“You forced us to wake up at dawn, to leave in our pajamas with no preparation and no clear destination. There’s a woman with a herniated disc in the car with me, a whole family, and the fuel is about to run out… What did we do to deserve this?”
With these words, a displaced Lebanese man documented the moment of his escape in a video filmed from inside his car, stuck in suffocating traffic. He was not directing his cry at any one person, but at an entire scene that seemed to be collapsing over its people’s heads. His voice blended with the sound of car horns, as the road he once traveled routinely suddenly became an escape corridor.
The mass displacement from southern Lebanon and Beirut’s southern suburbs came after Hezbollah announced the launch of rockets toward northern Israel, prompting Israeli airstrikes on the suburbs and other Lebanese areas.
Residents did not wait for political analyses or official statements. Fear reached the streets before they did, and images of displacement spread across social media even faster.
In the video, the man asks, “Where are we supposed to go? I have a family… I have children.” From the back seat, a woman asks, “Who are you talking to, Hussein?” Without turning around, he replies, “To those who caused this.”
Behind this man’s story, a broader picture emerges of a shifting mood within Hezbollah’s support base. Restlessness is no longer hidden, and expressions of anger are becoming increasingly bold. Questions once whispered in private gatherings are now being said openly: What is the point? And who pays the price?
Fleeing Aimlessly
Mobile phones have turned into platforms for broadcasting public pain. Videos spread one after another of people rushing out of their homes, loading whatever belongings they could carry, leaving under the weight of an escalation they could confront only with a camera and trembling voices.
In those recordings, the anger was not veiled. Citizens spoke bluntly about being “dragged into other people’s wars,” saying the party had taken them into a confrontation “for Iran’s sake.” Some pointed out that Hezbollah had not opened a front despite months of bombardment and assassinations targeting it, “but this time the orders came from Tehran,” as one man said in a widely circulated clip.
The words expressed unbearable anguish. Some admitted they could no longer endure another displacement after previous waves had exhausted them and piled suffocating financial burdens onto their shoulders. With a severe cold wave and the escalation coinciding with Ramadan, the sense of hardship doubled: fasting in the open air, anxiety over shelter, and fear of an uncertain tomorrow.
For them, war is no longer slogans or political calculations, but a daily cost paid from their homes, livelihoods, and nerves. A cost, they say, is no longer bearable — morally or financially.
In this context, Ali al-Amin, editor-in-chief of the website Janoubia, says that Lebanon’s general mood is undergoing a noticeable shift, particularly within the environment long considered Hezbollah’s support base. “The equation of security that justified support for the party for years has turned into a source of anxiety and fear for a wide segment of that same community.”
In remarks to Alhurra, al-Amin explains that “the level of criticism directed at the party has reached unprecedented levels following its rocket launches and the subsequent Israeli responses and intense attacks, accompanied by displacement and serious fears of a ground invasion.” In his view, “a segment that once showed sympathy for the party is now distancing itself and voicing sharp criticism, amid a growing sense that the cost of its military choices has become too heavy to bear.”
Al-Amin excludes from this shift “those economically tied to the party,” arguing they will remain by its side in defense of their interests.
Flight into the Unknown
Marwan (38), from Tyre, sums up the hurried departure in a few words that capture the chaos he experienced: “We fled before we even understood what was happening,” he tells Alhurra.
There was no time for analysis or waiting. “When we heard about the rockets being launched, I didn’t think much. I looked at my wife and understood from her eyes that we were about to relive the same scene.”
He did not plan a destination or ask about routes. The reaction was instinctive rather than rational. “I threw some clothes into a small bag, grabbed our IDs and passports, and took my children to the car. I didn’t know where we were going — I just wanted to get away from the south.”
The road to Beirut, which normally takes no more than an hour and a half, turned into an exhausting 15-hour ordeal. Stifling traffic, intermittent honking, and pale faces. “The same feeling that we are running from a fate we cannot change,” Marwan says, recalling the helplessness that accompanies every escalation.
Today, he is staying with about twenty people under one roof at a relative’s home. “We sleep on the floor. We share pillows and blankets. We try to make the children feel it’s temporary, that we’ll return soon.”
The burden is not limited to fear and anxiety. Financial pressures weigh heavily as well, with many complaining about steep increases in apartment rents.
Marwan believes that the decision for war should not be made in isolation from the price ordinary people pay. “All that matters to me now is my children and a roof over their heads — not Hezbollah’s slogans or its calculations.”
“Home” on a Truck Roof
Amid the suffocating traffic, a hurried photograph captured the scene. A small truck seemed to be carrying more than it could bear. It was not loaded with furniture, but with an entire life hastily placed on its roof: stuffed bags tied with ropes, piled-up suitcases.
In the back of the vehicle, a teenage girl stared silently outside, while a man tried to carve out space for a body that could barely fit. Red brake lights from surrounding cars bathed the scene in an emergency glow as engines groaned under the strain of waiting.
That night, lines of cars stretched from Beirut’s southern suburbs to the entrances of the capital, and from villages in the south and the Bekaa toward areas considered safer. In several places, roads turned into open parking lots: cars ran out of fuel, others broke down under the pressure of an unplanned journey. Some families slept inside their vehicles; others lay on sidewalks.
Schools were hastily opened to receive the displaced and quickly filled up. In their courtyards, small bags piled up alongside exhausted faces searching for a corner of safety.
Anger Extends Beyond Rockets
Abu Fadi (60) does not speak the language of statements or borrow political terminology. “What did we gain from launching rockets? In the end, we are the ones who pay the price,” he tells Alhurra. He pauses, as if reviewing in his memory images not yet repaired. “Our homes in the south are still destroyed from the previous war — we haven’t caught our breath yet… and now we don’t know if our homes in the suburbs will remain standing.”
Um Hadi speaks of her three children, forced to leave their home after midnight. “How do I explain to a seven-year-old why we suddenly have to leave our town in the Bekaa? What do I tell him? That Hezbollah decided to drag us into a new war?”
Amid the escalation, anger has not been directed only at Hezbollah. Voices have also risen against the executive authority.
In this context, Mona tells Alhurra, “If the Lebanese government had been firm in implementing its decision to disarm Hezbollah, the rockets would not have been launched, we would not have been dragged into a new war, and we would not have had to flee. Why must we remain suspended from one war to another?”
Meanwhile, al-Amin sees the government decision issued Monday — lifting political cover from Hezbollah’s military and security status — as “a pivotal step that must be translated into practice by enshrining the principle of exclusive state control over weapons.” He stresses that “the Lebanese Army currently enjoys unprecedented public support and unity, giving it broad backing to implement any decision that strengthens its position as the sole authority over military and security decisions in the country.”
Between a car stranded on the road and a school no longer able to accommodate more displaced families, a “tsunami of anger” is forming against Hezbollah within its own support base.
The article is a translation of the original Arabic.
