WITNESS-People power Lebanese style
Source: Reuters
By Crispian Balmer BEIRUT, Dec 12 (Reuters) - Crowd counting maybe a mathematical science in some countries but not in Lebanon, where it often resembles a political art. Opposing factions regularly inflate the size of their rallies, claiming hundreds of thousands of supporters took to the streets when in fact a tiny fraction of that turned up. But no one tried to deny the mammoth scale of Sunday's anti-government protest organised by the Shi'ite group Hezbollah and its disparate allies, which filled downtown Beirut with a churning sea of humanity. "There are too many people to count," said one security source, who declined to be named on such a politically sensitive issue. "It was the biggest rally we've ever seen in Lebanon." As a Reuters correspondent, I have covered countless demonstrations in numerous countries, from small-scale sit-ins to anti-globalisation riots, from rallies against war to union shutdowns. But Sunday's event was perhaps the most vibrant, colourful and animated mass mobilisation I have yet seen. Banging drums, whirling flags, chanting slogans, Hezbollah's army of supporters streamed into Beirut for hours on end, emptying villages and city slums recently devastated by Israeli jets in a 34-day war that targeted Shi'ite strongholds and at the same time caused much damage in northern Israel. In one of the many ironies of Lebanese politics, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the pro-Syrian Hezbollah were supporters of Christian leader Michel Aoun, a former general who once launched a disastrous war against Syrian forces. Shi'ite girls wearing Iranian-style chadors, which hid all but their faces behind black cloth, pressed alongside made-up Christian teenagers, wearing skimpy t-shirts and jeans. Whatever their faith or faction, almost every protester clutched at least one red and white Lebanese flag, emblazoned with the national symbol of the green cedar tree -- never has the journalistic cliche of a forest of flags rung more true. REASON TO HOPE Some doomsters have warned that the political crisis, which broadly speaking pits the poorer Shi'ite community against a ruling Sunni elite, could push Lebanon towards a new civil war. The wounds of the 1975-90 civil war still abound in Beirut, with shrapnel streaked apartment blocks, a gutted church and a shredded cinema, providing a sobering backdrop to the rally. But the carnival-like atmosphere of the protest appeared to belie fears that any conflict might be imminent. There was none of the pulsating anger I saw when Albania fell apart in 1997, none of the violent undercurrents that swirled around anti-capitalist protests in Italy or the testosterone-charged angst of some union clashes in France. Given the numbers, the low-profile security was remarkable. Soldiers protected government offices, but there were no police amongst the crowd. Instead, Hezbollah volunteers checked bags, controlled the flows of people and frisked strangers to check no one tried to smuggle in concealed weapons. While Hezbollah's estimate of 2 million protesters was clearly exaggerated, more neutral observers suggested that half a million people or more might have taken part -- compared with a total population of around four million. Despite the huge numbers, there were no reports of any problems. Instead, as night fell, camp fires were lit, youths danced in slowly rotating circles, nationalistic music pounded out from banks of speakers and the crowds slowly drifted home. But as history has shown, anyone wishing to create trouble in Lebanon will find fertile ground amongst its myriad religious factions and I was left wondering how long the anti-government protests could drag on for before trouble flared. Some of the language from the podium might have sounded inflammatory to the ears of an outsider, but it was standard fare in the Middle East and little more than background noise. "Death to America, Death to Israel" the crowds chanted at one point. Despite the fact I was clearly a Westerner, all I received were smiles and solemn entreaties of "welcome". Just in case any hot-headed youths might be tempted to violence, someone had strung up black and white photographs of the last civil war, showing men in flared trousers firing their guns, buildings destroyed, women crying, bodies in the street. "We put these photos up to remind people what happens in civil war and to warn them what war does. No one would be so stupid as to go down that road again, would they?" asked Fady Yazbeck, a 23-year-old engineer.
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