Beirut: ICRC and Lebanese Red Cross action in Lebanon, 1975-2015

© Mahmoud Kabbout, victim of a bomb attack in Tripoli, 2014rnIt was during the time of the prayers. Suddenly the ground shook and it rained falling debris . Windows were shattered and I covered my head with my arms. I can still hear and feel the heatu2026 I looked up in an attempt to understand what was going on. There was smoke everywhere, panic and confusion. The pain still haunts me. rnMy hands still hurt, my back becomes tense when I remember the weight of falling debris on me. I can still feel the sand in my eyes and the pieces of glass in my bare feet. rnI can still smell death, the burning rubber mixed with the scent of blood and gunpowder. rnI am now certain that the angel of death made a strong presence that day.rn

© Hassan Al-Zein, Lebanese journalist and editor at As-Safir newspaper, 1983.rnu201cThe morning of November 4th 1983. A mother and her ten children are getting ready to go to school. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion. They are all shaken. News of the explosion then spread fast. A member of the resistance drove his rigged car into the headquarters of the commander of the Israeli army near Al Shajara School and blew it up, it is where the father and his friends are being detained. The scene would have been much more dramatic, had it not been for an angel who had visited the house the day before. His name was Ryad Dbouk, a staff member of the International Committee of the Red Cross. He had visited their father and came to inform them that he was transferred from the Al Shajara School to the Seraille in Saida, while his companions were transferred to the Ansar detention center. The children had all reasons to be relieved. An angel had re-written the script and altered what would have otherwise been a tragic scene.u201drn

Maytham Kassir, relative of a missing person and journalist with Al-Arabiya, 1983.rnrnu201cWhen the war fails to steal the children's happiness, you find them running towards their bike in a moment of truce to ride around in their city. They do not care why their city is destroyed, they only wish the truce would last a while longer so the fun would not be over soon. rnBeirut was not destroyed in 2008, but it was empty. I would wait impatiently for the rounds of violence to end, to go out and reclaim some of my life. But that didn't happen in 2008. During that mini-war, my friends took to the frontlines again, fighting other Lebanese. This time, the war stole my friends, they became combatants. It was not fun.u201drn

© Kifah Afifi, former detainee. Who understands my sorrowu2026 and where I was detained,rnWho knows my place on earthu2026 and where I was buried, rnThey fought me many timesu2026 I was born where I was killed, rnI am Kifah Afifi, I am a former detainee, and the wife and sister of former detainees. I lived 7 years in detention, but they did not succeed to take away my strength, my love for life, and most of all, my love for freedom.rn

© Neyef Chehade, Lebanese Red Cross Volunteer and head of Tripoli LRC center, 2012rnAsked about my journey with the Lebanese Red Cross after 9 years of voluntary service, Nayef takes out a an old and folded page of Assafir newspaper from his wallet.. The picture accompanying the news article shows Nayef with a little girl in his arm. It looks like he is flying. His feet are not touching the ground. u201cThe little girl had wet herself from fear. She was not the only one who was scared, I was scared too. We all are when we're on duty. Fear is our most important defense mechanism. At a second glance, it looks like I was running very fast, between the army and combatants. Today when I look back at this picture and what happened, I am floating with happiness because I saved that child.u201drn

© Kassem Shaalan, Lebanese Red Cross Volunteer, 2006rnrnu201cOne pair of hands was stitching wounds, another taking blood to save the life of an old wounded man in our ambulanceu201d. That day, a rocket missed its initial target and hit us right in the heart of the red cross sign on the roof of the vehicle. All of a sudden, we were six injured. I had to reassure everyone, while I myself needed reassurance. All people in the ambulance survived that incident, but I had already experienced twice a similar incident before: in 1996 and 2006 in Qana, where we went in an attempt to salvage what could still be salvaged. In Qana, there were just a few survivors. Every year when I go back to visit the place of the incident, a strong sense of belonging to the Lebanese Red Cross overcomes me and my belief in humanitarian work grows stronger and stronger.u201drn

© Marwan Tahtah, Lebanese photographer, 2007rnSimilarly to everyone else, I've heard about the war from my family first, and like everybody else, I later on learned that it was absurd. And for us, the new generation who did not experience the war, somehow the memory of it leaves us with a bitter aftertaste. Perhaps the photo I captured on that dark Beirut morning in 2007 is the truest representation of the war's absurdity.rn

© Patrick Baz, photographer, 2006rnFor 30 years, I walked the dusty roads, the roads of war in many countries. During that time, my lens documented the bloodshed that ripped apart my country Lebanon. Like the war's hostage and companion, my camera and I survived every new round of brutality. rnOver three decades, I have captured thousands of photos. My professional satisfaction was always mixed with frustration. You witness human destruction and catastrophes, but you feel helpless. Those strong moments which I was not able to capture in a photograph, are engraved within my soul. These memories haunt me at night, some are darker and longer than others.rn