‘Wayn el-Dawleh!?’ (Where is the State!?) is a very popular Lebanese saying, one I heard frequently exclaimed by every member of my family, especially when the power cut in the middle of dinner. I was born in 1993, three years after the end of 15 years of conflict that ravaged the country and devastated its capital, Beirut, which my family calls home. Lebanon today is a country characterised by the nepotism, corruption and neglect of its political elite. It is no wonder, then, that nostalgia and myth-making play important roles in Lebanese society, weaving stories of a glorious past to which the country could return. I grew up with stories of Beirut’s ‘Golden Age’ before the war, when it was still known as the ‘Paris of the Middle East.’ But it was my mother who taught me those stories and she was only four years old when the civil war started in 1975. Whenever I went to my grandmother to ask about her life in pre-war Beirut, her memories were never accompanied by the same romantic nostalgia that my mother deployed.

Through my grandmother’s stories, I came to realise that the question of the State’s presence, or rather its absence, stretched beyond the country’s post-war narrative, and began with her experiences moving from home to home and adapting to a quickly changing space. By sharing my grandmother’s housing journey, this essay aims to provide an answer to the question ‘Where is the State?’ and critically examine the value of public intervention in her life. It will also investigate who and what was there in its place when the public sector was absent.

Growing Up in a Growing City:

Haifa, my grandmother, was born and raised in Ras el-Nabeh in 1944, one year after Lebanon had gained its independence from the French. She described the area in her youth as “nothing but farms and orchards, and a few farmhouses here and there.” Ras el-Nabeh, which is located south of Beirut’s downtown, was characterised at the time by its peri-urban agricultural landscape and the low-rise, one-to-two-storey buildings that sparsely dotted the neighbourhood. Haifa and her family lived in one such building, owned by the Nsouli family, who my grandmother explained were major landowners in the area before the war. She lived on the first floor of the building while members of their extended family occupied the ground floor apartment. This pattern of extended family members living in the same building remains a hallmark of Lebanese society to this day. My father similarly, grew up in a building where three of his eight siblings would later settle to be close to each other. My own family at one point even moved to the same neighbourhood to be close to our extended family.

 “It was spacious and comfortable. Each child had their own room and we even had two ‘salons’ (social/gathering spaces) to host guests” my grandmother said. She then added that, while the house was large, the rent was relatively cheap for Beirut at the time. All of that changed once her father developed a cardiovascular condition that would permanently prevent him from working. Her mother, who I knew as Teta Nahla (‘Grandma Nahla’), became the family’s primary provider. While she was a gifted seamstress, she could not afford to simultaneously raise a family, care for her ill husband and pay the rent on her income, so they chose to search for more affordable housing. Luckily, the local Maronite church, ‘Sayyidit Al-Najat’ (Our Lady of Deliverance), chose to develop part of their ‘waqf’ land from orchards to low-rise housing units, to provide lodging for their priests and establish income-generating assets with which they could sustain their community-focused activities.

‘Waqf’ land describes land endowed to a charitable or religious institution. Authorities in Lebanon during the French Mandate, which began in 1920 and ended in 1943, deregulated the development, functional zoning and exchangeability of ‘waqf’ lands to liberate their economic potential and contribute to the national economy (Moumtaz, 2021). Before that point, when the Ottoman Empire still controlled the Levant, lands designated as ‘waqf’ were bound in perpetuity to specific individuals or organisations and to particular functions (ibid.). These changes in land law afforded Sayyidit Al-Najat Church the opportunity to develop their ‘waqf’ for housing, which in turn granted my great-grandmother the ability to relocate her family to a nearby and more affordable household.

Figure 1. A photograph of my grandmother (back left), her brother (centre), her mother (right) and a relative (left)
sitting together in one of their ‘salons’ in the Nsouli building. “It was very large and perfect for guests”, she told me.

Teta Nahla had a good relationship with the local church. Though she and her family were Muslim, she was welcomed as a tenant. Like much of Beirut at the time, Ras el-Nabeh had a mixed sectarian community of Muslim and Christian households (Sadik, 1996), including my grandmother’s. In the early 1950s, my grandmother and her family moved to the ground floor of 83 Rue Des Muriers (now called Abdul Karim el-Khalil Street), two doors down from the church that owned their home. The church always renewed my great-grandmother’s rental agreement with minimal increases, despite the local currency’s devaluation through the war years, and she called that house home until she died in 2011.

