Exclusive - Lebanon’s Ailing Economy Shredded Further by Smuggling from Syria

Vehicles are seen at Masnaa border crossing between Lebanon and Syria, Lebanon November 1, 2018. (Reuters)
Vehicles are seen at Masnaa border crossing between Lebanon and Syria, Lebanon November 1, 2018. (Reuters)
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Exclusive - Lebanon’s Ailing Economy Shredded Further by Smuggling from Syria

Vehicles are seen at Masnaa border crossing between Lebanon and Syria, Lebanon November 1, 2018. (Reuters)
Vehicles are seen at Masnaa border crossing between Lebanon and Syria, Lebanon November 1, 2018. (Reuters)

A great part of the economic quagmire drowning Lebanon can be traced back to the spillover of smuggled goods across border with Syria. Data showed that nearly $600 million slip past the Lebanese treasury due to trafficking.

Goods brought in illegally, sold at much cheaper prices, have created jaw-dropping profit margins of which the market suffered its fallout. But with Lebanon and Syria sharing a 375 km land border, taking border control to full-throttle may be too difficult to materialize with Lebanon’s current resources.

Curbing this phenomenon is being discussed along with austerity and reform measures needed to salvage Lebanon’s economy from total collapse.

Asharq Al-Awsat toured the border regions and met with locals to discuss the smuggling operations and official efforts to curb them

While transit at border customs gates appears quite normal, residents of mountainous highlands mock official statements, asserting that smuggling between Lebanon and Syria has never stopped, no matter what security measures are enforced.

“Mules know the way, and do not need official documents to cross customs. They are often used to bringing supplies across borders,” a Lebanese local, speaking on condition of anonymity, told Asharq Al-Awsat.

He explained that smuggled goods are loaded on the mules, which are left to wander in the barren terrain separating the two countries. The smugglers monitor the animals, which are either noticed and seized by security forces – marking the failure of the illegal operation – or they successfully wander into the neighboring country and seized by the smugglers.

Mules and small luggage are trifles compared to the ambitions of more powerful professional smugglers.

Convoys of trucks, led by their leader in a vehicle with tinted windows, regularly shuttle goods across legal and illegal border crossings into the Lebanese market. The operations are boosted by the absence of state control over vast parts of the border and the deployment of de facto forces in these regions.

“Business is booming,” a smuggling ring coordinator, who operates from Lebanon’s Hermel, told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Speaking on condition of anonymity, he admitted to making a few thousand dollars daily in brokerage fees for helping smugglers make their journey safely. They are being supported by a network of corrupt security officials and partisan forces that control border regions.

“The model of smuggling that exists today can be traced back to the 70s, 80s and during the period of Syrian tutelage,” a retired military official told Asharq Al-Awsat.

At the Masnaa border crossing, goods are smuggled after pro-Syrian regime intelligence officers are bribed. The bribes are often paid in Syrian pounds.

He added that smuggling from Lebanon into Syria is not illegal, as much as it is harmful to the economy. He also spoke of the smuggling of oil derivatives from Lebanon to its neighbor given a sharp shortage crippling Syria.

A farmer in the town of Ferzol in the Bekaa told Asharq Al-Awsat that smuggled goods from Syria, such as fruits, vegetables, poultry, meat and cigarettes, are severely harming competition in Lebanon as they are often sold at much lower prices than local produce.

As for government efforts to rein in smugglers, Lebanon’s Supreme Defense Council decided in April to tighten border control, whether by closing illegal portals or cracking down on culprits by customs center staffers.

Many security experts have, however, deemed shuttering borders implausible given geopolitical realities and the ongoing war in neighboring Syria.



Childhood Cancer Patients in Lebanon Must Battle Disease while Under Fire

Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
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Childhood Cancer Patients in Lebanon Must Battle Disease while Under Fire

Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)

Carol Zeghayer gripped her IV as she hurried down the brightly lit hallway of Beirut’s children’s cancer center. The 9-year-old's face brightened when she spotted her playmates from the oncology ward.

Diagnosed with cancer just months before the conflict between Hezbollah and Israel erupted in October 2023, Carol relies on weekly trips to the center in the Lebanese capital for treatment.

But what used to be a 90-minute drive, now takes up to three hours on a mountainous road to skirt the heavy bombardment in south Lebanon, but still not without danger from Israeli airstrikes. The family is just one among many across Lebanon now grappling with the hardships of both illness and war.

“She’s just a child. When they strike, she asks me, ‘Mama, was that far?’” said her mother, Sindus Hamra, The AP reported.

The family lives in Hasbaya, a province in southeastern Lebanon where the rumble of Israeli airstrikes has become part of daily life. Just 15 minutes away from their home, in the front-line town of Khiam, Israeli troops and Hezbollah fighters clash amidst relentless bombardments.

