to convince most of them that the United States favored no particular candidate for the presidency and that it welcomed holding elections in Lebanon as soon as practicable. The Speaker, Usayrān, whose opposition to the American action had made him optimally neutral, took the lead in bringing the sceptical back to the Chamber. He announced that elections for a new President would take place in the Chamber on July 31, an eventful two weeks after the first Marines had come ashore. These were duly held, and Fu‛ād Shihāb, on the second ballot, was elected Lebanon’s third President by a vote of forty-eight to seven. In celebration, the government fired a twenty-one gun salute, and in the Basta Quarter the rebels also fired their weapons in rejoicing. For American power and diplomacy to have brought about a transfer of power, cheered by both sides in the recent civil war, was quite an achievement. Roger Spiller called his account of the American intervention: “Not War, But Like War.” The reason it had not been war “but like war” was because it was politics. WINDING DOWN THE WAR Camille Chamoun insisted on serving out his full term, so Fu‛ād Shihāb did not take office until September 23, 1958. More troops were still being added to the American force several weeks after the question of the presidential succession had been settled. In fact, a shipment of seventy-five tanks and another of Honest John missiles, neither really wanted by the officers on the scene, arrived about the time the American forces were preparing to depart. Sporadic bombing and shooting, however, did continue, and several members of the opposition promised to begin the revolution all over again unless the Americans began to leave. On August 4, Rashid Karāmi ordered a ceasefire in Tripoli; soon after, joint patrols by the Americans and Lebanese brought greater calm to the center of Beirut. In early September, shops were opened, clandestine radio stations shut

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down, and some weapons given up. The chiefs of fifteen clans in the Ba‛albek and Hermil regions announced they would support the new government and asked General Shihāb to send in forces from the Lebanese army to restore order in those areas. The conflict was winding down. Political activity, though abrasive, gradually returned to familiar patterns as the Americans arranged meetings between former adversaries such as Kamal Jumblāt and Pierre Gemayel. Evidence that conditions in Lebanon were returning to normal was provided on September 7, when an armed struggle broke out between the Duwayhi and Frangieh clans in the town of Zghartā. Three were killed and six wounded as clan once again replaced sect as the focus of contention in that region. Conditions in the north were, at least, recognizable. On September 23, a reluctant General Shihāb was sworn in as President while his predecessor stepped down. The next day, Shihāb appointed Rashid Karāmi to head a cabinet made up almost entirely of members of the opposition. All but one of these had either fought on the rebel side, such as Karāmi himself, or were “anti-Chamoun” neutrals. While such asymmetry was politic from an American point of view, dispelling fears that the troops had been brought in solely to maintain the status quo, it rankled the pro-government side. This was an issue that came to the surface almost as soon as the Karāmi government was sworn in. In a speech before the Chamber, President Shihāb outlined the immediate objectives of his administration. These were as follows: to establish law and order in all parts of Lebanon, disarm all private Lebanese groups, revive the economy and rebuild the country’s utilities (damaged in the war); to improve relations with the neighboring Arab countries, and, most importantly, to press for the prompt withdrawal of all foreign troops from Lebanese soil.15 In broad outline, these were objectives that were satisfactory to most Lebanese; his candidacy and his program had been thoroughly canvassed long before his election by the Chamber on July 31. The problem was not the program, or even its director, Fu‛ād Shihāb; it was the distribution of top government positions as the vehicle for its conduct. In this instance, the complaint was not merely greed over patronage but, rather, the implication that the rebellion was legitimate, that the Chamoun government had been in the wrong all along. Although the division between supporters and opponents of Chamoun had not broken strictly along sectarian lines, the fighting, for the most part, had. A few Shi‛ite and Druze Muslim fought briefly on the government side, but almost no Christians fought on the side of the rebels. While the political opposition to Camille Chamoun came from many quarters, the actual fighting saw Muslims pitted against Christians or Muslims against the Lebanese army. It is significant that when Chamoun distributed military equipment received through the American (Eisenhower Doctrine) aid program, arms had been given only to Christian militia groups. The make-up of the cabinet, while devised to bring the opposition back into the

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government, seemed (to some Christians) to imply that it had been wrong to fight on the government side. Pierre Gemayel declared that he could not support such a government. There ensued what has been called the “counter-revolution” of 1958, a rumble that had actually begun a few days before the new President was sworn in. On September 19, Fu‛ād Haddad, an assistant editor of the Phalangist newspaper, alAmāl, was kidnapped. It seems clear (now) that this kidnapping was merely one of many which occurred as the opposition and pro-government camps found themselves conducting a campaign of such acts over a period of several weeks. What social scientists call “hostility-reaction formation” seems to have set in so that one attack called for a retaliation ad infinitum. The Haddad kidnapping especially raised tensions. Pierre Gemayel called for a general strike and marched his followers into Beirut for a protest demonstration. Once the Karāmi cabinet was announced, he wrote a signed editorial in al-Amāl, demanding a change in the government’s make-up. The protest strike soon attracted other Christian political groups to the Phalangist cause and threatened the Shihāb government with an armed rebellion from the other side. It is worth noting that this storm erupted at the very time that the Karāmi cabinet was being formed and before it could even announce a program. It is perhaps no coincidence that the “counter-revolution” reached its height at a time when, according to the UN Observer Corps, infiltration from Syria had virtually ceased and the last of the American forces were departing Lebanon. In early October, violence broke out in various places from Beirut to Tripoli. Two Phalangists were killed in clashes with the Lebanese army; five Christian women were injured trying to enforce a blockade of roads leading into Beirut; and one person died and about thirty were hurt in further clashes, the worst of which were in Tripoli. The Prime Minister offered his resignation, but President Shihāb refused to accept it. The Phalange, led by Gemayel, and the National Bloc, led by the Eddés, made it clear that they had enough votes in the Chamber to prevent the Karāmi cabinet from governing. Sa‛ib Salām, Kamal Jumblāt, and Henri Pharaon, on the other hand, insisted that Karāmi stay on; the Prime Minister, himself, refused to reshuffle his cabinet. On October 13, at least four persons were killed in a new outbreak of violence in Beirut, including Wadi alSulh, nephew of the former Prime Minister and a former official in the Ministry of Public Works under Chamoun. Matters had gotten topsy-turvy in Lebanon; the former opposition was now “pro-government” while the old pro-government forces made up the new “opposition.” It would have been economical, at this time, simply to have divided up the political system into “Red” and “Blue” parties and held elections. Instead, Ambassador McClintock resumed making the rounds, talking to all the majors, and finally offering a three-point proposal of his own for the reconstitution of the government. Although the Ambassador had virtually governed Lebanon during late July and early August, all sides were in uproar over his suggestions, claiming that his actions were gross interference in the

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affairs of the country. Like the military intervention, this additional outrage had the effect of bringing the conflicting parties together. President Shihāb arranged a meeting between Karāmi and Gemayel at his office, and later he arranged for Gemayel and Jumblāt to discuss the political situation. The President also gave serious thought to forming an emergency (military) government to take control until tempers cooled down more. This prospect, plus the Ambassador’s indiscretion, along with the renewed outbreak of violence on October 13, 1958, seemed to bring the politicians to their senses. They began to talk about a “deal.” The next day, October 14, a four-man cabinet was formed, divided equally between the former opposition, “new government” side and the former government, “new opposition” side. Rashid Karāmi, leader of the revolt in Tripoli, became Prime Minister and was in charge of five ministries; Hussein Uwayni was the new Foreign Minister and held three ministries; Raymond Eddé received interior and two additional portfolios; and Pierre Gemayel made his counter-revolution pay off by taking over four ministries, including that of public works. This “Cabinet of Four” lasted for nearly a year before it resigned, and when that happened in October 1959, it was merely reconstituted in an expanded form. Even the Chamounists gave the “Four” their approval. On October 17, 1958, the Chamber met and approved the government by a unanimous vote. One month later, it passed a bill allowing the government, for a period of six months, to issue decrees in most areas without reference to the Chamber, i.e., to rule Lebanon through direct executive authority. Once the new formula was agreed on, that there would be “no victor and no vanquished,” politics and society very rapidly returned to normal. As Fahim Qubain put it, “The crisis ended on October 14,” the day when the “super” cabinet was formed and Gemayel’s counter-revolution ended.16

6 The best years: 1958–1970

BACK TO NORMAL On October 15, shops reopened in Beirut. Curfew regulations were relaxed the next day; bulldozers leveled barracks amid preparations to airlift all the American troops out of Lebanon. Streetcars were once again running; wives and children of embassy personnel were allowed to return; the United States offered to resume economic aid; and the United Nations Observer Group announced that its work was completed and would withdraw. The Karāmi government asked the Lebanese to return to peace, saying a new era had begun. The ambassador from the UAR was asked to stay; the ban on Syrian newspapers was lifted; charges, put before the UN against the UAR were dropped; and amnesty was declared for those political prisoners who had been incarcerated for fighting on the rebel side. By early November 1958, the government was forced to intervene between Druze and Christians in the Shūf; put down an uprising of looting (early December) by rebels in Tripoli, where no deaths were reported; and monitor the DuwayhiFranjieh feud in Zghartā, where people died regularly. By winter, Lebanon had gotten back to normal. The good news was that the cabinet did not request an extension of its power to rule by decree after its authority to do so expired in June 1959. The government also was able to appoint new governors for Lebanon’s five provinces, expand the cabinet from four to eight, and gradually lift all curfew and publishing restrictions. President Shihāb met with President Nasser of the UAR, and the country’s foreign relations demonstrated a renewed emphasis of the Arab point of view, especally regarding Israel. The Chamber voted to increase its size from seventy-seven to ninety-nine members, and elections were scheduled for June-July 1960. The Republic had survived. Though outbreaks of violence continued sporadically, the number of incidents diminished. During the first half of 1959, at least ten major incidents were reported, decreasing to just three for the last half of that year. Instances of violence continued to decline in 1960, totaling eight, most of which took place in conjunction with the elections of that year.1 Violence increased to fifteen instances in 1961, culminating in an attempted coup by the PPS on December

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Figure 6.1 Incidents of violence: 1947–1962 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University Note: All figures for incidents of violence based on information from the “Chronology” for Lebanon, Middle East Journal, for the relevant years

31.2 The government was able to get control of the situation in short order, however, and overall violence declined in 1962 to four incidents. For a picture of the record of violence in terms of the incidents counted for the years 1947–62, see Figure 6.1.

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Fu‛ād Shihāb did not flinch from using both his security forces and the army to keep order and must be given credit for the rapid decline in violence and steady progress toward a normal state of affairs that occurred during the first few years after 1958. He also established the political basis for Lebanon’s most enduring period of economic and social development, the fifteen years between 1960 and 1975. As for the United States, its intervention was due more to the geostrategic problems the Middle East poses for outside powers than to any responsibility it felt to help a government in trouble. For Rome, London, or Washington, the problem was the same. No hostile power may be allowed to control the strategic center. What is remarkable about the American intervention is that it did not leave Lebanon worse off than it had been before the Marines landed. The troops got in and out without causing a major calamity. Perhaps this lucky outcome was due to the fact that the Americans, finding no army invading Lebanon, were forced to look for something useful to do. What they settled on was to stand aside while midwives assisted in the birth of a new regime without killing the mother. While, happily, it is true that the United States stood aside, it should be remembered that it did so massively, i.e., with such available force that it could afford to keep its cool. THE SHIHĀBISTS The person who, more than anyone else, gave leadership to the new era which Prime Minister Karāmi had proclaimed was Fu‛ād Shihāb. As President after 1958, he embarked on an ambitious program of public works and limited political reform. He did not overtly challenge the ancien régime but sidestepped it, using the Deuxième Bureau (the country’s investigative police organization) to make sure that government edicts were carried out. This organization gradually began to act independently and not always constitutionally; its powers also began to undermine the traditional privileges of the za‛īm class. Trying to develop the infrastructure for a modern state, Shihāb had to struggle against the zu’ama, who stubbornly resisted the loss of their influence and traditional prerogatives. Even so, during the Shihābist period of power (including the terms of both Fu‛ād Shihāb and Charles Hilū), the Shihābists administered a time of unprecedented economic growth and development in Lebanon. These were the best years of the Republic. On July 31, 1958, the Lebanese Chamber of Deputies, by a vote of forty-eight to seven, elected General Shihāb to be President of the Republic. As has often been remarked, Fu‛ād Shihāb was an outsider in Lebanon’s politics. He made a point of being honest, straightforward, and independent in his dealings with people, making no effort to conceal his disdain for politics and politicians. Although, in his politics, he was no wallflower, he also seemed uninterested in seeking power and the personal advantages that came with it. Moreover, Shihāb was a genuine Lebanese patriot. Both modernizers and radicals of all persuasions

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“were drawn to General Shihāb because he appeared to share with them a wish for order and clarity in political life, whatever the substantive goals might be.”3 Once he was President, the General could no longer remain the neutral outsider acting as a corrective influence in his country’s politics; he had to play politics. Because the traditional political alliances had been shattered by the 1958 conflict, his initial instinct was to govern with neutrals and professionals, trying to avoid as many of the traditional zu‛āma as possible. Unfortunately, those that could not be ignored were mostly Muslims (on the left) and were insisting on Lebanon’s return to the Arab fold. Many, in fact, had been among the insurgents fighting Camille Chamoun. Following the counter-revolution, led by the Katā‛ib and Pierre Gemayel, Shihāb was forced to bring some of those associated with the Christian point of view into the government, making its membership less proArab and less neutralist. The cabinet, eventually enlarged to compensate for the communal balance forced on the reformers, once again came to be dominated by neutralists and technicians. It turned out to be even less the politicians’ club when reshuffled to preside over the 1960 elections. In this election, the modernist candidates won so handily over the old-guard Chamounists, that Shihāb could now turn to the country’s own institutions to help him run the country. With even stronger support from the new Chamber following the 1960 elections and having a sufficient political base to carry out his reforms, General Shihāb decided to resign. He argued that his mission of national reconstruction had been successfully completed and that the Republic could proceed along constitutional lines without him. Sa‛ib Salām had been named Prime Minister, heading a large cabinet of eighteen ministers who represented a large variety of regional and sectarian rivalries. From the General’s point of view, the Salām government indicated that all the factions in Lebanon were ready to participate in its national life. His work was done. Whatever the General’s motives, his dog-inthe-manger tactic, from a Shihābist point of view, had the desirable effect on the public. All sectors of opinion voiced their dismay at the prospect of having their suffering servant leave his post so prematurely. Within a few hours of the announced resignation (on July 20, 1960), the General was persuaded to retract it. A demonstrated outcry for his leadership and a resignation letter in his pocket, Fu‛ād Shihāb’s power was never greater; he could demand, despite every effort of the Lebanese to prevent it, that his country be reconstructed, that Lebanon, in spite of itself, find a way to survive. Given his mandate and an Assembly less dominated by the old feudal lords, President Shihāb believed he could both allow Lebanese politics to return to normalcy and vigorously push reconstruction and reform. As earlier mentioned, violence had receded to its normal levels, and a large number of Lebanese had come to recognize that their country could not be taken away from its Arab connections without courting disaster. Support for a pro-UAR connection during the 1960 campaign was strong but not so radical as before. The anti-UAR stance of many Christians had also moderated, and only a few Chamounists had been

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returned to the Assembly. Therefore, while he continued to execute the particulars of his policy through the Deuxième Bureau, Fu‛ād Shihāb opened up the political process to the whole range of politicians by including every sector of influence in his first cabinet after the 1960 election. Besides choosing veteran Sunni politican and rebel, Sa’ib Salām, to be Prime Minister, Shihāb included Druze rivals, Majid Arslān and Kamal Jumblāt in his cabinet along with Maronite rivals, Pierre Gemayel and Suleiman Franjieh. Other familiar names, Majdalāni, Taqlā, Khūri, and Skāf received posts; all communities, including the Armenians, could feel represented. The cabinet was a smaller version of the Chamber itself, representing Lebanon’s pattern of small blocs along with legislators elected as independents. It would work as long as the Shihābists could govern and the Deuxième Bureau could keep the various opposition sectors in check. The membership of the Assembly, following civil war and elections, is itself instructive. Of course, the communal breakdown was already decided by the confessional system, but, even so, new trends could be seen. The membership, as part of the healing process, had been expanded from sixty-six to ninety-nine. Thirty-four of the previous Chamber’s members were not returned; in all fifty new members took their seats. It was a younger Assembly than the one elected in 1957 and less dominated by traditional landowners. This legislature was not organized to carry out a national program. About 72 percent of the members were elected as independents while the rest were divided up among five blocs, those of the Phalanges (Pierre Gemayel); the National Bloc (Raymond and Pierre Eddé); the National Liberals (Camille Chamoun); the Constitutional Bloc (former President al-Khūri); and the Progressive Socialist Party of Kamal Jumblāt. The Muslim Najjāda movement also won a single seat, causing it to function as an independent. As political scientist Jacob Landau stated, one finds that many…deputies of…the Lebanese Chamber are predominantly competing individuals who perennially propose themselves or are pushed forward by local notables and are not permanently linked (with very rare exceptions) to any pre-existent organization which decides on a unified program of action. This would seem to apply, as a rule, even to most new faces in the 1960 Chamber. After entering the Chamber, many deputies join in loose parliamentary groups without much inner discipline.4 In fact, politics soon returned to the party groupings and communal sectors typical of Lebanon before 1958. What was different was that, under Fu'ād Shihāb, the politicians had to share power with the army. President Shihāb admired General de Gaulle and President Gamal Abdul Nasser, sharing their disdain for the hucksterism and incompetence of politicians. Thus, when Shihāb took special pains to restore Lebanese political activity and include all sectors of opinion in his first post-election cabinet, he was not opening up the country to democratic government. The Lebanese, he

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was certain, were not capable of pursuing a vigorous policy of reform and reconstruction. He would let the country’s political engine run without putting it in gear; while the politicians played their old games, he would rule. On the other hand, important work had to be done to save liberal democracy in Lebanon (even though it would hardly be a liberal democrat saving it). For the Shihābists, the root of the problem was not just the sectarian rivalries; it was the “haves” against the “have-nots”. While the politicians argued, the General’s reformers would use their own bureaus and councils to remedy the underlying causes of Lebanese dissidence. The government would offer programs that brought benefits to the many rural, expecially Muslim, citizens previously ignored. And if zu'āma politics blocked reforms, the army could step in to implement them. To do so, President Shihāb used his cabinet of “giants” to maintain a “coalition of oppositions” which, though it could not govern, could contain those tendencies that went too far toward favoring one interest at the expense of another.5 Thus, Shihāb, through the remainder of his term, received the benign cooperation of the Maronite Katā‛ib, the Armenian Tashnāq, the Assads of south Lebanon, the Jumblāt bloc in the Shūf, the Constitutionalists, several Sunni notables in Beirut and Tripoli, and Suleiman Franjieh in the far north. Other important independents, both Christian and Muslim, joined the coalition from time to time as competition dictated. It was a coalition of “oppositions” because its members continually had to decide whether or not to cooperate with persons whose policies they vehemently opposed. The Katā‛ib could work with their opponents because they wanted some social reform for Lebanon and more power for the party. Jumblāt, the Progressive in the Shūf, could stay on just to be in a position to denounce the government’s programs as not enough. Franjieh, the traditional conservative in the north, also had ambitions and could be used to balance the fiery Jumblāt. Assads balanced Hamādahs in the Shi‛ite community while Sa‛ib Salām seesawed with Rashid Karāmi as Sunni Prime Minister. By refusing to allow this mix-and-match coalition to fall apart (even to the extent of permitting Kamal Jumblāt to both resign from the government and take part in it at the same time), Fu‛ād Shihāb was able to govern largely undisturbed for the rest of his term.6 Several of these personages quarreled bitterly with one another; accusations were rife; cabinets were shuffled; but the Shihābists went on with their work. Thus, under their influence, Lebanon enjoyed reasonably effective presidential government from 1958 through 1970. While leaving the Assembly to its own devices, President Shihāb initiated several innovations in executive government. Mention has already been made of his use of the Deuxième Bureau intelligence organization. With it he kept tabs on the administration of the Shihābist system, forcing obedience to administrative strictures where such had not been traditionally forthcoming. The Bureau was able not only to intervene directly in the lives of individuals but also to gather and use information against them. Perhaps the most valuable innovation that the Shihābists developed, though, was a “personal political organization quite unconnected with the traditional political system.”7 President Shihāb established

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a top circle of advisors who owed their loyalty only to him and functioned as a kind of “executive council” to oversee the establishment of an orderly and effective administration. Each of these “professionals” could be dispatched to solve problems and check on traditional abuses. Among these, Elias Sarkis, the Chief of Cabinet; Louis-Joseph Lebret, a Jesuit priest; Jean Lay, a military engineer; Shafīq Muharram, a technical advisor; and Georges Haimari, head of the Customs Council, worked especially closely with the President to help implement his program. Lebanon’s “Attaturk” had his own “best and the brightest” working for the Republic. The army was also present and able to bring its influence into the bureaucracy and, vicariously, into politics. President al-Khūri had tried to manipulate the traditional political system, and President Chamoun had tried to replace it. President Shihāb, by contrast, had put himself into position to ignore it. While his close associates, both civilian and military, were moderately committed to the ideals of liberal democracy, they were far more committed to modernization of the country. From their point of view, entrepreneurs could bring prosperity to Lebanon if, and only if, the country could be made to work. It could work, in fact, only if reformed. To do so meant supplanting the power of the traditional clans with the power of the state’s institutions, e.g., the administrative technocrats, the intelligence (secret police) apparatus, and the army. As for the army, it is difficult to assess just how much influence over policy and administration it wielded. It was, after all, Fu‛ād Shihāb’s army, and contained within its ranks a number of his close associates, people he genuinely trusted. As in other Middle East systems, the army served as the main modernizing agent for many young men, especially those from the lower classes. Some among the army’s young professionals had enjoyed a more modern high school education than those from other sectors of the country; some had gone to Europe for military training. Thus, it is clear that the Shihāb regime did call upon the army to provide it with some of the no-nonsense professional staff it needed to manage its programs and keep the lid on sectarian strife. The army’s presence was felt everywhere, and its influence, though discreet, was clearly manifest at election time. More than one sure winner at the polls, e.g., Raymond Eddé in Jubayl and former President Chamoun in Dayr al-Qamar, suffered improbable electoral defeats as a result of the army’s presence. Although it went beyond the bounds of propriety when engaged in politics, the army’s involvement in corruption was minimal. There were reports that, in many cases, one had to pay the right people in the army to have licenses and contracts expedited, but such incidents were probably not as widespread as rumors claimed and never developed into a major scandal. It was the stated preference of President Shihāb that the army have a limited role in government. Lebanon’s “liberal democracy” was not to imitate Syria and Iraq. General Shihāb had kept the army out of the 1958 civil war and had to be begged to accept the presidency. Moreover, too direct a role by the army, with its Maronite officers, would have reintroduced the sectarian factor, undermining

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much of what the Shihābist reform program was attempting to accomplish. One of its main goals was to return to the Arab fold in regional relationships; another was to distribute benefits and opportunities to the many Muslims who had not gained from Lebanon’s previous period of economic growth. The army could play a role, but only in the context of a liberal, not praetorian, state. According to Shihābist mythology at least, the soldiers were supposed to stay in their barracks. An event that made it difficult for the Shihāb apparatus to adhere to the myth was the attempt by the PPS on December 31, 1961, to pull a coup. Several highranking officers close to the President were kidnapped, including LieutenantColonel Abdel Kader Shihāb (commander of the Beirut garrison). There is some evidence that several of the old-guard politicians were prepared to cooperate with the rump group had it been successful in neutralizing the army. For its part, the army wasted no time in coming to terms with the dissidents. Thousands of Lebanese were arrested, prominent politicians were denied passports, and a military presence at public functions was intensified. Prominent army officers campaigned openly for the Shihābists, trying at first to mobilize support to have the Constitution amended and General Shihāb elected for a second term. Later, when their attempt failed, they organized an effort to defeat, on their home turf, those politicians who could challenge the Shihābists for the Presidency. Following the 1961 coup attempt, and especially during the run-up to the election in 1964, many politicians were unhappy with the measures the army took to stifle dissent. Not only was the Ministry of Defense out campaigning, but the Deuxième Bureau was extremely active in protecting the regime from it critics in the press. Lebanese were hardly unfamiliar with corruption and government intervention in elections, but this had usually been done through the regime’s operatives and its none-too-efficient police. During the “undisturbed” period of Shihābist rule, open discussion was severely limited by the dark shadow of military guardianship. Just as the politicians were frustrated with the General’s discipline, the soldiers were understandably impatient with the politicians’ squabbling. The former could see no alternative but to force Lebanon to become modern, liberal, and democratic; the latter could not understand how the country could become democratic by undemocratic means. Fu‛ād Shihāb, himself, was not completely free from the contradiction. He favored reform, reconstruction, and redistribution of wealth for the Lebanese, and he was also committed to their Constitution and to the democratic pluralism it framed. But the General could hardly effect the needed changes without supporters, without individuals willing to slog it out in the trenches. These did not come from the traditional elements of the political system, not even from its rebels. It was the army and the new professional class (including businessmen) who shared the President’s commitment. He was trapped between depending on the traditional political system (with the threat of more crises) and imposing military rule (with less chance to salvage constitutional democracy). Indeed, President Shihāb tried to steer a middle course.

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In attempting this middle course between too much and too little military control, it is clear that the personal organizations which the President developed to pull the Lebanese, kicking and screaming, out of their traditional past also damaged the institutions he wished to protect. Fu‘ād Shihāb’s personal example of not seeking office and not aggrandizing power did help restrain his supporters, even those in the army. By focusing attention on development and social justice, he intended to divert the Lebanese from their more primordial instincts, believing that the common goal of rebuilding and redistributing would cause them to rise above their traditional communal conflicts. To his credit, Shihāb did exhibit sufficient political skill to maintain a coalition of unlike politicians in the government long enough to carry out his reforms. According to the American political scientist Michael C. Hudson, he provided “the impetus for a moderate social-democratic grouping, which, if ever realized, could (have provided) his successors with a stable and dynamic structure for combating Lebanon’s political troubles.”8 Yet, the question remains whether or not any group other than the Shihābists could have made use of the new structures they created and, indeed, whether or not anyone but Fu‘ād Shihāb could have made them work in Lebanon. One of the things that did work after 1958 was the economy; Lebanon embarked on a path of steady growth with financial stability. In tandem with this growth was the expansion of government. Under President Shihāb, the expenditures of government more than doubled between 1958 and 1964, from about $182 million to $473 million. The economy, however, grew faster so that this increase did not amount to a doubling of public sector as a percentage of Lebanon’s GNP. Where it had amounted to almost 14 percent of the GNP in 1958, it had become more than 23 percent of it in 1964. Obviously, the country was able to pay for the reforms and reconstruction that Fu‛ād Shihāb demanded. Generally, a modern, non-socialist country will have a public sector that engrosses over a third of its GNP. Lebanon was becoming modern, though not industrialized, and it was not socialist. Under President Shihāb, it did seem to be establishing the infrastructure for a modern society. Especially sizable increases in the government budget occurred in the areas of education and public works, a 452 percent increase for the latter between 1958 and 1964. Both interior and defense sectors received sizable increases as well. Some of Shihāb’s most impressive achievements were, surely, resuming the Litāni Project (a hydroelectric and irrigation scheme begun before the 1958 civil war), digging the Qarūn Reservoir, developing a social security program, allowing union organization, extending roads and electricity to the rural areas, and administering the Green Project whereby poor farmers received new (Mexipak) seed strains and agricultural assistance. The shortfall in the Shihābist achievement lay in the fact that much of the Lebanese political establishment was never sold on the reform program. Most of the old politicians were neither involved in it nor committed to it.

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It is not accurate, however, to suggest that Fu‛ād Shihāb ignored the politicians altogether. After the original “youth” cabinet failed, he enlisted Sa‛ib Salām along with a balanced menu of established politicians. Raymond Eddé of the old National Bloc soon quit, but Pierre Gemayel did not. Sa’ib Salām became estranged from the President after 1961 and was replaced by Rashid Karāmi, the wealthy Sunni notable from Tripoli. And Kamal Jumblāt, with all his quirks, remained an essential element of the Shihābist political formula. He espoused modern socialism while closing down stereo clubs and striptease acts, most often as Minister of Interior under Presidents Shihāb and Hilū. Since each of these three majors, Karāmi, Gemayel, and Jumblāt, possessed their own political organizations (and military forces), including them in the government was, for Shihāb, tantamount to ruling the country through three regions. Unfortunately, none of the three fully represented his region. Many citizens were left politically unrepresented and remained to be controlled by the second government, that of Fu‛ād’s army and security personnel. However, by simplifying Lebanon’s divisions and allowing them to find political expression and status in the system, the Shihābists were able to begin building a modern infrastructure for Lebanon while preventing its communards from tearing the country apart over the details. Data on the number of reported “conflict incidents” compared with the number of announced “public programs” occurring during President Shihāb’s six years in office throw light on his overall political performance.9 Averaging about 4 “reported” incidents annually during the five Chamoun years before the civil disturbances, the number of incidents rose to 11 in 1957 and 148 in 1958. It fell to 13 for 1959, stayed at approximately that figure for the next two years, and then dropped to just one incident for the year 1964. It continued at this fairly low level during the presidency of Charles Hilū until 1969, when the number of conflict incidents jumped to 23 (see Figure 6.2). On the other hand, the Chamoun administration averaged only two announced “public programs” per year during the five-year period it was in office prior to the 1958 civil war. It is, in fact, fair to say that the Chamoun performance in this regard was even weaker than average since there were no public programs announced in the years 1956–8. Beginning in 1959 with just two such programs, the Shihāb government pushed the number up to ten in 1960 and averaged about eight new programs a year afterwards. The Hilū government (1964–70) continued to start up new programs at only a slightly lower pace until the 1967 June War stopped it dead in its tracks (see Figure 6.3). These data hardly indicate a causal relation between public programs and incidence of conflict other than the obvious fact that large-scale projects cannot be carried out during periods of serious civil disturbance and/or assault from outside forces. During the Shihāb years, however, when the number of public programs began to rise, the number of violent incidents began to fall. By contrast, during the last three years of the Chamoun presidency, when conflict began to rise dramatically, no new public programs were announced. There

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Figure 6.2 Incidents of violence: 1958–1969 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

probably is a correlation between the two factors, one especially noticeable during the first few years (after 1970) of the Franjieh presidency. Yet, there was so much more to Lebanon’s problems than could be measured by data on programs and conflict. There was the intriguing case of Dean (‛amid) Raymond Eddé, the problematic character of Kamal Jumblāt, as well as the enigmatic behavior of Fu‛ād Shihāb himself. Unfortunately, each of these politicians (and others) wanted to be the president; each would have tried to represent the whole country as if it were simply an extension of his local “canton.” Of these notables, Chamoun, Gemayal, Karāmi, Salām, Jumblāt, Eddé, and Shihāb, only the latter possessed operative reflexes appropriate for the whole

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Figure 6.3 Announced public projects: 1958–1969 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University Note: All figures for public projects based on information from the “Chronology” for Lebanon, Middle East Journal, for the relevant years

country, a sense of the plural chaos that had to be managed if Lebanon were to function. For the others, Lebanon was only the larger ground on which communal interests were played, a place to fight for a preferred distribution of benefits and to prevent others from getting them.

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During the 1958 civil war, many rebels undoubtedly hoped that Lebanon would be drawn into the new Arab state which Egypt and Syria were forging. Other establishment Muslims undoubtedly felt that Chamoun and the Christian elite were operating a “company store” that required them to remain second-class citizens. Moreover, by resisting pressures to cooperate with the new Arabism, the Christians were prepared to reinforce their superiority and use outsiders to enforce it. The Christians, on the other hand, had among their members those who recognized the need to concede benefits, in terms of both wealth and regional attachment, to the Muslims but were loathe to do so under assault from Nasser. Other, more traditional Christians simply believed that President Chamoun and the Americans had saved them from being taken over by Sovietsupported Pan-Arabism. The truth is probably located somewhere between these two extreme points of view. The American-Shihābist outcome did not rescue Lebanon from an invader but did help avert a massive shift in the regional balance of power toward Nasserism. There is, of course, no possible resolution to the argument between those who want Lebanon to belong to the Arab states and those who want Lebanon to protect them from the Arab states. The selection of Fu‛ād Shihāb did not resolve that dilemma; it did give Lebanon some additional time to work on its internal problems, an outcome acceptable to those who wanted Lebanon to be both Arab and independent.10 This explains why the General, when he took over in 1958, bent over backwards to promote a balance of interests representing the whole of Greater Lebanon. The Muslims, in the main, gave him support, taking a political miracle as nothing more than their just due. In contrast, the reaction of the Christians ranged from scepticism to hostility. Why should these rebels be rewarded for trying to wreck the most prosperous Arab state in the Middle East? Why was it wrong for President Chamoun, a democratically elected president of an independent and sovereign country to take those measures needed to protect it from the assault of outside powers? What was wrong, of course, was that Lebanon was wrong. A modern independent country in the “Western” state system cannot sustain itself for long without sharing the benefits of statehood with all segments of its society. There is no state that does not have to wage a constant struggle to meet this requirement. Lebanon’s elite not only refused to wage the struggle, it hardly recognized its existence. In addition, those for whom the struggle was waged would, when given the chance, also seek to dominate. The Muslim ethos promotes reciprocity only as a concession by the strong to the weak, by God’s umma to the dhimmis. As a concession to the Phalangist-led “counter-revolution” of October 1958, Fu‛ad Shihāb’s first working cabinet had included both Pierre Gemayel and Raymond Eddé for the Christian side and Rashid Karāmi and Hussein ‘Uwayni (Head of the Islamic Council) for the Muslim side. Following some resignations and new elections, Sa‛ib Salām and Kamal Jumblāt were added. Thus all the

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major players, except Camille Chamoun, had taken part in President Shihāb’s regime. One could imagine a managed rotation in which all could have been part of a reform program where, after several years of isolation, even Camille Chamoun had returned to public life to contribute his international experience for Lebanon’s benefit. With eighteen years of stability and progress, under Shihāb, Hilū, and either Sarkis or Eddé, Lebanon (one supposes) could have weathered the tremendous strains of the 1970s and gradually learned the ways of democratic politics and republican government. A great number of ordinary people could be alive today, and the “giants” remembered as “fathers of their country.” One “giant” might still be alive, and four active and energetic “sons of giants” also. But the story took a different turn and did not work out this way. Why not? Raymond Eddé, whom Kamal Salibi refers to as a “Jeffersonian Democrat,” departed to oppose the Shihābists, making a tacit linkage with former President Chamoun who, as soon as he left office, had begun to organize his own opposition party, the National Liberals.11 Did the ‘amid (Dean) expect Shihāb to transform Lebanon into a Jeffersonian democracy overnight? Jefferson, when in power, behaved more like Kemal Attaturk than like the author of the Declaration of Independence. Were Shihāb’s methods so undemocratic as to demand that an Eddé, as a matter of conscience, return to his home base in Jubayl and oppose the government from there? Shihāb’s and Eddé’s views on democratic reform were probably as close as those of any of Lebanon’s major politicians. Did the Dean’s own ambitions outweigh the needs of Lebanon? Why turn to Chamoun to oppose the General? Shihāb also would someday be a former President; why not work with him for the Republic while putting oneself in a position to hold that office and continue the reforms? Sa‛ib Salām was also an essential component of the reconciliation formula and headed the government from August 1960 to October 1961. It is claimed that Salām and Shihāb differed over style and method. In choosing between the two Sunnis, Salām and Karāmi, it was obviously easier for the Shihābists to work with the latter. His base of power was in Tripoli and did not interfere with Gemayel’s locus of activity. On the other hand, the constituencies of Salām and Gemayel met in Beirut and even overlapped near the seat of government (where the contest was not so much for votes as for holding demonstrations and bringing private forces into the political equation). Shihāb probably should have made greater efforts to see that Salām was not politically injured and kept in reserve for useful rotation with Karāmi. The President needed to maintain a manageable competition between these two Sunni notables because he needed both, as well as their constituencies, to be dependent on him. Instead, the zeal of the Shihābists in the army and Deuxième Bureau went far beyond political sense, and they helped unseat Raymond Eddé in Jubayl (for a brief time) and assisted the Gemayals’ rather permanent defeat of Raymond’s brother, Pierre, in Ashrafīyah. Kamal Jumblāt was allowed his quirks and vanities and did not pose a serious challenge to the President, many of whose

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policies he approved. Indeed, an active Jumblāt was valuable to both Shihāb and Gemayel as an effective counterweight in the Shūf to the still ambitious Chamoun. Both men were in competition for the same votes on the multisectarian lists. It was with Sa‛ib Salām, however, that the Shihābists made their most serious mistakes in the Lebanese political game. In trying to weaken his power in Beirut, they helped youthful Sunni gang leaders organize against Salām; even some radical Palestinians may have been financed for this purpose. Perhaps, for Shihāb, this was one of many concessions made to Nasser, who could never stop meddling in Lebanon. More likely, helping Salām’s opponents was a way to punish him for refusing to cooperate as well as a way to divide an always dangerous bloc of “Arab” sentiment. Finally, a weakened Salām was also not without its advantages for Rashid Karāmi who, throughout the greater part of the Shihāb and Hilū presidencies, held onto the premiership. He could exchange places with Abdullah al-Yāfi more comfortably than with Sa‛ib Salām. On the other hand, what was valuable for Karāmi was not necessarily good politics for President Shihāb and his reform program. He needed a strong Sunni notable with a Beirut constituency. Only Sa’ib Salām fitted that description. In addition to all the political maneuvring, there was the personality of Fu‛ād Shihāb himself. He was different from the many military leaders who have discovered that they could save their countries for democracy only by governing them undemocratically. The General was determined to hold elections and return the country to its constitutional practices. He was determined to return the country to the politicians, people he in fact detested. To do so was the most important item on his agenda. Like many strong leaders attempting to modernize their societies, however, General Shihāb would have preferred to restore the country to the politicians of his choice. Why give it back to the very fools who had earlier torn it apart? Unfortunately, succeeding in this area of his agenda required being able to play politics with astuteness. Injuring Raymond Eddé, whose views were not far from his own, was not wise politics. But, taking aim at Sa’ib Salām was even worse. Eddé might pose a challenge to the Shihābists, but he would never roar down from the Mountain with a militia in an attempt to overthrow a Christian President. Salām, and his friends, might roar! No doubt, the coup attempt on the part of the PPS had unnerved the Shihābists. But their agenda, and the proper agenda for Lebanon, necessitated several balancing sources of power from the Muslim communities as well as from the Christians, e.g., Eddé balancing Gemayel, Salām weighted against Karāmi, and Jumblāt containing Chamoun. Such a political strategy, had the Shihābists adopted it, might have helped protect Lebanon against the unweaned adventurers who later moved to the front.

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PRESIDENT CHARLES HILŪ In late 1963, as politicians began to prepare for the 1964 parliamentary elections, the inevitable question loomed large. Would Fu‛ād Shihāb allow the Constitution to be amended and be the Nahjist (methodist) candidate for President?12 While the Lebanese Constitution stipulated that the incumbent President could not be a candidate for that office once his six-year term had expired, it was easy to amend, necessitating only a simple majority in the Chamber of Deputies. The first President of independent Lebanon, Bishāra al-Khūri, was well into his second term when forced to leave office; Camille Chamoun was the beneficiary (and victim) of a campaign to allow him to succeed himself; and, without fail, the Nahjists conducted a similar campaign on behalf of President Shihāb. The man, himself, exhibited (at least for the public) a notorious lack of desire to continue in that office; he did not need to be President to hold top status in Lebanon. Indeed, being President, and having to muck about with the “politicians,” took away some of the luster from his persona as his country’s premier patriot. General Shihāb was also reluctant to allow his reform agenda to become vitiated by a return to “politics as usual” in Lebanon. It was rumoured that he would agree to be a candidate if two-thirds of the newly elected deputies voted for him. Unfortunately for the Nahjists, the opposition had come together for the 1964 elections to pose a united front. Loose linkages had been forged between Camille Chamoun, Raymond Eddé, and Sa‛ib Salām, with the additional blessing of a former supporter of General Shihāb, the Patriarch, Ma‛ūshi. Promoted in Ghassān Tuwayni’s newspaper, an-Nahār, this coalition did unexpectedly well in the 1964 elections, overcoming the strenuous efforts of the Nahj to deprive it of votes. Although the coalition was far from having a majority, it could deny the Shihāb promoters anything near the two-thirds vote in the Chamber that the President felt he needed to continue in office. Recognizing an organized opposition and less than overwhelming support, Fu‛ād Shihāb wisely announced that he would not seek a second term. In September 1964, the President left office and retired to private life, perhaps his intention all along. While Shihāb’s refusal to run was regarded as a victory for the coalition opposing his machine, it also pointed to another, more difficult problem. Who would be able to gain enough votes in the Chamber to become Lebanon’s fourth President? The Nahjists had enough votes from the great number of splinter blocs and independents to elect Shihāb but not enough to get a majority for any other candidate. The parties inside the coalition, on the other hand, had come together only to stop the President; they could never have agreed on one of their own to replace him. It was, after all, a coalition of convenience, one which, with the inclusion of Salām and Chamoun, amounted to a coalition of enemies. Moreover, none of the coalition’s organizers had any chance of becoming a candidate. Pierre Gemayel controlled a Phalangist bloc of five votes, but the rest could muster a bloc of votes only through deals. For this and other reasons, the major notables of the opposition were excluded from consideration.

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Gemayel certainly wanted the post, doggedly refusing to withdraw his candidacy even when faced with no support outside his own party. But electing him would not have been so different from choosing Shihāb. He had his own party and militia, organized hierarchically with himself at the top. The more modern professionals of Shihāb’s organization could not have accepted the semi-fascism of the Phalangists; the old politicians, especially those in the coalition, could not have accepted party rule. In addition, Gemayel did not have a broad base of support throughout Lebanon. While his movement had gained strength since its founding in the 1930s and had played an important role in Shihāb’s reform program, it had not grown substantially at the ballot box. Its emphasis on hierarchy and discipline, its “Lebanonist” nationalism, its concept of the country’s Christian character, and the methods it used against opponents were hardly popular among the freewheeling Lebanese. The leader, himself, had lost some popularity by playing along with Shihāb’s conciliation of the Nasserists, both Egyptian and Lebanese. Although respected for his courage and patriotism, Pierre Gemayel, by the time of the 1964 election, had attracted almost as many enemies as had Camille Chamoun. Thus, when it came time to choose a new President, Lebanese politicians found themselves searching high and low for a compromise candidate, someone acceptable to both the Nahj and the coalition. Their search resulted in the candidacy of Charles Hilū, a former journalist, sympathizer with the Chiha-alKhūri view of Lebanese politics, and holder of several portfolios in previous cabinets. Ironically, Hilū had been one of the five founders of Gemayel’s Katā‛ib organization (although he left soon after its partly fascist character became apparent).13 Recipient of a deal between the Nahj and the coalition, the new President would surely continue the Shihābist program and, for the old politicians, not be strong enough to challenge them in the future. Having been a floating member of several political groups, e.g., a member of Henri Pharaon’s “Third Force,” Hilū had no following or political apparatus of his own. At the time, he seemed to be the political analgesic the two camps were looking for. Charles Hilū was sworn into office on September 23, 1964 after having received ninety-two of the ninety-nine votes in the Chamber the month before. Even though he had not been a major politician, he was by no means an empty cipher in Lebanese public life. He had served all three of the previous Presidents in important posts. His career, in fact, had been that of a non-controversial public official. He emerged from his undramatic past to become President and left that office in the same way, without fanfare. No grand events occurred within Lebanon during his term, and he made no historic decisions. Yet Charles Hilū accomplished something quite rare in the Middle East and totally unique in Lebanon: he was constitutionally elected to be chief of state (without civil strife or military intervention) and left office after his successor had been constitutionally elected in the same way (without the use of force). Moreover, when Suleiman Franjieh replaced Hilū in 1970, the change represented a genuine transfer of power, one in which new political forces superceded their

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competitors. Although such a case is rare in the Middle East, it did happen once in Lebanon.14 Charles Hilū came and went peacefully.15 Taking office in September 1964, the new President made it clear that he intended to continue the Nahjist policies of his predecessor. He commuted the death sentences of the 1961 insurrectionists to life in prison, pardoned all convicted journalists, and did not allow government interference in a by-election for Jubayl (Byblos) that returned Raymond Eddé to the Chamber.16 President Hilū also allowed Nasser’s appointment to the newly created Palestinian Liberation Organization, Ahmed Shuqayri, to train guerrillas on his retreat in Kayfūn, a Shi‛ite village just above Suq al-Gharb southeast of Beirut. Hilū signaled his willingness to keep Lebanon “Arab” when, as one of his first official acts, he attended an Arab summit on Israel’s plans to divert Jordanian and Lebanese water for its own use. According to Hilū’s critics, it was at this summit where the country’s sovereignty was initially compromised. President Hilū, it seems, began his term with Shihāb’s heart but not his teeth. Conditions inside Lebanon, in 1964, were perhaps never better. The new President continued the Shihābist policy of investing in Lebanon’s infrastructure, and conflict remained at a controllable level. Yet, the Middle East environment was rapidly becoming radicalized and dangerous. Looking at the whole six-year period, the number of conflict incidents between 1964 and 1968 averaged about three per year and then increased sharply in 1969 and 1970. The number of announced public programs between 1964 and 1968 averaged about six per year and, as one might expect in the wake of the June War, decreased sharply in 1969 and 1970 (see Figure 6.4). The major period of conflict before 1969 occurred in 1967 when the Israelis attacked Egypt on June 6. In Beirut, there were overturned cars, burned fuel storage facilities, and a few cosmetic attacks on those citizens, especially Americans, brought to their embassies for evacuation.17 Otherwise, Lebanon’s police only had to deal with the usual assassinations, election clashes, clan battles, and student demonstrations. As for development, it was announced that new schools would be built in 633 villages. The Litāni Project began generating electricity, Beirut port was improved, tourism was booming, and the Green Project continued. The country was a beehive of activity. During many long treks through the countryside in 1965–6, both south and north, this writer was able to see, first hand, bulldozers excavating new terraces above Sidon and vast new tracts of apple tree plantings in the highlands between Tannourine and Besharri. Everywhere, new roads and bridges were being built. Villagers, in several instances, showed their excitement at having just gotten (or expecting to get) electricity. There was plenty of hustle. In one case, a man had just dug a trench across the main highway to extend an irrigation system to his banana acreage tahit, i.e., below the road. There was an awful jam of cars, trucks, and school busses halted by his project. His response to an inquiry as to why the local police were not on hand to direct traffic was evasive, but, evidently (ya‛ani), he could dig the ditch, lay the pipe, and repatch the road before the police arrived to interrupt his

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Figure 6.4 Incidents of violence and public projects: 1964–1970 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

private initiative. He had, after all, gotten a head start on them by starting to dig his trench during the middle of the night! In the Levant, to be an uncharismatic, workaday professional like Charles Hilū evoked a sense of weakness. The environment of conflict began to push against Lebanon’s borders, and Hilū’s lack of a countrywide political base tended to work against him. His historical non-existence is partly due to his dependence on the Shihābist machine and its enforcement mechanisms, the army and the security police. The dualism created in the Lebanese system by having these

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organizations operate alongside the governmental apparatus became a critical problem for the President. Unlike Shihāb, Hilū was not in close touch with the personnel in either organization. As was often reported, Hilū‛s Prime Ministers were often seen going to and from consultations with Fu‛ād Shihāb rather than with their President. It was commonplace in Lebanon, at that time, to hear people say that Shihāb made all the decisions. Such talk was no doubt an exaggeration, but it further undermined President Hilū’s ability to assert his authority when the domestic situation began to deteriorate after 1967. DETERIORATION Charles Hilū’s initial problems, as so often happens with Lebanon, came from the political environment in nearby states. In 1963, radical Ba’thist regimes had come to power in both Syria and Iraq. Nasser, a slightly tarnished figure following the demise of the UAR, was still receiving delegations seeking Arab unity and was very much involved in Lebanese affairs. Palestinian guerrilla organizations grew in size, number, and prominence as the refugees began to assert their independence of the Arab regimes. They were beginning to assert their own nationalism both in Jordan and Lebanon while receiving arms to conduct operations against Israel. As for the Israelis, they were also engaged in a new assertiveness. Israeli plans to acquire a larger portion of the scarce water in the area were some of the most publicized secrets in the Middle East. Israel not only intended to divert water from the River Jordan, threatening to harm irrigation in the West Bank, but also had designs on the Litāni river.18 Lebanon was in the fight whether she wanted to be or not. The policy of the Hilū government, when asked to join with other Arab states in stopping Israel’s quest for water, was to reject calls for (Arab state) troops to be placed on Lebanese soil and ask for additional military supplies instead. A quiet border with Israel was an important strategic asset for a country like Lebanon that wanted to be left alone. Militarily weak and especially vulnerable in the south, the country could not afford to get in trouble with Israel. Who would help it? Syria, at that time under the control of radical Arab socialists, could hardly be expected to help; moreover, the friend in Syria might turn out to be worse than the enemy in Israel. The Americans might help Lebanon against outsiders broadly defined as “communists,” but Israel would never fit that category. Similarly, at Arab summits, during this period, the leaders seemed more intent on testing each other’s zeal than on taking serious measures to confront Israel. Carefully resisting any proposal that might bring “friendly” troops to Lebanon’s territory, Hilū did agree to join a special Command through which those countries bordering Israel would defend themselves. No assistance would be forthcoming without an explicit request, so Lebanon’s independence was well protected. Or was it? Hilū’s Shihābist approach was certainly the correct policy toward Arabism; in fact, the United States and Egypt were quietly cooperating in maintaining

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Lebanese stability. But it was not necessarily the right approach to Israel. The door had been opened a crack to commit Lebanon to the struggle against the Israelis, one that neither Israel nor the Arab states could necessarily control. Romantic nationalism from the Ba’thists was to combine with a new Palestinian assertiveness that even got Nasser in deeper than he intended. The mix of Lebanese communities was inexorably, almost inevitably, drawn into the fracas. The origins of the destruction of Lebanon are to be found, not in the events of February and April 1975, but in those of 1965–6, two years in which those who lived and worked there firmly believed that the country’s future was assured. The conversations in south Lebanon, during the winter and spring of 1967, were full of the talk of war. Some Palestinians at Ein al-Hilweh camp were saying that it would start in July. Zeal often got the best of sense. Newly trained Palestinian guerrillas would force the hand of the Arab states which they said “[would] be like one against the enemy.”19 But this time, the Palestinians did not have to depend on the other Arabs; they would be leading the struggle. The American Sixth Fleet would be helpless against Palestinian guerrillas armed by Pan-Arab socialist regimes committed to the war. Israel was only strong because of the American support it received; without that support Israel would disappear. In fact, guerrilla war, so successful in China, was being applied against the Americans in South Vietnam. As for Lebanon, only the south was important; what the north did hardly mattered. The Palestinian fighters seemed unaware that what happened in the south would concern Lebanese in the north. The loose talk of young radicals, of course, must not be confused with the calculations of political leaders. Certainly, in 1965–6, not many Palestinians looked to their own organizations for salvation; they were, in fact, very disappointed in most Arab leaders, including their own. One opinion, often expressed, was that these were all just politicians caring nothing for the real problems of the refugee. It was still commonplace to meet a Palestinian from Jordan who, when asked his nationality, would reply that he was Jordanian. But there was also a new excitement in the camps. Nasser was in Egypt, Ba‛thists in Syria and Iraq, Soviet arms arriving, and Palestinians had their own military organization. Palestinians were ready to control their own destiny. Then a series of events occurred which converted Palestinian sceptics into believers. These often analyzed events are roughly as follows: Israel planned to divert Jordan and Litāni water, the new Palestinian political and military organizations sprang up, the Arab states suffered defeat in the 1967 war, and Palestinian guerrilla operations intensified. Then, both the Arabs and the Israelis began to retaliate against the greater militance of the Palestinians. The usual explanation is that these events led to a polarization of Lebanese society, the disintegration of the government’s authority, and civil war. An event, not usually emphasized in these accounts, may well have begun the “hostility-reaction formation” that brought on the protracted civil chaos that wracked Lebanon for nearly two decades. Late in the evening on May 16, 1966, Kamal Mroweh, publisher of al-Hayāt newspaper, was assassinated at his desk in

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his office. Though not a traditional conservative, Mroweh had been extremely critical of the wave of Pan-Arab Nasserism then sweeping the Middle East and expressed his concern at the freedom of activity allowed some of the high-level officials of the newly created PLO. His newspaper, naturally, was the medium through which these concerns and criticisms were expressed. From the evidence introduced at the trial of those convicted of murdering Mroweh, it is clear that he was killed because someone wanted him silenced. He was gunned down by a Nasserist, Adnān Sultāni, an employee at Intra Bank who was in league with Ibrahim Kleilāt, the man who had gotten him his job at the bank. Kleilāt, who had recruited two additional persons to assist in the crime, also worked at Intra.20 The details in the planning and carrying out of this assassination were intricate, and most of the conspirators escaped apprehension. At the time, it was believed to have been Egypt’s doing; this is what the perpetrator, Adnān Sultāni, was led to believe by Ibrahim Kleilāt, the one accused of instigating the crime. But Kleilāt did not flee to Egypt as he had said he would but rather to France. The silencer used on the handgun was made by a local craftsman and did not possess the specifications called for by the Italian manufacturer. More-over, although all the conspirators were residents of Beirut, their family ties were to areas of Lebanon not especially under the influence of Nasser’s operatives. Clearly, the gunman himself was set up, leading to the suspicion that the true origins of the conspiracy were different from the one expressed. The ambiguity, in this regard, simply multiplied the number of conspiracy theories available for Lebanese to consider. Whatever the political basis for the crime, and the possibilities are many, some of the trail led directly back to Intra Bank. Were there competing Lebanese financiers, aided and abetted by the Deuxième Bureau, who came to the view that this Palestinian bank was not only too big and powerful for Lebanon but also a Trojan Horse from which the country could be attacked? Were al-Hayāt and Intra Bank the initial victims of the civil war in Lebanon? While the assassination of Kamal Mroweh caused only a brief stir in Lebanon and hardly worried people that the stable and prosperous system was in trouble, its reciprocal, the collapse of Intra Bank did seem to threaten calamity. On October 15, 1966, the bank’s officials announced that it would have to close, having insufficient liquidity to cover the demands of its depositors. Following a panic the next day, a bank holiday was declared, and soon after, Yusuf Baydās, the Palestinian founder of Intra, charged that he had been victimized by Lebanese who wished to control his companies. He also pointed out that, while the government was able to stop the panic, its Central Bank had refused to come to his aid with financial assistance even though Intra Bank’s total assets in property were far in excess of its current liabilities. Later in the year, irregularities were discovered in Intra’s books, and the Lebanese government ordered the arrest of the bank’s founder, auditor, and several of its managers. Yusuf Baydās, however, remained in Brazil during the crisis, eventually fleeing to Switzerland. Elias Sarkis, later President of Lebanon, was put in charge of the

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Central Bank and was able to contain the financial crisis. Intra Bank, on the other hand, was destroyed as a Palestinian enterprise, and Baydās, its founder, died before he could be extradited for trial in Lebanon. His death may have, indeed, been to the advantage of the Lebanese government, helping hush up a murky business linked to several states and movements in the region. The Amir of Kuwait, who spent his summers in Lebanon and opposed the radicalism then sweeping the Middle East, may also have had a hand in bringing down the Intra Bank. Leftist journalists in Lebanon making this accusation were arrested and, in at least two cases, their newspapers expired. The Kuwaitis, with a large stake in the Lebanese economy and frequent lenders to the government, were certainly capable of waging economic war against their Middle East adversaries. Whatever the case, soon after Intra Bank, and a few other banks closely linked to it, were reorganized, the crisis petered out just in time for the Six Day War of 1967. Beirut, however, never regained its former financial prominence in the world. For many, its political and business practices were simply too questionable.21 The contextual reasons for the failure of Intra Bank were many and various. Baydās’s financial empire was overextended, vulnerable, and without adequate connections in the Lebanese establishment. Intra was largely Palestinian in development and management; it had aroused the envy and concern of Lebanon’s financial elite and may have also threatened Kuwaiti interests. But the immediate cause of the bank’s collapse was simply that members of Lebanon’s establishment “[conducted] a carefully engineered run on the bank”21 putting the Intra management at the mercy of the Central Bank of Lebanon. The suddenness of the crisis, the delayed reaction of the Lebanese government, and the ease with which the Central Bank was able to halt the panic once it did intervene are just some of the reasons for suspicion that Intra was intentionally brought down. It was dangerous banking, and a large number of public officials must have been involved in the conspiracy. But this was Lebanon, where communal solidarity was much stronger than any concern for the state. Palestinians did not really belong nor, unfortunately, did many of their Lebanese co-religionists. When these two “non-peoples” eventually combined, Lebanon, like Intra, collapsed. The effect of Intra’s collapse was not primarily on the young radicals who had unrealistically explained how the next war would start and end. The effect, though not immediate, was to convince non-establishment leaders, most of them Muslim, that Lebanon was laissez faire only for the members of the club. The reforms and the careful concessions to Arabism were all for naught. Shihābism was not able to ensure fair play in the economy, even by Levantine standards. Minds were now set; the Palestinians and their sympathizers had no real friends in Beirut. It should be recalled that Intra was Lebanon’s largest bank; it had played a major role in establishing Beirut as a financial leader in the Middle East. Intra had branches all over the world and was especially prominent in Paris. While the Lebanese were able to walk away with the remains of the

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carcass, they had actually lost something more valuable than the demise of a competitor. They had lost an important basis for moderating Palestinian behavior. Successful Palestinians not only would have made Lebanon seem more hospitable for that community, but also would have helped give the financial establishment greater leverage over those who might have wanted to assault the state. One tenth of the population then inhabiting Lebanon was Palestinian. Even though they were not citizens of the country, Palestinians needed to have a stake in its economy. They were already a major (and exploited) part of it, and Yusuf Baydās was an example of a way out of dependency. Institutions like Intra Bank represented an alternative to violence as a way for Palestinians to survive their statelessness in Lebanon. But, unfortunately, there was another alternative for Palestinians: nation-alism and revolutionary armed struggle. In 1966, the camps were still under the tight control of Lebanon’s security police although, as those on the scene could see, the absence of major trouble from the refugees was due more to their lack of organization than to the presence of Lebanese soldiers. But the talk had a new stridency, and it represented two new conceptions of how things were going to change. First, the Palestinians, themselves, were to be a part of the revolution; second, the Arab states would soon join ranks to act together against Israel and imperialism. The conservatives of the Arab world not only saw delegations traveling to Cairo to discuss Arab unity with Nasser, they saw all this activity as radical, socialist, and Soviet supported. Some of these may have completed the picture by imagining that Intra Bank had become a Trojan Horse for the fedayeen (commandos), a financial giant to underwrite the revolution. Kuwaiti and Lebanese conservatives may have believed that it had been protecting a hive of conspirators while threatening disaster with its overblown expansion. In either case, there would be trouble. It made sense, therefore, for the conservatives to pre-empt the threat and send their own warning. Once the cycle of violence begins and “hostility-reaction formation” sets in, carrying decision makers in its wake, no one among the various combatants is able to say, “Good heavens, we were wrong; we will change our ways!” Rather, each side looks for allies and additional resources. In the Middle East, there is no lack of these as outsiders continually try to use insiders to act for them, whether for mischief or for weakening their opponents. Inside the Middle East, Lebanon unhappily resides on the strategic pivot of the global balance of power—not the optimal venue for grandstand plays. Before the Shihābists (under Hilū) could deal with the new brand of local leftists and militant Palestinians, outside events, once again, tripped them up and began to shipwreck the Lebanese. THE JUNE WAR OF 1967 On June 5, 1967, the Israelis attacked Egypt, wiping out its air force and pushing Egyptian forces from the Sinai. Syria and Jordan also entered the war and, with their aircraft neutralized, were forced to give up sizable chunks of territory: for

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Syria, the Golan Heights and for Jordan, the West Bank. Even Iraq, technically at war with Israel but not engaged in this case, saw its air force destroyed on the ground. This action taken by the Israelis so weakened the moderate Iraqi government of Abdul Rahman al-‛Aref (and Prime Minister Bazazz), that it was overthrown the next year by the Ba’thists (of Hassan al-Bakr and Saddam Hussein). The June War was a disaster for the Arabs. The Egyptians, Syrians, Jordanians, and Palestinians lost territory while the radicals, so ready to go to war, found out how unprepared they were to fight one. Charles Hilū had managed, for the most part, to keep out of the war, and Lebanon was the only country bordering Israel that did not lose territory. But an Arab loss to Israel had never been beneficial for the Lebanese; it destabilized the country’s delicate communal balance, making it vulnerable to civil strife. This crushing blow delivered to the Arab states tended to strengthen the sentiment for a Palestinian nationalism separate from Pan-Arabism. Where Arab regimes had failed, Palestinian organizations might succeed. But, like other peoples, the Palestinians also lived within territorial jurisdictions—in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon. If their own organizations were to succeed, the Palestinians would have to launch their struggle from other peoples’ states. The attempt to organize military operations from Lebanese soil began in 1968 and became a serious problem after King Hussein drove the PLO out of Jordan in 1970. Jordan could deal with its Palestinian threat because King Hussein had an army loyal to him; Lebanon could not so easily employ its army for the same purpose. The Lebanese government, itself, was divided on the issue of whether or not to assist the Palestinians. There was great sympathy for their cause; but there was even greater risk in accommodating it. Lebanon stayed out of the 1967 war; Palestinians living in Lebanon were also not much involved. Yet, following this conflict, Lebanon was sucked into the maelstrom and not as an innocent bystander. The assassination of Kamal Mroweh and fall of Intra Bank demonstrated that the Lebanese, along with the Palestinians in their midst, had already been involved. In accommodating the guerrillas, the Lebanese had also gotten themselves entangled with the Israelis. PALESTINIAN INVOLVEMENT In June 1965, Israel claimed that three persons came across the Lebanese border and blew up a house. Soon after, a small group of Palestinians were arrested by Lebanese soldiers for attempting to cross over into Israel from Lebanon, and one of these, Jalāl Ka‛wāsh, a resident of Ein el-Hilweh camp near Sidon, died while under detention. The government claimed Ka‛wāsh had committed suicide, but Palestinians and their sympathizers claimed he had been tortured by agents of the Deuxième Bureau. Leftists in Sidon and Tyre joined Kamal Jumblāt in calling for an investigation while students led several demonstrations. The public outcry against the Deuxième Bureau was joined by no less than the conservative politicians who were preparing for the national elections in 1968

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and hoping to join forces to oppose the Shihābist candidate for President in 1970. Interrupted by the Intra Bank crisis and the June War of 1967, this movement against the security police regained momentum in 1968–9. Finally, in 1969, President Hilū took the first steps to reduce the Bureau’s power. (Suleiman Franjieh, in 1970, was to abolish it altogether.) While the opposition had successfully undermined a main-stay of Shihābist power, it had also begun to cripple the most reliable organ of executive force in the country. When the Palestinian militias challenged the Lebanese establishment for control of the south, the government had already been shorn of its primary enforcement agency. Without the Deuxième Bureau, the government could only call in the army for policing the camps. Unfortunately, unlike the Bureau, the army was threatened by communal divisions. It could not protect the country from outside invasion; it could not protect the government from an internal threat. The Lebanese army could only act as one of several factors in the politicial system. The episode involving Jalāl Ka‛wāsh was only a small beginning to what eventually grew into widespread guerrilla operations in south Lebanon. Before 1967, most of the activity was directed toward organizing and training on an experimental and limited basis. Immediately following the June War, however, the pace of Palestinian activity in Lebanon increased dramatically. It was mixed in with the leftist politics of the country and included a number of Christians, some in leadership positions.23 Originally a secret society of emigré Palestinians, al-Fatah emerged as the leading militia both in Jordan and Lebanon. Fatah gained some initial glory by imposing major losses on the Israeli army during a punitive raid by the latter in March of 1968. This action, at the West Bank village of Karameh, resulted in much greater losses to the Arab defenders than to the Israelis. Even so, with the help of Jordanian artillery, the guerrilla defenders had made a stand. Their action gave them credibility; it also stirred the hearts of those Palestinians living in the camps. Thousands lined up to join the various guerrilla groups as Palestinian nationalism began to compete with Arabism for the allegiance of the refugees. In February 1969, Fatah was able to get Yasir Arafat elected Chairman of the PLO, replacing Ahmed Shuqayri, thus beginning his long-term control over it. A mélange of organizations remained, including the Palestinian Liberation Army (PLA), whose four brigades were distributed in the Arab countries. Other smaller groups have been in and out of the PLO, depending, to some extent, on Arafat’s relationships with various Arab regimes. During the two years between the June War and Arafat’s election, however, control of the movement was still up for grabs. Because the PLO under Shuqayri had its headquarters in Beirut, Lebanon was the arena where this competition was waged. Recruiting, demonstrating, training, and conducting military operations were means employed both to expand the movement and to gain control over it. While Palestinian militants at this time were experiencing what Helena Cobban has called “the joy of flying,” they had not yet gone very far toward institutionalizing their movement.24 In Jordan, Palestinians had some political involvement in the regime, but in

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Lebanon, they lived and conducted operations on foreign soil under a government not their own. There, the guerrilla movement exploded onto the scene where others, unfriendly to their cause, were living. Even for those who supported them, Palestinian activities were a burden; for those who did not, they were a threat. Would the PLO respect Lebanese sovereignty? Even if it agreed to do so, could Arafat control the Palestinians? The assassination of Kamal Mroweh and the collapse of Intra Bank had been dislocating for the Lebanese; the 1967 war was even more so, but the government could have weathered these difficulties had it not been for the new Palestinian presence. In fact, following the June War, there was nearly six months of comparative calm in Lebanon, and the Nahjists seemed to be getting back to the Shihāb program of developing the country’s infrastructure. In the spring of 1968, however, the first tremors of the future earth-quake were felt. Elections were scheduled for the end of March and the usual caretaker government established to conduct them. An alliance was formed between the National Bloc of Eddé, the Phalange of Gemayel, and the Liberals of Chamoun to collaborate on winning enough seats in the Chamber to prevent a Shihābist from becoming President in 1970. Called the Triple Alliance (al-Hilf al-Thulāthi), this grouping combined many of those who had worked against the Shihābists in the last election but, in this case, with a notable addition. Pierre Gemayel, with his Katā‛ib Party, had agreed to join. The purpose of the Alliance was to beat the Nahj, and they would do so by raising the issue around which all Lebanonists could rally, the new program of the Palestinians. To what extent should the Lebanese support it? Or, as the Hilf contended, had the commandos become so dangerous that the state needed to place them under stricter control? Undoubtedly, this stand by the Hilf was an entirely legitimate and understandable one for them to take at the time. Lebanese would eventually have to face the issue of having, within their midst, an emigré organization developing its own political apparatus and entangling Lebanon in its military operations. Yet, what was easy to recognize was that the organization that had taken upon itself the task of protecting Lebanon was almost entirely Christian in its membership. The Hilf had not attracted a single Muslim notable to lend prestige to its efforts against the commandos (although several, including Sa‛ib Salām, were prepared to vote with it against the Shihābists). Muslims seemed overly enthusiastic about the Palestinian guerrilla effort. Christians were of several persuasions but, in terms of Lebanon’s independence, felt especially concerned that the guerrilla movement [was a] Trojan Horse which the radical parties in the country—the Communists, Ba‛th Socialists (the Arab nationalist socialists who were now in control of Syria and Iraq), and other ideologists opposed to the Lebanese establishment—were already making expert use of to subvert the Lebanese system.25

