Green Lebanon, land of lush pine and cedar forests, has the

highest rate of deforestation in the world. The Human

Development Report published in 2000 by the United

Nations Development Program places Lebanon at the head of

163 nations, with a staggering deforestation rate of 8.1 %, between

1990 and I 995. In 1975, over 20% of the land was covered with

forests. Today, less than 5% of the land remains forested. During

the war, specifically from 1980 to 1990, the total deforestation rate

was 0.7%. As such, peace has been much more devastating to

Lebanon’s forests than the interminable war.

Greenpeace campaigner Zeina Al-Hajj enumerates many reasons,

including fires, out-of-control urban development and, most

importantly, quarrying. “It’s the most threatening problem for

forestation,” Al-Hajj says. Quarrying, which involves the actual

carving of a mountain in order to obtain stones and sand for construction,

is legal in Lebanon. There are, however, rules and regulations

that quarry operators have to follow. Unfortunately, these

regulations are seldom observed by quarry owners and rarely

enforced by the lackadaisical government.

The law states that all quarries should be located at least 1,000

meters from the sea, rivers and residential areas. The quarrying should

also be limited to a small area and a brief period of time (one month

for example), and the entire quarried area has to be restored once work

has been completed. But, as Lebanon’s oldest environmentalist

Abdallah Zakhya says, “people are

cheating on these laws.” Even though

quarry permits are given for a specific

amount of time, the administrators of

various municipalities have taken the

liberty of renewing permits indefinitely.

In addition, quarrying is being practiced

right in the middle of some residential

areas.

Zakhya recounts the trials of Knet, a

scenic old town in northern Lebanon.

Last year, the European Union (EU)

singled out Knet as the recipient of

international aid and sent a contingent to

plant numerous cedar trees in order to

rehabilitate a damaged forest. Six

months later, when EU representatives

returned to check on the trees, they discovered

that minister of the interior

Michel Murr had authorized a quarry in

the middle of the restored area, thereby destroying all of the work. ‘The

EU representatives packed up their bags and left,” recounts Zakhya.

Murr also authorized the horrific Nahr Ibrahim quarry, which has

completely deforested a once-pristine area. All that remains of the lush

hills is a big gaping hole near a polluted river. ‘The destruction of Nahr

Ibrahim should be construed as treason,” says Zakhya. “Murr is

authorizing the destruction of our collective memory and of our history.”

The quarried stones from Nahr Ibrahim were used to build the

Joseph Khoury Marina in Dbaye, in which Murr has a sizeable stake.

‘The very next day after Israel pulled out of the South,” Al-Hajj relates,

“Murr issued permits to set up quarries in the liberated areas.”

Nabil Ghanem, who previously worked as an advisor at the ministry

of the environment, says that there are 710 quarrying sites in

Lebanon, with 367 quarries in Mount Lebanon alone. Over 90% of

the quarried sites violate

laws. In addition, 300

quarries are located near

splendid archaeological

sites, causing irreparable

damage to monuments that

are thousands of years old

(such as the Mussailha castle

in Chekka). ”If the

quarry operators followed

the Lebanese law, it would

cost them an additional 7 1

cents per m’ quarried.

That’s all,” states Ghanem.

However, Lebanese Jaws

continue to be ignored.

The current minister of

the environment, Arthur

Nazarian, says that the

 ministry is too short-staffed and can only send people to check on

quarries when a complaint has been lodged. The ministry of environment

is only responsible for Lebanon’s three protected areas –

the Barouk cedar forest in the Chouf. Palm and rabbit islands off

the coast of Tripoli and Horsh Ehden. “Lebanon’s forests are

under the control of the ministry of agriculture,” says Nazarian. “We

can only hope that all these quarries will be transferred to the eastern

mountains, where are there are no forests and no inhabitants.

Unfortunately, in most cases the damage has been done and the

forests are gone for good.”

Although quarrying is perhaps the greatest danger to Lebanon’s

forests, fires, whether intentional or accidental, are also decimating

the nation’s few remaining trees. “According to the law,” Al-Hajj says,

“You cannot cut a single tree without permission from the ministry

of agriculture. So interested parties often bum an entire forest in order

to quarry an area. Forests are also burned to produce charcoal.”

A further fatal blow was dealt to the nation’s forests by the so called

building boom after the war. A financially strapped government

and chaotic administration issued innumerable building

permits without proper rules and regulations. As a result, the formerly

lush Harissa mountain in Kesrouan now resembles a hastily

built Monte Carlo. The stunning Metn hills above Beirut have

lost their pine cloak and are now bathed in gray cement.

“Lebanon used to be green,” says Ghanem, “but it is becoming

a desert. Uprooting trees and burning forests is the first step

toward desertification.” As the number of trees decreases in a particular

area, so does precipitation. And as Lebanon’s natural topsoil

is removed and used for construction, the thin remaining layer

of earth becomes unable to absorb water. Slowly, the underground

water supply is depleted. The earth dries up, and all that is

left is barren rock. ‘”If the current rate of deforestation continues,”

says Ghanem, “Lebanon will be a desert in 15 years.”

