Fighting in Beirut suburbs

Beirut is tense this morning, after a bloody clash between [Shi'a] Hizbollah and the [Sunni] Association of Islamic Charitable Projects erupted last night in Burj Abu Haida. When I stop to buy fruit at the shop across the street from my house, my friend the greengrocer asks me where I'm going, making sure it's not towards to the southern suburbs. "We worry about you," he says. "This area is good, but the situation is bad." On the walk to work, I pass a tank occupying a busy intersection, soldiers looking alert on the sidewalk. From my office balcony, I see more tanks and army contingents driving up the corniche highway towards Rauche.

You might think that the Lebanese are used to this sort of conflict -- and indeed some are. Last night, as a personal grudge escalated into a neighbourhood battle with machine guns and RPGs, my flatmate passed by a shop that was showing the fighting it happened on TV. "Aren't you worried?" my flatmate asked, and was met with a shrug. "What am I supposed to do about it?" the shopkeeper replied.

But for many others, any sort of sectarian clash hearkens back to the 15-year civil war. Or to the 2008 Hizbollah-government street fighting. Or any of the numerous other sectarian conflicts that dot Lebanon's history. My colleague this morning is rattled, having been stuck in her house all evening in Gemmeyzah, unable to visit her parent's house on the other side of Borj Abu Haidar. She tells me that she spent the night on edge, fielding phone calls from nervous friends and family who were checking in and sharing rumours. Anytime something happens, she says, you are immediately thrown back to the feeling of old sectarian wars. You start worrying about how it will escalate, where it will erupt next.

I was at home when my boss called, telling me to stay inside and not leave. Our area was quiet, but my flatmate told me that Hamra -- a street normally crowded with tourists and shoppers -- was deserted save for the tanks. We sat inside and watched the live news coverage until it switched abruptly back to Arab soap operas. Nothing remarkable happened for the rest of the evening.

Both Hizbollah and the Association of Islamic Charitable Projects were quick to deny any political or sectarian motivation behind the clash. Yet many people in Beirut expect a war to break out soon -- many throw around September as a good starting time -- especially as the Special Tribunal for Lebanon (STL) moves closer to an undetermined date when they will accuse Hizbollah members of assassinating former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri.

I'm not worried at the moment -- I was probably less concerned than most, since I don't have the historical baggage carried by all Lebanese. Where I live is fairly secure: I'm inside the security ring of the Prime Minister's "palace," so soldiers are on guard 24/7 at checkpoints on both sides of my house. I also have my colleagues watching out for me, and we've discussed contingency plans for if and when fighting breaks out.

Yet, it's sobering to see the reaction of my Lebanese friends. I tend to judge the severity of a situation based on the reaction of people who live here. If I hear what sounds like gunshots, I check the street -- nope, everyone's calm, must be fireworks. So to see a quickly contained clash rouse so much national anxiety gives me pause. I just hope that enough people don't want a war enough to prevent the somewhat inevitable war from actually breaking out.