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Although it was true that many more Muslims than Christians were actively sympathetic with the Palestinian cause, few of the former would have been prepared to help them in conducting military operations. Yet, the simple need to contest an election and find an issue for that purpose was used to implicate the Muslims and became a wedge to drive Christians and Muslims apart. Like all serious issues in Lebanon, it opened up the question of what Lebanon was and would be in the future. What was properly a national issue became the usual inter-communal conflict. The Palestinians’ response to these trends in Lebanon, the Arab country that had offered them the best opportunity, was to overplay their hand. This was unfortunate because, with a modicum of restraint, the Palestinians could surely have organized themselves into a genuine political force before serious resistance set in. Having insisted on Lebanon’s Arab approach to regional issues, Fu‛ād Shihāb and Charles Hilū continued to make the rounds of Arab capitals whenever crises arose both inside and outside his country. They were determined to make Lebanon work. But for it to work, it would have to support the one out of ten residents of the country who were Palestinian. Shihāb and Hilū had also kept tight control over the refugee camps. Undoubtedly, the Nahj also inhibited the freedom of its political adversaries and had become deserving targets of the counter-organizational strategies which these employed. Yet, those of the Christian right who, in the 1965 Ka‛wāsh affair, had joined others in undermining the regime’s ability to police the camps, were preparing to bring it down for failing to do so. Had the Palestinians not been awash in the glories of Arab nationalism and (Maoist) people’s war, they could have worked at organizing themselves instead of reorganizing Lebanon. That the centrists in the Palestinian movement were aware of this problem and wanted to avoid injecting themselves into Lebanese politics is clear. But, as has always been the case with them, their leadership could never consistently prescribe and carry out Palestinian policies. Not able to enforce their policies among the various free-floating groups that made up the Palestinian movement, they did not find it essential to come up with workable ones. Better to continually snatch at opportunities. Although the situation began to heat up in 1968, it remained controllable. The electioneering was rather closer to the democratic model than had ever happened before in Lebanon. President Hilū had extracted most of the teeth from the Deuxième Bureau and was not even the subject of rumors concerning a second term. The man was so clean as to be nonexistent. The scene was soon to change, however, as Palestinian activities increased and the Hilf began to rally its communities to the rescue of the region’s only Christian sanctuary, Lebanon. The 1968 electoral saga began on March 23 and ended on April 7. Although the Nahj emerged with the largest bloc of supporters, the number was far from a majority. The Triple Alliance, on the other hand, won a smaller bloc of committed votes but was almost at parity with the Shihābists when antigovernment independents were counted. The election had indicated

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some sentiment to overturn the Nahjists and even more to begin taking steps against the Palestinian-Arab Nationalist nexus that seemed to be developing in the country. Bashing the enemies of the state turned out to be more popular than solving the problems of the state. Both during the elections and soon after, demonstrations broke out over the issue of support for the commandos. Lebanon, in that year, had given one of its own as a martyr to the Palestinian cause. Khalil al-Jamāl, a Lebanese enrolled in the Palestinian movement, had been killed in a guerrilla operation. He was given a public funeral, at which time the various Palestinian militias appeared in full uniform and showed off their armor. No doubt the “joy of flying” had begun to overwhelm whatever thoughts of discretion Palestinian leaders entertained during this period, and their theater soon attracted attention from unfriendly places. The Hilū government responded to the electoral success of the Hilf by trying to return to the previous policy of keeping the Palestinians under tight control. The Deuxième Bureau was once again charged with exercising sufficient vigilance in the camps to curtail Palestinian operations and keep them from inflaming the always-volatile divisions in Lebanon. But trying to reimpose the previous regimen was not possible. The Hilf gambit to use the Palestinian issue to improve its political stock attracted opposition from Kamal Jumblāt as well as from several prominent Muslim clerics. Now, it seemed, the Palestinians had friends, socialists from Jumblāt’s PSP and important notables from the Sunni religious establishment. Lebanon could become an valuable element in the new Palestinian movement. There were incidents. Students demonstrated against the government for better faculty wages, but the intensity of the action seemed to indicate that leftists were seeking a confrontation. Camille Chamoun was wounded in an assassination attempt; Christians in Tripoli, protesting the exploits of radicals in that city, incited a clash in which several were killed; and cabinets failed regularly as tensions mounted. It was then the Israelis’ turn to overplay their hand. On December 30, 1968, Israeli commandos conducted a raid on the Beirut airport, destroying thirteen Arab-owned passenger aircraft, those of Najīb Alamuddīn’s MEA airline. This action was taken, ostensibly, in retaliation for the Arab hijacking of an El Al plane to Algiers, but it also sent a message to the Lebanese government: either control the Palestinian guerrillas or suffer the consequences. In the end, the consequences were far different from the particular outcome the Israeli cabinet must have hoped for. Rather than strengthening the Christians against the Muslims and the Lebanonists against the Palestinians (and their allies), it began the long slide into chaos in Lebanon and the country’s destruction. While the Israelis were racing madly to be as indiscreet as possible, Abdullah al-Yāfi wanted to make sure he had not been outdone in this regard. He announced in November 1968 that Palestinian commando activities were “legitimate” and that he favored removing all restrictions on guerrilla action. He went on to say “all of us in the government are united in the belief that Lebanon

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should remain an Arab state supporting its Arab brothers in all fields.”26 The Prime Minister’s statement, along with similar public pronouncements, had the effect of committing other prominent Sunni politicians to this position, tying their hands and embarrassing President Hilū. Therefore, at the very time the President’s security personnel were trying to reassert the government’s authority over the refugee camps and put an end to across-the-border guerrilla operations, Lebanon’s Prime Minister was insisting that these Palestinians should be allowed the greatest freedom of action. Once again, Lebanon was drifting along under more than one government. As pointed out earlier, conflict in Lebanon rose sharply throughout 1969, partly as a backlash to the Israeli raid and partly as a result of the growing division between the Lebanonists and Arabists on how to deal with the Palestinian militias and their attacks on Israel. Some twenty-three major incidents of armed violence were reported during the year, beginning with student demonstrations and culminating with a series of clashes between the Lebanese army and various guerrilla groups. One of these, al-Sa’iqa, was closely aligned with Syria and not under PLO control. Thus, when the latter tried to arrive at an agreement with President Hilū over control of the militias, it was clear that the Lebanese needed more than Arafat could deliver. Arafat’s initial position on this issue was as follows: while the Palestinian groups were pledged not to interfere in the internal affairs of any Arab country, they would not “sit idle in the face of any attempt aimed at liquidating the Palestine question and revolution.” Further, the organization expressed its determination to carry out operations from every country bordering on Israel.27 This PLO position was somewhat gratuitous since, in all cases except Lebanon, the governments bordering Israel that hosted Palestinians and tolerated their activities also placed them under strict control. Approximately one year later, in September 1970, King Hussein would find it necessary to conduct a military campaign to drive out the Palestinian guerrillas in order to protect Jordanian independence. The other Arab states not only controlled their Palestinians but also treated them with extreme suspicion, recognizing that the commandos had territory to acquire not to defend. THE CAIRO AGREEMENT Both sides, the Lebanese government and the PLO, held talks in an attempt to work out an understanding and prevent further clashes between the commandos and the army. The PLO and their Lebanese supporters were calling for noninterference by the militia groups in the country’s internal affairs in return for their own freedom to conduct military operations against Israel. After five days of talks between the PLO and the government in May 1969, talks that were

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adjourned without agreement, President Hilū issued a statement saying that Lebanon would prevent those “not responsible to the Lebanese people”28 from taking actions that compromised the country’s sovereignty and could serve as a pretext for Israeli reprisals. President Nasser of Egypt also supported the right of the Lebanese government to exercise reasonable constraints on Palestinian guerrilla activity. But Syria, controlled at this time by an extremely radical Ba‛thist regime, was stoking the coals. Damascus helped its Sa‛iqa group try to impose its presence on several Lebanese villages and towns in the southeastern section of the country near the Syrian and Israeli borders. When the Lebanese army attempted to stop these actions, the Syrians helped the Palestinian commandos resist and threatened to intervene on their behalf. The problems were not only military; the political situation also deteriorated. Demonstrations developed into clashes as rebellion broke out in the usual centers of dissidence, in south Lebanon, Beirut, and Tripoli. The young—those attracted to such organizations as the Arab National Movement, the Communists, and the Ba‛thists—were active in undermining Lebanese authority. But they were also able to attract Muslim support as Christian resistance spread and voiced its intransigent demands. Thus, the Syrians and their radical friends were able to undercut any deals that the centrist leaders of the PLO might have wished to make while the Hilf and their clerical friends refused to cooperate with whatever concessions their President might have agreed to. Neither side could deliver. Some genuine attempts to cool the fires of righteous anger were made during these months of escalating militance. Rashid Karāmi followed al-Yāfi as Prime Minister in early 1969 and tried to distance himself from an open-ended commitment to the Palestinian cause. President Hilū, himself, insisted that Lebanon support the commandos as long as they remained obedient to its government. The Hilf made a similar declaration, reaffirming its support but only through means “determined by Lebanese authorities.”29 The PLO also declared its readiness to seek a practical solution to the problem. In the meantime, however, Kamal Jumblāt took a different political stance and let go with an ambuscade of rhetoric on behalf of socialism and Palestinian liberation, reaping the expected collateral damage in the Christian areas. Emile Bustāni, commander of the Lebanese army, also tried to bring matters to a head by launching a major campaign against the guerrillas in southern Lebanon. Prime Minister Karāmi, who supported the right of the Lebanese to exercise authority over the commandos, could not support such massive means to secure it and resigned. Pierre Gemayel announced that the Palestinians had agreed to depart Lebanon, and Arafat, blindsided by the leak, indignantly denied such a deal was in the works. By the end of October 1969, the guerrillas and the Lebanese army were at war. Unable to make political headway within the country, the Lebanese and Palestinian sides traveled to Cairo to get Nasser’s help in ending the bloodshed. The Lebanese and Palestinian delegations, the former led by the Chief of Staff,

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Bustāni, and the latter by the PLO Chairman, Arafat, were able, on November 2, to negotiate the Cairo Agreement of 1969. It resulted in both a ceasefire and an accord on the rights of the Palestinians living under Lebanese authority. For the Lebanese side, the accord called for the Palestinians to be subject to Lebanese authority in their activities outside the camps and, thus, unable to conduct operations against Israel without the permission of the Lebanese army. The quid pro quo to this concession was an agreement by the Lebanese government to concede its authority inside the camps to the various Palestinian organizations. The Palestinians would be allowed to govern themselves, but only within their camps. It was not difficult to draw the conclusion that Lebanon was prepared to allow the creation of Palestinian “Bantustans” within its borders. While most segments of the Lebanese establishment concurred with this result, and some even appreciated Egypt’s solicitude for Lebanon’s predicament, many Christians were uneasy with the compromised sovereignty the agreement seemed to entail. However, of the major players in the Hilf, only Raymond Eddé refused to sign on to the Cairo Agreement, warning repeatedly that it was a prescription for disaster. On the left, the Cairo Agreement seemed to escalate militance. Revealing fully his sense of history and love of the old Lebanon that his forebears had played so prominent a role in, Kamal Jumblāt, the Minister of the Interior during the final months of the crippled Hilū presidency, announced on December 31 that the Parti Populaire Syrien (PPS), the Arab Nationalist Movement (ANM), the Communist Party, the Ba‛th Socialist Party, and the everfighting Tashnak and Hentshak (Armenians) could resume operations. His action allowed the leftist radicals to take dead aim on the Cairo Agreement; it amounted to a frontal assault on Lebanon. Whereas the Cairo Agreement had left many Lebanese Christians feeling nervous, soon after, with Jumblāt’s help, they would be scared out of their wits. In spite of the Cairo Agreement, the fighting between the Palestinian militias and the Lebanese army continued. By the summer of 1970, there were not only sporadic demonstrations on behalf of the many communal and regional persuasions but also the emergence of a serious refugee problem. By July, it was estimated that nearly 25,000 Shi‛ite villagers living in the south had moved north, most of them to the slums of Beirut. Kamal Jumblāt, who, early in the year, had unleashed all the radicals for political tumult, was now proposing that citizens be asked to apply in advance for permission to demonstrate; they would be required to state the time and purpose of the demonstration, and the routes to be used to bring down the government. In addition, the majority of those participating would need to be able to show that they had fixed addresses in Beirut. One assumes that others would have had to try to influence the government from some location outside the city, perhaps from the high slopes of Mount Sannine or the mountain ridge above the airport. In fact, they had already begun. On March 25, 1970, commandos, accompanying the body of a guerrilla killed by hashish smugglers the day before, got caught in a traffic jam in the village of Kahhalah (on the Damascus

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road). The ensuing clash with the Christian villagers and the army left two dead and several others on both sides wounded. The Palestinian convoy, on its return trip from Damascus, clashed again with the Kahhalah villagers, losing six of its commandos in the firefight. Additional clashes occurred on the outskirts of Beirut as the Phalangists fought elements of the PFLP militia. Pierre Gemayal’s son, Bashir, was captured but later released through government intervention. The number of violent incidents increased rapidly following this last event as the Phalangists began to make it their mission to oppose the Palestinian commandos. Before Charles Hilū‛s term had ended, major groups on both sides had gotten out their guns. Not only had the Shihābist development program come to a halt, but conditions in Lebanon had started to deteriorate, especially during the aftermath of the 1967 war. What began as an attempt to overcome the Shihābist organization developed into a conflict with its “Arabist” strategy and, relative to the Palestinians, the compromising Cairo Agreement that resulted from it. Although the origins of containing Palestinian radicalism pre-date the June War, it was PLO guerrilla activity following that war which transformed covert containment into overt hostility. Palestinian activities, conducted by a multitude of separate groups not subject to anyone’s control, confronted Lebanon with its age-old, unresolved problem. Who belongs to that state; whose Lebanon is governed from Beirut? Moreover, the one person who might have answered this question, Fu‛ād Shihāb, was underplaying his hand when all the other politicians were overplaying theirs. He had insisted on a genuine free election (1964) and was determined that the Chamber should choose a new President as called for by the Constitution. That would be the General’s victory. The other leaders, however, were interested in their victories—over Nasser, over the Palestinians, over the bourgeois bankers, and over the opposition communities. The General’s standin, Charles Hilū, was an accommodating man and a professional, but he was a “lame duck” as was, perhaps, his mentor. Yet, in late 1969 or early 1970, a “deal” might have been possible; there were still plenty of positives to balance the many negatives in Lebanon’s condition. But this was a time when Lebanese politicians were making their pre-election bids for the presidency, when winning that office precluded any “deals” that might have meant winning for Lebanon. The events of 1967–9 served notice that while the 1958 civil war had been called off and a new course charted, the country’s wounds had not completely healed.

7 Toward civil war: 1970–1975

THE ELECTIONS OF 1970 With Jumblāt’s stricter measures for controlling demonstrations on the books, the Chamber of Deputies prepared to elect a new President; Hilū’s term would end on September 22. In late July, the Phalangists nominated their founder, Pierre Gemayel, to be their party’s candidate for the office. Camille Chamoun wanted to announce his candidacy but felt it necessary to await Fu‛ād Shihāb’s decision whether or not to run. A few wags, noting the degree of influence wielded by the former President during the six Hilū years, suggested that the incumbant ought to try for his first term. As it turned out, Fu‛ād Shihāb made his final decision on August 5 not to seek the presidency, and Chamoun announced his candidacy a few days later. The Shihābist candidate for the office was Elias Sarkis, director of the Central Bank and a man known both for his professionalism and integrity (although he was touched by the Intra Bank affair). Because Gemayel, Chamoun, Eddé, and even Jumblāt all coveted the presidency for themselves but could not get the votes, they endeavored to contain the front runner, Sarkis. While the votes of the Nahj plus independents would have sufficed to elect the retired Fu‛ād Shihāb (had he decided to be a candidate), not all of these deputies could be counted on to vote for Sarkis. In fact, he was opposed by some of the Shihābists themselves. Having become the compromise candidate at the last moment, Sarkis was not well positioned to augment his strength. Thus, the 1970 election was wide open. Unable to give the power to one of their number, the Hilf decided to back a relative outsider, Suleiman Franjieh from Zghartā in north Lebanon, a man who had been shoved into the limelight after his more illustrious brother, Hamīd, had had his political career prematurely ended by a stroke in 1957.1 Suleiman Franjieh, a rough and ready scion of his clan and several times elected to the Chamber, held a cabinet position as Minister of Economy at the time. The maneuvring was intense, and the Chamber required three ballots before it could give any candidate a majority. On the first vote, Sarkis was the front-runner but without enough votes to win. The second ballot had to be thrown out because a hundred votes were cast by the ninety-nine-member Chamber. On the third

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ballot (August 17), by a vote of fifty to forty-nine, the Chamber elected the least promising candidate, Suleiman Franjieh, to be the fifth President of Lebanon. It was a fateful choice. The balloting for the election of the President of Lebanon in 1970, like the 1954 election in Syria, was a paradigm of Levantine politics. True to the “size” principle, the major politicians, with their blocs of votes, tried to be pivotal, i.e., to position themselves to cast the deciding vote.2 On the first ballot, Elias Sarkis (the Shihābist) received forty-five votes; thirty-eight went to Suleiman Franjieh (from his own Central Bloc and the Hilf except Gemayel); Jamīl Lahoud got five of the eight votes Jumblāt controlled; Pierre Gemayel was in with ten votes; and Adnān al-Hakim (a Sunni candidate) had one vote cast for him. The invalidated second ballot had provided a test of the shifts, and the third ballot gave Franjieh his one-vote margin over Sarkīs. In the final maneuvring, Sarkis got two votes from the Jumblāt bloc, one from the Gemayel bloc, and the al-Hakim vote to add to his original forty-five votes. Franjieh, on the other hand, received nine Gemayel votes plus three switched from the Jumblāt bloc to add to his firstballot total of thirty-eight votes. The Shihābists had been stopped, and the weakest member of the opposition put in power. Much of the politics that went into the defeat of Elias Sarkis is easily explainable. The organizers of the Hilf could see that the Palestinian militias would become a threat to Lebanese independence both by suborning those ready to rebel and by dragging the country into conflict with Israel. Each of them, of course, hoped that he would come out of the sweepstakes as President but, if not, at least break up the Nahj in order to be able to gain that office at a later date. In terms of the externalities of the situation, Franjieh was also a slick choice as the compromise candidate. He had not joined Chamoun against the Nasserist rebels in 1958 and the “Arab” side remembered him as a Maronite notable who had not confined his loyalties to the Christian community. Because Fu‛ād Shihāb had favored one of Suleiman Franjieh’s local rivals, René Mu‛awwad, in his administration, Franjieh was prepared to oppose the Shihābists in the 1970 election. In fact, he had recently formed his own militia to confront the Palestinians and leftists in Tripoli, not far from his clan headquarters in Zghartā. Franjieh, however, had not joined the Hilf but, instead, had linked up with the Sunni politician, Sa‛ib Salām, and the Shi‛ite za‛īm, KamalalAs‛ad, in an ad hoc arrangement called the Central Bloc. This combination, it was hoped, would attract an all-Lebanon basket of constituencies. More-over, by staying off the counter-organizing coalition, Franjieh could be supported by the Hilf as an outsider whose strength would not alter the relative distribution of power among its members. Of the four Maronite candidates who might have been able to defeat the Nahj—Chamoun, Gemayel, Eddé, and Franjieh—only the last would not be able to use his office to develop a political base. That Suleiman Franjieh also could not govern was hardly the point. He would be the safe choice, and he could win.

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Pierre Gemayal’s behavior, though opportunist, was also understandable in terms of Lebanese politics. He and his organization had, for the most part, given its support to the Nahj and had been rewarded with important cabinet posts. Yet he considered the Phalange to be on the front line of resistance against the Palestinians and was much more ready to employ strong measures than Hilū had been. His militia was already engaged and his political position, while not explicitly anti-Arab, was unequivocally Lebanonist. The Hilf had promised to vote for him if he could get Shihābist support. But the Nahjists waited for Fu‛ād Shihāb himself to make up his mind and when, at the last minute, he declined, most of them went with Sarkis. Gemayel was then left with only his own votes, nine of which finally went to Franjieh, mainly on the ground that the latter was gearing up to fight the militias. Camille Chamoun had promoted two rivals, Gemayel and Franjieh, as a means of building a political base against the detested Shihāb. This was an essential first step in his own attempt to regain credibility as a candidate. At first glance, it would seem that the 1970 election was a success for Chamoun. Its outcome had weakened the more powerful of the two rivals he had promoted, Pierre Gemayel, and balanced him with an inept mountain dweller, Suleiman Franjieh, who could hardly fathom the intricacies of regional and international politics. Indeed, the former President had won a personal victory; only Lebanon had lost. But how does one account for Kamal Jumblāt’s behavior in the 1970 presidential election? On the first ballot, five of the eight votes he controlled went to the PSP candidate, Jamīl Lahoud; two votes were cast for Sarkis and one for Franjieh. On the final ballot, the Jumblāt bloc split evenly between Franjieh and Sarkis, but the switch of three votes to Franjieh gave the future President a onevote margin. To allow this outcome, Jumblāt had to vote against the organization that had done the most to introduce reforms in Lebanon, presumably what “progressive” in Progressive Socialist Party stood for. For this result, he had to turn out the government apparatus that had made him its most recent Minister of the Interior. In order to elect Franjieh President, Jumblāt had to vote with his longtime political rival (in elections and wars) Camille Chamoun. Moreover, in voting for Franjieh, this grand philosophe of the Sorbonne was making the most parochial politician in Lebanon its President, a man whose vision was as narrow as Jumblāt’s was broad. It is difficult to come up with a satisfactory explanation —Jumblāt could have been being fair, giving an equal number of votes to both candidates; he could have been being pivotal, extracting the most for his votes; and he could have been working to weaken the system, the reconstitution of which would be necessary if his ambition to be President was to be fulfilled. According to Meir Zamir, Jumblāt’s switch can be explained by a number of factors. He had been influential under Hilū but, as Minister of Interior, had clashed with the revived Deuxième Bureau and the army. Zamir speculates that Jumblāt did not wish to see the Shihābists succeed with progressive reforms nor entrench their power at the expense of his own ambitions. At the time of the election, he remained uncommitted by supporting his own candidate rather than

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by helping the Shihābists generate the strong support they needed. This left Jumblāt with a free hand, supporting Jamīl Lahoud rather than declaring either for or against the Shihāb organization. Fu‛ād Shihāb’s late decision not to run made Jumblāt’s maverick role even stronger, allowing him to hold the balance between the Shihābists and their opponents. If Zamir is right, then Jumblāt seemed to vote against his own political persuasion in favor of an extremely remote outcome for himself in the future. His democratic credentials must be suspect as well. A poll, taken at the time (1970), indicated that only 2.8 percent of the Lebanese would have voted for Franjieh to be their President.3 In the 1968 election for the Chamber, Lebanese seemed to have sent a signal for a change, and the deputies were as free as politicians had ever been in the Levant to bring it about. Instead, they connived and played games.4 The one-vote majority for Suleiman Franjieh was immediately hailed in the local press as a strong vote for the people.5 It was anything but that. Rather, the vote was the culmination of an organized reaction to Shihābism by those who were losing to its reforms and who had already acted to undermine its effectiveness. The General’s national orientation was lost to personal ambition. Not that the Shihābists acted in a blameless fashion; far from it. But they had been serious about moving Lebanese politics and government out of the bazaar and into public institutions. In trying to untie the hundreds of Gordian Knots that make up the Lebanese system, Fu‛ād Shihāb had put together a quasi-government in addition to the traditional unworkable one. He had made use of westernized professionals, the Deuxième Bureau, the army, and some helpful outsiders— Americans, Egyptians, French, Swiss, and Kuwaitis. Shihāb also wanted to make the Lebanese system work in an Arab context, knowing that it could never secede from the Arab world. President Hilū and Elias Sarkis (his major administrator) shared the Shihābist view of Lebanon’s need for both independence and valid ties to its Arab neighbors. Neither, however, possessed the forcefulness or political base to manage the contradictions that these two needs invariably brought to the surface. After the blows of the 1967 June War, the Palestinians pushed themselves to the forefront of radical causes. Almost completely free to operate in Jordan, they pursued the same objective in Lebanon. The Hilū regime began to look for some help that Fu‛ād Shihāb had not made use of, help from De Gaulle’s France. Surely the new opposition to the Nahj from among the conservative Christians could not object to this ally? Unfortunately, France, in 1968, was better at declaring its independence of the United States than at helping Lebanon with its Palestinian problem. Thus, under Hilū, Lebanon’s relations with the United States and Egypt cooled somewhat, just at the time when the former was seeking the latter’s help in trying to achieve a partial settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Nasser had listened to several proposals from Washington and, while cautious, was willing to explore possibilities. But the radicalized Palestinian organizations would have nothing to do with such feelers, and they had two friendly regimes, Iraq and Syria, as well

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as their own militias, to help them resist American-Egyptian initiatives. They would have to be contained in both Jordan and Lebanon before Nasser could act. As long as the Palestinians carried the banner of militant anti-imperialism, Nasser could not look after Egypt’s own interests by fraternizing with the imperialists. He, and the conservative Arab regimes, had needed a strong Hilū to contain Palestinian radicalism. President Hilū, however, was not strong and had turned toward France. For this reason, the Shihābists’ American and Egyptian friends were initially pleased to see a political reorientation in Lebanon that might do there what King Hussein was about to do in Jordan, namely, get control over the Palestinian militias. SULEIMAN FRANJIEH On September 23, 1970, Suleiman Franjieh took office as Lebanon’s fifth President. His initial rhetoric was appropriate to the situation his country found itself in. In an address to the Chamber of Deputies, he promised that his administration would endeavor to to strengthen the ties…with Arab states…on the basis of mutual respect for the sovereignty and system of each state…and that Palestine is a holy land for all Arabs, and Lebanon will always strive for the owners’ right to return.6 Unfortunately, Franjieh was challenged to make good on his rhetoric even before he could form a cabinet. On October 5, a plane bringing a band of Arab Liberation Front guerrillas from Baghdad landed at Beirut airport. According to the Cairo Agreement, such a contingent of Palestinians could not enter Lebanon by air but must come by overland routes through Syria. Therefore, its passengers were not allowed to disembark, and the plane spent most of the day stalled on the tarmac awaiting a resolution of the matter. For a time, one of the airport officials was even held hostage. The new President held his ground, however, and the plane was eventually forced to return to Baghdad. In his first test, Franjieh had dealt firmly with the Palestinian radicals, but it was obvious that “strengthening ties” with some of the Arab states was going to require more than goodwill from Beirut. On the day of the airplane incident, President Franjieh named Sa’ib Salām to be Prime Minister, and a week later, a new “youth” cabinet was formed. Kamil al-As‛ad, once again, became Speaker so that the core of the new regime now included the three notables who, as a means of competing for power, had initially come together to form the Central Bloc. It was called a “youth” cabinet because of the number of young, professionally-oriented reformers composing it. Ghassān Tuwayni, editor of al-Nahār, was named deputy Prime Minister in charge of education; Henri Eddé was put in charge of public works; Emil Bitār received the portfolio for public health; and Elias Sāba took over the Finance

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Ministry. Sa’ib Salām was not young, but he was of the right political attachments to symbolize renewal. He claimed that the new government was prepared to “carry out a revolution at the top” that would “avoid a revolution from below.” Indeed, Salām and his colleagues were in earnest and began to move faster toward reform than their head “clansman” could tolerate. Over the following few months, one after another of the regime’s spirited reformers found it necessary to resign from the government as the old zu‛āma leaders and the new forces of radicalism increasingly interfered with their efforts. As the “youth” cabinet disintegrated, Franjieh became more isolated. As it had for Franjieh himself, trouble for the Salām cabinet began at once, even before it could get settled in. While the number of violent incidents was down substantially, from twenty-three in 1969, to ten in 1970, and only four in 1971, a tremendous spate of strikes broke out to beseige the Salām government. Within a month of the establishment of the “youth” cabinet, strikes broke out among students over educational reforms; among ordinary people in the Akkār and Hermil regions over lack of government services; among taxi drivers, government administrative personnel, bank employees, and telephone operators for higher wages and better working conditions; and among merchants over higher duties placed on imports. In all, about fourteen strikes broke out between November 1970 and December 1971. The number and timing suggest that concerted action was taken to undermine Franjieh’s “reform” Cabinet, action that was perhaps organized by the left. While the radicals were assailing the Salām government, so were the traditionals. Their first victim was Elias Sāba, a close associate of Suleiman Franjieh, who was trying to introduce a six-year development plan for public infrastructure. His program would have required more taxation, much of which was expected to come from new levies on imports. The Lebanese Merchants Association led the protests against Sāba’s reforms, and, at an emergency cabinet meeting, his import taxes were canceled. Sāba offered to resign but was persuaded to stay on until May 1972. A few days later, Henri Eddé resigned from his post as Minister of Public Works and, in the interim, was replaced by the acting Minister of Agriculture, Kamal Khūri. Ten months later, when one of the bright stars of the “youth” cabinet, Ghassān Tuwayni, finally gave up, Eddé returned to the government to take over the education portfolio. Given no genuine support for reforms and beseiged by a multitude of student demonstrations and strikes, Henri Eddé was again forced to leave after less than two months in office. Also making a quick exit was Dr Emile Bitār, Franjieh’s Minister of Health. His case is, perhaps, most illustrative of the terrible trap the new government found itself in. A member of a new group of professionals, the Democratic Party, he was determined to force a price reduction on medicines, many of which were maintained at artifically high prices by a Lebanese pharmaceutical monopoly. Strong protests by the monopolists, some close associates of Suleiman Franjieh, stopped Bitār’s initiative. Crucial pharmaceuticals were suddenly unavailable; yet

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the President refused to act. The Salām government was attempting reforms; the Franjieh government was protecting the status quo. Once again, there seemed to be two governments in Lebanon. Caught between these two social forces, one traditional, the other reformist, the two governments began to go their separate ways. The world outside was, of course, not leaving Lebanon to find her own way during these months. Radical nationalism from nearby states was contributing to Lebanon’s internal discord. After the Cairo Agreement, the Palestinians had agreed to go underground, but not all the commando groups obeyed PLO Chairman Arafat’s directives. Yasir Arafat and Sa’ib Salām held a series of meetings, trying to work out the particulars of guerrilla conduct, but neither man had the power to deliver his side to an agreement. It was at this time that the war between King Hussein and the Palestinian movement was winding down in Jordan. There were few guerrilla incidents in Lebanon at this time, but the PLO was probably playing for time as many Palestinian commandos were coming through Syria into Lebanon, having been driven out of Jordan. This was an ominous development for Franjieh and hastened the exit of the Prime Minister, Salām’s, reformers. Capital was flooding Lebanon, heightening the establishment’s greed even beyond its usual levels; the clouds of Middle East war were on the horizon. At the same time, Palestinians were arriving in great numbers, and the two trends combined to bring about an impossible political situation. Purchase of imports, booming construction, and rising inflation brought hardship to the lower classes. In the south, as the Palestinian fighters arrived and space became increasingly scarce, many (mostly Shi‛ite) villagers moved north to become squatters near Beirut. In 1970–71, the gap between the two Lebanons was never greater. Suleiman Franjieh, turning his back on reform, decided to take a hard line. First, he removed the last Shihābists from the Deuxième Bureau and began putting together his own security organization. Much of the administrative corps of the government was similarly purged of Shihābists, and by the time the army commander, Jean Nujaym, had lost his life in a helicopter accident, most of the army was led by Franjieh’s chosen officers. At the very time the President had decided to clamp down on the multitude of anti-state forces in Lebanon, he had lost the experienced security personnel he needed to accomplish this task. Stocked with his own favorites, the intelligence apparatus began to flounder badly, while a series of bomb explosions made it seem that every radical group in the country could operate with impunity.7 Parliamentary elections were held in April 1972, returning thirty-nine new deputies to the Chamber, most attached to traditional political groups. There were some exceptions, however, as a radical Ba‛athist won a Sunni seat in Tripoli and a Pan-Arab Nasserist won a similar seat in Beirut. Both of these wins were seen as favorable to Franjieh since the new Sunni representative from Tripoli came at the expense of the President’s local rival, Rashid Karāmi, and the new one from Beirut reduced Sa‛ib Salām’s number of supporters. It was characteristic of Lebanon that the President’s stock went up when that of his

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Prime Minister went down. The elections did not bring about any developed opposition to Franjieh in the Chamber, nor did they give him any real support. In May, shortly after the elections, martial law was declared following the shooting of three policemen in Mount Lebanon. Soon after, Sa‛ib Salām resigned but headed a new cabinet that was patched together two weeks later. This cabinet lasted nearly a year as conditions worsened and violence increased. The pattern of bombings did not seem to serve any sector of influence, suggesting the possibility of sabotage from the outside. Jordan was especially suspect, but the evidence was inconclusive because the intelligence operation had been shattered, first by the Hilf then by Franjieh. After decreasing to only four incidents of violence in 1971, conflict incidents moved back up to eleven in 1972 and on up to twenty-three in 1973. Lebanon still had a government, but the situation was becoming increasingly tenuous. In early 1973, the usual number of clashes and demonstrations was occuring, though notably few involving border crossings into Israel. For their part, the Palestinians were concentrating on consolidating their bases of operations within Lebanon. Two events, however, took place that spring which revealed Franjieh government’s lack of control. General Emile Bustāni, former chief of the Deuxième Bureau, suddenly fled to Syria where he was granted asylum. Along with several colleagues, he had been involved in corruption during his years at the Bureau and was fleeing his day in court. Shortly after his escape, in fact, Bustāni was tried in absentia on charges of corruption and convicted. A former intelligence chief was hardly the gift Lebanon wanted to bestow upon its Syrian rivals at this time. The Syrian advantage was soon felt. As if by magic, the more radical Palestinian militias began to assert themselves: two bombs at a newspaper office and an armed attack on an army checkpoint. With Bustāni in Damascus, Lebanon’s intelligence system compromised, and an upsurge in Palestinian operations, it was clear that Franjieh lacked the resources to make good on his government’s commitments. Moreover, as the situation worsened, the President’s political responses became more and more partisan, recharging sectarian animosities. The government’s weakness was all too clear to Yasir Arafat, who kept stalling on his promise to agree to the deals that the Prime Minister, Salām, kept offering. The disarray in Lebanon was also clear to another party, the Israelis. If the Lebanese government was unable to control those residing in its territory, Israel would force a showdown. Thus, on April 10, 1973, the Israelis conducted their second major raid into Beirut, landing their own commandos in the city and assassinating three Palestinian guerrilla leaders. It was a daring act and brought the Salām government down.8 Clashes broke out as Lebanon experienced an uproar of accusations about who was to blame. Students blamed the United States; others blamed the Palestinians. Some even felt that Israel was the culprit. The army explained that it had not been informed of the raid until it was too late because the Lebanese police thought that it was nothing more than a dispute between Palestinians. Embarrassingly candid, the army’s admission at this time

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suggests what Lebanon was really like. The country’s police could not distinguish mayhem from the usual chaos. And this in a society whose economy had never been more prosperous, in a city whose banks were bulging with money. President Franjieh’s answer to the Israeli raid was, of course, not to confront Israel or fire his own army commander, General Ghānim, but to redouble his efforts at consolidating power. He began by turning to Amin al-Hafiz, a lower ranking Sunni politician from Tripoli, to form a government. On April 25, 1973, the very day that former President Shihāb died, a cabinet of relative unknowns, headed by al-Hafiz, was appointed. There was some hope that the new Prime Minister’s associations with the Nahj and Rashid Karāmi, as well as with the Palestinians, might be an asset in dealing with the upheaval that had come in the wake of the Israeli action. But the President was sticking his head in the sand if he thought he could get the crucial support he needed from the opposition without having to make any concessions to it. Franjieh had wanted Salām on board but as weak as possible. Now, in an emergency, he would have Karāmi run the government without appointing him Prime Minister. The Nahj, which he had incapacitated, would somehow keep things going. Such tactics had worked to keep Franjieh at the head of his clan; surely they would help him as President of Lebanon. DETERIORATION AND VIOLENCE Only two days after the appointment of the al-Hafiz cabinet, radical Palestinian commandos began a new round of disruptive acts. Police arrested three men with explosives trying to board an Air France jet; an additional bomb was found set to explode at the airport; four members of Fatah were discovered carrying explosives near the American Embassy. A kidnapping of Lebanese army officers occurred; their abductors demanded the release of the arrested Palestinian saboteurs. On May 2, the army intervened, shots were fired, and a new round of fighting between the Palestinians and the Lebanese military began. There were ceasefires; these were broken. The Prime Minister, al-Hafiz, resigned, but he then stayed on. The President met with Arafat, but radicals undercut him—one splinter from the left, one from the right. The Israelis had succeeded; a little prick on the Lebanese body politic, and, without fail, Arabs would rage against Arabs. The Sunni establishment would not cooperate as long as Franjieh’s puppy dog remained Prime Minister. The radical PDFLP and PFLP would not cooperate with Arafat as long as the PLO Chairman was willing to return to negotiations. A ceasefire, with an agreement concerning the Cairo Agreement, was worked out, but the bitterness was set. Lebanon’s establishment believed that the commandos were determined to undermine the country’s sovereignty, and the PLO was convinced that the Lebanese were preparing to liquidate the guerrilla movement. It was a terrible trap. As Kamal Salibi says:

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While the Muslim Lebanese leaderships were neither willing nor able to join the Christian Lebanese leaderships in a common stand against the commandos; while the radical parties and factions in the country put their full force behind the commando movement; while Syria was determined, by one measure or another, to frustrate any attempt on the part of the Lebanese Republic to vindicate its sovereign prerogatives; and while even the conservative Arab States, which had an interest in seeing the commando movement in Lebanon curbed, hurried to offer their mediation and confuse the issue every time Lebanon tried to do what they themselves also wanted; the tough-minded Suleiman Faranjiyya was no more able to deal effectively with the complex commando issue than his mild and diplomatic predecessor [had been].9 As Salibi recognizes, Lebanon had a multitude of enemies, some who masqueraded as “helpers” of one community or another. Certainly, many of these did not have the interests of the Lebanese at heart; but, with its sectarian differences and communal divisions, Lebanon was also its own worst enemy. Unfortunately, Franjieh turned out to be a lot like Lebanon’s communards. He could make deals better than he could make friends. Such is often the case in societies where ethical relativism is prominent. Deals depend on the very conditions of friendship and mutual interest that make them necessary as a substitute for force. Suleiman Franjieh could not deal with many of those whose interests had to be satisfied to make the state work, particularly as regards the Palestinian takeover in the south. He could only plead with his opponents to agree to respect the sovereignty and independence of his state. Salibi speaks of the prerogatives of a “Republic,” but Lebanon was not quite that. The power of the Prime Minister and the Chamber of Deputies was not strong enough vis-à-vis the President (once selected) to produce republican government. Too much of the politics underlying the government was geared to the age-old Christian-Muslim struggle for dominence. Too much of the politics of the Lebanese establishment was directed toward its own interests to the exclusion of other interests. For example, the Republic spent money on the Litāni Dam to bring electricity to Beirut without spending the money to finish the project, an investment that would have brought water to the farmers of the impoverished and underdeveloped south. Politics and private enterprise continued to be indistinguishable as the cleavages in Lebanon’s society began to hint at “double trouble.” More and more, it was obvious that the distinction between poor and rich was parallel to that between Muslim and Christian. Lebanon’s grandees had money to spend on the state that Fu‛ād Shihāb had struggled to rebuild and reform but spent it on themselves instead. Reform and development at a standstill, Palestinians provoking and Israelis retaliating, President Franjieh then turned to cabinet making. The Amin al-Hafiz cabinet survived just a little more than two months before it fell, prompting the President to call on Taqi al-Din Sulh to form a government. The Prime Minister,

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Sulh, was a member of a prestigious Sunni family but possessed nothing of a political base. The “clan leader” refused to face political reality. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he needed the other wing of the government to help him rule. During the rest of 1973 and the first six months of 1974, sporadic fighting between the commandos and the Lebanese army erupted. In December 1973, serious riots broke out in Tripoli and Beirut over rising food prices. Franjieh attempted to get Sa’ib Salām to come to the rescue but on terms the former Prime Minister could not accept. Therefore, in late October 1974, the weak Taqi al-Din Sulh was replaced by the even weaker Rashid al-Sulh. This tidy bit of sniping on Franjieh’s part was aimed at reestablishing a connection with Kamal Jumblāt, Rashid’s electoral patron who was in the forefront of anti-government causes. On the one hand, it seemed sensible to try to bring Jumblāt back into the system; on the other, doing so by means of Rashid al-Sulh was seen as an act of defiance toward the Sunni establishment. Sunni politicians saw it as nothing more than clever footwork on the part of the President to avoid having to deal with the genuine opposition. The political situation continued to deteriorate. As noted above, there had been 11 major conflict incidents in 1972, increasing to 23 in 1973 (in the wake of the Israeli raid on Beirut), but the number went back down to a more manageable 10 conflict incidents in 1974. In 1975, however, the number of conflict incidents jumped to 83 and, in 1976, it went on up to 171 as the struggle escalated to allout civil war (see Figure 7.1). As in the past, war and the rumors of war shut down the investment in social infrastructure. Although the number of announced public programs averaged about one per year during the period between 1971 and 1976 (see Figure 7.2), it has often been asserted that not a single reform program was passed, funded, and actually implemented during the Franjieh presidency. To his credit, President Franjieh had tried to institute a “youth” cabinet of technocrats at the beginning of his term, but the traditional bosses undercut their attempts at reform. The Franjieh presidency took off during boom times in Lebanon; yet it was beset by extraordinary challenges. First and foremost among these were the twin problems of Israel and Palestine, the former with its use of interventionary force, the latter with its operations within Lebanon. But these difficulties, as bad as they were, were not the cause of Franjieh’s downfall. He was brought down by the same counterpunching from the left and right in Lebanon that had been the undoing of the Nahj and had won him the presidency. By 1974, while Franjieh was fumbling along with non-Prime Ministers, Jumblāt was organizing a new combination of radicals on the left, and Raymond Eddé joined with Sa‛ib Salām and Rashid Karāmi to confront the President from the establishment side. Gemayel and Chamoun were still prepared to give Franjieh support, but both had agendas which precluded coming to his rescue. During the several months of late 1974 and early 1975, there was, it seems, one last chance to work out a relationship between the PLO moderates and the

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Figure 7.1 Incidents of violence: 1970–1976 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

Lebanese government. President Franjieh had held numerous talks with PLO leaders; with Rashid al-Sulh he had established a channel to their most prominent domestic supporter, Kamal Jumblāt; and the new Tripartite Coalition (Tahalūf al-Thulāthi) of Karāmi, Salām, and Eddé had not yet become a political force. In addition, the United States and Egypt were actively courting Syria’s support for a settlement with Israel. President Sadat’s initiative in the Yom Kippur War of 1973, his “victory” over the Bar-Lev defenders, had enabled him to move away from the Soviets and toward closer cooperation with the

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Figure 7.2 Announced public projects: 1970–1976 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

Americans. With Gerald Ford’s blessing, Secretary of State Kissinger was actively pursuing the Syrians in 1974–5, hoping to persuade them to deal with the Israelis in return for having the Golan Heights given back at a future date. But Kissinger returned without success. Had it been possible to coax Syria into cooperation with Egypt during the period between the 1973 Yom Kippur War and the 1976 civil war in Lebanon, one can imagine the emergence of a moderate Palestinian wing making an agreement with the Lebanese in order to be in a position to negotiate for a West

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Bank state. But no such settlement process got off the blocks. Radical Palestinians undercut moderate Palestinians, which had the effect of undercutting the Syrians as well, and Israel also cooperated with the effort to prevent a settlement by undercutting the Americans. President Sadat lost patience with the intricacies involved in wooing Syria and decided to deal with the Israelis on his own. The Egyptian President went to Jerusalem (November 1977) and on to Camp David (September 1978). The Syrians returned to their previous confrontational posture. By this time, the Palestinians were so embroiled in radical Muslim affairs that it was, perhaps, impossible to get them to constrain their activities according to the wishes of the Lebanese government. Besides the Tahalūf, one must count the linkages that Kamal Jumblāt had put together as a force favorable to the Palestinians and against the regime (even though Franjieh had patronized the Druze chief with his appointment of Rashid al-Sulh as Prime Minister). Jumblāt’s ambition to be President necessitated that Lebanon have a new constitution and perhaps a revolution to make it possible. He had, therefore, made new alliances with fellow rebels, mostly Sunnis but not of the traditional establishment. Jumblāt had recruited such supporters as Farouk Muqaddam in Tripoli (leader of the October 24 Movement), Ibrahim Qulayāt in West Beirut (founder of Independent Nasserists), and the redoubtable Sidon Nasserist, Ma‛rūf Sa‛ad (several times elected to the Chamber of Deputies from that city). . Each of these Sunni radicals (in 1974) was even more supportive of the Palestinian cause than Jumblāt himself. In fact, the only Muslims who might have helped contain the Palestinians for Suleiman Franjieh belonged to the detested opposition. Far from helping the President with this dilemma, the Jumblāt-Sulh connection only served to legitimize the Palestinian position in Lebanon and further weaken him. An additional factor in the rebel mix was the Shi‛ite Imam, Mūsa al-Sadr, founder of the Movement of the Deprived (Harakāt al-Mahrumīn). He had been the subject of considerable courting by such political factions in Lebanon as the Katā‛ib, the Tahalūf, and even the Jumblāt-Sulh wing of the government. The Imam’s speeches combined pathos with militance; his people had been oppressed and should take up the sword to resist those forces that had reduced them to such conditions. Even though the Imam did not emphasize bloodletting, he preached that “arms were an ornament to men and that his people should resort to force if necessary to redress the wrongs done to them.10 Yet, the Shi‛ite community he represented was willing to be Lebanese and conduct its struggle within the communal system. Al-Sadr, for example, made a point of reassuring the Maronites on several occasions that, even with reforms, the presidency would always be reserved for them. While the Imam, himself, eventually vanished in August 1978 during a visit to Libya, the movement he founded continued as the Amal and other Shi’ite organizations. Courted by several Lebanese politicians, though not with the seriousness he deserved, Mūsa al-Sadr might have become that last added weight to a minimally winning coalition that the Lebanese

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establishment needed to save itself. They did not bring him into a reform program, and neither was saved. By the beginning of 1975, matters had seriously deteriorated in Lebanon, but the country was still possible. The Liberals (PNL) of ex-President Chamoun and the Katā‛ib of presidential-hopeful Gemayel were still officially conciliatory on the question of Palestinian rights; the radicals still had a channel to the government open to them; the Eddé candidacy, by means of the Tahalūf, was organizing but already had attracted enemies; money and opportunity were everywhere; and the Americans were trying desperately to push the various combatants toward a settlement. Unfortunately, the outside-inside mode of politics in Lebanon had also attracted a lot of weaponry to the Connecticut-size country; everyone was armed to the teeth. While there was still formal acceptance of the Cairo Agreement, hostility among the Christians to the Palestinian presence was on the rise. Along with the money coming to Lebanon came rising prices, hurting the underclasses who had no immediate access to the new wealth. Violence was also generally on the rise, some of it purely domestic —in Tripoli, in the Akkār, and among the habitually feuding families in Zghartā. Bombings and assassinations were becoming a regular occurrence (especially in Beirut) as regimes in the region sent hit men to dispose of their opponents taking refuge in Lebanon. Yet, Lebanon was still possible; that is, until the Israelis conducted an especially ferocious raid on the south in January 1975. A war had been slowly developing in the south; clearly the Lebanese government was powerless to stop it. MOVING TOWARD WAR The quickening pace toward war was stimulated by a number of incidents, none of which was serious enough by itself to engage the Lebanese in the madness that followed. Near the end of January 1975, the Israelis, looking for Palestinian commandos, conducted a major raid into the southern border region. The Lebanese army tried to crack down and clashed with the guerrillas who, in turn, fired rockets into the military barracks in Tyre. After Yasir Arafat blamed the dissident PFLP faction for the incident, Pierre Gemayel openly criticized the PLO and called for it to gain control over the “anarchy” prevailing in the organization. Arafat attempted to make peace with Gemayel only to have Camille Chamoun issue a statement that seconded the Katā‛ib criticism and suggested that the Lebanese government was rapidly losing control in the south. Not to be upstaged by Chamoun’s National Liberals, the Phalangists (Gemayel) submitted a memorandum to President Franjieh calling for a national referendum on several important issues including, most dramatically, the continued presence of the Palestinians in Lebanon. Although the government did not act on this initiative, the fact that it was made (as the militias rushed to purchase arms) indicated that the Katā‛ib had decided to confront the Palestinians.

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The tinder only needed a match. In late February 1975, trouble broke out in Sidon over a controversy about fishing rights which had been smoldering for several months. Camille Chamoun headed a new concern, funded by Lebanese and Kuwaiti capital, that had been licensed for commercial fishing along the southern coast of Lebanon. The Proteine Company, as it was called, was to be an upscale enterprise using modern equipment and a mechanized fishing fleet. The local fishermen, still working the waters much as they had for thousands of years, were afraid that the new company would take most of the fish and destroy their livelihood. Although some protections against such an outcome were offered, the issue was soon politicized into a struggle between the mainly Muslim poor of Sidon and the mainly Christian rich who were to operate the Proteine Company.11 On February 26, a protest march led by the redoubtable Sidon rebel Ma‛rūf Sa‛ad was halted by local police and elements of the army; the standoff soon deteriorated into a riot. Shots were fired, a soldier was killed, and several of the demonstrators were wounded, including their leader, Ma‛rūf Sa‛ad, whodied a few days later. Like magic, thousands demonstrated in Beirut and Tripoli the following day, and the government responded by temporarily removing the governor of the southern region where Sidon is located. Although the issue had to do with the grant of an exclusive license to Chamoun and his business associates, it soon became a test of the government’s authority in south Lebanon. On March 1, the army was preparing to remove roadblocks that the fishermen had set up on the coastal highway just south of Sidon when they were fired upon. During the two-day clash that followed, seven soldiers and at least nine civilians were killed. Several others were wounded as the army was subjected to a rocket attack from militia elements, some of whom were Palestinians from the nearby Ein el-Hilweh refugee camp. New demonstrations broke out on March 7, during funeral processions held for Ma‛rūf Sa‛ad, and, along with strikes, continued throughout most of the month. Leftists demanded that army Chief of Staff, General Iskandar Ghānim, be dismissed and that the army be reorganized to give Muslims equality with Christians in making military decisions. Although the situation became calmer near the end of the month, none of the more radical demands of the rebels concerning fishing rights and the army had been met. The government of Rashid al-Sulh stayed on while President Franjieh refused to fire General Ghānim. Part of the problem was that radicals, having little interest in the plight of Sidon fishermen or Beirut slum dwellers, were vigorously trying to set fire to the tinder that, thanks to the neglect of the Lebanese establishment, was strewn about all over the country. Another part of the problem, however, had to do with the changing character of the army and Franjieh’s use of it. Supposedly subordinate to the Lebanese government (and its cabinet), General Ghānim had, in fact, ignored Prime Minister al-Sulh’s (tentative) instructions during the Sidon encounter, and acted, instead, according to the wishes of President Franjieh. In close consultation with the latter, the General had personally directed some of

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the army’s actions in Sidon. This unilateralism was seen by the Muslims as an affront to their community, a sign that the Lebanese army would no longer remain neutral in intercommunal disputes. It was establishment, not radical, Muslims who most strenuously insisted on the resignations of the Prime Minister, al-Sulh, and General Ghānim. The Muslim elite saw that the combination of Palestinian militias and Lebanese leftists would not only threaten the Christian establishment but also hurt them. Were the army to join the President and the Christian militias in gaining the upper hand over the rebels in the south, what little power they had would surely vanish. While there is dispute concerning who fired the first shots during the confrontation in Sidon, it is clear that the army’s intervention widened the breach between Muslims and Christians. Before a ceasefire and an end to the strikes could occur, General Ghānim’s troops had to vacate the city. The plea by the Muslim establishment for a reorganization of the army was not just a demand for its neutrality but a reminder that an army acting exclusively on behalf of Christian interests would destroy the National Pact. The army’s intervention in Sidon had not only been questionable, but the issue that led to it also smelled of corruption that was vintage Lebanese. Camille Chamoun’s company had been given the exclusive right to fish along the shore in south Lebanon.12 Did Chamoun, with his millions, and the Kuwaitis, with their billions, need to monopolize the coastal waters and put local fishermen out of business? Moreover, why was the Lebanese army firing on its own citizens when it was not even able to protect them from Israeli raids? These are the kinds of questions many citizens were asking, especially those immediately affected by the government’s decision to set up its friends in the fishing business. Moreover, voices on the left and from among the Palestinians were loud in their denunciation, not only of Lebanese capitalists but also of the army’s new role as protector of Christian interests. Kamal Jumblāt managed to get some of those most angry to heed his call for calm and try to keep the closest thing to one of their own, Rashid al-Sulh, as Prime Minister, but the Muslim establishment was adamant in its opposition to what both wings of the government were doing. Soon after Ma‛rūf Sa‛ad’s death, the Higher Muslim Council met and withdrew its confidence in the Prime Minister, calling for his resignation. Another group of prominent Muslims, including six former Premiers, closed ranks and issued a statement demanding the reorganization of the army under a Command Council made up of an equal number of Muslims and Christians. On April 13, Pierre Gemayel was participating in the consecration of a new Maronite church in Ayn al-Rummānah, a suburb southeast of Beirut. While the service was taking place, members of his militia guarding the approaches to the church stopped an automobile with a covered license plate and, after an argument with its occupants, forced it to take another route. A few minutes later, a second car appeared, its license plate also covered. This vehicle was able to force its way through the roadblock, and its occupants began shooting in the

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direction of the church entrance, killing four people including three Phalangists. Later that day, a bus carrying Palestinians back to Tel al-Za‛tar camp from a parade commemorating a previous commando operation was stopped by Phalangist gunmen, and all its passengers were shot dead. It is not clear that those who killed Pierre Gemayel’s retainers were, in fact, Palestinian commandos, nor has it been established that the Palestinians on the bus were armed and on their way to Ayn al-Rummānah to cause further trouble. But a small massacre had been answered with a larger massacre, and the next day, fighting erupted between the Katā‛ib and Palestinians in Beirut. Strikes and skirmishes, in characteristic fashion, also erupted in the usual scrimmage areas of Sidon, Tyre, and Tripoli. The various splinters of the National Movement conferred, and Kamal Jumblāt called for the dismissal of the two Katā‛ib ministers as well as the dissolution of the party. Yasir Arafat asked for the intervention by the Arab heads of state to prevent those working to divide the Palestinians and the Lebanese from succeeding. The Secretary General of the Arab League, Mahmud Ryād, was able to facilitate a ceasefire on April 16, but a few skirmishes continued, bomb blasts were exchanged, militia members were kidnapped, and cabinet resignations were tendered. The Prime Minister, Rashid al-Sulh, was the target, and he finally resigned on May 15, 1975, claiming that the Phalangists had been responsible for the outbreak of war and that Lebanon’s government must be reformed to give Muslims a greater share of political and military power. Just as the Palestinians and Muslim radicals had overinflated themselves following the battle of Karameh (1967) and the subsequent Cairo Agreement (1969), the Christian conservatives began, at this time, to entertain puffed-up notions of how they were going to regain their traditional dominance. Because the Lebanese look to the outside as much as to the inside when they encounter political problems, we can again search beyond the country’s borders for some of the reasons why the Christians so blithely marched into intercommunal conflict and, as in 1860, were so manifestly confident of winning. Lebanon’s Christian establishment had always enjoyed an international status beyond its real power. Charles Malik, often Foreign Minister, had cut a considerable figure at the United Nations as a moderate and anticommunist Arab. He was also a friend of several US Presidents, notably John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon. He, along with other Lebanese, could persuade the United States to take a special interest in the country as long as doing so served an anticommunist purpose. By 1975, however, important changes had occurred in the Middle East. The most significant, of course, was that in the aftermath of the Yom Kippur standoff, Anwar al-Sadat ousted the Soviets and began to align himself with the conservative Arab states led by Saudi Arabia. He also maneuvered Egypt into a much closer relationship with the Americans. Each of these parties had its own reasons to fear the growing popularity of the Palestinian movement, its sponsorship by Syria, and its tendency to undermine established regimes. The Palestinians, protestations to the contrary, acted with a great deal of

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independence, partly by design and partly because no one controlled all the factions of their movement. The United States wanted them restrained; the Egyptians wanted them to do nothing to provoke the Israelis; and the Gulf states wanted them militarily subdued. The conservative Arabs were quietly encouraging the Christians of Lebanon to take care of their Palestinian problem as King Hussein had taken care of his. Therefore, with the army no longer neutral and the Christian warlords able to employ their own militias, the Phalangist “adventure”13 must have seemed well worth embarking upon. Lebanon, after all, was their country, and neither the Palestinian commandos nor the indigenous radicals seemed willing to recognize it. As in 1860, the Christians, amply provoked, set out to defeat their enemies. Also as in 1860, they were sure that outsiders would help them win the war even if they lost the battles.14 THE MILITARY CABINET Soon after Rashid al-Sulh resigned, fighting between the Phalangists and the Palestinians resumed in Beirut, mostly in the suburb of Dikwānah, east of Ayn al-Rummānah and near the large Tel al-Za‛tar refugee camp. After four days of fighting, at least twenty-eight were killed and more than a hundred injured. Franjieh conferred with a number of notables trying to find someone for Prime Minister who would cooperate with General Ghānim and himself as before, i.e., without getting in the way of the President. The Muslim establishment insisted on a big name, either Sa‛ib Salām or Rashid Karāmi. Instead, the President tried a new tack, at least new for Lebanon. He appointed a military cabinet headed by a non-political Sunni, General Nur al-Din al-Rifā‛i. All of the posts except one were taken over by generals; only the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was headed by a civilian (who was also Frangieh’s personal friend). But the military cabinet came too late and, without an army, could not do much to stop the escalation of hostilities. By May 1975, the fighting had spread to the refugee camps and involved others besides Palestinians and Phalangists. A communist militia was engaged; a Shi‛ite militia (the Knights of Ali) committed terrible atrocities; and Chamoun now gave Gemayel his support. Spokesmen for the Maronite monastic orders and the Maronite League (an establishment organization) soon followed suit. One of the reasons Franjieh chose General al-Rifā‛i to head his cabinet at this time was that the other Sunni notables were at loggerheads with Jumblāt over what to do about the Katā‛ib (Phalangists). As punishment for its role in the Ayn al-Rummānah massacre, Jumblāt wanted the Party isolated and refused to vote for any government that included its members. The more Jumblāt blamed the Katā‛ib for the outbreak of civil strife, the more the Christians rallied to its support. Pierre Gemayel, for his part, would have accepted Rashid Karāmi, and (privately) the Muslim establishment would have welcomed him. But President Franjieh, for personal reasons, refused to call on the Sunni leader from Tripoli to form a government. With several stalemates operating at the same time and

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events getting out of hand, Franjieh decided to cross up the politicians by asking the generals to govern. The Brigadier Prime Minister, Nur al-Din al-Rifā‛i, lasted all of three days. Many Lebanese might have welcomed a strong hand at this time, especially those with a stake in the system, but the Muslims could hardly agree to it. In their eyes the military, under General Ghānim, had ceased to be neutral; the army was at its lowest repute. The Muslim establishment, in fact, was so incensed, that it was able to coalesce behind Kamal Jumblāt and Sa’ib Salām in total opposition to the President’s latest attempt to bypass them in the formation of a government.15 It took only a day or so for the Tahalūf (the triumvirate of Eddé, Karāmi, and Salām) to make an open declaration against Franjieh’s move, signifying, with the inclusion of Eddé, that leaders from both the Muslim and Christian communities opposed it. The action of the Tahalūf, however, was not enough to slow down the slide toward civil war. While it helped get the generals out and a Karāmi cabinet in, the transformation from maneuvering politicians and militia commanders into intercommunal conflict had begun. Many Lebanese were entirely disgusted with their leaders; few were actually fighting in the war; but when shots were fired and bombs exploded, they began to take sides. Like all people, they were forced “to be or not to be” and chose on the only basis they knew, that of religious sect. On May 28, five days after Franjieh surprised Lebanon with his military cabinet, Rashid Karāmi was chosen to form a new cabinet, a task that took him a month to accomplish. This six-member cabinet consisted of the following: Rashid Karāmi, Prime Minister and defense; Camille Chamoun, interior and public works; Ghassān Tuwayni, information and planning; Adil ‘Usayran, justice and agriculture; Majīd Arslān, health and industry; and Philip Taqlā, foreign affairs and tourism. Essentially, it was made of persons from the oldest Lebanese establishment. Three of these men, Arslān, Chamoun, and ‛Usayran, had served in the country’s first cabinet after independence in 1943. Chamoun had been President. It was a safe group—perhaps too safe because the new cabinet excluded two of the major players in the war, Kamal Jumblāt of the Progressive Socialist Party and Pierre Gemayel of the Katā‛ib. The former, allied with the leftists and the Palestinians, agreed to be left out of the new cabinet as long as the Sheikh was also left out. Both, however, needed to give their support to the new government for it to have any chance of stopping the violence. Jumblāt was prepared to give it his support; Gemayel was not. It was hoped that Franjieh would use his influence to persuade the Phalangist leader to change his mind, but the President refused. He was not about to help a cabinet survive that had been formed against his will. Moreover, Jumblāt’s support would not have meant that all the leftist groups indirectly linked to him would do his bidding. The Druze leader was still adamant that the government consider his own program of reforms which, if enacted, would have radically altered the Lebanese power structure. Thus, what might have been a credible cabinet for bringing life back to normal in Lebanon

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was made weak from the outset by Franjieh’s indifference to its work and by the absence of its two powerful non-members, Gemayel and Jumblāt. The latter stayed out with the leftists and Palestinians he could not control while the former stayed out to build up his forces (which eventually escaped his control). The President, for his part, was as interested in what the Phalangists could do to further his aims as he was in what his cabinet could do. The Republic, as is often the case, was saddled with two governments that could not agree. But, unlike the period when the Constitution was developed, it was also without a French High Commissioner who could step in and break the stalemate. Arms were pouring into the country for use by the various militias, Muslim and Christian alike, to break it by force. Karāmi’s six-member cabinet was such that it could not reform the Lebanese system, but it could negotiate and arbitrate until the informal apparatus of the establishment worked out the customary deals. Although violence had continued with an appalling regularity (since the Sidon clashes of February 1975), fullblown civil war had not yet broken out. Even while the militias were arming and the wealthy were moving their belongings out of the country, there seemed to be time to work out a settlement. Many assumed that if major fighting broke out, it would be used to emphasize the political demands made by those who were competing for power and would not last long. Outsiders, especially those from the Arab world, also had a stake in who won or lost in Lebanon. Even though these regimes competed for power and influence through various proxies in the country, they would never let it be destroyed. How could the Arab world get along without Beirut? A few social scientists, e.g., Halim Barakat, Michael C.Hudson, Fuad I. Khuri, and Michael W.Suleiman, thought otherwise and, seeing the ominous clouds of war on the horizon, warned of dire consequences should the government refuse to heed the call for reform.16 One member of the establishment who also saw the dark side of Lebanon coming was Amir Maurice Shihāb, a descendant of the former ruling family of Mount Lebanon. This longtime head of Lebanese antiquities and former director of the Beirut Museum told Jonathan C. Randal, a correspondent for the Washington Post, that when the shooting first broke out he had expected the conflict to last for twenty-five years. Fearing the worst, he had, early on, taken great pains to move the most valuable treasures of the Museum to a secret place for safekeeping. Other than members of his own staff, only the President of the Republic knew the location.17 During the summer of 1975, the fighting in Lebanon was mostly sporadic. A ceasefire held throughout most of the summer—as ships brought ammo in and took furniture out—but the political climate was bad. Of the eighty-three “conflict incidents” counted in 1975, only eight occurred between the formation of the new cabinet in late June and the major escalation that began during the middle of September. Kamal Jumblāt was giving the cabinet some time to declare itself for reform, and Pierre Gemayel had some representation in the cabinet through the Interior Minister, Chamoun. Moreover, Franjieh’s

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indifference to Karāmi was not yet outright obstruction, and the latter was able, in several instances, to use the army to stop the firefights that broke out. There were a few moments during that summer when it looked as if the emergency coalition might be able to restore order and begin the process of reconciliation. What happened, and why did it fail? On June 23, 1975, at a time when it seemed as if Karāmi was about to put together a credible cabinet, Sunni religious leader Sheikh Hassan Khālid called for abrogation of the National Covenant. The next day fighting broke out in Beirut (after nearly three weeks of calm). On July 1, the day after Rashid Karāmi was finally able to form a cabinet, he announced his mission to restore law and order and sent army units to occupy those neighborhoods where fighting was the heaviest. On July 2, a radical Palestinian group abducted a US Army colonel, Ernest Morgan, and freed him only when food was distributed to the poor in the mostly non-Christian districts of Beirut. On August 17, Gemayel’s Katā‛ib Party ended its annual conference with a partly conciliatory statement; however, it also called for the unequivocal reduction of the Palestinian militias in Lebanon, an action which Saudi Arabia and the Gulf Arabs supported. d. At this time, Secretary of State Kissinger was busy trying to facilitate an interim Sinai agreement as well as other temporary agreements on the Golan region and the West Bank. Although only partially successful, such attempts initiated an especially nervous diplomatic period in the Middle East. Combined with the hope that the Palestinian issue would truly be addressed was the fear that Egypt would try to get the Sinai back by dealing separately with the Israelis. Oil money went to the Lebanese Christians, and they were encouraged to keep the Palestinians in check. A week after the Katā‛ib conference, a fight broke out between a group of Christians and Shi‛ites in Zahleh that soon escalated into an exchange of heavy weapons fire between the Christians of the town and the Muslims of Sa‛d Nayil, a nearby suburban village. Both Phalangists and Palestinian commandos participated in the fight. A week later, on September 2, 1975, a traffic incident in Tripoli ignited a communal clash between that city’s Muslims and the Christians of Zghartā. The usual pattern of retaliatory activity occurred, culminating in the capture of a bus by the Phalangists and the execution of twelve Muslim passengers. This set off a battle between the Muslim militias of Tripoli and the Christian militia of Zghartā. Additional raids and bombings were launched against Greek Orthodox Christians in Tripoli and against Maronite villages in the Akkār region northeast of the city. By setting up the roadblock that had led to the initial fracas, Maronite gunmen had been pushing the fight from the start t. The Christian side then asked for intervention by the army. The Prime Minister, Karāmi, recognized the need for sending the army to Tripoli but was unwilling to do so as long as it was commanded by General Ghānim, a man who was not trusted by the Muslims to be neutral. President Franjieh, on a prolonged vacation at Ihden (symbolizing his frustration with the chaos in Beirut and his willingness to let matters deteriorate), was finally persuaded to take a helicopter

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to B‛abdā Palace and participate in a cabinet meeting. A decision was made to replace General Ghānim with General Hanna Sa‛īd and to send the army to separate the Muslims and Christians in Tripoli. The cabinet made its decision on September 9; the army took up positions to enforce a ceasefire on the 10th, and on the 11th there was trouble. Muslims claimed that the army was favoring the Christian militias and became especially incensed when it killed thirteen members of Farouk Muqaddam’s militia who were preparing to move against one of the Maronite groups. The next day Jumblāt called for a general strike to start on September 15, an event which was expected to precipitate violence. It did. Karāmi was able to get Jumblāt to call off the strike, but too late. On the day the strike had been scheduled to begin, heavy fighting broke out between Muslims and Christians on the Ayn al-Rumānah-Shayyah front at the eastern edge of Beirut. Two days later, the Phalangists brought their heavy weapons up to the eastern edge of the Burj square in Beirut and bombarded the main souk for four days, destroying much of the non-communal shopping area in the center of the city. More ceasefires were called, attempts made at mediation, and councils of national reconciliation established, but the fighting on many sectors blazed on. The Maronite militias, the Phalange, the PNL, the Maronite League, the Guardians of the Cedars, and others combined into a Christian force that ringed Beirut and kept forcing the issue as Karāmi and establishment Muslims tried to get the war stopped. A Sunni Nasserist militia, the Murābitūn of Ibrahim Qulaylāt, asserted its presence in the Ras Beirut area, and the fighting soon moved into the hotel district. Heavy bombardments alternated with kidnapping sprees during ceasefires; sniper activity was constant. Leftist radicals and Maronite diehards cooperated in destroying Beirut, the last of the great Levantine cities. In the fall of 1975, the Dragon slew Lebanon. THE UNDERCUTTERS Once the crisis began to build, a discernible pattern of behavior occurred, one which inevitably occurs in a fragmented society like Lebanon. While some Lebanese tried to stitch the old pattern back together, others made statements or took actions that undercut the attempt at reconciliation. Radical Muslims undercut establishment Muslims; revisionist Christians undercut the moderates on their side. In a strange way, radicals on opposite sides cooperated with each other to prevent the peace. The fact that there are so many sources of undercutting among the Lebanese prevents many people from trying to help. The traffic jam of accusations and counter-accusations always seems greater than the strength of any one political sector to put poor Humpty Dumpty back together. This pattern of undercutting is illustrated by the number of cease-fires agreed to and then broken during this phase of the war. On January 14, 1975, during heavy fighting in Beirut as well as in Tripoli, the Prime Minister, Karāmi, met with PLO Chairman Arafat and negotiated the sixteenth ceasefire since the war

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had begun in April. Near the end of the initial civil war period (November 1976) and under Syrian occupation, Lebanon experienced its fifty-third cease-fire. By that time, ceasefires had become nothing more than a tactical device. This on-and-off style of fighting led many to question whether or not Lebanon’s conflict should be termed a civil war. Journalists covering the war often observed that the participants seemed more serious about killing than winning. The war seldom had any recognizable fronts, only islands of combat. It was destructive, often bestial, but essentially just a rougher form of Lebanese politics. It was fought between factions residing in the old city states and communal centers. Coalitions formed, but member organizations usually acted independently. Two of the highest ranking officials, President Franjieh and the Interior Minister, Chamoun, took part in the deliberations of the government without halting their personal militias from undercutting the government. Militias fought for future bargaining positions; at the same time, their “uncontrolled elements” simply stole property. The only coherent military activity where forces campaigned along a recognizable front, taking and holding territory, was that of the National Movement (PSP and PLO) in March 1976 (finally halted by the Syrians). Most of the time, the Lebanese were too selfish to fight a genuine civil war. It required more than “undercutting,” however, to keep the war going. The major political organizations, led by such well-known politicians as Chamoun, Gemayel, and Jumblāt (to name but a few), fueled the fires at various times, depending on how the political situation affected their interests. But at key times, when no sector of influence had much chance of advancing its cause and every interest seemed to cry out for peace, someone found a way to trigger a resumption of hostilities. In fact, doing so was embarassingly easy. It was due partly, of course, to the great number of groups engaged in the fighting, to the confusion that resulted from a “traffic-jam” of contenders. There was also a great deal of aimlessness, kids swaggering along with kalashnikovs, gangs bent on plunder, and professionals paid to keep hostilities going. But the crucial push to resume fighting usually came from the “undercutters.” The worst offenders were the radical, “rejectionist” Palestinian militias e.g., the PFLP, PFLP-GC, and PDFLP, etc. Funded by Iraq, Libya, Syria, and others, these were the least susceptible to control by accessible leaders. They may have pushed the Sidon affair to the point where shots were fired, and one of their number may have also been responsible for shooting Pierre Gemayel’s bodyguards at the Ayn Rummānah church, the event usually cited as having precipitated the war. Often working with the “rejectionist” Palestinians and of similar political persuasion were the radical leftist Lebanese groups. These can be generally classified as Arab nationalist, Syrian nationalist (the PPS), and communist, with most belonging to the first category. Not necessarily Muslim in membership, such groups with their militias and gangs fought on the side of the National Movement and against the (Christian) “isolationists.” They were ideologically set to overturn all conventional solutions since, for them, any return

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to the status quo was retrograde. Although, for tactical purposes, these radicals could back away from confrontation, they were often the first to return to hostilities once it was clear that the opposing side was not willing to make significant concessions. In fact, it is likely that many of the operations that these groups planned and carried out were not meant to help one side make gains against another but to prevent both sides from reinstating any confessional formula. It seems reasonable to assume that their ideological commitments as well as their patrons’ interests precluded cooperation with any species of the old system. Such groups had the maximum freedom to undercut. The major political organizations, like the Progressive Socialists and the Katā‛ib, also did their share of undercutting. In this second category were politicians whose legitimate aspirations for power were either denied them by the confessional rules of the game or, if in office, by the immobility of the system they participated in. As mentioned above, President Franjieh remained at his summer residence in Ihden until September 8, two weeks after the battles in Zahleh and Tripoli had triggered a new round of civil strife. Refusing to come to Beirut earlier in the summer had helped the President undercut the new Prime Minister, Rashid Karāmi, while building up his own Zghartā Brigade, a Maronite militia led by his son, Tony. Suleiman, the clan leader, was determined not only to prevent Karāmi from “saving” Lebanon, as many establishment Muslims and Christians were hoping, but also to be competitive in the military game with his rivals in the Maronite camp, the Phalangists. Thus the President was undercutting Karāmi while protecting himself from being undercut by Pierre Gemayel. Gemayel maintained a constant, almost institutionalized, undercutting operation. At those times when the Katā‛ib’s cooperation might have contributed to restoring order, Gemayel would repeat ad nauseam his party’s position that he could not join in the reconciliation process until all the violence was halted. Elements of the Phalange would then initiate or escalate the violence to make sure that this condition was not met. Recall also that it was the Phalange which was responsible for the major escalation of the war when, on September 17, its forces bombarded the central shopping district of Beirut. They took this action, not as a means of “winning” the war but of trying to undercut the establishment’s attempts to patch things together, specifically to force Rashid Karāmi to either call out the army or persuade an outside power to intervene. Either of these outcomes might have helped retrieve Maronite hegemony. Former President Chamoun, with his own PNL (Tigers) militia, also hoped to force the Muslim establishment to make use of the Maronite-led Lebanese army. He was caught between his Druze rival, Jumblāt, and his Maronite competitor, Gemayel, and was never the last added weight that would have stopped the war. Like the other major players, he was casting militias more than casting votes and had to keep up with the competition. However, unlike Gemayel and Jumblāt, Chamoun, as Interior Minister, was able both to participate in the Karāmi cabinet and to undermine its efforts.