As my grandmother grew, so did Beirut. The city rapidly urbanised to accommodate the large and rapid influx of foreign and local migrants who came seeking better employment. “Between 1960 and 1970, Beirut’s population more than doubled from 450,000 to 940,000” (Sadik, 1996; p.99). The Nsouli family, on whose property my grandmother grew up, took advantage of the rising demand for housing to develop a new mid-rise apartment building just across the street from my great-grandmother’s. That is where Haifa would find her first home as a young bride.

Map 1. Beirut’s built-up area in 1936, with Ras el-Nabeh highlighted in red. Note the sparse development in the area.

Map 2. Beirut’s built-up area in 1961, with Ras el-Nabeh highlighted in red. Note the full grey fill of the map, indicating
that land in the area had been fully developed.

Maps 3-4. Side by side comparison of the 1936 map (zoomed into Ras El-Nabeh) and the 1958 map. Note the
urbanisation of the area and its transition from sparse buildings to larger development (large grey forms).

From Renting, to Owning, then Fleeing:

 Haifa married my grandfather Zouheir in 1966 and moved across the street from Teta Nahla in the Nsoulis’ new development. My grandfather at the time was working as a consultant for a pharmaceutical company, while my grandmother had her job in the Lebanese Central Bank (BDL). As my grandmother already had a good relationship with the family, they were able to negotiate a comfortable rental agreement for their new apartment. Beside their building, the development of another mid-rise apartment building began just a few years later, but this one provided only apartments for sale. Despite the good relationship they had with the landlord, in 1972, my grandparents purchased an apartment in the building next door. To her, renting was only a temporary solution. She asked me “Why would you place your neck beneath the hand of someone who could change the price of your home as they want whenever they want?” Her concerns about the precariousness of the rental market did not prove to be unfounded.

Lebanon has never adopted a public housing strategy (Sadik, 1996). In fact, masterplans developed for Beirut were “essentially little more than road plans” (ibid.; p.94). Planning policies that aimed to control or manage land development were never established, nor were policies regulating the rental market or housing-for-sale (ibid.). Rents in Beirut, as a result of public absence, could “claim 48% to 97% of household income” (ibid.; p.103). My grandparents covered their purchasing costs through a loan from a company named ‘American Life’, in which my grandfather had also taken up life insurance. My mother heard rumours that American Life’s office building was also shared by the American Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), though my grandmother does not corroborate this. The rumours gained more weight as, allegedly, the office building was never damaged during the war, and my mother suspects that the gossip made American Life loans more desirable, given their perceived security. I could not find any documentation for such a company in Lebanon. Of the 65,000 Lebanese Pounds (LBP) needed for the house, which equated to 20,700 US dollars (USD) at the time (Banque Du Liban, n.d.), 21,000 LBP were secured by the loan. By 1974, only 17% of Beirut residents were homeowners (Sadik, 1996), my grandparents among them. One year later, in 1975, the civil war began.

Figures 2 and 3. Photographs from my grandmother of their rental home in Ras el-Nabeh. To the left, my uncle, Ihab,
as a child on their balcony. To the right, my grandmother, my uncle and my infant mother, Dania, in their living room.

As communities migrated within Beirut and Lebanon, traditionally mixed-sect areas began to homogenise. It was in this period that the division of Beirut into a ‘Christian’ East and a ‘Muslim’ West began to materialise (Sadik, 1996). My grandmother told me that because Ras el-Nabeh was geographically located between both halves, it “saw the worst of its brutality”. Despite the clashes, they chose to stay. The Nsouli family by then had converted one of their building’s basements into a community shelter, in which my family repeatedly sought refuge from the violence. “Even when the Israelis invaded in 1982, we did not leave. But one day, in 1984, the shelling was so severe that I went up to your grandfather, told him we were leaving and that there was no conversation to be had about it.” Early one morning, they packed their belongings and fled to Raoucheh, a neighbourhood on the western shore of Beirut. For a short period of time, they lived with distant relatives. Eventually, they moved to an apartment they received free of charge from my grandfather’s employer, who was also a very good friend. They would live in that one-bedroom apartment with their three children until 1991.

Figures 4 and 5. Photos taken after my grandmother moved to Raoucheh in the 80s. To the left, my grandmother, her
sister and my great-grandmother. Note the office cabinets on the right of the photograph. To the right, my uncle Ihab

The Price of Peace and Returning Home:

Despite the severity of the clashes and instability brought by multiple crises, my grandparents chose to invest in real estate. In 1982, just before the Israeli invasion, they purchased a flat in Ain Jdideh, in the mountains south of Beirut. Later in the 80s, they purchased another flat in Aramoun, in the mountains to the south-east. Both purchases were facilitated by my grandmother’s access to loans from the Central Bank that were granted specifically to BDL employees at low interest rates (2.5%). While both apartments were kept for their investment potential, they were not purchased initially for that purpose. My grandparents felt a need to build a new home outside of the city, where the clashes at the time were not as violent.