‘The government used to give licenses to these brothels,”

says Kara. “They were well regulated.” That’s not to

say that everything was rosy. Then like now, a woman

in difficult economic conditions might resort to prostitution to feed

herself or her family. But, says Kara, at least the trade was monitored

then. Women who worked in these brothels were required to undergo

regular examinations, public health standards were maintained and,

if a woman did want to get out, the vibrant economy of the time provided

more alternatives.

Like anyone else, a prostitute working in pre-war Lebanon would

likely find life easier than one trying to survive today. Al-Mutanaba

street was destroyed during the war. There are no legal brothels open

today, even though operating one is technically still legal for those

with a license. This has pushed the profession into the murky

 world of criminals, according to Kara. Desperate women, many

homeless and some in their early teens, become easy prey for the

pimps that prowl some of the city’s more seedy areas. They offer a

place to sleep, food to eat, but little in the way of money. Many of

these women soon find themselves trapped.

Farial ended up on the street at the age of 11 after her father died and

her brother went to prison. “I was walking down the street one day

when I met a women named Suha. She introduced me to other prostitutes

and that’s how I got into this profession,” she says. “I was just

a child. I didn’t know anything.” Farial started hooking off and on and

by the age of 13 she was pregnant. Today, at 19, she has been to prison

more than once and has two children, a third is on its way. Now married,

Farial has left her old profession. She is living with relatives

because neither she nor her husband can afford a place of their own.

Hilana has a similar story. Abandoned by her mother, she found herself

on the street at a young age. There she met her husband and was

married at 14, became pregnant and had a son. But the marriage failed.

Relatives refused to take her in. Her grandfather finally accepted to

watch her son, but she had to find her own place. Hilana started hooking

in bars to support herself and her child. “The bars were very dirty.

There were Sri Lankans, Syrians, Egyptians working there and you

couldn’t say no to a customer. If you said no, the owner would kick you

out,” she says. At 32, she continues to work as a prostitute. She has been

a bit more successful than most in the business and counts among her

past clients a former minister and a senior member of a religious political

party. “Society has generally rejected these girls,” says Kara.

There’s little in the way of statistics on prostitution in Lebanon and

the moral protection bureau of the security forces refused to speak to

EXECUTIVE. But, says Kara, “the number of women resorting to prostitution

is increasing in parallel with the economic crisis.” The vast

majority of them come from the poorest segments of society, she adds.

Most are illiterate. Very few possess the skills necessary to find a decent

job and support themselves. The case of Rita, who is in her 40s, is typical.

She rents a small flat for $175 a month and has children to feed.

She earns around $70 a month cleaning houses. “Where do I get the

rest?” she asks. “I stand on street comers waiting to be picked up.” Some

women do find a way out, either by landing a decent job or returning

to their families. But the numbers are few.

For those who do work the streets, the increase in competition over

the last few years, both from locals and foreigners, has driven down

prices. Hilana says that five years ago she could earn $400 to $500 a

night, but now earns less than half that amount. At the same time, prostitutes

risk arrest and abuse by clients, pimps and even the police.

Occasionally, the security forces will raid a bar, massage parlor or

brothel. The prostitutes are arrested but, they say, never their clients.

Kara feels that the situation would be better if the business was

regulated as it was before the war. “We hope that the law [allowing the

licensing of brothels] is reapplied because now there are hundreds

of brothels and they are all illegal,” she says. Proper regulations, she

adds, would at least control the spread of venereal diseases and reduce

the exploitation the women working in such establishments.

Ironically, the police do regulate the super nightclubs, most of

which bring women from Eastern Europe or other Arab countries to

work as cabaret dancers or barmaids. In order to obtain work permits,

the women must undergo regular gynecological checkups. ‘The government

knows that these are not just places to sit down and have a

drink,” says Kara. “It claims to provide controls, but these women have

permission to work in a bar, not as prostitutes.” Rarniz Geagea, manager

of the White Horse Super Nightclub in Maameltein, feels the health

regulations are justified. He says: “I recognize the girls as dancers. But

that doesn’t mean they don’t go out with some guy after the show.”

Regulating prostitution may help improve the situation. But

only education, a stable social environment and greater gender

equality is likely to curb the flow of women into the world’s oldest

profession. A healthy economy would not hurt either.

By Robert Tuttle

A reason for hope

In English, its name translates into House of Hope. Dar Al Amal has

been helping women in prostitution since the early 1970s. “If someone

is a prostitute and comfortable, we are not here to say change.

We want to provide an alternative for women who were pushed into

prostitution and want to leave the profession,” says Hoda Kara.

Between 45 and 50 women a year seek the organization’s help. Dar

Al Amal provides counseling and training in such skills as sewing or

making handicrafts. Kara says that the organization helps women as

much as possible but cannot provide shelter. The limited financing

from donors is not yet sufficient to fund a shelter. The organizationcan be reached at 01/483-508.