On the morning of a recent trip to Beirut for her treatment, the family heard a rocket roar and its deafening impact as they left their home. Israeli airstrikes have also hit vehicles along the Damascus-Beirut highway, which Carol and her mother have to cross.

The bombardment hasn’t let up even as hopes grew in recent days that a ceasefire might soon be agreed.

More than war, Hamra fears that Carol will miss chemotherapy.

“Her situation is very tricky — her cancer can spread to her head,” Hamra said, her eyes filling with tears. Her daughter, diagnosed first with cancer of the lymph nodes and later leukemia, has completed a third of her treatment, with many months still ahead.

While Carol's family remains in their home, many in Lebanon have been displaced by an intensified Israeli bombardment that began in late September. Tens of thousands fled their homes in southern and eastern Lebanon, as well as Beirut’s southern suburbs — among them were families with children battling cancer.

The Children’s Cancer Center of Lebanon quickly identified each patient’s location to ensure treatments remained uninterrupted, sometimes facilitating them at hospitals closer to the families' new locations, said Zeina El Chami, the center’s fundraising and events executive.

During the first days of the escalation, the center admitted some patients for emergency care and kept them there as it was unsafe to send them home, said Dolly Noun, a pediatric hematologist and oncologist.

“They had no place to go,” she added. "We’ve had patients getting admitted for panic attacks. It has not been easy.”

The war has not only deepened the struggles of young patients.

“Many physicians have had to relocate,” Noun said. “I know physicians, who work here, who haven’t seen their parents in like six weeks because the roads are very dangerous.”

Since 2019, Lebanon has been battered by cascading crises — economic collapse, the devastating Beirut port explosion in 2020, and now a relentless war — leaving institutions like the cancer center struggling to secure the funds needed to save lives.

“Cancer waits for no one,” Chami said. The crises have affected the center’s ability to hold fundraising events in recent years, leaving it in urgent need of donations, she added.

The facility is currently treating more than 400 patients aged from few days to 18 years old, Chami said. It treats around 60% of children with cancer in Lebanon.

For Carol, the war is sometimes a topic of conversation with her friends at the cancer center. Her mother hears her recount hearing the booms and how the house shook.

For others, the moments with their friends in the center's playroom provide a brief escape from the grim reality outside.

Eight-year-old Mohammad Mousawi darts around the playroom, giggling as he hides objects and books for his playmate to find. Too absorbed by the game, he barely answers questions, before the nurse calls him for his weekly chemotherapy treatment.

His family lived in Ghobeiry, a neighborhood in Beirut’s southern suburbs. Their house was marked for destruction in an Israeli evacuation warning weeks ago, his mother said.

“But till now, they haven’t struck it,” said his mother, Suzan Mousawi. “They have hit (buildings) around it — two behind it and two in front of it.”

The family has relocated three times. They first moved to the mountains, but the bitter cold weakened Mohammad’s already fragile immune system.

Now they’ve settled in Ain el-Rummaneh, not far from their home in the southern Beirut suburbs known as Dahiyeh, which has come under significant bombardment. As the Israeli military widened the radius of its bombardment, some buildings hit were less than 500 meters (yards) from their current home.

The Mousawis have lived their entire lives in Dahiyeh, Suzan Mousawi said, until the war uprooted them. Her parents’ home was bombed. “All our memories are gone,” she said.

Mohammad has 15 weeks of treatment left, and his family is praying it will be successful. But the war has stolen some of their dreams.

“When Mohammad fell ill, we bought a house,” she said. “It wasn’t big, but it was something. I bought him an electric scooter and set up a pool, telling myself we’d take him there once he finishes treatment.”

She fears the house, bought with every penny she had saved, could be lost at any moment.

For some families, this kind of conflict is not new. Asinat Al Lahham, a 9-year-old patient of the cancer center, is a refugee whose family fled Syria.

“We escaped one war to another,” Asinat’s mother, Fatima, added.

As her father, Aouni, drove home from her chemotherapy treatment weeks ago, an airstrike happened. He cranked up the music in the car, trying to drown out the deafening sound of the attack.

Asinat sat in the back seat, clutching her favorite toy. “I wanted to distract her, to make her hear less of it,” he said.

In the medical ward on a recent day, Asinat sat in a chair hooked to an IV drip, negotiating with her doctor. “Just two or three small pinches,” she pleaded, asking for flavoring for her instant noodles that she is not supposed to have.

“I don’t feel safe ... nowhere is safe ... not Lebanon, not Syria, not Palestine,” Asinat said. “The sonic booms are scary, but the noodles make it better,” she added with a mischievous grin.

The family has no choice but to stay in Lebanon. Returning to Syria, where their home is gone, would mean giving up Asinat’s treatment.

“We can’t leave here,” her mother said. “This war, her illness ... it’s like there’s no escape.”