Both apartments were purchased prior to their respective building’s completion but my grandparents never had the chance to enjoy their new properties once they were built. The first apartment in Ain Jdideh was looted during the Israeli invasion, and the second apartment in Aramoun became too dangerous a location as clashes in the south of the country intensified toward the end of the 1980s. Despite these challenges, my grandparents retained ownership of both apartments as they believed it better to own something they could potentially profit from later.

Map 5. Mapping my grandparents movements, their property acquisitions and their failed attempts to flee the city.

In 1990, conflicts in most of Lebanon, namely in Beirut and the north of the country, had finally ended. It is in this chapter of my grandmother’s journey that, for the first time, she mentions public-sector intervention. When my grandparents decided to return to their original home in Ras el-Nabeh, they found their building devastated and their apartment burnt down. The government’s newly formed Ministry for the Displaced provided them a grant of 2,000,000 LBP (worth 1,333.33 USD by this point) to repair their home. The ministry gave out 47,000,000 USD worth of grants to 16,000 households by July 1993, but their success in covering repair costs and encouraging families to return to their original homes was never measured or monitored (Sadik, 1996). For my grandparents, the grant was inadequate to cover all the costs, so they had to pay the rest of it out of their own savings.

The government ended up taking more from my grandparents than it gave. The reconstruction of the Beirut Central District began in the 90s. The government appointed Solidere, a private development company established by soon-to-be Prime Minister Rafik Hariri, to regenerate the area and gifted the company the entirety of the downtown to redevelop as long as they compensated existing renters and owners (Vloeberghs, 2012). My grandfather was one such renter, with a documented claim to a shop in the central district. Solidere complied with the need to compensate claimants, but it did so by granting renters and owners shares of their stock instead of direct financial compensation (Vloeberghs, 2012). The stocks my grandfather received rarely returned any dividends and, when they did, the sum was meagre. “We keep them now as souvenirs”, my grandparents told me.

The two apartments my grandparents owned outside the city proved their usefulness at the time. The apartment in Aramoun was gifted to my uncle and his wife, who would later sell it and buy a house in Ras el-Nabeh to raise their children closer to family. In 1999, the apartment in Ain Jdideh was sold for 20,000,000 LBP (13’333 USD) to Jihad Al-Arab, a developer with strong political ties to the post-war government who has also been repeatedly favoured for public contracts in development and infrastructure. Most recently, he has been sanctioned by the US Treasury on grounds of corruption and “contributing to the breakdown of the rule of law in Lebanon.” (US Department of the Treasury, 2021)

As the post-war government prioritised rapid reconstruction and economic growth, the public sector did not change its pre-war prioritisation of luxury development and increasing land/real estate values (Sadik, 1996). Real estate prices after the war swelled rapidly and “[in] 2008, the average property sales price was up 26.8% to LBP 116.3 million (US$77,500)” (Global Property Guide, 2009), more than five times what my grandparents had received for their Ain Jdideh apartment. My mother also told me that the area was converted by Jihad Al-Arab into an urban complex of villas and luxury apartments. Amid a backdrop of increasing land and housing financialisation, my grandparents gifted the profit from the Ain Jdideh sale to my parents, who in turn purchased their own new home. In 2000, my family moved to a spacious apartment in Ras el-Nabeh, which I would call my childhood home, a five-minute walk from the homes of grandmother and great-grandmother.

Conclusion: Concerning the State, its Absence and those who Filled the Void

My grandmother would certainly agree with the conclusion that “to talk about housing policy in Lebanon is to talk about the consistent nonintervention of the state in housing” (Sadik, 1996; p.88). Except for the most recent chapter in her housing journey, the State has been effectively absent from her life, despite her and her family’s need for affordable housing. That said, my grandmother’s employment at the Central Bank, a public authority, did grant her access to low-interest loans through which she was able to secure new properties she eventually benefitted from in the decade following the war. But the privilege of employees accessing public funds cannot be equated with public sector action. Actions taken by the public sector, at best, had little positive impact on my grandparents’ access to land and housing, like the grant they received, or, at worst, dispossessed them of their ownership and rental claims for the purposes of elite development.

