BEIRUT: On a recent school day, the Rene Mouawad High School in Beirut was empty, its classrooms dark, just like all of Lebanon’s public schools have been for most of the past three months. Its striking teachers were protesting in front of the Education Ministry, not far away.
About 100 teachers joined the demonstration outside the ministry, blocking traffic and holding placards demanding pay raises. “We are done with charity,” said Nisreen Chahine, the head of the union for contractor teachers. “We are not negotiating anymore. They should either rightfully pay or us or go home.”
The teachers gave speeches demanding officials come out and talk to them. But as usual in these regular protests, no one from the ministry emerged. After several hours, the teachers packed up and went home.
Lebanon’s schools are crumbling under the weight of the country’s economic collapse as the political leadership — which caused the crisis through decades of corruption and mismanagement — balks at taking any measures to resolve it. Since the meltdown began in late 2019, over three-quarters of Lebanon’s 6 million people have been plunged into poverty, their assets evaporating as the currency’s value shrivels and inflation rises at one of the world’s highest rates.
Most of the country’s children have not been in school for months — many since even before teachers, who say they can no longer live on their salaries, went on strike in December. Lebanon was once known for producing a highly skilled, educated work force. But now an entire generation is missing out on schooling, wreaking long-term damage on prospects for the country’s economy and future,
Teachers called their strike because their salaries, in Lebanese pounds, have became too low to cover rent and other basic expenses. The pound has gone from 1,500 to the dollar before the crisis to 100,000 to the dollar currently. Most teachers are now paid the equivalent of about $1 an hour, even after several raises since 2019. Grocery stores and other businesses now usually price their goods in dollars.
Teachers are demanding adjusted salaries, a transportation stipend, and health benefits. The government only offered to partially cover transportation, saying it didn’t have the budget for more. Though schools partially reopened last week after some teachers returned to work, most chose to continue striking.
Even before the crisis, Lebanon’s investment in public schools was limited. In 2020, the government’s spending on education was equivalent only to 1.7 percent of Lebanon’s GDP, one of the lowest rates in the world, according to the World Bank. The 2022 budget allocated 3.6 trillion Lebanese lira for education — the equivalent of around $90 million at the time the budget was passed in October, less than half the $182 million budget on education from a donor-funded humanitarian program.
Instead, the government has relied for years on private and charity schools to educate children. Humanitarian agencies paid to cover salaries and keep decrepit infrastructure functioning. Two-thirds of Lebanese children once went to private schools, but hundreds of thousands dropped out in recent years because private schools have had to increase tuition to cover soaring costs. Public and private schools struggle to keep lights on as fuel costs mount.
Even before the strike, more than 700,000 children in Lebanon, many of them Syrian refugees, were not in school because of the economic crisis. With the strike, an additional 500,000 joined their ranks, according to UNICEF.
“It means we now see children ages 10, 12, 14 and they are not able to even write their own names or write basic sentences,” Ettie Higgins, UNICEF deputy representative for Lebanon, told the The Associated Press. UNICEF said that last week it gave almost $14 million to help more than 1,000 public schools pay staff.
Rana Ghalib, a mother of four, said it makes her anxious to see her children at home when they should be in school. Her 14-year-old son had to repeat the 6th grade because he has fallen behind during previous disruptions.
“The classrooms are basically empty because teachers are demanding their rights and they’re dark because there is no fuel,” Ghalib told the AP.
The international community has been pushing Lebanon’s leaders to carry out wide-ranging reforms in the economy, financial system and governance in order to receive a $3 billion bailout package from the International Monetary Fund and unlock development aid. The political elite, which has run the country since 1990, has stalled — because, critics say, reforms would undermine its grip on power and wealth. Amid political deadlock, there hasn’t been a president for months, and the government only functions in a limited caretaker capacity.
Education, meanwhile, is joining banks, medicine and electricity in the ranks of Lebanon’s failing institutions. That could cause long-term damage: Lebanon has traditionally relied on its educated and skilled diaspora population abroad to send remittances back home to support families, invest and feed dollars into the banking system. The exodus of skilled people skyrocketed during the economic crisis, leaving remittances as Lebanon’s last economic lifeline.
Hussein Cheaito, an economist and nonresident fellow at The Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy, a Washington-based think tank, says the crippled education system will further “deteriorate the social fabric” of Lebanon and deepen poverty.
“This will have a effect on the longer-term growth of the economy,” he told the AP. “This means there will be less access to jobs in the future … (and) weaken the labor market in general.”
Ghalib, meanwhile, checks on her children, who are watching TV and playing with their cellphones at a time when they would usually be studying. Even her 9-year-old daughter is aware that her future is in jeopardy, she said.
“My youngest daughter tells me, ‘I want to be a doctor, but how can I do that if I’m sitting at home?’” Ghalib said. “I don’t know what to tell her.”
Lebanon’s empty schools bode long-term damage from crisis
https://arab.news/b6u75
Lebanon’s empty schools bode long-term damage from crisis
- About 100 teachers joined demonstrations outside the ministry, blocking traffic and holding placards demanding pay raises
- Lebanon’s schools are crumbling under the weight of the country’s economic collapse
Gaza’s tiny Christian community tries to capture the holiday spirit during the ceasefire
- Gaza’s tiny Palestinian Christian community is trying to capture some of the Christmas spirit under a fragile ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas war
- One 76-year-old Christian finds hope in his faith while sheltering at Gaza’s Holy Family Church compound
GAZA: Attallah Tarazi recently received Christmas presents that included socks and a scarf to shield him against the Gaza winter, and he joined some fellow Palestinian Christians in a round of hymns.
