DABABIYA, Lebanon: Elie’s mother sits on her terrace every morning in the predominantly Christian town of Dababiya in northern Akkar, a few kilometers from the Syrian border, and invites her neighbors for a coffee and a chat about the latest gossip. Her only son Elie sits with her for a while before leaving for work, and their candid conversation reveals her son’s deep foreboding. He doesn’t answer her question about how his trade business in Halba is going these days.
“There is something more important that work,” he repeats several times, “our unknown fate.”
Elie is one among many Maronite and Greek Orthodox residents dwelling in the Nahr al-Kabir al-Janoubi area, a mere 50 meters from the Syrian frontier. These residents in particular are vigilantly keeping an eye on the advances of ISIS, fearful that the militant group might one day infiltrate their border town. Some, doubtful that the Lebanese Army would be able to protect them, have taken measures to arm themselves.
Their fears run deep, despite the implausibility of an ISIS offensive in the north, given the dynamics on the ground in Syria.
Muslims in the area also feel the threat is knocking on their doors; the beheading of Ali al-Sayyed, a Muslim soldier from Fnaydeq captured by ISIS in Arsal, only reinforced their terror, signaling to them that even their faith could not ensure their security.
Dababiya, and other villages along the border – including Mounjez, Rammah, al-Awaynat, Shadra, al-Talil, Deir Jennin, al-Hedd, Sharbila, Andaqit and the Akkari Christian capital of Qobeiyat – also have a sizeable Christian presence, and once enjoyed close relations with Christian areas in Syria, before the borders were closed after the first year of the uprising.
Elie is in his 40s and not married, which is unusual for Akkar, where men often get married early. But these days he is more concerned about the threat of ISIS than he is about marriage.
“Two months ago, I did some repairs in my house that cost $40,000, and yet I don’t know if I am going to last here, if my fate will become like that of the Christians from Mosul or the Yazidis in Mount Sinjar in Iraq,” he said.
In June 2014 Mosul was captured by ISIS and its Christian residents were given the ultimatum to either convert or face death.
When ISIS militants overran Sinjar, about 200,000 Yazidis fled, fearing execution. Some captured Yazidi women were sold as concubines or brides to ISIS commanders.
Elie’s fears are new for the residents of the Akkar region, who are used to living in impoverished conditions, but never dreamt of leaving their homes.
“There is no choice for us apart from staying and maybe even dying in our land,” he added. “During the Civil War, we weren’t displaced, despite the wide-reaching conflict, perhaps because we were an essential part of the fabric of Akkar.”
The ISIS threat from the north is centered around the embattled areas of Tal Kalakh and Qalaat al-Hosn, but as Christians and Muslims – including Alawites – in Akkar’s foothills would all be directly affected in the event of a spillover, the concerns of the residents have not taken on a sectarian dimension.
Rumor has it that a large number of locals are now pushing to arm themselves and to implement self-security measures.
One resident who requested anonymity said: “I served in the Army for 30 years. And I acquired a weapon today to defend my family and myself, and to fight with honor for Lebanon’s diversity.
Self-security measures have increased not only for Alawites and Christians, but other parties apprehensive about the ISIS threat, and who believe the Lebanese government and the nation’s security forces are not prepared to protect them from extremist groups.
In the village of Jebrayel, local resident Tony Farah said for years the area had been kept in the dark about the threat of extremism brewing in Syria.
“Since the start of the Syrian revolution, we haven’t been completely aware of the severity of what’s happening in Syria, and we got used to the fact that a civil war was ongoing there. But the prospect of our villages’ being invaded by terrorist groups who want to behead us, which is happening in Syria and Iraq, it’s something we can’t allow to happen,” he said.
“We will carry our weapons and die with honor in our land. We will never leave.”
The remains of old churches in northern Akkar attest to the fact that Christians have lived in the area for centuries. They were not persecuted under Ottoman rule, and didn’t enjoy any special privileges during the French mandate, so their social and economic conditions remained, like most in Akkar, severely neglected in 1943, at the time of Lebanon’s independence.
For a long time, Christian Akkaris have lived among Shiites and Alawites, dispersed in villages all over Akkar, in peaceful coexistence. After the state of Greater Lebanon, the predecessor to modern Lebanon, was created Aug. 20, 1920, in deference to the wishes of Patriarch Elias Hoayek, who had a hand in the idea of create a separate Lebanon, Syria’s Wadi al-Nasara was partitioned from Akkar.
The area boasts a large Greek Orthodox population and is administered by the governorate of Homs, in Syria. The familial ties that still bind these Syrian villages to Lebanon, mean the Greek Orthodox residents of northern Akkar still consider them to be artificial demarcation lines.
Among both Christians and Muslims in Akkar, the phrase “What happened to them happens to us,” is common and refers to the areas overrun by ISIS, and the mass exodus of entire populations that came as a result.
“Who said Christians are the only ones who will be oppressed [if the ISIS threat materializes]? In their opinion, we’re all infidels if we don’t agree with them,” said a local resident.
No comments:
Post a Comment