That said, the void left by the government was not left empty as a variety of different agents stepped in at key moments in my grandmother’s life to provide aid and support. The church provided her family affordable rent in her youth, then a private landowner who valued her friendship gave her easier access to rent a home of her own when she married. Friends and family supported her through the war years and, eventually, she adopted that role for the sake of her children and grandchildren. The significance of community and family ties in Lebanon is heavily expressed in my grandmother’s narrative. Today, she and many other members of my family participate in a Facebook group called “Initiative Ras el-Nabeh”, which is dedicated to keeping the neighbourhood’s history alive and encouraging other members of the community to participate in charity works happening in the area. Her housing journey also reveals the value of new questions of increasing relevance as the 2022 parliamentary elections approach and considering the country’s ongoing financial crisis. My grandmother was certainly lucky given her employment at BDL, her homeowning friends and family members, and her relationship with the local church. Many others would not be as fortunate. Suppose a reformed Lebanon State were formed, how can it contribute to the development of a broader network of communally-led and privately-led supportive initiatives in such a way that it can be regionally or even nationally impactful and accessible? Could such an institutionalisation initiative strip these grassroots operations of their flexibility and enshrinement of empathy?

References and Bibliography:

Banque Du Liban (n.d.). Statistics. [https://www.bdl.gov.lb/webroot/statistics/table.php?name=t5282usd] (accessed 10 April 2022)

Deguilhem, R. (2008). The Waqf in the City. The City in the Islamic World. Handbook of Oriental Studies, Section 1: The Near and Middle East, Volume 94, pp.929-956. Brill.

Global Property Guide (2009). How Long Can Lebanon’s Real Estate Boom Last? [https://www.globalpropertyguide.com/Middle-East/Lebanon/Price-History-Archive/how-long-can-lebanons-real-estate-boom-last-1204] (accessed 10 April 2022)

Initiative Ras El Nabeh – Beirut. Facebook Public Group. [https://m.facebook.com/groups/658627484182798?group_view_referrer=search] (accessed 10 April 2022)

Moumtaz, N. (2021). Waqf and the Modern State, Capitalism, and the Private Property Regime. Islamic Law Blog. [https://islamiclaw.blog/2021/04/22/waqf-and-the-modern-state-capitalism-and-the-private-property-regime/] (accessed 10 April 2022)

Sadik, R.L. (1996). Nation-Building and Housing policy: A Comparative Analysis of Urban Housing Development in Kuwait, Jordan and Lebanon. University of California at Berkeley.

United States Department of the Treasury (n.d.). Treasury Targets Two Businessmen and One Member of Parliament for Undermining the Rule of Law in Lebanon. [https://home.treasury.gov/news/press-releases/jy0440] (accessed 10 April 2022)

Vloeberghs, W. (2012). The Politics of Sacred Space in Downtown Beirut (1853–2008). Popular Housing and Urban Land Tenure in the Middle East. pp.137-168. American University in Cairo Press.

Maps Sources:

Maps 1-3: American University of Beirut (n.d.). Historic Maps of Beirut. Heritage Buildings of Beirut. [https://aub.edu.lb.libguides.com/c.php?g=1090674&p=7967484] (accessed 13 April 2022)

Map 4: MAPSTER (n.d.). Digital collection of Cartographic Materials. [http://igrek.amzp.pl/maplist.php?cat=TPOTHERS&listsort=sortoption11&listtype=mapywig2] (accessed 13 April 2022)

Map 5: Extracted from Google Earth.

Thanks and Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank my grandmother, Haifa, my grandfather, Zouheir, and my mother, Dania, for their help in completing this essay and their willingness to share, with me and my instructors, their photographs and the details of their experiences living through such a turbulent period of the country’s history.

This housing story is part of a mini-series revealing the complex ways in which personal and political aspects of shelter provision interweave over time, and impact on multiple aspects of people’s lives. Space for strategic choice is nearly always available to some degree, but the parameters of that choice can be dramatically restricted or enhanced by context. The wide range of experience presented in this collection shines a light on the wealth of knowledge and insights about housing that our students regularly bring to the DPU’s learning processes.