“Christ is born,” the group sang in Arabic. “Hallelujah.”
The presents and hymns offered the 76-year-old a taste of the holiday in a devastated Gaza, where a fragile ceasefire has provided some relief, but the losses of the Israel-Hamas war and the ongoing struggles of displaced people are dampening many traditional festivities.
Tarazi and much of the rest of Gaza’s tiny Palestinian Christian community are trying to capture some of the season’s spirit despite the destruction and uncertainty that surround them. He clings to hope and the faith that he said has seen him through the war.
“I feel like our joy over Christ’s birth must surpass all the bitterness that we’ve been through,” he said. He’s been sheltering for more than two years at the Holy Family Church compound in Gaza, where a church group including choir members toured among displaced people this Christmas season, he said.
“In such a glorious moment, it’s our right to forget all that’s war, all that’s danger, all that’s bombardment.”
But for some, the toll is inescapable.
This will be the first Christmas for Shadi Abo Dowd since the death of his mother, who was among those killed in July when an Israeli attack hit the same Catholic church compound where Tarazi lives and which has been housing displaced people. Israel issued statements of regret and said it was an accident.
Abo Dowd said his son was wounded in the assault that also hurt the parish priest.
Ahead of Christmas, the Latin patriarch of Jerusalem, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, paid a visit to the Holy Family Parish. A patriarchate statement said the visit marked the beginning of Christmas celebrations in “a community that has lived and continues to live through dark and challenging times.”
Suffering and a state of ‘no peace and no war’
Abo Dowd, an Orthodox Christian who observes Christmas on Jan. 7, said he does not plan to celebrate beyond religious rituals and prayers. “There’s no feast,” he said.
“Things are difficult. The wound is still there,” he said. “The suffering and pain are still there.”
He added: “We’re still living in a state of no peace and no war.”
Israeli strikes have decreased since the ceasefire agreement took effect in October, but deadly attackshave not entirely ended. Israel and Hamas have traded accusations of breaking the truce and the more challenging second phase has yet to be implemented.
The war began when Hamas-led militants stormed into Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, killing some 1,200 people and taking about 250 hostages.
Israel’s ensuing offensive has killed nearly 71,000 Palestinians in Gaza, according to Gaza’s Health Ministry, which does not differentiate between civilians and combatants but says around half the deaths were women and children.
The ministry, which operates under the Hamas-run government, is staffed by medical professionals and maintains detailed records viewed as generally reliable by the international community.
Israel’s offensive in Gaza has also caused widespread destruction and displaced the vast majority of the territory’s some 2 million residents. Highlighting some of the many struggles and needs of the enclave and its people was torrential rain that recently flooded displacement camps and collapsed already badly damaged buildings.
“I always tell my children, ‘God only gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers,’” Abo Dowd said. “We’re holding onto our Christian faith and onto our country, and we love our country.”
He and others know of many Christians among those who fled Gaza during the war and more who hope to leave if given the opportunity. He worries about the effect on the Christian presence and on Gaza’s social fabric. “It’s a tragedy,” he said.
His children would like to study abroad. “They’re young. What will they stay to do? There’s no future.”
A Christmas without many familiar faces
The departure of many relatives and friends means Christmas doesn’t feel the same for 23-year-old Wafa Emad ElSayegh.
He and family members gathered with others at Gaza’s Greek Orthodox church compound to put up decorations. But the absence of friends who escaped Gaza fueled his nostalgia.
“We used to be together in everything,” said ElSayegh, who’s now staying with his family at the home of an aunt who left Gaza during the war.
His favorite part of Christmas was the togetherness — the family gatherings, the celebratory events that he said drew Christians and some Muslims, and the excitement of children receiving gifts.
“There would be celebrations, songs and an indescribable joy that we, unfortunately, haven’t felt in a long time,” he said. And with many relatives away, he said the usual Christmas atmosphere cannot be recreated.
Joy amid the pain
Elynour Amash, 35, is trying to bring some of that cheer to her children “through decorating and lighting the tree so they can feel that joy is possible despite all pain.”
“My children feel a little bit of joy, like breathing after a long period of suffocation,” she said in written responses to The Associated Press. “They’re happy they’re celebrating without fear of a nearby explosion and because some chocolates and sweets have returned to their lives, in addition to foods that they had long been deprived of.”
She’s thankful her home is still standing, but the scenes of displaced people in tents that cannot shield them from the cold and rain often drive her to tears.
She doesn’t feel like the war has truly ended.
“The sounds of explosions and gunfire can still be heard, and the fear hasn’t left the hearts. There’s continuous worry that the ceasefire won’t last.” She sees the toll in her youngest, who trembles when he hears loud noises.
“It’s as if the war lives inside of him,” she said. “As a mother, that pain is indescribable.”
She also worries that someday Christians could disappear from Gaza. But, for now, “our presence, no matter how small, is a testimony of love, steadfastness and faith in this land,” she said.
Tarazi is determined to stay.
Early in the war, he lost a sister, who was among those killed when an Israeli airstrike hit the Orthodox church compound housing displaced people. The Israeli military said it had targeted a nearby Hamas command center. Tarazi said a brother also died after he could not get needed medical care due to the war.
He prays for peace and freedom for the Palestinian people. “Our faith and our joy over Christ’s birth are stronger than all circumstances,” he said.