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Finally, Jumblāt also undercut the system. Wanting to be President and needing change in the confessional formula to achieve this goal, he also needed a power base, an all-Muslim one that extended far beyond what the Druze could offer. Jumblāt’s alliance with the Palestinians, even when their activities had injured the host country far beyond reason, tended to under-cut the attempts of his political rivals in the Muslim establishment to gain a rapprochment with the Christian “isolationists.” As mentioned, Jumblāt always insisted that action be taken on his own reform program as a condition for his cooperation, even at times when such insistence precluded any and all negotiations whatsoever. His undercutting helped reinforce Gemayel’s undercutting. By making the political decision to go on the offensive in late March 1976, the Druze leader also successfully undercut Syrian attempts at mediation. Jumblāt was, in fact, so successful militarily in preventing mediation that the Syrians invaded Lebanon, pushed his forces backwards, crunched his Palestinian allies, and then saw to it that he was murdered. Had his coalition, the National Movement, been able to halt its offensive before it threatened to completely overwhelm the Christians, it might have been able to pre-empt the Syrians and take the initiative for a compromise political arrangement in postwar Lebanon. Instead, its efforts, and those of its Palestinian allies, were wasted in trying to “win” in the Levant, a place on the globe where insiders cannot win. The result was a series of interventions by the Syrians and Israelis that has reduced these intrepid warriors, as well as their Christian opponents, to a“marginality” which some believe will be permanent.18 THE ISSUES Undercutting, of course, was not the cause of the war; it was only a strategem for the various parties to use in a multicommunal conflict to defend their positions and keep the conflict going when its conclusion would have threatened those positions. There were deep and abiding issues that separated the Lebanese communities in this war, issues that were simplified into Christian and Muslim sides soon after President Franjieh tried to avoid the politicians with his military cabinet. These issues fall into two categories. The first involves power: most moves were made to protect or advance the power of a specific politician or militia commander. While this point seems obvious, it is important to remember that no matter how reasonable and workable a political concession might seem to the “objective” observer, such an offer would need to meet the power needs of specific individuals before it could be taken seriously. Had the conflict actually been reduced to a two-person dyad, as the Muslim-Christian division seemed to indicate, meeting such needs might have been easier. But, rhetoric and passions aside, the real conflict was n-adic (not dyadic); there were too many parties to satisfy. One might get the flood sandbagged at one place along the levee only to see the water ooze out somewhere else.

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The second category of issues had to do with the positions the various parties stated when attempts were made to coax them to come to the negotiating table. Although these declared positions were inflated for purposes of future bargaining, they also contained a core of the claim that was being asserted. These declared policy positions do not tell us much about the real contest for power, but they do reveal why that contest could not be waged peacefully. Consider first the declaratory position of the Franjieh presidency, namely, that the Palestinian guerrilla organizations had to submit to the authority of the Lebanese government and, if they did not, the Lebanese army would control their activities. Most students of this conflict, even those sympathetic to the cause of the revisionists, have agreed that this was hardly an unreasonable demand on the part of the Franjieh administration. This position not only was consonant with the usually understood norms of the state system but also was deemed appropriate behavior from the “guests” to the host country. Yet, Lebanon fell short of being a “nation state” on one crucial dimension, the loyalties of its population. Abstractly, gaining control over the Palestinian commandos was a legitimate policy for the Franjieh government to pursue, but implementing such a policy verged on fantasy. Trying to do so tested the people’s loyalty to the state, to its independence on the one hand and its “Arabness” on the other. This was the question of the National Pact all over again. To avoid going back to this paradox of Lebanon’s creation, it was essential for Franjieh not to make the commandos the sole issue of his presidency. Considering the large number of other issues, as well as the fact that this one was so divisive, the government should have looked for a way to deal with the Palestinians as part of a package of reforms. A “package” would have taken precious time, but it would have offered a greater number of trade-offs to use in getting political support for what would, in any case, require a long and difficult military effort. Undoubtedly, by punishing the Lebanese for Palestinian raids launched from south Lebanon, the Israelis had made the situation desperate for Franjieh. His constituency would blame the Palestinians as much or more than the offending Israelis. The President should have seen that if his policy were to succeed, he would need all the Lebanese communities to support him. Unfortunately, in attaching himself so completely to the cause of Lebanon’s independence, he alienated those whose cause, in local matters, was narrower and, in regional matters, broader. The overall policy position of the Katā‛ib was more complicated than that of the President even though its declaratory position remained simpler. Blessed and burdened with a comprehensive program, it was ideologically prepared to demand more transformation than the semi-feudal Lebanese system could have absorbed. Its “God, Country, Family” approach to the nation emphasized the uniqueness of Lebanon as a cultural factor down through the ages, a pluralist inheritance, and the importance of the individual in creating a modern state. Katā‛ib ideology considered Lebanon’s Arab character as only one dimension of the country’s timeless cavalcade of civilizational contribution. This dimension, like all others, benefited from the separation of Lebanon from the other countries

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in the Middle East, enabling it to continue its unique role in the area. Pierre Gemayel’s “Lebanonists” would have to fight to maintain their selfhood; they would need to be organized, disciplined, and strong.19 The party was prepared to defend this Phoenician-Christian island in the Middle East, claiming not to be hostile to the majority Arab-Islamic culture of the region but determined also not to be absorbed by it. For this reason, the Phalange wanted to protect Lebanon from both Arab and Syrian nationalism as well as to transform Lebanese society from its semi-feudal condition to that of a modern state. To accomplish its goals, the leaders of the party naturally sought political power. In keeping with its general program, the Phalangists were second to none in demanding that Palestinian activities be severely restricted to whatever was compatible with the sovereignty of the Lebanese state. Even though it pushed long and hard on this issue, the Katā‛ib consistently displayed greater flexibility toward the PLO than did other Maronite organizations. Its militia, of course, also led the struggle against the Palestinian militias, both to defend the Lebanon it hoped to lead as well as obtain the power to do so. Pierre Gemayel, the party’s founder, was especially concessionary in his public statements concerning the Palestinians; he wanted to be President of the Greater Lebanon which France had bequeathed to the Lebanese, not of the much smaller Marounistan that might have been militarily extracted from the mess. To hold power over the larger jurisdiction required that he respond to Muslim needs as well as Christian, thus national, rather than purely parochial rhetoric was called for. Rhetoric, however, did not necessarily signify behavior. In the case of the Katā‛ib, its bite was often worse than its bark. The leitmotiv for the Party’s double track approach was its continually reiterated statement that it was prepared to negotiate only when the violence was halted. Yet, as mentioned above, Phalange forces would regularly recommence hostilities when it appeared that the violence might be contained. The real meaning of the Phalangist statements was that they would not be prepared to take part in negotiations until the war had ended in their favor. The American CIA had funded the Christians in the 1950s, and US arms were shipped to the Phalangists in the 1970s. Pierre Gemayel had taken the lead in forcing issue with Sa‛ib Salām in 1973, widening the breach between the Christians and the Sunni establishment. President Franjieh assisted in this strategy by appointing weak Sunni Prime Ministers and finally, adding insult to injury, appointing a military cabinet. The eagerness with which the Phalangists pressed the issue by force in 1975, at Ayn Rummānah in April and with the bombardment of central Beirut in September, indicates that they expected violence to end with the Christians in a militarily ascendant position, one which would have given the (Christian-dominated) government a free hand to deal with the Palestinians on its own terms. But how would the violence be halted? It is well to recognize, as Jonathan Randal has shown, that the Phalangists were not merely pressing the issue with the Palestinians and the Arab left but also with the outside world.20 Phalangists could argue that if Israel served as America’s “strategic aircraft carrier” in the

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Middle East, surely Lebanon was its “economic aircraft carrier.” Once the war reached a certain point, would not the United States intervene militarily to contain the radical Arabs and preserve Lebanon for the Christians? Moreover, after the war, would not the Phalangists be ascendant among the Christians? Phalangists could easily imagine a Gemayel in the President’s office, finally able to preside over the transformation of their “unique” Lebanon into a modern state. The Phalangist strategy possessed an internal logic but required too many other actors, both inside and outside Lebanon, to cooperate if it was to work. There is no evidence that the United States ever considered Lebanon’s economy as essential to its interests in the Middle East. Contending with Brezhnev in the Cold War, the Americans hardly had time to deal with the “strategic aircraft carrier” that the Israelis supposedly provided; they could not put major decisiontime and resources into Lebanon’s mess. Moreover, the free world’s economic fulcrum lay south-east of Lebanon, in the Gulf region. Inside Lebanon, the other Maronite politicians, who would have to cooperate with Gemayel to make this strategy work, had their own ambitions. One was the sitting President; the other, Camille Chamoun, had both been President and had reason to be wary of America’s “projects” for Lebanon. Camille Chamoun also wanted to be President. The above scenario, however, would not have helped his chances unless a deadlock required a compromise choice. Even in the unlikely case that the Americans would have taken action to rescue Lebanon, they would not have wanted as divisive a person as Chamoun in power. They would have likely preferred a Shihābist who would pursue policies similar to those that had helped the country recover from the 1958 civil war. Not as strong as his two main rivals, Gemayel and Jumblāt, Chamoun had become little more than an entrepreneurial politician, a Maronite za‛īm in the south much as Franjieh was in the north. The former President was an establishment figure; he ran a political party, the National Liberals; his son commanded a militia, the Tigers; and he was involved in numerous “business” projects. But his political future required that he be attached to something larger. During the first civil war period, from June 1975 until Elias Sarkis became President in December 1976, Camille Chamoun was Minister of the Interior and, therefore, part of the Karāmi cabinet attempting to end the hostilities and restore order. During most of this period, his own militia was actively engaged in the war, either against the Palestinians or against the radical Nasserists fighting for control of the hotel district in Beirut. Fairly independent at first, the Tigers were “integrated” into the Maronite coalition during the fall of 1975. Like Gemayel, there were instances where Chamoun would vote to end the violence while his militia was instigating it. His declaratory position was that Karāmi, as Prime Minister, should call out the army to intervene as it should have done in 1958 when, as President, he (Chamoun) faced insurrection. For Chamoun, the point was not to use the army only against the renegade Palestinians, but to use it also against all those elements of the population who refused to accept the confessional distribution of power that had made Lebanon the “liberal” exception

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in the Arab world. That the army would have assisted the Christian side and/or disintegrated, as it eventually did, was beside the point for the former President. A government without an army to enforce its will is no government. Those who stood in the way of the government using its army to uphold its authority were in rebellion. Thus, Chamoun could take cover in this position and play a waiting game, hoping that either the “rebellion” would be put down or outsiders would intervene to restore the traditional confessional arrangements of the Lebanese system. Camille Chamoun always insisted, as he surely believed, that it was not rebels within Lebanon who caused the problem, but the “foreigners” like the Palestinians and Nasserists who hoped to realize their schemes at Lebanon’s expense. Protect Lebanon from these, and the country’s citizens would be able to maintain their plural traditions. Protected, Lebanon could play its historic Arab role in the free world. Kamal Jumblāt was a complex person, a living set of contradictions. He was romantic, reformist, moralistic, and thoroughly Levantine; he was also forced to operate in a problematic political environment. The tall, Sorbonne-educated leader of the Druze, latest scion of the most venerable feudal clan of that community, wanted to reform Lebanon without detaching its peoples from their traditional way of life and their heritage. Jumblāt could hardly be faulted for imagining that if Lebanon had become a genuine democracy, his program would have appealed to the poorer classes and gained him the high office he felt was his due. But the confessional system which guaranteed him a local base of power and automatic influence in national affairs also denied him the top spot. This not only seemed unjust to him, personally, but also unfair to those classes of the population he believed would benefit from his program. When, time and time again, those whom Jumblāt helped gain power, e.g., Camille Chamoun, ignored his reform program, the Druze leader realized that it would never be taken seriously by the establishment and that he could do little more than cause trouble. As maverick troublemaker, he was a natural. While in the cabinet during the Hilū presidency, Kamal Jumblāt did not favor giving the Palestinian commandos the freedom of action they demanded. After the Black September events of 1970, when the main body of guerrillas was forced out of Jordan and settled in south Lebanon, the Progressive Socialists befriended them and gave support to their cause. Jumblāt had a militia, led the Progressive Socialist Party, and was heir to a body of devoted followers. His own leftist politics was naturally compatible with the main sentiments of the beleaguered Palestinians. Both the PSP and the PLO had been unjustly denied their right to political power. Though not formally allies, many Palestinians cooperated with the members of Jumblāt’s National Movement (coalition) and fought along side them in various skirmishes of the civil war. It was not until the spring of 1976 that Jumblāt’s National Movement was able to translate its compatibility with the Palestinians into a partly coordinated military effort against the Christian militias. Though successful, his campaign was undercut by the Syrians when, with American and Israeli blessing, they intervened in

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Lebanon on the side of the Christians. As in 1860, the Druze won the battles but lost the war. Did Jumblāt view his close association with the Palestinian cause as a last chance for his place in the sun? Did he cast a wistful eye toward their military capability and, adding it to his own, see it as the means by which he might turn the tables on the presumptious Maronites? Certainly Jumblāt’s declaratory position would not have ruled out such a scenario. His position insisted on change and was put forward in terms of “Five Demands.” These called for abolishing the confessional system; redefining the powers of the various branches of the executive; reforming the electoral system; reorganizing the army; and removing the restrictions that prevented some of Lebanon’s communities from enjoying citizenship in the country. Jumblāt insisted that his demands be placed on the legislative agenda as a condition for cooperating with the government. Obviously, the Druze leader’s reform program called for nothing less than a complete overhaul of the Lebanese system. That the only alternative to civil war was radical change needed to be stated forcefully, and Kamal Jumblāt did so. But like the other za‛īms, he refused to help save Lebanon unless given much more than he could expect to get out of the mix of competing claims. Not that his main opponents were much given to reciprocity; they were not. Yet Jumblāt’s own association with the Nasserist cause would hardly have given them (or those of more moderate persuasion) any confidence that he would give reciprocity in return. Unlike the “mountain dwellers” of Marounistan, Kamal Jumblāt was capable of perspective and might have helped halt the slide toward disaster. Perhaps he, too, was enticed by the 21 prospect of a military outcome that would have allowed him to participate in the Lebanese government from a position of strength. One is reminded of the instructions for playing musical chairs: “While the music is playing, everyone should march in a circle, but when the music stops, everyone should sit down in the chair.” The best strategy is to keep the music going until you are as close to the chair as possible, unless, of course, you can get somebody to come in and steal the chair. OTHER ORGANIZATIONS AND MILITIAS Besides the five key political figures surveyed above, there were many others “marching in a circle” and “keeping the music going.” Most were politically subordinate to either the coalitions or countries they belonged to. Led by the cleric Imam Mūsa al-Sadr, the Shi‛ites beganto organize, first under his Movement of the Deprived (Harakāt al-Mahrumīn) and later as militias and paramilitary “committees” such as those of the Amal and Hizbollah organizations that became prominent after the first civil war period. Mūsa alSadr’s “Movement” was not bent on the destruction of the Lebanese Republic but sought both to get more representation for the Shi‛ite community in the country’s political system and to receive more equitable treatment, economically and socially, from the landlords and moneyed elite who, it was claimed, kept the

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poorer Shi‛ite classes in their desperate condition. Though generally allied with whomever opposed the Maronites, the Shi‛ites often found themselves in a political crossfire. Mūsa al-Sadr, like Kamal Jumblāt, was positively for change in the system, but he was neither Nasserist nor unequivocally leftist. Moreover, there were instances when Shi‛ites found themselves struggling with the Palestinian commandos, going so far as to cooperate, from time to time, with Israel. Various factions of the Shi‛ites also fought each other over turf, not unlike the traditional behavior of the Druze and Maronites in Lebanon. One cannot easily generalize about the various Shi‛ite groups since they have been divided both ideologically and regionally. Perhaps the one declaratory position on which they all agreed was to oppose the use of outsiders to maintain Christian hegemony in Lebanon. Obviously, some Shi‛ite factions did not view either Iran or Syria as “outside.” Several militias that participated in the war during its various phases emerged from the Sunni population. These fought in different areas of the country, sometimes in conjunction with the anti-establishment forces, sometimes only locally over communal issues. In addition, they tended to identify themselves in terms of nationalism or an ideology not tied exclusively to the Sunni sect. Although these groups came from Sunni communities, they did not necessarily fight for the Sunni sector of interests as played out in Lebanon’s confessionalism. Three of these militias deserve our attention. In the south, Mustāfa Sa‛ad led a militia called the Popular Nasserist Organization that controlled Sidon and the adjacent coastal area. Like his father, Mar‛ūf Sa‛ad (shot during the fisherman’s strike), Mustāfa represented the Arab nationalist viewpoint that dominated the politics of Sidon’s Sunni community. With some support from Palestinians living in the large Ein el-Hilweh refugee camp nearby, Mustāfa’s forces were usually able to hold their own against the government. Sidon reverted to a diminished form of its city state status of old. Operating locally for the most part, Sa‛ad’s Nasserists did conduct the operation that defeated Chamoun’s forces at Damour (in 1976) and destroyed the former President’s seaside villa at al-Sa‛diyyāt justsouth of the town. An upstart rival to Beirut’s Sunni politicians was the Independent Nasserist Movement led by Ibrahim Qulaylāt. Located in the western and southern sections of the city, Qulaylāt’s militia was a potent force in the struggle against the Phalangists in the hotel district. His troop, along with smaller gangs of Communists and Ba‛thists, kept up their end of the sniping and kidnapping which made it impossible to conduct normal business and government operations in Beirut. They joined the Palestinians in sweeping the Christians out of the city in March 1976, but were displaced by the Syrians at the end of the year. Also belonging to Jumblāt’s National Movement was Farouk Muqaddam’s October 24th Movement, headquartered in the northern city of Tripoli. Long a bastion of Sunni strength, that community was surrounded by different sects: Greek Orthodox in the Kūra district south and east of the city; Maronites to the

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east and north; and a few Alāwis in the city and to the north. Moreover, there was a large Palestinian establishment in Tripoli with its commando organization based near al-Mīna northwest of the city. Named for an assault by the Lebanese army against the Palestinian commandos on October 24, 1969, Farouk Muqaddam’s militia worked more closely with the Palestinians than did any of the other Lebanese groups. For a long time, the Muqaddam family had led a major faction of the Sunni community in Tripoli and, bolstered by the guerrillas, was able to undercut Karāmi’s traditional base of support in that city. The October 24th group spent most of its effort in maintaining the traditional struggle with the Zghartā Maronites and in keeping the army from gaining secure control of the north. With a newly forged attachment to Jumblāt’s coalition, Muqaddam’s force could, on call, initiate an eruption in Tripoli and further undercut Karāmi’s effectiveness as Prime Minister. On several occasions, the October 24th militia raided Maronite villages in the Akkār region of the far north, but its main military effect was to neutralize Franjieh’s forces. Though the upstart Sunni militias were small, and never a single coordinated military force, their activities were especially damaging to those trying to stop the war and restore order. They were rivals of the traditional Sunni establishment, the one group that had the most to lose from a continuation of the war. In June 1975, many Christians and Muslims alike were hoping that Rashid Karāmi, the Sunni Prime Minister from Tripoli, could save the country. The militia chiefs from the Sunni community, however, were anti-establishment politicians, self-made men who competed with those Sunnis in the government. Thus, the Sunni representation, needed in the Lebanese system for balancing the Maronites, had no muscle. Karāmi, who had no private militia (as did Franjieh and Chamoun), was put in the unenviable position of heading a government whose army sometimes fought on the side of his opponents. Certainly, none of Karāmi’s Sunni colleagues on the left was about to give him military support. Without independent forces to put in the field, the Sunni Prime Minister was left twisting in the wind while less moderate parties and factions hammered at each other. In addition, there were numerous splinter groups, most of which were tied to either the “progressive” National Movement (mostly Muslim) or the “conservative” Lebanese Front (mostly Christian). Of these, a few were merely fronts subsidized by foreign governments as vehicles for their input; others were connected to parallel Palestinian organizations; and still others were adjuncts of various religious groups. Many of these, e.g., the Lebanese Ba‛thists, the PPS, and the PFLP, parented additional factions, and in a few cases these splintered into even more factions. In the National Movement (in addition to those already mentioned) were such groups as the Lebanese Communist Party, the Organization of Communist Action, the Syrian Nationalist Party (PPS), and the Quwwāt Nasir militia of the Union of the Forces of the Working People: Corrective Movement. Just as the Murabitūn was allied with Ahmed Jabrīl’s PFLP General Command, so too was

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the Socialist Arab Labor Party, that assassinated US Ambassador Meloy, an adjunct to the parent PFLP of George Habash. The Syrians possessed their “Front” with groups such as the Organization of the Ba’th Party, a (PPS) Syrian Nationalist faction, and the Progressive Vanguards (to name a few). Iraq also had a Ba‛thist faction in Lebanon, the Arab Socialist Ba’th Party, led by Abdul Majīd al-Rifā‛i. The Palestinians, especially the smaller organizations, were involved in the war from the outset. The PFLP and its two stems, the (PFLP) General Command and the (PDFLP) Democratic Front, had played a large role in escalating tensions early on, and in this they were joined by the Arab Liberation Front and the so-called Popular Struggle Front. Each of these was also supported by a foreign paymaster who sought access in Lebanon. The Lebanese Front (Kufūr), in addition to the Katā‛ib, National Liberals, and (Zghartā) Marāda Brigade already surveyed, included a number of other militias attached to a religious institution or a local religious community. Within the Front were the Guardians of the Cedars, the Congress of the Lebanese Orders of Monks, and al-Tanzīm, a small but well-organized militia of the Maronite League. These were attached to the Maronite Church itself. Allied to the Front were several local militias such as the Lebanese Youth Movement of Dikwāna, (a suburb of Beirut); the Muqaddamīn Brigade of Besharri; and the Mountain Brigade of Rayfūn (Kisrawān). The Akkār region had a small militia led by Christian army officers of that area, and Zahleh, of course, had its rather sizable town forces, some of which were led by a Maronite, Elias Hrāwi, later to become President of Lebanon and to be very much under Syrian influence. Both the National Movement and the Lebanese Front also inherited portions of the Lebanese army after it finally disintegrated in 1976. The Lebanese Arab Army under Ahmed al-Khātib played a role in Kamal Jumblāt’s mountain offensive in the spring of 1976, and Major Sa’ad Haddad (followed by Colonel Antoine Lahoud) established the South Lebanese Army (SLA) soon after the Syrians intervened in 1977, allying himself with Israel. During these years, the number of separate military groups in Lebanon; a country the size of Delaware, averaged well over forty.22 Generally, these splinter groups were the most incendiary of all the parties to the conflict, continually disrupting the periodic efforts of the larger organizations to conduct negotiations with the government. Undoubtedly, they were sometimes used by the major militias to sabotage the latter’s own public commitments to ceasefires, concessionary statements, and other gestures of compromise. Sometimes, in Lebanese politics, the left hand pretended not to know what the right hand was doing. At other times, the “left hand” really did not know. Moving through a number of stops and starts, the first period of the civil war lasted from the fisherman’s strike in Sidon, February 1975 to the Syriansponsored ceasefire and Palestinian Liberation Army (PLA) intervention in the latter part of January 1977. After the so-called “fifth round” of these three years of war, a ceasefire was called that went into effect on December 15, 1975 and continued into the early weeks of 1976. Much of downtown Beirut had been

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devastated, the hotel district, the bourge, the area of government offices, and the old souq. Numerous suburban villages, refugee camps, and shantytowns on the fringes of Beirut had suffered damage. War had also gone to Sidon, Tripoli, Zahleh, and to a number of the coastal towns in between. Although much physical damage had been done, the Republic had not yet been destroyed. The President remained in office; a ceasefire had generally held after mid-December; and elections were scheduled for the next year. Perhaps the politicians and militia commanders would hold their fire, waiting to see what the electoral process would produce at the end of 1976. Perhaps the new President would fare better. After the yearlong war ended in December 1975, the one thing most ordinary Lebanese agreed on was that the fighting had to stop, and the ceasefire hold.

8 Civil war and intervention: 1976–1982

THE CIVIL WAR OF 1976 With the ceasefire of December 14, the “fifth round” of civil war in 1975 came to an end. Hostilities dropped sharply, and many hoped that the war had finally ground to a halt as nothing more than a stalemate seemed conceivable. Indeed, the firefights in downtown Beirut did end for a period, but, otherwise, the next round came quickly on the heels of the last. Several factions, especially the Phalangists and the Chamounists, were determined to eradicate the most intrusive of the rebel holdings. On the day that the ceasefire (in Beirut) went into effect, a Phalangist militia unit in Antilyās attacked a communist element of the Rejection Front at the nearby Shi‛ite slum of Herāt al-Ghawārīna just a few miles northeast of Beirut. Both sides attacked Lebanese security forces in Tripoli; hostilities also continued in Zahleh. Other bothersome peninsulas of rebel territory extended out to the large refugee camps in East Beirut, and the Phalange, almost immediately, began to blockade the Tel al-Za‛tar and Jisr alBasha camps. By January 14 1976, the Phalangists had taken the largely Christian Dubayah camp, and on the 19th, they were able to wipe out the last resistance in the Karantīna district near the port, killing many of the poor Muslims there and removing the others. The leftist rebels, for their part, beseiged al-Jiyye and al-Damur, and these were taken by January 20. As already mentioned, Chamoun’s fortress estate at S‛adiyyāt was overrun and destroyed just four days later. It was clear that both sides could play the game of removing the pawns from the board. On the 22nd, President Franjieh announced that an “all-embracing political settlement” had been agreed to and a ceasefire, the thirty-third, would go into effect.1 Although intermittent bouts of fighting and kidnapping continued, the ceasefire (in terms of major battles) continued to hold for about two months. Although given some support by Washington and Paris, Syrian mediation taking place at this time was viewed with great trepidation within Lebanon and in nearby capitals. Warnings also came regularly from Israel, and Jerusalem opened its borders to those in the far south of Lebanon who wished to escape the violence. Clearly, Syria and Israel were competing for influence in Lebanon.

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While Syria was actively mediating between Lebanese factions, Hafiz alAssad began sending Palestinian Liberation Army (PLA) troops under his control into Lebanon. Syria claimed to be trying to end the civil war and restore Lebanese stability, but, obviously, it was also extending its influence as much as possible, playing it by ear as opportunities appeared. As Lebanese notables trooped to Damascus to confer with Assad, the Syriancontrolled PLA was patroling Beirut and taking up positions in the Biqā. In the Akkār region of the far north, clashes, perhaps instigated by Syria, broke out in the isolated Maronite village of al-Qubayāt. Syrian-led PLA troops were sent to that spot to end the fighting after thirteen persons were killed. With Rashid Karāmi reportedly under Syrian influence and the Franjiehs and Assads long engaged in a variety of relationships, it was not difficult for Damascus to take the initial steps for a foothold in Lebanon. Like Syria, Israel moved at this time to penetrate Lebanon with its influence. The Israelis began a policy of open borders with some of the small Maronite villages in the far south that wished to have contact with the few Maronites still living along the border in northern Israel. This program was just one step in a strategy of supporting those dissidents in south Lebanon who would eventually cooperate with the Israelis in the creation of a buffer jurisdiction, i.e., the strip under the control of Major Haddad’s South Lebanese Army. Even though the Lebanese conferred with Assad, the Foreign Minister, Abdul Halīm Khaddam, mediated, and the PLA patrolled, Rashid Karāmi was still not able to form a government (January 1976). The Higher Military Committee convened; it adopted some security measures; but it did not get the necessary cooperation from the various militias to begin imposing the government’s control on Lebanon. The chiefs were still playing “wait-and-see.” In addition to the partial intervention by the Syrians, there was another new factor in the Lebanese equation. The initiative by the Maronite right against the Muslim slum quarters of Herāt al-Ghawārīna, Dubayah, and al-Karantīna was combined with the beginning of a major siege, to last for seven months, against the large Palestinian camps of Tel al-Za‛tar and Jisr al-Basha. As intended, this siege brought the Palestinian main force units into the war. With Syriansponsored PLA units in town and Franjieh on the fence—he was only partly cooperating with the Phalange—the addition of Palestinian forces might well have tipped the balance in favor of the Muslim side. How apparent this was to different sectors of influence is hard to discern. What is apparent, however, is that the civil war began to favor the Muslim side. A new trend in the struggle was that all and sundry tried to lead the recently strengthened Muslim side while, at the same time, the military position of the Maronite right began to unravel. Moreover, this new period of war was complicated by the fact that there were now at least five different designs competing for the future of Lebanon: a prostatus quo, a rightist, a leftist, a Syrian, and an Israeli. With the involvement of the last two, the war in Lebanon ceased to be a civil war.

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During the two months of “fighting truce” that had brought some calm to downtown Beirut, Karāmi had been attempting to employ the army to maintain the ceasefire and extend its control into the warring districts. However, Camille Chamoun, the Interior Minister, tended to use friendly army units, sometimes transfering them to the Security Agency he controlled, to assist his own rightist cause. The most flagrant example of this practice occurred during the operation by the National Movement against Damour and Chamoun’s palace just south of that town. Chamoun, contrary to Karāmi’s express orders, had called in the small Lebanese Air Force to stop the leftist assault (itself a response to the rightists’ clearing operation against the Palestinian camps). Karāmi called President Assad, and the PLA forces began to move into Lebanon. After months of frustration at being called upon for operations that assisted the Christian side against their Muslim counterparts, lower ranking soldiers, mostly Muslim, began deserting the Lebanese army—a move that Fu‛ād Shihāb had always feared. On February 3, 1976, Lieutenant Ahmed al-Khātib, the son of a PSP deputy, issued a declaration stating the program of his Lebanese Arab Army (LAA), which demanded amnesty for deserters and sectarian balance in the control and employment of Lebanon’s military forces. On March 5, Christian troops from Junieh mutinied and demanded to go to the Akkār region to fight for their coreligionists who had been attacked in al-Qubayāt. Three days after, Muslim soldiers took control of Beaufort Castle and declared allegiance to the LAA of alKhātib; garrisons were seized in Rāshayya, in the far south along the Israeli border, in Tripoli, and in the northern Biqā district. What was most feared happened; Lebanon’s army began to disintegrate. Some detachments simply went over to the side of their co-religionists, either by joining the LAA or the Lebanese Front, while a few units remained intact and their soldiers loyal to the central command. Many individuals simply went home to sit out the war. Of the units in the regular army still intact, one in particular played an interesting, if not bizarre, role in restarting major hostilities. On March 11, the commander of the Beirut military garrison, General Abdul Aziz al-Ahdāb, who represented a non-leftist Muslim influence, went on television, declaring a state of emergency and proclaiming himself the military governor of Lebanon. The “television general,” as he was called, may have been unique in military annals in his attempt to seize a non-government. Ahdāb said that, upon the resignation of President Franjieh, he would lift the state of emergency. This the President refused to do. Ahdāb, for his part, seemed to have received the tacit support from the Christian leadership of the army as well as from some of the Phalange. At first, they may have believed that it was necessary for Franjieh to go and even more convenient to have a Muslim commander administer the coup de grâce. On March 13, over two-thirds of the Assembly’s members signed a petition requesting that the President resign. Once again, he refused to countenance the idea. Though equivocal, Hafiz al-Assad also resisted attempts by many of the Lebanese establishment to get his help in forcing Franjieh from power. Damascus may have wanted the President out but did not want to divide the

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Christian community in attempting to bring it about. Franjieh’s own supporters, the ultraconservatives in the Maronite camp, and some of the Phalange also resisted the General’s ultimatum (and the parliamentary petition). Thus, when Ahdāb’s column moved toward the palace, Syrian troops and Palestinians under Syrian command stopped it. Before a convergence of interests could be consolidated, Kamal Jumblāt managed to effect a liason between Ahdāb of the regular army and Khātib of the LAA.2 Their combined forces then proceeded to bombard the presidential palace at B‛abdā on March 25, forcing Franjieh to abandon it and move to an office in Suq Mikhayīl just south of Junieh. General Ahdāb continued to play a minor role in the military situation in central Beirut where his troops guarded the Parliament Building but, otherwise, he was absorbed by the coalitions to which he was attached. Two months after, on May 21, 1976, Ahdāb resigned as military governor of Lebanon, a post so little recognized that it could hardly be said to have existed. Others on the revisionist side, Ahmed Khātib, Kamal Jumblāt, and Yasir Arafat, then commanded the scene. Following Ahdāb’s “television coup,” it was the Muslims’ turn. On March 13, contingents of the Lebanese Arab Army (LAA), the Druze militia (PSP), and the Palestinian Resistance (PRM) forces launched a series of coordinated attacks for the National Movement (LMN) which succeeded in pushing the Christian militias backward. Army garrisons, then attached to the LLA, moved to take key posts in the south around Marjayoun and Khiam; local Lebanese and Palestinian militias, loosely attached to the LMN, moved against the Zghartā Christians; Major Ahmed Mi’mari’s troops advanced in the Akkār region; Zahleh was surrounded; and Resistance and Nasserist forces attacked Phalangist positions in the hotel district of Beirut. A second line of attack, led by the Druze militia, was opened up from the mountains southeast of Beirut, having as its goal the seizure of the Damascus highway and the key mountain towns in the Matn. With the addition of increased firepower from army arsenals and mainline Palestinian forces, the new LNM offensive resulted in the heaviest fighting of the entire war. After a series of attacks and counterattacks during the last week of March, LMN forces took the tall buildings of the hotel district, driving the Phalangists from central Beirut. The city’s government district was taken, B‛abdā Palace bombed, and even the “Maronite capital” of Junieh was shelled. Eventually, the Christian side in Beirut was pushed back into the eastern portion of the city and Ashrafīyah nearly cut off. At the same time, the mountain offensive took Aley and moved against the Maronite suburban village of Kahhalah on the Damascus highway. Jumblāt called for Franjieh to resign and, though beseeched by many (especially in the Syrian government), refused to call a halt to his offensive. He is reported to have said that the other side had ruled for 140 years; “it is our turn.”3 Clearly the Christian side was trapped in various parts of the country, and the major strategy of the LNM operation was to cut East Beirut off from the Maronite heartland in the Matn and Kisrawān to prevent partition and be in the best

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position to dictate terms for future reforms. Jumblāt had finally put himself into position to win the 1958 civil war. The high point in the Muslim advance came during the first week in April, 1976 when the LNM was able to push the Katā‛ib and the (Christian) Fayadīyah garrison (led by Colonel Antoine Barakāt) out of the village of Kahhalah and move up the ridge overlooking Sannine to capture a whole line of towns on the door step of Marounistan. Jumblāt’s forces were, at this time, in control of a wide area of Mount Lebanon, manning artillery positions on the heights above the international airport at Kafr Shīma south of Beirut all the way to similarly commanding positions from Ayntūra, Metein, Douar Choueir, and Ba‛abdāt northeast of the city. They also held the Damascus highway up to its highest point at the pass near Dahr al-Baydar. Jumblāt could now hope that his military position would force the issue of Franjieh’s resignation and his replacement by a government prepared to enact reforms. Such was not to be the case. Hafiz al-Assad did not want a victory for the radicals in Lebanon, certainly not one that would augment the power and prestige of the Palestinians. Nor did he want the Christians to take it on the chin, confirming their worst fears of being subject to Islam and Arabism. While the Alawite ruler in Damascus favored an early departure for Suleiman Franjieh, he was adamantly opposed to the use of force to achieve this end. Thus, the politics that would have likely emerged in Lebanon from Jumblāt’s military position did not suit Assad’s own plans for the country.4 The result was one of the most terrible periods in Lebanese history. The “conflux” of events is nearly incomprehensible. For five months the war continued, taking a terrible number of casualties, most of them noncombatant victims of shelling and sniper fire. Syria, already involved with its PLA and Sa‛iqa forces, tried to get Jumblāt to agree to a truce. Jumblāt, angry at Syrian opposition, first refused to meet with Assad. When he did meet with him on March 27, he tried to persuade the Syrian President to let him “win.” Later, the Druze leader agreed to a truce under conditions and, still later, to stop fighting while the election campaign was being held. Meanwhile, without formally intervening, Syria moved small numbers of its own regular army into the country; some were sent up the highway toward Dahr al-Baydar, others to key junctions near Zahleh and Marjayoun. Yasir Arafat had also not formally committed his forces to the leftist side, though many Palestinian fighters were openly engaged in the offen-sive. Hafiz al-Assad attempted to pry him loose from the LNM coalition, threatening to cut off his supplies, while the PLO Chairman tried to get guarantees that the independence of his movement would not be curtailed. Although the two leaders were able to come up with several joint statements, neither was able to make an agreement stick. After the second week of April, 1976, the lines became fairly fixed as the two sides settled down into exchanging salvos of death. While Jounieh, Ashrafīah, the port, Ras Beirut, and the international airport often came under

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bombardment, and the destruction swung back and forth between lines, neither side was in any military position to actually control territory as an invasion force might have done. The new offensive simply changed the actors in the tragedy; new and different people were kept hunkered down by weapons fired from new and different positions. In Beirut, the sniping, looting, and kidnapping continued not as an aid to winning but merely as a struggle for turf. One positive result from General Ahdāb’s on-again-off-again coup was a speeding up of the process of selecting a successor to Suleiman Franjieh. While the latter did not resign, he did allow the election for his replacement to occur earlier than constitutionally called for so that the new President would be able to work on the settlement process before formally taking office, an uncharacteristic act of statesmanship his part. As the war continued, Elias Sarkis and Raymond Eddé became the two main competitors, the first a candidate of the Maronite militias and Syria, the second preferred by the National Movement and much of the old establishment. Truces were called but only partially complied with; negotiations went apace; various and sundry conferred with President Assad; but when the election was held, it was clear that Syria meant to control it. Special envoy L.Dean Brown also arrived to provide an American blessing to the event. In lieu of the unusable Parliament Building, the election took place (under mortar fire) at the Esseily Villa in Beirut near the National Museum. On May 8, Sarkis was duly elected by a vote of 66 to 0 with 3 abstentions cast. Approximately a third of the members (mostly supporters of Eddé) protested Syrian and American interference by boycotting the session that chose Lebanon’s sixth President. Although Kamal Jumblāt, with conditions, offered to cooperate with Sarkis, it was clear that the President-elect had little room to maneuver. On the eve of the election, the Syrian controlled PLA had helped the Phalangists in launching a new offensive aimed at dislodging the LNM from its positions on the mountain ridge overlooking Kisrawān. The Druze leader was also being squeezed out. With the election of Sarkis and overt assistance to the rightists, Syria had clearly chosen to do more than contain the conflict and offer its mediation. Hafiz alAssad had decided to intervene on the Christian side. Jumblāt’s response to the Syrian-supported counteroffensive was to send one of Fatah’s main force brigades into the struggle and to formally place the PLO, LNM, and LAA under a joint command. On May 12, a coalition (headed by Jumblāt) known as the Joint Forces was established and committed to formal cooperation in defending the military gains of the spring offensive and resisting the Syrians. With these new Palestinian troops, the LNM (Joint Forces) was able to blunt the Christian counterattack and even pushed ahead toward the resort town of Farāya in Kisrawān. Some among the Christian groups also had their misgivings about the amount of Syrian firepower that was creeping into Lebanon. They were making discreet contacts with the old Sunni politicians and Palestinian centrists. Even Sarkis was accessible; after all, he had been a member of the Shihābist establishment and

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enjoyed good relations with Rashid Karāmi. Indeed, opposition to Sarkis from Jumblāt and the moderates was not due to a strong preference for Raymond Eddé but due to their resentment of Syrian intervention on the side of the “ultras” in the Maronite camp. They opposed Sarkis because he was Syria’s man. But were not also some Maronites afraid of the Syrians? Perhaps a “deal” could be struck, one that would deal the Syrians out. On May 19, Kamal Jumblāt did, in fact, meet with Elias Sarkis and was given a proposal that the Druze chief said deserved “study and an answer”5. Although the fighting (including an assassination attempt on Raymond Eddé) raged on, Sarkis continued to make contacts. General Ahdāb, as mentioned above, was induced to resign his self-appointed position as military governor, and Sarkis conferred (on May 27) with LLA commander, Ahmed Khātib, along with several Muslim religious leaders. The President-elect had also scheduled a second meeting with Kamal Jumblāt for the 26th, but it had to be postponed due to a sudden intensification of the shelling in the suburbs of Beirut. Sarkis was taking the initial steps toward bringing about a reconciliation while others, not ready for it, were undercutting his attempts. President Sarkis did meet with Ahmed Khātib on the 27th, but he was unable to hold a previously postponed meeting with Kamal Jumblāt on the same day. Unfortunately (by a strange coincidence), Linda Atrāsh, Jumblāt’s sister, was assassinated on that day in a Phalangist-held area near the Green Line dividing the Muslim and Christian forces in Beirut. The meeting again had to be postponed. Although, according to the Gemayels, the Phalangist gunmen responsible for her death were later arrested, this event, like many similar ones, seems to have been carried out to prevent Sarkis from working with the Lebanese leaders to end the war. A week later, Bashir Gemayel met with Kamal Jumblāt to express his condolances on the death of Linda Atrāsh, and they seem to have talked about a wholly Lebanese solution to the conflict. In an interview given two weeks later, the younger Gemayel claimed: We were in the middle of negotiations when the Syrian military intervention took us by surprise. To my mind we (the warring parties in Lebanon) were on the verge of reaching an agreement when Syrian troops intervened and reshuffled the cards.6 According to Bashir, Kamal Jumblāt had also expressed the opinion that the Lebanese leaders were making progress on a settlement when the Syrian move shipwrecked their efforts. It is possible that the chiefs could have used Sarkis as a means of burying the hatchet, but, even so, the process would have been long and difficult without a credible means of enforcement. Sarkis had no army to watch over the multitude of groups fighting one another. It seems more likely that the Christian conservatives, including Pierre Gemayel, were stalling until the Syrians arrived and rearranged the balance of military positions in their favor. Allowing the

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Syrians to intervene would have been advantageous to the conservatives in the short run, and the short run was generally as far as they could see. Certainly, Hafiz al-Assad had invested too much by 1976 to let the Lebanese make a settlement that cut him out. The full-scale invasion by the Syrians into Lebanon took place on May 31, 1976, ostensibly to end a savage bombardment of two Maronite towns, Qubayāt and Aandqāt, located in the northeast corner of Lebanon. For some time, intermittent clashes had been occuring in this area, and in this instance, the man doing the shelling was Ahmed Mi‛mari, a former major in the Lebanese army. His brigade joined the LAA when the army split up, and he was, therefore, allied with the National Movement. When Hafiz al-Assad broke with the LNM in late March, Mi’mari had followed him and was supposedly allied with Syria at the time of the attack. The picture is cloudy, but suspicions run deep that this attack, especially its massive character, was a pretext for the Syrian move. After a few days of bombardment, the Maronites of the town requested aid from Damascus, and troops poured into Lebanon from Syria. An armored column of 2,000 moved up the Biqā Valley toward Qubayāt; another large force pushed its way to the pass at Dahr al-Baydar, setting up across the way from an LMN detachment already there; and a third column headed south toward Marjayoun in preparation for an attack on the leftist forces in Sidon. Assad’s previous military contributions had only been enough to make him a competitor in Lebanon; after May 31, 1976 he was to become a controlling factor. Lebanese relationships, which had begun to show signs of settling, were shaken up once again. Syria cautiously but consistently augmented its military strength in the country until it eventually reached more than 30,000 soldiers. Israel warned Syria about the indefinable “red line”7 in Lebanon but gave the United States permission to give Syria the go-ahead for the intervention. Could the situation have become more confusing? Marounistan had persuaded the United States to get permission from Israel to allow the Syrians to intervene against the LNM revisionists in Lebanon. Palestinians were put in a terrible bind. Syrian-led Sa‛iqa troops and the Hittīn brigade of the PLA (under Syrian control) were now used directly against those independent Palestinian forces that had joined the LNM. Jumblāt, with PLO backing, simply refused to withdraw from his positions in the mountains until the Syrians left. The Christian “loyalists,” on the other hand, began to receive more and more shipments of arms from Israel and prepare for their own offensive. Syria and Israel were now cooperating to prevent the leftist-Palestinian combination from winning in Lebanon, something not easy to explain during a thirty-second television news segment. The war continued throughout the summer and fall of 1976, its islands of combat causing unimaginable losses in life and property. By the end of the year, nearly 30,000 Lebanese and Palestinians had been killed; another 65,000 had suffered injury; 700,000, over 80 percent of them Muslims, had been evicted from their homes; and a like number, mostly Christians, had left the country. By 1980, Lebanon had seen its population decrease by at least half a million.

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Within a week of the Syrian intervention, Christian loyalists issued a statement supporting the move. The Muslim side established a joint command that formally brought all the Palestinian groups into the war except for al-Sa‛iqa. Clashes almost immediately broke out between the PLO and Sa‛iqa, and before long the latter was driven from the camps to its stronghold at the airport. Afterwards, these Sa‛iqa forces, along with others on the left linked to Damascus, were integrated into Syrian military operations under Syrian command. On June 8, Syrian forces were pushed back from Sidon after losing eight tanks in an attack on LMN positions in that city. Moving back to the heights above Sidon, the Syrians settled for periodic shelling of the coastal area, eventually destroying the Zahrāni oil terminal and a major source for LNM fuel supplies. The Syrians also lost some armor when they attempted to force the LNM back from its positions on the Beirut-Damascus highway. Having encountered unexpectedly stiff resistance in Beirut, in Sidon, and along the mountain ridges, Assad decided to employ his forces more cautiously against the LMN. Damascus also decided to ask the Arab League to assist, and it both mediated and sponsored Arab contingents to take on peacekeeping roles in Beirut. Rather than press against the entrenched positions of the leftists up in the mountains, the Syrian forces lifted the LMN siege around Zahleh as a prelude to a rightist attack on the Palestinian refugee camps. The leftist encirclement of Zahleh had protected the camps; the city was held hostage against a possible Maronite assault against those Palestinians domiciled in the eastern suburbs of Beirut. Now with Zahleh under Syrian protection, the refugees were vulnerable. At this time, many Western countries began evacuating their embassies as the danger signals increased. Camille Chamoun’s PNL militia then initiated an attack (June 21) on the Tel al-Za‛tar camp with its 30,000 inhabitants. Although unsuccessful at first, the Chamoun gambit eventually paid off when his men were joined by other Maronite forces, including the Katā‛ib, and Palestinian resistance weakened. Tel al-Za‛tar, aswellas Naba’a and Jisr al-Basha camps, finally fell on August 12, 1976. This setback for the Joint Forces was overwhelming, both materially and psychologically. Operating with the LNM, the Palestinians had become a decisive component of the force opposing the Syrians, both in Beirut and in the mountains. With people and supplies cut off and no help from other Arab states, it was only a matter of time before the tremendous advantage in firepower arriving from Syria and Israel would tip the scales against the Joint Forces. Although negotiations were occurring as the siege continued, especially those aimed at getting Arafat to withdraw his forces, the essential strategy of the Syrians was to gradually but relentlessly close in on the leftists while the Christian militias gained control over as much territory as possible.8 Throughout the confusing summer, numerous ceasefires had been announced but with almost no effect on the conduct of the war. The Syrians were simply biding their time while the Christians beseiged Tel al-Za‛tar. Ceasefires worked out by Syrian or Arab League mediators, usually with the PLO or leftist gangs (needing

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to quit long enough to get paid) only provided the ascendant Christians with time to consolidate their holdings. An attempt was also made to “Arabize” the Syrian enterprise. As early as June 10, the Arab League had agreed to send a token peacekeeping force to Lebanon to “replace” the large Syrian force there. Saudi Arabian military personnel sponsored by the Arab League did take up positions in Beirut, where they were almost immediately fired upon, but these, even when operating with a contingent from Syria, did little to limit the military operations. One of the reasons the Tel al-Za‛tar camp was finally taken (after the Jisr alBasha camp and Shi‛ite slum of Naba‛a had fallen earlier) was that the Palestinian High Command, in the deployment of its own forces, had not given maximum priority to its defense. While flying from capital to capital in the Arab world, engaged in high visibility politics, Arafat had asked the Tel al-Za‛tar inmates to be martyrs for the greater cause. Whether they wanted to or not, many were. Incredible as it may seem, Suleiman Franjieh, throughout this summer of calamities, still doggedly held on to his office. Finally it came time to inaugurate the new President, Elias Sarkis. However, it was unsafe to convene the Chamber in Beirut, so the Speaker, Kamal al-As‛ad, agreed to hold the ceremony in Chtaura, a small town near the key military crossroads of the Biqā and easily within Syrian gunsights. The inauguration, under heavy guard, took place on September 23, 1976 with only sixty-seven of the Deputies attending, nearly half of them driven in from Damascus. Rashid Karāmi, Pierre Hilū, Kamal Jumblāt, and Raymond Eddé refused to honor this Syrian project with their presence. Once again, this time as President, Elias Sarkis began making the rounds to seek a general ceasefire and organize negotiations for a settlement. PLO Chairman Arafat declared a unilateral ceasefire and said he would withdraw his troops once an agreement had been reached. Arab League envoy, Sabri al-Khūli, also announced (October 4) that talks between the major parties were underway and claimed (October 9) that the military officers of Lebanon, Syria, and the PLO had agreed on the technical details of a ceasefire. For the tripartite agreement, Arafat, Sarkis, and Assad needed to sign. Of the three, only the President of Syria was stalling, and for good reason. Once his man had been inaugurated the President of Lebanon, Assad began increasing the military pressure, this time with many more troops at his disposal. While Lebanese and Palestinian leaders were talking, his forces took several of the mountain passes east of Beirut, and on September 29 entered Ayn Tura. Hammāna, nearby, had already been lost, and the Syrians seemed to be preparing to attack the main LNM stronghold at Aley. In fact, the final Syrian offensive had begun. With the Arab League trying to get the chiefs together for negotiations, Hafiz al-Assad employed a series of rapid military moves alternating with ceasefires to make the most of the Syrian presence. Wanting to dislodge the Joint Forces from the mountains carefully, the Syrians fought and negotiated at the same time. Talks were held at Chtaura between the PLO and the Syrians, where the Arab League envoy sought tripartite talks

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between Assad, Arafat, and Sarkis. Kamal Jumblāt was now urging France to intervene, and the Saudis were considering bringing all and sundry to Riyadh for a conference. On October 1, regular units from the Lebanese army joined Phalangists in a Christian offensive in the mountains but were unable to make any headway toward capturing Aley. After a ceasefire agreement, worked out at Chtaura, had been reached, the Syrians began an offensive against Sidon in the south (on the 12th) and opened a second front against leftist positions at Aley (on the 13th). The left imposed severe losses on the advancing Syrian and Christian forces, especially at Bhamdoun, where the combatants engaged in house-tohouse fighting.9 Meanwhile, Arafat telephoned Prince Fahd to get the Saudis to intervene. At the Saudi’s request, the PLO and the Syrians put a ceasefire into effect on the 15th, and leaders of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Syria, Kuwait, Lebanon, and the PLO met in Riyadh on the 17th. The representatives at the Arab summit signed a peace plan calling for a ceasefire and placing a 30,000-man Arab force into Lebanon to supervise the truce. Although officially under Sarkis’s control, this peacekeeping force was largely made up of Syrian armor and amounted to an Arab acquiescence to Syrian power in Lebanon. Though badly mauled and separated, the Christian militias, by means of the Syrians, had also won. Although skirmishing between the gangs in Beirut, among Palestinian groups in various locations, and between Christians and Muslims in the south continued, the ceasefire began to take hold. During December 1976 and January 1977, Palestinian and Lebanese units turned over their heavy weapons to the peacekeeping forces; Syrians began manning checkpoints on the Damascus road as well as in both East and West Beirut. Though punctuated by bombings and assassinations, the port and some banks reopened, and, on December 9, 1976, a new, no-name cabinet was formed with Salim al-Hoss as Prime Minister. The only major fighting, at this time, was happening in the south, where an important realignment was in the making. Israeli armed and trained Christian militias were engaged in driving their Muslim (mostly Palestinian) opponents from the towns along a strip between Tyre and Marjayoun. The Syrians, while issuing a statement refusing to bow to Israeli pressure, withdrew their troops from the posts they held furthest south, including those they held near the Greek Orthodox center of Marjayoun. They also resumed supplying Palestinians in the Arqoub region between Sidon and the Litāni river. The second major period of war had died down, but the issues that had led to the fighting were still being ignored. Instead, the parties concentrated on maneuvering for power and position, making moves which were likely to lead to more strife in the future. With nearly 100,000 persons either dead or injured and over 700,000 evicted from their homes, the war had been costly. Moreover, the addition of Syrian and Palestinian forces in 1976 caused the war in that year to be far more destructive than in 1975. Unlike the previous year, the fighting in 1976 involved sustained periods of artillery bombardment. Many more areas of the country had come under fire and for a longer period of time. In 1975, at least 82 major incidents of violence occurred; the number rose to 171 in 1976. As could be expected, given

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the war conditions, no major reforms or public works programs were announced during the two-year period. THE WAR COMPLEX In a sense, at the beginning of 1977, the war had ended but not the fighting. Bombs continued to explode, assassinations were carried out, and hostilities in southern Lebanon actually intensified. Yet, it is correct to say that the (main) civil war had ended because, after 1976, Lebanese were not pitted against other Lebanese to win control over the whole Republic. Instead, they fought to carve out a piece of the country either for themselves or as proxies in the regional competition for strategic control. After 1976, for example, outsiders would not have allowed the Lebanese chiefs to come together and settle their differences even if they had been politically capable of it. Thus, from 1977 on, the Lebanese found themselves even more trapped in regional conflict than before. Rather than civil war, such as had occurred when the Phalangists occupied the hotel district or when the LNM conducted their mountain offensive, the fighting operated at five different levels: 1 2 3 4 5

acts of violence turf battles proxy wars intercommunal wars state wars

These are hardly distinct categories, and many mixes have occurred, e.g., proxy acts of violence, state involvement in intercommunal conflict, and statesponsored turf battles. The main feature of this complex pattern of conflict was that it offered no possibility of conflict resolution. No group, no side, no coalition could win; they could only keep themselves from losing or some other group from winning. The first of these types, “acts of violence,” were generally carried out either as tit-for-tat acts of revenge/punishment or simply as a means to keep the war going, i.e., to prevent negotiations from succeeding. On January 3, 1977, the war “over” and a ceasefire in place, a bomb exploded near the Phalangist headquarters killing sixteen people. The party’s supporters called a strike, people marched, and positions hardened. On March 16, Kamal Jumblāt was assassinated (with two others) while returning to his home in Mukhtāra. Druze fighters killed more than sixty Christian villagers in revenge. This type of activity continued throughout 1977. Syrians, Israelis, Palestinians, or Iraqis could have planned and carried out one or the other of these deeds, as could have “rightists,” “leftists,” or factions of either. Indeed, it is clear that this level of warfare could not have been ended through a Lebanese settlement by itself but required an overall regional settlement as well.

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The second level of fighting, “turf battles,” became the preponderant mode of struggle after the end of the civil war (proper) and the intervention of the Syrians and the Israelis. Especially notable in this category were the many struggles between factions within the same community whose vulnerability to nearby communities would seem to have precluded their fighting one another. Early in 1977, the Syrian-sponsored Sa‛iqa guerrilla group fought several pitched battles with other Palestinian guerrilla factions, especially with the PFLP General Command. At other times mainline Palestinians of the PLO fought against those of the Rejection Front. Struggles for turf between rival Palestinian gangs also regularly occured within the Palestinian camps themselves. Turf battles, pure and simple, became much more serious for the Lebanese after 1978. Eventually, all three major Maronite militias, those of Franjieh, Gemayel, and Chamoun, fought one another for turf, as did, somewhat later, the Amal and Hizbollah groups of the Shi‛ites. It was, of course, not difficult for outsiders to lever such factions into internecine struggle; they competed not only for turf but also for the favor of their arms suppliers. The “proxy war” category must allow for various sub-types since it was not always clear who was whose proxy when groups were trying to use each other. Perhaps the most clear-cut examples of proxy fighting were engaged in by such groups as the Arab Liberation Front, the PFLP General Command, and the Sa‛iqa guerrillas. The ALF was composed of an indeterminant mix of Iraqis and Palestinians and was as ready to fight for Iraqi interests against its Syrian rivals as it was to fight for any identifiable Palestinian or Arab nationalist cause. Libyan funding of the rejectionist PFLP-GC was often used to place severe limitations on Yasir Arafat’s political options. Zuhair Muhsin, when not vacationing on the French Riviera, proxied for Syria, often against other Palestinian proxies. When, for example, Major Ahmed Mi’mari bombarded Qubayāt and Aandqāt on May 29, 1976, it is likely that he was acting for Hafiz al-Assad, i.e., undercutting the LNM so that the Syrians could initiate a full-scale intervention into Lebanon. But if Syria was determined to have proxies, so was Israel. Major Sa‛ad Haddad, even if fighting for his own turf, was obviously useful to the Israelis as a proxy and unable to integrate his interests with that of other Maronites or with a newly reconstituted Christian Lebanon. In late 1977 and early 1978, the Israelis were so opposed to a settlement in Lebanon that if the Lebanese had offered the government of the whole country to Major Haddad, he would not have been allowed to accept. Here is a case where a leader’s role as a proxy outweighed his role as a patriot.10 Of course “intercommunal war” remained prominent in the Lebanese imbroglio. Its importance, however, lessened as the civil war itself fragmented into a “zillion” subsidiary conflicts. Still, small matters continually showed that Christian-Muslim emnity was the fundamental basis for conflict. The Christians cooperated with Syria as long as Syria acted on their behalf but turned on Damascus as soon as it was clear that Assad was not going to reimpose Christian

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supremacy. Thus, the Maronite side never cooperated with Sarkis or Assad in implementing the new, more balanced confessional formula agreed to on February 14, 1976. No progress could be made, in 1977, toward creating a truly national army; and the Christian side, including Sarkis, refused to take steps toward treating both Muslim and Christian renegades from the army in the same way. To fight on the LMN side, Ahdāb and Khātib had to leave the Lebanese army while Hanna Sa‛id and Sa‛ad Haddad could remain in the army when fighting on the Christian side. When Kamal Jumblāt was murdered, the Druze reflex was to gain revenge by massacring nearby Christian villagers rather than punishing the Syrians who had likely perpetrated the deed. No mention is made of the Palestinians “raiding” Khiām, a Muslim town, when they recaptured it from Major Haddad’s militia. But when they took a Christian town, Ayn Ibl, it was raided and looted. The primordial attachments continued to define the struggle. Throughout its long history, outsiders have coveted Lebanon. In this long period of civil strife, “state wars” in the region have been pivotal in determining the fate of the Lebanese. To admit this fact is not to subscribe to the position usually given by Lebanese themselves for their civil war, namely, that it was a result of foreign plots and intrigues. The Lebanese must recognize that they pulled down their own house on top of themselves. But outsiders have also made it difficult for them to crawl out from under the rubble and rebuild. Nascent Palestine, Israel, Syria, and Lebanon itself have all fought “state wars” in the country. Other states in the region, e.g., Iraq, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia have struggled for influence, while outside powers such as the United States and Soviet Union have also been involved in the country’s fate. Since one of the strategies often pursued by those fighting the war was to persuade outsiders to intervene, we must look at “state wars” as partly invited. It can also be argued that the Lebanese would find it impossible to fight a purely civil conflict in the hyperstrategic Middle East. The first “state war” was between Lebanon and the Palestinians. It took the form of special rules and status that made the refugees more vulnerable than necessary to exploitation by the political and economic establishment. This war changed after 1967 when the Palestinians began to organize in earnest and, especially after 1970, when the PLO fled Jordan (following Black September) and set up its quasi state in south Lebanon. Though not the only cause of the civil war, it was the status and independence of the Palestinians that caused the Christian side to be so obdurate on the question of political reforms. Led by Pierre Gemayel, the Maronites refused to accept a balance between Muslims and Christians as long as the former could hope to add Palestinian power to their numbers. Moreover, the Palestinians, with support from some Muslims, could lever the Republic into war with Israel. The civil war blew into a hurricane when the state of Lebanon found itself unable to control the nascent Palestinian state and when the army was unable to maintain its monopoly of force in competition with Palestinian militias. The civil war of 1975–6 began as a war between two states located in the territory of one state, that of Lebanon.