By Monica Basbous, Nadine Bekdache and Camillo Boano

The current habitability crisis, the failure of progressive policies to consider the way cities adapt to different forms of displacement and resisting the three interrelated venomous practice of expulsions, extraction and externalisation are clear to everyone engaging with urban spatial practices. Displacement is a key characteristic of the urban present that requires interrogations across different geographies and with different methodological approaches. This short contribution stems from a current research partnership between Public Works Studio and DPU in the remit of the RELIEF Centre Project to study the effects of real estate policy and the financialisation of housing markets, which have resulted in the eviction and displacement of the most vulnerable social groups in Beirut turning the capital city into an exclusive, unjust and vulnerable place. The brief reflections below stem from the first part of the study, focusing on the eviction of the elderly in the neighbourhood of Tareek el Jdeede in Beirut, and were presented last week in London by Nadine Bekdache, Monica Basbous, Abir Saksouk and Camillo Boano in the symposium “Vulnerability, Infrastructure, and Displacement: The role of Public Services, in Lebanese spaces of Migration”.

Methodologically, the research develops housing narratives and spatial stories that, situated within a larger research, are narrated as the crossing point between the impact of market-driven urban development on housing rights in the context of Lebanon, and the strategies, opportunities, expectations and disappointments of elderly women in mitigating evictions, displacement and the social security of their families. Housing stories and diagrams were investigated with design research and drawings that were published on The Housing Monitor an interactive online platform for consolidating research, building advocacy and proposing alternatives to advance the right to housing in Lebanon.

Dwelling in Tareek el Jdeede

In this phase of the study, we examine the eviction of the elderly in the neighbourhood of Tareek Jdeede and in the wider city. Although today’s urban transformations in Tareek Jdeede may seem similar across most of Beirut’s neighbourhoods, the urban history and socio-spatial make-up of each neighbourhood determines a particular set of interactions, strategies of resilience, housing typologies and vulnerabilities. 

Mazraa – the larger administrative zone containing the neighbourhood of Tareek Jdeede – gathers around 30% of Beirut’s tenants living under the old rent law. These tenants – whose contracts were established prior to 1992 – have been subject to case-by-case eviction through a candid reconfiguration after the civil war that aligned the interests of local bureaucrats with real estate development[1]. Yet with the new 2014-rent law, evictions became a city-wide condition. Many of Tareek Jdeede’s old-rent tenants, today aged 45 and above, have been evicted or threatened with eviction at an increasing rate (Public Works Studio, 2015-2017). Among these, the elderly (and the retired) carry as a social group a set of particularities that places them at odds with state housing policies, which are basically reduced to homeownership loans. They also face the threat of displacement in the absence of social housing programs and with limited social-security benefits. The elderly in some neighbourhoods are nonetheless protected by family connections and attract charity organisations that are often affiliated to sectarian institutions. When it all fails, displacement has severe impacts on the elderly’s ways of life and on their physical and mental health well-being. While their relocation generates a number of possible scenarios, we focus on two cases: on the one hand, a case of eviction and relocation within the neighbourhood; and on the other, a case of eviction and relocation to a distant suburb. Through these case studies, we set out to investigate two main questions: in what ways do urban processes and property frameworks impact the displacement – and more generally the housing conditions – of vulnerable social groups? And what urban and architectural forms are being generated as a result of housing-related displacement?

Em Yumna and Em Hassan graphic stories 

Em Yumna and Em Hassan lived a few meters away from one another, yet they had never met. While Em Yumna’s eviction led to her displacement outside of the city, Em Hassan managed to relocate across the street from her previous dwelling.

Em Yumna was 14 years old when she moved from Beqaa to live in Beirut. She had married a young Berjaoui man who worked at a company in the city, and they settled in one of the small homes of Ras Al Nabaa in the mid-fifties. A year or two later, the country would be shaken by a series of earthquakes. Entire villages collapsed in Chouf Al Aala and Iklim, and Em Yumna’s house in Ras Al Nabaa came apart. In 1957, the young family packed up their belongings and moved. At the time, Em Yumna did not intend to spend the next 55 years of her life in that little three-room house atop Zreik Hill in Tareek el Jdeede. 

Em Yumna was evicted in 2012 when the owner made a development agreement with an investor to demolish the 3-storey building, and moved to Barja, a town located 35 kilometres south of Beirut. Her social relations and daily activities were severely ruptured, as they revolved around practices in the alley behind her house.

In 1982, Em Hassan, aged 18, moved from the neighbourhood of Noueiri to Tareek el Jdeede with her two children. Originally from the south of Lebanon, she married a relative of hers who resided in Beirut. Today, Em Hassan is in her late fifties, and continues to live in the same quarter of Tareek el Jdeede, but in a different house, after she was evicted from her previous home in 2016. A real estate company bought the building in 2011, and Em Hassan agreed to evict, using the compensation money – in addition to other resources including a loan from a religious institution – to buy the adjacent house. By doing so, she bought into a shared property, which is by itself another form of vulnerability.

