
by theguardian.com — In Lebanon’s year of loss and deprivation, simple pleasures have steadily drained away along with its fortunes. But amid a crisis renowned for breaking new ground, few Lebanese had thought their ability to stay in touch was at risk – until a pre-Christmas warning sent shudders through the country. The telecommunications minister, Johnny Corm, warned this week that a lack of funds and fuel could soon see Lebanon’s already struggling internet grind to a halt, making festive calls and messages even trickier than usual – and a financial and social disintegration like no other even more acute. As weary Lebanese approached another lacklustre Christmas, the warnings appeared to be bearing out. The internet was barely functioning in Tripoli on Tuesday. By the day after, Beirutis could barely communicate or open websites. Things were forecast to get worse in time for Christmas Day.
Where is Christmas? It should be full of lighting and life. We were praying for the end of 2020, but this year is worse for sure Miriam Sarhan, 31, who left Lebanon for Canada in July after losing faith in her homeland, says calling her family on messaging apps had helped settle her in and reassure her family back home. “I was speaking to them by video in November,” she says. “Now we can’t even manage a voice call. What else will my country take from me?” The crisis affecting the telecom sector mirrors that faced by all arms of government; bills to overseas providers need to be paid in US dollars and the cost of doing so has increased up to twentyfold since the country’s plunging currency lost parity in late 2020. Since then, the value of the lira has been in freefall, while costs of goods and services have skyrocketed. Through it all, staying in touch had been at least one salvation; as had a hope that somehow, someday, things would get better. But as a cruel winter sets in, after an arduous year, there is little sign of a brighter horizon. Resilience, once a buzzword used to describe the Lebanese, is now parodied by citizens themselves. “How much more can we be humiliated?” asks Mustafa Alloush, an expatriate living in London. “It seems something that outsiders wish upon us to make themselves feel better about our situation.”










