Lebanese anti-government activists wave the national flag as they stand on barriers blocking the road to the parliament in Beirut, Lebanon, on September 22, 2015. Nabil Mounzer/EPA
BEIRUT // For 20-year-old Ali Obeid, the decision to join Lebanon’s anti-government protests two months ago was simple.
He was sitting at his home in Beirut during one of the early demonstrations when another long summer power cut set in.
Aware of the protest and figuring that the heat outside couldn’t be that much more miserable than in his home, he took to the streets that day.
“Maybe I could tell them we need electricity for air conditioning,” he recalls thinking.
The You Stink protest movement began two months ago after rubbish piled up in the streets of the capital when the Lebanese government failed to find an alternative way to dispose of Beirut’s waste after Naameh – the nation’s largest landfill – shut on July 17.
The call of the demonstrators broadened as people like Mr Obeid brought other demands for basic services that were lacking, such as water and electricity. Others railed about corruption.
For months now, the government has promised to implement a solution to the rubbish crisis, but little has been done and waste continues to be deposited in the unsightly and potentially unhealthy makeshift dumps along highways, next to rivers and in abandoned lots.
On September 9, Lebanon’s cabinet approved a proposal by agricultural minister Akram Chehayeb calling for the temporary reopening of Naameh for seven days and the construction of two additional landfills.
Mr Chehayeb said it would soon be implemented, but activists in Naameh — who shut down that landfill — say they will not allow any additional rubbish to come to their town. The government had to scrap one of the proposed landfill locations after an environmental study found it would affect groundwater.
Across the country, locals say they will not allow landfills to be constructed in their areas.
Even if an agreeable waste management plan is reached, it will likely not appease the You Stink movement because the protests are not just about rubbish anymore.
There are calls for the resignations of the interior minister Nohad Machnouk, environment minister Mohammad Machnouk and prime minister Tamam Salam.
Protestors are also demanding for inquiries into corruption, new elections and new electoral laws. Some want to get rid of the entire sectarian political system in Lebanon.
Imad Bazzi, one of the protest organisers, told The National on Tuesday that the group was currently planning a series of “hit-and-run” actions against the government. He did not elaborate for fear of alerting authorities, but assured that they would stay peaceful.
Increasingly, class division and economic disparity is an emerging theme as anger mounts.
On Tuesday, Mr Obeid sat on a concrete barrier blocking the entrance to Beirut’s ritzy downtown district. Coils of razor wire were strung out behind the wall and riot police stood inside the barrier to dissuade the few protesters gathered from crossing.
As some of Lebanon’s most powerful politicians gathered in a national dialogue session that day, those entering downtown had to explain their business to police. The barricade was later dismantled, but even before it went up protesters felt that Beirut’s rebuilt downtown was an exclusive club that they were not welcome.
Since the protests began, Nejmeh Square — home to parliament, an iconic clock tower and pavement cafes — has been mostly closed to the public.
Last week, after the head of the Beirut Traders Association accused protesters of “cheapening” downtown, activists called for a flea market selling cheap goods. People who could not afford to hang out in pricey cafes downtown or shop in its exclusive boutiques flooded the area on Saturday, eating street food, dancing, purchasing inexpensive clothing and books and even getting cheap haircuts.
“We are not living in fairness. They [politicians] steal from us. Everything is expensive. The young guys like us don’t have a voice,” said Abdullah Mabrouk, 21.
Coming from a poor family in the Hizbollah-controlled neighbourhood of Harat Hraik in Beirut’s southern suburbs, Mr Mabrouk started work at 14 to support his family.
Working long shifts that ran into the morning as a waiter at an upscale Beirut nightclub got in the way of his education and he is only in his final year of secondary school despite his age. The experience also showed him the gap between rich and poor and how difficult it is to claw out of poverty. One day, he hopes to go to university and become an architect.
“Everyone thinks like me in Lebanon, but they don’t have the ability — everything is expensive,” he said.