Between her two dwellings lies a small courtyard that holds the past, present and future of Em Hassan’s housing. One can find her there every afternoon, having coffee and a cigarette, while at her right lies the window of the house she lived in for 34 years but is no longer hers, and facing her, the door of the house that allowed her to remain in the city. After having lived as an old-rent tenant for decades, Em Hassan’s eviction led her to buy her new home as her only means of resisting displacement. 

Em Hassan’s courtyard (1982)

Em Hassan’s courtyard (2019)

The similarities and differences of these two cases allow us to draw a comparative analysis, looking at the impact of both the process and destination of displacement on evicted elderly and their wellbeing, by looking into the following questions: what means do the elderly have to resist displacement and what role do socio-spatial networks play in this dynamic, especially in the case of Tareek Jdeede? Does relocation within the same neighbourhood mitigate the negative impacts of eviction on the elderly and how? How do eviction, displacement, and spatial typologies impact the socio-spatial practices of the elderly, their mobility and their relation to the neighbourhood? 

Reflections from the comparative analysis

Despite accessing housing for most of their lives through rent, the perception associated with property ownership as the primary means of achieving socio-economic and housing security, prompted both women to seek homeownership after eviction through mobilising a complex web of resources. The capital required to attain homeownership is tightly enmeshed with the relocation options available for these elderly women, and provisions for their children were deciding factors in this decision-making.

Nonetheless, the sense of security that homeownership might bring is accompanied by multiple forms of precarity and vulnerabilities. There are no affordable options to buy in the city where new unaffordable high-rise buildings are replacing the older fabric. As such homeownership for the aspiring middle class has mainly meant displacement from their city to nearby suburbs in the making, usually chosen in conformity to sectarian affiliations or origins. In contrast, the working class access substandard housing in the city, usually in the urban fabric built before 1992 that is threatened with sudden changes emanating from real estate investment or planning implementations. In the meantime, the gap between housing conditions is widening in the city. This takes a heavier toll when the same evicted units are used to exploit politically and economically vulnerable groups, particularly refugees and their families, whereby developers grant them temporary housing in order to generate profit while retaining the power to evict them spontaneously to proceed with building demolition.

Other forms of vulnerabilities linked to the production of housing in Lebanon manifest in the making of the suburbs. Apart from the poor urban planning practices resulting in environmental and spatial injustices in urbanising suburbs, the arrival of the displaced to these towns sheds light on the psychological violence exerted. The elderly endure the crumbling of social networks and support systems, the difficulty in fostering new ones, the reduction of mobility and autonomy, the deterioration of health, the loss of spatial references, and consequently the loss of sense of place and belonging. Concurrently, it was intriguing to observe how the urban morphology – spatial typology or density- can impact the building of social ties. Em Yumna was unable to adapt to her new surroundings in the suburbanizing town of Barja. Sparse urbanization and lack of accessible mobilities have led to feelings of alienation, which pushed her to seek a different spatiality for socialization: the grocery-store by the side of the road. This is echoed by Em Hassan’s husband who also opened a shop in the city, primarily as a means to socialize after the neighborhood was progressively emptied of its older inhabitants.

Through this study, we situate urban evictions beyond the confines of the city, shedding light on an emerging territorial dynamic between inner-city neighbourhoods undergoing waves of eviction and radical spatial changes, and the suburbanising towns that are hosting displaced households. Along this process, the myth of homeownership as a secure form of housing is revisited in its relation to poor urban planning practices and precarious ownership frameworks. These cases both present narratives that portray housing in the city as an access point to vital economic resources, in a context where urban space is commodified and financialised, both in practice and in discourse. They also highlight the importance of socio-spatial networks for the elderly – and the urban and suburban processes that threaten them – whereby the understanding of home takes on a larger, more social dimension than that of the physical domestic space. 

Urban density as economic resource: Em Hassan’s son and his service business

Looking further into the vulnerabilities associated with homeownership, we will next investigate how the legal framework for inheritance in Lebanon perpetuates women as minority-shareholders in collectively inherited properties. Our previous research has shown that these women are often the only shareholder still living in the inherited property but have limited negotiating power and constrained agency over their housing conditions and their susceptibility to displacement.

Through an in-depth study of such a case, the next phase of our research will aim to identify the social and legal conditions that systemically place female heirs in a position of weakness regarding the future of their dwelling.

