Relentless Israeli bombardments have devastated Lebanon for over a year, killing more than 4,000 people. These attacks also inflict lasting damage on nature and farmland.
Fine white dust clings to Nazha Chouja’s calloused hands, marked by a lifetime of labour. This Syrian refugee painstakingly lays heavy white stones under a scorching October sun.
Alongside a dozen others, she works to pave a rugged, winding road in Saadnayel, a town in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley. The grueling task spans six days a week, from 8am to 2.30pm, for a daily wage of $12 USD (£9.50). “We’ve lost everything,” laments Nazha. Her Keffiyeh, and her hat, shield her from the sun. A fluorescent vest drapes over her shoulders. “In the past, we had everything we needed. I was self-sufficient and could provide for my entire family.”
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Organic
Nazha fled Syria’s civil war 12 years ago with her husband and children, seeking refuge in Lebanon. Like many of the 1.5 million Syrian refugees in the country, she turned to farming. Until recently, she and her husband, Abu Chouja, cultivated a 10-hectare plot near Baalbek, a Hezbollah stronghold.
That land is now inaccessible due to heavy bombardments that have ravaged the area since mid-September, escalating sharply in late October as Israel intensified its offensive against the pro-Iranian Shiite party.
According to Lebanon’s Ministry of Health, the ongoing war has claimed over 4,000 lives, including 668 women and 228 children. It has left 16,000 wounded, and displaced nearly 1.5 million people. There is supposed to be a ceasefire in place, agreed on Wednesday, 27 November. However, both the Lebanese army and the French government say Israel has violated the agreed end of hostilities.
On their Bekaa farm, the couple grew various crops: eggplants, tomatoes, and cucumbers in summer and cauliflower, kale, and other vegetables in winter. They had sought refuge here after escaping Syria’s civil war, drawn to this valley known as Lebanon’s breadbasket. They even trained in organic farming with the NGO Bujurna Juzurna.
But their land is now a casualty of war. A bomb recently destroyed the road leading to their plot. “We farmed organically,” says Abu Chouja. “Now, the bombs, filled with chemicals, have contaminated the soil. It will take at least three years to cultivate it again.”
Erase
For Najat Aoun, an atmospheric chemist and Lebanese MP, assessing the environmental toll of these bombings remains challenging as access to affected areas is perilous.
“Agricultural products exposed to bombardment need testing to determine contamination levels,” she explains. “Bombs release heavy metals that linger in the dust, affecting plants and potentially contaminating water and air through aerosols.”We farmed organically. Now, the bombs, filled with chemicals, have contaminated the soil.
According to a UN report, over 5,600 Israeli airstrikes hit southern Lebanon between October 8, 2023, and September 20, 2024. Some strikes included white phosphorus, an incendiary weapon banned in densely populated areas under the UN’s 1980 Convention on Conventional Weapons.
These attacks, deemed war crimes by international NGOs, have also destroyed 1,900 hectares of farmland and rendered another 1,200 hectares abandoned.
Lebanon has lost 47,000 olive trees, thousands of animals in livestock, and 1,200 hectares of forest. “Olive trees have always been targeted because they are deeply tied to the land and its people,” says Nagham Khalil, a communications officer at Jibal, an NGO researching agroecology and supporting farmers. “Destroying them erases history.”
Bombardments
Ahmad Mohammad Daoud, another Syrian farmer displaced from southern Lebanon, now rents an unfinished house in Saadnayel for $150 USD (£118) a month . “We had to abandon everything—our crops, our livestock,” he says. “The land is so damaged it may take two or three years to become fertile again.”
Just kilometers from the Choujas’ makeshift shelter lies the Bujurna Juzurna organic farm, where they once trained. The farm employs 20 people from Lebanon, Syria, and France, produces crops according to organic principles, and maintains a seed bank. Recently, a nearby house was bombed.
“We sort chickpeas here,” says Serge Harfouche, one of the farm’s founders. “Some are replanted, while others go to ten community kitchens feeding displaced people nationwide. We can sustain this effort for now, but how much longer?” The founder explains that they can sustain this activity until, at the latest, the end of December.
The war jeopardizes access to fields and Lebanon’s fragile food security. At another nearby plot, 25 hectares are slated for wheat and other staple crops. Bujurna Juzurna’s team had a chance to plow the soil and hopes to sow in the coming days. But even after that, with the ongoing war and bombardments, more frequent every day, it remains a question mark on how they will maintain their activity in this part of the Bekaa Valley.
Munitions
Israel’s bombardments are targeting Lebanon’s farmland, campaigners say, threatening the livelihoods of countless families already struggling in an unprecedented economic crisis which has been ongoing since 2019.
“These attacks severely undermine food sovereignty,” says Angela Said, a program director at Jibal. Even before October 7, 2023, Lebanon relied on imports for 80 per cent of its food, with 82 per cent of its population living below the poverty line.
“If Lebanon were better prepared in terms of food security and if farmers were more collectively organised, there would be ways to manage this risk better,” says Angela Saade.
The war’s environmental toll is immense. The fuses of the bombs contain heavy metals, and some scientists suspect that bunker-buster munitions could have a penetrator head made from tungsten or depleted uranium. Further investigations are needed to know the exact extent of this war’s environmental impact.
Destroy
“Extreme destruction harms ecosystems,” says Abbas Baalbaki, an environmental researcher and activist with Green Southerners. And this is without talking about the reconstruction of the country. So far, more than 20 villages in south Lebanon have been destroyed by the Lebanese army. “Rebuilding destroyed villages will require massive energy and create a significant carbon footprint”, adds Baalbaki.
Mustapha Sayyed, a farmer from Beit Lif near the border, knows this well. After a year of nearly daily bombardments, he lost everything: his cattle, his crops, his olive trees, and his family lands he had been taking care of for years.
When we meet him in a public school in Tyre, where he now lives with this family, he says: “I’ve lost everything. All the olive trees were burnt down. Even if the war stops, I have nothing to return to.” From Beirut to the Bekaa and southern Lebanon, the bombings continue to destroy lives, land, and the environment.
*Article originally published in The Ecologist.
(Photos: Pixabay)
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