Bekaa Valley, Lebanon – A warm wind blows over the rocky, arid landscape of the Lebanon-Syria border, ruffling the silhouettes walking slowly through the mountain pass, clambering around two huge craters.
What used to be a densely packed road stretching all the way from Beirut in Lebanon, through the Bekaa Valley and on to Damascus in Syria via the Masnaa Crossing, has been reduced to rubble by Israeli bombardment. All travel has become near impossible.
Families now pass only on foot, carrying their luggage over their heads, carefully avoiding losing their balance while navigating the debris.
Until a fragile ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah was reached on Wednesday, Israel had been carpet-bombing Lebanon since late September. On October 4, its forces bombed Masnaa, the largest border crossing into Syria, on October 4 as it ramped up its assault on Lebanon nearly a year after it started a war on Gaza.
What’s left of Masnaa is barely enough to allow people through, not to mention the once-familiar trucks full of fresh fruits and vegetables that used to wind through the pass, going both ways.
“Since the strike, no produce has been coming in or going out, neither avocados nor bananas, even though the season is in full swing,” Abu Hussein, a young labourer who usually works at the site loading and unloading trucks, tells Al Jazeera.
Since no commercial trucks pass through now, he spends his days sitting in the shade on the side of the road or helping people carry their belongings through the debris. “This is a difficult economic blow for us,” he adds.
In 2023, Lebanon exported between 250 and 350 tonnes of agricultural produce daily to the wider Middle East region through Masnaa, producing annual sales of $176m, according to Lebanese customs data, including industrial exports.
Israel claims it hit the road to Masnaa to prevent Hezbollah from importing weapons from Syria, but it could well be the first step in a blockade of the country, locals fear.
Since that incident, all other official border crossings between Syria and Lebanon also have been bombed, and Israel imposed a maritime blockade on south Lebanon in October.
Across the country, Israeli bombs have burned more than 2,000 hectares (about 5,000 acres) of farmland, while 12,000 hectares (nearly 30,000 acres) have been abandoned by farmers fleeing for safety.
This means that 10 percent of Lebanon’s arable land has been lost – although this is considered a very conservative estimate. Of the rest, much has been left fallow.
Before Israel’s assault, nearly one in four Lebanese people were already struggling with hunger because of the country’s economic crisis and inflation, according to the World Food Programme. With Israel’s escalation of its attacks on Hezbollah in the country since September, “Lebanon’s food insecurity is set to worsen,” the agency has warned. “The conflict also threatens… more than 60 percent of Lebanon’s agricultural production.”
While Gaza has been suffering from an Israeli blockade for 17 years – now resulting in severe famine – many in Lebanon fear the same fate could await them.
Preparing for war – the farm
In Saadnayel, a few kilometres from Masnaa, a mudbrick farmhouse stands surrounded by abundant fields.
This is the home of Buzuruna Juzuruna (“our seeds are our roots”), an agroecological collective with Lebanese, Syrian and French members.
As the gentle autumn wind brushes through the orchards and goats bleat, the farm feels like a haven totally removed from Lebanon’s bloodshed.
Like most of Lebanon’s progressive agroecological collectives and farms, it has experienced much upheaval since the Israeli attacks. However, this particular collective has prepared itself for war.
“In case there is a total siege, we have prepared our ‘seed library’ and natural fertilisers and can achieve self-sufficiency if the borders and ports are closed,” Walid Youssef, one of the collective’s co-founders, tells Al Jazeera as he leads the way around the farm’s premises.
As he walks, he brushes aside generous bushes of rosemary next to the fields before heading into the barn which is filled with the warm, stingy smell of goats and sheep.
Founded in 2015 by a group of five as an experimental project, the farm has steadily expanded to encompass two hectares of land (five acres) on which it grows fruit and vegetables as goats, sheep and chickens roam around.
The animals and birds are useful for clearing weeds, producing cheese, labneh and ghee, while also creating their own natural fertiliser from their waste. “We also consume and sell the meat, the eggs, everything – we developed our own self-sufficient economy here,” Youssef explains.
Close to the animal farm is the plant nursery where the collective cultivates more than 1,000 types of seedlings into plants – from crops and decorative plants to aromatic herbs.
“I really love the summer crops, like tomatoes, cucumbers, and eggplants, as well as our diverse kinds of wheat,” Youssef says.
The seed library
But most important of all on this farm is the dark, dry room in the main mudbrick building that holds an invaluable treasure: an extensive “seed library”.
Here, rows of boxes filled with heirloom seeds are stacked on wooden shelves, each with its species and variety written in Arabic and French.
“Here, we have about 1,000 kinds of seeds,” Youssef said, foraging through the boxes. “We have about 50 varieties of tomatoes, and as many of chillis, eggplants and lettuce, as well as 75 kinds of local and traditional wheat seeds from all over the Mediterranean basin,” he adds proudly.
Buzuruna has collected the seeds from farmers from the south of France to Syria and even Palestine, thanks to its relationships with other like-minded collectives in those countries. Sometimes, members of the collective would travel to France to collect seeds from those farmers or Syrian members of the collective would bring them to Lebanon.
In the dark room which serves as a “library” of seeds, Youssef rifles through a box of red-white textured cranberry beans which flow between his fingers like beads. “These are very special for Lebanese farmers, they are a traditional kind found all over the country,” he says.
He joyfully presents some of his favourite seeds – a rare kind of tomato called “joy of the orchards” in Arabic, a Syrian apple tomato and a large Lebanese mountain tomato.