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[1]“Evicting Sovereignty: Lebanon’s Housing Tenants From Citizens to Obstacles”, Nadine Bekdache – Arab Studies Journal (Vol. XXIII No. 1), Fall 2015 – p.p. 320-350

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One person is forcibly displaced every two seconds in the world and over twenty-five million people are now refugees worldwide as result of conflict.[1] They journey seeking settlement in a place where they can secure livable circumstances.

Humanitarian literature on refugees is clear to distinguish the types of protection at play; UNHCR for example determines that the three ways to protect a refugee is to rehabilitate, repatriate or resettle.[2] A majority of refugees in the Arab world who have fled failed states and armed conflicts have resettled in neighbouring countries and still continue to do so.[3] Throughout the past 70 years, Palestinian refugees have been through several phases of vulnerability and displacement, affected by their immedeate struggles, but also by a shifting set of tensions: deterritorialisation, urban pressures and geo-politics. Arab host countries such as Jordan, Lebanon and ‘temporary’[4] camps set along the West bank, East Jerusalem and Gaza strip[5] lack the proper infrastructure and regulatory frameworks to integrate refugees which complicates resettlement processes. With the arrival of refugees as a result of the Syrian crisis of 2011[6] existing refugee camps and displaced communities in host countries such as Lebanon started to overflow by a population of over another million[7], and reached a crisis point that needed immediate attention.

Recent events show how political unrest impact the plight of refugees. Lebanon was without a stable government for nearly two and a half years before starting to form cabinet structure very recently.[8] This political unrest suspends efforts for urban planning which tackles the influx of refugees. The economic infrastucture is still recovering from the conflicts the country witnessed, particularly the 1975 – 1990 civil war and the armed conflict of 2006 with Israel. Though efforts were made for public and social reconstruction, economic growth was insufficient and large areas were bought by private sector for real estate development to help the Lebanese economy thrive.[9]

The extended political crisis resulted in an eminent economic downfall. Tax reforms, suspension of bank loans and Lebanon’s debt of $81 billion being the third largest in the world, soared real estate prices.[10] According to a recent conversation with a local activist, Elza Seferian, “ the ‘unliveability’ of Beirut is like a Pandora’s box for me. The price of renting a room in Beirut is as costly as Paris. Affordable housing is scarce.”.

With refugees from neighbouring countries moving in at an exponential pace, existing refugee settlements such as those for example in Sabra, Shatila and Akkar are overpopulated and in dismal living conditions.[11] The lack of space in temporal arrangements pushes refugees to the capital to rent spaces in tower buildings, that were abandoned by private sector initiatives. ‘A half full Beirut’ is a notion that is derived from the complex situation in Beirut where private sector developers have run out of money and are unable to complete real estate projects[12] leaving Beirut’s skyline half empty. However, these abandoned spaces have been vacant on the formal market for years, yet are rented out to refugees albeit on extortionate rates[13], hence are more often than not ‘half full’.

Refugee laundry seen hanging outside of abandoned building project
half inhabited by refugees in Hamra district, Beirut
Photo courtesy: Elza Seferian, 2017

Beirut is lacking in affordable housing for middle-income and this historical issue for locals has now extended and become part of the refugee experience.[14] This shows a fracture in the market. With the relocation of refugees from camps to capital, they become an active part of the urban population and drivers of the formal and informal real estate market.

State led initiatives to mitigate refugee housing issues has been quite limited in Lebanon. It is one of the countries that has not signed the 1951 International Convention for Refugees which was established in by UNHCR. The convention’s core principle “asserts that a refugee should not be returned to a country where they face serious threats to their life or freedom…”.[15] The civil society, though unstructured, is the major agency of support for refugees alongside non governmental organizations.[16] A detailed mapping of Civil Society Organizations and their scope in Lebanon can be found here: https://eeas.europa.eu/archives/delegations/lebanon/documents/news/20150416_2_en.pdf

Refugees rely on housing arrangements made by CSOs and NGOs such as ACTED[17], URDA[18], ANERA[19], DRC[20] and more.[21] They are ready to take on any opportunity for housing they can secure. Without formal paperwork, documentation or legal rights, refugees become susceptible to exploitation. The real estate black market thrives on premium rental rates, making refugees susceptible to forced evictions and other forms of abuse that pose no repercussions on the landlords.[22]

Though private sector developments are abandoned, they stand on land bought by private companies from the government, stripping the government from authority over majority of Beirut’s land or the real estate projects. In light of these conditions, the following conclusions can be considered:

• Government can strenghten legal frameworks and negotiate alternative uses for abandoned spaces to provide more liveable urban solutions to locals and refugees
• Since CSOs and NGOs possess the role of primary support to refugees and low income households with housing, agency can be established between the private sector and civil society to liaise with discontinued developments and create affordable housing schemes
• Refugee integration schemes can be enhanced by CSOs and NGOs by creating a rigid framework of lease documentation to closely monitor the resettlement process

There is a pressing need for housing in Beirut yet an abundance of uninhabited spaces. Perhaps if the underlying opportunity within these spaces was recognized and organized, a solution could arise for the housing crisis that affects millions.

