Beirut: Better, but Not Yet Well

The commercial hustle is back, but factional mistrust remains It happened slowly at first, but in Beirut these days the scene is almost a daily occurrence. A Lebanese merchant who had abandoned his shop at the height of fighting in the 1975-76 civil war appears at the door one morning, surveys the damage and sets about the job of reopening. Raking out waist-high rubble and empty shell casings the merchant uncovers the rotting remains of an unknown man, stripped naked by brigands of who can say which side. The owner, a Christian, shifts his rake to his left hand and crosses himself with his right. Then he pushes the body to the gutter and covers it with some dusty sacks. Half an hour later a military ambulance removes the body.

One year after the end of a wanton struggle that raged for 19 months, killed 40,000 people and nearly destroyed a nation without noticeable gain for either Christian or Muslim combatants, Lebanon is painfully rebuilding. The primary symbol of the country's hope and determination to once again live at peace with itself is the reconstruction of Beirut, which serves not merely as Lebanon's capital but as home for half of its 3 million people and, until the war crippled it, was a gleaming Middle East social and commercial hub. The fighting devastated Beirut's business center, ruined its tourist trade, blacked out its communications and nearly broke its spirit But today Beirut is on the way back.

Commercially, the city is fast regaining its old hustle. Rubble has been cleared from most streets; with it went a noxious haze that had shrouded the city. Cement mixers rather than armored vehicles, rumble through the streets. The port has been restored to 50% of prewar capacity and once again trucks rattle off the piers and up the winding mountain roads toward delivery points throughout the Persian Gulf. Beirut's airport, the busiest in the Arab world (400 weekly flights) before it was shut down by artillery fire, has reopened and handles about 75% of its old traffic volume. The industrial district of Mekhalles, badly damaged during the 52-day siege of the adjoining Palestinian camp of Tel Zaatar, is again turning out everything from office equipment to hospital beds.

On Beirut's banking street, Riad el Solh, all 73 prewar banks have resumed operation, including such multinational giants as Chase Manhattan, Barclays Ltd and Mitsubishi. The street corners outside are given over to smaller entrepreneurs with just as much Phoenician zest for commerce. They hawk everything from quarts of Johnnie Walker scotch to Barbie dolls; a good part of the merchandise comes from inventories assembled by looting. Says Citibank Manager John Bernson: "We're beginning to see unmistakable signs of that old Beiruti personality coming to the surface again "

Hazards remain. Hardly a day passes without some form of violence, usually a revenge killing to settle personal accounts. The green line, the wartime boundary between Muslim and Christian zones (see map), where the lengthy list of sniper victims includes U.S. Ambassador Francis Meloy, remains a psychological barrier for many Beirutis. The line is clogged with traffic during the day but it can still be perilous after dark. Yet in most other sections of the city day or night, restaurants and discos are open and busy; action has even returned to the baccarat tables and slot machines the Casino du Liban, near Jounieh, though its Lido-style floor show has yet to reopen. In warm weather, Beirut's St Georges swimming club, located next to the internationally renowned burned-out hotel of the same name, has reopened for swimming, sunning and girl watching Owner Michel Nader, who spent $500,000 to refurbish his club, left one bullet-riddled section of the bar as it was, "so people can remember and talk about what madness the civil war was." Another sign of returning normality: the reappearance of foreigners, including about 2,000 of the 5,000 Americans who lived in Beirut before the fighting.

Even by modest estimates, some $5 billion will be required for full recovery in Lebanon, and such funds have been slow in coming. The first-step port reconstruction was financed by a $69 million U.S. grant. Lebanon's Arab neighbors, who bankrolled much of the fighting, have chosen to underwrite a far lesser share of the bill for peace. "The money in hand is a few swallows," an official told TIME Correspondent Dean Brelis. "It doesn't make a spring."

Potentially, a more dangerous shortfall is any true spirit of reconciliation. The Muslim left, leaderless since the assassination of Kamal Jumblatt, is afraid of once again slipping into a minority position within Lebanon's complex political equation, despite its large numbers. The Christians, for their part, remain bitterly resentful of the 250,000 Palestinians living in Lebanon, whom they blame for starting the war. As a hedge against any new outbreak of hostilities, the Christians have taken complete control of east Beirut and almost all of northern Lebanon where they are busy installing the infrastructure for a separate state including improvements in the deep-water port at Jounieh and a $25 million airport at Hamat--all with the active assistance of Israel In the deep south, Christian forces with Israeli troops at their side have been challenging the Palestinian presence along the Lebanon-Israel border Says Pierre Gemayel, 72, charismatic leader of the Phalange, the strongest Christian political and fighting group: "Israel has the power to break the Palestinian arm holding a knife at our throats. Is it so astonishing that we are cooperating with Israel?"

Faced with such deep factional mistrust, not to mention the immense common problem of recovery, President Elias Sarkis, 53, is moving with all deliberate caution. A former central banker who is conservative by nature, Sarkis tears that any wrong decision might force the country into an irreparable partition. He thus issues few directives, a policy that prompted one Christian leader to complain. "We thought that Sarkis would be a chief of state. He's turned out to be a referee." Still, a skillful referee may be just what Lebanon needs, at least until its fragile truce can be supplanted by a federated state or some other more permanent arrangement. Until then, as St. Georges swimming club Owner Nader optimistically insists: "Every day without war is a form of reconcilliation."

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