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Syria, Egypt, and Israel, to name the worst offenders, have meddled in Lebanon’s domestic affairs almost since the inception of the Republic in 1943. In Syria, both Arab and Syrian nationalists subscribed to the view that Lebanon should be reattached to the motherland; followers of Nasser wished the Lebanese to support Egypt’s nationalist and anti-imperialist stance; and it is no secret that some of the pioneers of Zionism coveted Lebanese territory south of the Litāni as well as the water from that river. It is also clear that many Israeli “ultras” continue to have designs on this territory and its waters at this time. Thus, the ambitious, with lean and hungry looks, stare across Lebanon’s boundaries from all directions. The incidence of “state wars” is not hard to identify; the cases are transparent. Not counting previous occurrences in 1948 and 1958, the Palestinians began intervening after 1967 and the Israelis, overtly, after 1968. Syria’s moves somewhat paralleled those of the Palestinians but became formal and open in early 1976. Syria, of course, has kept both troops and allies in Lebanon since that time and has conducted major operations in the country against both Muslims and Christians. It has also fought both the Palestinians and the Israelis in Lebanon and, in ousting the quasi government of General Michel Aoun, fought and defeated the Lebanese army. Overt military incursions by the Israelis began to occur regularly after 1976. In addition to the military activity supporting the SLA enclave state in south Lebanon, the Israelis have carried out two major invasions, the first in March of 1978 and the second in August of 1982. Although the Palestinians were the targets of both invasions, the poorer classes of Lebanese in the south were victimized as much by these military engagements. In the “war complex” that had Lebanon in its grip, no organization had the political support or military strength to invade and control territory. The many groups, in loosest coalition, only kept up the punishment, the interminable tit-fortat. The Phalange, especially under Bashir Gemayel and his Lebanese Forces, made a strong bid to become the dominant force, to make him the strong leader that so many people hoped for. Even those Lebanese who were repulsed by the thought of Lebanon’s chief “Don” being accorded the “Mandate of Heaven” came to believe that he might save the country, that he was ruthless enough to cut through the mess. But that hope, or hallucination, was later blown to bits at the Phalangist headquarters in East Beirut. The above classification of the several modes of war taking place in Lebanon omits perhaps the most significant one of all. This level of war, in the most general sense, is that which pits Lebanon’s many and various soldiers against her civilians. The tragedy for ordinary people caught up in the strife was that they, more often than military personnel, were the targets of the combatants. Thomas L. Friedman in his book, From Beirut to Jerusalem, refers to this mode as the “silent civil war.”

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[This war] pitted all the Christian and Muslim militiamen who benefited from Lebanon’s chaos on one side [against] all the Lebanese civilians who suffered from that chaos on the other.11 This dimension of the civil war features what Elias Sāba has identified as the “war society”12 fighting to preserve its interests against the nonbelligerant citizens of Lebanon. According to Friedman, this “society” developed during the first decade of the war, as the militias became not only private armies representing the interests of different religious communities but also vehicles for the social and economic advancement of the members of the Lebanese underclasses.13 Many of those who remained in the country, especially in Beirut, during the several phases of the war have written poignant testimonies about having to deal with the “punks with kalashnikovs,” a surrealistic mix of the medieval and modern. As individuals, they were merely holding little patches of territory in the most primordial fashion, but as members of the “lowerarchy” under orders, they had gone from village nonentities to people in control. Many of the rag-tag elements, engaged in shooting matches on the streets, were not sufficiently professional to have either started or stopped a military campaign in an effective fashion if their leaders had so ordered. In decentralizing and fragmenting power, according to Tabitha Petran, the war also produced a newly rich and locally powerful social stratum of war profiteers, contraband traders, big-time looters, and city and regional military and political zu‛ama and their clienteles.14 Though not all that different from the regular Lebanon, this development brought a new class of people into the limelight, people lacking the finesse of their feudal predecessors and lacking, as well, a network of established connections with others of their number who had formerly made it possible to maintain social cohesion. In the many on-the-scene pictures provided us by Jonathan Randal, Thomas L.Friedman, and Robert Fisk, we almost get to know the young, upwardly mobile boys with their kalashnikovs in West Beirut and the muscular boy scouts bedecked with their oversized crosses in East Beirut.15 In Survival in Beirut, Lina Makdidi Tabara recounts the many times she believed that an almost nonchalant trigger finger was about to end her life.16 Amidst the destruction and bloodletting, some Lebanese, not directly involved in the military campaigns, actually profited from the war. Remittances from abroad increased by a third; states sponsoring the multitude of militias also pumped money into the country; and the massive thieving and looting had the effect of redistributing income. New ports were opened up in Tripoli and Junieh while, according to customs officials, the Gemayel militias were able to siphon

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off over five billion Lebanese pounds between 1975 and 1983 by not allowing the government to collect revenues from Pier Five at Beirut port. The AssadFranjieh relationship allowed the export of large amounts of hashish from the Biqā Valley during this period. One wing of the Lebanese Forces also profited by this trade. In the emerging enclave state of Marounistan, a Maronite middle and lower class was rapidly taking over from the more established, semi-feudal class of landowners, bankers, and entrepreneurs. For these villagers, the Kata‛ib offered greater chances for upward mobility than had the old-established leaders. With the new lower class of chiefs, the old fashioned shootout was replaced by the pogrom. Thus, the “war society” not only defeated Lebanon’s regular society, it also scrambled up the country’s elite. THE WAR IN THE SOUTH Except for acts of violence and turf battles, the large-scale civil war had ended in 1976 only to be turned into a smaller-scale war in the south. On January 25, 1977, Syrian forces moved into both (Christian) East Beirut and (Muslim) Nabatīyah in the Arkoub region of the south, ostensibly to carry out their peacekeeping role. Israel protested the Syrian move into Nabatīyah, and eventually Damascus withdrew from the town. Israel’s protest, however, was not a signal to help define the invisible “red line” but a warning to keep clear of its own military moves. On February 19, Christian forces led by Major Sa‛ad Haddad captured the key Muslim town of al-Khiām largely controlled by Palestinian militiamen. Palestinian guerrillas reacted with reinforcements and agreed with the Syrians to pull back from their forward bases in the south if Syria would end its attacks on their forces and reopen the supply pipeline from Damascus that had maintained them in the past. While Hafiz al-Assad seemed to backpedal a bit, the Israelis moved ahead with their policy of supporting Haddad’s attacks against Palestinian-controlled Muslim towns. On March 14, Christian forces attacked the Muslim village of Kafr Kilā and, with the help of Israeli artillery, continued to trade fire with the Palestinian militias in the far south. Even before Menachem Begin became Prime Minister in May 1977, the Israelis had begun transporting Maronite militiamen from Junieh harbor to Haifa for training so that they could fight with Haddad’s forces in the southern enclave. After Begin came to power, Israel’s troops provided sustained and overt assistance to the South Lebanese Army, often crossing over into Lebanese territory to conduct their own operations. The war gradually intensified until it reached a level of constant artillery exchanges in the fall of 1977. The Israelis, Jonathan Randal points out, had changed the rules of the game.17 Whereas the new script called for the Syrians to rescue the Maronites and then cooperate with the government to limit Palestinian activity and assist the army in regaining control of Lebanese territory, Israel had decided to have its own clients in Lebanon. Jerusalem not only gave the Haddad

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militia the go-ahead to move against the Palestinians in the south but also refused to let the Syrians take forces into the region to gain control over the guerrillas. The Americans, for their part, were counting on Arab-Syrian support to make it possible for the army to regain control over the country. A number of meetings at Chtaura seemed to have nailed down an agreement between the members of the tripartite club—Sarkis, al-Assad, and Arafat—on acceptable conduct by Palestinians in a “new” Lebanon. But the Americans could not get Israeli cooperation, and it became impossible to deploy the army into the south. Even after the Israeli invasion in March of 1978 and the arrival of UNIFIL (the United Nations Force in Lebanon), no real progress was made. By that time, having gotten the Syrians to save their necks, the Maronite “ultras” were in the process of changing sides. They would try using Israel instead of Syria. Certainly, none of them thought of attempting to make a deal with the establishment Sunnis. Even President Sarkis refused to uphold the minimal demands of the al-Hoss government for restructuring the army. It remained an essentially Maronite force, bolstered by a Maronite-led intelligence and police operation, the Special Forces. Even though the war had supposedly ended, 1977 was a violent year for the various fighting groups in Lebanon. Approximately 70 major incidents of violence were recorded, down from the 171 counted for the previous year (at the height of the war). Of these 70 incidents, 15 can be identified as “acts of violence,” another 10 involved “turf wars,” and 9 more seemed to fit the “proxy war” category (including measures for the Lebanese government taken by the Syrian-Arab peacekeeping forces). There were also 18 incidents that could be counted as “intercommunal war” engagements and another 18 that best fit the “state war” category. In addition, there were at least 9 discernible betrayals, one less than in 1976. Most of the violence recorded in the last two categories involved hostilities in the south where, with Israeli help, Major Haddad was attacking Muslim and Palestinian strongholds in order to establish his enclave state. Therefore, most of these incidents must be seen both as having an “intercommunal” character and involving “state” actors. Although technically over, the civil war, according to Tabitha Petran, had “simply shifted to the south.”18 This perhaps oversimplifies what was, in fact, a more complicated series of shifts. Encouraged by the Israelis, the Christian forces in the south decided that, with the Syrians on the other side, it was an ideal time to rid themselves of the Palestinian presence. The Israelis hoped for as much military clout in Lebanon as the Syrians were enjoying, and they also expected to improve their military position vis à vis the Palestinian guerrillas. As for the Maronite hardliners, they played it by ear—the only way things are done in the Levant—to see if Haddad had the better strategy for reasserting Christian domination of Lebanon. Why not allow Israel to compete with Syria for influence? For those who were uncomfortable with the degree to which Syria was running things in Beirut, it was not difficult to imagine playing the Israeli card. Of course, where everyone cheats, it was not likely that anyone’s script

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would be followed. Lebanon’s civil war was turned into a playground for regional competition; its warring communities became playthings for states. The “new” war in the south was being fought in the marches between Israel and Palestine. OUTSIDERS INVADE Between 1977 and 1982, both outsiders and insiders made major moves to break through the old stalemate; a few were feeble attempts by the constituted Lebanese authorities but most were made by nearby countries and their proxies inside the country. The results were deadly for the Lebanese. On April 4, 1978, Muslim and Christian leaders agreed on a so-called “program” of national unity, and on the 27th, the Assembly voted to ban all private militia activity. But these pleas were rendered inaudible by the deafening roar of Syrian and Israeli artillery. One could say that before the end of 1978, everybody had fought one another in a full schedule of round-robin matches. While the clashes between the Palestinians and the Christian militias continued in the south, new eruptions broke out in Beirut. On February 7, 1978, the Syrian peacekeeping forces were setting up a new series of checkpoints in response to a number of mysterious bomb explosions that had seemed to challenge their military effectiveness in Beirut. A recruit at the (all-Christian) Fayadīyah military barracks, where the new Lebanese army was being put together, lowered his anti-aircraft gun during practice, blasted the Syrian checkpoint, and killed some fifteen soldiers. The Syrians retaliated by flattening the Maronite barracks, killing even more. The fact that the gun had been loaded with live ammunition, even though it was being used for training raw recruits, indicated that this was not a chance event.19 In fact, the Maronites had finally turned on their erstwhile protectors in the hope that the Israeli door at the other end of the corridor would be opened. Israelis were cooperating with Haddad’s Christian militia in the south fighting the Palestinians; surely they would help Maronites in the north oust the Syrians as well. As could be expected, the cycle of action and reaction escalated, and East Beirut soon became the target of heavy bombardment by the Syrians. Throughout the winter and spring of 1978, fire was exchanged on a daily basis between the Syrian occupation forces and the Phalangists and continued periodically for the next three years. Yet, only a month after it began, this very destructive war was overshadowed by another: the first full-scale, across-theborder, invasion of south Lebanon by the Israelis. The surprise recipient of Sadat’s peace initiative, the Israeli Prime Minister, Begin, was under considerable pressure to reciprocate but was instead, at this time, taking a very hard line on the question of the Palestinians. He reportedly told the Carter administration that UN Resolution 242, in his opinion, did not obligate Israel to withdraw from any part of the occupied territories. Asked over and over

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again by the Americans to think about compromise and move in the direction indicated by Sadat, Begin became even more intransigent. He wanted what the radical Palestinians wanted—the whole loaf. Heading toward extreme isolation, the Begin government was fortunate to have the PLO come to the rescue. On March 11, 1978, a Fatah guerrilla unit, using inflatable rafts, came ashore in Israel, shot several Israelis on the beach, and hijacked a bus on the Haifa-Tel Aviv highway. In the ensuing shootout with Israeli police near Tel Aviv, some thirty-five passengers on the bus were killed along with nine of the eleven terrorists. On March 14, Israel sent its army across the border into south Lebanon, declaring that it only sought to rid the area of terrorists and establish a buffer zone six miles deep into southern Lebanon. However, the Israelis did not stop until they had taken most of the territory in Lebanon south of the Litāni river. Below the Litāni, only Tyre and its immediate environs remained outside the control of the Israeli Defense Force (IDF). Although Palestinians were still able to fire rockets into northern Israel, the Israelis had completed their operation by the 21st and called for a ceasefire. The United Nations Security Council met on the 19th, asked Israel to withdraw, and voted to send in an interim force. This peacekeeping operation, UNIFIL, (United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon), initially found it difficult to take up its position in south Lebanon due to the continued fighting between the Palestinians and Christians. Caught in a crossfire on March 26, UNIFIL was finally able to deploy on the 30th. Having secured a permanent military position for its Christian (SLA) allies, though not uncontested, and a UN peacekeeping force (UNIFIL) for the border area, Israel told the world that it had created a security zone between itself and its Palestinian adversaries and announced plans to withdraw. On April 4, the IDF conducted the first stage of a phased withdrawal, allowing UN forces to occupy its most forward positions. Two months later (June 13), Israel announced that it had completed the withdrawal of its forces, handing over the territory under its control to its SLA allies led by Major Sa’ad Haddad. By August, Israel had begun to bomb Palestinian bases in Lebanon while providing military and intelligence assistance to Haddad’s men. Israeli leaders could now argue that all of their country’s borders, from the Sinai to south Lebanon were protected by security zones. Future negotiations, if they ever occured, would be about Lebanese, Syrian, and Egyptian territory, not about Palestine. While Israel may have advanced its security goals, Lebanon descended even further into its tragic and absurd chaos. Although the Israelis had (formally) left Lebanon by the middle of June, they remained involved, and the fighting on all fronts intensified. Syrian and Palestinian forces fought against the Israeli-backed SLA; Palestinian, Christian, and Israeli gunners fired on UNIFIL peacekeepers; and the artillery exchanges between the Syrian “deterrent force” and the Phalangists in Beirut became increasingly destructive. The Christian right was attempting to move through the Israeli door, and the Syrians were determined to

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stop Israel by hitting its proxies. Syria had never ceased fighting these even though it had been able to stay clear of the Israelis during the invasion in March. War in Lebanon had become a combination of power consolidation and proxy fighting. While the Sarkis government was attempting (unsuccessfully) to deploy its army in the south, Bashir Gemayel was busy expanding his control among the Maronites. In May, his Phalangist forces attacked the NLP Tigers of fellow Maronite, Camille Chamoun, killing several and chasing them from tax-farming territory coveted by Bashir. On the day that the Israelis completed their withdrawal from south Lebanon, June 13, 1978, Phalangist forces raided the north Lebanon town of Ihdin and killed twenty-five members of former President Franjieh’s militia, including his son, Tony, and Tony’s wife and child. Within the space of a month, Bashir’s forces had fought both the southern and northern wings of the Maronite community itself. The proxy wars continued as well. In July, Fatah troops (the main force of the PLO) fought in Tyre against fellow Palestinians of the Iraqi-funded PLF (Palestinian Liberation Front). Israeli-supported SLA Christians (another proxy) drove the Christian-led army of the Lebanese government out of the small town of Kawkaba in the south where it had attempted to deploy in cooperation with the UNIFIL operation. Sometime after August 25, the Libyans removed from the scene Mūsa al-Sadr, the Shi‛ite founder of the Amal (Movement of the Deprived). By September, many world leaders were pleading with the Hafiz alAssad to lift his siege against Christian forces in East Beirut. On October 20, Saudi Arabian peacekeeping forces replaced the Syrians in some positions, but the exchange of fire between Syrian troops and their former Maronite allies continued. According to reports, Syrian soldiers even killed one of their Saudi Arabian replacements when sniper fire could not be halted. Conferences called for unity—one convened by Arab Foreign Ministers even transformed the Syrian troops into formal “peacekeeping” forces. Yet rocket fire between the Syrians and the Phalangists continued on into 1979 with no end in sight. On December 20, 1978, Sarkis and al-Hoss reshuffled the cabinet. Almost no one noticed. Not counting the violence committed by the Israelis in their March invasion, 66 incidents of conflict occurred in 1978. This compares with 73 taking place during the previous year (1977) and 45 the following year (1979). Reported incidents of conflict climbed back to their previous level in 1980 with 74 incidents and remained at that level with 73 incidents for 1981 (see Figure 8.1). But, as J.S.Mill often said, “Facts do not tell their own story.” In the period from 1978 through 1981, the violence from within Lebanon was almost entirely incoherent while that imposed on the Lebanese from the outside was considerably more focused. The Israeli invasion, for example, caused 265,000 Lebanese and Palestinian villagers to flee from the south to become refugees in the shack towns of Beirut. The lengthy three-year bombardment of East Beirut by the Syrians resulted in that part of the city losing much of its population. Syria, with its Palestinian partners, continued to trade fire with Haddad’s SLA

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Figure 8.1 Incidents of violence: 1975–1982 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

forces and Israel regularly shelled both Palestinians and UNIFIL. The Haddad militia also struck at UNIFIL and the Muslim populations of Sidon and Tyre. Israel and Syria’s more focused efforts made it possible for them to empty the firing ranges of most of their inhabitants and have at each other militarily with little risk. Whether planned or not, Syria and Israel could assert an active military

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posture and compete for Middle East power without harming each other. The Iraqis and Libyans tossed in their two bits as well. While the Israelis and Syrians were bringing troops in, Lebanese groups continued to rearrange the rubble. Between the end of the 1978 Israeli invasion and the more extensive one of 1982, no sector of Lebanon’s inveterate conflict remained untouched by new calamities. All the usual sites in Beirut were hit by bombings, assassinations, and firefights. East Beirut was under siege from Syrian firepower. Some citizens of Christian East Beirut even fled to Muslim West Beirut. Sidon, Tyre, the villages of the extreme south (the Jabal Amil), the Arqoub region, Jezzīn, Chtaura, Zahleh, Ba‛albek, Qnāt (above Hermil), Ihdin, Tripoli, and the northern and eastern suburbs of Beirut were all venues for violence. Villages in the south could receive fire from five different armies, from the Israelis, Syrians, Palestinians, the Republic of Free Lebanon (SLA), and UNIFIL. The Lebanese army even ventured south a few times to add a sixth force. Moreover, no sizable community in Lebanon survived this four-year period without suffering from intracommunal violence. The Phalange regularly attacked the PNL militia in 1980 and 1981, killing hundreds and worsening the divisions within Maronite ranks. Suleiman Franjieh tried to organize political elements in the north against the Gemayels and even held some Maronite hostages for a brief period. Centrist Sunnis in Tripoli, supported by Syria and besieged by Sunni radicals, fought a series of pitched battles in December 1981. Support for the PLO as well as for Islamic fundamentalism divided this northern Sunni community. Similar turf battles occurred between the Murābitūn and rival Sunni leaders in West Beirut. Serious divisions began to appear among the Shi‛ites aswell. The initial gun battles broke out between Amal and the (Shi‛ite) Communist Action group. Later rifts grew between the fundamentalist Shi‛ites, inspired by the Ayatollah Khomeini in Iran, and the more indigenous Amal group founded by Mūsa alSadr and led by Nabīh Berri (after the Imam’s disappearence in 1978). This breach developed into a major struggle between Amal and Hizbollah for influence among the Shi‛ites, a contest that was linked to Syria as well as Iran. Shortly after, further splits emerged within this community. Some of the Shi’ites who remained in the southern villages of the Jabal Amil, angered by the domineering behavior of the Palestinian guerrillas, were successfully recruited by Haddad’s SLA militia. By far the greater portion of this community, however, came under the influence of their radical clergy and linked up with Hizbollah, not so much to assist the Palestinians but to oppose the Israelis and other “alien” forces. Even the Hizbollah became divided between those taking their cues from such home-grown leaders in Beirut as Sheikh Fadlallah and those directly under the control of Iranian clerics operating in the Ba’albek region. The Palestinian community continued its internecine struggles, between pro-PLO and pro-Iraq groups as well as between pro- and anti-Arafat militias in the Palestinian movement.20

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Along with these intracommunal struggles, the regular intercommunal and proxy wars continued to take their toll on Lebanon. However, not all was chaos during these four years. A major trend at this time was the political ascendancy of Bashir Gemayel. His star rose, not simply because he was the son of the founder of the Phalange, but because he pursued power with single-minded purpose. Bashir Gemayel’s determination not to let his rivals within the Maronite community block his campaign to unify Lebanon led to many brutal acts between 1978 and 1982, taken to consolidate his military control over the Maronite militias. It was a badly wounded community that he finally got control of and used to become President. This younger son of Sheikh Pierre became, almost by accident, the commander of the Phalange militia in July 1976 while the civil war was at full throttle.21 William Hāwi, the previous commander, was assassinated when inspecting his forces during an attack on the Tel al-Za‛tar refugee camp. Both he and Sheikh Pierre had tried to restrain Bashir’s insistance on a command, but once the assassination of Hāwi had taken place, the exigencies of battle overcame the father’s reluctance. The Phalange needed leadership, and Bashir was already out in front. He soon gained control of the Lebanese Forces, a coalition of Maronite militias organized (on paper) in the spring of 1976, comprising the Phalange, Tigers, Tanzīm, and Guardians of the Cedars. Shrewdly, Bashir emphasized his role as the military leader of the Lebanese Forces and de-emphasized his part in the political decision making of his father’s own party apparatus. Thus, while formally an arm of Phalange policy, Bashir actually began to develop his own power base, recruiting fighters from workingclass districts of Beirut and promoting his own people to command positions. By the time the Syrians intervened in late 1976, Bashir was in charge of his own military organization and in competition with his formal connections, such as Chamoun’s Tigers. He was, in fact, ready to make his move. This occurred on June 13, 1978. Bashir ordered a commando force to cross the mountains from Kisrawān to besiege the Qadīsha valley redoubt of the Franjieh clan at their summer palace in Ihdin. Although it is not entirely clear what purpose this raid was to serve, its results were tragic for the Franjiehs, for the Maronite community, and for the future of Lebanon. In the ensuing battle, thirtyfour members of the Franjieh clan were killed, including Suleiman’s son Tony, commander of the Franjieh militia and heir apparent to leadership of the clan. A member of the Lebanese parliament, he was being groomed for the presidency, the job Bashir Gemayel was grooming himself for. Whether intentionally or by mistake (as he later claimed), Bashir had removed a major rival on his way to the top. Whatever the pretensions of the Phalange to revive and defend Christian Lebanon, its militia commander was obviously engaged in a much more recognizable activity, eliminating opponents and seeking power. Pierre, the newstyle politician with an ideology and politburo to boot, had given Lebanon an oldstyle warlord.

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Yet, for Bashir, the elimination of Tony Franjieh was only one step in his bid for power. There were other Maronite competitors to contend with, including former President Chamoun, a man with a party, a militia, and a son with political ambitions. Chamoun’s son, Dany, commanded a militia, tax-farmed, and patrolled the family’s commercial interests. Moreover, Chamoun, though formally allied with Gemayel, was active in the central and southern districts of Marounistan where the Phalange had its greatest strength. The two organizations especially competed for taxes and customs revenues in Beirut. The former President was not only active but also in the cabinet as Minister of the Interior at this time. His soldiers often got into turf battles with those of the Phalange and, when both militias began to acquire tanks, these fights became serious. Chamoun was also, like Bashir, a man to take initiatives and go on the offensive. His operations had sparked the early troubles in Sidon, the fishermen’s strike which kindled the civil war. His personnel had begun the siege of Tel al-Za‛tar, committing the other Christian forces to that struggle before they were ready. Finally, it was also Chamounists who (in February 1978) first began blasting away at the Syrian army that had intervened to save the Maronites the year before. While this turnabout was popular with many Maronites, it was also disastrous. Chamoun’s reflexes were hardly encumbered by principles. Unfortunately, for a man of instincts similar to Bashir’s, the former President’s behavior always threatened to compromise the power of the Lebanese Forces or commit them prematurely to military engagements not in accord with their interests. The Maronites needed but one za‛īm to lead them against the traffic jam of competitors in Lebanon, and Bashir intended to be that one. Yet, Camille Chamoun was still active, crackling with ambition. A year after Bashir’s disastrous triumph at Ihdin, he began a campaign to subordinate the NLP militia of Chamoun to the Gemayel clutch of organizations. On May 15, 1979, it was announced that the Phalange and National Liberal Party were preparing to merge. Two days later the two militias engaged in a shootout in northeast Beirut. Additional gun battles broke out between these two Maronite militias in May and June of 1979 until (on the 18th) units of the Lebanese army were ordered to take up positions between them. But “the will to contend was known,” and Chamoun’s Tigers had not been inactive. Two weeks earlier a bomb had exploded in a parked car, killing one person and wounding Pierre Gemayel. Even though clashes between the Phalange and the National Liberals had broken out as early as 1976, these had previously been written off by leaders of the two groups as the actions of hotheads. But suddenly sacral politics was getting rough. The issue had ceased to be about local turf and rackets; it had become a question of who would control the Maronite community and, thereby, control Lebanon. With the intervention of the Lebanese army, overt clashes between the NLP and the Phalange ceased for about one year as Gemayel and Chamoun intermittently cooperated. The two militias were able to launch joint operations

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against the Armenians and the militia of the Syrian National Party.22 Below the surface and within the complex of other struggles (which lent some ambiguity to the situation), the contest for power remained intense. Before the end of March in 1980, both Camille Chamoun and Bashir Gemayel had been targets of assassination attempts. In the latter case, the omniscient bomb hidden in a parked car killed eight people, including Bashir’s daughter, as the Gemayel limousine was driving by. By this time (February 1980), so many people were out to get Bashir Gemayel, it would have been impossible for him to know who had been responsible. Was it Franjieh’s doing or Chamoun’s? Whatever the case, the serious business of acquiring power required eliminating the NLP competition. On March 12, 1980, an attempt was made to assassinate Chamoun. The car bomb killed an aide but only wounded the former President. Three more months of a formal modus vivendi between the two groups was to pass before Bashir made his major move to eliminate the Chamounists. On July 7, 1980, with coordinated attacks on NLP port facilities, barracks, and offices in Beirut, Bashir’s Lebanese Forces quickly overran Chamoun’s fighters and, within a few days, had gained control of their holdings. At least 150 people died in the assault, about half of them innocent civilians, many needlessly murdered at one of the NLP hotel resorts on the coast north of Beirut. The Tigers’ military facilities, especially the barracks at Safra and Amsheit, were soon taken over by Bashir’s men as the last resistance to his control of Marounistan began to collapse.23 Although Dany Chamoun, the Tigers’ militia commander, vowed (from exile) to strike back at Bashir, the father, former President Chamoun, soon capitulated to the Phalangists and, in return for a cut of the protection money, cooperated with their program. Unlike the Franjiehs, Chamoun could not, by this time, have turned to the Syrians. For the Christians, Bashir was now the only game in town. Bashir conducted further operations against the Armenians (September 1980) and even against the Lebanese army, which was protecting that portion of the NLP militia still holding Ayn al-Rummānah, a working-class suburb of Beirut. Here, where the civil war had begun in 1975, the Lebanese Forces pushed the Lebanese army out and took control of their rival’s remaining few forces. Having humiliated what was left of Sarkis’s military clout, Bashir now shouldered the main responsibility for opposing the Syrians. As the multitude of military fronts remained active throughout the rest of 1980 and all through 1981, especially the war in the south and that between the Syrian army and Bashir’s Christian forces (now called the National Home Guard), the new “liberator of Christian Lebanon” decided to add to his territory. His next target was to be the Greek Catholic town of Zahleh, located on the eastern slope of the front range and commanding the central Biqā. To include Zahleh in his domain, Bashir had to exclude the Syrians who, while not governing the town, controlled all of its access points. To link up with Zahleh, Bashir had decided to build a new road up to the heights of Mount Sannīn, one which offered a direct connection between the Biqā and the

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Maronite port of Junieh. Small-scale hostilities began on December 23, 1980; however, a ceasefire was called a few days later; and Phalangists went on building their military road. On April 2, 1981, fighting broke out once more between the Christians and the Syrian army near Zahleh. Bashir hoped to connect that large Christian enclave in the central Biqā with the other districts under his control, much as Yusuf Karam had planned to do in the 1860 civil war. Like Karam, he would gain power in Lebanon by uniting the Christians. The Syrians were intent on preventing this link for two reasons: it would reduce their influence in Lebanon, and it would augment that of Israel. By this time, Israel was openly arming and advising the Lebanese Forces as part of a strategy to use them in pushing the Palestinians and Syrians out of Lebanon. Bashir was so energetic in trying to connect up with Zahleh that it soon joined East Beirut as a regular recipient of Syrian bombardment. By the end of April, the Phalangists were driven out of the Biqā and even off the slopes of Sannīn. In June, the Foreign Ministers of Saudi Arabia and Kuwait intervened and managed to work out a ceasefire whereby Lebanese police units were substituted for Phalangist soldiers. The three-month siege of Zahleh finally ended on June 30, 1981, and Bashir’s major gambit to the east came to nothing. This failure, along with a promise from both Bashir and Pierre not to have further dealings with Israel (a quid pro quo for the ceasefire with Syria), did not augur well for peace in Lebanon. For the Israelis, neither their Gemayel nor Haddad allies were doing very well, and if security was to be gained, the IDF would itself need to act. Thus, the failure of Bashir to take Zahleh along with the inconclusive character of the fighting in the south—Haddad shelled Tyre on September 13, 1981, and a bomb killed twelve people in Zariyah on the 28th— led the Israeli military to reconsider their dependence on the Christians as a means of managing the situation across their northern border. Even a ceasefire agreement (July 25, 1981) brokered by United States envoy Phillip Habib, ending hostilities between Palestinians and Israelis across the Lebanese border, did not resolve the dilemma for the Israelis. The agreement did not apply to actions taken against Israel’s Haddad clients, and (according to PLO official Khalil Wazīr) it also did not apply to actions taken against Israel on other fronts. Meanwhile, clashes in Tripoli broke out on September 7 followed by a massive bombing and further clashes on December 10. The result was an expanded presence of the Syrian army in northern Lebanon as a means of ending the bloodshed in that city. Israel’s intimacy with Gemayel and Haddad had scarcely neutralized the PLO; if anything, it had improved Syria’s military position. Still, if more firepower could be brought up from the south, Gemayel might be useful to Israel in the future. Supplying the necessary firepower was precisely what Ariel Sharon was determined to do. The preliminaries for the Israeli invasion of 1982 were extensive and hardly a secret. The American Ambassador to Israel, Samuel Lewis, had been advised of the proposed operation by Sharon himself as early as the summer of 1981, about the time of the Habib-sponsored ceasefire agree ment between Israel and the

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PLO. Preparations for the invasion were so overt that Israel was forced to spend extra time and effort denying that it was about to invade. On January 20, 1982, the Israeli Prime Minister, Begin, promised President Reagan that Israel would not launch an attack on Lebanon without a clear provocation from Palestinian or Syrian forces. The special envoy, Habib, assured Mr Reagan that Israel would not be the first to attack. On April 10, President Sarkis asked the United States to prevent an Israeli attack. Ambassador Lewis received personal assurances on April 11 that Israel had not made the decision to attack targets in Lebanon. On May 9, Israel broke the ceasefire with air attacks on targets in Lebanon, and on the 14th, opposition leader Yitzhak Rabin said that an Israeli military operation in Lebanon would achieve Israel’s objectives. Could there be any doubt that the decision had been made to go ahead? The political context for the Israeli invasion of 1982 went far beyond the situation in Lebanon. Israel was, at this time, having to respond to considerable pressure from the outside to begin serious negotiations on the question of the Palestinians. First of all, the Palestinians were keeping to their agreement of July 1981 not to attack the Israelis across the Lebanese border. In August, the “Sinai Observers Agreement” between Egypt and Israel was signed, indicating that a security regime between the Israelis and a former Arab belligerent was possible. A few days later (August 8, 1981), King Fahd of Saudi Arabia announced his “Plan” which, among other things, explicitly accepted Israel’s right to exist. The Saudi statement was the first one from an Arab state to make such a declaration. President Reagan gave his support to some parts of the Plan; former Presidents Ford and Carter, returning from the funeral of the assassinated Anwar al-Sadat, called for mutual recognition by Israel and the PLO. Later that fall, the United States, Israel, and Egypt were engaged in preliminary negotiations aiming (supposedly) toward some kind of self-rule for the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. Moreover, Sa‛ad Haddad was in ill health and wanted to resign as leader of the SLA (and probably would have if the Israelis could have come up with a suitable replacement). Yet, with all these peace initiatives in the air, Israel signaled its readiness to resist all attempts to move the peace process forward by formally annexing the Golan region captured from Syria in the 1967 war. This move on December 12, 1981 sent the diplomats flying in all directions. Far from upholding the spirit of Camp David, the Begin government was hardly bothering to keep up appearances. At the beginning of 1982 (as in the early 1990s), it seemed to many observers that the only obstacle to the peace process was Israel. The reality was more complex than this explanation suggested, but it is obvious that the Begin regime had decided against responding to peace overtures in favor of a new military campaign, one that was intended to remove the PLO from the picture. By the end of April, Israeli forces had been staged, and General Sharon was set to go. Israel only needed the “clear provocation” that had been the criterion for a war given to Ronald Reagan on January 20, 1982. Since most of the Arab opposition was holding its breath at that moment, one had to be created.

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On May 9, Israel attacked Palestinian targets in Lebanon; the PLO retaliated with artillery fire against Qiryāt Shemona; and the ceasefire had ended. On May 25, Israeli pilots shot down two Syrian MIGs during a routine reconnaissance of Lebanon. On June 3 1982, the “provocation” required to set Sharon’s forces in motion occurred. On that day in London, the Israeli Ambassador to Britain, Schlomo Argov, was shot and seriously injured, not by a PLO group but by their most bitter rivals in the organization, a terrorist faction led by the infamous Abu Nidal. On the following day, the Israelis conducted large-scale air raids on targets in Lebanon and then, on June 6, three days after the assassination attempt, crossed the Lebanese border with heavy armor. Israel, claiming that the PLO was responsible for the attempt against its Ambassador, broke its (informal) truce with the PLO on military activity in south Lebanon. The invasion of 1982 had begun.24 THE ISRAELI INVASION OF 1982 Proclaiming that their purpose was to gain control of a zone only twenty-five miles deep, the Israelis went north to remove the PLO guerrillas from Lebanon. There were subsidiary goals as well: to contain the Syrians, to leave Lebanon under Christian control, and to take action that might make the final withdrawal from the Sinai more palatable to Israeli nationalists. The attack was certainly no surprise. The Economist of Britain had outlined a plausible scenario the previous February, including both the military tactics of the operation and its purposes. As it turned out, that periodical, in its prognostications, was not wide of the mark.25 Yet, with their scarcely concealed plans for eliminating the Palestinian threat, the Israelis had not been preparing to invade Palestine. Rather, they had organized an attack which would send them marching into Lebanon. To get at their enemies, the Israelis were about to flatten another country and another people not at war with them. By the spring of 1982, the Lebanese were already nearly prostrate. Not counting any of the military actions taken by Israel against its Palestinian and Syrian foes, the general level of internecine conflict in Lebanon remained almost constant, up from 73 recorded clashes in 1981 to 80 in 1982 (see Figure 8.2). However, conflict had become even more fragmented. In May alone, Syrian Alawi (Ba‛thists) foughtlocal Sunni (Ba‛thists) in Tripoli, a subordinate clash to the more general conflict between Syria and the PLO. South of Tripoli, Phalangists exchanged sporadic gunfire with the Syrian army. In south Beirut and West Beirut, Amal engaged in several battles with the PLO-backed National Movement; Amal also fought with the Lebanese Communists; and a unit of the regular Lebanese army fought soldiers of the Lebanese Arab Army in Sidon. Also in that city during May, PLO forces clashed with Mustapha Sa‛ad’s Popular Nasserist Organization. South of Sidon, some Shi‛ite Amal units battled PLObacked Shi‛ite communists while, at the same time, the Fatah militia had a shootout with the (Syrian-supported) Sa‛iqa militia. A relatively new group, the

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Figure 8.2 Incidents of violence: 1980–1986 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

Movement to Free Lebanon from Foreigners, carried out a series of attacks against both Syrians and Palestinians. A Sunni mosque under construction in Beirut (near the home of the Grand Mufti) was bombed, and Syria was reported to have orchestrated the bombing of the French Embassy, killing fourteen people. It is likely that the list for that month would have been longer had reports from the Ba‛albek region made it all the way to Beirut.

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Thus, from the Israeli perspective, Lebanon was spinning its wheels in conflict. Neither the government nor the Christian militias could restrain Syria, and the Palestinians were boasting of their permanence in south Lebanon.26 Camp David had not gotten a decent reception from the Arab states. Although Saudi Arabia was not hostile, only Egypt had openly cooperated, and then at great cost. Syria, Iraq, and the PLO (threats that counted) had rejected the Sadat initiative out of hand. Perhaps the context for the peace process would have looked altogether different had the PLO been expelled from Lebanon. Looking at the short run, one can understand why Ronald Reagan, Alexander Haig, and most Israelis saw the second IDF attack into Lebanon as the final act against Palestinian military threat. After this last PLO base had been eliminated, surely the Arab states would find it necessary to deal with the USA-Israel combination? Bogged down in Afghanistan, the USSR was in no position to help. Weak and in disarray, the Arabs were agreed on one simple truth; the Israelis had never made them a bona fide offer. The psychological implication is just as simple; no representative of an Arab state would approach the table, head hanging low after a whipping. It is not too difficult to understand Israeli shortsightedness in viewing Fatahland. They had little margin for error. As for the Americans, they would pay in the future for their lack of diplomatic professionalism. Their men would pay for the dynamics of the anger let loose. By the end of the second day of the invasion (June 7), the IDF had proceeded beyond its self-proclaimed twenty-five mile limit and was on its way toward Beirut. It was put out at the time that Begin was not entirely able to control Sharon, perhaps to help maintain a semblance of legitimacy for the Israeli government, but it is likely that both men were cooperating in the assault. Syria’s soldiers backed up quickly and were out of the war by the end of June. By that time, Damascus had lost many aircraft and all of its SAM II missile sites. The ceasefire had not applied to the Palestinians, and the mainline PLO troops retreated into West Beirut where they were soon trapped by the advancing Israelis and the cooperating Phalangists. Even with their ceasefire of June 11, the fight between the Syrians and the Israelis flared up once more in a battle for control of the Beirut-Damascus highway. Unable to maintain its control of the Lebanon ridge, Syria was forced to withdraw toward the Biqā and remained cut off from its Druze and Palestinian allies throughout the Israeli occupation. On June 24, a second ceasefire was worked out between the two armies and, for the most part, Syria obeyed it, positioning its forces at a sufficient distance to eventually win the war for control of Lebanon. On July 5, 1982, Israel began shelling Beirut, the first television siege. Suspecting that the Israelis were not just conducting an operation for peace in Galilee, President Reagan decided to inform Congress that Israel had used cluster bombs in Lebanon. If true, such use was contrary to an agreement with Jerusalem that these weapons would only be used for defensive purposes. The Americans had, only two weeks earlier, vetoed a UN Security Council resolution

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calling for the Israelis to withdraw from Beirut The combination of these two policy positions seemed to imply that, in Reagan’s view, the Israeli action was an aggression but not one that he disapproved of. On July 18, the President did halt further shipments of the (defensive) cluster bombs. Amidst the horror of West Beirut under siege, often with its food and water supply cut off, the question of how to unlock the stalemate finally surfaced. The Palestinians were daring the Israelis to move into West Beirut and try their hand at house-to-house fighting while the Israelis were maintaining the bombardment as a means of forcing the PLO to leave. The latter engaged in protracted negotiations, using the Americans as middlemen, letting everyone and everything in the city pay the price. At the beginning of the siege, the PLO asked the Sarkis government to allow the dispersal of its personnel throughout Lebanon. One finds it hard to imagine any country granting Yasir Arafat this request, least of all Lebanon. President Sarkis, on July 17, rejected the PLO request. A month later, after continued starts and stops between the PLO and the Americans, an evacuation plan was approved; the Israelis gave their assent the following day, and on August 21, 1982, the evacuation of the Palestinians, on American ships, to a number of Middle East destinations began. Suddenly, while the Israelis were being bad, the Americans were being good, and the Palestinian fighters were being shipped off with their personal arms and self-proclaimed honor. Unfortunately, they left their Palestinian people behind, trapped in the refugee camps. For the Lebanese, especially those trapped under the Israeli barrage of West Beirut, the invasion had been another terrible episode in the endless series of wars which kept them huddling in their basements. But with the Palestinian “cause” of the war removed and Western forces on the scene —ith Bashir Gemayel about to be at the helm—would not these tragic events soon be ending? Would not Christian Lebanon now emerge from the ashes of the recent past? These were not the questions but the hopes—almost the certainties— that many Lebanese felt in late August and early September 1982.

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THE GEMAYEL PRESIDENCIES While the Palestinians were marching down to the pier, firing their weapons in heroic retreat, Bashir’s supporters were hustling parliamentary votes to have their man elected President of Lebanon. On August 23, 1982, Bashir Gemayel became Lebanon’s seventh holder of that office by a vote of fifty-seven to five on the second ballot. Chamoun put up a token candidacy but did not pursue it seriously. Just as Syria had controlled the election of Sarkis six years before, Israel got its reward on this occasion. Several deputies did have to be dragged in to make a quorum, but with Lebanon’s largest army, Bashir’s own Lebanese forces, and the IDF invasion force surrounding the Fayadīah military academy where the session was held, the result was a foregone conclusion. The United States sent 800 Marines to assist the Palestinian departure, and the Lebanese army began taking up their abandoned positions. The election of Bashir appeared to sanction the new Israeli-imposed government of Lebanon. The Palestinians were out; the Israelis were satisfied; and American Marines had come ashore in Lebanon for the first time since 1958. News correspondents posted to Lebanon even took well-earned and long-awaited vacations. Surely the war was about to end. The United States had rejected General Sharon’s characterization of Jordan as a “Palestinian state,” and on September 1, 1982, announced its own policy for Middle East peace, the Reagan Plan (a statement not too distant from the earlier Fahd Plan, sponsored by the Saudis). It called for a “freeze” on new settlements in the West Bank, an autonomous “entity” there for the Palestinian inhabitants, linking them to Jordan, and Arab recognition of Israel. While the Israelis rejected the Reagan initiative, much as they had the one from the Saudis, many observers saw the United States preparing to nudge the Jewish state toward the peace table. As a signal that things were working out, the contingent of 800 Marines was withdrawn on September 10, 1982. Although removing the American force so soon after they had arrived seemed premature, it did indicate that the diplomats believed they had all bets covered. Secretary of Defense Weinberger had even come to Beirut to take part in the ceremony. What could go wrong?

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Everything! Talks between the Israelis and the Lebanese had not gone well. Begin and Sharon wanted a peace treaty and were not above bullying the young Bashir, treating him like a servant boy. Hafiz al-Assad then declared that he would take military action against Lebanon if the new President signed a peace treaty with Israel. Bashir had not strived so mightily to be President of Lebanon only to be batted back and forth like a ping-pong ball. To these two leaders whose armies occupied his country, he conveyed his determination to be independent of them. On September 13, three days after the Marines had left, the Israelis conducted air strikes against the Syrians in the Biqā Valley. Bashir wanted power and independence; his neighbors wanted him to choose sides. The country he headed, after all, was only the battleground for their wars. On the next day (September 14), an explosion ripped through the Phalangist headquarters in East Beirut, killing Bashir Gemayel. The strong man of Lebanon had been blown to bits. The particularism of Levantine culture reigned once again. Bashir’s associates moved quickly to make things worse. On the 16th, the day after Israeli forces had taken up positions overlooking the Palestinian camps, elements of the Lebanese Forces entered the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps and carried out a revenge massacre. This pogrom was carried out by members of Bashir’s own militia, reportedly led by Elie Hobeika and joined by members of Major Haddad’s SLA militia. Although the IDF officials, in a fluid situation, seemed to have taken responsibility for security in the area, they did nothing to stop the bloodshed. After two days of butchery, the news began to leak out, and by the 18th, the true magnitude of the horror became apparent. Nearly 2,000 people were killed, mostly women, children, and the elderly. This terrible tragedy, of course, has been extensively investigated and written about. While some among the Israeli military may have orchestrated the massacre, it is essential to keep in mind that those who carried out the killings were, in fact, Lebanese Christians. On September 21, 1982, following the Phalangist’s choice of Amin Gemayel, Bashir’s older brother, as their candidate, Lebanon’s parliament elected him the country’s eighth President. Two days later Amin was sworn in, promising to end the “cycle of violence” and to free Lebanon from foreign forces. On the 27th, French and Italian troops re-entered Beirut; the next day, ten days after the massacres were revealed, the American Marines returned to take up their positions in the city. The Multinational Force was rapidly redeployed to the area of the Palestinian camps (one supposes) to protect the dead. It took a week for the Lebanese to recover from the shock of these events and get things back to normal. By the beginning of October, however, fighting at the traditional locations had broken out again, first in Tripoli, then in West Beirut, and later in the Shūf. Before another week had passed, a cabinet had fallen and been reconstituted. Amin Gemayel accepted the resignation of the Prime Minister Shaf īq īq al-Wazzan, on September 29, and on October 8 a new cabinet, with al-Wazzan as Prime Minister, was formed. On the same day, while

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Nabīh Berri and Amin Gemayel discussed the matter, the Lebanese army began demolishing the homes of Muslim squatters near the Beirut airport. On the 13th, Christian and Druze militias clashed southeast of Beirut, inaugurating a new military debacle for the Maronites. With foreign troops on hand and Israelis taking the blame for the Maronite massacre at Sabra and Shatila, it was time to reassert Christian control over Lebanon. President (Amin) Gemayel and his national security advisor, Wadie Haddad, apparantly believed it was the right time to pursue an activist military policy. Thus, as if to outdo the self-inflation of earlier Christian leaders, e.g., in 1845 and 1860, they took military measures that seemed to assume an American blank check for action against their opponents. Wadie Haddad, for example, is reported to have told the Syrians that he had the Americans in his pocket.1 The new President could have tried to heal wounds in Lebanon by restraining his father’s militia, especially in its determination to settle scores with the radical Sunnis in West Beirut and among the Druze of the Shūf. Instead, kidnappings of Sunnis went on unabated; the Shi’ites were offered an insulting pittance for reconstruction in south Beirut; and Phalangist war against the Druze was waged in earnest. A Lebanon controlled by Christians continued to be the agenda. As Tom Friedman writes: President Gemayel, instead of using…the strength he derived from his American backing to forge a political entente with the Muslim and Druze leaders of West Beirut and make real national unity possible—at a time when they had yet to side with Syria and were open to compromises on moderate terms—he began to behave with typical tribal logic, which says, When I am weak, how can I compromise? When I am strong, why should I compromise?2 Indeed, the new Gemayel was barely out of the wrapper when, once again, the Maronites moved to take control of their Lebanon. Israel’s invasion force remained on location, and the Multinational Force had returned to bring stability to the situation. Moreover, Amin Gemayel had begun negotiations (December 1982) with Israel for a peace agreement that would lead to a withdrawal of the IDF from Lebanon. It was a time for balance, diplomacy, and self-control. Instead Amin’s military colleagues interpreted it as a time when the “real” Lebanese, led by the Phalange, should win the war. The head of the Lebanese Forces at this time, Fādi Frem (Afrim), did not, of course, take orders from Amin Gemayel. He had agreed (October 1982) to support Amin only if his policies were directed to the removal of all foreign forces, a goal that Amin’s Foreign Minister, Elie Salem, emphasized on countless occasions. Amin was President but, unlike Bashir, not in command of a militia. He was not the President of very much. Therefore, he sought to expand his power by searching for it outside Lebanon.

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President (Amin) Gemayel’s first stop in his campaign to gain support for his policy of reconstituting Lebanon under the authority of its Christian leadership was Washington. During a stop there (October 1982), he asked President Reagan for a much enlarged multilateral force to help his government extend its control over the country’s territory. For Amin, it was a tug-of-war between getting enough support from the outside to contain those forces on the inside, including those originally established by the Gemayel family, and getting enough support on the inside to make it worth the trouble to shore up his power. Until that support was forthcoming, he had no punch beyond what the warlords of his brother’s military outfit would provide. On the other hand, if the Americans came in with the troops, the Maronites could lose all the battles and still win the war.3 The Israelis, who at times gave arms to the Druze, would not obstruct the Lebanese Forces from moving into the Shūf, since they hoped to conclude a peace agreement with Amin Gemayel that would allow them to keep a military presence in the south. Even Fādi Frem eventually came around to this view when, a year later, he urged Amin to normalize relations with Israel as a means of balancing Syria. What was advertised as a policy to remove all foreign forces turned out to be a strategy for bringing in friendly forces to reimpose Christian power on all Lebanese. This explains why, in the face of conciliatory statements by both Shi‛ite and Druze leaders, government forces acted with such energy against the Shi‛ites in south Beirut while the Phalangists were similarly making war in the Shūf. Despite several trips to Washington by Gemayel and Salem and trips to Beirut by Shultz, Habib, and McFarland, the Reagan administration remained steadfast in its refusal to increase its forces in Lebanon. Amin got a few tanks, a few training missions, and nothing more. Along with the other (usual) venues, the war in the Shūf continued. The Maronite push was not so much stopped as “absorbed”—village fought village until the Druze were able to assert themselves by the end of 1983. Although 1982 had proved to be a terribly destructive year for the Lebanese, the number of conflicts rose only slightly from the previous year, that is, from 73 in 1981 to 80 in 1982. The major war that resulted from the Israeli invasion of south Lebanon and the bombardment of Beirut reduced the opportunities for normal incidents of violence to break out at the regular intercommunal locations. With the withdrawal of the PLO in August 1982 (and in September), the assassination of Bashir Gemayel, the occupation of West Beirut by the Israelis, the Sabra-Shatila massacres, and return of the American-led multinational peacekeeping forces, the number of conflicts began to increase as the amount of major violence decreased. The number of domestic incidents of violence rose from 80 in 1982 to 118 in 1983 and on to 122 in 1984 (see Figure 8.2). Under occupation, controlled locally by numerous militia groups and party factions, with a government trying to assert itself amidst a multitude of intrigues, Lebanon moved back toward its previous levels of conflict.

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Moreover, the political situation became extremely complicated during the aftermath of the 1982 Israeli invasion. Because of the various sectors of influence then engaged, 1983 would be a very difficult year. GEMAYEL ENTANGLED In Washington, President Reagan undoubtedly wished for a different script in the Middle East drama, especially where it concerned the Israelis, Syrians, and Lebanese. He had released the Reagan Plan for a Middle East peace in September 1982, a somewhat sophisticated and un-Reagan-like document, representing, perhaps, the high point of State Department influence during his presidency. The Americans wanted a Palestinian homeland, not state, and were ready to push for an Israeli-Lebanese agreement to cooperate on normalizing relations without a full withdrawal of the IDF from Lebanon’s territory. Although the Reagan initiative represented a reasonable preliminary from the standpoint of the parties’ needs, it did not give any one of them enough of what they wanted. Mr Reagan had been given a useful script—his Middle East experts had told him it was in line with Saudi thinking—and he was prepared for the actors to play their parts. No one did, of course, and the play was never performed. Thereafter, the Reagan administration was reduced to a minimalist approach, tied to Israel, trying to stabilize things in Beirut, and finding itself complaining to the parties that their actions did not support the cause of peace. Attempting to sponsor various settlements rather than take the lead meant that poor Gulliver was likely to get torn up in the Middle East souq again. In fact, Gemayel, Assad, Begin, and Arafat used Reagan as a means of furthering their particular goals, mostly to block each other as much as possible and hold onto what they already had. The Soviets, tossed out of Egypt, were heavily engaged in Afghanistan and were giving military support to the Iraqis in their war with the Iranians. They also continued to arm Syria as a stopper against the Israelis and Americans getting their way without opposition. But Moscow no longer believed it could “win” in the Middle East. Thus, the Soviets were paying for their Syrian “stopper” while calling for Arab and Palestinian unity. Although contrary to Arab deeds, this position did not contradict Arab rhetoric. Moreover, at this time, the Soviets were a rapidly declining political force in the Middle East. Arafat, in contrast to the Palestinians generally, was on his way toward ever greater irrelevance. Evacuated from Beirut, most of his forces had moved to Tripoli in north Lebanon and were beseiged by Syria and Syrian-supported Palestinians. His newest rival, Sa‛id Abu Mūsa, led a Fatah faction which had broken away from the regular militia over Arafat’s handling of the 1982 Israeli assault. Abu Mūsa claimed that PLO forces should have stood their ground against the Israelis rather than retreat into Beirut. He accused the PLO leader of putting his own political position ahead of the cause, of protecting himself rather than fighting. Other factions continued their traditional non-support for Arafat,

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and his control over Palestinian fortunes was further weakened. After two months of fighting (mixed with negotiations), Arafat’s soldiers were evacuated once again from their base in Lebanon and put aboard ships to be taken to their future home and headquarters in the city of Tunis.4 As for the Syrians, they and their allies occupied a large portion of Lebanon. Syria had its own Palestinian factions, the Sa‛iqa, PLA, and its own Fatah faction, led by Sa‛id Abu Mūsa. It gave support to the Amal Shi‛ite militia, to the Franjieh (Maronite) “Brigade,” and to Sunni and Alawite forces in Tripoli (to name the most prominent outlets for Syrian influence). President Assad’s major demands in 1983 were that Israel must withdraw from Lebanon and that the government of Amin Gemayel should not sign a separate agreement normalizing relations with the invader from the north. These demands, however, put Damascus on a collision course with Washington, whose diplomats had hoped to restart the peace process by making progress in Lebanon (while Arafat was out of the way). The Americans believed that an IDF withdrawal from Lebanon, coupled with an agreement to conduct normal state relations, would have helped break down barriers in Israel’s relations with Lebanon just as the Sinai withdrawal had done with Egypt. But, beyond a temporary depreciation of Palestinian capability in Lebanon, the 1982 Israeli invasion had also humiliated Damascus. Even with Soviet arms, Syria had not been able to hold its own against Israel. It could only hope that the Israelis would be forced by others, or by their own overcommitment, eventually to withdraw. To contain the Israelis, the Lebanese had to be kept out of Jerusalem’s orbit. Therefore, Hafiz al-Assad spent much of 1983 trying to prevent any moves in Lebanon that might make it possible for the Israelis to solidify a partnership with the Gemayel government. Israel had already annexed the Golan Heights; if it had gained a permanent position in Lebanon, Syria would have been more surrounded than ever. With many pawns to play, Assad could resist such an outcome. The Reagan administration, slow to recognize this reality, huffed and puffed in vain. Israel’s purposes were hardly a secret, even if many of the means employed were. The Begin-Sharon combination hoped to scatter the Palestinians as one of the steps toward settling and establishing “Greater Israel.”5 With the Palestinian military threat removed, for both the Israelis and the Lebanese Christians, the latter could once again have their Lebanon while the Israelis patrolled the south. “Choose, Lebanon, choose,” said the Israelis. “It is either us or the Muslims,” i.e., the Syrians and Soviets. As for the Lebanese, they, of course, disagreed both with the views of various neighbors and among themselves. Within the central Maronite camp itself, there was only partial accord. Bashir’s old gang, the Lebanese Forces of Fādi Frem, wanted to develop the partnership with the Israelis and promoted an agreement between Amin Gemayel and Menachem Begin as a start. Amin, himself, was also ready to work with the Israelis if that would bring about their (complete) military withdrawal and sufficient American support for him to defeat his

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domestic foes. To start down the road to such an outcome, Amin and his Phalangist partners commenced the military action to subdue their domestic adversaries, push back the Druze, and neutralize the Shi‛ites. Amin, the non-militant Gemayel, began his presidency with his partners on the warpath, one of a number of military components that he hoped would help reconstitute Christian Lebanon. It did not happen, and it is difficult to imagine how it could have happened. Even if given to wishful thinking, the Americans realized that an Israelified Lebanon was not in the cards. Such a creation would only act as a “black hole” down which to pour money and lives. The Reagan administration wanted a Lebanese-Israeli agreement that would remove the Israelis from the country and end the pretext for the Syrians to be there. But Israel’s desire for peace was secondary to its desire for territory, either annexed or as a buffer. Syria also was not prepared to reduce its forces supporting those of its Lebanese allies fighting Gemayel. Both Israel and Syria could say “no” to a reconstituted Lebanon; both could say “no” to the peace process. Both could keep Lebanon as an arena for their own competition. Peace in Lebanon was certainly not merely a matter of getting foreign forces out; it was also a problem of settling the nasty disputes within. Power for a Lebanese President, however, was a matter of getting harmful foreign troops out and helpful ones in. Absorbed in this diplomatic effort, President Gemayel failed to recognize that outsiders had been assaulting an injured, only partly developed body. For them to leave would have only partially cured the patient. They, in fact, did not leave, and the domestic sickness continued apace in 1983. On January 1, 1983, fierce fighting broke out in Tripoli, continuing the latest round, which had restarted the previous month (December 1982) in that city. Although a number of ceasefires and agreements were negotiated, clashes in Tripoli continued throughout the year. The major battle in 1983, however, was the one initiated by the Phalangists and Lebanese army aimed at driving the Druze out of the Shūf. This (Christian) advance made some headway at first, but by the end of August, the Druze had begun to recapture those areas of the Shūf they had lost and had placed themselves, as previously, in a position to threaten the airport with artillery barrages. This 1983 edition of the Druze-Maronite conflict was still being fought at the end of the year. In Beirut, the attempt by the Lebanese army to oust the Shi‛ite militias also began big and gradually faltered. In addition, the Shi‛a, especially the Hizbollah group, were able to impose mounting casualties on the Israeli occupation forces in Lebanon. Their guerrilla activities provided increased, though unstated, incentive for the Begin government to sign an agreement with Gemayel and redeploy south. Sporadic violence also took place in Shtaura, in the Biqā, and in Sidon. Major Haddad’s SLA militia opened a garrison in Sidon early in 1983, declaring it a step toward housing troops of the regular army there. The Gemayel government denied the connection, but the Israeli signal was not lost. Begin had decided that Haddad could claim control over a portion of the south that

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extended a full twenty-eight miles north of the Israeli border. This development was intended to help Amin Gemayel make up his mind about the peace agreement the Israelis wanted. With the Americans in attendance, this much hassled-over agreement was, in fact, signed on May 17, 1983. Special envoy Phillip Habib had participated directly in the negotiations. In addition, Secretary of State George Shultz made his first trip to the Middle East at the end of April, making it credible to the Lebanese that the Americans wanted the Israelis completely out of Lebanon. Shultz had earlier rejected an Israeli demand for “listening posts” to be set up in the south. Thus, the Lebanese could imagine that they would not be left flopping helplessly in an Israeli net. When the agreement was finalized, it was clear that a state of war had ended. Israel would leave Beirut and move south. Israel was also obligated to evacuate all Lebanese territory, but when this would happen was to be determined by future agreements. (These have never been negotiated, and Israel occupies a portion of south Lebanon to this day.)6 Although the Americans did not get what they wanted from Israel, a complete departure of the IDF from Lebanon, they did have to pay for it. Seventy-five F-16s, along with several other inducements, were the “side payments” needed to get the Israelis to do what was in their interest to do anyway, move their military forces out of Beirut where they had come under increasing attack by the Shi‛ite guerrillas. On May 13, Syria formally rejected the agreement, four days before it was signed on the 17th. On July 20, Israel approved a plan to redeploy to the south, and on August 3 began to move its military forces to points south of the Awali river. The IDF also withdrew, ahead of schedule, from the Shūf and, at the same time, removed the Phalange from Sidon. The effect of these two moves was to increase the vulnerability of both the Lebanese Forces and the Gemayel government. Druze forces were now able to move freely in the mountains; moreover, Haddad could still threaten Sidon. Obviously, the Israelis meant to keep pressure on Amin Gemayel. He was in no position to try levering between the two occupiers; either he must accept a partnership with Israel or remain vulnerable to locally-based Lebanese and Syrian forces. These latter would never support him. And vulnerable Gemayel proved to be. On September 1, Walīd Jumblāt (Kamal’s son) declared “a state of war” with the Gemayel government and ruled out any participation on his part in talks concerning national reconciliation. Heavy fighting broke out in the mountains southeast of Beirut on the 4th, and by the 6th, Druze forces had recaptured Bhamdoun. As in 1845 and 1860, the Druze were able to surround the town of Dayr al-Qamar, trapping the many thousands of Christians who had taken refuge there. In fact, the Maronite President was so vulnerable that he was faced once again with having his Christian partners routed by their Muslim adversaries. As in 1860 and 1976, the Maronites had overextended themselves, counting on others to bail them out. Who would come to rescue St George this time—the French, the Americans, the Syrians?

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AMERICA ENTANGLED The Americans, under Robert McFarlane’s guidance, decided to prevent a lost cause from losing. Under the pretext that the Marines guarding the American Ambassador’s residence were being threatened by the Druze forces, McFarlane ordered ships of the Sixth Fleet to open fire on them at Suq al-Gharb. This decision was made over the protests of the commander of the American (peacekeeping) Marines, Colonel Geraghty, who realized that such a move would compromise American neutrality. Michel Aoun, like his namesake, Tobia, in 1860, was merely losing the first of several battles that would reduce Maronite power in Lebanon. The American destroyer, John Rodgers, began firing fiveinch shells at Druze positions in Suq al-Gharb on September 12, 1983. This little noticed event had almost no effect on the military situation up on the mountain ridge, but it did compromise American neutrality in the sectarian wars of Lebanon. The Americans had entered on the side of the Christians against the Muslims; they had become vulnerable as well. On October 19, while Druze, Palestinians, and Syrians were fighting the Lebanese army and Phalange in the mountains, President Reagan, in Washington, announced that the Marines would remain in Lebanon. On the 23rd (1983), four days later, a truck bomb killed 241 of them. A second bomb, detonated about twenty seconds after the first, resulted in the deaths of some 58 French paratroopers, all members of the Multinational Peacekeeping Force. It was, in Thomas L.Friedman’s words, “the most brilliant act of terrorism.”7 This bomb was the one act in Ronald Reagan’s program that could not be removed from the record. He could add the excitement of the Granada invasion but not expunge the political mistakes of Beirut. The force that had been installed there was too small for a military role and too large for a purely political role. The men were sacrificed for ill-defined, ill-understood diplomatic purposes. Who were the truck bombers? Although their identity has not been fully ascertained, it seems likely that they were what Islamic Jihad, in its typical call to the Agence France Presse, reported them to be: Lebanese Muslims dedicated to the Koran and to the expulsion of foreigners from Lebanese territory. It is also likely that such a large and well-organized operation as the one that destroyed the American and French compounds had the assistance of Iran and Syria. Why carry out such a deed? The most likely immediate purpose was to remove the American component from the Christian-Muslim conflict in Lebanon, one that Washington should never have involved itself with in the first place. A secondary purpose was surely to reduce American influence in the area generally, by demonstrating that only a large, costly commitment of forces could yield the results which Washington’s policy sought. Although it took some time and an additional conflict before the United States could extricate itself from the mess that Israel and the Phalangists had caused, the lesson was finally learned. Unable to neglect completely its responsibilities in the area, the United States was forced to treat the Lebanese question only as part of the overall peace process. The

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bombers demonstrated the reality in the only way politicians can understand. They altered the context of involvement for outsiders in Lebanon; they contested the power of five-inch shells with the power of plastic explosives. The context of the involvement was changed in other ways as well. Three days before the bombing, Lebanese factions had agreed to send delegations to Geneva for talks on reconciliation. Eight major Lebanese politicians, including Walīd Jumblāt, Nabīh Berri, Camille Chamoun, Suleiman Franjieh, and Pierre Gemayel made the trip. These, representing Maronite, Druze, Sunni, and Shi’a communities, met on October 31 to hear Amin Gemayel outline his program for reconstituting Lebanon. Although the atmosphere was frigid, the “Godfathers” did sit down together and agree to two principles: to define Lebanon as a single Arab country and to “freeze” the agreement between Lebanon and Israel until the latter had completely withdrawn its forces. The Americans were called upon to persuade Israel to leave. The document that was signed opposed the creation of either Marounistan or Druzistan, desired by Israel, but also did not formally abrogate the agreement with Israel as Syria demanded. In Lebanon, too, a few gestures were made. Jumblāt allowed the Christians trapped in Dayr al-Qamar to leave, and fighting abated somewhat in south Beirut. On most fronts, however, fighting continued as before. Yet the overall context of war in Lebanon underwent another change in 1983, one involving the PLO regulars under Arafat in the al-Bedawi camp near Tripoli, where (as mentioned above) most had been sent during the evacuation of the previous year. In late November, Syrian-armed Palestinian rebels began an offensive against the regulars and, during a campaign intermixed with negotiations, were able to box in the latter and cut them off from their sources of supply. On December 20, while Israeli gunboats shelled their positions, the men of the regular PLO were finally evacuated from Tripoli and transported to their future sanctuary in Tunisia. This vindication of the Israeli invasion was shortlived, however; the PLO was back in force within five years. While Syria (with Israel’s help) was temporarily changing Palestinian fortunes, another truck bomber succeeded in blowing up an Israeli military installation in Tyre, killing forty people. The Syrians also got into the act by shooting down two American fighter bombers which were attacking their positions in the Matn, and it was rumored by the Soviets that Washington was planning to launch a major military offensive in Lebanon. The Soviets probably knew better but not the Lebanese government. Amin Gemayel continued to push for an American involvement that would tilt the balance in his favor. The refurbished battleship New Jersey, an anachronistic extravagance kept in the fleet to make old movies come true, arrived on the scene and fired its sixteen-inch guns at the Druze. While its blazing guns might have been valuable for public relations, they had no military effect on the situation in Lebanon. The political aftershock, however, was considerable. On December 22, 1983, the Islamic Jihad issued a new warning to the United States; hostage taking was to be its next mode of operation. Soon after (December 30), with the regular PLO gone, a relatively new

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organization, the Islamic Unification Movement, began to engage in clashes with leftist militias. With the support of Iranian militants, new “committees” were established under the umbrella of the Shi‛ite Hizbollah. Before long these would act on Islamic Jihad’s warning. During the previous two years, there had been a lot of campaigning, bringing death, destruction, and drama to the tiny Lebanese arena. It had been a period when major actors had tried to alter the context of relations permanently in the Levant. Yet the fighting went on as it usually went on, in the same places and between the same groups. Uncomfortably, the venues of conflict remained remarkably similar to what they had been in the tenth century BCE, when the Assyrians were poised to move into the area. The Hebrew scriptures tell the story from the inside. This “Old Testament” lives on in the Levant because there is too much diversity for insiders to process and too many points of access where outsiders may interfere. NEGLECT AND BEYOND Fighting continued throughout 1984 as the principal leaders tried to agree on a new political formula. The main fighting took place between the Druze militia and the Lebanese army, along the Suq al-Gharb ridge and in the environs of south Beirut and West Beirut. The Phalange was locked in a contest with Syrianbacked forces along the Damascus highway and in the Iqlīm al-Kharrūb region northeast of Sidon. Firefights between Muslims and Christians along the Green Line in Beirut also broke out sporadically throughout the year 1984. Although several conferences were held and a few concessions offered, no perceptible progress toward a settlement was made. The total number of incidents continued to rise: from 118 in 1983 to 122 in 1984. It would go even higher, to 173 in 1985 and on to 191 in 1986 (see Figure 10.1). The Syrian-supported opposition, comprised mostly of the Druze and Amal militias, achieved its greatest gains in February 1984 when it was finally able to drive the Lebanese army out of the hills south of Beirut and also from most areas of West Beirut. At this time, Walīd Jumblāt and Nabīh Berri made their most farreaching demands: a radical change in the Lebanese political formula coupled with the resignation of President Gemayel and his indictment for crimes committed against the state. This state, where criminal behavior was almost the norm and whose apparatus was so nominal as to preclude acting against it, could hardly have tried its President before a court of law. Moreover, what state? Neither Jumblāt nor Gemayel could have answered that question. The “state” did experience one of its better moments in early July when, with a Rashid Karāmi cabinet, it managed to get some of the militia’s heavy artillery removed from Beirut. Although fighting remained steady, the army was able to bulldoze some barricades along the Green Line, and, late in the year, take control of some areas of Beirut and Tripoli from the militias.

