Lebanese citizens, particularly those working in the tourism sector, had hoped for a promising season that might generate enough income to sustain them through the rest of the year. The visitors they were anticipating were not foreign tourists but rather expatriate Lebanese visiting home. However, reality fell short of expectations. The escalation of military strikes sharply reduced the number of expatriates willing to visit Lebanon and shortened the stays of those who took the risk.

Despite this, Badaro Street, known for its cafés, bars, and restaurants, bustled with life, both day and night. This lively area fostered a micro-economy of tourism, with investments supporting dozens of cafés and restaurants and providing jobs for hundreds of employees and workers. That all changed in late September, as many cafés shut down entirely or began closing their doors early in the evening.

Karim (a pseudonym), an employee at one of these establishments, recounts, “After the intensified strikes on the southern suburb, particularly following the pager attack, the number of patrons plummeted. It became very difficult for employees from the southern suburb to come to work. Then, to our shock, the owners decided to temporarily suspend operations.” The temporary closure extended indefinitely, leaving employees in a precarious position with no income to cover their basic needs. That came at a difficult time when many were forced to relocate their families to safer areas, incurring additional expenses.

“My salary was suspended immediately without any consideration for my vulnerable situation, despite having been a loyal employee at the café for many years. I did not even receive a single call to check on me or my family… I don’t think it’s fair for the owners to treat us this way… If I were an owner or an investor, I would have at least paid my employees half their salaries to help them cover their basic needs,” Karim says. Still, he acknowledges he is better off than some of his colleagues. He has a small side job, and his wife is employed and earns a modest salary, though it is far from enough. With monthly expenses exceeding USD 700 – including government electricity bills, generator subscriptions, water, internet, mobile phones for him and his wife, rent, and daycare for their child – Karim sums up his predicament: “I don’t know how my family and I will get through tomorrow.”

One of Karim’s challenges, shared by many of his colleagues in similar situations, is the difficulty of finding work elsewhere. “Take Jbeil or Batroun, for example. They’ve seen a significant influx of displaced people, and I’ve heard business in the cafés and restaurants there is thriving. But commuting daily to those areas is impossible, and renting even a small room near work has become unaffordable due to the soaring demand and skyrocketing prices for apartments and rooms due to the displacement,” he adds.

Restaurant and café workers are among the most vulnerable in the nightlife and tourism sectors. Many had barely recovered from the financial collapse, which had slashed their wages and tips.

Meanwhile, Jad (also a pseudonym), a partner in a restaurant on Hamra Street, describes his situation. His restaurant has seen a sharp drop in daily patrons, now limited to local residents, with no visitors from other areas as in the past. “However, our kitchen is operating at full capacity thanks to donations from friends and acquaintances in Lebanon and abroad, preparing nearly 1,000 hot meals daily for free distribution to displaced people in nearby shelters.”

All the restaurant’s staff remain employed and continue to receive their full salaries. “As owners, we don’t expect to make any profits this year. Usually, the revenues from the first eight months of the year go toward operational costs, taxes, maintenance, and other expenses, and we make our profits during the last four months of the year… This year, we might end up dipping into our own pockets, or at best, we’ll break even. In investment terms, this is considered a loss,” Jad explains.

The crisis revealed through the stories of Karim and his colleagues highlights how easily the rights and livelihoods of employees can be disregarded by some investors, especially in the absence of effective laws and oversight bodies to protect workers and employees, even with positive examples like Jad’s. As headlines and camera lenses focus on the immense suffering of the victims of war, the wounded, the displaced, and those with destroyed homes – and rightfully so – they often leave untold stories of thousands like Karim. Dragged into a conflict they had no say in, these individuals face hardships they were unprepared for, challenges that no one, perhaps, had foreseen.