Olives, citrus, and bombs: Diana Salloum on South Lebanon’s agriculture
Since October 7, Israeli bombardment has uprooted tens of thousands of people—many of them farmers—from the rolling hills of South Lebanon. Their continued displacement, and the destruction of their fields and olive groves, bodes ominously for a country already struggling to feed itself.
But it also raises a larger question, that is imposing itself across the MENA: What happens to farmers whose land is being damaged beyond recognition, and who lack the resources to mend it? War might be the most obvious scourge, but it's not the only one: Industrial pollution, over-exploitation, drought, and rising salinity are degrading fertile lands from Morocco to Iraq. And, for the most part, the region’s governments do little to help vulnerable farmers cope.
My colleague Diana Salloum has spent the last two years tracing how Lebanon’s farmers are surviving one crisis after another. We sat down to discuss how they manage this latest ordeal, and where they might go from here.
What kinds of conversations are you having with farmers from South Lebanon? How have these changed throughout the conflict?
In the first days after October 7, most farmers I spoke with in the South expected this flareup to pass. Then the Israeli strikes escalated, and more civilians were hit, and everyone started to worry more.
Now, many people have been forced to leave. As of early January, the UN was reporting more than 75,000 people displaced. This is especially painful because it’s happening during the olive harvest, which is economically critical for these communities. Some of those displaced are still trying to finish the harvest, despite the violence: In the village of Deir Mimas, I’ve heard of people going back and picking olives at night, in hopes that it will be safer from bombardment than in daylight.
The stakes are especially high because, for many people, this will be the last season they can make money off of these orchards. People put a lot of money into their trees and properties. Many had to rebuild after the 2006 war–which, per UN estimates, cost some 280 million USD in agricultural losses.
Now they see their land being damaged again, and many expect the destruction to keep coming. In areas that Israel has hit with white phosphorous, not everyone knows the technicalities of what it does to the soil–but they know it’s poison, so they stay away.
Nobody has any sense of how long this will last, and most don’t have the resources to rebuild once it stops. As a result, I’ve spoken to people who have given up on ever farming again.
How do such people get by, while separated from their land and livelihood?
Before 2019, the obvious choice would have been to drive a taxi as a second job. Today, though, you make very little money driving a taxi [due to the currency’s collapse and rising fuel prices]. So people look for other options. Families that have a second house elsewhere in Lebanon might try to set up a business selling things there. Those that have gone to stay with friends might find work helping in their shops.
Some older farmers are thinking of emigrating: going to join their children who are already abroad. But this option is not accessible to everyone. I spoke, for example, to a farmer who had considered joining his son in Qatar. But his son barely earns enough money to support himself, and lives in shared housing, so is not in a position to receive his father.
If this farmer did try going to Qatar, he would have to go through a lot of bureaucracy to get the family visa, and might ultimately fail. If he did get it, it would only last four months, after which he would have to leave the country and come back–making the whole process very expensive.
Beyond those directly impacted by violence, what does all this mean for food prices across Lebanon?
South Lebanon is an important producer of a few different crops, but until now the big impact is on olive oil. Government data suggests that Lebanon’s two southernmost governorates supply a little over a third of the local olive market. As a result, the conflict has had a major impact on prices.
On October 7, you could buy a 20 liter tank of olive oil for around 100 dollars. Then the price went up to 130. A few weeks ago, I saw people in North Lebanon selling for 175. Traders say this is simply because there’s a lot of demand and not enough supply. But some wonder if sellers are taking advantage of the situation to increase their profits.
This is the latest in a long string of crises for Lebanese farmers, piled onto economic collapse and the slow-motion impact of climate change. What other problems do people face, and how do they manage?
The currency’s devaluation has made agricultural inputs much more expensive. Most farming here depends on chemical fertilizers and pesticides. These are imported in dollars, while produce is sold in Lebanese pounds.
Some people have adapted by simply using less inputs, which means getting a smaller harvest. Others have switched to using very cheap Chinese inputs. This yields low quality fruits and vegetables, which often cannot be sold in Beirut: Consumers in the capital expect a certain level of quality, and traders at the wholesale markets will reject goods that don’t meet it. So this produce gets sold in places like Tripoli, which impose less control.
Some people are trying to start farming organically, without chemical fertilizers or pesticides. But in order to switch to organic, land that has been chemically farmed must be left alone to recover. Most people here cannot afford that time. Some are trying creative ways to transition: I know a guy who has divided his land up into small plots and is gradually switching some areas to organic while using traditional methods on the rest.
Another problem is the increase in extreme or unpredictable weather. Last April, many farmers suffered losses due to the combination of late rains followed by warm, sunny days, which ruined certain crops. Similarly, a lot of apple farmers had hail storms damage their apples. Many took a huge loss, selling damaged produce for one dollar a crate instead of three.
I know one woman, an engineer, who found a way to salvage the season: She turned the damaged apples into cakes, and sold them at a much higher margin than she would have gotten even from a healthy crop.
We’re seeing more of this kind of experimentation, particularly among younger farmers less attached to tradition. They are more open to trying new things, and pick up ideas on social media or at trainings.
For more on how Lebanese communities are juggling environmental stress, state breakdown, and economic crisis, check out:
Yara El Murr’s brilliant Public Source article on how warmer winters are affecting agricultural producers.
The Public Works Studio’s visual investigation into how quarrying for heavy industry has gobbled up precious farmland in Koura.
Julia Choucair Vizoso’s deep dive into how Lebanon’s environmentalists have sought to push back on problems like quarrying.
Rami Zurayk’s deep but accessible book on the politics of food and farming in Lebanon and the Arab world.