Where There's Hope--and Life

Beirut's dwellers refuse to surrender to despair

For the past two months Beirut has again been rocked by artillery duels between competing militia groups. The latest outburst of violence reached its climax last week on a warm Sunday afternoon when the Mediterranean was a deep, shadowy blue, with only a suggestion of surf, and the beaches were crowded. Suddenly, unaccountably, the Christians and Muslims both began to shell the area. The carnage: 20 dead and 270 wounded. How have the 1 million Beirutis been coping with the relentless destruction of their once beautiful city and the periodic slaughter of their people? Reports TIME Middle East Bureau Chief William Stewart:

It is a measure of Beirut's battle-hardened toughness that only two days after the attacks, stores reopened, trade flourished and the bars and restaurants were once again jammed with pleasure-seekers. The flower shops that proliferate in almost every quarter of the city were filled with carnations and snapdragons that spilled over onto the sidewalk in elegant displays. At countless intersections, the fruit and vegetable stands that sell the best fresh food in the Middle East were doing a thriving business. All the city's 86 banks --more numerous than before the civil war--were open for business. The British embassy went ahead with a reception for David Roberts, Her Majesty's new Ambassador. Shrugged one bejeweled Beirut partygoer: "What else can we do?

One has to go out."

Only a block from the site of the shelling on the beach, construction workers were back on the job building a 14-story luxury apartment house. All of Beirut's six universities remained open. At the Commodore Hotel's famed circular bar, bankers, businessmen, armed security guards, militiamen, spies and a few tourists were talking about land values. Indeed all over Beirut, the wheeling and dealing for which the city is celebrated had resumed. With land scarce and money plentiful because hardly anyone pays taxes, the Beirutis continue to invest heavily in property that has risen astronomically in price despite the destruction. Said one businessman: "People who never had a house before are building one now, while those who had them are rebuilding. I know a family whose home has been destroyed three times, and they have rebuilt three times. You can't kill hope."

Hope is conspicuously alive at Summerland, the $25 million seaside resort built during the civil war. Though many of its 151 rooms are empty, the hotel has kept on a staff of more than 300, in the expectation that better days must surely follow. Summerland's bar, restaurant and two outdoor pools are still crowded. Said Sheik Khaled Saab, Summerland's part owner and general manager: "We Beirutis have the will to live. We've become immune to many things. We know if the artillery is 'incoming' or 'outgoing.' We can even tell the caliber. We're all optimists. Keeping this place open is an act of faith in the country."

Beirut's main hotels and restaurants are situated in West Beirut, on the Muslim side of the Green Line, which separates the two sides. At the chic Chez Jean Pierre restaurant, guests flinch involuntarily at the sniper fire just down the street. At night, Syrian troops man checkpoints: you quickly flick on the overhead light in your car to let them get a good look at you.

Public services are virtually nonexistent. Trash lies uncollected in the rabbit warren of streets. There is no reliable mail delivery and no sure telephone service.

To cope, the residents of West Beirut have organized their neighborhoods into self-contained, self-ruling cities within the city. Apartment dwellers band together to hire security guards, buy fuel and collect the garbage. One grocery-store owner claims that fear and anarchy have produced some advantages: "We can't go out at night so the whole family stays home.

My God, at first it was such a strain, but now we all know each other much better. Besides our business is making money. I haven't paid taxes in years. Who would I pay them to? There isn't any government."

In contrast to freewheeling West Beirut, East Beirut is orderly, clean and well run. Services and the semblance of a city government have been established by the right-wing Christian Phalangist Party, which has assessed the value of local businesses and property and taxed owners accordingly. Each day the Phalangist radio station, the Voice of Lebanon, decrees the price of meat, milk, eggs and other staples. Party men then fan out over East Beirut to enforce price controls.

Unlike the Berlin Wall, the Green Line has been crossed or circumvented every day since the current crisis began.

Though the city has a unique Christian and Muslim heritage, it has only one way of life, which has been temporarily and bitterly disrupted by political extremists who continue to trade on fear. The vast majority of Beirutis want their city back together again. It is that hope that keeps the hotels and restaurants open, the banks operating and the universities functioning. Each Sunday, without doubt, they will once again flock to their beaches, which have already been washed clean of blood by the impassive Mediterranean.

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