عربي English Türkçe اردو فارسى
Logo
Latest News
Features

Killing of Party Official Fuels Sectarian, Political Tensions in Lebanon

Supporters of the Lebanese Forces Party block a main highway in protest over the fate of a local official, who security forces later said was killed by a group of Syrians in an attempted carjacking, in Jbeil, Lebanon April 8, 2024. (Reuters)
Supporters of the Lebanese Forces Party block a main highway in protest over the fate of a local official, who security forces later said was killed by a group of Syrians in an attempted carjacking, in Jbeil, Lebanon April 8, 2024. (Reuters)
TT
TT

Killing of Party Official Fuels Sectarian, Political Tensions in Lebanon

Supporters of the Lebanese Forces Party block a main highway in protest over the fate of a local official, who security forces later said was killed by a group of Syrians in an attempted carjacking, in Jbeil, Lebanon April 8, 2024. (Reuters)
Supporters of the Lebanese Forces Party block a main highway in protest over the fate of a local official, who security forces later said was killed by a group of Syrians in an attempted carjacking, in Jbeil, Lebanon April 8, 2024. (Reuters)

The killing of a local politician has deepened sectarian and political faultines in Lebanon, raising fears of armed clashes between rival factions in a country already beset by a deep economic crisis, and cross-border shelling linked to the Gaza War.

Government and religious officials have rushed to quell tensions after the killing of Pascal Sleiman prompted fears of renewed street brawls between rival parties and triggered beatings of Syrians. Sleiman headed the anti-Hezbollah Lebanese Forces Party in a predominantly Christian coastal area.

Lebanon's army said on Monday a group of Syrians tried to steal Sleiman's car the previous evening but ultimately killed him and took his body to neighboring Syria. It said security forces had arrested most of those responsible.

But in a written statement to Reuters on Tuesday, the Lebanese Forces rejected the account, saying Sleiman was attacked because of the party's political views.

"The official narrative that this was a carjacking remains incoherent, and we consider Pascal Suleiman's killing to be a political assassination because of his political role. Unless proven otherwise, we tend to consider this to be a direct assault against the LF," the party said.

The Lebanese Forces have not directly fingered their main rival - Iran-backed Shiite group Hezbollah - but party officials pointed to a string of killings of anti-Hezbollah figures in the last two decades as similar cases.

Criticism of Hezbollah from Lebanon's Christian community has spiked in recent weeks, particularly after fighters from the group were accused of trying to fire rockets at neighboring Israel from a Christian village along Lebanon's southern border.

It reflects swelling anger among Hezbollah's critics over the group's controversial arsenal, which outguns the army.

"In this delicate and tense political, security and social circumstance, we call for calm and restraint," said Lebanon's top Christian cleric, Patriarch Beshara al-Rai. He has criticized Hezbollah indirectly in the past, saying the six-month-old war with Israel had been "imposed" on Christians.

'Collective punishment'

In a televised address on Monday, Hezbollah head Hassan Nasrallah said Sleiman's killing "had nothing to do with politics, and has nothing to do with Hezbollah."

"Let us not compare the crime against Pascal Sleiman to others," Lebanon's caretaker interior minister Bassam Mawlawi told reporters on Tuesday. "This country cannot tolerate more problems than it is already facing, nor can it tolerate discord."

Lebanese Forces supporters shut down main roads in northern Lebanon on Monday, and school was cancelled in Beirut on Tuesday amid fears of another round of violence between the Lebanese Forces and Hezbollah. In 2021, seven Shiites were shot dead in an attack on a protest called by Hezbollah, which blamed supporters of the Lebanese Forces for the killings.

At the weekend Lebanon marks the anniversary of the start of its civil war on April 13, 1975, which erupted after gunmen ambushed a bus carrying Palestinians in southern Beirut. The conflict ground on until 1990.

Lebanon now hosts hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees fleeing the war that erupted in their homeland in 2011. Last year, Lebanese security forces deported dozens of refugees in what rights groups called a violation of international law.

Within hours of the Lebanese army's Monday statement accusing a group of Syrians, angry crowds gathered in northern Lebanon near Sleiman's hometown and in Beirut.

Some men smashed cars with Syrian license plates, raided homes where Syrians were thought to be living or beat motorcyclists thought to be Syrians, according to witnesses and footage shared on social media.

Mohamad Hasan, of the Access Center for Human Rights (ACHR), a rights organization, said the scenes were "a dangerous and unfortunate example of the principle of collective punishment".

The Lebanese Forces told Reuters it condemned the violence against Syrians and did not want to see refugees being attacked.

"This is a diversion from the actual issue," it said.