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Other noteworthy events took place in 1984. Having sent an established professional, Donald Rumsfeld, to consult with Hafiz al-Assad and Amin Gemayel about a new security plan for Lebanon, Ronald Reagan announced on February 7 that the Marines would soon be withdrawn. In Reagan fashion, this announcement was coupled with tough talk to Syria and loud talk from the New Jersey’s sixteen-inch guns. American forces were gone by February 26 (the last French contingents of the Multinational Peacekeeping Force did not leave until April 1986). With their soldiers finally out, Reagan officials said (February 27) that the administration would no longer be actively involved in the search for Lebanese reconciliation. Although Syria was blamed for standing in the way of a settlement, it was well known that both Damascus and Jerusalem had cooperated in preventing the American initiative from achieving the desired results. Both had claims that could only be settled through a comprehensive settlement process. Until the time when pressure for a settlement process could not be avoided, it was relatively inexpensive for both states to hold pieces of Lebanon as bargaining chips to be offered later. Two political notables died in 1984. Major Sa‛ad Haddad, principal organizer of the South Lebanese Army (SLA), died on January 14, and longtime political leader and founder of the Phalange, Pierre Gemayel, died on August 29. Colonel Antoine Lahoud replaced Major Haddad as head of the SLA on April 4, 1984 while the relatively unknown Elie Karamah was elected to replace Sheikh Pierre as Secretary of the Katā‛ib politburo. In both cases, disintegration followed death. Serious divisions in the Phalange (many of them due to Bashir) had already preceded Pierre’s passing, and these widened. For the SLA, the breakup was so serious that the Israelis had to provide the political cement needed to keep it intact. Indeed, problems with the fissiparous SLA forced Israel to remain in the far south of Lebanon even though the Labor government of Shimon Peres (in power in 1984) wanted to leave. Individual Americans also first became targets in 1984. On January 18, a Shi‛ite gunman assassinated the President of the American University of Beirut, Malcolm H.Kerr. Islamic Jihad took credit for the deed. A truly deep and welleducated scholar of Middle East politics, only a very few will fully realize the tremendous loss for Lebanon and the region that Kerr’s death represents. He could have helped and was willing to help. Certainly he was needed. Yet, he was but the first of many victims, people who, for the most part, were not destroying but building in the Levant. During the next two months, foreigners working in Lebanon increasingly became the targets for the radical militias. The CIA station chief, William Buckley, was captured (March 16) and later murdered. On May 8, Ben Weir, a longtime church leader, was taken, becoming one of the first to be released eighteen months later. In early summer, diplomats seemed to have become fair game for the many new mysterious “committees.” The Austrian consul was shot and killed on June 23; a Libyan diplomat was captured on the same day; UNWRA stated that its staff was in danger; the Soviets were rocketed on July

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20; and on September 20, twenty-three Lebanese personnel died in a bomb blast at the American Embassy annex. Actions were also increasing against Israeli occupation forces. On October 21, Israel announced its 600th military fatality in Lebanon since the beginning of the 1982 invasion. At least half of these were post-invasion losses, i.e., casualties of the occupation. The “foreigner” was not welcome in Lebanon. Were there any bright spots in 1984? President Amin Gemayel opened a second reconciliation conference in Lausanne, Switzerland, calling for an end to “nine years of insane and continuous war.”8 The leaders then agreed to a total and strict ceasefire. However, the old zu‛āma who met in Switzerland were not really in control of their militia commanders operating in Lebanon, and hostilities intensified. A little light shone through the gloom when Israel cooperated in sponsoring a ceasefire and military disengagement in the Kharrūb region in late March (1984) and also helped keep the calm by not retaliating against the Gemayel government when it abrogated the peace agreement of the previous year. During the Israeli Labor Party’s turn to hold power under the national unity agreement, the Prime Minister, Shimon Peres, also agreed to new talks with Gemayel (held in October and November) on the question of further withdrawals of IDF forces. Generally, Labor’s policy toward Lebanon, in contrast to the approach of the opposition Likud Party, offered some hope for those interested in a settlement. In January and April of 1985, Israel did, in fact, pull back from Sidon and Tyre to a security zone ten miles wide, just north of its border with Lebanon. Israel explained that its plans for a complete withdrawal were postponed because the SLA was too weak and fragmented to preserve security in the area. Jezzīn served as the northernmost fortified point for this SLA-Israeli security zone. Syria and the PSP were poised to the north and east of this town. Both countries were cooperating in holding Lebanon hostage to the peace process. There were talking sessions and peace plans in 1984, but the fighting continued. Some leaders tried to initiate dialogue, but a sense of helplessness dominated. For each peacemaker there were dozens of mystery figures prepared to sabotage any attempt at progress. While none of the players could have his way, each could prevent the others from having theirs, and the stalemate continued. Syria hoped to stay in Lebanon to stop Israel and preferred some geographical integrity for the Levant. Israel, on the other hand, wanted territory and buffer areas; it hoped for the cantonization of the area. President Reagan was happy to keep his distance from Lebanon having once fallen into the country’s bottomless pit of conflict. Amin Gemayel just wanted to be President of a reconstituted Lebanon but was unable to extricate himself from his own Maronite extremists. The Druze and Shi’ites were allies of Syria and Iran but not completely subordinate to either country. The Christians usually called for a Syrian withdrawal to take place in tandem with that of the Israelis. The rebel opposition, on the other hand, claimed that Syria was Arab, had been asked to intervene, had

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not invaded as had Israel, and had given the necessary support to bring about a new formula fair to all the Lebanese communities. This opposition insisted on using Syria just as Bashir Gemayel had tried to use Israel, as a weight to add to its side in the domestic struggle. Lebanese leaders were caught in an impossible trap, the proverbial “catch 22.” They could only make those deals that outsiders would agree to while outsiders could only agree to prevent the Lebanese from making deals. HOPELESS DIVISION By the time writers on the Lebanese imbroglio get to the year 1985, they are exhausted and begin to ignore the details in favor of selected vignettes. The war situation by then had deteriorated to such confusion and banality that it could hardly be called war. It was, instead, violence, bloodletting, kidnapping, skirmishing, and conferring. A myriad of organizations, factions, militias, and armed gangs fought for territory and political position or, as often as not, fought just to keep the fighting going. There were not only too many groups and too many outsiders funding them but also too little control of the groups by their leaderships. Outside powers supported communal organizations but could not control them; these organizations, in turn, conducted political activities on behalf of militia commanders but could not control them; and the commanders handed out supplies and paid for maneuvering and sniping but could not control how their fighters used their guns. Although the intercommunal pattern of warfare could still be discerned—Muslims against Christians and rebels against the status quo—there was also no group that was not, at times, shooting at a former ally. The situation seemed to defy purpose or pattern. The Christian community was hopelessly divided, mostly by geographical region with skirmishing along the margins. (These divisions, of course, were deepened by Bashir’s attempts to eliminate his Christian competitors.) The largest Christian sect, the Maronites, were themselves split into three main groups: south central, the Chamouns; central, the Gemayels; and north, the Franjiehs. Moreover, each of these three Maronite sectors was itself factioned. In the north, Suleiman Franjieh had Phalangist competitors (as well as his traditional Duwayhi rivals). In the central districts, the Gemayel organization was divided between the heritage of Pierre, the Phalangist regulars, and that of Bashir, the Lebanese Forces (who were led at different times by such persons as Fādi Frem, Samir Ja‛ja, Elie Hobeika, and even Solange Gemayel, Bashir’s wife. President Amin Gemayel’s linkages were with the regular Phalanges and, eventually, with the Lebanese army under General Michel Aoun. As for the south central area, it was divided between Chamoun’s National Liberals and various Phalangist factions. Yet, even Chamoun’s organization was partly split. When the father stepped down as party leader on August 24, 1985 (after twenty-seven years), and was replaced by his younger son, Dany Chamoun, a group of NLP officials (with the support of the Lebanese Forces) denounced the appointment. Even the

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Christian-led South Lebanese Army, could hardly be termed Maronite and was partly soldiered by Shi‛ites. It was also Israel’s hired militia. The other communities, during this period, were just as badly divided. Sunni nationalists fought Sunni fundamentalists in Tripoli, and Sunni Nasserists fought Sunni Palestinians in Sidon. The Shi‛ites were split both geographically and ideologically; the latter division corresponded significantly with differences in outside support. In Beirut and points south, the Syrian-supported Amal fought for territory and political position with the Iranian-supported Hizbollah (and its several offshoots). Amal also joined up with the Druze (PSP) militia to do battle with Arafat’s regulars in the Palestinian refugee camps. Early in the war (1976), Kamal Jumblāt had staked his political position on the need to give support to the PLO cause. In fact, PLO forces were the key to the brief period of military success for the PSP when, in late 1976 and early 1977, their coalition had the Maronites on the run. Even as recently as 1983, Palestinians (from a non-Arafat faction) had helped the Druze capture Bhamdoun from the Phalangists. Of course, the PSP and Amal have also fought the Palestinians, sometimes as allies, sometimes separately.9 Discovering which outside power supported which military group also seemed to defy pattern and purpose. Syria helped Amal and the PSP in their conflict with the PLO regulars (although, earlier, Syria had seen to it that PSP founder, Kamal Jumblāt, was murdered). The Phalangist regulars conferred fitfully but often with Syria while, during Amin’s term as President, the Lebanese Forces wing of the Phalange resisted Syrian influence and looked to Israel for support. On the other hand, Israel’s mortal enemy, Iraq, ended up giving support to some of the same military elements which Jerusalem had earlier funded. Both Iraq and Israel opposed Syria and, at different times, acted to contain its influence among the Lebanese factions. Syria had additional friends in Lebanon (at various times), e.g., a Lebanese Forces faction led by Elie Hobeika as well as former President Franjieh (who long enjoyed business and political relations with the Assads and preferred Syrian support to that of Israel). Libya, too, was a financial backer of the AmalPSP, pro-Syrian coalition, while also assisting the more radical Lebanese and Palestinian groups. Iran also was very much involved, supporting Hizbollah in Beirut and both Hizbollah and Islamic Amal in the Biqā region. Fundamentalists elsewhere, in Tripoli for example, were also able to get Iran’s support. Even though the Lebanese and Palestinian groups took support from outsiders, they inevitably remained on the fence politically. Therefore, it was impossible to draw clear-cut battle lines that pointed the way toward some kind of military outcome. For those on the inside, there was no promising strategy to look for. The number of opponents was beyond strategy. As for outsiders, they were content just to compete in Lebanon. There, the great number of adversaries kept the competition conveniently open for whatever opportunity arose.

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BOMBS, HOSTAGES, AND HIJACKINGS The situation in Lebanon during 1985–6 hardened; everyone seemed at a loss as to where to turn. The major developments at this time were the sharp increase in the number of violent incidents, up about one-third from the previous year; the practice of taking Western hostages; and the immense number of splits that emerged as groups maneuvered for position. During the first half of 1985, a car bomb killed (or wounded) fifty people in Sidon on January 22; an explosion in a mosque in Ma‛raka killed fifteen on March 4; another car bomb killed nearly eighty in the Shi‛ite suburb of Bir al-Abd four days later; a third car bomb exploded on May 22, killing approximately fifty persons including children on a school bus; and a Tripoli car bomb resulted in the deaths of seventy-five on June 19. Hostage taking, which had begun tentatively the year before, developed into a major activity for the several Hizbollah committees operating in Beirut and Ba‛albek. Father Jenco, William Sutherland, Terry Anderson, and David Jacobson were all grabbed. A few French and British citizens, including Terry Waite, were taken a few months later. By early September, these Shi’ite fundamentalists had captured twelve Western hostages. They announced Ben Weir’s release on September 16 but also that William Buckley had been killed on October 4 in retaliation for Israel’s bombing of the PLO headquarters in Tunis. It was not until the summer of 1992 that the last two hostages were released. Another marquee event in 1985 was the June 14 hijacking of a TWA airliner bound from Athens to Rome. It flew to several locations before finally ending up in Beirut. US Navy diver Robert Stethem was shot dead and thrown off the plane onto the tarmac. A few of the passengers were released, some in trade for demands made by the hijackers. Nabīh Berri, leader of the Amal Shi’ite militia, offered to mediate the stalemate and managed eventually to get the remaining thirty-nine passengers taken off the aircraft and placed under his custody. This saga ended when, after seventeen days in captivity, the hostages were handed over in exchange for an “unlinked” release of 300 Arab prisoners (detainees) Israel had been holding. Berri’s stock rose considerably as a result of this event. Unfortunately, the outcome also suggested that kidnapping and hostage taking worked as a means by which radical zealots could exercise power. Otherwise impotent, they could, in this fashion, hold the world in thrall. Various parties were also militarily active, maneuvering for position in anticipation of Syrian-sponsored talks. On January 16, 1985, the Prime Minister, Rashid Karāmi, announced new security measures for Beirut, but gunmen from the Kurds, al-Marābitūn, the PSP, the Syrian Social Nationalist Party, and the Amal movement rushed to set up check points and prevent the implementation of the plan. Bombs soon began taking their regular, deadly toll. Many people, including several governments did not want the security plan to succeed. Karāmi would not live to make another attempt.

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On March 11, the Phalangist politburo expelled Samir Ja‛ja from the party after he refused to hand over a checkpoint he controlled on the Beirut-Tripoli highway. Ja‛ja soon formed a rebel group that (at the time) opposed cooperating with Syria in favor of working for a confederation of mini states in Lebanon. After deposing Fu‛ād Abu Nadir, the commander of the Lebanese Forces, Ja‛ja was eventually able to take that position for himself and compete with the parent organization that had expelled him. Although the Lebanese army intervened on several occasions, the two wings of the Phalange fought one another off and on throughout most of 1985. After their spring battles died down during the summer, fighting broke out again on September 12, followed by mutual assassination attempts in late December. It was not entirely clear who was trying to assassinate whom in the Phalangist entourage at this time. Unfortunately, the vendetta between the two wings of the Phalangists was complicated even more by the defection of Elie Hobeika, who decided to take an independent stance on the Syrian-sponsored peace accord signed in Damascus on December 28, 1985. Having broken with the hardliners within the Lebanese Forces, Hobeika (all at once) was strongly in favor of cooperating with Syria. The moral wellsprings for his sudden attachment to the Syrians are not easy to discern. Whatever the case, he did, at this time, become a third, intermittently influential, wing of the Phalangist organization and, like the others, engaged in assassinations. Pierre Gemayel’s political creation had gone to pieces. The chief negotiator for the Lebanese Forces, As‛ad al-Shaftāri, and Phalangist loyalist, Amin Gemayel, were targets of assassination attempts in 1985. In addition, Ja‛ja’s and Gemayel’s groups were soon trading fire after the peace accord was signed in Damascus on December 28. Hobeika, Berri, and Jumblāt—unlikely comrades— signed this document which announced the end of Lebanon’s civil war. Consorting with these enemies could have meant that Elie Hobeika had been targeted for assassination. Significantly, Samir Ja‛ja, formally Hobeika’s deputy but actually in control of the militia, did not sign the Damascus accord. President Amin Gemayel stated his hope that the agreement would bring peace to Lebanon but then did nothing to prevent his Phalangist allies from sabotaging it. One piece of Pierre Gemayel’s organization had signed the accord with Syria; another piece had given it lip service; a third had opposed it violently. The old Katā‛ib was in tatters. By the end of 1985, there were three discernible segments of the Phalangist organization led by Gemayel, Ja‛ja, and Hobeika respectively. The mostly Maronite Phalangists, however, were only the central portion of three major groups making up the larger community, those led by the Chamouns, the Gemayels, and the Franjiehs. The Sunni community was also divided roughly into three major groups, determined to some extent by the three major cities, Sidon, Beirut, and Tripoli, where large numbers of this sect lived. Beirut Sunnis also seem to fall approximately into radical revolutionary, centrist governmental, and conservative religious categories, a three-way segmentation of interests. One

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finds establishment, Amal, and Hizbollah Shi‛ites as three political tendencies or, perhaps, three distributions of the sect geographically: those of the Jabal Amil (far south), those in the south and west sectors of Beirut, and those living in the Ba‛albek and Hermil districts of the Biqā Valley. The Shi‛ites have even had three outside sponsors in Syria (Amal), Iran (Hizbollah), and SLA-Israel (although, in fact, only a few Shi‛ites were ever active in the SLA militia). Lebanon seems to suggest a factor which might be termed the “rule of three.” In a society of amoral relativists, where traditional ties are not broad enough to provide a national cement, politics becomes exclusively concerned with pure tactics and the unending maneuver for immediate advantage. Trust is not available, detachment unknown, and expediency the only guide. In such a world, where only force and fear control behavior, all organizations naturally fly apart as fights and games leave a constant stream of winners and losers. Winners inevitably overextend themselves; losers start new organizations. The number three represents a reduction to the smallest coalition, the most particularistic aggregate for which majority rule (and coalition behavior) is possible. The “rule of three” simply says that groups in a society of amoral relativists, supposedly held together by some shared principle but actually controlled by little more than the play of power, will divide into the smallest coalition possible. Doing so allows each player to try to be the last added factor on a minimally winning coalition with the least investment in trust—a non-force means of controlling behavior. The reciprocal result of all and sundry following coalition behavior is for no one to adhere to any principle that admits of limitation on means. Thus, no general principle can shape expectations and control behavior. To lead all of the Maronites against their opponents, for example, requires trusting and accommodating a lot of people. First of all, it is necessary to maintain the fiction of a single, identifiable Maronite community, held together by principles and traditions that suggest common interests because otherwise, why be a Maronite? Why identify the enemies of that community? It is easier, however, where nothing but power controls, to lead only a third of the community and substitute coalition behavior for trust. Three is the most efficienteffective number; it is least destructive to the fiction of the identifiable whole and most economical to employ as a substitute for trust. Indeed, it is the most efficient majority rule system available. Similarly, to lead all the fighters of the “Lebanonist” Maronites requires the trust and accommodation of a lot of people, many of them violent and conspiratorial in behavior. As the implementation of Phalangist “principles” works itself out reciprocally, a leader is forced to use coalitions against those he cannot trust. The others must do the same. The number three permits an establishment view, an opposition view, and a pivot between. A number larger than three allows the enemy to win; a number smaller than three either means a fight or domination.10 Thus, where the imperatives of power are the only guides to action, organizations should break down into three competing factions as they seem to do in Lebanon.

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Israel, Syria, and Lebanon, after 1978, have also been trapped in a three-way struggle for power. These three governments have served, in a fashion, as outsiders relative to the local militias. The locals, on the other hand, have found their difficulties with policy and personnel compounded by the interference of the governments. Again and again, it was clear that some bankrolling neighbors did not want Lebanon’s civil war to end. The various hot spots that were cooled down from time to time were only kept that way temporarily until a combination of the inside and outside could heat them up again. Such was the case with Syria’s involvement in Tripoli. Throughout 1985, fighting occurred there intermittently, mostly between Syrian-supported groups spearheaded by the anti-traditional Black Knights and the Islamic Unification Front (al-Tawhīd). The latter were Sunni fundamentalists who held the center of the city. On September 28, 1985, a coalition of leftist militia groups attacked the Tawhīd resistance and, after a series of assaults, captured several positions controlled by the fundamentalists. On October 5, a Syrian-sponsored ceasefire temporarily ended the bloody encounter and left Damascus with a marginally enhanced position. Hafiz al-Assad could hardly want to protect the radicals, but he also did not find Islamic fundamentalism any more to his liking in Tripoli than in Hama. In Tripoli, however (unlike Hama), he could not bury fundamentalism under the rubble of the bombed-out city; he could only contain it. When not taking potshots at each other, the Amal-PSP alliance succeeded generally in extending its power, subduing (for a time) the Arafat elements trying to make a comeback in the large refugee camps of Sidon and south Beirut. Although the outcome of their efforts was anything but conclusive, the AmalPSP combination did contain the Palestinians, leaving the more radical factions (PFLP and PFLP-GC) in superior positions. As in Tripoli, Syria’s hand was involved and her position strengthened. In 1984, Palestinians and Nasserites had clashed in Sidon; Amal and Hizbollah had fought in Beirut; periodic shooting had broken out across the Green Line; and the SLA had disintegrated to the point that Israel had to begin directing its operations. In 1984, Israel had also fought a limited tank battle with the Syrians. The next year was to witness more of the same and worse. On August 23, 1985, Israel initiated the practice of shelling military positions along the coast and, on December 4, attacked Palestinian positions in the Biqā Valley. As for President Gemayel, he was trapped by the Syrians who armed his PSP opponents and by the Israelis who armed his Phalangist opponents. Only the United States could have rescued him, but the Reagan administration was sensibly wary of Lebanon. Gemayel did make numerous trips to Damascus and ended up the year by agreeing to the Syrian-sponsored peace accord. Unfortunately, the President could not deliver enough of his Christian side to make the accord worthwhile (assuming that he had ever wanted to). For many Maronites, Syria was more of a threat than Israel; the former, after all, had (recent) historic claims to Lebanon.

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If there was any trend to be discerned in 1985, it was that Syria’s influence had increased significantly while Lebanon’s leaders had done little more than tread water. They had been unable to make any serious moves to change the political formula under which the country’s government could operate in the future. A suggestion, in this regard, came from a most unlikely source, Suleiman Franjieh, one of the authors of Lebanon’s downfall. On August 29, after a meeting with former Presidents Hilū and Chamoun, Franjieh rejected Muslim proposals to end Lebanon’s political confessionalism but, soon after, did broach his own “thirteen-point” plan (with the implied assent of the other two former Presidents). Franjieh’s plan would have retained the presidency for the Maronites but given Muslims equal representation in the Chamber of Deputies. This was neither a new nor sufficient concession, but it was a step, one that indirectly linked Chamoun to Assad. VIOLENCE AND STALEMATE But before a Syrian-Maronite-Muslim combination could be assembled to regain control over Lebanese territory and stop the violence, the country, starting in 1986, had to endure another half-decade of chaos. Although the scale of violence and destruction was not as great as during the worst days of civil war and invasion, the number of individual incidents of violence was higher. The number of these acts continued to rise throughout the early 1980s, reaching a high of 197 in 1986 and remaining between 165 and 175 from then until the middle of 1990 when the designated head of state, General Michel Aoun, was defeated by a Syrian force and ousted from B‛abdā Palace (see Figure 9.1). While the number of car bombings slacked off somewhat in 1986, all the old venues hosted their customary battles and a few new ones opened up. Some hostages were let go, but, unfortunately, other persons were captured to replace them. Israel became more overt in taking military action in the south, and Syria cautiously but relentlessly expanded its influence throughout the rest of Lebanon. Amin Gemayel’s indecision, along with increased factionalism, greatly assisted Syria in her purposes. Although Syrian power grew, she did not “sail on a summer sea.” The PLO regulars also began to filter back into Lebanon, where the Amal militia and the Syrian army fought them for most of the year.11 At the very end of the previous year (December 28), the Syrians had managed to get Hobeika, Berri, and Jumblāt to sign a tripartite accord. It was Lebanon’s tenth peace plan to end the civil strife, and most observers saw it as just another meaningless agreement. On the other hand, this accord did link Franjieh (Marda‛ite Brigades); Hobeika (one wing of the Lebanese Forces); Berri (Amal militia); and Jumblāt (PSP militia) with the Syrians. Damascus also believed that this time they had persuaded President Gemayel to cooperate in the agreement. Had he done so, quite a bit of Lebanon’s firepower would have been provisionally cemented together. In early 1986, the chances for a general settlement seemed to have improved.

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Figure 9.1 Incidents of violence: 1985–1991 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

But Amin Gemayel temporized. Although he gave a verbal commitment to abide by the accord, the President faced a major split in the Maronite ranks. A major gap developed between Elie Hobeika and Samir Ja‛ja over not only this accord, but the degree to which the Lebanese should depend on the Syrians. Gemayel finally made up his mind not to sign the accord, it seems, when his militia supporters along with those of Ja‛ja defeated Hobeika’s forces, sending

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the latter into exile. Samir Ja‛ja then formally replaced Hobeika as commander of the Lebanese Forces and was in a nominal alliance with the regular Phalange as well as with Amin Gemayel. It is likely that General Aoun, who was leading the army forces against the leftists in the central mountains at this time, was the decisive factor in the President’s decision not to join the others in signing the Syrian-brokered accord. Elie Hobeika, one of the principals in the slaughter of the Palestinians at Sabra and Shatila, also tried to make a comeback in 1986. Following a brief disappearance, Hobeika soon surfaced in Damascus looking for support in his struggle to gain control of the main Maronite militias. His record against Arafat regulars, perhaps, attracted him to the Syrians; clearly they needed a Maronite force in order to have any hope of getting hostilities under control in Lebanon and becoming that country’s major protector. Hobeika, for his part, seems to have concluded that Israel would never give the Christians enough support to enable them to regain their hegemony in Lebanon. Moreover, by this time, Syria was his only major backer. Samir Ja‛ja and Elie Hobeika had long been rivals in the community of Maronite militias. While clashes between the two had occurred both in April and August 1986, the big showdown between them took place in late September. Hobeika led a force of his Christians plus an assemblage of Syrian-backed Muslims from West Beirut into East Beirut. This move marked the first time during the entire eleven-year war that any force had attempted such a crossing. The battle began on September 27, 1986 and lasted three days, costing at least one hundred casualties. The Ja‛ja-Gemayel combination was able to defeat Hobeika’s bid for power and briefly reduce Syrian influence. New splits, however, soon developed, offering Syria renewed opportunities to play the field. The newcomer to Lebanon might have had difficulty conceptualizing how the Syrian-backed wing of the Lebanese Forces (wing of the Phalange Party) could possibly try to defeat the future Syrian wing of the Lebanese Forces (wing of the Phalange Party) when the latter had the assistance of both the regular Phalangists and elements from the Lebanese army (led by General Aoun in coalition with President Gemayel, son of the founder of the Phalangists but not a leader of any of its wings). It would not have been easy to gain such a victory unless Damascus had been willing to commit their Amal allies to the Muslim contingents (in the rump LF) as part of a momentary coalition. Had all these separate groups been dressed in different colored uniforms, they could have at least prevented themselves from shooting at the wrong people. Did anyone have any idea what they were fighting for? Gemayel’s (Ja‛ja) victory was his eventual downfall, for he was then forced to turn away from the family militias for support. The President’s ensuing resistance to change in the political formula for Lebanon also meant that the greater weights of regional power would remain arrayed against him. Israel’s only interest in Lebanon was to paralyze it; America and France could never commit more than good offices and rhetoric. Could Iraq become the new benefactor for

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the Maronites? Except for the parti cular moment, the immediate tactical requirement, who was kidding whom? The Green Line was especially dangerous throughout 1986 as Muslims and Christians traded fire intermittently all year long. In addition, snipers took a heavy toll on innocent civilians. Battles between the Aoun brigade of the Lebanese army and Syrian-supported leftists led by the PSP continued in the area of Suq al-Gharb and near Bikfāya, the Gemayel’s home town. Tripoli experienced a relatively quiet year (under the control of Syrian-supported militias and the Syrian army); however, late in the year (December 20–25), Syrian troops fought a pitched battle and conducted raids against the al-Tawhīd fundamentalists. The war in the south continued with Shi‛ite guerrillas largely supplanting the Palestinians as major problems for Israel and the SLA. Both leftist Lebanese and Palestinian groups also remained active in this sector. Poor Zahleh, quiet for the previous two years, experienced a car bombing on October 14 that injured seven people. The Armenian Tashnāq Party and its rival, the Armenian Revolutionary Union, resumed their struggle after a four-year lull. In the Biqā, Syrian-supported SSNP militias carried on a number of pitched battles with the Iranian-sponsored Hizbollah fighters based in Ba‛albek. In the south, on the other hand, Hizbollah fighters were allied with the Syrian-backed Amal militia against the Palestinians, especially in the contest to control Maghdūshah, a hilltop town directly above the Tapline petroleum facility. Their cooperation, however, was only momentary, an episode in the larger drama of Shi‛ite competition with the regular PLO and Lebanese Communists attempting to hold the area. That Hizbollah could be at war with a Syrian-supported militia in the Biqā while allied with another Syrian-supported militia in south Lebanon only makes sense in a mosaic political culture like that in the Levant.12 Lebanon, at this time, was the battleground for many separate but interlocking conflicts. In the south, four of these interlocking conflicts were occurring. The most serious of these, to which the Syrians had committed large resources, was that between the Shi‛ite Amal organization and the Sunni Palestinians belonging to the PLO regulars of Yasir Arafat. The second of these was the ongoing struggle between the Israeli-backed SLA and a loose coalition of radicals in the south—non-PLO Palestinians, SSNP, Communists, and some Hizbollah Shi‛ites. A third contest continued between the Christians and Muslims in the south central areas, battles that consumed villages in the Shūf and Kharrūb areas and spread as far as Sidon. Here the PSP and Amal often cooperated but sometimes ran into the opposition of Sidon’s independent Nasserites. The fourth conflict was the very general one between the fundamentalists and radicals, most prominently expressed in the intense and bitter rivalry between the Amal and Hizbollah organizations in Beirut and in the southern Jabal Amil region. Locally, turf was at stake in these contests, and regionally, state relations stimulated them. The great number of factions and splinters of factions fighting each other lent a certain surrealism to the lethal landscape—as if the battles were really old feudal engagements wrapped up in modern garb.

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TURF BATTLES The most destructive campaign in Lebanon during the 1986–7 season pitted the Shi‛ite Amal against the regular PLO over the question of who controlled the camps. Perhaps the main reason for the struggle was Nabīh Berri’s brief international “place in the sun” during the TWA hijacking at Beirut airport in 1985. He was able to use this incident, and the long-drawn saga that ensued, to make a major bid for power in south Lebanon. With the recognition gained from successfully getting the TWA hostages returned and with Syrian backing, Berri was ready to make himself the key international factor in Lebanon. Unfortunately, the Palestinian camps stood in his way, both territorially and ideologically. Having acquired new arms and personnel, the Palestinians acted as a barrier between the Shi‛ite poor in the eastern and southern sectors of Beirut and the Amal strongholds in West Beirut. Prevented by the camps from expanding, the Amal was faced with losing the hearts of the shantytown Shi‛ites to Hizbollah missionaries who were relatively free to recruit them. Amal only offered posters of Nabīh Berri and its brand of Shi’ite renaissance; Hizbollah offered pictures of the Ayatollah Khomeini and a chance to fight for God. Amal’s effort to make a hero of Berri could hardly compete with Hizbollah’s martyrs. Both Syria and Iran, on separate occasions, tried to work out a set of arrangements among the Amal, Hizbollah, Palestinian, PSP, and Murābitūn rivals in West Beirut and south Beirut. But too many armed groups were struggling for territory generally; three of them, in particular, were pushing to improve their positions.13 The Palestinian regulars had also come back; they were armed and ready to reassert themselves. As mentioned above, the refugee camps stood directly in the way of Berri’s chances to win in the competition for the allegiance of the Shi‛ite slumdwellers. Since Syria had fought Arafat but supported Amal while Iran backed the Palestinians but aided Hizbollah, the camps, in terms of their position and the claims of their inhabitants, helped Hizbollah and thwarted Amal (see Figure 9.2). Had the Palestinian leaders in the camps been able to act prudently, they might have profited from their territorial pivotality. Unhappily, factions in the Shatila camp actually fought each other within the PLO to determine which direction the armed struggle would take. A Palestinian decision to press on with the war (against Israel) was not in the interests of either Assad or Berri at this time, and it is possible that they took action to instigate discord among the Palestinian factions. Fighting between PLO forces in the camps and the Amal had already broken out in the fall of 1985, mostly as a by-product of the intermittent clashes between the latter and Hizbollah, and intensified in 1986. The conflict between two Shi‛ite militias caused similar outbreaks in the south among Palestinians (1985–6) in and near Sidon. After a few skirmishes in the fall of 1985, the Amal-Palestinian war subsided for a time while Nabīh Berri was busy with Jumblāt and Hobeika working with

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Figure 9.2 Areas of strife and turf battles Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

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Syria on the “secret” accord mentioned above. At the end of January 1986, however, fighting again erupted. Meetings were held on the “security situation in West Beirut” that seemed to call for several inter-locking settlements—Amal and the PSP had also been engaged in the area and were fighting for control of the villages along the coast south of Beirut. Again, there was a lull as the ceasefire seemed to hold, but on March 31, 1986, battles broke out again and continued on throughout the year and into 1987. By the time they had ended, the main three camps in the Beirut area—Sabra, Shatila, and Burj al-Burājneh—were devastated. Once again, the Arafat loyalists lost out, and their losses were even greater than those they had suffered at the hands of the Christians four years earlier. But the flattened Sabra and Shatila camps were not the whole story. The larger story was about the camps’ inhabitants who, because they had no other place to go (permanently), had to suffer from the prolonged bombardment that occurred during sieges such as the one that occupied the Amal and the PLO during most of 1986. The militia fighters seldom saw fit to storm each other’s positions but generally lobbed ordinance on each other’s assets. Thus, only the noncombatants were sacrificed, and the fighters could stay alive long enough to collect their pay during the next timeout, i.e., ceasefire. People confined to underground hiding places must have also noticed that the only winners were manufacturers of weapons and that, during this period, there was no effort by the countries which produced them to limit their entry into Lebanon. Robert Fisk recounts the following incident that sent two erstwhile coalition partners into a fracas in April 1985. As the Israelis were redeploying in early 1985, there ensued a mad scramble to control the areas which they had occupied. The heaviest fighting broke out between the Lebanese Forces and the Amal-PSP coalition (including the Palestinians) near Sidon and the villages east and north of that city. The Phalangists began to lose and, during their withdrawal, the Christian villagers were also forced to flee as Druze and Shi‛ite troops moved in. Approximately 17,000 Christian families fled to Jezzīn and eventually to Beirut. Moreover, the territorial takeover that ensued was the highpoint of Amal-PSP (Syrian) military success. These two forces, with Syrian support, were able to control the Shūf, the Iqlīm al-Kharrūb (northeast of Sidon), and the villages along the coast between Sidon and Beirut. By cooperating in an assault on their former allies, the Murābitūn, this Amal-PSP coalition had also gained a temporary upper hand in West Beirut. Rounding out the contestants were Amal and Hizbollah, who, at this time, were also involved in the scramble for territory. One of the Maronite villages taken during this campaign was Jīyeh, located just under the hills of the Shūf and a few miles south of Damour, the coastal entry to Dayr al-Qamar and Beit al-Din. Newspaper correspondents were invited to see what atrocities the Christians had committed before they were driven out. When journalists arrived, Amal-PSP officials showed them the deserted houses of the villagers, the desecrated Maronite church, and the corpses of those villagers and local (Muslim) officials whom the Phalangists had reportedly kidnapped and

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murdered.14 After the brief public relations stint had been taken care of, and the journalists were back in Beirut, the Druze forces dynamited the church while the Amal troops handed over the local houses to impoverished Shi‛ites from the slums of south Beirut. A week later, however, a PSP-Druze force arrived and drove the squatters out, not wanting the Shi‛ite community so close to their own homes in the Shūf. The “socialist hope” for the slum dwellers had to be abandoned. Only a few days had passed when a series of clashes erupted between the Amal and the PSP components of this recently successful coalition. The fight was on—not for progress, but turf.15 The year 1987 saw the Lebanese quagmire deepen in complexity and ambiguity. PLO forces continued to slip back into the country, intensifying the violence between themselves and the Amal group as the “camp wars” kept going. Hizbollah, meanwhile, increased its activity both against the SLA in the south and against foreigners in Beirut. In the south, the Israeli-established SLA was getting “clobbered” by its Hizbollah enemies, attracting an intensified Israeli response in the form of helicopter gunships and fighter bombers.16 (Wobbly allies were a valuable pretext for conducting military exercises.) In Beirut, a new round of abductions occurred when, on January 24, four members of the Beirut University College—Mithileshwar Singh, Jesse Turner, Robert Pohill, and Alann Steen—were kidnapped. This followed on the heels of the capture of a Frenchman, a Saudi, and two Germans, doubling the number of hostages held by the several wings of the Hizbollah organization and factions of the Palestinians. Finally, Terry Waite, on a mission to gain the release of the hostages, was himself taken on January 27. By the end of 1987 and the beginning of 1988, most observers spoke about Lebanon in words that conveyed a sense of total futility. Factionalism actually increased; assassinations and hostage taking went on as before; and the ubiquitous bomb continued to send its deadly message. The leftists attempted to create a single front, led by Amal and the PSP, but it came apart and new fronts, radical and ultra-radical, were put together. Amal fought its erstwhile Druze allies, its Shi‛ite brothers, and then they fought one another over leadership in the south. Palestinian fighters, besieged by Amal, also fought each other for leadership positions within Ein el-Hilweh camp. The Lebanese Forces militia, led by Samir Ja‛ja, fought with its parent Phalangist organization in East Beirut. In the small village of al-Kūfah, two Syrian Social National Party factions, one led by Isām al-Mahayri, the other by Jubrān Jaraysh, fought until separated by Syrian army troops. At Burj al-Barājneh camp, forces of the Amal, led by Hāni Izz al-Din, engaged another Amal faction led by Sa‛id Muhanna. They disagreed on the imposition of protection payments. The year 1987 may also have been the worst for assassinations, both successful and otherwise. The most significant loss occurred on June 1, 1987 when a bomb put on board an army helicopter killed Rashid Karāmi, Sunni leader from Tripoli and often Prime Minister (as he was at the time of his murder). He was reportedly killed because he refused to sign the abrogation of the Cairo

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Agreement that had been passed by the cabinet on May 21. In addition to having been the PM who served both the longest and the greatest number of times, Karāmi was a crucial connector between establishment and revisionist groups in the Republic. Joining Karāmi as victims of assassination were officials of the Syrian Social National Party, the Lebanese Communist Party, the Syrian Ba‛th Party, the Lebanese army, the PLO, the Iranian Pasdarān, the Armenian Tashnāq Party, and the Kurdish Razkāri Party. Even more significant were the targets of unsuccessful assassination attempts in 1987. This list reads like a Who’s Who in Lebanon: on January 7, Camille Chamoun; Ibrahim Atwāh, Hizbollah leader, on May 5; Walīd Jumblāt on June 13; Sheikh Fadlallah on June 30; Dany Chamoun on September 5; Elie Hobeika on September 15; Nazīh al-Bizri (Sidon deputy) also on the 15th; Raja Harb, PSP leader, on September 21; Samir Ja‛ja on October 4; and Lebanese army commander, Michel Aoun, on December 6. In 1987, almost all the major militia heads and political notables were either victims or targets of assassination. Furthermore, in Veil: The Secret Wars of the CIA 1981–1987, by Bob Woodward (the Watergate reporter), it was revealed that the bomb directed against Hizbollah leader Sheikh Fadlallah, killing eighty innocents living near his targeted domicile, had been a CIA-Saudi operation.17 It was to have been the first in a series of planned assassinations against “known terrorists.” As is well known, the bomb missed the Sheikh and, fortunately, the CIA mission was called off before it resulted in additional massacres. Another indication as to how extreme factionalism had become was revealed by the proliferation of mythical organizations taking credit for all this murder and mayhem. In addition to the regular splinter groups such as the Islamic Resistance Movement, a Hizbollah militia up against the SLA and Israel, and the Sunni Popular Liberation Army, fighting in Beirut, there were factions of the regular movements and militias like those of the various Palestinian camps and of the Lebanese Ba‛th, Communists, and Syrian Social National Party. Radical wings of the Hizbollah, like the Revolutionary Justice Organization and Islamic Jihad (for the Liberation of Palestine), held most of the Western hostages, including Alann Steen and Terry Anderson. Beyond these fringe groups were those like the Lebanese Liberation Front (Christian Nationalist); the Islamic Resistance Coalition of Shi‛a; the Committee for the Defense of Palestinian Prisoners; the Eagles Front of the Resistance to Khomeinite Imperialism in Lebanon; the Oppressed on Earth; the Organization of Truth against the False Biqā Section; the Organization for the Defense of Free People; and the Lebanese Liberation Battalion (Tripoli), that took credit for kidnappings and assassinations. Often, more than one of these took credit for the same heinous deed. Both the Organization of Vengeance for the Martyrs of Islam and the Lebanese Secret Army, for example, claimed to have assassinated Prime Minister Karāmi. The Revolutionary Organization for Liberation and Unification, Force Seventeen (Palestinian), the Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia, the Tanyūs Shahīn Armed Unit, the Khalīl Akkawi Unit of the 9th February, the Popular

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Steadfastness Organization, and the Fatah Revolutionary Council (Abu Nidal’s operation in Lebanon) also named themselves as perpetrators of special acts of violence, at times just tacked on to the terrorist claims of other organizations. Admittedly, many of the above represented nothing more than code names for operations carried out by larger organizations, yet their “multitudinosity” tended to complicate matters for the diplomatic world and completely bewilder the general public.18 One could hardly blame the world for giving up on Lebanon where it became commonplace to have terrorist operations named after prominent individuals almost as if they were endowed chairs at a university. War continued in the usual arenas. Although the fighting diminished in such places as Zahleh, Tripoli, and along the Green Line in Beirut, it intensified greatly in the refugee camps and against the SLA-Israeli combination in the south. All in all, there were 174 incidents of violence in 1987, only slightly below the high of 191 violent acts recorded for the previous year. At the end of 1987, in the words of The Economist, the “wreckage was almost complete.”19 Lebanon was falling into an economic crisis; the government was not governing; the Syrians could not produce a political settlement; and everyone was blaming everyone else. Indeed, the government was left with very little to govern, and the Lebanese were hostages to its absence. The country had gone to the bottom. Yet it was at the bottom where something new could develop. Several events in 1987 did signal a way back up. The first of these took place outside the Middle East, namely the increased convergence of US-Soviet military policy resulting in the Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) agreement, signed in 1987 and ratified in mid-1988. This process, along with other changes in Europe, meant that using Lebanon as a playground for proxy games was unlikely to be as profitable for outsiders in the future. In addition, the collapse of the Lebanese pound meant that less liquidity would be immediately available for insiders to finance their programs. Bankers and bombers would both have to search for new ways to remain competitive in the struggle. The second event, presaging the future, took place on February 21, 1987, when the Syrians brought a force of 7,000 men into Beirut, ostensibly to help stabilize the military situation there. With this troop, they not only helped regulate Beirut but put themselves in a position to intervene in the terrible camp wars being fought between the Palestinians and the Amal militia. Perhaps no one, inside or outside Lebanon, was enthusiastic about having to make use of the Syrian army in this fashion, but the situation was so terrible, and interminable, that diplomats could find no feasible alternative. The conditions of life were especially tragic in the camps at this time; women and relief workers were routinely gunned down when they tried to smuggle supplies into the camps to feed their starving inmates. None were worse off than those living in Ein el-Hilweh camp near Sidon. These poor civilians might be bombed by the Israelis one day then, if they tried to escape, shot by their own contending militias the next. Civilians were trapped into suffering even more

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than might be expected in such a military situation since they were being used to create an impact on a world that had lost interest in their plight. They were worth more as statistics in a body count. Sliding to a place below the bottom, life in 1987 was terrible for the people of Lebanon. Israel and Syria were actively engaged on its territory while Iran, Iraq, and Libya conducted war by proxy. Palestine was fighting for survival in the refugee camps, and the Lebanese continued their own civil strife. Although, on payment of ransom, a few of the hostages were released, most stayed as a means by which their captors kept the powers at bay and awaited better terms. Even though Syrian forces (in 1987) were finally able to lift Amal’s control of the Palestinian camps and reinvigorate the almost moribund search for a political settlement, it would take two-and-a-half more years of internecine struggle and complex maneuvering before any political success came from the Syrian effort. BORDER WAR AND TURF BATTLES As in the previous year, 1988 was bleak for those Lebanese who were hoping for an end to the interminable fighting. There were 174 acts of violence recorded, exactly the same as in 1987. However, some changes in the pattern of violence can be seen, especially regarding the continual war of raid and retaliation along the SLA-Israeli buffer zone in the south. There, the Israelis had given up on trying to work out a deal with Lebanese authorities and were preparing to maintain the area as a permanent territorial buffer. Syria had also decided that the Lebanese government under Amin Gemayel could not play a neutral role in reconciling the various factions and was prepared to add its own weight to the mix of forces contending in Lebanon. Thus, in 1988, the country was moving up from below bottom while elements of its future were being set, partly by Israel’s scrimmaging in the south and partly by Syria’s military presence in Beirut. Changes in the political fortunes of persons outside Lebanon, e.g., Yasir Arafat (with the intifada uprising in the West Bank and Gaza) and Saddam Hussein (with his plans for Kuwait), would also alter the context of domestic civil strife taking place in Lebanon. Consider first the main events, both inside and outside Lebanon, that took place during this pivotal year. In Beirut, the main battles in 1988 were fought in the Shi‛ite districts south of the city where Hizbollah fighters moved against the Amal organization and, for awhile, succeeded in getting control of nearly 90 percent of the local turf. Syria, which had intervened in the “camp battles” of the previous year between Amal and the PLO, was forced to place itself between Amal and Hizbollah during the 1988 round of intrasectarian conflict. However, it was only after protracted negotiations with Iran that the Syrians were allowed to interpose themselves between the two Shi‛ite militias. Although Syria and Iran were friendly colleagues in the battle against Iraq, the interests of local militia commanders and committees holding hostages had to be worked out for Damascus and Tehran to

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cooperate in Lebanon. Syria, a supporter of Amal, wanted to be accepted as a regional power and allowed to consolidate its influence in Lebanon. Iran, on the other hand, wanted to direct fundamentalist forces and keep the West out of Lebanese affairs. Western governments, whose citizens were being held hostage by groups loyal to Iran, were attempting to use the Syrian government and Iranian moderates to gain the release of the hostages. Those holding hostages resisted these pressures, as did Iranian hardliners, wanting assurances that their own political and security goals would be met.20 Finally, on May 27, 1988, negotiations made it possible for Syrian troops to move peacefully into Beirut’s southern suburbs and interpose themselves between Amal and Hizbollah. Foreign newsmen were bussed in from Damascus to report the show, and there was talk of locating and rescuing the hostages. Even Lebanese police and army personnel would be involved. On a number of occasions, the Syrians would boldly announce where the hostages were being held—sure to be newsworthy—and then move in for the rescue after the Iranians had been given sufficient time to have them moved. During the previous months, however, a major new round of fighting between Amal and Hizbollah had occurred in the south, one which, though halted by the Syrian buffer force, broke out again in October 1988. It erupted when Amal tried to retake lost positions in that area. At the time when the 7,000-member Syrian contingent had arrived the previous year (February 1987) to bring an end to the Amal-Palestinian “camp wars,” the Amal militia had also begun to withdraw some of its personnel from the southern suburbs of Beirut, moving them south. Replaced in Beirut by its Syrian allies, Amal was soon able to assert itself against the Hizbollah militia in the far south where the war against SLA-Israeli forces was rapidly escalating. Amal units sought to recapture some strategic points around Jezzīn and Nabatīyah, bordering the Israeli buffer, while Syria pressed against Hizbollah strongholds in the Beirut suburbs (see Figure 9.2). The implicit partnership in this operation between Syria and Amal was a bit too overt, considering the degree to which Iran and Hizbollah were players in the game. Perhaps Hafiz al-Assad would have thought it worthwhile to rescue some of the hostages; he certainly hoped to boost his credentials by closing down any further opportunities for hostage taking. Although some attempts were made to negotiate the Amal-Hizbollah differences, both the Amal (in the south) and Syria (in south Beirut) overreached in trying to press their advantage (in forces on the spot). Fearing that Damascus was about to become too cozy with Washington, Iran began to distance itself from the Syrian project in Lebanon, allowing its Hizbollah loyalists to stage a large-scale counterattack. Within a short time, Amal and Syria found that they had become vulnerable in their recently achieved forward positions. On May 6, 1988, after a mediation commission failed to persuade Amal to hand back its recent military gains, gun battles broke out between Amal and Hizbollah fighters in West Beirut (alongside concurrent and unrelated firefights conducted between Arafat and Abu Mūsa factions of the PLO (Fatah) militia.21

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The combat soon spread into the Shi’a districts of the southern suburbs, killing over 170 persons within the first week of fighting. By May 24, Hizbollah had driven Amal forces from all but one area in southern Beirut (a strongpoint in alShīya) and controlled about 90 percent of the Shi‛ite districts. By the time Syria and Iran finally reached an agreement on May 26, over 300 persons had been killed, many, in this case, actual fighters. Following this agreement and a Hizbollah attack on the Syrian (military) motorcade, 800 Syrians and 100 Lebanese moved into south Beirut to stop the blood-letting. Hizbollah, presumably, was free to concentrate its firepower in the south while Amal, whose bid for supremacy in south Lebanon had been seriously blunted by the Hizbollah campaign, was also free to fight against the SLA-Israel program. This Syrian truce lasted until the middle of October 1988 when a series of kidnappings led to a resumption of hostilities between the two Shi‛ite militias. These continued intermittently, and by the end of the year, Amal, with Syrian help, appeared to have gained a marginal advantage. Syria’s presence in Lebanon not only added weight to the strength of its Amal ally in the intra-Shi‛ite wars, its presence also helped its Abu Mūsa ally in the intra-Fatah conflict. Following the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982 and the subsequent Arafat-led PLO exodus from Beirut, defections from the Arafat command of al-Fatah began to occur. Led by Abu Mūsa (Sa‛id Mūsa Murāghah) and given explicit and enduring support from Damascus, the “uprising” opposed Arafat’s “board of directors” approach to the Palestinian movement. Believing that the Fatah regulars preferred to escape to their Beirut sanctuary rather than stand and fight the incoming Israelis, Abu Mūsa hoped to attract the genuine fighters to his movement. Supposedly, there were vast supplies of arms and ammunition stored in the catacombs under the refugee camps that could have been used to impose a higher casualty rate on the Israeli invaders. From Syria’s perspective, punishment of this sort, even in a losing cause, would have had obvious benefits. Arms given the PLO were to be used against Israel. Defections in the always-tense Ein el-Hilweh camp led to an ambush and assassination of a top official of the Arafat loyalists on March 25, 1988. Six weeks later, ten fighters died in a firefight at Shatila camp in Beirut, leading to another fight on May 6 for control of the areas held in West Beirut. In this instance, it seems, two separate armed battles, parallel but unrelated, were actually taking place in the same section of the city at the same time, one between the Amal and Hizbollah militias and another between the Arafat and Abu Mūsa factions of the Fatah (PLO) militia. By early July, the Abu Mūsa fighters had gained control of both (completely flattened) Shatila and Burj alBarājneh camps. With the aid of the Popular Nasserite militia of Sidon, the proArafat regulars were also beaten (though repatriated) at Ein el-Hilweh. The outcome of this particular Palestinian struggle was to increase the guerrilla activities against SLA-Israel and to attract an intensified air and ground response from the Israelis. By insisting on guerrilla activism, Abu Mūsa loyalists along with DFLP and PFLP-GC radicals were able to bring the war from Israel back to

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the refugee camps. The demise, for a while, of the Arafat loyalists also led to a renewal of the Palestinian-Amal battles, which only began to dissipate (1988) when Amal resumed its struggle with the Hizbollah militia.22 Another major event in 1988 in Lebanon was the expiration of President Amin Gemayel’s term of office as President of the Republic, He had been President of very little during the previous three years and had shared his power with Salim al-Hoss, a Prime Minister who governed even less. Both ran separate nongovernments, accusing each other of acting unconstitutionally in carrying out their non-duties. Unable to convene a quorum of the Chamber of Deputies on August 18, its Speaker, Hussein al-Husseini, postponed the session to elect a new President until September 22, 1988, one day before the expiration of Gemayel’s term on the 23rd. There were, at various times, four candidates to succeed Gemayel as President. The PSP had nominated its own Antoine al-Ashqār; Suleiman Franjieh had announced; and Raymond Eddé was, as usual, ready to return from Paris and take over the office. A fourth candidate would undoubtedly have been General Michel Aoun, who had been appointed to head the cabinet (as an interim executive) just a few minutes before Gemayel’s time had run out.23 (The latter had manfully declared his intention not to seek a second term unconstitutionally.) As it turned out, the Chamber was not able to convene—it had remained unchanged since the last countrywide election in 1972—and so Gemayel’s last minute appointment of Aoun was almost devoid of any political basis. The General’s appointment, however, did have a military basis. He was, of course, the commander of the Lebanese army which, with Phalangist support, had tended to act as one of the Christian militias. With Aoun in B‛abdā Palace, the lines of confrontation began to change somewhat in the fall and winter of 1988–9. The Maronite community, from which the President was traditionally selected, was divided in terms of its northern, central, and southern sections, and each of these experienced splits within its leadership groups. Among the central Maronites, the divisions were based on the forces at hand, those of the Syrian army (Assad), those of the Lebanese army (Aoun), and those of the Lebanese Forces (Ja‛ja). Each of these had influence that went beyond the central sector, and they were certainly not exclusively Maronite. Most of the Maronites of the center were split between Ja‛ja and Aoun, the latter increasingly supported by Iraq. Thus, before leaving office, Amin Gemayel had appointed a militia commander armed by Iraq (for the purpose of containing Syria) to replace him in the President’s office. Beyond the Maronite community there were, of course, the Muslim elements of the government, led by the Sunni Prime Minister, Salīm al-Hoss. He, like Aoun, also insisted that he was the interim chief executive in charge of Lebanon. Amin Gemayel, Michel Aoun, and Saddam Hussein were able to prevent the election of any Syrian candidate but were unable to bypass Syria with their own selection. Gemayel’s appointment of General Aoun and his cabinet was of

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doubtful constitutionality, and Lebanon needed either a French High Commissioner to make the emergency appointment or to have a large contingent of American Marines come in and watch over a national election. Thus, on September 24, 1988, Lebanon had two governments, both operating extraconstitutionally, neither with the power to control much of the people or territory of the state. People and territory were, indeed, polka-dotted with sects, fiefs, and militia commands, many of them subjected to shooting and bombing. Yet, a kind of institutional impermanence had been formally established. Even before President Gemayel’s term had expired and General Aoun had been put in charge of B‛abdā Palace, clashes were periodically occurring between Ja‛ja’s Lebanese Forces and Gemayel’s Phalangists. On August 13, 1988, Ja‛ja’s men even got into a fight with Aoun’s army troops. Obviously, there was little chance of getting a Maronite consensus on the presidency. Syria had tried to have someone suitable to its interests elected, but Iraq was able to provide enough muscle to the indigenous oppositon to prevent it. Iraq, in fact, had finally joined Israel, Syria, and Iran in the serious bidding for influence in Lebanon. Baghdad was ready to provide arms to any Christian force that would fight Syria. It was in this context, therefore, that Amin Gemayel felt forced to appoint a six-member military cabinet headed by Michel Aoun, who was named Prime Minister and also held the portfolios of defense and information. The Muslim officers appointed to this cabinet refused to join. The al-Hoss government, operating out of West Beirut, appointed its own deputy Prime Minister to match Colonel Issām Abu Jamrā, who had been appointed to that post by Amin Gemayel. General Aoun then issued a statement forbidding government employees from implementing administrative decisions made by the al-Hoss “outgoing” government; the Prime Minister, al-Hoss, responded by announcing that his cabinet was still in power because the Aoun government violated the National Covenant. Syria continued its recognition of the al-Hoss government while Iraq recognized Aoun’s emergency cabinet. Edmund Na‛im, governor of the Central Bank, said that the bank would make funds available to pay the salaries of members of both governments.24 This strange turn of events also resulted in a (momentary) new round of fighting across the Green Line in Beirut, fighting of a type that had not been seen in Lebanon for some time. Briefly, in late 1988, clashes between sects, rather than within them, broke out across the Green Line. These firefights did not last long, since there was really no intercommunal state over which to gain supremacy. Most of these battles were for turf, taking a higher proportion of military lives than those of civilians. This trend was, itself, significant because it contrasted with those many meaningless bombardments between communities and sectors where the two sides simply lobbed destruction onto each other’s civilian populations. Deterioration into mere counter-military turf battles was actually a valuable development from the standpoint of the survival of the Lebanese as a people since it tended to kill off many of those doing the killing.

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Were such a trend to continue indefinitely, the war would someday run out of fighters. To get an idea of how far the war-of-all-against-all had deteriorated, here is an accounting of who was fighting whom in 1988–9. The major conflict dyads inside Lebanon during 1988–9 were, obviously, the headline-making battles between Amal and Hizbollah, Amal and the Palestinians (the “camp wars”), Arafat and Abu Mūsa (over control of Fatah), Lebanese Forces and the Lebanese Phalangists, the Lebanese Forces and the Lebanese army, the al-Hoss (Muslim) army and the Aoun (Christian) army, and eventually, in 1990, the Aoun army and the Syrian army. These were the eight major (continuing) conflict dyads of the 1988– 90 period (along with, of course, the many lesser turf battles reviewed above). Had the war been limited to just these eight conflict dyads, there would have been too many variables for any solution to be possible except through outside force. But whose outside force, whose patron, could have defeated the many, ever-changing oppositions? The wars that were actually going on between various groups in Lebanon and peoples on the outside during this period only hint at an answer to this question. These internal-external fights fall into five major categories. In the south, there were three groups: the Shi‛ite radicals, mainly armed groups fighting under the Hizbollah umbrella; the Palestinian radical militias such as DFLP and PFLP-GC; and the radical Lebanese leftist militias such as the Popular Nasserite Organization and Lebanese Communists, all fighting the SLA-Israel combination. Elsewhere, there were two: the Christian forces fighting the Syrians, especially in the central districts and the Iranian-Syrian supported Shi‛ite and Palestinian groups, such as Islamic Jihad and Revolutionary Justice, which had targeted and captured citizens of Western countries in order to prevent the West from intervening. Of these five categories, most of the violence involved the SLA-Israel program against their Lebanese-Palestinian opponents and, near the end of this period, the al-Hoss-Syrian opposition to General Michel Aoun. A few intriguing minor episodes involving groups inside Lebanon going up against outside states include the following: the Strugglers For Freedom (of Abdul Hādi Hamādai) opposing Germany, the Cells of the Armed Struggle against Britain, the Soldiers of Justice (Libya) versus Belgium, the Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia against France, and the Shi‛a al-Sadr Group against Libya. Moreover, both the PSP of Walīd Jumblāt and the PFLP-GC of Ahmed Jabrīl sent volunteers to help Mu’ammar Khadafi with his intervention in Chad. Mysteriously, some unidentified group kept bombing the embassy of the Ivory Coast, discouraging its unfortunate denizens to the point that they finally left. Undoubtedly, the mystery is not so baffling to the large Lebanese community living in that West African country. In several cases these armed groups were punching at a foreign enemy with one hand while punching at a domestic competitor with another. Among those engaged in such sideshows during this period were the PSP (Jumblāt) fighting

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the SSNP; the PLO regulars pitted against the DFLP; the Islamic Revolutionary Brigades against UNIFIL; and the 16th January Organization for the Liberation of Tripoli doing battle with the militia of the Arab Democratic Party (of Tripoli). In addition, five entirely intramural firefights, mere struggles for power within an armed group, erupted at this time. It is possible to find over fifty discrete conflict dyads potentially engaged in violence against one another during this period. Therefore, it was structurally impossible for any capability to develop within the country that could have contained the violence.25 There were too many differences in too small a place. WARS OF CONSOLIDATION Although 1989 saw little lessening of conflict in Lebanon, movement toward the end of the year by the country’s politicians provided some hope that the needed constitutional changes might occur to help bring an end to hostilities. This activity resulted in the Ta‛if Agreement and its subsequent ratification by Lebanon’s Christian deputies. The new formula of power sharing, explained in greater detail below, would require, of course, the means to implement it, something that was not possible to achieve without a new round of (MuslimChristian) war. A total of 165 incidents of violence occurred in 1989, down slightly from the 174 totals for each of the previous two years, and went on down to 108 incidents in 1990 (see Figure 9.1). Unfortunately, both 1989 and 1990 would turn out to be more destructive than any year since the end of the 1982 Israeli invasion. While Israeli combat, mostly by aircraft, had by now become a regular occurence and operations by the Syrian army almost institutionalized, the internal wars underwent major change. What changed was the basis of outside support, e.g., an American encouragement for Syrian tutelege in Lebanon along with a new supporter for the Christians against Syria, namely Iraq under Saddam Hussein (who was freed in 1988 from his war with Iran). This new alignment helped turn wars between militia personnel of the same sect back into intercommunal strife and, to some degree, consolidated the war. It would be two more years, however, before the fighting would end. The initial major fight in 1989 occurred between the Amal and Hizbollah Shi’ite militias over control of the Iqlīm al-Tuffah, an area of hills and ridges that extends from Jezzīn to Nabatīyah in the south of Lebanon. Before the Syrians were once more able to intervene, over 140 persons lost their lives in this turf war. Syria could not act either quickly or in strength to rescue Amal, its Shi‛ite ally, because Damascus was allied with Tehran, Hizbollah’s supporter. Finally, however, after three rounds of talks between Iran, Syria, and the Hizbollah combatants, an agreement was hammered out putting Syrian forces in between the two warring groups. Hizbollah was forced to hand over a number of strategic points it had captured but was free for further military action in the south. Amal, with Syrian backing, was left in charge of security in the area of contention in the

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southern suburbs of Beirut. A joint coordination committee met to keep the soldiers apart and allow both sides to bury their dead. The agreement held, with a few exceptions, until late October when the Shi’ite struggle once again erupted. Concurrent with the troubles between Hizbollah and Amal was the similar militia competition between the Arafat and Abu Mūsa factions of the Palestinian Fatah organization. This round of intramural killing only ended when the Israelis stepped up their raids against the camps—the prize for those who survived the intra-Fatah battles. With its plate full, Syria had better uses for Abu Mūsa than contending with Arafat, while the latter’s militia turned its attention to assassinating members of Abu Nidal’s rival Palestine Revolutionary Council (FRC). Just as the battle between Amal and Hizbollah for control of the Iqlīm alTuffah was temporarily winding down, a new one was shaping up between the Lebanese forces of Samir Ja‛ja and the Lebanese army of Michel Aoun. After more than seventy-five people were killed in this battle between the two Christian forces, Ja‛ja seemed ready to subordinate himself to Aoun and recognize him as Lebanon’s head of government. At about this time, however, General Aoun began to receive generous shipments of arms from Iraq and, sufficiently inflated, must have come to the view that he could gain control of Lebanon without Ja‛ja. On February 24, 1989, Aoun announced that he was closing down all illegal ports and would use the navy to enforce his decision. He also made incautious statements about reuniting Lebanon, tossing both the Israelis and the Syrians out. Very likely this program would have suited Saddam Hussein who could then have supplied arms to Aoun’s Christians without risking his own prestige. His weapons could have been used against Syria’s weapons. General Aoun, from his point of view, could have hoped to consolidate his power by means of a less politicized source of supply than that which Bashir Gemayel had enjoyed. In other words, Iraq would have been superior to Israel as an arms supplier because, while it opposed Syria, it did not covet Lebanese territory. There must have even been some Americans, impressed with the “international experience” of their new boss (George Bush), who saw things the same way. Just as in chess, where one marvelous move seldom wins the whole game, so it is with the complexities of Levantine politics. Closing down the ports was tantamount to getting serious about the situation in Lebanon. Ports like Khalde and Jiyyah, south of Beirut, and Silāta, north of Jubayl, were entry points for arms as well as exit points for narcotics. The drug trade supported many of these militia organizations as well as some sectors of the Syrian military and intelligence communities. General Aoun was, at this point, honest but hardly realistic. Closing the ports would halt everybody’s operations. What was the basis for Aoun’s decision? What made him think he could take such a massive step? Perhaps there were Americans who believed at the time that Saddam Hussein was the one who could light all our candles—stop the narcotics trade, ease the Syrians out of Lebanon, and reconstitute the country under Michel Aoun.

