The Catholic church of Saint Joseph, built at the end of the 19th century as an extension of the Maronite diocese of Beirut, has emerged as an outlet for a small number of these migrants since Israeli forces launched a large-scale operation two weeks ago. in southern Lebanon and in the suburbs of the Lebanese capital against the armed Shiite group Hezbollah, forcing more than 1.2 million people to abandon their homes, according to figures from national authorities.
The majority of this contingent of displaced people is made up of Lebanese citizens from the regions most affected by the air raids by Israeli forces and the fighting during the land invasion that began on October 1st, but also by tens of thousands of Syrian refugees who are now trying to return. to their country, despite more than a decade of civil war, and Asian and African migrants who were left with nowhere to go.
When the war intensified, starting on September 23, after a year of daily exchanges of fire between Israel and Hezbollah along the Israeli-Lebanese border, around 20 families, totaling 65 people, found shelter. at the Church of Saint Joseph, in Achrafieh in the north of the city, where the shelter for displaced migrants currently operates, managed by the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS).
It was precisely on September 23 that a Sri Lankan woman, who identified herself but whose identity, like all the migrants who spoke to Lusa, is omitted for her protection, abandoned her residence in Dahieh, on the opposite side of the city, corresponding to the immense southern suburb controlled by the Lebanese Shiite group, where, the following day, Israeli bombing eliminated its historic leader, Hassan Nasrallah.
“It was actually a man from Hezbollah himself who told us to flee the neighborhood”, recalls the 56-year-old domestic worker, who has lived in Lebanon with her daughter for twenty years.
Despite the chaotic situation that took place, with the departure of a large part of Dahieh’s estimated population of 750 thousand inhabitants to safer areas in the center of Beirut and other regions of the country, he ended up finding a roof in this church, after having been rejected from several of the approximately one thousand schools converted into centers for displaced people because she was not Lebanese.
He was already living in Lebanon when the last conflict between Israel and Hezbollah took place, in 2006, but at the time he did not leave Dahieh, which has been bombed every day for the past two weeks: “This war seems worse to me, I can’t explain it , I’m very afraid of explosions. But now, when I hear them far away, I’m very happy to be here”, he describes, although acknowledging that he doesn’t know how this crisis will end, as well as the next step he will take next.
Another migrant in Dahieh says she also received a visit from a Hezbollah militant asking her to leave her home. Originally from Bangladesh, where she left two daughters, the 35-year-old woman divides her time between domestic work and a restaurant and if she could choose, she would like to continue living in Lebanon.
“I have a worse opinion about Bangladesh”, she laments, sitting in a chair in the shade of a stone balcony of the religious complex, overlooking the garden, isolated from the constant noise of Beirut, a city with a capacity for the overwhelming number of displaced people who they even sleep on the streets, in squares and even on beaches.
The migrant arrived in Lebanon 15 years ago in search of a better salary, but since the war broke out on her doorstep, she no longer knows if she will have a home to receive her back in Dahieh or if she will be able to continue her life plan. in a drama shared with many other foreigners in the same circumstances.
“These people are under great pressure and mentally very fragile. Many have lost families, homes and jobs, they don’t know what to do and they need help. I try to do something for them, in some way and give them strength, even if whether cooking”, says a volunteer migrant, who meets in a therapeutic conversation with a group of women on that balcony of the Church of São José.
The future is always on the tip of their tongue, as is the fear that the situation will get out of control in Lebanon to such an extent that they will have no other solution than to return to their countries, if they can, and “start all over again from scratch.” “.
Returning to Khartoum is not, however, an option for a Sudanese human rights activist with refugee status in Lebanon, where he is staying away from a violent civil war and one of the biggest humanitarian crises on the African continent.
“This is a serious problem. My country is at war and divided in two and here… I’m finally here”, says the refugee, noting that in Sudan “the fight is carried out with [armas de assalto] Ak-47 and here they use three-ton bombs”, in an allusion to Israeli air strikes and the deep craters opened by explosions in southern Lebanon and on the outskirts of Beirut, in a conflict that, according to Lebanese authorities, has already killed more than two thousand people in a year, of which more than half in the last few weeks.
The refugee says that, before war struck Lebanon again, he tried to “live a good life” as a security guard in a company, lending his activism to the African community residing in the country, despite complaining about corruption and networks of exploitation of migrants and there is still “a long way to go” in terms of human rights and the fight against racism.
“However, despite everything, we like this country, we like spending our time here and no one, of any nationality, should live through such a sad period like this. It shouldn’t happen anywhere in the world, because only our home is a safe and peaceful place”, declares the Sudanese man, who intends to leave Beirut “anywhere, as quickly as possible”, feeling that, at this moment, he is on his own.
In the last few European countries, including Portugal, they sent planes or boats to Beirut to repatriate their citizens who intended to leave, but also Brazil, the United States, Australia, South Korea or Russia, after almost all airlines international companies have interrupted their connections with the Lebanese capital for an indefinite period of time.
Most Asian and African foreigners from countries with modest resources are not so lucky and “neither have money nor legal documents” and, in fact, “many even wanted to leave before the war”, warns Michael Petro, a Jesuit who runs the JRS migrant center at São José Church.
In a country that “is not good for migrants”, the 29-year-old American Jesuit reports the existence of human trafficking networks operating with impunity in the country, which take advantage of the most vulnerable for sexual exploitation and slave labor, and cases of people who felt abused but stayed in Lebanon as long as they had jobs and money, and even Lebanese who put themselves at risk by helping this fragile population.
This entire situation underwent a radical change with the displacement of the workforce, closed commerce, abandoned agricultural fields and tourism paralyzed since the beginning of the war, after successive crises of a country that, in five years, experienced a financial collapse, a devaluation vertiginous rise in its currency, the major explosions in the Port of Beirut and the Covid-19 pandemic.
The migrant shelter center at the Church of Saint Joseph, the first of its kind in Beirut, is divided into two floors, one for women and around 20 children and the other for men, and, despite the almost non-existence of Catholics , there is a Buddhist worship room and also for Muslims and Hindus and even a cricket championship, in an “atmosphere of concord among all”, according to Michael Petro, but the war added needs that need support or “the project will no longer be sustainable”.
