By Sania Farooqui
BENGALURU, India, Sep 8 2025 – This year marks half a century since the start of Lebanon’s civil war in 1975 – a conflict that lasted 15 years, killed over 150,000 lives, and resulted in as many as 17,000 missing. Decades later, the legacy of that war is still everywhere: in the silence of classrooms without history books, in families who never knew what happened to their missing loved ones, and in violence made mundane in all parts of society.
Lina Abou-Habib
For Lina Abou-Habib, Director of the American University of Beirut (AUB), Lebanon’s failure to reconcile with its history has lefts wounds festering. In an interview by IPS Inter Press News, she discusses memory, impunity, and the need for a feminist, justice-oriented peace building process. “When the war started in 1975, I was 13 years old. When it ended in 1990, I was 28,” Lina recalls. “I believe we may be the last generation that truly holds this first hand memory of those 15 years of war.”
And yet, today, much of Lebanon’s younger generation has no real knowledge of what happened. There is no state history book of the civil war in the nation, leaving a void in collective memory.
“One of the most striking moments I’ve had with my students at AUB was when I asked them, ‘What is the Taif Agreement?’” Lina says, referring to the Saudi-brokered accord that formally ended the war. “Most of them didn’t know. When they searched for visuals, their first observation was this: there were no women in the room. Not a single one.”
And that absence matters. Women’s experiences of the war, and their understanding of peace were excluded from the official record. After the war, Lebanon’s parliament passed a general amnesty law, which granted immunity to political parties and leaders for wartime practices and absolved individual and group militia members for sexual violence, murder, torture and forced disappearance. “After the war, there was a general amnesty law, which basically told everyone to ‘turn the page’ and move on – without justice, without accountability, and without healing,” Lina explains. “This amnesty institutionalized impunity.”
The consequences, she says, are far-reaching. “If men who committed heinous crimes during the war walked away free, then why wouldn’t impunity extend into other spheres? If someone can get away with mass murder, then femicide or gender-based violence becomes ‘no big deal.’”
This normalisation of violence permeates everyday life, from the political sphere to domestic. It teaches citizens, particularly women, that accountability is not something they can expect. Impunity has been succeeded by a culture of silence – a wilful forgetting that allows the wounds of war to remain unhealed. “Impunity doesn’t just happen politically, it’s also personal,” Lina reflects. “To normalize it at the national level, you need to go through a kind of intentional amnesia. But of course, you can’t truly forget. You internalize trauma, and when you don’t heal it, you pass it on.”
Without truth, without accountability, trauma is passed down generations. Families whose relatives disappeared still do not know where they were buried, or whether they survived. Entire communities grow up with questions that remain unanswered.
It was in this silence that the women in Lebanon got together to become guardians of memory, collectively forming the Committee of the Families of the Disappeared, a movement led primarily by mothers, sisters, and wives of those who went missing during the war.
“Of the 17,000–18,000 people still missing in Lebanon, 94% are men,” Lina notes. “But it’s women who have led the search for truth. And that truth-seeking is not about revenge. It’s about recognition. It’s about the right to know.” For these women, truth is not a weapon but its dignity. They echo similar struggles in Latin America, the Balkans, and Africa, where women have been at the forefront of truth-telling and reconciliation movements. Even years after the war, Lebanon remains highly militarized. Weapons are common, often associated with masculinity and control.
“Peace and carrying arms cannot coexist,” Lina says bluntly. “They are fundamentally incompatible – it’s an oxymoron.”
She emphasizes that weapons are never neutral. “Who carries weapons? Who decides who should be protected and who is a threat? Guns are not neutral – they are tools of power, of dominance.” For women, patriarchy contributes to militarization. Violence against women in war is often dismissed as private, hidden, or silenced – and war only makes it worse. “War doesn’t stop gender-based violence. It amplifies it. Bombings don’t stop rape. Displacement doesn’t stop domestic violence. On the contrary, it exacerbates it.”
This reality is not an exception in Lebanon. Everywhere, from Sudan to Libya, women are still subjected to rape, sexual slavery, and femicide as instruments of war. And too many times, their suffering goes unnoticed. Other countries that endured mass violence – from Rwanda to the former Yugoslavia to Latin America – have built transitional justice processes around one central truth: you cannot rebuild without memory.
“You cannot move forward without truth,” Lina stresses. “You didn’t get to write a new constitution or form a new government without first addressing what had happened – without naming the pain, the crimes, and the people who suffered.” But the truth does not come easily. Power, she warns, is patient. “The powers that be will always try to wait you out. That’s exactly what has happened in Lebanon. They’ve just been waiting for the families of the disappeared to die – to literally disappear, one after another.”
The lesson, then, is perseverance: truth-telling must outlast systems of denial.
Despite Lebanon’s collapse in recent years, economic crisis, political stagnation, and social disillusionment, Lina sees a moment of possibility in recent political change. “If any real change is to happen, this is our window. And I fear we won’t get another one,” she says. The change requires bold steps, “Disarming unlawfully militarised groups; dismantling corruption; building a just and inclusive legal system; and strengthening independent civil society”. “These are not small asks,” Lina admits. “But this is what real peace looks like. Not just the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.”
Ultimately, Lina’s hope lies in Lebanon’s resilient civil society, a multi-generational network of activists, academics, feminists, and everyday citizens who refuse to give up. “The true actors of peace – the real builders of peace – are elsewhere,” she says. “Peace simply won’t happen if everyone isn’t included – especially not if women’s voices are excluded.”
Sania Farooqui is an independent journalist and host of The Sania Farooqui Show. She is soon launching her new podcast, The Peace Brief, a platform dedicated to amplifying women’s voices in peacebuilding and human rights.
IPS UN Bureau Report
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