A view of devastation

Tour of South Beirut neighborhood unveils destruction wrought as part of Israeli attacks on Hezbollah

BY MOHAMAD BAZZI | Newsday Middle East Correspondent

July 21, 2006

HARET HREIK, Lebanon - The smell of dust and rubble wafts half a mile away. It is a mixture of pulverized concrete, electrical wiring and asbestos. It burns the eyes and throat.

But the smell is only the first sign that something is terribly wrong. It comes before one sees the devastation.

Last week, this was the most densely populated neighborhood in south Beirut, a crowded swath of apartment buildings known as the dahiya, or the suburbs. It is the Shia Muslim heartland, and the place from which Hezbollah draws its most loyal support.

Today, Haret Hreik has been pulverized, as if visited by a cataclysmic earthquake. Everywhere there are mountains of rubble, great mounds of concrete blocks, twisted sheets of corrugated metal and spaghetti-shaped iron bars.

"You have to follow me," shouted Hussein Naboulsi, a longtime spokesman for Hezbollah. "Don't just go any way you want. Follow me!"

Naboulsi was preparing to lead a group of about 100 journalists through Haret Hreik yesterday afternoon. He did not want any stragglers.

"If I tell you to evacuate, you must do it," he shouted again, trying to outdo the cackle of microphones, tape recorders and cameras. "Now we must be quick."

Approaching the intersection of Hadi Nasrallah Boulevard and Ghobeiry Square, everything is coated with a chalky gray dust.

Then the scope of devastation becomes clearer. Dozens of buildings have been reduced to chunks of concrete. Many others had their sides sheared off, exposing their insides. Streets are piled with giant pieces of concrete, broken glass, and wooden beams from floors and ceilings. Wires are hanging everywhere.

On one street, a black, red and yellow flag still stretches between two buildings, framing a two-story pile of ruined homes. The German flag was likely hung a few weeks ago, when the dahiya - along with the rest of Lebanon - was obsessed with soccer's World Cup. Whole buildings were collapsed, their top stories pancaked, telescoping down into each other.

A cameraman trips over a shirt, strangely untouched in the middle of the street. A Spanish TV anchor, doing a standup, trips backward over a mattress.

Stray cats pick through the ruins. A beauty salon with its walls blasted off lies exposed, its mirrors fractured.

"I don't recognize this area," said a Lebanese journalist, shaking his head. "It's beyond recognition. Beyond recognition."

Signs of a former life

Amid the rubble, there are signs of the life that existed before July 12, when Israel and Hezbollah went to war: a red plastic rocking horse, strollers, tricycles, a stuffed brown teddy bear. There are dozens of burned photo albums, piles of CDs and books.

A wedding photo from the 1970s lies on the ground, blown out of its frame. It's surrounded by slippers, pillows, cinder blocks and radiators. In one corner, there's an English textbook on diabetes.

Hezbollah members roam the deserted streets on mopeds, weaving around the rubble. They're unshaven and have circles under their eyes.

Then, suddenly, a man emerges from the dark lobby of a building. He attracts the attention of the cameras.

"Let the entire Western world look and see the democracy of Israel and America," he screamed, as cameras rolled and shutters clicked. "Let the world see and judge who is the terrorist, us or them? We're protecting our homes. They're attacking innocent people."

The man, disheveled and sweaty, was wearing a torn white T-shirt. Asked for his name, he answered, "Just say a Lebanese citizen." Later, he gave a first name: Mohammed.

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Tour of South Beirut neighborhood unveils destruction wrought as part of Israeli attacks on Hezbollah

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