Students Struggle as Lebanon Crisis Cripples University Sector

A university student takes a course via remote learning at home in Beirut, but staying connected during state power cuts that can last more than 20 hours a day comes with a financial cost ANWAR AMRO AFP
A university student takes a course via remote learning at home in Beirut, but staying connected during state power cuts that can last more than 20 hours a day comes with a financial cost ANWAR AMRO AFP
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Students Struggle as Lebanon Crisis Cripples University Sector

A university student takes a course via remote learning at home in Beirut, but staying connected during state power cuts that can last more than 20 hours a day comes with a financial cost ANWAR AMRO AFP
A university student takes a course via remote learning at home in Beirut, but staying connected during state power cuts that can last more than 20 hours a day comes with a financial cost ANWAR AMRO AFP

Power shortages and soaring petrol prices mean many Lebanese university students can neither afford to reach their classes nor study from home, a conundrum that is ravaging a generation's future.

Agnes, a 22-year-old dentistry student from south Lebanon, is among the few still plodding to class in Beirut four days a week.

The five hours she spends on a bus daily now costs her 1.3 million Lebanese pounds a month -- "that's half of my father's salary", she said.

Such expenses are now beyond the reach of most Lebanese students, with their country in the throes of a financial, political and health crisis that has ravaged its economy.

The national currency has lost more than 95 percent of its value on the black market, and the minimum wage of 675,000 pounds is worth little more than $20, which barely pays for a full tank of petrol.

Transport "is becoming more expensive than my semester's tuition fees", according to AFP, Tarek, a 25-year-old student at the Islamic University of Lebanon who, like the others interviewed, declined to give a family name.

As a result, and also because teachers face similar difficulties, many universities continue to offer online classes.

But staying connected during state power cuts that often last more than 20 hours a day also comes at a cost.

Amina, 22, a student at the public Lebanese University, said she has reverted to doing most of her work from books due to the lack of electricity at home.

There are "about 75 students in the class, of whom a maximum of five" can attend online, she said, adding that she needed to study around nine hours a day in order not to fall behind.

To keep laptops and modems running, families have to pay for expensive private generators, but that option too is unaffordable for many.

Some students are spending their money on mobile phone data so they can connect their computers to an internet hotspot.

The spaghetti wiring connecting laptops, routers and phone chargers to all manner of back-up devices -- from commercial uninterruptible power supplies to homemade contraptions using car batteries -- means study areas now often look like the back of an IT workshop.

"All of this is additional cost," said 22-year-old Ghassan, a student at the Sagesse University.

Several institutions have set up special student funds in an attempt to maintain enrolment levels, said Jean-Noel Baleo, Middle East director of the Francophone University Agency -- a network of French-speaking institutions.

"Some universities are keeping students who cannot pay, which is a form of hidden bursary," he told AFP.

But he said such Band-Aid fixes were barely slowing the decline of a higher education system that was once a source of national pride, and whose multilingual graduates flooded the region's elites.

"It's a collapse we're talking about, and there's more bad news on the way," said Baleo, who predicted the definitive closure of some universities and an intensifying brain drain.

Education Minister Abbas Halabi admitted he was largely powerless to stem the sector's crisis.

"I tried to secure subsidies for the Lebanese University from foreign donors but at this stage they have not replied positively," he told AFP.

"The Lebanese state does not have the means."

Even as the financial meltdown threatens several pillars of the country's education system, Lebanon's political elite -- widely blamed for collapse -- have resisted reforms that would open the way for international assistance, and the cabinet has not met in three months.

"Today, the easiest option is to set up online classes, even if that remains a difficult option. Rising transport costs make it the least-worst fix," Baleo said.

In the meantime, students like Tarek say the crisis is turning university life into an ordeal.

"It's exhausting and depressing," he said.

"I am considering quitting university... The wages are so bad that you're not even motivated to graduate to find a job," he said.

Student Ghassan said he only wanted to graduate so it could help him leave the country.

"All the youth want to leave because there's no clear future here," he said.



Lebanon's Public Schools Reopen amid War and Displacement

Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
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Lebanon's Public Schools Reopen amid War and Displacement

Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)

In the quiet seaside town of Amchit, 45 minutes north of Beirut, public schools are finally in session again, alongside tens of thousands of internally displaced people who have made some of them a makeshift shelter.

As Israeli strikes on Lebanon escalated in September, hundreds of schools in Lebanon were either destroyed or closed due to damage or security concerns, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA).

Of around 1,250 public schools in Lebanon, 505 schools have also been turned into temporary shelters for some of the 840,000 people internally displaced by the conflict, according to the Lebanese education ministry.

Last month, the ministry started a phased reopening, allowing 175,000 students - 38,000 of whom are displaced - to return to a learning environment that is still far from normal, Reuters reported.

At Amchit Secondary Public School, which now has 300 enrolled students and expects more as displaced families keep arriving, the once-familiar spaces have transformed to accommodate new realities.

Two-and-a-half months ago, the school was chosen as a shelter, school director Antoine Abdallah Zakhia said.

Today, laundry hangs from classroom windows, cars fill the playground that was once a bustling area, and hallways that used to echo with laughter now serve as resting areas for families seeking refuge.

Fadia Yahfoufi, a displaced woman living temporarily at the school, expressed gratitude mixed with longing.

"Of course, we wish to go back to our homes. No one feels comfortable except at home," she said.

Zeina Shukr, another displaced mother, voiced her concerns for her children's education.

"This year has been unfair. Some children are studying while others aren't. Either everyone studies, or the school year should be postponed," she said.

- EDUCATION WON'T STOP

OCHA said the phased plan to resume classes will enrol 175,000 students, including 38,000 displaced children, across 350 public schools not used as shelters.

"The educational process is one of the aspects of resistance to the aggression Lebanon is facing," Education Minister Abbas Halabi told Reuters

Halabi said the decision to resume the academic year was difficult as many displaced students and teachers were not psychologically prepared to return to school.

In an adjacent building at Amchit Secondary Public School, teachers and students are adjusting to a compressed three-day week, with seven class periods each day to maximize learning time.

Nour Kozhaya, a 16-year-old Amchit resident, remains optimistic. "Lebanon is at war, but education won't stop. We will continue to pursue our dreams," she said.

Teachers are adapting to the challenging conditions.

"Everyone is mentally exhausted ... after all this war is on all of us," Patrick Sakr, a 38-year-old physics teacher, said.

For Ahmad Ali Hajj Hassan, a displaced 17-year-old from the Bekaa region, the three-day school week presents a challenge, but not a deterrent.

"These are the conditions. We can study despite them," he said.