As Crises Build, Lebanese Fearful of a Failed State

For now, the army's siege has overshadowed the country's political crisis that since November has pitted the government of Prime Minister Fouad Siniora against Hezbollah and its allies, a struggle between the country's Sunni and Shiite Muslim communities that has taken on ominous sectarian tones. Early on, Hezbollah's leader, Hasan Nasrallah, ruled out the army's entry into Nahr al-Bared, but since then, the movement has not opposed the army's actions, a stance that may be as political as it is principled. The army draws many of its rank-and-file members from the Sunni region of Akkar in the north and the Shiite region around Baalbek in the east.

Many expect that crisis to reignite soon over the choice of a president to succeed Emile Lahoud, and the Hezbollah-led sit-in in downtown Beirut is about to enter its seventh month unchanged, save for the exchange of blankets and heaters in scores of tents for fans to cope with Beirut's humid summer. Others are bracing for the repercussions of a U.N. decision to establish a court to try suspects in the 2005 assassination of former prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri, a move adamantly opposed by Syria, suspected by many here of involvement in the killing. Some link the U.N. decision to the four recent bombings in the capital, including one Monday in a Christian neighborhood east of Beirut that wounded 10 people.

Naoum, the columnist, predicted that Syria was "willing to sacrifice all Lebanon, including their allies" to block the court.

"If Lebanon became a failed state and there is war, who will talk about the international tribunal?" he asked.

The specter of al-Qaeda-styled groups in Palestinian camps -- Fatah al-Islam in Nahr al-Bared and, to a lesser degree, Jund al-Sham in Ein al-Hilweh -- caught few by surprise here. But many have been struck by the fight put up by Fatah al-Islam, where perhaps 250 fighters from Lebanon and elsewhere in the Arab world have held out in a camp that covers less than one square mile.

On Monday, cars, some with headlights flashing, careened down a road past the Nahr al-Bared camp as bursts of gunfire echoed off the hills. A few buildings in the camp had collapsed; relentless artillery fire had honeycombed others. Relief officials managed to ferry in hundreds of pounds of bread and some medicine on Monday, the quietest day since a truce collapsed Friday.

Ein al-Hilweh, a dense, claustrophobic warren, was calm Monday after Jund al-Sham's fighters clashed with the army. Two soldiers and two militants were reported killed. To bring quiet, rounds of talks lasted hours Monday among the byzantine and overlapping authorities that hold sway in and around the camp: a faction loyal to Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, Islamic groups, pro-Syrian elements, military officials, opposition and pro-government politicians in neighboring Sidon, and Sunni clerics.

"We will make sure that they don't do anything that threatens the security of the camp," said Col. Khaled Aref, the representative of Abbas's faction there. "We -- all the factions -- agreed to put them under control."

Control, though, may prove a relative word.

"Are there other armies hidden in other places?" asked Salem of the Carnegie Center.

Along the street outside Nahr al-Bared, Talal Ayyubi opened his pharmacy for the first time in days, trying to find the ordinary in a situation that wasn't. An Egyptian soap opera played on his television as the sounds of gunfire filtered through his door.

Ayyubi was oddly at ease.

"We've gone through a lot of war, and we've always managed to keep hope," he said. "We've learned from the past."

He paused, then added, "Maybe a little."

Special correspondents Alia Ibrahim in Sidon and Lynn Maalouf in Beirut contributed to this report.