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But the General’s gambit came to nought. When Robert Franjieh announced that he would hand over his port (Silāta) in the north of Lebanon to General Aoun, Syrian forces moved in, took it over, and prevented the Lebanese government from assuming control. When the General’s military tried to stop ingress and egress from the Druze ports (Khalde and Jiyyah), Jumblāt had his PSP gunners open up against B’abdā and East Beirut from their Shūf outposts in the mountains. The Lebanese Forces would also have been left holding the bag had Aoun’s policy remained in effect. They had long controlled Beirut ports as a means to receive arms shipments. Moreover, Aoun’s challenge, redoubled by the Iraqi commitment, would have overshadowed the al-Hoss claim to authority as the constitutionally chosen Prime Minister. What began as hostilities between Ja‛ja’s Lebanese Forces and Aoun’s Lebanese army was soon deflected into a battle between al-Hoss (Syria) and Aoun (Iraq). On March 11, 1989, the PSP conveyed its opinion of the General’s intention to take over Lebanon’s ports by opening fire on his positions below the Shūf. Firing along the Green Line soon erupted, and before long the al-Hoss portion of the Lebanese army was at war with the Aoun portion. By the beginning of summer, the Syrian army had been fired upon and was retaliating with its own fire. Between August 9 and 11, more than 20,000 shells were rained down on a area covering about a third of Lebanese territory. Fewer than 200,000 people remained in Beirut; some even fled to the SLA zone controlled by Israel. The civil war was on again, with daily bombardment, Beirutis in flight, and innocent civilians taking 90 percent of the casualties. Baghdad fought Damascus by proxy; America finessed its dilemmas in the Middle East; and gunners returned to work while ordinary people once again hid in their cellars taking cover from the crashing shells. The more isolated Aoun became, the more implacable he sounded. He blamed the United States for not saving Lebanon, the French for not remembering their historic ties to the country. Blaming outside supporters for one’s political demise had almost become a reflex in Lebanon. It was a complaint that sometimes signaled an end to a political career.26 But, in fact, what had happened to Michel Aoun had not been conjured up in far away places. It was simply that, in spite of his nimble footwork, the old Lebanon had reappeared. For his supporters, the historic separation of Christian Lebanon from Muslim Syria was at stake. For his detractors, the war was merely one more episode in the struggle for power in the Levant. Syria was flexible, compromising, but relentless. Iraq was here today and gone tomorrow. Where compromise was essential, General Aoun refused. He needed the Sunni Prime Minister, the Muslims, other Christians; he needed people inside Lebanon against the outsider, not Saddam. This final round, which had begun as a battle between the Lebanese Forces and the Lebanese army over control of military barracks, slid into a war over the Green Line between the Muslim and Christian sides of the (Aoun-Hoss) double government. The war then escalated into a struggle for control of the ports and

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consequently the survival of the militias. Although the last round of the civil wars in Lebanon ultimately culminated in a struggle between the Syrian (Muslim) army and the Lebanese (Christian) army and, indirectly, a conflict between Syria’s Hafiz al-Assad and Iraq’s Saddam Hussein, it also reduced the conflict to a recognizable dyad. Moreover, it was a dyad that could be processed, for Iraq was the one state in the Middle East that Israel could allow Syria to beat. THE TA‛IF AGREEMENT Maybe the Saudis knew how to deal with Christian Lebanon. A bright spot appeared on the gloomy horizon when, after many truces, talks, and conferences, a large number of Lebanon’s legislators were persuaded to meet in Ta‛if, Saudi Arabia. In this Flagstaff, Arizona kind of resort town, a total of sixty-two deputies, thirty-one Christians and thirty-one Muslims (elected to the Chamber in 1972), worked out an agreement for a new Lebanese constitution. Although the latest round of the civil war continued throughout 1989 and into 1990, the Ta‛if Agreement served as a precedent. Lebanese politicians could agree to reform the system. While it is true that most of those Lebanese present at Ta‛if were lesser political figures, it is also true that their futures were at stake. The new formula they agreed upon was intended to accomplish the following: 1 establish a 108-member Chamber of Deputies with membership divided equally between Muslims and Christians,27 2 retain the office of President for the Christians, 3 make it impossible for the President to legislate independently of the Council, i.e., subject to a Sunni veto, 4 produce a Council with a Prime Minister selected by the Chamber, presided over by the President who would have no vote. In addition, the Syrians were formally committed to an eventual withdrawal from Lebanon as soon as political conditions made it possible for them to do so.28 The Ta‛if accord was finalized on October 22, 1989; the deputies met again at Qulayāt air base (north of Tripoli) on November 4 and ratified the agreement; they then elected René Mu‛awad President of the Republic on November 5. After much prodding, the Chamber had moved to break the old impasse. Tragically, war was still going on; Lebanon was partly under occupation; and two (almost) Prime Ministers were ambuscading each other over the Green Line. Yet, the agreement eventually would have political impact. Hizbollah indicated its marginal displeasure by referring to the “treachery” of the new Arabian constitution. General Aoun said he would block its implementation; the Israelis showed no interest and continued their bombing runs as usual. Yet, quietly, many Lebanese had hope that the previous fifteen years of insanity was about to end. René Mu‛awad was President of Lebanon for less than three weeks. On November 22, 1989, he was killed by a car bomb in Beirut. Some twenty-three

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others had to lose their lives in this vicious act of determining power. Mu‛awad wasnot a major personality within Lebanon’s Christian community and seems to have been assassinated simply because he was the man chosen to hold the presidency under the new constitutional formula. Although Mu‛awad wasacceptable to Syria and the United States, as well as to moderate Lebanese of both Christian and Muslim communities, he was obviously not acceptable to General Aoun.29 There were also those among the radicals who doubted his “Arabist” credentials. Two days later (November 24), Elias Hrāwi was elected President at a meeting held under Syrian protection at Chtaura. Hrāwi, a Biqā Valley Christian, had actually been known as an anti-Syrian politician in the past but was, by this time, won over to the idea of cooperating with Damascus in trying to stop Lebanon’s self-destruction. The Chamber also extended its own term until the end of 1994 and instructed Hrāwi to try to form a cabinet. The one announced on November 25 was obviously an attempt to reconcile all the country’s major factions. It included such notables as George Sa‛adah, head of the Phalange; Nabīh Berri, the leader of the Amal movement; Walīd Jumblāt, the Druze chief and major figure of the PSP; and Omar Karāmi, Sunni leader from the city of Tripoli.30 General Aoun, however, stayed put in his bunker at B‛abdā Palace and demanded, as a price for his cooperation, that the Syrians issue a timetable for their withdrawal from Lebanese territory. The Syrians refused to agree to this demand, pending further negotiations and reminded the General that Israel had not budged. To emphasize their point, the Syrians brought in 10,000 additional troops. Lebanese Forces Commander Samir Ja‛ja declared that he would help defend Christian areas from a Syrian attack but also recognized Hrāwi as the legitimate head of state. Hrāwi then gave Aoun five days to leave the Palace. Predictably, amid warnings to Damascus from Paris, hostilities resumed across the Green Line. Elsewhere in Lebanon, guerrillas raided, Israelis bombed, Amal and Hizbollah fought in the Iqlīm al-Tuffah, and the two governments went on issuing decrees that affected almost no one. In 1989, another “non-government” had an influence on the Lebanese situation. It seems that the inability of Iran to get the Hizbollah and Amal to stop fighting in Lebanon was due to the political struggle between hard-liners and moderates in that country. After a protracted period of part-fighting and partnegotiation, the agents for the larger Shi‛ite cause finally agreed to reposition the Fatah guerrillas on the high points in the Iqlīm al-Tuffah and, thereby, separate Amal and Hizbollah forces in that area. This move also served to prevent the whole area from being usurped by the equally determined Palestinian groups. Tehran, which subsidized Hizbollah but did not control every move made on location, was struggling over its policies in Lebanon as well as its role in getting the hostages released. One wing of the clerics in Tehran wanted to conduct a pragmatic foreign policy and rebuild Iran; the other preferred to carry the banner for revolutionary Islam. The first, led by President Rafsanjani, was prepared to limit Hizbollah radicalism in Lebanon and, correspondingly, co-exist with the

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Syrian-supported Amal militia. The second wing, comprising a number of mullahs but especially Ali Akbar Mohtashemi, was less ready to engage in accommodation either regionally or in Lebanon. Iran’s “double government” had difficulties making policy decisions in 1990; consequently, as the year came to a close, the hostages remained chained in dank cellars while Amal and Hizbollah Shi’ites killed one another nearby.

10 Syria stops the war: 1990–1995

AOUN AND JA‛JA The beginning of the end of fifteen years of civil war in Lebanon occurred on January 30, 1990. As recounted above, the sly Ja‛ja had said (December 1989) that he would fight the Syrians but support Hrāwi, Syria’s President of Lebanon. This was hardly a position to commend itself to a no-nonsense military man like General Aoun. On the 30th, a firefight broke out between the Aoun and Ja‛ja forces and spread rapidly throughout the Maronite enclave. This intra-Maronite war turned out to be one of the most destructive of all the rounds, causing more casualties in eighteen days than had occurred during six months of artillery bombardment by the Syrians in 1989. The fortunes of the two sides swung back and forth. The Ja‛ja forces held better positions while Aoun’s forces were more numerous and better equipped. After six weeks of fighting, interrupted by two ceasefires, Ja‛ja was in control of about two-thirds of the enclave, including the ports and the coastal area north to Jubayl; Aoun controlled most of Ashrafīyah and the southeastern approaches to B‛abdā of Ras al-Matn. The overall political effect of Samir Ja‛ja’s campaign was not to put himself in a position to dislodge Aoun but to contribute to the General’s strategic isolation. With other combatants in the neighborhood and 40,000 Syrian troops on his doorstep, Aoun could not move. He had attracted too many opponents. Although the war between the two militia commanders broke out over the matter of controlling turf, made likely by Ja‛ja’s support of Hrāwi instead of Aoun, there were also other political differences in the two leaders’ programs for Lebanon. Both Samir Ja‛ja and Michel Aoun wanted to rule Lebanon’s one million or so Christians, but Ja‛ja, unlike the General, called for a “federal Lebanon” to be partitioned among its rival faiths. Aoun hoped to be President of the whole of “Greater Lebanon” only partly modified from the system of the past. Ja‛ja, cast in the swashbuckling mold of Bashir Gemayel (whose militia he commanded), wanted power as Bashir had wanted it. Michel Aoun considered himself in power, appointed as acting head of government by the former President, Amin Gemayel, when no quorum to elect a successor could convene. The Lebanese Forces Commander, in his willingness to settle for some form of

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Marounistan, had also separated himself from the Gemayel core of the Katā‛ib. The Gemayels’ approach was more Lebanonist than Maronite nationalist. Thus, the appointed General more closely represented what Pierre Gemayel, the Party’s founder, had always stood for than did Ja‛ja, the LF leader. General Aoun, perhaps recalling wistfully Fu‛ād Shihāb’s role in the 1958 crisis, was determined to reconstitute the internationally recognized independent Lebanon, member of both the United Nations and the Arab League. His major policy position was to refuse to call off the state of emergency and step down until the Syrians had left the country. He always insisted on a specific timetable for the withdrawal of Syria’s troops but did not fully address the question of Israel’s forces in the south. It is important to recognize that, at this time, the Muslim side wanted Syria to stay put as a means of guaranteeing the new powersharing formula agreed to at Ta‛if. It was clear to the opposition that Lebanon’s dilemmas would not be resolved merely by having the General take over the ports and order militia commanders to submit to his authority. They objected to the fact that he had not agreed to share power, to abide by the Ta‛if formula. It would be a mistake to suppose that these political differences were the most important reasons for the renewed hostilities in early 1990. Both Ja’ja and Aoun wanted to be in power, to direct future changes in Lebanon. But more to the point was the fact that the Commander of the Lebanese Forces was hardly prepared to take orders from General Aoun. Both Ja‛ja and Aoun commanded militias, had to pay soldiers, had to control resources for that purpose, and had to communicate a raison d‛être for their positions of power. General Aoun, with one army, had been trying to give orders to Samir Ja‛ja, commanding another army. Ja’ja refused to recognize these orders; thus, war. Michel Aoun had about 15,000 soldiers under his command, and Samir Ja‛ja about 12,000; but the latter’s ranks were growing larger through defections from the General’s trapped army. Aoun’s force possessed 250 tanks, 100 armored vehicles, 200 artillery pieces, and 200 heavy mortars. The Lebanese Forces had about half that amount of equipment, but they did have the assistance (by default) of the other militias that opposed the General. Though Aoun’s soldiers made several valiant attempts to break out of their encirclement, trying to capture barracks, port facilities, and air bases, they were unable to hold any for long. Ceasefires could not last long because, as in the situation before the war, rival troops were continually maneuvering for position and control of resources in order to have the best jump-off posture when hostilities recommenced. Certain in their belief that the war would resume, the fighters took measures which made its resumption inevitable. The war was especially brutal. Many people in the urban battle area lived in cellars for weeks at a time; more than half the population of Beirut fled the city. Because tunnels were blocked and checkpoints were hard to get through, long lines of cars often formed. On one such occasion, a grenade hit a school bus and killed fifteen people, eleven of them children. After this tragedy, a cartoon in

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Beirut’s An-Nahār commented on the Aoun-Ja‛ja power struggle with the following line: “Forgive them, Lord, for they know what they do.” The war was conducted in the usual fashion. On March 9, General Aoun agreed to a ceasefire, declaring that the war was over. At this time, Ja‛ja’s forces had captured about two-thirds of the 350-square-mile (Maronite) enclave, including most of the ports. The war, however, was back on by March 14; the General had received a new shipment of arms from Iraq. The Arab League attempted to get Aoun to step down on terms of safe passage and an accelerated withdrawal on the part of the Syrians. He turned down the League’s offer. The Patriarch, Nasrullah Butrus Sfayr, complained of the “collective suicide” of the Maronite sect and led a group of Christian leaders to conferences with Elias Hrāwi in an attempt to isolate Aoun. The General’s supporters condemned the Patriarch. History reminds us of another period when an Aoun, Bishop Tobia, and a Patriarch, Bulus Masa‛ad, were involved in civil war in Lebanon—the civil war of 1860.1 This worst round of the fifteen-year civil war in Lebanon began to wind down in May 1990. After several truces and restarts in April, a ceasefire was announced on May 15, and a permanent ceasefire was declared by the Papal Nuncio, Msgr Pablo Puente, on the 26th. Although one or two breaches of the ceasefire occurred a month later, the serious fighting had spent itself in May. Significantly, Aoun and Ja‛ja’s representatives had met with Iraq’s Saddam Hussein on May 10. Arms shipments to the General were to be shut down. The ability of the Lebanese Forces to close down Aoun’s last port at Dbayye may have contributed to Saddam’s decision not to send more arms. Even the Americans, still “tilting” toward Iraq, probably agreed with this assessment. There ensued, after May 26, 1990, a massive war of words as defections to the Hrāwi government gathered momentum. Ja‛ja turned over the Sarba and Kāslik bases to Hrāwi on April 16. Both George Sa‛adah and Michel Sasīn withdrew their resignations and joined the Salim al-Hoss cabinet in June. In September, it was reported that several of Aoun’s officers had made the switch over to the Hrāwi army, commanded by General Emile Lahoud, due to the refusal of their boss to increase their pay to meet cost of living allowances. These defections occurred just as Syrian (and Hrāwi) army troops were reportedly massing in the Matn hills above B‛abdā. On September 21, 1990, President Hrāwi called upon General Aoun to join the process to end the civil war or face a “military surgical operation” that would crush his forces. This was merely the last of a series of offers made to Aoun, all of which were reasonable and all of which received a stubborn “no” from him. It has been charged that Aoun decided to let the Syrians come at his soldiers and, rather than waste his money on them, just lose in a straight-forward engagement before retiring to Paris. Although this scenario is close to what actually happened, the General may have had other motivations for his rigid stance. He may have firmly believed that once the Syrians were in Lebanon militarily, they would never leave until forced out. On this point, Aoun may turn out to be right.

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Over 1,000, mostly Maronite, lives were lost in the intra-Christian war of spring 1990. The Patriarch was the target of an assassination plot that backfired on Aoun’s soldiers. The General, himself, almost met the same fate at the hands of a Shi‛ite gunman. Other venues of the war remained active: in Iqlīm al-Tuffah between Hizbollah and Amal (and later between these and the Fatah guerrillas); in Ein el-Hilweh camp between Fatah and Abu Nidal’s FRC (and eventually between FRC defectors and FRC loyalists); in Ihdin between Aoun partisans of the Franjieh family and the Franjieh faction supporting Hrāwi; and between SLAIsrael and its enemies of the resistance in the south. Hostilities certainly persisted, but some consolidation around Elias Hrāwi (and the Syrian role) also occurred in 1990. A new drama in Lebanon also began to develop at this time. The world was paying renewed attention to the question of releasing the hostages as both Iran and Syria were in the process of regularizing their diplomatic relationships with the West. Although progress in this respect was agonizingly slow, the soundings were begun. But these soundings, along with nearly everything else, were drowned out by the high drama of August when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. Release of the hostages actually happened partly as a function of the American-led response to the Iraqi invasion, precipitated especially by the honeymoon given the Bush administration during the aftermath of the Gulf War. That war was a military triumph for the President even though its political benefits remained somewhat up in the air. But the drama of the Gulf War also served to drown out the pivotal activities occurring in Lebanon, e.g., Aoun’s stubborn rebuffs along with Syria’s preparations to move against him. Syria’s sounds could not be heard above the noise level coming from elsewhere in the Middle East. THE DEPARTURE OF GENERAL AOUN On October 10, 1990, President Hrāwi, as called for by the Ta‛if accords, formally asked for Syrian assistance in ousting the General from his B’abdā stronghold. On October 13, Syria’s ground and air forces were used in an assault that completely overwhelmed the Aoun brigade. The General escaped to the French Embassy and later called upon his men to surrender. Some 750 persons died in the assault and in the reprisal murders that followed. Syria claimed that its army lost 460 men. It was the bloodiest single engagement of the entire war, and it was decisive. The Syrian assault served the requirements of conflict resolution because one side actually vanquished another. This terrible act of violence was not just punishment politics; it was an invasion where soldiers killed one another in large numbers, a use of violence which actually altered the distribution of power. The Syrian assault was a ghastly business, but it also was not business as usual in Lebanon. While Michel Aoun skulked around in the French Embassy, the Hrāwi government set about implementing the provisions of the Ta‛if agreement. On

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December 19, 1990, the al-Hoss cabinet resigned to make a reconciliation government possible as called for in the agreement. Salim al-Hoss, Americaneducated and all business, had headed four different cabinets, most during the worst of times in Lebanon. His main achievement was to get the necessary support to oust Aoun and keep the Ta‛if process going. He also was Prime Minister during the late November, early December period when the Lebanese army, with Syrian back-up, was able to destroy the barricades dividing the Muslim and Christian sectors of Beirut along the Green Line. Gradually, in December, the Lebanese army was able to gain control of the whole of “Greater Beirut” as the militias were persuaded to pull out. The massive attack by the Syrians that ousted Michel Aoun had also notified other recalcitrant militia commanders what they could expect if they refused to cooperate. Regaining a ”monopoly of force” was to be the main goal for the Syrian-Hrāwi combination during the years 1991–2. As for al-Hoss’s quiet departure, this decision also made a major contribution to the process of pacification which followed Hrāwi’s accession to the presidency. Privately, those close to the former Prime Minister complained that the President (Hrawi) had become accustomed to making decisions and handling state affairs “as of old”, i.e., in an exclusive fashion without involvement of the cabinet headed by its Muslim Prime Minister. It is difficult to know to what degree this charge was valid or if the problem was inherent in the duopoly that was created at Ta‛if. Even with Syria acting as the final arbiter over the actions of the President and his several Prime Ministers, it is obvious that the structural dilemmas of Lebanon’s confessionalism still plague the system. Some would say that a genuine “twin executive” is a political oxymoron, invalid in theory and unworkable in practice. Umar Karāmi, leader of the Sunni community in Tripoli and son of the former Prime Minister Rashid Karāmi, was named to head a new cabinet. On December 23 1990, he presented a “cabinet of everybody,” including all the old warriors. In addition to his “working cabinet,” Karāmi named the major militia leaders to the group as “ministers of state” in order to recognize the military status quo minus Syria (which was too busy running the state to join the cabinet). Most of the latter group declined to participate, claiming that the government was “untidy” or too dominated by Syria or not genuinely representative, etc. Under normal conditions, the refusal of Jumblāt, Berri, Hobeika, Franjieh, Ja‛ja, and (Phalangist) George Sa‛adah would have rendered the functioning of the government unwork able. In this instance, however, Syria was enforcing policy, so their nonparticipation actually enhanced the government’s performance. For 1990, there were 108 incidents of violence, down from the 165 total of the previous year. The reconciliation period reduced the number somewhat, even though 1990 was the bloodiest in fifteen years of war in Lebanon (except for 1982 with its Israeli invasion). More than 1,000 had been killed in the intraChristian war during the spring; at least 800 more died as a consequence of the Syrian attack on General Aoun in the fall; and, in midsummer, an additional 200

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or so lost their lives in several weeks of struggle among the Hizbollah, Amal, and Fatah militias in the al-Tuffah district. Of course, the bombing, mutual assassinations, and guerrilla (raid-reprisal) activity continued, producing its normal losses in life and property. One such event resulted in the murder of Camille Chamoun’s other son, Dany, along with all the members of his family except an eleven-year-old daughter. Now, the war had taken the (militia commander) sons of each of the three major Maronite chiefs, Chamoun, Gemayel, and Franjieh. Chamoun had lost two. The year 1990 was, however, not merely another year either for Lebanon or for the rest of the Middle East. Most of the conflict of the civil war ended, and the Lebanese army began to take control, first in Beirut, then in other areas of Lebanese territory. With the events of the Gulf War, the beginnings of realignment in the Middle East, and the closing stages of the Cold War, the Lebanese actually began to believe that their country might survive. Syria, Israel, Iran, and Palestine still occupied much of their land, but, even so, a recognizable Lebanese government had been created to add to the list of political authorities running things. Some of the militias had withdrawn, and one, Amal, had even voluntarily disbanded. There was some hope. Following the takeover of “Greater Beirut” in December, Lebanon became considerably more stable and somewhat less violent. The number of incidents of violence in 1991 was down to sixty, in comparison to the 108 total recorded for the previous year. Yet, violence was still a part of Lebanon’s political scene in 1991. The year began with a series of bomb blasts targeted at installations associated with those countries fighting Iraq in the Gulf War, e.g., a British bank, a Lebanese-French bank, the Italian Embassy, French-owned and Saudiowned banks, the Saudi Embassy, the French Embassy, and the Soviet Cultural Center. Several car bombs also were set off early in the year. One, aimed at the motorcade of the Defense Minister, al-Murr, killed eight people but only injured him slightly. Al-Murr had been put in charge of disbanding Lebanon’s armed groups, hence the massive explosion. Raid and retaliation continued apace in the south as both the Palestinian militias and those of the Islamic resistance stepped up their attacks on the SLA-Israel force. In addition, considerable violence accompanied the attempts, mostly successful, of the Lebanese army to extend government authority throughout the country. Some of this violence came from Palestinians fighting to prevent the Lebanese government from imposing its authority in their camps. PROGRESS UNDER PRESIDENT HRĀWI The major news in 1991 was political; the government was able to begin the process of reconstituting its authority. On May 1, the army took control of an additional swath of territory, increasing its holdings to about 25 percent of the former republic. The Lebanese Forces turned over ports, barracks, air bases, and many of their heavy weapons to the Lebanese army as they withdrew from the

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fringes of Beirut into the hills of Kisrawān. The PSP, for the most part, was not unreservedly cooperative in turning in its weapons but did redeploy away from the ridges of the Matn overlooking Beirut to the mountains of the Shūf. On March 2, 1991, Walīd Jumblāt withdrew his earlier resignation from the cabinet and took on responsibilities as Minister of State. About six weeks later, the PSP militia reportedly handed over 300 tons of munitions to the Syrian army. Lebanese Forces Commander, Samir Ja‛ja, and Phalangist leader, George Sa‛adah, also withdrew their resignations and decided to join the Hrāwi cabinet (as Ministers of State). Consolidation of the government’s authority and reconciliation with its adversaries continued during the summer of 1991. With the 40,000 members of the Syrian army in the background and General Aoun out of the way—he slipped out of the French Embassy and left for Paris on August 29—Hrāwi managed to gain the support of some Muslims, some Christians, Syria, and most foreign governments, including the United States. So far, the President has had little choice but to bow to Syrian interests. For the past few years, this Syrian-Maronite combination has been the only one to master Lebanon’s impossible communal mix. While the militia commanders have only partially cooperated with the Hrāwi government, they have not taken up arms to oppose it either. Recognizing Syria’s clout, they have chosen to retire to their home bases, keep in touch with their men, and wait to see how the new government fares (both in Lebanon and with Syria).2 REGIONAL LINKAGES There was a lot of waiting and watching in 1991. Early in the year all eyes were cast on events beyond Lebanon to see what might be the political results of the Gulf War. Would the United States get serious about the peace process that was promoted for the Israelis and Palestinians? Would Washington give serious leadership to controlling the flow of arms into the area and into Lebanon in particular? Would the world help in reconstructing the destroyed economies, and would countries take a multilateral approach to the problems of the area? These were some of the questions diplomats asked. As for answers, little had been done about the refugee problem except to create more refugees. Dictators still ruled, and all and sundry were preparing to buy even more arms. Israel began to retreat from its hard-line position on the Palestinians, recognizing that the latter would not budge unless Jerusalem offered concessions. These culminated in the IsraeliPLO peace accord that may someday give a sliver of independence to Palestinians in Gaza and Jericho and, if negotiations for an infinite series of interim agreements succeed, allow the extension of Palestinian authority in the Israeli-occupied territories. Moreover, until Israel and Syria settle the Golan Heights issue, Syria will not leave Lebanon. The absence of a settlement has also provided more fuel to keep Islamic hearts on fire—especially in Iran and on the West Bank. In Lebanon, these linkages lead directly to questions concerning its own territorial integrity. Palestinian, Syrian, and Israeli occupation of Lebanese

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territory are current realities and are also tied to making progress on a settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict and, perhaps, (eventually) a general settlement in the region. Beyond this, progress awaited elections, in Lebanon, in Israel, and in the United States. In Lebanon, elections for a new Chamber of 128 members—the first since 1972—were conducted in August and September 1992 but were marred by a Christian boycott. The Christians (backed by a few Muslims) had attempted to have the elections postponed until after the departure of Syrian troops to the Biqā promised for September. But Syria and the Hrāwi government were adamant, and the elections went on as scheduled without violence. The mainly Maronite boycotts, both by candidates and voters, led to the election of a Chamber not representative of all of Lebanon’s political views and also not likely to stray far from Syria’s tutelege. In Israel, the new Labor government of the Prime Minister, Yitzhak Rabin, has sounded somewhat more conciliatory than the previous Likud government under Yitzhak Shamir had been. The RabinPeres government has backed the peace process; it has halted settlements and negotiated with the PLO. Even so, violence may still undercut that government’s approach to the peace process as long as its concessions are sliced so thin. Although the “handshake in Washington” gave dramatic impetus to the peace process, real progress, especially for the Lebanese, awaits negotiations between the Israelis and Syrians that began in early 1996 but have, as yet, produced little movement.3 According to the Ta‛if agreement, the Syrians had to withdraw their forces from coastal Lebanon into the Biqā by August of 1992. During the Bush presidency, Secretary of State Baker often said that he fully expected this to happen, reiterating this position in person during a meeting with President Hrāwi in Zahleh on July 23. Hrāwi insisted that he would ask for a Syrian withdrawal, and Syria is on record as having recognized the independence of Lebanon. Unfortunately, Syria’s occupation forces had not been redeployed to the Biqā by the time of the September 1992 deadline. The Syrian government has never claimed the right to maintain troops in Lebanon and has not said anything that would preclude their ultimate withdrawal. Yet, the Assad government has been demanding “special relations” with Lebanon, an idea which, when spelled out, strikes fear into the hearts of those Lebanonists who wish to enjoy genuine independence from the Syrian hinterland. The Assad government has, in fact, insisted that this “special relationship” be formalized by a treaty that establishes a “Higher Presidential Council for Cooperation and Coordination.” This Council, made up of the Syrian President and Vice President along with the Lebanese President and Prime Minister, would hook the two countries permanantly together in security, foreign, and economic policies. The comprehensive character of this Syrian proposal worried even the most pro-Syrian members of the Hrāwi government. The proposal was fudged a bit and ratified by the Chamber on September 17 as a “treaty” through which the “brotherly interests of the two countries” would be

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cared for by joint committees on security, economics, trade, culture, and foreign policy. The new words amounted to a compromise that gave the treaty greater scope in return for weakening the powers of the Council in those matters over which it had competence. It is not easy, at this time, to assess the significance of the Lebanese-Syrian treaty or predict what form the overall political relationship between the two countries will take. While the Syrians are formally committed to the independence of Lebanon, the episode of the treaty, especially in reference to Syria’s initial demands, provides a clear signal that the Assad regime has not given up on keeping Lebanon, in some fashion, for itself. Words on a piece of paper will not determine Syria’s behavior in Lebanon. Only conditions in Lebanon, the status of the peace process, and enforced demands by outside powers will bring about a Syrian withdrawal. As an example of politically meaningless words on a piece of paper, consider that no country in the world except Israel agreed with the Shamir interpretation of United Nations Resolution 242, namely, that compliance with the words “withdraw from territories” occurred when the IDF left the Sinai. Yet the Likud Prime Minister insisted on such an interpretation when he outlined Israel’s position in Madrid. Similarly, Syria will not worry about language and treaty commitments when it continually “postpones” leaving Lebanon. Israel, concerned about an American-Syrian closeness, is angry about the Syrian envelopment of Lebanon, noting that nothing has been done to contain Palestinian or Hizbollah military activity in the south. It is clear to the Israelis that as long as Damascus controls the government in Beirut, nothing will be done to rein in the various guerrilla groups. What could be more convenient for the Syrians than to conduct hostilities against Israel (at a tolerable level) from another country’s territory and, thus, avoid Israel’s retaliation. Yet, Israel holds the Golan region and the SLA buffer in south Lebanon as cards to play against Syria (and Lebanon). Syria holds the guerrillas; Israel the Golan. These are the two major cards that must be played before Lebanon has any chance of regaining its full independence. It must be kept in mind that ending the Hizbollah-Palestinian activity in the south would not be easy for Syria and the Lebanese government to accomplish even if Damascus decided to do so. Such a policy would harm Syria’s relations with Iran whose power helps contain Iraq, Syria’s most dangerous enemy. However, were the peace process to yield an interim settlement (in the interest of both the Syrians and Palestinians), one can imagine Syria and Israel cooperating in allowing the Lebanese army to gain control of the south and restrain the guerrillas. Clearly, the future of Lebanon awaits outcomes in the peace process between Israel and its neighbors that seem distant at present. Lebanon’s government did make some progress on the domestic front in 1991. In early July, 6,000 soldiers of the Lebanese army assaulted the Palestinian guerrillas in their strongholds east of Sidon. These Fatahland fighters, more numerous in 1991 than in 1981 (prior to the Israeli invasion), were defeated but

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were allowed to return to their Mieh-Mieh and Ein el-Hilweh camps with nothing more than the light weapons needed to maintain order.4 As the Hrāwi government saw it, without their heavier weapons and bases, conducting raids into SLA-Israel would be more difficult (unless they had Syrian permission).5 The object of this policy, therefore, was not only to extend the army’s control over Lebanese territory but also to demonstrate that the government could control the guerrillas. If it could do so, perhaps the Israelis might eventually be persuaded to return the SLA buffer in the south to Beirut. Locally, the Lebanese army took some pride in the fact that it was a multicommunal force that had attacked and defeated the Palestinian military units. Obviously, it was also helpful that Syrian troops had been able to patrol other parts of the country while the new Hrāwi army devoted its full attention to moving against the Fatah regulars. The success of the Lebanese army in this case should not lead us to overemphasize its freedom of action. One of the reasons that the Lebanese had Syrian support for this action was that Damascus wanted to weaken the Arafat faction of the Palestinians. Moving further east and south, however, has not been so easy for the Lebanese government. In attempting to enter Jezzīn as well as move on south toward Tyre, the army began to push at the outer edges of what is possible in regaining control over its territory. Jezzīn acts as the most northerly outpost for the SLA, and Israel was not prepared to concede this spot to Beirut. In moving toward Tyre, UNIFIL6 demanded that its mission and security needs be honored, putting a limit on how far Lebanese authority could move in that direction. Here again, the real limits are controlled by both Israel and Syria, and neither is likely to pull back until the other does. As said before, Lebanon waits; we all wait for progress in the peace process. RELEASE OF HOSTAGES Another major development in 1991 was the beginning of the release, in earnest, of the Western hostages. On August 8, 1991, Islamic Jihad released John McCarthy, a British journalist who had been kidnapped in 1986. Then, following a hiccup in the pattern, when a Frenchman, Jerome Leyraud, was kidnapped (to protest Iran’s new policy on the hostages), both he and Edward Austin Tracy were let go on August 11. Tracy was freed by the Revolutionary Justice Organization, another Hizbollah group, signalling that all the hostages held by organizations tied to Iran would soon be released. On September 23, Revolutionary Justice also handed over Jack Mann to Syrian authorities; he had been seized by a group, the Cells of Armed Struggle, in 1989. On September 11 1991, Israel released fifty-one Lebanese prisoners it had been holding and, in exchange for information on Israelis held or killed in Lebanon, became part of the program to get the release of the hostages. These continued to come out: the British Thomas Sutherland and Terry Waite in November and, finally, Americans Joseph Cicippio, Alann Steen, and Terry Anderson, a few weeks later

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in early December 1991. Only Thomas Kemptner and Heinrich Strübig, two Germans held by the Hamadai clan, remained in captivity. Their case was complicated by the fact that this family hoped to trade Kemptner and Strübig for their kin imprisoned in Germany as convicted terrorists. These two men were not freed until the summer of 1992. Not counting those held by Israel, about eighty-six hostages were captured and held in Lebanon during this saga. The first was taken in 1982 and the last were released a decade later. Obviously, more hostages could be taken and this method again used to dramatize a cause or, as is more likely, to keep interventionary forces out of Lebanon. Yet, the rapid movement on this issue, once a decision had been made in Tehran, suggested that a more pragmatic approach was being followed. Although it may take years to bear fruit, it has become clear (since the end of the Gulf War and the break up of the Soviet Union) that Middle East regimes will need to be less ideological and more pragmatic in the future. The need to find a role in the post-Cold War period, both politically and economically, more than anything else, is fostering the new approaches that are emerging in the area. Yet, economic needs do not, by themselves, decide political issues. Difficult, abrasive issues still divide people, and bombs and hostage taking remain tools for groups to use as the means to advance their causes. Another sign of pragmatism was the participation of both Israel and Syria in the peace talks, held initially in Madrid, which inaugurated America’s post-Gulf War attempt to give impetus to the peace process. Syria’s Lebanon also participated in these talks, but the Hrāwi government’s views have not diverged significantly from positions taken by Syria. Its representatives, however, have had the opportunity of presenting their claims in face to face talks with the Israelis. The Israelis and Palestinians have continued to negotiate (even as radicals on both sides try to undercut the peace process), and they may be inching their way towards normalcy by means of an infinite series of interim agreements. A non-publicized attitude with which the participants have conducted the negotiations is that, even though major difficulties stand in the way of a settlement, they can always return to try again. In Moscow, twenty countries attended the Middle East peace talks, giving the process a multilateral flavor and setting a precedent for the conference-approach to the issue. Meetings during the latter months of 1992, following the June elections in Israel, led to “real” talking, for example in 1993 in Norway. POLITICS AND RECONSTRUCTION After obtaining Syria’s approval, President Hrāwi nominated Rafīq al-Harīri to be the Prime Minister of Lebanon following elections (boycotted by most Maronites in the central districts) held in August and September of 1992. On October 22, Harīri was voted in and (with Nabīh Berri as the new Speaker) provided a new look in the Lebanese government. Lebanese born but a Saudi

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national, Harīri is a self-made billionaire committed to the reconstruction of Lebanon. While he has himself begun to invest in new commercial properties, the main hope Harīri represents is his determination to cut through the political imbroglio in Lebanon and steer the country along a coherent path of reconstruction and renewal. Although not without controversy, the Harīri government has established Solidère, a state-managed stock company to rebuild the market center of Beirut. Other projects are being planned to develop the country’s transportation and utility infrastructure, e.g., a bypass for Beirut and rebuilding the old Haifa-Tripoli railroad. The government’s objective is, once again, to attract business and capital to Lebanon, and, so far, it has succeeded. The third of President Hrāwi’s Prime Ministers (Salīm al-Hoss and Omar Karāmi preceded him), Rafīq al-Harīri first took office in 1992. Relations have often been strained with other members of the cabinet—especially the Shi’ite Speaker of the House, Nabīh Berri—as well as with President Hrāwi. Harīri has attempted to resign at least three times, usually over the question of getting quick action on his development projects.7 This Sunni minister also wanted to bring more Maronites into his cabinet—to make it more representative—and even went on strike to try and get his way. Elias Hrāwi, the Maronite President, refused him the new ministers but was, with Syria’s help, able to persuade Harīri to stay on. Although their relationship has not been easy, the President and the Prime Minister have functioned fairly well as a dual executive. Acting as a kind of proconsul for Damascus, Hrāwi sets limits on the policies that the more popular Harīri initiates and tries to push through. At present, power in Lebanon’s governmental structure has shifted from the President to the Prime Minister. That power, however, is subject to what the Syrians allow and might operate differently, under the Ta‛if formula, if left to its own devices. In addition, the traditional leader of the Druze, Walīd Jumblāt, has led the movement for reconciliation in Lebanon, making special efforts to conduct a program directed toward the repatriation of Christian villagers to the Druze areas of the Matn and Shūf. As Minister for War Displaced, Jumblāt is working on a careful step by step process that helps people who fled their villages during the war return, find protection, and rebuild.8 In other parts of the country, similar reconstruction and reconciliation programs have been inaugurated. However, the 360,000 Palestinian refugees still living in Lebanon pose a problem that has not been dealt with satisfactorily. Some camps, like Ein el-Hilweh (near Sidon), are small cities in their own right; others, like Nahr al-Barīd (near Tripoli), are caught between the PLO and Syria and sometimes left without any support. Although less than one half of Lebanon’s Palestinians actually live in the camps, living space is still at a premium. The government plans to reduce sharply the number of camps and insists that once a settlement is reached, no more than 50,000 Palestinians will be allowed to become permanent residents (with civic rights) in the country. In the future, Lebanon is to be only for the Lebanese.

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Although the recent election suffered from the Maronite boycott and the smothering tactics of the Syrian pro-consuls, it also must be gauged as a qualified success. The present cabinet is by no means entirely pro-Syrian and has many positions occupied by political technocrats instead of the old zu‛āma politicians. Hizbollah made electoral gains both in the Ba‛albek region and in the southern Jabal Amil. Amin Gemayel has returned from France, and Samir Ja‛ja was forcefully persuaded to take up residence in his village home in the mountains.9 The Franjiehs participated in the election, and some won seats in the Assembly. In May 1995, the inevitable question (in Lebanon) of amending the constitution so that the President might succeed himself began to surface. On November 23, Hrāwi’s term would end and with it, so his supporters claimed, would end the recent “era of security and…stability.”10 At first, concerned about the political consequences of going against constitutional tradition in Lebanon, Damascus opposed the idea. By the end of the summer, however, the Syrians viewed the matter differently. Facing difficult negotiations with the Israelis over the Golan and the status of south Lebanon, Assad decided not to take a chance on a successor beyond his control in Beirut. Thus, on October 19, the 128-member Lebanese Assembly, with only eleven opposed, agreed to the amendment that allows Elias Hrāwi to continue in office for an additional three years (rather than a second full term of six years). The Prime Minister, Harīri, his own luster having paled somewhat in 1995, led the campaign for amending the constitution. While public order is better maintained than in the past, violence still abounds in Lebanon. As part of the war between Hizbollah and SLA-Israel, the Israelis conducted a weeklong bombing of guerrilla targets in the Biqā in July 1993. More than a hundred persons lost their lives. Attack and reprisal continue in the south. The Israelis launched thirty-one air strikes into Lebanon in 1994, while Hizbollah’s attacks cost Israel twenty soldiers that year. Also, internally, Lebanon has suffered several bombings. The Phalange Party headquarters was bombed in December 1993; in Jounieh, eleven died when bombs were detonated in a Maronite church, in February 1994; and bombings against Jews in London and in Buenos Aires (killing a hundred persons) have been linked to the war in south Lebanon. A Jordanian First Secretary, Na‛iīb Ma‛ayta, was murdered in Beirut in January 1994, and a car bomb killed Fu‛ād Mughnīyah, brother of hostage taker Imād Mughnīyah, in December. Syrians, Iranians, Israelis, and revanchist Lebanese still have agents who can kill for them in Lebanon. Although deep and bitter divisions from the long years of strife remain, the civil war in Lebanon has ended and the process of healing begun.11 Considering the horrors of the previous period, the country has done well in fostering political and economic stability, striving mightily to reimpose the rule of law and organize a long-term program of reconstruction. Yet, while the civil war is over, Lebanon is still occupied (by Syria and Israel), and the war in the south between Hizbollah and SLA-Israel continues. In Beirut (1995–6), the mood has become more optimistic as more goods have appeared in the stores, the streets have been cleaned up, electricty has been turned on for most of the day, and roads have

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Figure 10.1 Summary of incidents of violence: 1947–1991 Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

been rebuilt.12 The mood has been different in other parts of the country, especially in the Biqā and the south, where the war takes its regular toll of lives and property.

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WAR AND OCCUPATION In 1976, the Syrian army was invited to intervene in Lebanon to prevent a victory by a PSP-Palestinian coalition that had pushed the Christian militias into the mountains. The Israelis first entered Lebanon militarily in 1978 to drive back the Palestinian guerrillas in South Lebanon and give support to the South Lebanese army which was organized as a buffer in the border regions. Both remain in Lebanon today. The Biqā region has hosted an Iranian presence as well. The incoherence of Lebanese politics and the chaos of its violence provided the context for these interventions. Those in Beirut, depending on the Syrians, and in Marjayoun, needing the Israelis, can find justification for their policies by simply recalling the past. An Armenian Mutasarrif or an American ambassador could stand apart from the clash of interests in Lebanon; not all relationships for them (in Lebanon) were zero-sum. The problem is, of course, that neither Damascus nor Jerusalem fill the bill. They are not about to take on roles that remind us of the policies of Da'ūd Pasha or Robert McClintock. Lebanon for them is, at least partly, a means by which they compete with each other. The “Ghassanid” SLA buffers for Israel while the “Lakhmid” Hizbollah buffers for Syria (and Iran).13 Lebanon is trapped. Undoubtedly, the Syrian occupation provides some benefits for the Lebanese. The 30,000 soldiers of the occupation force are not very visible; much of the management of traffic at the checkpoints has been taken over by the reconstituted Lebanese army. The outsider, for some time now, has been called upon to mediate between Lebanese factions and squabbling members of the government, contributing to the country’s new-found stability. Hafiz al-Assad’s position in Lebanon complicates Israeli strategies for operating with a free hand in Lebanon, not only to combat guerrillas there but also to make off with the country’s water from the Litāni River.14 Finally, Syria’s presence in Lebanon strengthens the Arab component in the “peace process.” Neglecting the Arab component has been destabilizing to Lebanon in the past, and it very likely would be destabilizing in the future. The only palpable benefit of the Israeli occupation for the Lebanese is that it provides them with a possible ally against the Syrians and prevents the outright annexation of the country by Damascus. The contributions of both occupations are, otherwise, negative. For those who still believe that Lebanon should be Arab but separate, the negatives are simply that the two occupations emasculate the independence of the Republic, perpetuate a tight stalemate of war in the south, and reduce the chances that the Lebanese can be free of the religious and ideological zealotry that keep them in thrall. All talk of progress and reconstruction in Lebanon should not deflect our attention from the fact that war is still being fought in its precincts. Lebanese and Israelis die in the raids and bombardments that are conducted on a routine basis: in Israel, in the border region, in the Iqlīm al-Tuffah, in the Biqā Valley, and even in far-off places like London and Buenos Aires. The loss in property and in

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the feelings of bitterness and helplessness on the part of persons who have their homes destroyed is immense. The UN reported eighty Hizbollah attacks in February 1995, while Israel blockaded the coast of south Lebanon that month, putting 1,800 fishermen out of work. The active war front along Lebanon’s border with Israel continued on a routine basis throughout 1995 and into 1996, killing 151 persons (including twenty-five Israeli soldiers). Attacks with pinpoint accuracy by the Israelis removed some Hizbollah leaders; booby-traps and suicide bombings carried out by Hizbollah guerrillas killed SLA and IDF soldiers. By April of 1996, guerrillas in south Lebanon were once again rocketing Kiryāt Shimona in the northeastern corner of Israel. The Israelis have retaliated by bombing Hizbollah targets in Ba‛albek and Beirut. Attack and counterattack amount to permanent war in Lebanon. What is the objective basis for the war-stalemate? Having won the Golan in the 1967 war, Israel has since annexed part of it and allowed Jewish citizens to build settlements in the region. For security reasons, among others, Israel wants to keep at least some of the area permanently; Syria wants all of it back. Israel also occupied a buffer strip of south Lebanon in 1978, invaded again in 1982, and then did not completely withdraw in 1985 as had been promised. Syria, with its Hizbollah and Palestinian auxiliaries, outflanks the Golan Heights region on the west and can keep military pressure on Israel and her SLA allies at little cost. In lock step, Syria and Lebanon have insisted on a comprehensive settlement with Israel that would result in the return of the Golan to Syria and withdrawal of Israeli troops from southern Lebanon. Damascus has insisted that the Lebanese cannot act independently of Syria; to do so would reduce their bargaining power vis-à-vis the Israelis. Officially, the Lebanese government has been adamant in refusing to send its own army into the south to control the “liberation” forces there until all of the provisions of UN Security Council 425 are fulfilled.15 The government of Lebanon needs Syria for internal stability; the Syrian government needs Lebanon as a means to exert military pressure on Israel. The quid pro quo would seem to suggest that Lebanese cooperation will increase Syria’s chances of getting the Golan back while Syrian cooperation will increase Lebanon’s chances of regaining control over the whole of its territory. In carrying out its side of the bargain, Lebanon is not to make a separate deal with the Israelis or interfere with Syria’s use of Hizbollah against Israel; and, for its part, Syria is to make no agreement over the Golan that does not also require the Israelis to withdraw from Lebanese territory and allow the Lebanese army to impose Beirut’s authority on the militias. Although all three governments need a settlement, many strings need to be pulled at the same time.16 In an attempt to pull these strings, the Americans invited Israel and Syria to engage in discussions at Wye Plantation on the eastern shore of Maryland—a location barred to the media and allowing a relaxed, unhurried atmosphere. Meetings in June and December 1995 and January 1996 have allowed the parties to examine options without engaging in genuine negotiations. The results of this Oslo-style format are, as yet, unknown, but reports suggest a businesslike

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approach by the conferees and an exchange of views on a wide range of issues. The assassination of Yitzhak Rabin on November 4, 1995, murders of Hamas leaders, suicide bombings by Hamas, bulldozing of homes, and more murders and suicide bombings have made it much more difficult to make progress at Wye. Although discussions will undoubtedly continue, they are not likely to yield substantive results until some time after elections have been held (1996) in both Israel and the United States. In the meantime, the Lebanese have not deviated from the Syrian line in regional and international policy. They did not attend the second IsraeliPalestinian summit (Oslo II); they were absent from Rabin’s funeral; and they were among only six Middle East countries that refused to go to the “conference of peacemakers” at Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt on March 13, 1996. Thirteen Arab countries attended. Bombs and bulldozers have played into the hands of the radicals, keeping Lebanon in lock step with Syria. Although it is assumed that Lebanon will be able to retrieve its southern districts when Syria regains the Golan, many question whether or not the three governments involved will be able to gain control over Hizbollah and the radical Palestinian guerrillas in that area. Hizbollah may not be much easier to manage for Syria and Lebanon than is Hamas easy to manage for Palestine and Israel. The process of actual retrieval in south Lebanon may take much longer than negotiating a settlement between Syria and Israel. THE FUTURE Boxed in by Syria, Israel, Palestine, and Iran and with its independence at stake, Lebanon is a hostage to the international process that will determine its future. The Lebanese, within the confines of what is politically feasible, must exhibit great patience for now. They must concentrate on the internal reconstruction and reconciliation necessary to attract the serious involvement of sympathetic policymakers and financiers in the world at large. A sovereign Lebanon that existed only as an arena of factional strife and intercommunal war would not be worth the trouble. Yet, even with a strengthened credibility, Lebanon will not be “saved” by means of another country’s program. Other countries are more likely to use her than save her. For now, she must make her way along the treacherous path of domestic and regional politics, prospecting the peace process for what it yields while preparing for the day when she can assert her independence. To flail herself into a thousand pieces will only delay that day. Some argue that the current government in Lebanon should send its army into the south and, acting independently of Syrian wishes, begin to reconstitute its authority in that region, a change of policy, one assumes, the Israelis would welcome.17 This is not a feasible strategy for Beirut at this time. With due regard for the suffering caused by the war in the south, Lebanon is not stable enough or strong enough to act independently of Syria. Moreover, it would be a mistake for

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it to flout the “Arab” role in the peace process that has now been thrust upon it, at least until all feasible possibilities have been exhausted. But how will we know when “all possibilities are exhausted?” How long must the Lebanese wait? The answer to this question involves the covariance of two factors: the strength and solidarity of Lebanese society relative to the status of the peace process. If the problem of the Golan is resolved (and it comes back under Syrian control), the war situation in southern Lebanon will also have been settled; for Israel would never give up the Golan region while Syrian-Iranian proxies remain active there. Thus, the peace process must yield the whole package or nothing at all. The difficulty for the Lebanese, of course, is that in working out the quid pro quos of that package, they must perform first. They must cooperate with Syria on getting the Golan back before Syria must cooperate with them in disarming the “liberation” forces in south Lebanon and withdrawing the 30,000 soldiers from Lebanese territory. Genuine Lebanese patriots must simply recognize that this unfortunate asymmetry in their prospects is one of the penalties assigned them for having fought the civil war and allowed the Syrians to come in and end it. It may be that the Syrian troops will never leave willingly and that Lebanon’s governing elite will, indeed, prefer that they do not. While it is not incredible to imagine the status quo remaining indefinitely, a sense of Lebanon’s history suggests that these peoples will once again demand to be independent. Throughout their history, the only times they have been able to unite—the only instances when the people have been true to their Mountain—were those times when they had to act together to rid themselves of foreigners. Policymakers in Damascus, in Jerusalem, in Beirut, and in Washington take note. One can, of course, imagine a worst-case scenario, a deterioration in the situation that neither honors the efforts of the Lebanese in rebuilding their country nor the care and perspicuity with which Hafiz al-Assad has conducted himself in the Levant. In such a case, a movement would surely develop among the Lebanese to regain their independence—perhaps guerrilla action that would have as its goal the withdrawal of Syrian forces from Lebanon. Once the Lebanese have expressed their gratitude to the Syrians for the assistance that has been rendered and politely asked them to leave, and a “reasonable” time has passed without this request being honored, realism suggests that the peoples of the Republic would organize to bring about Syria’s departure by their own efforts. This effort, if required, should set the following, lexically ordered, priorities: 1 to demand the reconstitution of the fully independent Republic of Lebanon, 2 to organize it according to the conception of the mīthāq al-watanī (National Pact), 3 to assert, as an ultimate goal, the establishment of a non-sectarian political system, 4 to emphasize diplomatic means as precedent to military action,

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5 to manage, if possible, to have the top leadership position in the movement held by a Muslim.18 Comment is perhaps needed only for the last of these priorities. The genius of the al-Khūri-al-Sulh National Pact was that it enunciated the one, unvarnished truth about Lebanon—it is separate and Arab. Such a movement, if necessary—and this account is written for the express purpose of making it unnecessary—would only meet with success if most of the members of the Muslim communities in the Republic felt Lebanese. Christians should assume, therefore, that a time would come when Muslims also wanted to reconstitute a fully independent Lebanon, one that was their country too. THE LONG-TERM FUTURE Salvation for Lebanon requires movement toward non-sectarian politics and a lessening of class barriers. Because religious leaders cannot deliver the goods in a global economic and political system, the religion disease will run its course once outsiders stop subsidizing it. When meddling in politics, religious leaders can only close doors not open them. While much has been made of Lebanon’s sectarian dilemmas, the special difficulty for Lebanese society has been the “double trouble” it engenders; class barriers run parallel to religious divisions. The only long-term solution for this dilemma is to permit people to vote as individuals for individuals, linked only to non-government political party organizations. Only a non-sectarian politics will lessen class barriers. Another key to Lebanon’s future is for its leaders to master the “insideoutside” game, not only as an independent state but as a cultural and economic component of the region. History teaches that insiders cannot alone organize a stable and prosperous Middle East. Nor can any of the parts of the region enjoy peace independently of the peace and security of the other parts. While the Middle East as a whole is truly a mosaic, as is Syria, that part of it called Lebanon is even more so. In Beirut, all the little pieces have fallen down in a heap. This tragic place is an area of hyper-particularism, one square of the four center squares of the global chess-board, an urban culture in a desert-oasis ecology, an arena for those in and out of the garden, a place of vulnerability, of outside intervention, of amoral relativism, of glorified expediency, of the transient moment. It is necessary to see the future of Lebanon not so much in terms of gaining perfect distributions of justice for everyone, adjudicating the many claims in some optimal fashion, but in terms of providing alternatives to current behavior as a means of surviving and (hopefully) prospering. People have to ask, “What could Lebanon be like? What could the Middle East be like?” A person in Beirut ought to be able to pick up his phone and do business with someone in Jerusalem. Khadījah Mariam Abraham should be able to drive from Cairo to Damascus in a half day, stopping perhaps for lunch in Jerusalem.

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In truth, there are simple physical dilemmas for individuals to face in today’s Lebanon, dilemmas that ramify throughout the Middle East. Of these, by far the worst is a single one, the fact of simple, on the spot, personal vulnerability. Many Lebanese seem to operate from extraordinarily banal and regressive motives. They, like their forebears for thousands of years, have often found it necessary to run away from the place. Solutions for them, from love of their Creator and for their children, require value change and behavior change. But, even though such change depends on great efforts from everyone, it cannot happen without the gifts and energies of people in Lebanon whose motivation is refined and progressive. Moreover, the “good” of some cannot win over the “bad” of others unless provision is made for a political context within which it can work. Outsiders may be able to provide some of the political cement, but only the Lebanese can make their system work. Only the Lebanese can bring credibility to their politics. The context proposed here must do the following for the individual Lebanese as well as for those persons living in the Middle East. A political context must be created that gives the individual person real protection at four levels of human transactions. First, a person needs security as an individual. Security at this primal level will require both the above-mentioned behavior change and improved institutions at the higher levels. Second, the individual needs security at the communal level, something parallel to what the old Ottoman millet system used to provide. Third; the Middle East individual must have protection at the national level, i.e., protection that enforces criminal statutes and controls traffic across territorial boundaries. Finally, the citizen of the Middle East must have protection at the regional level, a means of organizing the desert-oasis ecology in a way that yields and distributes enough wealth to make the first three levels of protection possible. Above and beyond talk about eternal Syria, a Christian refuge, a promised land, Arab unity, and the Islamic purification of territory stands the real pluralism of peoples and culture in the Middle East. There are too many differences to sort out in each of the national cocoons that the Europeans drew up after the First World War. Unless the world is willing to provide the subsidy, none of the religious or ideological contenders can dominate the whole area or any of its parts. People in the Middle East must not only learn to live with differences but also must institutionalize the means of doing so. Travelers to the area revel in the differences; find them intriguing, exciting, exemplifying the assertion of style. They come to love the land, the peoples, the effervescent contrasts. Is it not a dream worth pursuing that, someday, natives of the Middle East would be able to travel in, and come to love, their own land? To do so they must make the whole region secure. Without the larger, secure arena, Middle Eastern people lose in conflict what they would otherwise make from their professional and commercial activities. All three levels of security and opportunity interrelate with one another. Personal and communal security require national, secular enforcement. To provide national enforcement requires a

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Figure 10.2 Major rivers of Lebanon Source: Kevin Mickey, Indiana University

workable regional involvement. This involvement at the regional level entails not merely “just” distributions but the commutative salience to make prosperity happen. In order to make a commercial transaction with an Armenian Catholic in Beirut, the businesswoman in Jiddah ought to be able to contact a supplier in

288 SYRIA STOPS THE WAR: 1990–1995

Jerusalem, someone who could ship his goods from a warehouse not nine blocks from Ashrafīyah. That is the way to compete. That is the way to bring prosperity to Lebanon and to the rest of the Middle East. To suggest anything less would be condescending to the peoples of the region. To hope for anything less, would not bestow upon Lebanon the honor that is her due.

Appendix I: Religious sects of Lebanon

MUSLIM SECTS Shi‛ites (Matāwīlah in Lebanon) Principal heterodox sect of Islam; they hold to twelve Imams beginning with Ali. Largest community in Lebanon. Sunnis The orthodox sect of Islam. Recognize election of first four Caliphs and sunna of the Prophet. Third largest community in Lebanon. Ismā‛ilis Split off from Ja‛fāri (twelver) Shi‛ites; hold to seven Imams and incorporate mysticism in faith. Represented in confessional system. Druze Split from Ismā‛ilis when disciples of the Fatimid Caliph al-Hakim proclaimed his divinity (1021). Lebanon’s fourth largest community. Alawites (Nusayris) Split from Ismā‛ilis by missionary activity of Ibn Nusayr; eclectic faith. Main community north of Lebanon in Syria. CHRISTIAN SECTS Maronites Originally monothelite; held that Jesus had a single divine will. Uniate with Vatican (1182). Lebanon’s second largest community. Greek Orthodox Residual from Byzantine era; main (trinitarian) sect of Eastern Christianity. The fifth largest community in Lebanon. Greek Catholics Originally Greek Orthodox from Byzantine era but uniate with Rome (1709). The sixth largest community in Lebanon. Armenian Orthodox (Gregorian) Monophysite rite split from Constantinople (451). Have representation in confessional system of Lebanon. Roman Catholics Subject to direct supervision from Vatican without intermediaries of local Patriarch. Represented in confessional system. Armenian Catholics Originally Armenian Orthodox but uniate with Vatican (1740). They have confessional representation in Lebanon. Old Syrians (Jacobites) Monophysite sect of missionary Jacob Baradaeus; split from Constantinople (451). Represented in confessional system. Syrian Catholics Split from Old Syrians (1662) and are uniate with Rome. They have confessional representation in Lebanon.

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Chaldean Catholics Split from the Eastern Church (Nestorians) (1552) and are uniate with Rome. They have confessional representation in Lebanon. Protestants Converted (mostly from Christian communities) by British and American missionaries (after 1820). Have confessional representation. Eastern Church (Nestorians) Split from Constantinople (451) holding that Jesus was both divine and human. Only a few live in Lebanon. JEWS Only a few members of the Jewish community remain in Lebanon.

Appendix II: Dynasties and rulers of Lebanon

Ancient settlements along eastern Mediterranean Towns along Lebanese coast (Sidon, Tyre, Byblos, Aradus, Berytus) (Amoritic Canaanites) Amorite Phoenicians Phoenician city states Sidon (high point) Tyre (high point) Assyrian invasion (beginning) Chaldean (Neo-Babylonian) control Persian Empire (beginning) Hellenic Empire (Alexander) Hellenic (Ptolemies and Seleucids) Roman invasion (indirect rule) (direct rule) Byzantine control Arab Muslim conquests (beginning) Ummayad control (Damascus) Abbasid control (Baghdad) Fatimid Caliphate (Cairo) Crusader kingdoms (Zengid-Ayyubid (Damascus-Cairo) Wars) Mamluks (Turkish) (Cairo) (Baybars defeats Crusaders) (Al-Ashrāf drives out Crusaders) Ottomans (Salim I) (Istanbul) (Ma‛ni Amirate) (Shihābi Amirate) (Kaymakamate, etc.) (Mutasarrifate)

3500 BCE? 3000 BCE 1500 BCE 1050 BCE 950 BCE 854 BCE 625 BCE 539 BCE 330 BCE 320 BCE 63 BCE 75 BCE-395 CE 395–636 CE 636 CE 661–750 CE 750 CE 969–1171 CE 1097–1291 CE 1191–1250 CE 1271–1517 CE 1291 1516–1914 1518–1697 1697–1842 1842–1860 1861–1914

292

(Military rule) France (colony and League Mandate) Independent Republic Syrian and Israeli occupation

1914–1918 1918–1943 1943–1977 1977–1996

Epilogue

At the time of writing this epilogue (May 1996), war continues in Lebanon and the country remains emasculated. Many in Lebanon have concluded that countries on the outside such as Syria, Israel, Iran, France, and the United States are either unwilling or unable to help them regain their independence. From the inside, the situation looks bleak; the Lebanese are trapped. Their government, such as it is, continues to support the Syrian strategy of linking the Hizbollah threat (based on Lebanese territory) to an Israeli withdrawal from the Golan region. Unfortunately, Lebanese civilians must suffer punishment for holding the only card Assad has to play in getting what he wants from Israel. Early in 1996, civilians were targeted in several incidents, contrary to an agreement between the belligerents (following hostilities in July 1993) that only military personnel were fair game. After one such attack (April 8, 1996), in which a Lebanese youth was killed and several others wounded, Hizbollah guerrillas launched a barrage of rockets the next day at Israel’s northeast panhandle, wounding several Israelis in Kiryāt Shemona. The initial Israeli response was measured, but when Hizbollah’s Katyushas continued to descend on its towns, Israel retaliated with a massive air and artillery bombardment. In one strike from off-shore naval vessels, Israel shelled refugees who had fled to a UNIFIL camp near Tyre, killing ninety-one persons. The United States, the only country other than Israel to vote against a UN General Assembly resolution condemning the attack, then sent its Secretary of State shuttling between Damascus and Jerusalem, trying to get the war stopped. The Secretary’s attempts were frustrated at first by the number of leaders involved as well as election-year politics. He did finally get a ceasefire (April 26) after eighteen days of shelling. During this latest round of violence, it has become clear that no side will be able to win the interminable communal struggles and proxy wars that politicians conduct in the Levant. Insiders habitually keep score, as if yesterday’s atrocity or tomorrow’s diplomatic move will ultimately lead to victory. But it never does; it only leads to the next calamity—to the next revison of the score—leaving innocent people scrambling for their portion of zero-sum. As for the score, let us hope that this latest round is seen as so utterly stupid and futile that those involved will recognize that they are not going to win, that

294 EPILOGUE

the old games won’t work. What will work? No one knows exactly, but it might help to… 1 agree to keep the violence to an absolute minimum pending the outcomes of various electoral campaigns, including the one in the United States (November 1996); 2 realize that none of the parties is going to give up, settle for subordinate status, or leave the area; 3 recognize that no particular conflict in the area can be resolved outside the boundaries of a general settlement; 4 approach the problem in terms of an infinite series of interim agreements, each outcome improving particular situations, pending future negotiations; 5 understand that the conflict is not about religion but about scarce living space and scarce water, about who will get to live in what place (in an area where too many differences cohabit too small a territory); 6 accept the fact that all five states involved—Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon—are intercommunal, confessional systems and not independent nation states on the Western pattern; 7 and, finally, work for solutions that reduce people’s vulnerability by providing security and governance at regional, national, and communal levels of association. May 1, 1996 Mount Lebanon, Pennsylvania

Notes

1 PEOPLES AND HISTORY TO 1840 1 The population of Lebanon is estimated (mid-1994) to total 3.6 million persons. In addition, UNRWA estimates that about 360,000 Palestinian refugees live in the country, perhaps 42 percent of these living in the camps. Also, nearly a half million Syrian workers live in Lebanon, and Damascus has about 30,000 soldiers based there as well. Of the current population, about 57 percent is Muslim, 43 percent Christian: including 1.1 million Shi‛ites (Lebanon’s single largest sect), 700,000 Maronites, 650,000 Sunnis, 210,000 Druze, 190,000 Greek Orthodox, and 160,000 Greek Catholics. The population was increasing at an annual rate of 2 percent, and 33 percent of the population was under fifteen years of age. Lebanon’s PQLI (Physical Quality of Life Index) was pegged at 81 in 1991 (compared to 97 for Israel and 83 for Jordan). For mid-1994 comparisons with other Middle East countries, see Ethelston, Sally, “Gender, Population, and Environment,” Middle East Report, no. 190, September–October 1994, p. 4. 2 Certainly, Lebanon had not become a modern democracy, but I think it is fair to say that the Lebanese made the attempt. For the evidence, see Harik, Iliya F., “Political Elite of Lebanon” in Lenczowski, George (ed.), Political Elites in the Middle East, Washington, 1975, pp. 201–20. While it is easy, especially with hindsight, to disagree with some of Harik’s interpretations, his data on the changing class origins of political leaders as well as the electoral turnover rate indicate that Lebanon had begun to experience a species of democratic pluralism. Had more of the power of the system been located in the elected political apparatus, perhaps more the Republic’s citizens would have come to believe that democracy worked. 3 The term “Levantine” here refers to a cultural tendency, a psycholological condition of life in the power corridor along the Eastern Mediterranean. French scholars tend to employ the term “Levant” (for historic Syria) more than those writing in English, its reference being merely geographical and cultural. In English, however, the word often conveys an ethical overtone which, shorn of pure prejudice, has its basis in the belief that Levantines are more concerned with the relative distribution of values than their absolute distribution. Similarly, the term “conflict prone” does not mean “warlike” but “fissiparous.”

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4 The term “circular causation” was coined by Gunnar Myrdal in his seminal study of the American South (An American Dilemma: The Negro Problem and American Democracy, New York, 1944). The concept (briefly) suggests that phenomena in social contexts recapitulate one another in syndrome fashion, e.g., that a person who is poor finds his poverty causes him to be hungry, and, therefore, weak, making him slow and, for that reason, unproductive, not earning much, and, thus, poor (completing the circle). It is not easy to say what causes what, and conceptions of linear causation do not seem adequate. 5 For comment and research findings which emphasize the division, fragmentation, and sectarianism of the area, see Binder, Leonard (ed.), Politics in Lebanon, New York, 1966, especially the articles by Hourani, no. 2, pp. 13– 29 and ZuwiyyaYamak, no. 9, pp. 143–66; Fisher, W.B., The Middle East: A Physical, Social, and Regional Geography, Cambridge, 1978; Gulick, John, The Middle East: An Anthropological Perspective, Pacific Palisades, 1976; Gordon, David C., Lebanon: The Fragmented Nation, London, 1980; Hurewitz, J.C., “Lebanese Democracy in its International Setting,” Middle East Journal, vol. 17, 1963, pp. 487–506; Hottinger, Arnold, “Zu‛ama and Parties in the Lebanese Crisis of 1958,” Middle East Journal, vol. 15, 1961, pp. 127–40; Barakat, Halim, “Social and Political Integration in Lebanon: A Case of Social Mosaic,” Middle East Journal, vol. 27, 1973, pp. 301–18; Khoury, Phillip S., “Factionalism Among Syrian Nationalists During the French Mandate,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 13, 1981, pp. 441–69; Ma‛oz, Moshe, “Attempts at Creating a Political Community in Modern Syria,” Middle East Journal, vol. 26, 1972, pp. 389–404; and van Dam, Nikolaos, “Sectarian and Regional Factionalism in the Syrian Political Elite,” Middle East Journal, vol. 32, 1978, pp. 201–10. 6 We should note that the Balkans offer a similar geopolitical example of the dilemmas that landforms and location bring to peoples. In the Balkans, for example, the mountains keep local people apart while the river valleys let outsiders in, giving them, like the Lebanese, the worst of both worlds, i.e., barriers that hinder integration without providing protection. Where we might say that Balkanization has occurred in the Levant, we might also characterize contemporary Bosnia (in the Balkans) as “Lebanonized.” 7 For example, in the period just prior to the 1860 civil war in Lebanon, the Khāzin sheikhs in Kisrawān put so much effort into weakening their rivals that they nearly ruined themselves. 8 In Power and Society, New Haven, 1950, Lasswell and Kaplan elaborate an ID (Indulgence-Deprivation) Continuum, pp. 62–9, on which this statement is based. Their point is (simply) that value losses, measured in power or monetary units, are not the same as the real losses conceived in purely psychological ical terms. By this conception, Peter, who accidently loses ten dollars, loses more value than Paul gains when he unexpectantly finds the same ten dollars. On a psychological plane, the exchange was negative-sum even though, in economic terms, it was a transfer payment. 9 Quote appears in Ma‛oz, Moshe, op. cit.,“Attempts at Creating a Political Community,” p. 393. 10 According to Carolyn M.Crockett, the rapacious behavior of howler monkeys she studied in Venezuela indicates that the permanently unfavorable state of affairs for some members of the population, females and less rapacious males, has become a

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11

12

13 14

15

16

17

18

function of their gene pool. Only the meanest survive to reproduce and, of course, tend to reproduce their own kind. The gene pool is thus constrained to biologically recapitulate the “war of all against all” in the monkeys” social behavior. Something along these lines may have become an influence in the interminable conflict which geography has bequeathed to the strategic Levant. For example, during the long civil war period, amoral relativist militiamen in Lebanon killed more civilians than enemy soldiers, further skewing the genetic curve away from that balance of personality traits which a stable population requires. New cultural achievements for the Lebanese may have to develop in Detroit. See Crockett, C.M., “Family Feuds,” Natural History, vol. 93, no. 8, 1984, pp. 54–63. Lebanon is filled with such pawns, cast adrift from other parts and stranded in its catch basins. Names like Ma‛n, Halabi, Jumblāt (Janbalāt), Kin‛āni, Sima‛ān, Sāba, Salībi, and Franjieh (Faranjīyah) not only give rise to etymological speculation but suggest geographical origins as well. I emphasize here the “conflict-proneness” and political incapacities of the Levantines, and especially the Lebanese, partly because of the usual explanations we hear from their own representatives, whether politicians, journalists, or scholars, which tend to blame their problems to the manipulations and intrigues of outsiders. While a more balanced perspective is necessary, which this account hopes to provide, we certainly must not ignore the fact that the Lebanese have had to contend with an extraordinary number of designs and interventions from the outside. Undoubtedly, the Palestinian presence in the 1970s and the high-flying Nasserism of the late 1950s, like Ibrahim’s invasion in the 1830s, have placed unbearable burdens on the country’s institutions. What is clear, however, is that outside forces which assail Lebanon do not act as a unifying factor, as would be expected of an aggregate subject to a common threat, but more as a catalytic agent to intensify the disruptive elements which pull its society apart. Dunand, Maurice, Byblos: Its History, Ruins, and Legend, Beirut, 1964. See, especially, pp. 22–5. Matthew 15:21–8 and Mark 7:24–30. This may represent a turning point in Jesus’ ministry, e.g., “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Here we may have the initial suggestion that the “Good News” was not meant solely for the people of Israel. For the outcome of this controversy, see Acts 10–11. Meaning, “people of the Book,” which formally includes Jews and Christians (who had been given revelation of God before Muhammad’s time and, though not in possession of the final word, must be tolerated). In practice, Zoroastrians were accorded similar status. The Jurājimah were undoubtedly extracting money from both the Byzantines and the Ummayads, i.e., “double dipping.” Abd al-Malik, by means of a treaty with Justinian II, did get the Byzantines to withdraw them in 685 CE. They must have returned, however, as al-Walīd sent an expedition against them in 708 CE. The reference to a “separate” Lebanon does not imply a dramatically different state of affairs, only that, historically speaking, the future country began to experience its faint beginnings. We note that in conveying an interpretation of the reality that is followed here, P.K.Hitti entitled his book, Lebanon in History. See Salibi, Kamal S., “The Maronite Church in the Middle Ages and its Union with Rome,” Oriens Christianus, vol. 42, 1958 pp. 92–104, for an excellent account of the relationship between the Maronites and the Crusaders. See also his Maronite

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19

20

21

22

23

24

Historians of Mediaeval Lebanon, Beirut, 1959 pp. 50–52, for the story of Malik Kisrā and the renaming of this central mountain district, changing it from alKhārija to Kisrawān in honor of this Maronite of the Crusader period. The Byzantine Emperor, Heraclius, in wanting to find a resolution of the religious feud between his trinitarian populace and the monophysite Copts of Egypt, promoted a monothelite compromise that may have had its origin in the teaching of Mar Mar‛ūn. Where the monophysites insisted that Jesus was entirely divine, the trinitarians claimed that he was both divine and human. The monothelite doctrine seems to have claimed that, while Jesus possessed both divine and human characteristics, he had but a single divine will. See Salibi, Kamal S., “The Maronites of Lebanon under Frankish and Mamluk Rule (1099–1516),” Arabica, vol. 4, 1957, p. 295. For comment on the anti-patriarch, Nuh al Bqūfāni, see Salibi, Maronite Historians, pp. 80–86. Discussion of an earlier period when the Maronites had two rival patriarchs, a uniate from the Jubayl region competing with an anti-union, antiFrankish patriarch from Besharri, can be found in Salibi’s “The Maronite Church,” pp. 96–8. The anti-patriarch was Luke of Bnahrān. The best sources in English on the Buhturs are to be found in the writings of Kamal S. Salibi. See his “The Buhturids of the Garb: Mediaeval Lords of Beirut and of Southern Lebanon,” Arabica, vol. 8, 1961, pp. 74–97. His discussion of Shidyāq’s History in Maronite Historians, pp. 72–5 and 144–5 is also valuable. I have derived the term “establishment Sunnis” from the classifications “Populist Islam” and “Establishment Islam,” i.e., al-Islam al-Sha‛bi and al-Islam al-Rasmi respectively, as James Bill employs them in his article, “Resurgent Islam in the Persian Gulf,” Foreign Affairs, vol. 64, 1984, pp. 108–27. See, especially, pp. 108– 9 for his rendering of these terms. My use of these labels for a different time period simply calls attention to the distinction between Sunnis linked to the dynasties indirectly controlling Lebanon and other Sunnis, in places like Wadi al-Taym and scattered villages in the mountains, whose origins may well have been in taking flight from “Establishment Ismā‛ilis” (Sevener Shi‛ites) during the heyday of Fatimid control of Syria. Thus, from time to time, Lebanon may have served even as a refuge for the orthodox! Put an end to it as an independent system, that is. Although Cairo no longer served as the seat of an empire, the Mamluks themselves were retained in the feudal order. Salim left power in the hands of a Viceroy (Vali) who administered Egypt through local Beys. After 1619, the power of these Mamluks grew and that of the Ottoman Viceroy diminished until, by the middle of the eighteenth century, they had become almost independent. These were sometimes termed “Mamluk Slaves” to distinguish them from the previous dynasty of independent Mamluks. The origins of the two groups were quite similar; both had come to power as “owned persons” using positions in the military guard to overthrow their predecessors. The Mamluk Slaves, however, had been the slaves of previous slaves, the “owned” of the owned. Tradition has it that this Ma‛n was titled sultan al-barr, “Lord of the Countryside,” i.e., of the Lebanese mountain villages in the hinterland not connected to any urban trading center. Given the essentially urban character of Middle East culture, this title was innocuous enough. It must have both inflated the mountain dwellers and provided opportunities for a few guffaws on the part of old hands in Damascus.

