The plane to Beirut on October 15 was almost empty. I was sitting next to Antoine Saad, a Lebanese-Australian man making the trip to convince his stubborn mother to leave the country.

“She’s one of the lucky ones mate, she has an Australian passport. The Lebanese passport is one of the worst in the world, most people are stuck,” he said. As the city came into view, I migrated to a different window seat behind Antoine to get a clear view. Nothing looked amiss until we approached the airport.

Dahieh, the suburban region just south of Beirut, stood out like a black hole within the rest of the brightly lit up cityscape. On September 23rd, the Israeli Air Force began ruthlessly bombing Dahieh along with other mostly Shia areas across Lebanon, in what they’ve dubbed operation Northern Arrows. It marks the most significant escalation in the conflict since Hezbollah began firing rockets into Israel on October 8th, 2023.

Since the operation began, the Israeli Air Force has killed hundreds of civilians and assassinated several of Hezbollah’s senior military commanders including the group’s successive leadership. 

Dahieh sits adjacent to the Beirut airport, making for a highly precarious arrival. But that night was the fourth in a row without any Israeli airstrikes in Beirut. People across the city have rejoiced in being able to sleep through the night without being rocked by explosions. But no one is under any allusions that peace will prevail. Beirut is in the eye of the hurricane.

On the road from the airport to central Beirut, driving along the edge of Dahieh, I counted more than a dozen billboards and posters of the late Hassan Nasrallah, Hezbollah’s secretary general. The road was thinner than usual — refugees were sleeping in their car on the shoulder of the road.

Mariam Shamseddine, a Lebanese woman of Shia descent, didn’t leave her home in Dahieh when Northern Arrows began. “Even though we’ve been following the conflict with Hezbollah and Israel for a long time, we were in denial that it would come to this. And when it started, we thought it would just be a few bombs and that’s it,” she said.

“We didn’t leave at first, we didn’t think they would bomb our area. But I think everyone is still in denial that this is happening.”

 She’s now staying in Badaro with some family friends. But not all of the refugees have a social support network outside of Dahieh. According to the Lebanese authorities, more than a million people have been displaced since the conflict began. Many are sleeping on the streets or have fled to neighbouring Syria. 

I rented a flat in Mar Mkhael, a Christian neighbourhood known for its vibrant nightlife. One thing is conspicuously different from my previous stays here — the streets are lined with flags bearing the emblem of the Lebanese Forces, a Christian political party and staunch Hezbollah opponent. 

Many are worried the refugee crisis could be the catalyst for a new civil conflict, as Shiites seek refuge in Christian, Druze and Sunni areas. Are they welcome? 

“Many people are afraid of renting to the Shia, especially in the Christian parts of Lebanon, because they are scared that one of them could be in Hezbollah, and that Israel could target that apartment,” Shamseddine said. 

On October 3rd, Israel struck an apartment building in central Beirut near the Christian neighbourhood of Badaro, where Shiites displaced from the south had sought refuge. 22 people were killed and 117 injured, according to the Lebanese Ministry of Health. The target was Hezbollah’s Liaison and Coordination Unit Chief, Wafiq Safa. He escaped unharmed, three security sources told Reuters. 

For the most part, Lebanese from across the sectarian divides have been showing great hospitality and care for the displaced Shiites. “They’re bombing Christian areas too now, so people don’t feel safe whether they have Shia in their home or not,” Shamseddine said. 

I was sitting at a restaurant in Mar Mkhael when the news came in that Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar had been killed in Gaza. “Sinwar’s dead!” I exclaimed to my colleague. “Yes, thank God,” interjected a man waiting in line named Rudy. We sat him down for an interview.

“The Shia are most welcome here, but not if they bring their beliefs with them. You live under my house, you live under my rules,” Rudy said. 

The Lebanese people are actually more united than ever before, says Ahmad Kayyal, a Lebanese-Palestinian man who lives near Dahieh. 

“There’s this propaganda developing that Israel may succeed in instigating a civil war, but I don’t really see that now. Some people aren’t [welcoming the Shiites], but the majority of people are uniting, which is really beautiful,” he said. 

Israel is still on hiatus from its airstrike campaign in Beirut, but Israeli drones can be heard buzzing all throughout the city. On October 17, Hezbollah said it was entering a new “escalatory phase” of the conflict with Israel. And as the world awaits Israel’s retaliation against Iran, the people of Beirut wonder if they’ll be part of it. 

“We are trying to keep ourselves busy with anything we can do — having fun, going to work — if we still have these options. But we are very pessimistic,” Ahmad said.