Most Viewed

 
 
Features

In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
TT
TT

In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)

On the walls of the palatial mausoleum built to house the remains of former Syrian President Hafez Assad, vandals have sprayed variations of the phrase, “Damn your soul, Hafez.”
Nearly two weeks after the ouster of his son, Bashar Assad, people streamed in to take photos next to the burned-out hollow where the elder Assad’s grave used to be. It was torched by opposition fighters after a lightning offensive overthrew Assad's government, bringing more than a half-century rule by the Assad dynasty to an end, The Associated Press said.
The mausoleum's sprawling grounds — and the surrounding area, where the ousted president and other relatives had villas — were until recently off limits to residents of Qardaha, the former presidential dynasty's hometown in the mountains overlooking the coastal city of Latakia.
Nearby, Bashar Assad’s house was emptied by looters, who left the water taps running to flood it. At a villa belonging to three of his cousins, a father and his two young sons were removing pipes to sell the scrap metal. A gutted piano was tipped over on the floor.
While the Assads lived in luxury, most Qardaha residents — many, like Assad, members of the Alawite minority sect — survived on manual labor, low-level civil service jobs and farming to eke out a living. Many sent their sons to serve in the army, not out of loyalty to the government but because they had no other option.
“The situation was not what the rest of the Syrian society thought,” said Deeb Dayoub, an Alawite sheikh. “Everyone thought Qardaha was a city built on a marble rock and a square of aquamarine in every house," he said, referring to the trappings of wealth enjoyed by Assad's family.
In the city’s main street, a modest strip of small grocery stores and clothing shops, Ali Youssef, stood next to a coffee cart, gesturing with disdain. “This street is the best market and the best street in Qardaha and it’s full of potholes.”
Families resorted to eating bread dipped in oil and salt because they could not afford meat or vegetables, he said. Youssef said he dodged mandatory military service for two years, but eventually was forced to go.
“Our salary was 300,000 Syrian pounds,” a month, he said — just over $20. “We used to send it to our families to pay the rent or live and eat with it" while working jobs on the side to cover their own expenses.
"Very few people benefited from the former deposed regime,” Youssef said.
So far, residents said, the security forces made up of fighters from Hayat Tahrir al-Sham — the main group in the coalition that unseated Assad, and which is now ruling the country — have been respectful toward them.
“The security situation is fine so far, it’s acceptable, no major issues,” said Mariam al-Ali, who was in the market with her daughter. “There were a few abuses ... but it was fixed.” She did not elaborate, but others said there had been scattered incidents of robberies and looting or threats and insults.
Al-Ali called Assad a “traitor,” but she remained circumspect about her Alawite community's position in the new Syria.
“The most important thing is that there should be no sectarianism, so there will be no more blood spilled,” she said.
Dayoub, the Alawite sheikh, described “a state of anticipation and caution among all citizens in this area, and in general among Alawites,” although he said fears have started to ease.
At the town’s municipal building, dozens of notables sat on bleachers discussing the country' s new reality and what they hoped to convey to the new leadership.
Much was centered around economic woes — retired public servants' salaries had not been paid, the price of fuel had risen, there was no public transportation in the area.
But others had larger concerns.
“We hope that in the next government or the new Syria, we will have rights and duties like any Syrian citizen — we are not asking for any more or less,” said Jaafar Ahmed, a doctoral student and community activist. “We don’t accept the curtailment of our rights because the regime was part of this component.”
Questions also loomed about the fate of the area's sons who had served in Assad's army.
Since the army's collapse in the face of the opposition advance, residents said several thousand young army recruits from Qardaha have gone missing. Some later turned up on lists of former soldiers being held at a detention center in Hama.
“These are young guys who are 22 or 23 and they never took part" in active combat, said Qais Ibrahim, whose nephews were among the missing. Over the past few years, active combat was largely frozen in the country's civil war. “We send our children to the army because we don’t have any other source of income.”
Um Jaafar, who gave only her nickname out of fear of reprisals, said the family had no information about the fate of her two sons, stationed with the army in Raqqa and Deir Ezzour, though one son's name later turned up on the list of those imprisoned in Hama.
“My children got the best grades in school, but I didn’t have the ability to send them to the university,” she said. “They went to the army just for a salary that was barely enough to cover their transportation costs.”
Syria's new authorities have set up “reconciliation centers” around the country where former soldiers can register, hand over their weapons and receive a “reconciliation ID” allowing them to move freely and safely in Syria for three months.
But Ahmed, the doctoral student, said he wants more. As the country attempts to unify and move on after nearly 14 years of civil war, he said, “We want either forgiveness for all or accountability for all.”
Ahmed acknowledged that during the war, “rural Latakia was responsible for some radical groups,” referring to pro-Assad militias accused of widespread abuses against civilians. But, he said, opposition groups also committed abuses.
“We hope that there will be either an open process of reconciliation ... or transitional justice in which all will be held accountable for their mistakes, from all parties," he said.
"We can’t talk about holding accountable one ... group but not another.”