The CNEWA Connection

This privatization was not a weakness per se, “as long as we had an economy,” he adds.

At the time, civil society stepped up with its own initiatives to cover the gaps left in caring for the most vulnerable. However, in the current situation, these church and nonprofit groups are bearing the weight of a growing vulnerable population and are struggling to keep up with the need.

Beyond Hariri’s policies, the fragility of the state as a service provider can be traced back further to the Lebanese civil war and the years immediately following, says Karim Merhej, nonresident fellow at the Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy.

When the Beirut port blast hit in August 2020, CNEWA’s response was immediate, rushing aid to affected families, schools and health care facilities. Compounding crises in Lebanon have left its people and institutions devastated, as unemployment continues to soar and the currency depreciates.

In May 2022, CNEWA was awarded four grants totaling $1.86 million to support the operating costs of health care centers and schools in Lebanon. The funds were distributed among five Catholic hospitals, the Message de Paix rehabilitation center and 14 Catholic schools.

To support the work of the churches in support of the people of Lebanon, call 1-866-322-4441 (Canada) or 1-800-442-6392 (United States).

could unlock international funds, mainly through the International Monetary Fund. Maronite Patriarch Bechara Boutros Rai has repeatedly criticized Lebanon’s politicians for their inability to put the good of the people before their own interests and form a cabinet to address the economic collapse.

The crisis has obliterated Lebanon’s middle class. Eighty percent of the population now lives under the poverty line, with little to rely on, except for the charitable works of the churches and other nonprofit organizations. Aside from a few state assistance programs that offer minimal coverage — many of which have been suspended in the current situation — the country has no social safety net.

The origin of this “fragile state” can be traced in part to the policies of former prime minister Rafik Hariri in the 1990s, which “encouraged the private sector to have an upper hand in social services, like education,” says Michel Constantin, CNEWA’s regional director in Beirut.

“Militia men in the civil war became the rulers of the post-war state, in an era called ‘spoilsharing,’” he explains. “The state and its institutions and all of its resources were used not for public welfare, for giving public services, but instead were used to support sectarian clientelist networks, so each one of the warlords got its own fiefdom in the state.”

The Achilles’ heel of Lebanon’s economy has been its dependence on the inflow of dollars to sustain a fictional fixed exchange rate, Mr. Merhej adds.

“In the ’90s, the productive sectors of our economy — agriculture, manufacturing, industry — were decimated in favor of financialization of the economy,” he says.

By the end of that decade, “the state was borrowing [money] from banks by issuing treasury bonds with ridiculously high interest rates, like 40 percent,” he continues. Debt started spiraling and, by 2001, “it became clear that there was a collapse in view.”

At right, Lebanese hold the portraits and personal effects of their loved ones who died from the Beirut port blast on 4 August 2020, during a memorial Mass on the first anniversary of the explosion. Inset, Sister Gladys Sassine reads to three boarders at Blessed Sacrament School in Beit Habbak.

The international community, through several international donor conferences, stepped in to bail out the Lebanese ruling class. But the inflow of dollars — mainly through real estate, banking products and tourism — started shrinking in 2011. In 2016, the central bank responded by creating a “financial engineering scheme” to attract foreign currency: Banks would offer up to 20 percent interest to entice foreign investors to put their dollars in Lebanese banks.

This became a sort of “Ponzi system, built on unsustainable debt accrued by the state with the expectation that Lebanon was too important to fail, and it will always be bailed out internationally,” says Mr. Merhej.

The expectation was a miscalculation, and the banking system began to collapse. As the 2019 crisis unfolded, Lebanese citizens saw their life savings evaporate with the devaluation of the pound. The banks responded by locking most depositors out of their accounts, refusing any withdrawal request. In the past year, dozens of desperate citizens have resorted to robbing their banks at gunpoint to recover their own deposits. Banks have responded by fencing their buildings and hiring armed guards.

The banking collapse has had a dramatic impact on the good works of the churches and other nonprofit groups. CNEWA, for instance, has had to stop its small-business loan program in Lebanon, which began in 1999.

“We have given loans to 1,000 persons, with an average loan of $10,000,” says Mr. Constantin. “This program changed the life of many small agricultural, food and beverage businesses, but now it has stopped. The deposits are trapped.”

The banking situation has become a nightmare, says Manale Nehme, director of Message de Paix, which provides psychosocial care for 150 adults with special needs. Message de Paix has three centers: in Beirut, Maad and Bikfaya.

Beneficiaries receive free professional training and learn basic life skills for independent living. As well, 45 people are employed in the center’s cooking, crafts and candle-making workshops, while 30 work in local businesses. However, it has become increasingly difficult to persuade businesses to hire adults with intellectual disabilities, she says.

The program generated revenue primarily from product sales and funding from the Ministry of Social Affairs. But sales have slowed, and the ministry’s funding has collapsed, from 30 percent of the center’s annual budget in 2019 to 3 percent in 2023.

The organization has had to draw on savings to make ends meet — to save on costs, it also closed its Beirut center in February — but Ms.

Nehme says the bank will not allow a monthly withdrawal of more than 8 million pounds and the situation is threatening its sustainability.

“Today, I had a fight with the bank, and I got 25 million pounds. That’s $500. It doesn’t cover anything,” Ms. Nehme says exasperated.

Help from donors, church organizations, such as CNEWA, and individuals are the only reason Message de Paix is still operating, she says. Other church-run social service organizations are in the same position.

Back at Blessed Sacrament School, Sister Gladys expresses a similar concern: “We are trying as much as we can to continue. If we close, these children will have no Catholic school to go to in this area.”

“It is a miracle that people from Lebanon and abroad are helping us,” says Mother Arze, director of the elderly care center in Antelias. “How long can we stay like this? I don’t know.

“But we are not scared. God is with us.”

Alicia Medina is a Spanish freelance journalist based in Athens. Her work has been published in international media, including News Deeply, Syria Direct, Syria Untold, Deutsche Welle and Radio France International.

Support the good work of the church in Lebanon cnewa.org I cnewa.ca

Learn about the life within a church-run psychiatric care center, struggling to offer care in Lebanon’s current crisis cnewa.org/one