Buzuruna Juzuruna now has enough to supply all the farms in Lebanon if they should need it.
But first, the seeds must be shielded from the bombing, which is getting closer by the day. Buildings just a few hundred metres from the farm have been struck in recent weeks.
Youssef picks up a transparent plastic box filled to the brim with small bags of seeds.
“This box has samples such as fava beans, pumpkins, tomatoes and eggplants that we will hide somewhere far from here so that if there were strikes on this place, we would have a safety box in another place,” he explained.
“It is a small fortune; you can’t find seeds like these on the [general] markets any more. We have not only to save them but also to disseminate them.”
To this end, Buzuruna Juzuruna provides seedlings to farmers in need – currently it is providing vegetable seeds to 14 farms, and wheat seeds to another four. The collective provides the seeds and training on how to cultivate them for free. Other farmers are welcome to buy seeds. “These are seeds that are reusable, so they can then develop their crops on their own,” as opposed to industrially produced seeds, Youssef adds.
Most seeds available in the general markets that farms buy from are hybrid – genetically modified – and are produced by just four main multinational companies, such as Monsanto, explains Lea Martinet-Jannin, one of the French members of the collective. She speaks to Al Jazeera by telephone as she has been unable to return to Lebanon from France since the start of Israel’s onslaught.
At the moment,“Lebanon’s farming sector relies heavily on artificial hybrid seeds,” says Martinet-Jannin.
Hybrids are engineered to be more resistant to certain diseases or to yield a larger amount of produce, but the benefit comes at the price of being single-use only.
The crops cannot be used to produce new seeds to be replanted in the next season. This is expensive and creates a dependency because farmers have to buy them every year anew.
The seeds that the collective uses to cultivate crops are not hybrid and can be replanted.
For this reason, the collective’s seed library initiative is revolutionary in Lebanon – a country dependent on agricultural imports for up to 80 percent of its needs, including fruit, vegetables, meat and dairy products as well as seeds. Wheat, fertilisers, pesticides and machinery are also almost entirely imported.
The collective has held educational training courses for local farmers. “The goal was to raise awareness and guide the Syrian, Lebanese and Palestinian farmers of the area to have an idea about sustainable agriculture and so that they’ll have secure nourishment for themselves and their families,” Youssef explains.
“Today we are witnessing a war in Lebanon – this library’s goal is to help ensure that the farmers have self-sufficiency, so that they are able to grow crops from the seeds they have between their hands,” he added.
Food: ‘The last safety net’
“The multinational companies that produce and sell these hybrid, one-way seeds are subjugating small farmers and their families by making them dependent on a capitalistic, colonial system of agriculture. Developing heirloom seeds is an act of resistance,” Martinet-Jannin says.
The collective also aims to reverse the disappearance of food traditions and to preserve local heritage and culture, especially during times of war.
“As an example, our Syrian colleagues – they’ve lost their homes, they’ve lost their villages, their lives, during the Syrian civil war. But here, we can still grow the special kinds of small, heirloom eggplants and zucchinis they need for their traditional dishes – they can still hold on to something. Food can be the last safety net left when you’ve lost everything,” Martinet-Jannin explains.
“It is flagrant how the war is destroying local agricultural systems and traditions, particularly in Palestine recently – but this has happened over the whole region over the course of the last conflicts,” she said, referring to incidents such as when the United States bombed Iraq’s seed bank in Abu Ghraib during its 2003 invasion.
This autumn, some of Buzuruna’s members took part in a series of meetings and conferences about heirloom seeds and sovereignty in France. Although the collective usually attends such events, the region’s bloody context has presented it with a particularly serious agenda this year.
“These events focused a lot on Palestine, Sudan and Lebanon, talking about how to restore food sovereignty amidst the wars,” Martinet-Jannin says.
After attending the International Farmer Seeds Gathering in Antibes, France, which is held every four years, the collective members gathered for a one-week retreat in southern France alongside similar collectives from Syria, Iran, the Kurdish region of northern Iraq, Palestine, Egypt and the wider MENA region.
“We had longstanding connections to all these people and movements, but they had never met before. It was beautiful to finally create this connection between our local fights, talk about the issues we face, and how we can organise together,” she says.
As farmers all over the region face the combined spectres of climate change, drought and conflict, the meeting created a space for shaping an alliance.
Farmers face the dramatic effects of climate change, warming the MENA region by about 1.5 degrees Celsius (34.7 degrees Fahrenheit) more than the rest of the world on average by 2030. This poses many risks: droughts, wildfires, desertification, and loss of natural habitat.
At the same time, political reforms in many countries that have favoured large, industrial-scale farmers have further challenged family-sized and collective farming all over the Mediterranean basin. Regional wars and unrest have just added to the challenges faced by farmers.
“It was uplifting to feel that we’re not alone in our struggle. There are many other people who are getting organised and with whom we share common values, same horizons and desirable futures,” Martinet-Jannin says.
Back at the Buzuruna Juzuruna farm in Saadnayel, Youssef is sitting in the shade of a tree, flowers growing in front of the tent he lives in with his family. He has just been checking on the stores of dry food that his farm will distribute to food kitchens around the country to help feed those who have been displaced by Israel’s bombardment.
His children are doing their English homework while he sips a small cup of Turkish coffee.
“Usually, there would be rain now, but the seasons are totally unbalanced by climate change,” he sighs, looking at the bright, sunny sky. “This is why we have to fight here and now, so that our children can inherit a good world.”
