Golden wheat fields in Lebanon during harvest. Photo by Rashid Khreiss on Unsplash.
Sowing traditions
It was an unusually warm and sunny autumn morning as a friend and I parked on the side of the Chtoura-Nabatieh road, facing the entrance of the Ammiq reserve, the largest remaining freshwater wetland in Lebanon. We crossed the poplar-lined highway, went through the half-open gate, and greeted the guardian, who answered back with a radiant smile as he gave us directions, understanding that we were here to help with sowing. We walked through the autumn-colored wetlands for 20 more minutes until we arrived at the 300-dunum land on which Buzuruna Juzuruna, a Lebanese association created by a network of farmers, agricultural engineers, and activists, aimed at the promotion of sustainable agricultural practices in Lebanon and in the region, had prepared to grow their impressive collection of heirloom grains and cereals.
Whether by chance or design, this year’s sowing took place on November 22, 2023, Lebanon’s 80th independence day. In a country grappling with unprecedented economic and financial turmoil since 2019 and relentless Israeli aggression since October 2023, coupled with decades of rampant institutionalized corruption and quasi-systematic political deadlock, this jubilee was greeted with significantly less fanfare than one might anticipate, giving rise to more doubt than hope about the future of the country.
Sampling water from the polluted Litani River in Bar Elias, Bekaa, Lebanon. Photo by Marie Hélène Nassif, from Water Alternatives Photos on Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0).
These questions become all the more complex and frightening when climate change and its effects on Lebanon and the rest of the Levant are added to the equation, especially with recent reports showing how ill-prepared the country is to withstand longer heatwaves, reduced rainfall, and increased occurrence of extreme weather events such as prolonged droughts and flash floods.
Over the years, successive government administrations have mainly relied on foreign aid and loans from international financial institutions to develop Lebanon’s economy, infrastructure, and public institutions. From 1991 until 2022, Lebanon received around $22.6 billion in development aid in both grants and loans, with foreign aid currently keeping some of its institutions from completely collapsing.
But rather than rethinking this failed model, which has squandered billions of dollars over the years and created immense pressure on citizens to solve this web of challenges, the Lebanese government is looking to continue adopting imposed development paradigms with the promise of funds in exchange. Despite their promises, these models, with privatization and massive infrastructure projects as some of their core tenets, are often at odds with communities’ interests, livelihoods, values, and traditions.
By following the path less traveled, this article will explore alternatives to these development models and how by looking to the past, we can rethink our relationship with food, water, and community, beyond modernity and its crises.
A farmer stands in front of an artificial lake used for agricultural purposes in Bekaa, Lebanon. Photo by Lien Arits, from the album Lebanon (ReWater-MENA project) by IWMI on Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0).
Climate-fueled storm: Lebanon’s mismanaged water strategy and dependence on foreign aid
In 2012, Lebanon’s Council of Ministers approved a nine-year and 9.8 billion USD national water strategy. As part of the strategy, several dams were projected to be built between 2011 and 2035 at an estimated cost of 2 billion USD, despite dams being under severe criticism globally since the 1990s because of their detrimental socio-environmental impacts. With the government unable to cover the entire costs of this endeavor, 66 percent of its financing was secured through external loans from international development organizations. Since the bulk of the cost went towards massive infrastructure construction projects (dams and artificial lakes), successive government administrations distributed them to contractors with whom they had close ties, to also benefit from them.
The Bisri Valley, known for its biodiversity and historical significance, became a focal point of controversy due to the proposed Bisri Dam project. Photo from Moovtoo Guide.
Due to this corruption and mismanagement, several dam construction projects were botched, some went over budget and experienced delays, and others didn’t even manage to hold water. One of these projects was the controversial Bisri Dam as its implementation was actively contested at the local and national levels between 2019 and 2020, and its campaign was considered by many as a primordial part of the October 17 protests. The project was eventually put on hold.
Lebanon’s national water strategy and the Bisri Dam are good examples of the country’s post-war “development-at-all cost” strategy, which was often facilitated by international financing at the expense of public space and the commons.
Since the end of the 20th century, Lebanon’s food system has been defined by its reliance on foreign aid, imported food, and agricultural outputs, with approximately 85 percent of the nation’s food supply being imported to satisfy domestic demand. As a result of these policies and decades of neglect brought on by the government’s unwillingness to finance and revitalize the industry, the private sector dominates Lebanon’s agriculture at the expense of laborers and the environment. In fact, the informal nature of agricultural labor is highly disadvantageous for farmers and workers and often enables extreme exploitation.
A farmer explains how he provides water to poor farming families in Bekaa, Lebanon. Photo by Lien Arits, from the album Lebanon (ReWater-MENA project) by IWMI on Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0).
Recent events, including the country’s ongoing economic and financial crisis, the COVID-19 pandemic, the war in Ukraine, and the August 4 Beirut port blast, have had a significant impact on global and local trade and have revealed a weak and dependent system with high inflation levels vulnerable to global shocks. Farmers now are unable to make ends meet and are falling further into poverty while low- to middle-income households are faced with ever-increasing food prices.
Moreover, the effects of climate change on agriculture globally as well as in Lebanon and the Levant are also impacting the agriculture and food industry. As the UN Resident & Humanitarian Coordinator for Lebanon Najat Rochdi describes it, climate change in Lebanon is “a threat multiplier.” What this means is that by almost any indicator, climate change is worsening and will continue to worsen living standards in the country, whether it is because of water scarcity, increased temperatures, reduced agricultural output, and so on. This would also include, as United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) expert Lea Kai said, “consequences for the most vulnerable communities, such as fishermen, farmers, who depend on agricultural and maritime resources.”