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25 The contemporary Lebanese historian, Kamal S.Salibi, has unearthed evidence that casts doubt on the most important particulars of this traditional account. In a fascinating article, which reads almost like a detective story, he shows that Fakhr al-Din ibn Uthmān, i.e., the Fakhr al-Din I of the traditional histories, may well have never existed. This Fakhr al-Din, Salibi believes, was either confused with another Ma’n, Fakhr al-Din Uthmān (died 1493), or was a pure invention useful in bolstering later dynastic claims. See Salibi, Kamal S., “The Secret of the House of Ma‛n,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 4, 1973, pp. 272–87. 26 The origin of the Yaman-Qays conflict is obscure. These are labels for the (Yaman) South Arab and (Qays) North Arab partisans, possibly stemming from the time when Mu‛āwiyah’s South Arab army was pitted against Ali’s (mainly) North Arab tribesmen at the Battle at Siffīn. This partisan conflict has continued throughout Arab history and was used as party identification for the contending Druze manāsib. 27 Similar, perhaps, to the situation in the Shūf at this time, the main line of muqaddams in Bisharri had also passed to a person not of age, an infant in this case. It is possible that the split which resulted made it impossible to agree on a Maronite representative or that Bisharri’s interests were represented by the Assāfs of Ghazīr who were in the process of extending their control over the area and eventually became very receptive to Maronite immigrants into their jurisdiction. See Salibi, Kamal S., “The Muqaddams of Besharri: Maronite Chieftains of the Northern Lebanon 1382–1621,” Arabica, vol. 15, 1968 pp 72–3. 28 Ibid., pp. 77–9. The Ottomans were, at this time, conducting extensive campaigns against the Safavid Persians and had taken measures to centralize their administration in order to collect greater revenue. In doing so, they fatally weakened the Amirate at Ghazīr, making it vulnerable to the Sayfas of Tripoli. 29 In an important article, A.R.Abu Hussein uses recently released Ottoman archives to point out that Mount Lebanon was rarely left to its own devices by the Ottomans, who continually intervened, attempting to regularize their administration over the peoples there. The Druze were especially targeted; ‛ulama never tired of fulminating against them as heretical. Druze individuals were not accorded the protections of the Ottoman state; they could be killed without penalty; their property seized; and they did not have millet status. Obviously, in their formal dealings, Druze leaders had to practicey taqīyah and represent themselves as Sunnis. According to Abu Hussein, the Ottomans never mastered the Druze Mountain. See Abu Hussein, A.R., “Problems in the Ottoman Administration in Syria during the 16th and 17th Centuries: The Case of the Sanjak of Sidon-Beirut,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 24, 1992, pp. 665–75. 30 This feudal family, of course, was prominent in the Shūf as Druze chiefs from the time of the Shihāb Imarah (after the battle at Ayn Dāra in 1711) until the present. 31 Hitti, P.K., Lebanon in History: From the Earliest Times to the Present, London, 1962, p. 384. 32 These Alam al-Dins were very likely contenders for the Chieftancy of the Shūf all through the Ottoman period. As Yamanis, they were also in factional opposition to the Ma‛n Qaysis and could likely use the Yamani Sayfas in Tripoli as factional allies to support every kind of mischief on the Mountain. 33 So say the Maronite historians of the aristocratic families of the Lebanese. Here Hitti, ibid, p. 387 quotes Tanyous al-Shidyāq, whose main source was Antonius

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34

35

36

37

38

Abu Khattār, one of the earliest writers of Lebanese family histories. The internecine warfare was so bad that the Jurd and Matn districts, according to the chronicles of the period, were nearly depopulated. Bashir I was reportedly poisoned either at Acre or at Dayr al-Qamar. If the latter, then the Haydar faction certainly orchestrated the evil deed; if the former, we can imagine other origins for the treachery, perhaps Hussein Ma‛n at the Porte. Bashir, we also recall, had been encroaching on the Vali’s territory in Galilee. It is possible that a combination of forces brought him down. Unfortunately, the internecine rivalry between the Qaysi and Yamani factions had not ended with the coming to power of the Shihābs. The descendants of Ali Alam al-Din (living in Damascus) traveled to Istanbul to press their claims and returned to Lebanon in 1698 and again in 1711 to regain the Imarah for their house. They were undoubtedly aided in keeping their claims alive by the Porte as well as the Valis of Damascus and Sidon. Their Yamani faction could be used to check excessive ambition in Dayr al-Qamar. Coming to power peacefully, Mulhim’s moves were cautious and without serious setback. Asked to assist the Vali of Sidon in collecting taxes for Jabal Amil, he recovered it for the Imarah. Mulhim’s victory over the Vali of Damascus at Mar Eliās (in 1748) gained him the fertile Biqā as well as a pretext for taking the Ba‛albek district from the Harfūsh chiefs the year after. The latter had fought on the losing side at Mar Eliās. Mulhim then connived with his Talhūq sheikhs to instigate a crisis in Beirut, and once more the forces of the Imarah were asked to pacify the situation. They readily did so, and Mulhim was able to add that city to his domains. With the Biqā as a granary and Beirut as a port, Mulhim had expanded the Imarah and enhanced its political and economic viability. Having enlarged the Imarah without attracting retaliation, Mulhim passed the mantle of leadership to his brothers, Ahmed and Mansūr. Fugitive rapist, enthusiastic executioner, and traitor to those who used him, he was the perfect Ottoman feudatory. For him, “off with their heads” was concessionary in a bargaining strategy. More important, the inheritor of Sidon understood the principles of the Ottoman protection racket and applied them to the hilt. So, as soon as he could manage it, Jazzār began to put the squeeze on the (Druze) Hakim and his mudabbir. The Shihābs were formally subordinate to the Vali but not necessarily weaker militarily. Jazzār, therefore, always endeavored to divide his adversaries on the Mountain by inciting rivalries while weakening its ruler by extorting ever greater amounts of revenue. It was a zero-sum situation; the Hakim’s loss would be the Vali’s gain, i.e., the Sultan’s treasury is his enemy. At a later time according to Salibi, Jazzār, in hounding Bashir II, presented the investiture to five different Shihāb princes between 1800 and 1804. Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History of Lebanon London, 1965, p. 21. One is ready to suspect an afterthought here or even a little public relations on the part of writers trying to make the claims of Bashir II more legitimate. Yet we cannot discount the possibility that Mulhim wanted to leave his power in the hands of a “man of God” whose real religious sentiments were also the cause of his later conversion. For a discussion of this matter; see Harik, Ilya F., Politics and Change in a Traditional Society:Lebanon 1711–1845, Princeton, 1968, pp. 155–6. For Bashir II, the question of his faith did become a serious political concern. At one time he ordered known Maronite members of the Shihāb family to openly observe

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Muslim rituals, e.g., Ramadan, causing friction between himself and the Maronite clergy. According to Harik, p. 206, Bashir II generally received the sacraments according to the Roman rite, rather than that of the Maronites, in order to avoid contact with the priesthood of the latter. 39 Polk, William R., The Opening of South Lebanon: 1788–1840, Cambridge, Mass., 1963. Polk quotes the Swiss-English traveler, John Lewis Burckhardt, as saying that (in 1810) Bashir Janbalāt was the richest, most powerful man in Mount Lebanon, in control of the Shūf, continually expanding his own possessions, and able to prevent the Amir from doing anything “important” without his consent. 40 See Polk’s study of the village of Ammatūr in The Opening of South Lebanon, especially pp. 58–71 and 177–89. 41 We do not know exactly what was agreed to at this time; the chaotic and flowery character of the correspondence makes going beyond ambiguity impossible. We can, however, infer from future events that the leaders of the ‛ammīyah tried to win the chiefs and princes of the Yazbak faction over to their cause while the latter, for their part, hoped to use the uprising to help them unseat Bashir II. The Shihāb candidates for the Yazbaks, Hasān and Salmān, made a deal with the Vali (which seemed to betray the ‛ammīyah) almost immediately after these covenants were drawn up. Once the deal proved unworkable, they briefly allied themselves with the ‛ammīyah a second time before it was finally crushed by the Amir al-Hakim in 1820. See ibid., pp. 213– 14.

2 WARS AND INDEPENDENCE: 1840–1914 1 See Hitti, P.K., Lebanon in History: From Earliest Times to the Present, London, 1962, pp. 433–8. The whole period of sectarian strife and rebellion is usually referred to as al-harakāt, the “disturbances” or “movements,” while the last of these, the civil war of 1860, was known locally as the madhābih alsittīn, the “massacres” or “slaughter(s)” of 1860. 2 An excellent account of this period is found in Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History of Lebanon, London, 1965, pp. 40–105. I am indebted to Salibi for the route I have chosen through this history. 3 The Patriarch, it should be noted, did not call for an end to the feudal privileges of the Maronite sheikhs in Kisrawān. He seems to have been willing for the Druze sheikhs in the mixed districts to lose some of their privileges. 4 It is important to note that in the harakāt (wars) of 1841 and 1842, some of the Shi’ites fought with the Christians while some of the Greek Orthodox fought with the Druze. 5 The tanzimāt program refers to a series of reforms which the Ottomans attempted, beginning with the edict of the Rose Chamber called the Noble Rescript of Gulhane, that the Sultan Abdul Majīd issued in 1839. It was a program of modernization, calling for administrative reforms and constitution-alism. More reforms came in 1856 and 1876, only to be stopped by Abdul Hamīd in 1878. For Lebanon, it meant that the Ottomans wished to centralize their administrative apparatus and, if possible, shift to some means of direct rule.

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6 Bashir II and Ibrahim, in 1838, had managed to defeat the Druze at the time of their uprising against the Egyptians in the rough mountain terrain of the Hawrān, their traditional stronghold. Because Bashir’s army was almost entirely Maronite, this campaign was seen more as sectarian warfare than as the current policy of the Amir al-Hakim. 7 Indeed, the issues had not yet been reduced to a conflict between two communities, Druze and Maronite. Many in both communities still hoped that the old feudal system could be restored, a Shihāb chosen, and the churchmen sent back to their monasteries. 8 See Hourani, Albert H., “Lebanon from Feudalism to Modern State,” Middle East Studies, vol. 2, 1965–6, pp. 256–63 for an emphasis on the economic causes of the conflicts of this period, especially the role of the middle class in bypassing the feudal structure in directly financing cultivation of salable crops. Charles Issawi, in “British Trade and the Rise of Beirut: 1830–1840,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 8, 1977, pp. 91–101, also provides some information and analysis that sheds light on the transformations taking place in the Lebanese economy at this time. 9 For an elaboration on the problem of “mutually impossible demands,” see Winslow, C.H., “An Empirical Road to a Normative Barrier,” Middle East Journal, vol. 34, 1980, pp. 25–41. Research on Palestinian “service” drivers using a one-lane bridge (between Sidon and Ein al-Hilweh camp) showed that the drivers were unwilling, as individuals, to alter their (collectively unprofitable) behavior until each had seen evidence that all the others had done so. They put forth their demands in such a way as to preclude the possibility of their being met. 10 From iqtā, the word in Arabic to designate a fief, mu‛qāti‛ji was the general term for landholder within the Lebanese feudal system. For an excellent description of the feudal system of the Mountain, see Harik, Iliya F., “The Iqtā System in Lebanon,” Middle East Journal, vol. 19, 1965, pp. 405–21. 11 Churchill, Charles H., The Druzes and the Maronites Under Turkish Rule, London, 1862, p. 83. Churchill’s position on these issues was complex and needs to be explained. He was passionately opposed to the scheming machinations of the local Turkish officials, recognizing that they would use the conflictproneness of the Lebanese as a means of establishing direct rule. He also opposed the Maronite ecclesiastics who were obviously bent on supplanting the Druze as rulers of Mount Lebanon. Early in this series of conflicts, Colonel Churchill supported the Druze determination to resist the revisionist program of the Maronites. Once the full savagery of Druze behavior was exhibited, though, he supported demands that the malefactors receive the severest punishment. 12 Outwardly, the Turks had given the Maronites the go ahead; it was the Druze who were refusing to abide by the regulations of the Kaymakam. But, militarily, the Turks assisted the Druze. 13 See Shakeeb, Salih, “The British-Druze Connection and the Druze Rising of 1896 in the Hawrān,” Middle East Studies, vol. 13, 1977, p. 251 on British links to the Druze. The Druze sought a number of political and social advantages from the relationship, and it is clear that some believed they would become members of the British Empire. 14 The British Consul, Moore, wrote that Bashir Assāf was “universally allowed to be wanting in the requisite qualities, he has neither sufficient experience nor does he

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15

16

17

18 19

possess the personal endowments.” Quoted from Kerr, Malcolm H., Lebanon in the Last Years of Feudalism: 1840–1868, Beirut, 1959, p. 12. One of the sources of confusion for understanding this episode is the fact that, between the years 1800 and 1810, nearly every male child born on the Mountain, Druze and Christian alike, was named Bashir. This occurred at a time, of course, when the politics of the Amir Bashir Shihāb had not yet shown a clear direction. One very confused Jewish family, reportedly living secretly in Dayr al-Qamar and practicing seven different religions by taqīyah, survived the mess in fine style but found it difficult to preserve continuity in the family tradition. For example, their oldest son, Bashir Mahmūd Goldbalāt, assimilated so much of the ethic of the Mountain that he ended up going into opposition to himself on odd and even days. Also, see Porath, Yehoshua, “The Peasant Revolt of 1858–61 in Kisrawan,” Journal of Asian and African Studies, vol. 2, 1966, pp. 80–155, for a treatment in much greater depth of the underlying socio-economic changes occuring in Kisrawān at this time. Porath ibid. Of course the question came up for the Khāzin Sheikhs that, if they were to oppose the peasant movement, the support of the Druze feudal chiefs would be needed. The response of the Druze chiefs to Khāzin overtures was simply to the effect that their peasants would never rebel…“our ‛uqqāl would never let them do that.” In the Druze religion, the initiated ‛uqqāl (wise) were contrasted with the main body of uninitiated juhāl (ignorant), and the former were expected to give guidance to the latter. For a good general survey of the Druze sect, see Hitti, P.K., The Origins of the Druze People and Religion, New York, 1928. Strong passions concerning the perfidy of the Turks are found in Churchill, Charles H., The Druzes and the Maronites Under Turkish Rule, London, 1862; in Scheltema, J.F., Introduction to Lebanon in Turmoil: Syria and the Powers in 1860, New Haven, 1920, and in Jessup, Henry Harris, Fifty-Three Years in Syria, New York, 1910. Criticism of the Maronites is emphasized by Sir Henry Bulwer Lytton, Lord Dufferin, and Charles Henry Churchill among the British, while Henry Harris Jessup, a Protestant missionary, and J.F.Scheltema, translator and scholar, were Americans whose writings on the period are replete with similar criticisms of the Maronites. Churchill and Scheltema also find plenty of space for criticism of the Druze. As for the Turks, Churchill is trenchent in his criticism of their intrigues. During the 1841–2 period of civil strife, for example, Turkish duplicity was discovered when the British intercepted a letter to the Seraskier in which he (the Seraskier) was directed “not to trouble himself in the least about what (is) going on in the Lebanon, inasmuch as everything that had taken place there had been done with the full sanction of the Porte.” The Druzes and the Maronites, pp. 53–4. The Maronite Patriarch, choosing words most calculated to calm things down, declared, “The blow must be struck…, he who strikes first will have two chances to one in his favor.” See Churchill, C.H., The Druze and the Maronites, pp. 109–10. Quoted in Scheltema, J.F., The Lebanon in Turmoil, p. 23. Simply imagine these “pack animals” as the Mercedes service (taxis) of that day. The Lebanese tradition of driving a car where you want to go rather than where a thoroughfare takes you, or according to any discernible rules, seems to have already been well established by this time.

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20 Here was a case, during the 1860 war, where Druze intentionally massacred Sunni Muslims, due, in this instance, to a local rivalry between the Shihābs and the Janbalāts over control of Wadi al-Taym. 21 Lack of coordination among the various armed groups of the Maronites was the rule rather than the exception. In the case of the two populist leaders, Tanyūs Shahīn and Yusuf al-Shantīri, their hesitation (though not their bluster) is understandable since they faced conflict from their own Maronite chiefs in Kisrawān and the Matn and would not be anxious to leave those areas with their forces. The case for Yusuf Karam, however, is not so respectable. While many reasons have been given for his tardiness in going to the aid of Zahleh, the most plausible one remains that of his critics—that he did not wish to interfere with Ottoman plans at that time because he hoped they would make him the Christian Kaymakam. 22 They had boasted and “got beat,” as African Americans say when somebody gets past his defender on the way to the basket in basketball. This seems to convey the appropriate sense of build-up and breakdown that must have caused Christian leaders to recognize that an inquiry would not have exonerated them. 23 Scheltema, J.F., Lebanon in Turmoil, p. 163. 24 Commentators at the time were especially critical of the Lebanese Christians who pointedly refused to give public testimony against particular Druze culprits. These villagers recognized that they would have to return to the Druze areas to live and were no doubt afraid to testify against anyone who might somehow escape execution and be able to retaliate against them. 25 Henry Harris Jessup recorded many interesting accounts of this rescue activity, some by the Protestant mission and others by the European military groups that intervened in Lebanon. He claims that their unselfish attitude truly impressed ordinary people. See op. cit., Fifty-Three Years in Syria, pp. 188–214. 26 Revisions in the Règlement were made in 1864 and again in 1912. Although the Powers did not often attempt to make revisions, the power to do so acted as a threat which kept arbitrary actors in line. 27 See Spagnolo, James P., France and Ottoman Lebanon: 1861–1914, Oxford, 1977, p. 90. For much of my information and assessment of the period of the Mutasarrifate, I am indebted to this fine work. 28 Jessup, Henry Harris, Fifty-Three Years in Syria, pp. 266–7. 29 From a letter sent by Fain to Drouyn de Lhuys, quoted in Spagnolo, James P., France and Ottoman Lebanon, p. 83. 30 Counting Da‛ūd, a total of eleven Mutasarrifs governed Mount Lebanon between 1861 and 1918 when the French took over. Eight of these were non-Lebanese Christians: Da‛ūd Pasha, 1861–8, an Armenian Catholic; Franco Pasha, 1868–72, a Greek Catholic from Aleppo; Rustum Pasha, 1873–83, an Italian-born Roman Catholic; Wasā Pasha, 1883–92, an Albanian Roman Catholic; Na‘ūm Pasha, 1892– 1902, a Greek Catholic (and Franco’s son-inlaw); Muzaffir Pasha, 1902–7, a Roman Catholic Pole; Yusuf (Bey) Pasha, 1907–12, a Greek Catholic; and Ohannes Kuyumjian Pasha, 1912–15, an Armenian Catholic (eventually removed by the Turkish military triumvirate during the First World War). Three of these, appointed during the war years, were non-Lebanese Muslims: Ali Munīf Bey, 1915–17, a Turkish Sunni; Ismā‛il Haqqi Bey, 1917–18, a Shi’ite; and Mumtāz Bey, a Sunni Turk, from July to September of 1918. A few other officials actually

NOTES 305

31

32

33 34 35

36

37 38

39

40

carried out the duties of the governorship during interim periods between the death of a Mutasarrif and the appointment of a replacement. These interim officials sometimes were called upon to exercise the Mutasarrif’s functions for several months since it might take that long for the Powers and the Porte to negotiate a new appointment. The Patriarch’s stated choice for Governor, Yusuf Karam, had resigned his appointment as Maronite mudīr of Jezzīn and gathered a popular following as a means of unseating Da‛ūd. Had he received more support from key French representatives and the Maronite bishops in the south, he might have taken power. For a full account of Karam’s exploits in opposition to Da‛ūd, see Kerr, Malcolm H., Lebanon in the Last Years of Feudalism: 1840–1868, Beirut, 1959, pp. 79–90. At the time that Karam and his supporters, both in Paris and in Lebanon, were mobilizing for their confrontation with Da‛ūd, the French Consul General (Count) d’Aragon Bentivoglio was a sometime supporter of the Bey’s cause. Just before the issue was coming to a head, however, Bentivoglio had been replaced by Maxime Outrey, who turned out to be decisive in his support for both Da‛ūd and the Règlement. Karam’s use of the Khādra brothers and their “international apparatus” in his quest for power in Lebanon reminds one of a similar attempt by Fakhr al-Din Ma‛n 200 years earlier. Spagnolo, James P., France and Ottoman Lebanon, p. 123. Ibid., p. 62. See Khalaf, Samir, Persistence and Change in 19th Century Lebanon: A Sociological Essay, Beirut, 1979, pp. 98–106 on the development of the Mountain’s infrastructure at this time. For an excellent discussion of French policy regarding railroads in the Levant, see Shorrock, William I., “The Origin of the French Mandate in Syria and Lebanon: The Railroad Question,” Inter-national Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 1, 1970, pp. 133–53. Khalaf, Samir, Persistance and Change, p. 135. Can one even imagine search-ing for administrative irregularities in Lebanon? The present author spent two years living in the country, haunted by the possibility that he might never uncover an administrative regularity Ibid., p. 137. Villagers were divided into groups of a hundred and allowed to select an agent, in addition to the sheikh, who would take part in the election of a “Councillor” from their district. Zahleh, which traditionally did not have sheikhs, had been selecting its representatives in this way since 1864. Published in Beirut in 1918, this survey, according to Kamal Salibi, was prepared by a group of specialists representing the best scholarship a available in Lebanon at the time. Considering the speed with which it was d done and the war circumstances in which it was issued, it was a truly remarka able work; it remains until today the only complete survey of Lebanon ever m made, and is a monument to the brief rule of an enlightened and devoted m mutesarrif. See Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History, p. 117. Hitti, P.K., Lebanon in History: From Earliest Times to the Present, London, 1962, p. 447.

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3 GREATER LEBANON: 1915–1943 1 The Ottoman government (the Porte), during the First World War, was under the control of a military triumvirate made up of Enver, Talāt, and Jemāl (Pashas), and the latter made the military administrator for Syria (to which Lebanon belonged). Technically, it was an Ottoman government; the Sultanate had not been abrogated even though the three Generals, not the Sultan, held power. 2 Claims were made by some Arab nationalist groups for an Arab state to include most of the Arabian Penninsula plus the Levant and Mesopotamia. Others, especially the Sharifian group, supposed that the British would acknowledge their claims to control over the Hijaz, Palestine, Syria, and Iraq. Of particular importance to them was that they have control of geographical Syria with its throne for the Amir Faisal at Damascus. In both these and similar cases, Lebanon would have been attached to the larger jurisdiction. The original Palestine which Britain created included what was later to become Transjordan, and Zionists assumed that their “national home” would be located in the larger area. In their original demands, the Zionists had asked the British for more than the larger Palestine; they wanted a large portion of what is now south Lebanon, including all of the Litāni river system, to be a part of the “home” that they intended to make into a state. At the same time, the French insisted that all of geographical Syria be placed under their control, including Alexandretta (with Antioch) and the Mosul district (in what is now the Kurdish area of Iraq). Kemalist Turkey eventually claimed Alexandretta and the Mosul district as well. The Kurds also believed they had been promised an independent state, one that would have required the cession of pieces of eastern Turkey, northeastern Syria, northern Iraq, and northwestern Iran to establish. In Lebanon, the Uniate Catholics wanted a “greater” Lebanon separate from any larger jurisdiction. Some Druze and Nusayris also wanted separate states for their communities. 3 Some Lebanese authors dispute the charge that the Turks allowed starvation to occur; they claim it was a fabrication of Allied and Maronite propaganda. See Arslān, Shakib, p. xii in his introduction to Rabbāth, M.E., L’Évolution Politique de la Syrie sous Mandat, Paris, 1928. 4 See Ajay, Nicholas Z., Jr., “Political Intrigue and Suppression in Lebanon During the First World War,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 5, 1974, pp. 140–60, for an excellent account of the political situation in Lebanon at the time of Jemāl’s military government. 5 Ibid., pp. 152–3. 6 Zeine, Zeine N., Arab-Turkish Relations and the Emergence of Arab Nation-alism, Beirut, 1958, pp. 103–4. 7 Ajay, Nicholas Z., “Political Intrigue”pp. 151–2. 8 For the text of the “Proclamation” of November 11, 1918, see Antonius, George, The Arab Awakening, London, 1938, pp. 435–6. 9 Shorrock, William I., “The Origin of the French Mandate in Syria and Lebanon: The Railroad Question, 1901–1914,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 1, 1970, p. 152.

NOTES 307

10 Ibid., p. 153, (quoting Sir Mark Sykes, House of Commons Debates, 1914, vol. LIX, cols. 2169–70.) 11 See Zamir, Meir, “Population Statistics in the Ottoman Empire,” Middle East Studies, vol. 17, 1981, pp. 83–106, for an explanation of the 1914 and 1919 census figures for Lebanon. See also Faour, M., “The Demography of Lebanon: A Reappraisal,” Middle East Studies, vol. 27, pp. 631–41, 1991 for a new assessment of these figures. 12 Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History of Lebanon, London 1965, p. 166. 13 For an account of all the incidents of violence and responses by the French to stop them, see Longrigg, Stephen H., Syria and Lebanon under the French Mandate, London, 1958, chapter 5., pp. 148–81. An additional study of the various nationalist parties and groups of this movement against the French in Syria can be found in Khoury, Phillip, “Factionalism Among Syrian Nation-alists during the French Mandate,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 13, 1981, pp. 441–69. 14 Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History, p. 167. 15 The term “consociational democracy” is not, of course, Michael Shihā’s but was formulated by, among others, Arend Lipjhart in “Consociational Democracy,” World Politics, vol. 21, 1969, pp. 207–25. 16 See Zamir, Meir, “Population Statistics,” for a review and analysis of these census figures. 17 The six major sects of Lebanon, according to its traditional confessionalism, are the Maronites, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholics, Sunnis, Shi‛ites, and Druzes. 18 One could make the case that today, ironically, the only consistent supporters for Greater Lebanon are the Sunni Muslims. 19 Salibi, Kamal S., The Modern History, p. 188. 20 Longrigg, Stephen H., Syria and Lebanon, p. 299. 21 Rommel had only been contained at this time, but Hitler’s attention was soon to be directed against the Soviet Union, and thereafter he had only marginal interest in Iraq and the Arabs. 22 Longrigg, Stephen Syria and Lebanon” p. 310. 23 Bravo!

4 THE INDEPENDENT REPUBLIC: 1943–1958 1 Browne, Walter L., Introduction, to Lebanon’s Struggle for Independence, Part I, Salisbury, 1980, p. i. 2 This is not to suggest that the French had no indigenous support for the creation of Greater Lebanon. The first Mutasarrif, Da‛ūd Pasha had clamored for increasing the size of his Mount Lebanon jurisdiction, and, later, Maronite leaders, hoping to get French help for an independent Christian Lebanon, argued strongly for the larger state. The French, no doubt, found it politically convenient to respond to the Maronites rather than others, even among the Christians, who opposed a Lebanon separate from Syria. For a fine review of this problem and the period in which it occurred, see Zamir, Meir, “Faisal and the Lebanese Question 1918–1920,” Middle East Studies, vol. 27, July 1991 pp. 404–26

308 NOTES

3 Browne, Walter L., Lebanon’s Struggle, part II, “Dispatch from Lowell Pinkerton, no. 167, April 14, 1947,” p. 174. 4 See Baldwin, David, “The Power of Positive Sanctions,” World Politics, vol. 24, 1971, pp. 19–38. 5 The great host of scholars and publicists who have concerned themselves with the question of whether or not Lebanon was making progress toward a modern democratic political system is too numerous to record here. Of the many, writing before 1975 and attempting to use empirical methods to answer this question, are (among others) Iliya F.Harik, Michael C.Hudson, Samir Khalif, and Halim Barakat. Leila M.T.Meo used the term “improbable nation” as the title of her book Lebanon Improbable Nation: A Study in Political Development, Bloomington 1965. The Precarious Republic: Modernization in Lebanon is the title of Michael C. Hudson’s book (New York, 1968). 6 Recently (1994), the Balkans have been making a comeback. 7 Browne, Walter L., Lebanon’s Struggle, part I, “Dispatch” by George Wads-worth, p. 217. Zghartā, at this time, had two deputies in the Chamber, Bisharri none. Ryād al-Sulh, the Sunni Prime Minister from Sidon, had gone into the north to influence the elections. But no Muslim from the south could have had any impact on the competition between the clans. Both votes and guns would decide this. 8 Ibid., p. 217. 9 For a close breakdown on family linkages to Parliamentary seats in Lebanon, see Khalaf, Samir, Lebanon’s Predicament, New York, 1987, Chapter 61. 10 al-Khūri, Bishāra Haqā‛q Lubnānīya, vol I, Harissa, 1960. pp. 29–30. 11 For discussions of zu‛āma politics in Lebanon see the following: Hottinger, Arnold, “Zu‛ama and Parties in the Lebanese Crisis of 1958,” Middle East Journal, vol. 15, 1961, pp. 127–40; Kerr, Malcolm H., “The 1960 Lebanese Parliamentary Elections,” Middle East Affairs, vol 11, 1960, pp. 266–75; Khalaf, Samir, “Primordial Ties and Politics in Lebanon,” Middle East Studies, vol. 4, 1968, pp. 243–69; Salem, Elie, “Cabinet Politics in Lebanon, Middle East Journal, vol. 21, 1967, pp. 488–502; Suleiman, M., “Crisis and Revolution in Lebanon,” Middle East Journal, vol. 26, 1972, pp. 11–24; Barakat, Halim, “Social and Political Integration in Lebanon: A Case of Social Mosaic,” Middle East Journal, vol. 27, 1973, pp. 301–18; and Entelis, J., Review of, Schemeil, Y., Sociologie du Système Politique Libanais, in International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol 15, 1983, pp. 419–20. 12 See Lipjhart, Arend, “Consociational Democracy,” World Politics, vol. 21, 1969, pp. 207–25; Smock, D., and Smock, A., The Politics of Pluralism: A Comparative Study of Lebanon and Ghana, Kidlington, 1975; Nordlinger, Eric, “Conflict Resolution in Divided Societies,” Howard Center for International Affairs Occasional Papers, no. 29, 1972; and Hudson, Michael, “The Lebanese Crisis: The Limits of Consociational Democracy,” Journal of Palestinian Studies, vol. 5, 1976, pp. 109–22 for discussions of communalism and the development of “consociational” democracy. 13 Among scholars closely following Lebanese politics, Harik, Ilya F., “Political Elite in Lebanon,” in Lenczowski, George (ed.), Political Elites in the Middle East, Washington, 1975, pp. 201–220, and Salem, Elie, Modernization Without Revolution: Lebanon’s Experience, Bloomington, 1973, were perhaps most optimistic on the question of Lebanon becoming a modern system while among the

NOTES 309

14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27

28

29 30 31

32

33

most pessimistic on this question were Schemeil, Y., Sociologie du Système, (see above, note 11), and Suleiman, M., “Crisis and Revolution,” (see above, note 11). Khalaf, Samir, “Primordial Ties,” pp. 252–3. Khalaf, Samir, Lebanon’s Predicament, p. 140. As quoted by Khalaf, Samir, “Primordial Ties,” p. 251, from al-Khūri, Bishāra, Haqā‛iq Lubnānīya, vol. I., p. 159. Salem, Elie, “Cabinet Politics,” p. 494. This was not because those in Lebanon’s government opposed economic development; rather each official had his own private list of public projects to be funded. Browne, Walter L., Lebanon’s Struggle, part II, “Dispatch by Clayton Lane, December 17, 1945”, pp. 38–46. Ibid., p. 43. Ibid., p. 43. See Britt, George, “Lebanon’s Popular Revolution, Middle East Journal, vol. 7, 1953, pp. 1–21. People “bystand” in Tripoli only at their peril. Browne, Walter L., Lebanon’s Struggle, vol. II, pp. 188–9. Hudson, Michael C., The Precarious Republic: Political Modernization in Lebanon, New York, 1968, p. 227. This emnity was due, it is said, to al-Khūri’s habit of making jokes about the Patriarch’s (Arida) family holdings, which included the rental of the building where Beirut’s notorious bordellos were located. The Constitution was amended to allow an additional term for al-Khūri; he had the votes in the Chamber and was able to serve a portion of his second term before resigning. Had a more protracted process of amendment been required, the unpopular revision would not have been possible in Lebanon at this time. For an excellent analysis of the breakup of the Syro-Lebanese customs union, see Yaari, S., “The Economic Relations Between Syria and Lebanon,” Middle East Affairs, vol. 2, 1951, pp. 315–22. It should be recalled that at the time the French jailed the leaders of the newly independent government in November 1943, the Syrian parliament, led by Jamāl Mardam, voted to support the (separate) Lebanese in their demand for a full restoration of parliamentary government. Someone might have recalled this precedent and reciprocated during the customs dispute. Britt, George, “Lebanon’s Popular Revolution,” p. 10. Hudson, Michael C., The Precarious Republic, p. 273. See Seale, Patrick, The Struggle for Syria: A Study of Post War Arab Politics, 1945–1958, Oxford, 1965, p. 233, for an account of this period and General Shuqayr’s role in it. The “blackmail”, from the view of American policymakers at the time, was Nasser’s demand that Washington finance his Aswan Dam project as the quid pro quo for remaining on friendly terms with the West in the Cold War. Hudson, Michael C., The Precarious Republic, p. 283.

310 NOTES

5 THE CIVIL WAR OF 1958 1 Salibi, Kamal S., “Lebanon Under Fuad Chehab: 1958–1964,” Middle East Studies, vol. 2, 1965–6, p. 216. 2 Hudson, Michael C., The Precarious Republic: Political Modernization in Lebanon, New York, 1968 pp. 288–9. The original source reporting Chamoun’s comments was a Turkish Foreign Office official, who recalled that the President had made this statement following General Glubb’s dismissal in Jordan. 3 Qubain, Fahim I., Crisis in Lebanon, Washington, 1961, p. 71. This book is an excellent source, giving a valuable picture of the tragi-comic scene in Lebanon, but it is so powerfully influenced by the author’s sympathy for the rebel cause that one must use it with caution. 4 Ibid., p. 71. 5 Ibid. 6 Spiller, Professor Roger, “Not War, But Like War”: The American Intervention in Lebanon, Combat Studies Institute, Fort Leavenworth, 1984 p. 18. Eisenhower was extremely skeptical about testing out the new strategic doctrine, the “New Look Defense Policy,” on the Lebanese situation, and others in his government sided with him on this point. One group of Pentagon staffers remained committed to the Truman concept of a highly mobile war capability that could put out the “brushfires” while others were trying to force everyone into line on the “massive retaliation” approach. American military luck in Lebanon even helped experts see the “muscle-bound” tendencies of the “New Look” defense policy with its overdependence on nuclear weapons. According to Daniel Vought, U.S. Army ret., Fort Leavenworth, General Twining actually said,”…we’ve got them by the yingyong,” a sexual implication. 7 Agwani, M.S., The Lebanese Crisis, 1958: A Documentary Study, Bombay, 1965, p. 143. This account is taken from Charles Malik’s presentation before the UN Security Council in which he attempted to document the “broadcast war” by neighboring states against Lebanon during the 1958 period of civil strife. 8 Ibid. See his Chapter 4, items 15, 16, and 17 for the evidence UNOGIL came up with. The present author’s many days spent walking in the mountains of Lebanon leads him to a profound skepticism that the UNOGIL observers were numerous enough to have discovered any smuggling in those parts that the local people did not want them to see. 9 See Spiller, Roger, “Not War, but Like War,” for a full account, from an operational point of view, of the ad hoc character of the American interventionary effort. 10 LaFeber, Walter, America, Russia, and the Cold War, 1945–1966, New York, 1968, p. 179. 11 The Lebanese army at this time was not one of your more ferocious military outfits. 12 Spiller, Roger, “Not War, but Like War” pp. 24–5. 13 The Economist, July 19, 1958, p. 218. 14 Spiller, Roger, “Not War, but Like War,” p. 41 (quoting Schulimson, Jack, “Marines in Lebanon,” Marine Corps Historical Reference Pamphlet, Washington, 1966, p. 32. 15 Qubain, Fahim, Crisis in Lebanon, p. 158. 16 Ibid., p. 161.

NOTES 311

6 THE BEST YEARS: 1958–1970 1 As reported in the “Chronology” for Lebanon in the Middle East Journal for the years 1959–60. 2 A brief account of the coup attempt by the PPS (Parti Populaire Syrienne), sometimes referred to as the SSNP (Syrian Social Nationalist Party) is given in Hudson, Michael C., The Precarions Republic: Political Modernization in Lebanon, New York, 1968, pp. 305–6. The original concept behind the Party was that of its founder, Antoun Sa‛ada, who claimed that a separate culture and distinct greatness belonged to the peoples of Syria, in ancient times as well as today, and that they should create a suitable political jurisdiction for them. The Party’s nationalist idea differs from the nationalism of any state in the area of geographical Syria and from the Pan-Arab concept that was being mobilized at about the same time. 3 Hudson, Michael, C., The Precarious Republic:, p. 298. 4 Landau, Jacob, “Elections in Lebanon,” Western Political Quarterly, vol. 14, 1961, p. 131. 5 The word “giants” is a favorite among Lebanese publicists to designate the most prominent political notables in Lebanon, a word that might seem apt only if used to compare them to other Lebanese politicians. 6 The PPS-sponsored coup attempted on December 31, 1961, certainly frightened the regime and the army but had little policy effect on the Shihābist program. 7 Hudson, Michael C., The Precarious Republic p. 303. 8 Ibid., p. 308. 9 In making a very rough calculation of “conflict incidents,” the number independently identified in the “Chronology,” (Lebanon), of the Middle East Journal was used. Announcements of new public infrastructure projects were (roughly) counted in the same fashion. 10 Within an ethos where each party consistently overplays his hand, it is not easy to see what fairness requires. When overplaying one’s hand and inflating one’s claims is an ethical reflex, recapitulated and reinforced in the culture to the point of becoming endemic to it, the arena has taken over most of the choices individuals have. It is not easy to see what a balanced position would be like since any individual player would need to run a circus parade for an extreme version of his own point of view in order to protect himself from his opponent’ opponent’s extremism. 11 Salibi, Kamal S. Crossroads to Civil War: Lebanon 1958–1976, New York, 1976, p. 7. 12 The Shihābists were sometimes called the Nahj[ists], the “methodists” of Lebanese politics. They attempted to emphasize a technocratic, non-political approach to Lebanon’s problems. None of the first three Presidents of independent Lebanon held office without having had supporters who campaigned (near the end of his term) to have the Constitution amended so that he could succeed himself. Although such a campaign was also launched for President Shihāb, he did not mobilize support for it and maintained his strictly non-political (methodist) stance toward such a possibility.

312 NOTES

13 The Katā‛ib Party was founded in 1936 by five Lebanese Christians: Gemayel, Hilū, Naqqāsh, Nasīf, and Yarīd. All but the last were Maronites. Of the founders, only Gemayel remained active in the organization. See Entelis, J.P., “Party Transformation in Lebanon: the Kata’ib as a Case Study,” Middle East Studies, vol. 9, 1973, p. 325. 14 I know of only two other cases: Israel’s changeover from Labor to Likud in 1977, when Menachem Begin was elected Prime Minister, and that country’s return to Labor (from Likud) when Rabin replaced Shamir in 1992. Israel’s Government of National Unity also represented a temporary change from Likud to Labor with Peres as Prime Minister. The Syrian elections in 1954 did bring important changes to that government but, with the great number of independents in the Assembly, does not quite qualify as a genuine change of government. Lebanon did it once! 15 It could be argued, of course, that Hilū essentially took orders from the Shihābists and was not fully President. Moreover, there are those who would insist that it was Hilū’s willingness to sign the Cairo Agreement in 1969 that led to the civil war of 1976. While a truly constitutional transfer of power did happen once in Lebanon— Hilū taking office in an uncoerced election and leaving it to the winner of another uncoerced election, the result was President Suleiman Franjieh, who turned out to be one of the least competent persons ever to become the chief executive of a modern state, riding the Lebanese horse until it collapsed and died. 16 A vigorous effort, waged by Shihābists in the army and security police, had led to an unlikely victory over Raymond Eddé by a Nahjist for the Jubayl seat in the 1964 elections. 17 Those trapped at the time in the Agriculture Building of the American University of Beirut, where the American Embassy herded its citizens then living in the Levant, were quite grateful for the efficiency of Lebanon’s security forces under Hilū. It was interesting, and somewhat comforting, to hear them give orders to one another in a language that was neither Arabic nor French. 18 It is important to remember that, at this time, the West Bank was still part of Jordan and an essential source for agricultural products sold in Lebanon. 19 Author’s recollection of an often-heard comment from the Palestinians he visited in the Ein al-Hilweh refugee camp near Sidon. 20 “Public Prosecutor’s Indictment in the Assassination of Kamal Mrowa,” published in English translation by the Daily Star (al-Nahār) June 25, 1966. (Indictment dated June 23, 1966.) 21 There is no question that Intra’s reckless and extravagant practices represented a possible danger for the Lebanese banking system. What was clearly not acceptable was for a cabal of government and financial leaders to bring the bank down intentionally. 22 Salibi, Kamal S., Crossroads to Civil War, p. 30. 23 The most notable of these, of course, was George Habash, former leader of the Arab National Movement (ANM) and founder of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP). As previously mentioned, Antoun Sa‛ada, founder of the PPS, was a Christian; Michel Aflaq, one of the founders of the original Ba‛th Party, was also a Christian. 24 Even as early as 1968, the Palestinian movement had splintered into a multitude of political organizations and guerrilla factions. Some were simply instruments of Arab governments, e.g., al-Sa‛iqa (Thunderbolt), an organization under the control

NOTES 313

25 26 27 28 29

of the Syrian army, and the Arab Liberation Front (ALF) funded by Iraq. Other prominent groups included the following: the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), the PFLP-GC (General Command), the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), the Palestinian Armed Struggle Command (PASC), and the Palestinian Popular Struggle Front (PPSF). These were linked to various paymasters as each Arab regime felt it had to have a guerrilla group to balance its rivals’ groups. In true Levantine fashion, Palestinian guerrilla organizations have broken up into a myriad of factions. Just to trace one lineage, the Arab National Movement (ANM) begat the PFLP that, in turn, begat the PFLPGC, which has presently begotten two wings, one sponsored by Syria and the other by Libya. Even Fatah is now divided into two major factions: one (led by Arafat) is fairly independent and the other (led by Abu Mūsa) is protected by Syria but kept separate from that country’s own Palestinian militia, al-Sa’iqa. See Cobban, Helena, The Palestinian Liberation Organization: People, Power, and Politics, Cambridge, 1984. Her chapter 3, entitled, “The Joy of Flying, 1967–73,” provides an excellent account of Palestinian organizations of this period. Salibi, Kamal S., Crossroads to Civil War, p. 35. Quote taken from the “Chronology,” (Lebanon) Middle East Journal, vol. 23, 1969, p. 73, for the date November 2, 1968. Ibid., p. 373, for the date April 29, 1969. Ibid., for the date May 31, 1969. Ibid., for the date July 15, 1969.

7 TOWARD CIVIL WAR: 1970–1975 1 Politically, this could be called the “Uthman solution.” When the second Caliph, Umar ibn al-Khattab, was on his deathbed, he nominated a shūra (council) of seven of the Prophet’s companions to elect a new Caliph from among themselves. The major notables, including the Imam Ali, Talhā, and Zubayr, were deadlocked and decided to choose the weakest (and least fit) to replace Umar. While their choice may well have been an expedient way to break the stalemate, it was also a step toward being able to replace the weak Uthman when he failed. As it turned out, Uthman ruled for the longest period of the initial four Rāshidūn Caliphs. 2 See Riker, William H., The Theory of Political Coalitions, New Haven, 1967, for an elaboration of the “size” principle. In the case of the 1970 election, each bloc leader tried to be pivotal—to make his vote become the last added weight on a coalition without surplus weight, i.e., more persons to pay off than needed for a simple majority. Not everyone, of course, could be pivotal, and Franjieh was the residue of an n-person attempt to be pivotal. 3 Voting sampling taken by al-Nahār is cited by Meir Zamir in his “The Lebanese Presidential Elections of 1970 and their Impact on the Civil War of 1975–76,” Middle East Studies, vol. 16, 1980, p. 51. 4 At one time, I had come to the conclusion that the activities of Kamal Jumblāt in the 1970 election were merely an exhibition of amoral relativism, exemplifying the Levantine ethic at the furthest reaches of primordial lunacy. This was, perhaps, an

314 NOTES

5

6 7

8 9 10 11

12 13

14

15

16

unrealistic assessment. It seems more likely that the attractiveness of the cute game on August 17 simply won out over good sense. The al-Nahār headline was “The Vote of the People.” See Salibi, Kamal S. Crossroads to Civil War: Lebanon 1958–1976, New York, 1976, pp. 47–51. For an extended account of the election, see Zamir, Meir, “The Lebanese Presidential Elections.” Quote taken from the “Chronology,” (Lebanon), Middle East Journal, vol. 25, 1971, p. 72, for the date September 23, 1970. This was thanks to Jumblāt’s policies during the last few months of the Hilū administration. Franjieh’s get-tough talk was mostly rhetoric; he had returned to “politics as usual.” A veritable Salām dunk in the lingo of American basketball! Salibi, Kamal S., Crossroads to Civil War, p. 69. Ibid., p. 78. There were probably reasonable arguments on both sides of the fishing dispute that broke out. In the argument between going modern with a factory-fishing enterprise and maintaining the rights of traditional fishermen, I must confess to having a special sympathy for the latter. Having, many times, watched them from the Sea Castle in Sidon, mending their nets or bringing in a single “buffalo fish” (?) that fed the whole cafeteria at the Boys’ School, the author is emotionally disposed to give the rights and complaints of the traditional fishermen the benefit of the doubt. It was only after the outbreak of troubles in Sidon that this “exclusive” right to fish in the coastal waters was altered to “beyond eighteen kilometers off the shore.” The word “adventure” has been used by Kamal Salibi in brilliant fashion to depict the sense of enthusiasm felt in Christian circles for the coming showdown, a word that especially describes Phalangist sentiments at this time. See Crossroads to Civil War p. 97. We recall that one of the preliminaries to the civil war of 1860 took place at Beit Mīri when two muleteers quarreled over who had the right of way on a mountain path. In the melee that followed, people from both the Druze and Maronite sides were killed, and their survivors tallied the relative death tolls to see what would be required to get even. As anyone who has driven an automobile in Lebanon knows, the compulsion to gain the most marginal advantage over another driver is pervasive, and momentary losers in traffic battles must also “get even.” Such behavior arises from the relativist ethos which drives individual conduct. It has always been abrasive, not only on nerves but on automobiles and, if the past is any testimony, on mules as well. In 1860, of course, there were other events that precipitated war—the belief by some prelates, for example, that peasant armies could push the Druze out of Lebanon. In 1975, as in the earlier period, there were a number of incidents as well. War, however, broke out not because of the incidents but because many of the major leaders had committed themselves to a showdown. As Hobbes said in Leviathan, “the will to contend…is sufficiently known.” This would have been the fourth nonentity in succession as Prime Minister for As Hobbes said in Leviathan, “the will to contend . . . is sufficiently known.” the establishment Sunnis, a trend that made them feel that their role in Lebanon was being depreciated. Halim Barakat in “Social and Political Integration in Lebanon: A Case of Social Mosaic,” Middle East Journal, vol. 27, 1973 pp. 301–18; Michael C. Hudson in

NOTES 315

17

18 19

20 21 22

The Precarious Republic: Political Modernization in Lebanon, New York, 1968 pp. 330–31; Fuad I. Khuri in “The Changing Class Structure in Lebanon,” Middle East Journal, vol. 23, 1969 pp. 29–44; and Michael W. Suleiman in “Crisis and Revolution in Lebanon,” Middle East Journal, vol. 26, 1972 pp. 11–24 (among others) provided research and analysis that warned of Lebanon’s impending political breakdown. Randal, Jonathan C., Going All the Way: Christian Warlords, Israeli Advenurers, and the War in Lebanon, New York, 1983, p. 107. In his preface, p. xii, Randal says that, in September 1974, he had “predicted the coming civil war in print” and was banned from Lebanon for his trouble. See Gordon, David C., Lebanon: The Fragmented Nation, London, 1980, pp. 17– 18, for his concept of “marginality.” See Entelis, John P., “Belief System and Ideology Formation in the Lebanese Kata‛ib Party,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol 4, 1973, pp. 148– 62 for a valuable analysis of the ideology and political program of the Phalangists. Randal, Jonathan C., Going All the Way, especially pp. 156–85. For a general explanation of Jumblāt’s political thinking, see Joumblat, Kamal, I Speak for Lebanon, translated by Michael Pallis, London, 1982 pp. 13–24. The Paradigm Levantine appeared in the soul of Lebanon.

8 CIVIL WAR AND INTERVENTION: 1976–1982 1 “Chronology,” (Lebanon) Middle East Journal, vol. 30, p. 214, for the date January 22, 1976. 2 The Lebanese Liberation Army was partly financed by Fatah, Yasser Arafat’s militia in the PLO. It is reported that Arafat’s intelligence officer, Abu Hassan Salama, escorted Ahdāb to a leftist television station to make the original announcement. See Tabitha Petran, The Struggle Over Lebanon, New York, 1987, pp. 190–92. 3 Joumblat, Kamal, I Speak for Lebanon, translated by Michael Pallis, London, 1982, p. 74. 4 This is not to assert the “plot” theory, i.e., that Assad had a clearly formulated strategy regarding Lebanon. Perhaps his “political needs” better explains it. Through his support of the Lebanese left, Assad was drawn into the war. He surely believed that neither Israel nor the West would allow the radicals to control Lebanon; partition went against the grain of Ba’thist Arabism. Permitted by the West to mediate between the Lebanese factions, Assad was essentially trying to convince the Christians that they could look toward Damascus rather than to Paris or Washington for protection of their interests. The success of Jumblāt’s offensive both interfered with Assad’s hoped-for role and presented him with an opportunity to project his own power into the Lebanese portions of geographical Syria. 5 “Chronology,” (Lebanon) Middle East Journal, vol. 30, p. 529, for the date May 20, 1976. 6 Petran, Tabitha, The Struggle Over Lebanon, p. 199. Quote taken from an interview given to Monday Morning, June 14–26, 1976.

316 NOTES

7 Presumably that Israeli-defined line which, if the Syrians crossed in sufficient force, would cause the Israelis to feel vulnerable and perhaps respond with their own military force. 8 The Christian forces were especially energetic in moving into the Greek Orthodox Kūra district southeast of Tripoli and defeating the LNM irregulars there. Syrianbacked operations by Christian militias in the far south, also aided by Israel, reduced much of the infrastructure of Fatahland and prepared the way for the future enclave state of the South Lebanese Army under Sa’ad Haddad. 9 Petran, Tabitha, The Struggle Over Lebanon, p. 214. 10 Sometimes the “dog does wag the tail.” The cynic might argue that since no Lebanese nationality, including all the peoples in the country, has ever existed, it is not fair to accuse Haddad of any lack of patriotism. 11 Friedman, Thomas L., From Beirut to Jerusalem, New York, 1989, p. 233. 12 Quoted in Friedman, ibid., p. 234. 13 Ibid., pp. 233–4. 14 Petran, Tabitha, The Struggle Over Lebanon, pp. 231–2. 15 Jonathan Randal’s Going All the Way: Christian Warlords, Israeli Adventurers, and the War in Lebanon, New York 1983; Charles Friedman’s From Beirut to Jerusalem, and Robert Fisk’s Pity the Nation: The Abduction of Lebanon, New York, 1990, all provide extensive accounts of life and events in Lebanon during the nearly two decades of war. Although anecdotal, the works of these foreign correspondents provide a full picture of the material and emotional reality of the Lebanese scene during this period. 16 Tabara, Lina Makdidi, Surviving the Siege of Beirut: A Personal Account, London, 1983. 17 Randal Jonathan C., Going All the Way, pp, 203–5. 18 Petran, Tabitha, The Struggle Over Lebanon, p. 235. 19 Today, it is generally understood that this Maronite gambit was perpetrated by Chamoun’s Tiger militia, following a meeting between the former President and the Israelis. Syrian intelligence must have also known about it; they immediately attacked the headquarters of the (PNL) Liberal Party. 20 The years 1979 through 1981 also saw a few battles take place among the Armenians; even the non-citizen Kurds managed a fracas or two. 21 See Randal, Jonathan, for a concise but excellent biographical sketch of Bashir Gemayel, especially his political ascendancy, in Going All the Way, especially pp. 114–24. 22 From its beginnings as a Pan-Syrian movement, the Syrian Social Nationalist Party (often known by its French name and acronym, Parti Populaire Syrien (PPS) has followed a radical line. By the time of the Lebanese Civil War of 1975–6, it had essentially joined the leftist forces to fight the status quo in Lebanon. 23 The term, Marounistan, is an informal geographical label for the central Maronite districts of Matn, Kisrawān, and Jubayl which some Maronite nationalists, e.g., the Guardians of the Cedars, think should become a separate Christian jurisdiction. 24 The Israelis, in breaking their truce with the PLO, chose to ignore the question of who had committed the terrible act against Ambassador Argov. General Sharon was set to go; only a pretext was needed. 25 See “Arafat’s Bad Dream,” in The Economist, February 13, 1982, p. 55.

NOTES 317

26 Arafat seemed to interpret the ceasefire worked out between himself and the Israelis as a victory for the Palestinians. He believed that the agreement implied an Israeli recognition of the PLO and an acceptance of its permanent position in Fatahland.

9 PERMANENT WAR: 1983–1990 1 2 3 4 5

6

7 8 9

10

11 12 13

14 15

Friedman, Thomas L., From Beirut to Jerusalem, New York, 1989, p. 194. Ibid. …as in 1860. Many of these, since 1986–7, have filtered back into Lebanon. With claims for Greater Syria, Greater Lebanon, and Greater Israel in the air, it is no wonder that conflict between jurisdictions in the Levant is the norm rather than the exception. Someday, one expects to hear that the whole area really belongs to Greater Qatar. This agreement, signed on May 17, 1983, stipulated the following: termination of military activities; no alliance against Israel; end to propaganda against Israel; and a security zone forty-five kilometers deep. In addition, Haddad’s SLA, as second in command of a brigade under a Muslim commander, would control only fifteen kilometers of the security zone. There would be joint security patrols but no permanent posts, a consular office for Israel, and normalization of relations to be discussed in the future. Quoted by Robert Fisk; see Pity the Nation: The Abduction of Lebanon, New York, 1990, p. 513. “Chronology,” (Lebanon), Middle East Journal, vol. 38, 1985, p. 508, for the date March 12, 1984. One time (in July 1985), when fighting the Palestinians as allies in the far south, the PSP and Amal were fighting each other in Beirut and along the coast toward Damour. Walīd Jumblāt claimed that it was just a mistake, and the ignorant culprits were withdrawn to the mountains. In fact, the Druze did not relish the idea of Shi’ite control of the coastal villages just below their stronghold in the Shūf. There is, certainly, a third possibility—accommodation leading to solidarity. But this is a possibility hard to achieve in a cultural context of great vulnerability such as exists in the Levant. According to a report by Fisk, ibid., p. 604, one wing of the Phalangists had invited Arafat regulars to return to help it contain Amal and the Syrians. For an excellent journalistic treatment of various allies and enemies during this phase of the civil war, see The Economist, September 17, 1986, p. 38. These five contenders were by no means the only independent armed groups operating in the west and south Beirut areas at this time. Lebanese Communists, Ba‛thists, Syrian Social Nationalists, and Palestinian radicals, organized in various groups and coalitions, also possessed arms and competed for control of checkpoints and territory. Druze militiamen, in the hills above the village, had also engaged in this sort of activity. Fisk, Robert, Pity the Nation, pp. 599–601.

318 NOTES

16 Taken from “Insecurity Zone,” The Economist, January 24, 1987, p. 38. 17 “Chronology,” (Lebanon) Middle East Journal, vol. 42, 1989, p. 101, for the date September 27, 1987. See also Robert Fisk, Pity the Nation, p. 581 for an account of this allegation. 18 Certainly, the behavior of such groups tells much of the story. But perhaps the names they invent to identify themselves tell even more. They suggest particularism beyond imagination, anger without mind, impassive indulgence in the language of the self. One can only await the day when the Organization for the Liberation of Half of an Atom or for Adam’s Better Half announce themselves. If the latter were to organize first, it might prevent the former. But don’t count on it. 19 Taken from “The Wreckage is Almost Complete,” The Economist, November 28, 1987, pp. 44–5. 20 A few hostages were released and others were newly kidnapped, then released soon after. These cases, however, were usually a function of local groups having local security problems or simply using this activity as a means for extorting ransom money. 21 This was a case of two entirely separate wars being fought in the same area at the same time without either pair of fighting groups going into coalition. A fighter actually had to dodge bullets not intended for him, i.e., neither “friendly” nor “unfriendly” fire; just deadly. 22 Confusing? Better believe it…! 23 A fifth candidate, deputy Mikhail al-Dāhir, was supported by Syrian and American diplomats but rejected by both the Lebanese Forces and the Lebanese army. 24 “Chronology,” (Lebanon), Middle East Journal, vol. 42, 1989, pp. 663–9. 25 In Connecticut-size Lebanon, it was possible to identify forty-two conflict dyads for the above two years, fights ongoing only within the country’s borders. Some of these were groups with specific labels, like Oppressed of the Earth, which simply designated operations being carried out under the auspices of an umbrella organization, perhaps Hizbollah, the PLO, or the Lebanese Forces. Taking this fact into account, there were still well over thirty recognizable dyads that, at any one time, might have been engaged in armed conflict (with each side targeting the other) inside Lebanon. This figure, however, only represents a portion of the number of groups contending in Lebanon; each of the external sectors of influence must also be included. When groups engaged in violence externally, but not counted in the internal figures, are included, an additional twenty-nine conflict dyads must be taken into account. Most of the groups fighting external foes were either radical Muslim and Palestinian militias conducting operations against the SLA-Israel combine or the many groups, mostly Christian, taking action against the Syrian army of occupation, some simply names given to operational groups acting on behalf of parent organizations. 26 Perhaps he ought to have blamed the Americans for using the Iraqis to sucker him into believing he could save the country. Certainly, the Americans, who were both stroking Saddam and pushing for elections in Lebanon at the time, had no better answers for Lebanon’s dilemmas than did Aoun or al-Hoss or the Lebanese themselves. Syrian answers, unfortunately, were comprised of Syrian solutions. 27 Before the national elections of 1992, the number of seats in the Chamber of Deputies was increased from 108 to 128.

NOTES 319

28 Note that the Ta‛if Agreement, to which Damascus has formally agreed, only required withdrawing the Syrian army to the Biqā Valley by August 1992, leaving it indefinite when all Syrian troops would be out of Lebanon. On the one hand, the Assad regime had not ruled out eventually leaving Lebanon and had acknowledged it as an independent state, but on the other, it could exert tremendous control over Lebanon’s government and could always have it request a Syrian military presence. Indeed, a year after the deadline, Damascus had not moved the Syrian occupation force to the Biqā Valley. 29 It should also be noted that the Mu’awads were traditional clan rivals of the Franjiehs in the Besharri region of north Lebanon. 30 He had inherited his political base from his father, Rashid Karāmi, who was assassinated in 1987. Moreover, not all of the members of this cabinet actually took part in its functions. George Sa‛adah, the head of the Phalange, for example, did not participate and eventually resigned his post (January 29, 1990). Similarly, Michel Sasīn had refused to participate. Later, however, after the inter-Christian war had wound down, both Sa‛adah and Sisīn withdrew their resignations and joined the Hrāwi government as cabinet members. Since then, of course, there have been more boycotts by Lebanese politicians protesting Syrian interference, including a refusal to participate in the September 1992 elections for a new Chamber of Deputies.

10 SYRIA STOPS THE WAR: 1990–1995 1 One major difference is that, in 1860, Patriarch Bulus Mas‛ad supported the Bishop of Beirut, Tubīyā ‛Aun, while, in 1990, the Patriarch, Nasrullah Butrus Sfayr, did not support Michel Aoun. 2 The fruitlessness of going on with the conflict has been one of the reasons for cooperation from the militia commanders. Also, they have been given nominal recognition as Ministers of State. Finally, it is perhaps not lost on the survivors of the conflict (still in the country) that Syria seems to be able to use an assassination or bombing to take out whomever it wishes. 3 The American foreign policy establishment had projected negotiations between Syria and Israel for the fall of 1995, believing that some progress had to occur before Israeli elections in May 1996 and those in America for the following November. Although these negotiations did formally begin in Wye, Maryland in early 1996, it soon became clear that movement would not occur until later. 4 The “order” in the camps that the various Palestinian militias can maintain may not be an order fully compatible with the needs of either the camp’s inhabitants or the Lebanese. The question of Lebanese sovereignty over the camps also remains hostage to the Arab-Israeli conflict and its resolution. Without progress on this issue, it is likely that limiting the Palestinians to the possession of only “light” weapons will be temporary. 5 Permission, of course, not altogether different from what the Lebanese government, at this time, had to obtain as well. 6 UNIFIL stands for United Nations Forces in Lebanon. These “international peacekeepers” have been in Lebanon since the end of the 1978 Israeli intervention

320 NOTES

7 8

9

10 11

12

13

14

15 16

17

18

into South Lebanon. Based in Tyre, UNIFIL has not been able to do much more than monitor the hostilities that regularly take place in the border region between Israel and Lebanon. For a brief account of Harīri’s difficulties, see Trendle, G., “Condemned to Rule,” Middle East International no. 490, Dec. 1994, p. 11. For an in-depth study of Jumblāt’s program in the Druze areas, see Harik, J.P., “Change and Continuity Among the Lebanese Druze Community: The Civil Administration of the Mountains,” Middle East Studies, vol. 29, 1993, pp. 377– 98. Samir Ja‛ja was arrested in April 1994 and later put on trial for having ordered the bombing of a church in Jounieh as well as the murder of Dany Chamoun during the last years of the civil war. Nasrallah, Fidā, “Lebanon, the Succession to Presiden Hrāwi,” Middle East International, no. 503, June 1995, p. 18. For a discussion of the prospects for a permanent end to the civil war, see Norton, A.R., “Lebanon After Ta‛if: Is the Civil War Over,” Middle East Journal, vol. 45, 1991, pp. 457–73. For an analysis of the residual bitterness following the war, see Soloman, Z., “Does the War End when the Shooting Stops?” Journal of Applied Social Psychology, vol. 20, 1990, pp. 1733–45. For a brief account of conditions in the south (1993), see Cherif, Cordahi, “Letter from South Lebanon,” Middle East International, no. 462, November 1993, (back cover). Godfrey Jansen offers some optimistic reflections on Beirut (1995) in “Looking Up,” Middle East International, no. 495, March 1995, pp. 9–10. The Ghassanids and Lakhmids were two ”marcher” kingdoms made up of Arabian tribes which served as small buffer states during the fifth and sixth centuries CE. Settled along the Yarmuk river in what is now Jordan, the Ghassanids were used by the Byzantines for frontier defense while the Lakhmids, located at al-Hira on the Euphrates in Iraq, were supported by the Sasānid Persians for a similar purpose. The two buffer kingdoms mostly fought each other within the context of the larger internecine struggle between their Byzantine and Sasānid patrons. A considerable number of articles, over the years, have been written about purported Israeli designs on the Litāni. For a recent discussion, see Amery, H.A., “The Litani River of Lebanon,” Geographical Review, vol. 83, 1993, pp. 229–37. Also, same author, “Israel’s Designs on Lebanese Water,” Middle East International no. 458, pp. 18–19, September 1993. This resolution essentially calls for a complete withdrawal of Israeli military forces from Lebanese territory. Only the proxies—the Jewish settlers in the Golan, the SLA militia in the buffer zone, and the Hizbollah and Palestinian fighters in south Lebanon—stand to lose from an agreement. A settlement between Israel and Syria does pose the very difficult problem of what to do with the proxies. Without a settlement, of course, they continue to lose their lives and property to war. For a more extended view of this position, see Nasrallah, Fidā, “Lebanon Should Move to Make Peace on its Own,” Middle East International no. 482, August 1994, pp. 19–29. It is possible that a “special relationship” with Syria and something less than full independence for Lebanon is the “best” outcome for the Lebanese and the one they will choose. The point is that it is their choice. A look at the history of the country

NOTES 321

suggests, realistically, that a large segment of the Lebanese will eventually resist permanent control by any outsider, Syria included.

