The Ghost of Violence Past

Lebanon rebuilt itself from the ruins of civil war, but again finds itself peering into an abyss.

BEIRUT, Lebanon - Here in Beirut's Martyr's Square, history and violence intersect in an inescapable web of tragedy and irony.

Ancient Phoenician and Roman ruins are quietly displaced for new, modern construction. A large bronze statue, dedicated to those killed during a 1916 uprising against the Turkish Ottoman empire, is pocked with bullet holes from thousands of rounds fired during Lebanon's 1975-90 civil war. One of the figures in the monument is missing an arm.

Now, as part of a nightly ritual under that armless, bullet-riddled statue, protesters ignite a fuel-soaked, artificial log on an iron pedestal that they call "the freedom fire."

They began the protests after former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafik Hariri, a highly popular, anti-Syrian politician, was killed along with 20 others by a massive car bomb Feb. 14. The vigil was suspended for a while, but was started again after the recent murder of anti-Syrian member of parliament and journalist Gibran Tueni in a car bombing last Monday.

The protesters say they will continue until they have achieved two things: accountability for the murders of Hariri and Tueni as well as other politicians and journalists (13 others, mostly anti-Syrian, have been killed and 14 injured in explosions since Hariri's death); and the resignation of pro-Syrian Lebanese President Emile Lahoud.

The Syrian Army entered Lebanon in 1976, shortly after the country disintegrated into a multi-factional civil war that, in the end, left 150,000 dead and the beautiful capital city Beirut -- once touted as the Paris of the Middle East -- in ruins.

In the beginning, the Syrian presence was welcomed by some Lebanese factions as a chance to bring stability and to control

Yasser Arafat's Palestinian Liberation Organization, which was launching attacks on

Israel from Lebanese soil and instigating Israeli retaliation, ultimately leading to a full scale invasion and occupation of southern Lebanon in 1978.

The factional fighting between Christians and Muslims during that period eventually resulted in two separate Lebanese governments -- a mostly Muslim faction based in west Beirut and a Christian faction based in east Beirut -- divided by the now infamous "green line."

Syria became the main powerbroker, helping to end the conflict in 1990, using both air strikes to force out Christian leader Michel Aoun and negotiation to work out a charter reconciliation in Ta'if, Saudi Arabia.

While protesters here concede Syria's initial, although not in the least bit altruistic, good deeds, they say it became a colonial master -- imposing its will, rewarding its Lebanese cronies, and stripping the country of its wealth.

"They were like brothers to us at first," says 24-year-old Lebanon University student Ahmad Elbachouti, "but then that brother began to stab us in the back. We became like puppets to them."

Others in the group of mostly young people agree enthusiastically.

"And they take all of the jobs," says 18-year-old Adnan Mrough, part of another group of protesters. "They take all of the low-paying labor work, like that," he says, indicating a new structure being built in Martyr's Square -- ironically, a shelter and meeting point for the protesters.

I ask them if they don't think it's a little strange that those they are blaming for their problems are in fact building their protest site. They shrug and laugh at the undeniable absurdity.

"It's not the Syrian people we hate," says one, "it's the government."

Massive protests and international pressure following the Hariri killing finally forced Syria to withdraw its troops from Lebanon last March after a 29-year presence.

But Lebanese economist Dr. Charbel Nahass says that while Syria's presence had many negative implications, it also helped rebuild Lebanon after the civil war, especially while Hariri was prime minister.

"With Syrians managing the security and political equilibrium, and the other pole represented by Rafik Hariri, whose purpose was to maintain permanent flow of capital, it was a big success in bringing in billions of dollars back into the country through expatriate Lebanese who needed to feel the nation was safe for investment again," he says.

But now with both the Syrians and Hariri gone -- and the specter of continued killings -- some feel Lebanon could once again be peering into a violent abyss.

Others, like the student protesters, are more optimistic.

"We're united now," says Ahmad Elbachouti, holding a Lebanese flag on his shoulder. "We weren't before, but now Muslims and Christians have united -- now and forever, we hope, mostly because of Rafik Hariri."

Indeed, as much as the Syrians have become the central focus of all of Lebanon's ills, Hariri has become a near deity. His body lies in a tent next to the massive mosque his construction company is building near Martyr's Square, still visited by hundreds of people every day -- almost a year after his death. Pictures of him, as well as those of Tueni, are ubiquitous throughout Beirut.

The chief

United Nations investigator into Hariri's death says the evidence points to "Syrian authorities" and that there are also Syrian links to Tueni's killing, but how far up the chain is still far from clear.

Syria denies any involvement.

The UN Security Council has extended the mandate for the investigation for another six months, which means more uncertainty and unease in Lebanon well into the new year and likely beyond.

The young protesters say they will keep coming here to Martyr's Square every night until they have their answers.

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