In consequence, Lebanon’s agriculture faces a perfect climate-fueled storm. It is within this difficult and complex context that it is imperative to look at traditional agricultural practices for insight into more community-oriented and sustainable practices.
A communal irrigation canal and spring branching off near Chtoura, Central Bekaa, Lebanon. Photo by Marie Hélène Nassif, from Water Alternatives Photos on Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0).
How Lebanon can learn from its traditional practices
In their paper on water management reform in Lebanon, researchers Roland Riachi and Stéphane Ghiotti insist on the importance of rethinking land and water by considering the underlying power struggles and environmental changes that define them instead of only the rigid, plural, incomplete, and confusing institutional and legal systems that direct them today.
Whether it’s technical applications or governance structures, looking back to indigenous water arrangements, customary law and inherited practices offers a plethora of adaptive, community-based, and bottom-up approaches to face climate change and its consequences on water availability as well as to resolve water-related conflicts that might arise.
Levantine villages, especially in Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine, have a long and rich history of mutual aid. Locally known as ‘Al-Awnah’ (العونة), it is voluntary work for the benefit of family, neighbors, and society as a whole, and takes multiple forms of social response in times of difficulty and distress. Some of these communal practices are described in Anis Freiha’s book, The Lebanese Village: a Culture Being Forgotten, on village life in Lebanon.
It involved time-sensitive work such as harvesting silkworm cocoons before newly-formed moths emerged from them eight days after they were first weaved, spoiling the silk threads. The cocoons had to quickly be collected and sold. As such, this form of aid also included heavy work, where several hands were needed during the different stages of building a house to carry tree trunks used for construction, dig foundations, and lay roofs or during the milling and pressing processes where a hulking millstone had to be carried.
Women sort olives near Bethlehem, Palestine during the harvest season, illustrating the urgency and collaboration of traditional farming practices under Israeli occupation. Photo by Synne Tonidas on Flickr (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).
Villagers also joined forces to pick grapes and make molasses, reap wheat and make bulgur, kishk, and bread, and pick olives to take to the olive press. The latter is still very present in Palestinian villages today. Because of the restrictions put by the Israeli occupation, Palestinian farmers are often limited to accessing their lands for a limited number of days during olive picking season. In October 2020, a number of young men gathered to support the people of Tel Rumeida in Hebron during their harvest as a way to bypass these restrictions. This is only one of many examples showing how, within this context, ‘Al-Awnah’ is not only an essential way of maintaining social cohesion in villages, but also an act of popular resistance.
Another strategy comes from South Lebanon’s long history of dealing with water scarcity, and traditional practices like communal rainwater harvesting offer valuable insights for building climate-adaptive and sustainable water management strategies. According to Georges Gharios, a water policy and governance expert, an age-old solution persists in South Lebanon: the birke (بركة). These large, open-air pools function as community reservoirs, capturing precious rainwater and channeled runoff. The collected water is stored in a central tank, readily available for the community’s irrigation and livestock needs and managed according to customary laws.
These communities have long relied on these systems to manage their water needs. These ingenious solutions thrived even with limited support from the center. They not only provided a buffer against successive governments’ shortcomings but also proved resilient in the face of climate change. Unfortunately, this legacy of sustainability is under threat. These systems are disappearing, replaced by modern development, and with them, the valuable knowledge and know-how accumulated over generations.
Fatmeh Moussa (left), Mariam Mofid (center), and Zahraa Hussain (right) preparing for seed viability testing at ICARDA Terbol genebank, Lebanon. Photo by Michael Major/Crop Trust, from the album Terbol Station, Lebanon by ICARDA on Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0).
Reaping community: Ongoing community-based initiatives
Several agroecology and food sovereignty initiatives have emerged as a tool to overcome the challenges of the sector and to achieve a more socially and environmentally just food system. At the heart of these initiatives lies the importance of seed security and farmer autonomy. Heirloom seed preservation and propagation initiatives address these challenges by fostering the genetic diversity of our crops, building resilience against a changing climate. This allows farmers to save and share seeds, reducing reliance on external sources and empowering them to continue generations-old traditions that are fundamental to Lebanon’s agricultural heritage.
Women working with dough at Buzuruna Juzuruna, part of their sustainable agriculture practices. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Attieh.
Along with Buzuruna Juzuruna, several initiatives are leading the charge in heirloom seed preservation. As part of their efforts, they have recently launched a seed preservation network. Functioning as a decentralized system, it will allow communities across the country to become stewards of their own seed diversity. This not only safeguards a wider range of heirloom varieties but also allows for local adaptation to specific microclimates, further diversifying and strengthening the resilience of Lebanon’s food system.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t about idealizing the past. Those old practices, while offering valuable insights, had limitations and weren’t free of unfair power structures and imbalances. But by examining them, we can reimagine our connection to the environment and each other to tackle modern challenges.
Participants engage in sustainable agricultural practices during a workshop in the Nohya Al Ard community garden in Saida, Lebanon. Photo courtesy of Nohye Al Ard.
While learning about the initiatives and practices mentioned above, the importance of community emerges as a common thread. Whether it’s Queer Mutual Aid Lebanon, emerging from an urgent need for mutual support within Lebanon’s LGBTQ+ community, Nohye El-Ard, a community garden in Saida, or the call from Buzuruna Juzuruna to help sowing their 300-dunum land, these examples out of many more showcase the importance of an enduring spirit of community.
Although the challenges may be vast in today’s climate-precarious world, local communities like these become beacons of resilience, reminding us that social connection and collaboration are the cornerstones of a more just and sustainable future.