Index

Abayh, battle at 34 Abbasids 9 Abboud, Muhammad 103 Abd al-Malik, Yusuf 32 Abd al-Malik family 19, 22, 305n.16 Abdul Hamīd, Sultan 49, 309n.5 Abdul Majīd, Sultan 309n.5 Abdullah (Vali of Sidon) 23–4 Ab‘l-Lam family 19 Abu Hussein, A.R. 307n.29 Abu Kattār, Antonius 307n.33 Abu‘l-Lam, Bashir Ahmed 36 Abu Mūsa, Sa‘id 239, 266–7, 271 Abu Nakad family 19, 21–2, 24 Abu Shahlā, Habīb 76 Acre 20, 21, 22 Adīb Pasha, Auguste 65 Administrative Council of the Mutasarrifate 42, 43, 48–9; abolished 50, 54; continued as Mount Lebanon governing body 56–7 Aflaq, Michel 319n.23 Agwani, M.S. 317n.7 al-Ahd group 54 al-Ahdāb, General Abdul Aziz 203–4, 206 al-Ahdāb, Khayr al-Din 69 Ahmed Pasha 40 Airport, Beirut international: Arab Liberation Front guerrilla standoff 169; corrupt contracts for 99; Druze attacks on 115; Israeli raid on 160; proposal for 93; United States secures 123, 124–5

Ajay, Nicholas 56, 314n.4 Akkadians 7 Akkar region: Arab rebellion in 64; in the 1958 civil war 117; Sunni communities of 13 Alam al-Din, Yusuf 19 Alam al-Din family 13, 15, 18, 19, 307n.32 Alawites 60, 298 Aleppo: First World War seige of 53; revolt against the French in 63 Alexandretta 64, 70 Ali Munīf Bey 54 Allenby, General Edmund 53, 56, 57–8, 60 Allied occupation of Lebanon 57–9 Amal 197, 213, 222; v. Hizbollah 224, 248, 257, 265–7, 271, 275, 279; v. the PLO 249, 258–61, 265, 269; PSP alliance with 249, 253, 257, 260, 323n.9 ancient Lebanon 7–8 Anderson, Terry 250, 262, 286 Anglo-Iraqi Treaty (1930) 68 anti-patriarchs 11, 306n.20 Aoun, General Michel 242, 255–6; appointed President 267–9; assassination attempt on 262; Syrian defeat of 216, 254, 279–80, 282; at war with Ja‘ja 271–9, 325n.l Arab League: in the Aoun-Ja‘ja war 278; and the civil war of 1975–6 182–3, 210– 11; founding of 80; 322

INDEX 323

response to the partition of Palestine 96 Arab Liberation Front (ALF) 169, 214, 319n.24 Arab National Movement (ANM) 162–3, 319n.23 Arab nationalism: in the Arab uprising (1925) 64–5; Christian response to 107, 109, 135, 143; and Nasser 103, 107–10; political parties for 70; and the proposed Arab state in Ottoman Syria 53–4, 58, 313n.2 Arab Revolt 53, 54 Aradus 7 Arafat, Yasir 161, 162, 180, 182, 210, 233, 322n.2; v. Abu Mūsa Fatah forces 266, 271; Assad’s negotiations with 205–6; and the Cairo Agreement 163; ceasefire declaration of 211; elected Chairman of the PLO 157; Franjieh administration negotiations with 171, 173, 174, 178; weakening of 238–9 Argov, Schlomo 230 Armenian Catholics, 298; as Mutasarrifate leaders 43, 49, 312n. 30 Armenians 64, 323n.20 army of Lebanon: disintegration of 200, 203; of Fakhr al-Din 17; Muslim-Christian ceasefire enforcement 187- 8, 203; Muslim-Christian conflicts in 203, 214, 219; normalization of control 281; v. Palestinian guerrillas 161, 162–4, 173–4, 180, 285; Shihāb use of 137–9; in the Sidon fishing rights controversy 181–2; see also South Lebanese Army Arslān, Majīd 76, 114–5; in the Karāmi cabinet 185; in the Salām cabinet 135 Arslān, Shakib 314n.3

Arslān family 22 al-Aryan, Shibli 32 al-As‘ad, Kamal 210 al-Assad, Hafiz: demands in the Israel-Lebanon peace process 239; Franjieh’s relations with 202, 205, 217, 249; Jumblāt negotiations with 205, 322n.4 Assāf family 15–16 Assembly see Chamber of Deputies Assyrians 6, 7 al-Atrash, Ismā‘il 39 Atrāsh, Linda 207 Attaturk, Kemal 64 Ayn al-Rummānah massacre 182, 184, 189, 194 Ayn Dāra 19, 38 Ayn Sofār massacre 12 Aytu 15 al-Ayyubi, Shukri 56 Ayyubids 12, 15 Ba‘albek: Arab rebellion in 64; Shi‘ite communities in 13 B‘abdā, conference at 34 Baghdad Pact (CENTO) 104–5, 110 Baker, James 283 Baldwin, David 315n.4 Balkans 304n.6, 315n.6 B‘aqlīn, battle at 29 Barakat, Halim 186, 304n.5, 315n.5, 315n. 11 Bashir I 18–20, 307n.34 Bashir II 20–4, 25–7, 308n.38, 309n.6 Bashir (Qasim) III 27, 28–9, 31, 38 Bashir Assāf 36, 310n.14 Ba‘th Socialist Party 163, 198, 199, 262 Baybars 12 Baydās, Yusuf 153–4 Begin, Menachem 218, 235, 318n.14; invasions of Lebanon 220, 229, 232, 239; and the Israel-Lebanon peace agreement 240, 241 Beirut:

324 INDEX

British occupation of 56; in 1914 census 61; in 1958 civil war 112, 115, 117; in 1975–6 civil war 175, 182, 188, 200, 206; development of 81, 98; disposition of in the Mutasarrifate 43; execution of First World War collaborators in 55; Green Line skirmishes 257, 263, 269, 272, 280; intercommunal feuds in 64; Israeli seige of 232–3; Ma‘n rule of 17; Palestine partition protests in 89; PLO headquarters in 157; Roman Empire 7; Shi‘ite settlements in 163, 171; Syrian bombardment of 220, 222, 224; Syrian occupation of 263–6; United States forces in 122–4; in the unrest of 1967 148–9, 319n.17 Beit al-Din, palace at 22, 32, 144 Berri, Nabīh 236, 258, 260, 275; Amal leadership 224; v. Amin Gemayel 245; at the Geneva reconciliation talks 243; hijacking negotiations by 250, 258; Syrian peace accord signed by 251, 254 Berytus 7 Bharsāf, battle of 26, 28 Bill, James 306n.22 Binder, Leonard 304n.5 Biqā region: Arab rebellion in 63, 64; in 1958 civil war 115–16, 117; feudatories 9; Shi‘ite communities in 13; Sunni communities in 13 Bisharri feudal district 11, 15, 307n.27 Bitār, Emile 170–1 Blum, Leon 68 Bosnia as ‘Lebanonized’ 304n.6, 315n.6 Britain: controls Allied occupation 57; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 29–30, 35, 310n.13; v. Egyptian control of Syria 26–7;

First World War campaigns 50, 52–3, 55; invasions of Syria 52–3, 56, 72, 73–4; and the Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 41, 42, 43, 44; support for Lebanese independence 73, 81–2 Britt, George 99, 316n.22 Brown, L.Dean 206 Browne, Walter L. 78, 81, 315n.7 Buckley, William 246, 250 Buhturid clan 12–3, 18, 306n.21 Burckhardt, John Lewis 308n.39 Burj al-Burājneh camp 261 Bush, George 279, 283 Bustāni, Emile 126, 162–3, 172 Byblos 7 Byzantine Empire 6–9, 305n.16 cabinets: brevity of 85, 86; fragmentation of 88; and the Presidency 85–6 Cairo Agreement 161–3, 169, 171, 319n.15 Camp David accords 232 Carter, Jimmy 229 Catroux, General G. 72, 73, 76, 82–3 Cayla, Leon 62 census: of 1914 61–2, 314n.11; of 1932 69 Central Bank of Lebanon 153–4 Central Bloc 166, 170 Chamber of Deputies (Assembly) 85–8, 175, 315n.9; establishment of 65, 68; family strongholds in 86–7, 315n.9; membership increased 131, 135; representation of sects in 80, 135 Chamoun, Camille: administration of 101–12; assassination attempts 160, 226–7, 262; and Bashir Gemayel 225–6; and the Bisharri-Zghartā feud 84–5; in the elections of 1970 165, 167; at the Geneva reconciliation talks 243; infrastructure development by 140;

INDEX 325

in the Karāmi cabinet 185, 194–5; as al-Khūri opposition leader 94, 97; v. Nasserism 1, 107–10; and the National Liberal Party 135, 144, 158, 179; opposition to 102, 103; as peace undercutter 190–1; PNL (Tigers) militia of 190, 195, 209– 10, 221–2, 225, 227, 322n.19; Raymond Eddé alliance with 144; and the Sidon fishing rights controversy 180–2, 320n.11, 321n.12; and the Socialist Front 100; and the United States intervention 119; see also civil war of 1958 Chamoun, Dany 225, 227, 248, 262, 281, 326n.9 Cherif, Cordahi 326n.12 Christians: Amin Gemayel military activism for 236–7, 240–1; Bashir Gemayel coalition of 227; Damascus massacre of 40; Israeli alliances with 202, 212, 214, 239–40; jurisdiction issue in the French Mandate 61, 78, 315n.2; mountain settlements of 11; Muslim tolerance for 9, 305n.15; in the Palestinian cause 157, 319n.23; v. Palestinian militia groups 158, 160, 162–4, 179, 183–4; population of in Lebanon 303n.1; representation of guaranteed 69, 80; response to Arabism 107, 109, 135, 143, 205; Roman-era settlements 8, 305n.14; service in the Mandate system 63; and the Sidon fishing rights controversy 180–2, 320n.11, 321n.12; Syrian alliances with 206, 209, 214, 218, 282, 322n.4, 322n.8; see also Greek Catholics; Greek Orthodox; Maronites; Phalange Chtaura 210, 211, 218

Churchill, Charles Henry 31, 310n.11, 311n.16 Churchill, Winston 52 Cicippio, Joseph 286 circularly caused dilemmas 3, 303n.4 civil service: Mandate-era development of 63 civil war of 1860 2, 28, 37–40, 309n.1, 311n.20, 311n.21, 321n.14 civil war of 1958 112–19, 317n.3; and Chamoun-Nasser relations 107–10; completion of 127–30; Druze offenses in 114–15; United States intervention in 110–11, 114, 118–27, 133, 317n.9 civil war of 1975–6 1, 2, 201–12; act of violence patterns in 213–219; and the Arab summit peace plan 211– 12; and the th the Cairo Agreement 319n. 15; characterized by intermittent fighting 189; civilian victims of 216–17; early development of 173–80; intercommunal wars in 213, 214, 219; Israeli intervention in 202, 212, 214, 216, 218; and the Karmi cabinet 185–8; and the military cabinet 184- 5, 194; Muslim offensives in 204–5; and outsider interference in Lebanon 215; Phalange counteroffensive 206; PLA operations in 200, 202–3; profiteering in 217; proxy wars in 213, 214, 219; and the Sidon fishing rights controversy 180–2, 189, 320n.11, 321n.12; south Lebanon fo focus of 218–19; state wars in 213, 214–16, 219; Syrian intervention in 1, 191, 206–12, 218, 220; Syrian m mediation of 201–2, 211; turf battles ir in 213, 219; undercutters of peace in 188–91 Cobban, Helena 157, 320n.24 Cold War 104–6

326 INDEX

Committee for the Defense of Palestinian Prisoners 262 Committee on Union and Progress (CUP) 49, 54 communism: United States containment objectives 104; see also Eisenhower Doctrine Communist Party (Lebanese) 70, 163, 189, 198–9, 262 confessionalism 67, 85, 135, 191, 195, 314n.17; circumvention attempts 71; constitutional structures for 69, 80, 280; Franjieh reform proposals 254 conflict proneness xi, 3–4, 305n.12; and ethical relativism, 4–5, 251–2, 304n.7, 304n.8, 304n.10 consociational democracy 67, 87, 314n.15, 315n.12 Constitution of Lebanon: amendments to 66, 79, 82, 94, 95–6, 146, 288, 316n.27; French suspension of 67–8, 82; for the independent Republic 75, 79–81; informal traditions of 66; Mandate origins of 65–7; National Pact provision 80, 108, 112, 181, 192, 294; on the representation of sects 66–7, 69, 75, 80–1 corruption: Constitutional Bloc 70, 117, 135 army 137–8; in the Mandate period 68; in the Mutasarrifate 48; in the Republic of Lebanon 85, 91, 93, 99 Coulondre, Robert 61 counter-revolution of 1958 128–30, 134, 144 Crimean War 35 Crockett, Carolyn M. 304n.10 crusades 11, 12, 305n.18 Cumberbatch, Henry 49 CUP see Committee on Union and Progress

currency: collapse of 263; and the Customs Union 97–8; Lebanese pound created 81; Mandate development of 63 Customs Union, breakup of 97–9, 316n.28 Dābbas, Charles 65, 66, 67 Damascus: Christians massacred in 1860 40; revolt against the French in 63 Da‘ūd Pasha 42–6, 315n.2 al-Da‘uq, Umar 56 Dayr al-Qamar: Druze seiges of 29, 38, 39–40, 242; as Ma‘nid seat 17; as Maronite town 19; during the Mutasarrifate 43–4; as Shihāb seat 19, 21–2 De Caix, Robert 63 De Gaulle, Charles 72, 73–4, 82, 83 democracy: consociational 67, 87, 314n.15, 315n. 12; Lebanese 2, 87, 303n.2, 316n.13 Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP) 174, 189, 319n.24 Dentz, General Henri 71, 72–3 desert ecology 3 Deuxième Bureau 133, 136–7, 138, 153, 156, 159, 160, 168; Franjieh purge of 171–2, 320n.7 DFLP; see Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine dilemmas, circularly caused 3, 303n.4 double kaymakamate 32–5, 310n.12; peasant disputes in 36–7, 310n.14, 310n.15 Draft Treaty for Lebanon 68–9 Druze: Alam al-Din clan 13, 15, 18, 19, 307n. 32; alliances with Britain 55, 310n.13; Amin Gemayel’s offensives against 236–7, 240–1, 244–5; Buhturid clan 12–13, 18, 306n.21;

INDEX 327

civil war of 1958 offensives by 114– 15, 117; Defense Ministers as 80; in the Egyptian invasion 25–6; feudatories 9; location of communities 33; Mamluks v. 12; Ma’nid dynasties 13, 15–18, 306n.24, 306n.25; on the Mutasarrifate Administrative Council 42; Ottoman persecution of 307n.29; population in Lebanon 303n.1; representation guaranteed 80; revolt of in 1925 63–5; in the Syrian Mandate 60; United States attacks on 242, 244; Yamanis-Qaysis conflict among 15–16, 18–19, 306n.26, 307n.32, 307n.35; see also Druze-Maronite conflicts; Druze-Maronite Imarah; Progressive Socialist Party Druze-Maronite conflicts 28–9, 309n.7, 310n.11, 311n.16; British involvement in 35, 310n.13; and the double kaymakamate 32–7, 310n.12; in 1860 civil war 37–40, 311n.20, 311n. 21; and Druze-Ottoman collaborations 35, 37, 38–40, 310n.12; 311n.16; French involvement in 35; in the Gemayel (Amin) administration 236–7, 240–1, 242, 244–5; and the 1858 peasant rebellion 36–7, 310n.14, 310n.15; in the 1841–2 war 29–32, 39; in the 1845 war 34 Druze-Maronite Imarah 20–7; the double kaymakamate in 32–7, 310n. 12; Druze-Maronite conflicts in 28–32 Dufferin, Lord 311n.16 Dulles, John Foster 108, 118, 123 Dunand, Maurice 305n.13

Eagles Front of the Resistance to Khomeinite Imperialism 262 ecology, desert 3 economy of Lebanon: in the Chamoun administration 102–3; in the Druze-Maronite wars 309n.8; in the Franjieh admsinistration 171; in the al-Khūri administration 89–93; Lebanese independence and 81; Ma’nid era of expansion 17–8; marginality of 3, 5; in the Mutasarrifate 48; in the Shihāb administration 22, 139– 42, 318n.9; and the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union breakup 97–9, 316n.28; see also infrastructure Eddé, Emile 61, 67; alliance with France 71, 73; death of 100; elected President 68; in the 1943 elections 75, 81; installed as President 76; and the National Bloc party 70, 94–5 Eddé, Henri 170–1 Eddé, Pierre 145 Eddé, Raymond: v. the Cairo Agreement 163; election defeats 137, 206, 319n.16; in the Karāmi cabinet 130, 140, 144; opposition to Shihāb 144–6; reelected to Chamber 148; in the Tripartite Coalition 178 Effendi, Shakib 34 Egypt: British invasion of 52–3; conquest of Syria 25–7; Copts of 305n.19; Mamluk dynasty 6, 11–14; Mamluk Slaves 306n.23; and the Sinai Observers Agreement 229; see also United Arab Republic Ein el-Hilweh camp 156, 181, 197–8, 261, 264, 267, 285, 288 Eisenhower Doctrine 104, 107, 110–11, 114, 118, 123, 317n.6 elections:

328 INDEX

of 1943 74–5; of 1947 94–5; of 1957 100; of 1953 103; of 1957 110–11; of 1960 131; of 1964 146–7; of 1968 159–60; of 1970 165–9, 320n.5; of 1972 172; of 1976 206; of 1982 234; of 1992 283 electoral politics: and electoral feudalism 81, 86–7; Mandate laws of 63; and political party development 70–1; of the Règlement organique 42; zu'āma system 87–8, 134, 136, 315n.11 Entelis, John P. 315n.11, 318n.13, 321n.19 Ethelson, Sally 303n.1 ethical relativism 88; and conflict- proneness 3, 4–5, 251–2, 304n.7, 304n.8, 304n.10, 321n.14; and deal-making 174; in the Mutasarrifate 43; and the rule of three factor 251–2 Fadlallah, Sheikh 224, 262 Fahd Plan 229, 234 Faisal, Amir 53, 56, 57; installed as king of Iraq 58 Fakhr al-Din ibn Uthmān (Fakhr al-Din I) 15, 306n.25 Fakhr al-Din II (the Great) 16–18 famine in Lebanon 52, 53, 55, 56, 313n.3 Fatah 157, 174, 220–1, 222, 266–7, 271, 320n.24, 322n.2 Fatimids 13, 306n.22 feudal system 13–27, 310n.10; and the double kaymakamate 32, 36; in the 1841 Druze-Maronite war 28, 29–32; early feudatories 9–13; and the 1858 peasant rebellion 36, 310n.15 feudalism, electoral 81, 86–7;

and the zu‘āma system 87–8, 315n.11 First World War 1, 71–4 Fisher, W.B. 304n.5 Fisk, Robert 217, 260, 322n.15, 324n.11 Ford, Gerald 178, 229 France: civil war of 1860 response 40, 311n.25; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 35; economic development in the Levant 47, 59–60; in First World War 55; and the Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 43, 44, 47; occupation of Lebanon 57–9; and the Palestinian problem 169; post-Mandate role 83–4; and the Règlement organique 41, 42; see also Mandate of (Greater) Lebanon Franco Pasha (Franku Bey Qusa) 46–7, 312n.30 Franjieh, Suleiman 135, 136, 169–73; Assad’s relations with 202, 205, 217, 249; called to resign 203–4; ceasefire announcement 201; and control of Palestinian military organizations 169, 172–3, 178, 192; Deuxième Bureau purged by 171–2, 320n.7; elected President 148, 165–9; at the Geneva reconciliation talks 243; al-Hafiz cabinet 173; Karāmi cabinet 185–8; military cabinet 184–5, 194; as peace undercutter 190; Salām youth cabinet 170–1, 176; Sulh cabinet 175; and the Syrian peace accord 254; thirteen-point peace plan 254 Franjieh, Tony 222, 225 Frem, Fdi 236, 237, 240 Friedman, Thomas L. 216, 217, 236, 242, 322n.15 Fu'ād Pasha 40, 41, 44 Gallipoli 52 game theory:

INDEX 329

chessboard analogy 6; and conflict proneness xi, 3–5, 305n. 12; rule of three factor 251–2; and zero- sum perceptions of value 4, 304n.8; see also inside-outside game al-Gaylni, Rashid Ali 72 Gaza 229 Gemayel, Amin: alliance with Israel sought by 240; assassination attempt on 251; elected President 235; and the Israel-Lebanon peace agreement 240, 241–2; military cabinet 268–9; pro-Christian military activism of 236– 7, 240–1; reconciliation talks hosted by 243, 246; resignation called for 245; return of 288; and the Syrian peace accord 251, 254–6 Gemayel, Bashir: assassinated 235; assassination attempt on 226–7; control of Maronite forces 221–2, 225; elected President 234; Jumblāt negotiations with 207–8; offensives against Syrians 227–8; political ascendancy of 224–5, 323n. 21; Syrian-Israeli struggle for control of 235, 247 Gemayel, Pierre: and the Ayn al- Rummānah massacre 182, 189; and the 1958 counter-revolution 128– 30, 134, 144; death of 245; in the 1964 elections 147; in the 1970 elections 165–7; at the Geneva reconciliation talks 243; in the independence movement 82; v. the Karāmi government 128–30; v. al-Khūri 94, 95; on Palestinian guerrillas 162, 180, 215; in the Salām cabinet 135, 144–5; wounding of 226

geopolitical vulnerability xi, 3; strategic analysis of 5–6 Germany: Nazi-Syrian alliance 72; railroad development by 59; Turkish alliance with 52, 54 Ghānim, General Iskandar 181, 184, 187 Ghassanids 326n.13 Ghazir: Assāf Amirate 15–16, 307n.28 Golan Heights 155, 178, 229, 239, 283, 284–5, 291–2 Gordan, David C. 321n.18 Gouraud, General Henri 58, 63 Governor, office of 62–3 Greater Lebanon see Mandate of (Greater) Lebanon Greek Catholics, 298; in the 1860 civil war 37, 38; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 29; early communities of 13; location of communities 33; in the Mutasarrifate 42; population in Lebanon 303n.1; representation guaranteed 80 Greek Orthodox, 298; in the 1860 civil war 37, 38; in the Druze-Maronite wars 31, 34, 309n.4; early communities of 13; Justice Ministers as 80; location of communities 33; on the Mutasarrifate Administrative Council 42; population in Lebanon 303n.1; as President 67; representation guaranteed 80 Greeks 6, 7 Green Line 257, 263, 269, 272, 280 Green Project 140, 149 Gulf War 279, 281, 282 Gulick, John 304n.5 Habash, George 199, 319n.23 Habīb Pasha Sa’ad 50 Habīb, Phillip 228–9, 241 Hadd, Lieutenant Colonel 122–3, 124, 126

330 INDEX

Haddad, Fu‘ād 128–9 Haddad, Major Sa‘ad 202, 214, 218, 219, 221, 229, 245, 322n.8, 322n.10 Haddad, Wadie 236 al-Hafiz, Amin 173 Haig, Alexander 232 Haimari, Georges 137 al-Hakim, Adnān 166 al-Hakim, Mulhim (Shihāb) 20, 308n.36 al-Hakim, Yusuf (Shihāb) 20, 21, 308n.36 Hamādah, Qahtān 114 Hamādah, Sabri 93 Hamādah family 13 Hamas 292 al-Hamra family 13 Haqqi Bey, Ismā‘il 50 al-harakk (the ‘disturbances’) 28, 309n.1; see also Druze-Maronite conflicts Harfūsh family 13 Harik, Iliya F. 303n.2, 308n.38, 315n.5, 316n.13 Harik, J.P. 326n.8 al-Harīri, Rafīq 287–8, 326n.7 Hāsbayya 39 d’Hautpoul, General 40 Hāwi, William 225 Hawran: Druze rebels in 31, 32, 35; revolt against the French in 63; uprising against the Egyptians 25, 309n.6 Haydar Shihāb al-Hakim 19–20, 307n.34 Helleu, Jean 75–6 Hentshak 163 Heraclius 305n.19 High Commissioner, office of 62 hijackings 250 Hilf; see Triple Alliance Hilū, Charles 140, 146–51, 159–64; and Arabism 148, 151, 168; and the Deuxième Bureau 153, 156–7, 159 160; elected President 147–8; French relations with 169; infrastructure development by 141, 148–50; and Palestinian guerrillas 159, 161, 162, 319n.15;

relations with Israel 150–1 Hinnawi, Sami 98 Hitler, Adolf 73, 314n.21 Hitti, P.K. 305n.17, 309n.1 Hizbollah 197, 241, 244, 301; v. Amal 213, 224, 248–9, 257, 265–7, 271, 275, 279; electoral gains by 288; factionalism in 262; hostage-taking activities 250; v. the SLA 261, 288–90, 291; Syrian control of 284–5, 292 Hobeika, Elie 235, 249, 251, 254–6, 262 Holloway, Admiral 122 al-Hoss, Salim: v. Aoun 271–9, 325n.1; as Prime Minister 212, 222, 267; resignation of 280 hostages 244, 246, 249–50, 254, 261, 265, 279, 286–7, 324n.20 Hottinger, Arnold 304n.5, 315n.11 Hourani, Albert H. 309n.8 Hrāwi, Elias 199, 274–5, 276, 278, 280, 282, 285, 287–8 Hubaysh family 16 Hudson, Michael C. 105, 139, 186, 315n.5, 315n.12, 318n.2 Hurewitz, J.C. 304n.5 Hussein (King of Jordan) 118, 161, 171 Hussein, Nāsir al-Din 12 Hussein, Saddam 264, 268, 271, 272, 278 Hussein ibn Ali, Sharīf 53 al-Husseini, Hussein 267 Ibrahim 25–6, 309n.6 ID (Indulgence-Deprivation) Continuum 304n.8 Imāds (Yazbaks) 19 independence movement: allies’ promised support for 73–4, 81; and the development of political parties 70–1; and the 1943 elections 74–5, 81; French resistance to 75–6; general strikes for 76, 82, 89 Independent Nasserist Movement 198 individualism:

INDEX 331

in conflict-proneness 4, 5 infrastructure: Hilū development 144, 148–50; Hrāwi development of 287; al-Khūri development 93; Mutasarrifate development of 43, 44, 47; Shihāb development 133, 139–42, 175, 318n.9; United States aid requested for 90–1, 316n.18 inside-outside game xi, 2, 6, 179, 215, 305n.12; among ancient rulers 7; institutionalization of xi-xii, 295 Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) agreement 263 International Commission of 1860 41 Intra Bank crisis 152–4, 158, 319n.21 Iran 243, 244, 248, 249, 275, 283, 285 Iraq: Ba‛thist regime in 150, 155; British mandate for 58–9; Faisal installed as king 58; al-Gaylāni coup 72; independence of 68; influence in Lebanon 268, 271–2; invasion of Kuwait 279; militia groups in Lebanon 199; al-Qāsim coup 118, 120; support for Aoun’s forces 278 Islam: on “people of the book” 9, 305n.15 Islamic Jihad 243, 244, 246, 262, 286 Islamic Resistance Coalition of Shi‛a 262 Islamic Resistance Movement 262 Islamic Unification Front 253 Ismā‘il Haqqi Bey 54 Ismā‘ilis 13, 298 isolation, geographical 6 Israel: alliance with Lebanese Christians 202, 214, 219, 220, 239–40; formation of 96; in the Golan Heights dispute 178, 229, 239, 283, 284–5, 291–2; influence of in southern Lebanon 201– 2;

intervention in the 1975–6 civil war 202, 212, 214, 218; invasions of Lebanon 220–3, 228–33, 290, 291; in the June War 155–6; and the 1982 Lebanese elections 234; and the Lebanese-Syrian treaty 284–5; negotiations with Syria 283, 292, 325n. 3; as obstacle to peace process 229; Palestinian operations against 156–8, 160–2, 220–1; partial withdrawals from Lebanon 241, 246–7; peace accord with the PLO 283; peace agreement with Lebanon 241–2, 243, 323n.6; peace talks with Lebanon 234–5; proxy forces for 214; quests for water 150–2, 215, 291, 326n. 14; raids in Lebanon 160, 173, 180; relations with Lebanon 150–1; response to Syrian invasion of Lebanon 208, 322n.7; and the Sinai Observers Agreement with Egypt 229; in the Suez Crisis 108; truce with the PLO broken by 230, 323n.24, 323n.26; see also South Lebanese Army Issawi, Charles 309n.8 Jabal Amil 13, 19 al-Jabri, Sa‛adallah 98 Jacobites 11, 13, 15, 298 Jacobson, David 250 Ja‘ja, Samir 250, 251, 254–6, 262, 268, 275, 276–8, 288, 326n.9 Jamrā, Colonel Issām Abu 268–9 Janbalāt, Sheikh Bashir 21, 22, 24, 308n.39 Janbalāt, Na‘aman 29 Janbalāt, Sa‘īd 37 Janbalāt family 17, 19, 305n.11 Jansen, Godfrey 326n.12 al-Jazzār Pasha (Vali of Sidon) 20, 21, 22, 308n.37

332 INDEX

Jemāl Pasha 52, 54–6, 313n.1, 314n.4 Jenco, Father 250 Jessup, Henry Harris 43, 311n.16, 311n.25 Jesus 8, 305n.14, 305n.19 Jews 299, 305n.15; Zionist 53, 58, 313n.2 Jezizn: in the 1860 civil war 38–9; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 29; Lebanese army moves into 285; as Maronite town 19 Jihad: Turkish attempt at 52, 54; see also Islamic Jihad al-Jisr, Sheikh Muhammad 67, 69 Jisr al-Basha camp 201–2, 210 Jīyeh 260–1 Joint Forces 206–11 Jordan: Arab nationalism in 118–19; in the June War 155; Palestinians in 118–19; PLO driven from 156, 161, 171, 196, 215 Jordan, river 150, 152 Jouvenal, Henri de 65 Jumblāt, Kamal 195–7, 321n.21; Assad’s negotiations with 205, 322n.4; assassination of 213, 214, 249; Bashir Gemayel negotiations with 207– 8; and the Cairo Agreement 163; in the 1958 civil war 114, 127; in the 1970 elections 165–8, 320n.4; Joint Forces organization 206–10; organization of radicals 177–9; as peace undercutter 191; v. the Phalange 184, 204–5; reform demands 92, 93, 95, 102, 186, 196; in the Salām cabinet 135, 136, 144; in the Socialist Front 100; support for Karāmi government 129, 140; support for Palestinians 156, 160, 162, 178–9, 191, 196; see also Progressive Socialist Party Jumblāt, Walīd 323n.9;

v. the Amin Gemayel government 242, 245; assassination attempt on 262; at the Geneva reconciliation talks 243; in the Hrāwi government 274, 282; reconciliation program 288, 326n.8; Syrian peace accord supported by 254 June War 152, 153, 155–6, 158, 168 Junieh 204, 217 Jurajimah: raids 9, 305n.16; see also Mardaites Jurd feudal district 32 Justinian II 305n.16 Karam, Yusuf (Bey) [Joseph] 39, 45–6, 83, 228, 311n.21 Karam family 55 Karamah, Elie 245 Karāmi, Hamīd 92, 100 Karāmi, Omar 275, 325n.30 Karāmi, Rashid 102, 116, 325n.30; assassination of 250, 262, 263; ceasefire maintenance attempts 203; National Bloc v. 129–30; as peace undercutter 190; as Prime Minister 117, 127, 136, 140, 145, 162, 185–8, 245; and Sunni militias 198–9; Syrian influence on 202; in the Tripartite Coalition 178 Karāmi, Umar 280–1 Kata‛ib Party, see Phalange Ka‛wāsh, Jalāl 156, 157 kaymakamate 32–5, 310n.12; peasant disputes in 36–7, 310n.14, 310n.15 Kemptner, Thomas 286 Kerr, Malcolm H. 310n.14, 315n.11; assassination of 246 Khalaf, Samir 49, 315n.5, 315n.9 Khālid, Sheikh Hassan 186–7 al-Khātib, Ahmed 203 Khāzins 19, 35; collaboration with Allies 55; in the 1858 peasant rebellion 36–7, 310n.15

INDEX 333

Khomeini, Ayatollah 224 Khoury, Phillip S. 304n.5 al-Khūli, Sabri 211 al-Khūri, Bishāra 68; Constitutional Bloc of 70, 71; and corruption 99; elected President 75, 81–3; on the National Pact 80; patronage system 79, 84, 85, 94; on political amoralism 88; resignation of 100–1; second term of 94–7; splintered opposition to 94–5 Khuri, Fuad I. 186 Khūri, Kamal 171 Khurshīd Pasha 37, 40 King-Crane Commission 58 Kisrā 11 Kisrawān region 305n.18; in the 1860 civil war 38; and 1858 peasant rebellion 35–7, 310n. 14, 310n.15; Shi’ite communities in 13; see also Khāzins Kissinger, Henry 120, 178, 187 Kleilāt, Ibrahim 152 Kurds 313n.2, 323n.20 Kuwait: and the Arab summit peace plan 211; and the Intra Bank crisis 153 ceasefire negotiations 228 153; Iraq’s invasion of 279; Zahleh LAA, see Lebanese Arab Army LaFeber, Walter 121 Lahoud, Colonel Antoine 245 Lahoud, General Emile 278 Lahoud, Jamīl 166, 167–8 Lakhmids 326n.13 Landau, Jacob 135 Lane, Clayton 90–2 Lausanne Conference 62 Lawrence, T.E. 53 Lay, Jean 137 Lebanese Arab Army (LAA) 203, 204- 5; in the Joint Forces 207–10

Lebanese Forces militia 225, 228, 235, 240, 249, 261, 269, 272, 282 Lebanese Front 199–200, 203, 262 Lebanese Liberation Battalion 263 Lebret, Louis-Joseph 137 Levant, paradigm of 3–5, 303n.3 Lewis, Samuel 228–9 Leyraud, Jerome 286 Lipjhart, Arend 314n.15, 315n.12 Libya 214, 249 Litāni Dam Project 140, 149, 175 Litāni river 151, 152, 215, 291, 326n.14 Longrigg, Stephen Hemsley 71, 314n.13 Lytton, Sir Henry Bulwer 311n.16 Malik, Charles 108, 111, 183, 317n.7 Mallet, Louis 60 Mamluks 6, 11–13; and Mamluk Slaves 306n.23; Ottoman defeat of 13–14 Ma‘n, Ahmed 18, 308n.36 al-Manāsif district 43–4 Mandate of (Greater) Lebanon 1; Christian jurisdiction dilemma 61, 78, 315n.2; constitutionalism in 65–7; Draft Treaty for Lebanon 68–9; establishment of 50, 56–60; evaluation of 76–7; as a French colonial system 78–9; French withdrawal from 76, 83; general strikes in 76, 82, 89; government system of 62–4; local response to 60–1; rebellions in 63–5; size and demographics of 61–2; state of emergency in 71; suspension of Constitution in 67–8, 82; Vichy era 1–4; see also Constitution of Lebanon; Independence movement; Ma‘nid line 13, 15–16, 305n.11 Fakhr al-Din II rule 16–18 Mann, Jack 286 Mansūr al-Assaf 15–16 Mansūr (Shihāb) al-Hakim 20, 308n.36 Ma‘oz, Moshe 304n.5

334 INDEX

Mar‘ūn 305n.19 Mar Eliyas, battle of 308n.36 Mardaites: Maronite association with 11; see also Jurājimah Marika (wife of Muzaffar Pasha) 48 Marj Dabīq, battle of 13 Maronites, 298; Amin Gemayel’s hegemony goals for 236–7, 240–1; and Bashir II 22–6, 308n.38, 309n.6; collaboration with Allies 55; in the fe Crusades 11, 305n.18; early among 24 feudatories 9; factionalism among 202, 214, 219, 220 248; Israeli ties to 202, 214, 219, 220; location of communities 33; v. Mamluks 11–2; in the Mansūr administration 16 monothelite belief of 11, 305n.19; in the Mutasarrifate 42, 47–48 nationalism of 24, 37, 69, 323n.23 origins of 9, 11; Ottoman era fragmentation 15, 25, 26, 307n.27; population in Lebanon 62, 303n.1; Presidents as 67, 69, 80; representation of guaranteed 69, 80; 80 a and the Roman Church 11; v. Sharifian Arab state 56, 58; Shihāb M alliance with 19; in the Syrian Mandate 60; see also Druze-Maronite conflicts; Druze-Maronite Imarah; Phalange 68, 69 Martel, Damien de 68, 69 Martyrs’ Square 55 Mas’ad, Bulous (Patriarch) 28–9, 43, 28–9, 43 309n.3, 311n.l7 Matāwilah 13 Matn district 34 al-Matnī, Nasib 112 Ma‘ūshi, Paul (Patriarch) 117, 126 Maysalūn Pass, battle at 60 McCarthy, John 286 123, 124, 126, 129 McClintock, Robert 123, 124, 126, 129 McFarlane, Robert 237, 242

McMahon, Sir Henry 53 MEDO (Middle East Defense Organization) 104 Melloy, Ambassador Francis 199 Meo, Leila M.T. 315n.5 Metternich, Prince 32 Middle East Supply Center 73 Mi’mari, Major Ahmed 204, 208, 214 Mohtashemi, Ali Akbar 275 Mongols 12 Monophysite belief 11, 15 Monothelite belief 11, 305n.19 Morgan, Ernest 187 Mount Lebanon: Administrative Council rule of 56–7; Arab Muslim conquest of 9; in the 1914 census 61; double kaymakamate on 32–5, 310n. 12; Druze-Maronite conflicts on 31–4; early feudal communities 9–13; Jurājimah raids 9, 305n.16; Mamluk conquest 11–13; Ma‛nid rule 15–8; Maronite settlements 11; Mutasarrifate 41–51, 312n.27, 312n.30; non-Maronite Christian settlements 11; Ottoman millet system 14–15, 307n.29; peasant rebellion of 1858 35–7, 310n. 14, 310n.15; as refuge 7, 11; Sharifian Arab claim to 56; Shihāb rule of 18–24; Zghartā-Bisharri feud on 84, 315n.7; see also Druze-Maronite Imarah Movement of the Deprived see Amal Mroweh, Kamal 152–3, 158 Mu‘āwiyah 9 Mu‘awwad, René 166, 274, 325n.29 Mubarak, Archbishop 95–6 Mughnīyah, Fu‘ād 290 Muhammad Ali (Viceroy of Egypt) 24, 25– 6, 28 Muharram, Shafīq 137 Muhsin, Zuhair 214 Mukhtara: battle at 34; conference at 34

INDEX 335

Mulhim Ma‘n 18 Multinational Peacekeeping Force 242, 245 Mumtāz Bey 50, 54, 56 Munīf Bey, Ali 50 Mūnlā, Sa‘adi 93, 102 Muqaddam, Farouk 178, 198 Muqaddams 11, 15, 307n.27 Murad IV 17 Murphy, Robert 126–7 Muslims: conquest of Mount Lebanon 8–9 disenfranchised feelings of 106, 143; and the disintegration of the army 203; feudal territories of 9–13; population in Lebanon 61, 69, 303n.1; in the Sidon fishing rights controversy 180–2, 189, 320n.11, 321n.12; v. the Sulh government 181–2; support for the Palestinian guerrilla effort 158, 162; representation of 69, 80; tolerance of Christians 9, 305n.15; see also Druze; Shi‘ites; Sunnis Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 41–2, 46–9, 312n.27, 312n.30; and the Committee on Union and Progress 49; Da‘ūd Pasha leadership of 42–6; end of 49–51, 54 mutually impossible demands 32, 309n.9 Muzaffar Pasha 48 Myrdal, Gunnar 303n.4

in the Palestine Liberation Organization 148; and the Palestinian problem 162, 169; and Shihāb 131; and the Suez Canal crisis 108 National Bloc party 70, 94, 100, 129; representation in the Chamber 135; in the Triple Alliance 158 National Home Guard 227–8 National Liberal Party (PNL) 135, 144, 158, 179; Tigers militia 190, 195, 209–10, 221– 2, 224, 225–7, 322n.19 National Movement (LMN) 189, 191, 196, 199, 204–5, 207–10 National Pact 80, 108, 112, 181, 187, 192, 294 National Union Front (NUF) 110, 111, 112, 116 Nationalism: Lebanese 69–70; Maronite, 24, 37, 69, 323n.23; Palestinian 150–1, 154–5, 156, 157; Syrian 318n.2; see also Arab nationalism Na‘ūm Pasha 48 Nazareth 17 Neo-Babylonians 7 Nidal, Abu 230, 263, 271, 279 Nordlinger, Eric 315n.12 Norton, A.R. 326n.11 NUF see National Union Front Nujaym, Jean 172 Nusayris 13

Naccache, Alfred 73, 75, 92 Nahr al-Barīd camp 288 Na’im, Edmund 269 Najjāda party 70, 92, 100, 135 Napoleon 22 al-Nāsir Muhammad 12 Nasser, Gamal Abdul 103; and the Baghdad Pact 104, 105, 316n. 32; v. Chamoun 1, 107–10; development of his Arabism 108; influence on Lebanese Muslims 107;

Occupied Enemy Territory Administrations (OETAs) 57 October 24th Movement 198 Ohannes Bey Kuyumjian Pasha 49–50, 54 Operation Bluebat 120–7 Oppressed on Earth 263 Organization for the Defense of Free People 263 Organization of Communist Action 199, 224 Organization of Truth 263 Ottoman Empire 1, 6, 13–6;

336 INDEX

civil war of 1860 response 40; collaboration with the Druze 35, 37, 38–40, 310n.12, 311n.16; concessions to the French 59–60; constitutional crisis 47; direct rule initiatives 31, 40, 54, 310n. 11; and the double kaymakamate 32–5, 310n.12; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 29–34; economic crisis of 48; and the Egyptian conquest of Syria 25– 7; Fakhr al-Din II antagonism of 16–18; Jemāl-era repression 54–6; Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 41–51, 54, 312n.27, 312n.30; Règlement organique 41–2; tanzimāt program 31, 309n.5; in World War I 50, 52–4, 313n.1; Young Turk rebellion 49, 59 outsiders see inside-outside game Palestine: OETA South district of 57; partition of 89–90, 96–7; promised home for Jews in 53, 313n.2 Palestine Liberation Army (PLA) 157, 200, 202–3 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO): v. Amal 258–61, 265, 269; Arafat elected Chairman of 157; and the Cairo Agreement 161–3, 171; ceasefire agreement 211; Druze alliances with 248–9; expulsion from Jordan 156, 161, 171, 196, 215; expulsion from Lebanon 233, 234, 239, 243–4; Franjieh administration negotiations with 171, 173, 174, 178; Israel breaks truce with 230, 323n.24, 323n.26; in the Joint Forces 207–10; and Nasser 148; peace accord with Israel 283; v. Rejection Front forces 213;

return to Lebanon 254, 258, 324n.11; see also Fatah Palestinian Armed Struggle Command (PASC) 319n.24 Palestinian Liberation Front (PLF) 222 Palestinian Popular Struggle Front (PPSF) 319n.24 Palestinians: Amal-PLO camp wars 258–61, 265, 269; evacuation of guerrillas from Lebanon 233, 234, 239, 243–4; guerrilla factions 262, 319n.24; and the Intra Bank crisis 152–4, 158, 319n.21; in Jordan 118–19, 156; and the June War 155–6, 158; v. the Lebanese army 161, 162–4, 173– 4, 180, 285; Lebanese control of sought, 160–3, 172–3, 192, 218, 325n.4; military operations against Israel 156– 8, 160–2, 220–1; nationalism of 150–1, 154–5, 156, 157; v. Phalange forces 164, 180, 182–3, 187–8, 193, 201, 202; radical Muslim alliances with 177–9, 181, 189–90; refugee arrivals to Lebanon 96–7, 150, 152; refugee population in Lebanon 303n.1; return to Lebanon 254, 258, 324n.11; and the Syrian invasion of Lebanon 208–9; turf battles among 213; see also Palestine Liberation Organization Parliament see Chamber of Deputies Patriarchs: on the Aoun-Ja‘ja war 278–9; in the 1860 civil war 37, 38; in the Druze-Maronite conflict 28–9, 309n.3, 311n.l7; v. al-Khūri 96, 316n.26; and the Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 42, 43 patronage 79, 84, 85, 94 Paul, Apostle 8

INDEX 337

Paux, M. 71 Peace Convention of 1860 40 peasant rebellion of 1858 35–7, 310n.14, 310n.15 Peres, Shimon 246, 283 Persians 6, 7 Pétain, Marshal 72 Peter, Apostle 8 Petran, Tabitha 217, 219, 322n.2 PFLP see Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine PFLP-GC see Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine-General Command Phalange (Katā‘ib Party), 216, 321n.19; Amin Gemayel’s offensives against the Druze 236–7, 240–1, 244–5; Aoun-Ja‘ja war 276–9; in the 1958 civil war 118; clashes with Palestinian guerrillas 164, 180, 182–3, 187–8, 193, 201, 321n.13; counter-revolution of 1958 128–30, 134, 144; declaratory position of 192–4; factionalism in 246, 248, 250–1, 256; Katā‘ib Party founding 318n.13; Muslim offensives against 204–5; as peace undercutter 190; v. PNL Tigers 221–2, 224, 226–7; reform demands 92; representation in the Chamber 135; seige of Palestinian camps 202; and the Socialist Front 100; suppression of 97; Syrian alliances with 206, 209, 214, 218; in the Triple Alliance 158; turf battles among 213; United States support for 193–4 Pharaon, Henry 89, 90, 92, 129 pharmaceutical monopoly 171 Phoenician city states 7 Picot, Georges 60–1 Pinkerton, Lowell 78 PLA see Palestinian Liberation Army Place des Canons executions 55 PLF see Palestinian Liberation Front

PLO see Palestinian Liberation Organization pluralism, democratic: Lebanese 2, 303n.2; see also democracy; electoral politics PNL see National Liberal Party Pohill, Robert 261 police force: Mandate development of 63; see also Deuxième Bureau political parties 70–1 politics: and conflict-proneness 4, 305n.12; and geostrategic situation xi Polk, William R. 308n.39, 308n.40 Ponsot, Henri 67–8 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) 164, 174, 180, 189, 199, 253, 319n.23, 319n.24 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine-General Command (PFLPGC) 189, 213, 214, 253, 319n.24 Popular Nasserist Organization 197–8, 267 population of Lebanon 303n.1; British survey of 1918 50, 61–2, 313n. 39, 314n.11; census of 1932 69; Turkish census of 1914 61 Porath, Yehoshua 310n.14 PPS see Syrian National Party PPSF see Palestinian Popular Struggle Front PQLI (Physical Quality of Life Index) 303n.1 prehistoric settlements 7 President, office of 65, 175; broadened political base for 71; and the cabinet 85–6; as a Maronite seat 67, 69, 80; and the Prime Minister 88–9; second term amendments for 94–6, 146, 288, 316n.27; term extended to six years 69 Prime Minister, office of 65, 86; broadened political base for 71; as Maronite seat 67; power of 88–9, 106, 175;

338 INDEX

as Sunni seat 67, 69, 80, 86 Privat-Aubouard, M. 62 Progressive Socialist Party (PSP) 70, 114, 115, 135, 282; and Amal 249, 253, 257, 260, 323n.9; offensives against the Phalange 204–5; PLO alliance with 248–9; support for Palestinians 160, 196; as peace undercutter 190 Protestants 299 proxy wars 213, 214, 219, 222 PSP see Progressive Socialist Party psychology: of conflict-proneness 4 Qadīsha valley 11–12 Qānsuh (Mamluk Sultan) 13 Qarūn Reservoir 140 al-Qāsim, Abdul Karīm 118 Qāsim, Mulhim 64 Qawūqjī, Fawzi 94 Qaysi-Yamani conflict 15–16, 18–19, 306n. 26, 307n.32, 307n.35 Quai d’Orsay 59, 60, 61, 64, 68 Qubain, Fahim 113–14, 317n.3 Qulayāt, Ibrahim 178, 198 Qurqums (ibn Yunis) Ma’n 16 Qusa, Yusuf (Bey) 48–9 Rabin, Yitzhak 229, 283, 292 Radford Plan see Eisenhower Doctrine railroads: French development of 47, 59–60 Randal, Jonathan C. 186, 194, 217, 218, 321n.17, 322n.15 Rāshayya 39; Druze seige of 65 Rashid Pasha, Muhammad 44, 47 Reagan, Ronald 229, 232, 233, 237, 242, 245, 247 Reagan Plan 234, 238 Reconstitution of Lebanon 2–3, 293–7; Amin Gemayel’s plan for 243; during the Hrāwi administration 287– 90 reforms 92–3, 101, 103, 106;

and the civil war of 1975–6 170–1, 186, 215 refugees: mountain tradition of 7; Palestinian 96–7, 150, 152, 258–61, 264, 282–3, 303n.l; see also Palestinians Règlement organique, 41–2, 312n.26; annulled 50, 54; see also Mutasarrifate jurisdiction Règlement Shakib Effendi 34–5, 36 relativism see ethical relativism relief efforts: Allied 57, 58 religion: communal affiliation tied to 9; and conflict-proneness 4 Republic of Lebanon: and Arabism 103, 105, 107–10, 143, 148, 151, 168, 192; army-Palestinian clashes 161, 162–4, 173–4, 180; Chamoun administration 101–12; Cold War alliance maneuvers 104–6; and the Constitution 75, 79–81; control of Palestinian militia groups sought by 160–3, 172–3, 192, 218, 325n.4; corruption in 85, 91, 93, 99, 137–8; counter-revolution of 1958 128–30, 134, 144; economy of 81, 89–93, 97- 9, 102–3, 139–42, 318n.9; formation of 75, 81–3; Franjieh administration 169–80; French legacy in 78–9, 84–5; Gemayel administrations 234–42, 246– 7, 251–6; Hilū administration 146–51, 159–64, 319n.15; Hrāwi administration 280, 282, 285; Israel peace talks with 234–5; Israeli invasions of 220–3, 228–33, 290, 291; Israeli raids in 160, 173, 180; and the June War 155–6, 158, 168–9; al-Khūri administration 85–100; outsider intervention in 215;

INDEX 339

Palestinian attacks on Israel from 156– 8, 160–2, 220–1; Palestinian guerrillas evacuated from 233, 234, 239, 243–4; Palestinian guerrillas return to 254, 258, 324n.11; and the partition of Palestine 96–7; patronage system in 79, 84, 85, 94; peace agreement with Israel 241–2, 243, 323n.6; peaceful transfer of power in 148, 318n. 14, 318n.15; political system of 85–9; radicals against 177–9, 181, 189–90; reform proposals 92–3, 170–1; reforms 101, 103, 106; relations with Israel 131, 150–1; representation of sects in 75, 80–1; Shihāb administration 131–46; splinter groups in 262–3; Syrian influence in 253–4; Syrian invasion of 1, 191, 206–12, 218, 220, 222–3, 290–1; Syrian National Party coup attempt 132, 138, 146, 318n.2, 318n.6; and the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union breakup 97–9, 316n.28; treaty with Syria 284–5; turf battles in 213, 219, 258–64; United States marine deployments in 234, 235, 237, 242–3; war complex of 212–17; see also civil war of 1958; civil war of 1975–6 Revolutionary Justice Organization 262, 286 Ridgeway, General 120 al-Rifi‘i, General Nur al-Din 184 Riker, William H. 320n.2 Roman Catholic Church: Fakhr al-Din’s ties to 17; Maronite divisions over 11 Roman Catholics 47, 298 Roman Empire 6, 7–8 Rommel, General 73, 314n.21 Rose, Colonel 29 rule of three factor 252–3 Rumsfeld, Donald 245

Russia: and the Mutasarrifate jurisdiction 42; and the Treaty of Hunkiar Iskelesi 25 Rustum Pasha 47 Sa‘ad, Ma‘rūf 178, 180–2 Sa‘ad, Mustāfa 197–8 Sa‘ada, Antoun 70, 94, 97, 318n.2, 319n.23 Sa‘adah, George 275, 278 Sāba, Elias 170, 216 Sabra: in the camp wars 260; massacre at 235 al-S‘ad, Habīb 61 Sadat, Anwar 178, 183, 229 al-Sadr, Mūsa 179, 197, 222, 224 Saghbīn, massacre at 29 Sa‘īd, General Hanna 187 al-Sa‘iqa (Thunderbolt) 161, 162, 213, 214, 239, 319n.24 Saladin 12 Salām, Sa‘ib 86; as Prime Minister 102, 135, 136, 144–5, 170–1; indictment against 111; and the Israeli raid of Beirut 173; negotiations with Arafat 171, 173; as reformist 170–1; resignation of 109; support for Karāmi government 129; in the Tripartite Coalition 178 Salem, Elie 89, 237, 315n.11, 316n.13 Salibi, Kamal S., 309n.2; on the Buhturids 306n.21; on Chamoun- Nasser relations 108; on Fakhr al-Din I 306n.25; on Jazzār 308n.37; on Lebanese constitutionalism 66; on Maronite-Crusader relations 305n. 18; on Maronite patriarchs 306n.20; on Palestinian commandos 174; on Phalange enthusiasm 321n.13; on Raymond Eddé 144 Salih Sfayr 36 Salim I 13–15, 306n.23 Samqanīyah conference 18

340 INDEX

San Remo Peace Conference 58 Sarkis, Elias: and Arabism 168; and the Central Bank 153; elected President 206; in the 1970 elections 165–6; inauguration of 210; and the Israeli invasion 229; peace negotiation attempts 207, 211; in the Shihāb executive council 137 Sasīn, Michel 278 Saudi Arabia: Fahd Plan 229, 234; and Lebanese-Palestinian negotiations 187, 211, 228; peacekeeping forces in Beirut 210 Sayfa, Yusuf 16 Scheltema, J.F. 311n.16 Schemeil, Y. 316n.13 Seale, Patrick 316n.31 Second World War 1, 50, 52–7, 313n.1 Secretary General, office of 62–3 Secretary of State, office of 67–8 secular institutions, government by xii, 294–5 Senate: abolished 66; established 65 Sfayr, Nasrullah Butrus 278, 325n.1 Shakeeb, Salih 310n.13 Shamir, Yitzhak 283 al-Shantīri, Yusuf 311n.21 Sharifian Arabs 53, 56–7, 58, 61 Sharon, Ariel, 228, 230, 232, 235, 239 Shatila: in the camp wars 260, 267; massacre at 235 al-Shidyāq, Tanyous 307n.33 Shihā, Michael 66–7, 69, 71, 75, 82, 88, 314n.15 Shihāb, Amir Maurice 186 Shihāb, Bashir I 18–20, 307n.34 Shihāb, Bashir II 20–7, 308n.38, 309n.6 Shihāb, Bashir III 27, 28–9, 31, 38 Shihāb, Fu'ād 101, 133–46, 168; administration objectives 128, 138–9; and the army 137–9;

coalition of oppositions created by 134– 6, 140, 144; as commander in the 1958 civil war 110, 113, 115, 117–18, 123–6; and the Deuxième Bureau 133, 136–7, 138, 168; elected President 127, 128, 133; and the 1970 elections 165, 167–8; infrastructure development by 133, 139–42, 175, 318n.9; Karāmi cabinet crisis 129–30; “middle road” approach to governance 138–9, 143; and Nasser 131; and the Palestinian camps 159; professional advisors to 137; resignation attempt 134; retirement from office 146–7 Shihāb, Khalid 69; elected Prime Minister 101, 102 Shihābists (Nahjists) 133, 146, 148, 159, 318n.12; in the 1970 elections 165–8; see also Hilū, Charles; Shihāb, Fu‘ad Shi‘ites, 298; in the Amal-PLO camp wars 258–61; in the Druze-Maronite wars 309n.4; early settlements of 13; exodus to north Lebanon 163, 171; factionalism among 224, 248; feudatories 9; hostage-taking by 250; location of communities 33; militia groups 197; on the Mutasarrifate Administrative Council 42; population in Lebanon 303n.1; representation guaranteed 80; Speaker of the Chamber as 80, 106; see also Amal; Hizbollah al-Shishakli, Adīb 98–9 Shorrock, William 60 Shuf region: in the 1958 civil war 115, 117; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts in 29, 31, 32, 34, 64, 236–7, 240;

INDEX 341

Fakhr al-Din II rule of 16–18; Israeli withdrawal from 241; Shi’ite communities in 13 Shultz, George 237, 241 Shuqayr, General 104, 316n.31 Shuqayri, Ahmed 157 Sidon: ancient city state of 7; in the 1958 civil war 116, 117; in the 1975–6 civil war 182, 200; fishing rights controversy 180–2, 189, 320n.11, 321n.12; Jesus in 8, 305n.14; Ma‘n rule of 17; Syrian offensive against 211 Sim‘an 11 Singh, Mithileshwar 261 Six Day War see June War size principle 166, 320n.2 SLA see South Lebanese Army Socialist Arab Labor Party 199 Socialist Front 100, 101 Solidère 287 Soloman, Z. 326n.11 South Lebanese Army (SLA) 200, 251, 322n.8; cooperation with Israel 202, 216, 218, 222, 279, 281; divisions in 246, 248; v. Hizbollah 261, 288–90, 291; in the Israel-Lebanon peace agreement 241, 323n.6; and the Sabra-Shatila massacres 235 Soviet Union: Middle East ties to 104, 120, 238; Second World War operations 73; Syrian alliance with 104, 108, 238 Spagnolo, James P. 46, 312n.27 Spears, General Edward 74, 75, 82, 84- 5 Spiller, Roger J. 119, 124, 317n.6, 317n.9 SSNP see Syrian Social National Party Stalin, Josef 73 Steen, Alann 261, 262, 286 strikes: for independence 76, 82, 89; v. the Franjieh administration 170, 188; v. the al-Khūri administration 100–1 Strübig, Heinrich 286

Suez Canal: British defense of 52; Suez Crisis, 107, 108–9 Suleiman, Michael W. 186, 315n.11, 316n.l3 Suleiman Pasha (Vali of Sidon) 22–3 al-Sulh, Rashid: as Prime Minister 175, 182; resignation of 183 al-Sulh, Ryād: assassination of 100; and the Customs Union 98; elected Prime Minister 75, 95, 97, 315n. 7; and the National Pact 80; and patronage 84 al-Sulh, Sami Bey 90–2, 100, 101, 110 Sulh, Taqi al-Din 175 Sultāni, Adnān 152 Sunni Popular Liberation Army 262 Sunnis, 298, 314n.18: Assāf fiefdoms 15–6; in 1860 civil war 39, 311n.20; early communities of 13; “establishment” Sunnis 13, 306n.22; factionalism among 224, 248; feudatories of 9–11; location of communities 33; militia organizations 197–9; on the Mutasarrifate Administrative Council 42; Phalange offensives against 236; political parties 70; population in Lebanon 303n.1; Prime Ministers as 67, 69, 80, 86; representation guaranteed 80; Shihāb line 18–26 Survey of 1918 50, 61–2, 313n.39 Sutherland, Thomas 286 Sutherland, William 250 Sykes-Picot Agreement 53, 57, 60 Syria: and Amal 265–6, 271; Aoun ousted by 216, 254, 279–80, 282; Bashir Gemayel forces against 227–8; Ba’thist regime in 150, 151; British occupations of 52–3, 56, 57, 72, 73–4;

342 INDEX

v. the Chamoun administration 117, 317n.7; Christian alliances with 206, 209, 214, 218, 249, 282, 322n.4, 322n.8; Christians massacred in 40; constitution attempted for 66; coups in 98; Egyptian conquest of 25–7; factionalism in 63, 314n.13; Fatimid control of 13, 306n.22; French capitalism in 59–60; French mandate for 58, 60, 62–3, 313n. 2; in the Golan Heights dispute 178, 229, 239, 283, 284–5, 291–2; influence in Lebanon expanded 253–4; interference in 1976 Lebanese elections 206; invasion of Lebanon 1, 191, 206–12, 218, 222–3, 290–1; v. Israel’s invasion of Lebanon 232, 239; in the June War 155; mediation in the 1975–6 civil war 201– 2, 211, 218; nationalism in 318n.2; Nazi Germany alliance with 72; negotiations for an accord among militia groups 258, 259; negotiations with Israel 283, 292, 325n. 3; occupation of Beirut 263–6; and the Palestine Liberation Army 157, 200, 202–3; peace accord of 1985 251, 254–6; population in Lebanon 303n.1; proxy forces for 214, 249; railroad development in 47; refusal to withdraw forces from Lebanon 283- 4; rejection of the Israel-Lebanon peace agreement 241–2; al-Sa‘iqa guerrillas 161, 162, 213, 214, 239, 319n.24; socialism in 98–9, 104; Soviet alliance with 104, 108, 238; support for Druze forces 245, 249, 253;

support for Palestinian guerrillas 162, 243; and the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union breakup 97–9, 316n.28; and the Ta‘if Agreement 274, 283; trade relations with Lebanon 97–9, 102– 3; treaty with Lebanon 284–5; unrest against the French in 73 Syrian National Party (PPS) 70, 94, 98–9, 102, 163, 199, 226, 323n.22; in the 1958 civil war 114, 116, 118; in the 1975–6 civil war 189; coup attempt 132, 138, 146, 318n.2, 318n.6; and the Socialist Front 100; suppression of 97 Syrian Social National Party (SSNP) 257, 261, 262 Syro-Lebanese Customs Union 97–9, 316n. 28 Tabara, Lina Makdidi 217 Tahir Pasha 38 Ta‘if Agreement 80, 270, 273–5, 283, 325n.28 Talhūqs 19, 22, 24 Tanyūs Shahīn 37, 39, 311n.21 Taqlā, Philip 185 Tashnak 163 taxation: import taxes 91–2, 170; in- kind collections 91; in the Mutasarrifate 48–9; Sāba reform proposals 170 Tel al-Za‘tar camp 2014 Phalange seige of 202; PNL militia seige of 209–10 Thābit, Ayyub 67, 75 Tiberias 17 Trabaud, Georges 62 Tracy, Edward Austin 286 trade: import taxes 91–2; Syrian- Lebanese relations 98, 102–3; and the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union breakup 97–9

INDEX 343

Transjordan 313n.2 Treaty of Hunkiar Iskelesi 25 Treaty of Lausanne 59 Trendle, G. 326n.7 Tripartite Coalition (Tahalūf al- Thulāthi) 178–9, 184 Triple Alliance (al-Hilf al-Thulāthi) 158– 60, 162; and the 1970 elections 165–6; response to Cairo Agreement 163 Tripoli: in the 1958 civil war 112, 116–7; in the 1975–6 civil war 182, 200, 201, 217; October 24th Movement in 198; Qawūqjī homecoming 94; sectarian violence in 116, 160, 240–1; Syrian presence in 228, 253, 257 Tubiyya ‘Awn (Bishop of Beirut) 37, 38 turf battles 213, 219, 258–64, 269–70 Turkey 105 see also Ottoman Empire Turner, Jesse 261 Tuscany: Fakhr al-Din’s ties to 17 Tuwayni, Ghassān 170–1, 185 Twinning, General Nathan 114 two state solution 60 Tyre: ancient city state of 7; in the 1958 civil war 117; in the 1975–6 civil war 182; early Christian communities 8; terrorism in 244; UNIFIL forces in 285, 326n.6 UAR see United Arab Republic Umar Pasha 31, 32 al-Umar, Zahir 20 Umayyads 9; and the Jurājimah 305n.16 undercutters of peace 188–91 UNIFIL (United Nations Force in Lebanon) 218, 221, 222, 224, 285, 301, 326n.6 Union of National Liberation 95 Union of the Forces of the Working People:

Corrective Movement 199 United Arab Republic (UAR): and the Arab summit peace plan 211; v. the Chamoun administration 117; formation of 107; in the June War 155–6; and the 1958 Lebanese civil war 112; and the Palestinian problem 169 United Nations: and Lebanese independence 76; Observer Corps (UNOGIL) 118, 129, 131, 317n.8; partition of Palestine resolution 89–90, 96–7; responses to Israeli invasions of Lebanon 221, 233, 292, 326n.15; see also UNIFIL United States: and Amin Gemayel’s military initiatives 237; attacks on Druze forces 242, 244; and the Baghdad Pact 104–5; CIA assassination plans 262, 324n.17; civil war of 1958 intervention 114, 118– 27, 133, 317n.9; economic aid to Lebanon 90–1; Eisenhower Doctrine 104, 107, 110– 11, 114, 118, 123, 317n.6; and Israel-Lebanon peace prospects 240; and the Israeli invasion of Lebanon 229; marine deployments in Lebanon 234, 235, 237; MEDO proposal 104; in peace negotiations for Lebanon 218; Reagan Plan 234, 238; support for the Phalange 193–4; withdrawal from Lebanon 245 ‘Usayrn, Adil 126, 127, 185 Uthman solution 320n.1 ‘Uwayni, Hussein 111, 130, 144 values: zero-sum perceptions of 4, 304n.8 van Dam, Nikolaos 304n.5 Vandenberg, General 62

344 INDEX

violence, trends in 131–2, 140–2, 148–9, 175–6, 222–23, 230–31, 254–5, 270–71, 281, 288–9, 318n.9; factor of in 1975–6 civil war 213, 219 Wade, General 124 Wadi al-Taym region: Arab uprising in 64–5; in the 1860 civil war 39; in the 1958 civil war 115–16, 117; in the Druze-Maronite conflicts 32, 35; feudatories 9; Shi’ite communities in 13; Sunni communities in 13, 18, 306n.22 Wadsworth, George 82, 85, 315n.7 Waite, Terry, 250, 261, 286 Wasā Pasha 48 al-Wazzan, Shafīq 236 Weinberger, Caspar 235 Weir, Ben 246, 250 West Bank: Israeli seizure of 155; negotiations for 229; Reagan Plan provision for 234 Weygand, Maxime 63 Wilson, General 73 women, enfranchisement of 81, 101 Wood, Richard 30 al-Yāfi, Abdullah 69, 86, 102, 145; indictment against 111; resignation of 109; support for Palestinian militias 160–1 Yamani-Qaysi conflict 15–16, 18–19, 306n. 26, 307n.32, 307n.35 Yom Kippur War 178, 183 Young Turk rebellion 49, 59 Zahleh: Bashir Gemayel’s attempt to control 227–8; in the 1860 civil war 39, 311n.21; in the 1975–6 civil war 187, 200, 201, 204; in the 1841 Druze-Maronite war 29 Za‛īm, Husni 98 Zalzal, Phillipe Effendi 55

Zamir, Meir 168, 314n.11, 314n.16, 315n. 2, 320n.3 Zengids 9, 12 zero-sum perceptions of value 4, 304n.8 Zghart-Bisharri feud 84, 315n.7 Zionists 53, 58, 313n.2 Zoroastrians 305n.15 Zu‘āma politics 87–8, 134, 136, 315n.11