“The camp is not entertaining anymore,” complained Ghassan, a 23-year-old student from Beirut’s southern suburbs. “When the sit-in first began, we had the will and the enthusiasm to go down there every day, as we were convinced that the Siniora government would certainly give in to our demands soon.” Ghassan and his friends, however, have stopped going to the sit-in, because they started to feel that it was not leading anywhere.

So it seems, more than seven months into the protest downtown, government supporters are no longer the only citizens questioning the camp’s value.

“Today, I have lost the motivation, and I feel my participation is not going to make a difference,” explained Adel, a 35-year-old father from the South. “Everybody knows this sit-in is not working, and it’s only still there because taking it out would mean a great defeat for the opposition, mainly Hezbollah, which is the most determined party,” he added.

Originally set up in conjunction with an enormous protest on December 1, 2006 the opposition camp downtown is still dominated by Shia Hezbollah and Amal and the Christian Free Patriotic Movement (FPM) of General Michel Aoun. In the beginning, it attracted a large number of opposition supporters, who believed that the “divine victory” they claimed to have achieved during the 2006 summer war could be used as a tool to topple the Siniora government. Hezbollah called upon opposition members to join them in a movement aimed at bringing about a “national unity government” (ignoring, of course, the fact that the current government was a national unity government until opposition-allied ministers resigned in late November). In a speech broadcasted on Al-Manar TV, Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah articulated the goals of the protest: “We have and are now again calling for the formation of a national unity government, because if we want to preserve Lebanon`s independence and its sovereignty, to prevent Lebanon from falling under any foreign tutelage, to strengthen the foundations of security, stability and civil peace, to cooperate in addressing the suffocating social and economic crisis … then we must cooperate, join forces and unite efforts in this current stage.”

Two weeks before the sit-in began, five Hezbollah and Amal ministers resigned from the cabinet, followed by a pro-opposition Christian minister. The sit-in was launched with a massive demonstration against the government. The following month, on January 23, 2007, opposition protestors paralyzed the country by burning tires and cars on major roads and highways around Beirut, imposing a general strike. Riots resulted in three dead and 133 injured. Two days later, Sunni and Shia students clashed at the Beirut Arab University, sparking civil unrest in other areas in Beirut. Four people were killed and 150 injured. 

In the late spring, a fresh wave of violence began as the army was plunged into battle with the radical Islamist group Fatah al-Islam in the North. In the first weeks of the clashes, Lebanon witnessed a number of explosions in addition to the assassination of another March 14 figure, MP Walid Eido.

In the beginning, most opposition supporters viewed the sit-in purely as an action aimed at toppling the government, and separate from the events that followed. But, while Hezbollah still enjoys broad support within the Shia community, many of its supporters are now starting to ask questions about the sit-in, its objectives, and its relationship with other events taking place in Lebanon.

Hassan, a 40-year-old shop owner from the South, told NOW Lebanon that he initially heeded Nasrallah’s call because “it was the least I could do to express my gratitude to Hezbollah and its leader. Men are offering their lives, so how can I sit back and do nothing?” However, as the sit-in began to drag on with limited results, Hassan realized that achieving its objective was going to take much longer than he had estimated. “I can’t leave my store for a long time. How would I survive? Politics is not going to put food on my table, nor it is going to pay for my children’s education,” he added.

Hassan was by no means alone in his decision to go downtown out of a sense of duty. Employees at Hezbollah schools, hospitals and social organizations felt they had to participate in the demonstration, especially in the beginning. “I’ve been teaching at Al-Mahdi School for years, and when your employer asks you to be part of an organized movement that relies on the presence of their supporters, you can’t say no,” explained one teacher, Mohammad who said that he’s not longer camping out downtown but tries to show-up from time to time as a sign of allegiance and solidarity.

Walking through the tent city where the sit-in is taking place, the absence of civilians is conspicuous. Tents have been erected along three main roads leading to the Grand Serail, in addition to Riad el-Solh and Debbas Square. Opposition parties are divided within the camp, with Free Patriotic Movement tents set up in the Debbas Square and Riad el-Solh divided between Hezbollah and Amal. The camp is heavily guarded, with numerous checkpoints and security personnel on constant patrol. Clusters of men are scattered through the area – a few dozen of the thousands of original protesters.

To interview the remaining protesters inside the tent-city, permission must be obtained from the Hezbollah’s press office in the Dahiyeh. “You can only interview civilians, who are usually here after 7:00 pm,” Hezbollah security personnel explained. This statement confirms what is already obvious to any visitor: The full-time inhabitants of the camp today are almost exclusively party members. Civilian supporters may pass by in the evenings or on weekends, but they have long since packed up and gone home from the camp themselves.

Also missing are the cafes and carts that mushroomed around the camp during the first months of the sit-in. “Business was going really well the first few months, so I moved my 100 water-pipes to the camp, and I made a lot of money,” said Hassan, a café owner who lives in the Dahiyeh. “Then, people gradually stopped coming, first families and women, then, young men. The only people who kept on showing up were Hezbollah and Amal permanent members, who are paid to be there – it’s their job,” he added. As his initially brisk business in the camp slowed to a trickle, Hassan decided to return to his Dahiyeh café.

Despite the dramatic decrease in participation over the past few months, Al-Manar TV still broadcasts a live show from the camp every evening at 7:00 p.m. The program includes speeches, interviews and shots of protesters gathered in small groups. However, even Manar’s attempts to zoom in on protestors to project a better image of the state of the camp fails to convince spectators that people are still eager and committed.

Today, a year after the July war, the tent city has failed to achieve any of objectives other than further exacerbating the political deadlock in Lebanon and causing immeasurable damage to an already-dire economic situation – and the strain is starting to show. Many, including opposition supporters, are now asking questions about the worth of the sit-in and the negative impact it may be having on their lives.

“I’m still a supporter of Hezbollah and I believe in their cause, but I also want to have a decent life without having to worry about another war. We’ve been through many wars, occupations and invasions,” said Abou Ahmad, A taxi driver from the South, “I think we deserve a break.”