Hibr

The paradox of Beirut's public park

In the heart of Beirut, there exists nearly 330,000 square meters of green fields, with grassy slopes, tall pines, and winding paths dotted with wildflowers. It is an uninterrupted natural haven, except for the chain-link and barbed wire fences separating the public area—about 10% of the grounds—from the rest.

This is Horsh Beirut, the city's only “public” park. Two decades ago, amid concerns of sectarian violence and misuse of the property, the government shut it down. Today, the vast majority of the park, roughly five football fields of space, is sealed off to everyone without a foreign passport or a paper from the government deeming them a person of decent character.

Horsh Beirut is estimated to account for about 77 percent of Beirut’s public space. In a time when the city’s ratio of greenery to population stands at 0.8 square meters per capita —50 times less than the World Health Organization standard of 40 square meters—pressure
to reopen the park has grown.

On Saturday 21 January, youth organization Nahnoo invited all residents of Beirut to a public picnic inside Horsh Beirut's restricted grounds. The picnic, along with an open forum on 8 February and a publicly available policy paper addressed to the municipal government, is part of Nahnoo's campaign to reopen the much-needed space.

Beirut’s pine forest

The park, which in its better days was a pine forest spread over 1,250,000 square meters of southern Beirut, has had a long narrative in the city's history. Divided, leveled for buildings, and exploited for timber during both the Ottoman period and the French mandate, by the 1960s it was a little over half its original size. Following the war and the Israeli invasion in 1982, only 300 pine trees remained in the decimated forest. Due to lack of security, the public space was closed down in 1992.

In 1994, the Conseil Regional d'Ile de France staged a competition to redesign the park. After selecting a group of experts, they undertook a $2 million project that reshaped the space and rehabilitated its diverse plant and tree life. By 1996 the design had been completed, and the park was set to reopen no later than 2002. Responsibility for management of the park, including maintenance and security, was handed over to the Beirut municipality. Citing security concerns, the municipality delayed the park opening. Years passed. 

Last year, Nahnoo, which focuses on promoting community development and diversity, revived the campaign to reopen the park to the public. After extensive research, the group compiled a policy paper listing the reasons and needs for a public space.

“We first did legal research, focusing on the right[s] of the people. Then we did psycho-social research and developed many arguments on the health, political, and economic benefits of a public park,” Mohammad Ayoub, Executive Director of Nahnoo, told Hibr.

“In the beginning, the Beirut municipality promised to open the park, but it gave no timeline, no execution date. They said they needed policies, a management plan, so we gave it all to them,” Ayoub said. “That was five months ago.”

Public outcry

In the months since, Nahnoo has turned from policy research to action. On this Saturday, an unusually warm and sunny day for mid-January, countless families, teens, joggers and photographers wandered the park, enjoying its first public opening in years.

Ayoub managed to organize the event by claiming that it was an educational tour for students “learning about the environment.” Once he made it public, the government was hesitant to act. “They didn't want to do anything because the media was here,” Ayoub said with a smile.

Meanwhile, Yusuf, a guard at the park's private gate, argued that the last time it was opened the results were a disaster. “We opened it a few years ago, for three days,” he claimed. “There was alcohol, fire from argileh, sex...” Another guard, who chose to remain unnamed, claimed that people even stole fish from the pond.

“You just need to get a paper for permission, it's easy,” Yusuf said. “You get a paper, and we know your mind is good.”

But for many, it’s not that simple. Lebanese citizens have to apply for permission through al-Mohafez (the Beirut mayor), who will accept or deny their application based on their character and history. According to Ayoub, these guidelines aren’t formally written anywhere because it is an illegal practice. The only symbol of the municipality’s selectivity is a sign on the private gate instructing potential park goers to visit al-Mohafez first.

Lebanese citizens must also be over the age of 35 to get permission, excluding a significant and active part of the population from access to the park. According to a study in 2000, Lebanese aged 30 and younger made up 58.8 percent of the total population, with the number only increasing in the past decade. 

“A public space is a major setting in every city in the world. Beirut is lacking a public, green space. This is the only retreat from urban development,” Hala Moussawi, Project Coordinator for Nahnoo's Horsh Beirut campaign, said.

“We want to bring people together...children who don't have a place to play,” Moussawi added. “Especially now, in the age of video games. We need this space.”

Benefits and roadblocks

Moussawi and many others have pointed out the significant location of the park. Situated between Badaro, a traditionally Christian district; Ghobeiry and Shiyah, largely Shiite areas; and Tariq al-Jedida, a majority Sunni neighborhood, it is literally the meeting point of Lebanon's major sects, a point argued by both opponents and advocates of its public opening.

“It's a very strategic location, and it comes within our association's goals of diversity, lessening violence, and bringing people together,” Moussawi said. Many in the government argue that it is precisely this diversity which can be the danger of the park, despite the fact that the park remained open throughout the civil war, and was often the only safe outlet for residents in the area.

In the end, Ayoub says, it's laziness from the government that is keeping the park closed down.

“It's a money thing; they don't want to pay, they just want donors,” Ayoub argued. “Employees would have to be hired, trash cans and facilities put in the park, rules enforced.” As it is, the park has only two employees: one for trash pick-up, and one for plant and tree care.

The municipal government often complains that people in Lebanon don’t understand the concept of a public, green space, and would abuse the land. In an interview with The Daily Star in September last year, Mayor Bilal Hamad expressed fear that it would just turn into an argileh and barbecue spot for young Lebanese.

“There need to be regulations, fines, rules; of course,” Ayoub agreed. “We need to educate people.” With regulations about trash, food, and argileh, as well as enough employees to enforce them, Nahnoo argues that these problems that the government fears won’t exist.

“Each year we pay taxes,” Ayoub said. “What are you doing with my taxes if you don't want to open the park? Why are you taking my money?”

“It is the right of the people,” he said simply.

On 8 February, Nahnoo will hold a public forum at Madina Theater, addressing the government’s concerns and proposing solutions. They have invited the mayor and municipal officials, but are still unsure of whether they will show. Ile de France however, has confirmed that a representative will be attending.

“We want people to hear the mayor, hear his fear about opening the park publicly,” Moussawi said, expressing hope that he would come. “The presence of the mayor is important in order to hear other points of view, and at the same time, act on those other points of view.”

But the mayor isn’t the only one standing in the way of a public park. Strangely, the underlying sentiment of many Lebanese people is that the masses can’t be trusted to respect such a space, despite the clear need for one.

On this picturesque Saturday, Khalil Annan, a smiling and friendly 57-year-old man that lives nearby, walks briskly around the park. He comes for an hour every morning and an hour every afternoon. Annan especially enjoys the peace the park brings in contrast to the chaotic city.

“There is no one to take your bag, there are no loud taxis,” he explains.

When asked if he thinks the park should be open to everyone, he pauses and sighs. “There are too many people in Beirut. It would be ruined.”

More photos online here