Samia Khan is a graduate of the MSc Building and Urban Design program at the DPU

Additional Resources:

http://portal.unesco.org/en/files/27465/11162415081UNDP_NGO1.pdf/UNDP%2BNGO1.pdf

https://openmigration.org/en/analyses/syrian-refugees-in-lebanon-still-reluctant-to-go-home/

https://website.aub.edu.lb/ifi/publications/Documents/policy_memos/2017-2018/20180318_you_can_stay_in_beirut.pdf

https://germanwatch.org/sites/germanwatch.org/files/publication/8889.pdf

https://data2.unhcr.org/en/documents/download/45502

http://aub.edu.lb.libguides.com/c.php?g=276479&p=1843038

http://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/@arabstates/@ro-beirut/documents/genericdocument/wcms_240130.pdf

http://blog.blominvestbank.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/In-Depth-Review-of-the-Lebanese-Real-Estate-Sector-in-2015.pdf

http://website.aub.edu.lb/ifi/Documents/op_ed/20190208_sjc_op_ed.pdf

http://reporting.unhcr.org/node/2520

http://reporting.unhcr.org/sites/default/files/UNHCR%20Lebanon%20Operational%20Update%20-%20January%20-%20June%202018.pdf

https://www.alnap.org/system/files/content/resource/files/main/20150907-noplacetostay.pdf

http://www.undp.org.lb/communication/publications/downloads/intgov_en.pdf

https://www.daleel-madani.org/civil-society-directory/cooperative-housing-foundation

[1] https://www.unhcr.org/figures-at-a-glance.html

[2] https://www.unhcr.org/50a4c17f9.pdf

[3] https://carnegieendowment.org/2017/03/29/refugees-and-displacement-in-middle-east-pub-68479

[4] Refugee camps are often thought of as a temporary solution under the assumption that refugees will one day return to their home countries. These camps have now evolved to urban slums as the influx in the Middle East increases.

https://www.ft.com/content/b27283ce-ed29-11e8-8180-9cf212677a57

https://unhabitat.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/From-Refugee-Camps-to-Urban-Slums.pdf

[5] https://www.unrwa.org/palestine-refugees

[6] https://www.britannica.com/event/Syrian-Civil-War

[7]https://www.researchgate.net/publication/321779706_Syrian_Refugees_in_Palestinian_Refugee_Camps_and_Informal_Settlements_in_Beirut_Lebanon

[8] https://www.economist.com/the-economist-explains/2018/12/21/why-lebanon-struggles-to-form-governments

[9] http://www.lb.undp.org/content/dam/lebanon/docs/Operations/LegalFramework/UNDP%20Lebanon%20PS%20Strategy.pdf

[10] https://www.apnews.com/d7faca02c8024f8da57ffa6987500e2d

[11] https://www.thenational.ae/world/shatila-s-population-unknown-as-palestinian-refugee-camp-bursts-at-seams-1.178993

[12] https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2018-11-02/beirut-s-ghost-apartments-are-haunting-the-economy

[13] https://now.mmedia.me/lb/en/reportsfeatures/the-refugee-effect-on-lebanese-rent­

[14] http://www.executive-magazine.com/opinion/comment/charting-a-path

[15] https://www.unhcr.org/3b66c2aa10

[16] https://www.washingtoninstitute.org/uploads/Documents/pubs/BeyondIslamists-Lebanon-4.pdf

[17] https://www.acted.org/en/countries/lebanon/

[18] http://urda.org.lb/en/details.aspx?ID=1718

[19] https://www.anera.org/where-we-work/lebanon/

[20] https://drc.ngo/where-we-work/middle-east/lebanon

[21] http://joannachoukeir.com/List-of-NGOs-in-Lebanon#.XHKhsZMzaRs

[22] http://www.executive-magazine.com/business-finance/real-estate/renting-on-lebanons-black-market