← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
Lebanon Ceasefire: An uneasy calm
00:28:35
After the deadliest day in the conflict, Lebanese civilians are given some relief
Loading summary
Transcript17 lines
- [00:00]
Johnny Diamond
This BBC podcast is supported by ads outside the UK
- [00:06]
Commercial Announcer
from Lashes for days with the viral Liquid Lash Extensions Mascara to lift in color from their brilliant eye brightener. Thrive Cosmetics is the go to for amplifying everyday looks. Plus every product is 100% vegan, cruelty free and made with clean skin loving ingredients that work with your skin. Amplify your everyday go to thrivecosmetics.com shine26 for an exclusive offer of 20% off your first order. That's Thrive Cosmetics 6C-A-S-E M E T-I C-S.com shine26 with VRBill's last minute deals, you can save over $50 on your spring getaway. So whether it's a mountain escape city break or a week at the beach, there's still time to get great discounts. Book your next day now. Average savings $72 select homes only
- [00:53]
BBC Correspondent
hello. Today we report on the fuel protests in Ireland, which have brought traffic across the country to a standstill. We're in Hungary in the days after Viktor Orban was swept from power. There's jubilation on the streets, but will it bring real change? In Japan, the art of aging gracefully is carefully cultivated. In Okinawa, we seek out the secrets to a lengthy life. And we're in Israel's northernmost town, where locals returning after a previous conflict once again found themselves living under fire. But first to Lebanon, where there's been a pause in the fighting between Israel and Hezbollah following President Trump's announcement of a 10 day ceasefire between Israel and Lebanon. Israel and Lebanon's leaders have welcomed the truce, but Israel's Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has said troops will remain in a security zone in the country's south. The Iran backed Hezbollah, which is not part of the Lebanese government security apparatus but is deeply embedded in the country, is has indicated it will abide by the ceasefire, but it said the ongoing Israeli occupation grants Lebanon a right to resist. More than 2,100 people have been killed since the conflict began early in March, with more than a million displaced. Hugo Bochega has been in Lebanon and was there on the deadliest day in the conflict so far at around 2
- [02:23]
Hugo Bochega
o' clock in the afternoon on the 8th of April at explosions echo through Beirut. This is a city that has survived many wars and some of its buildings and many of its people still carry the bruises of old conflicts. I've been living in this country for two and a half years and since I got here Lebanon has known almost nothing but war. I've become used to the sound of Israeli drones circling overhead and the loud explosions in the distance, sometimes shattering my windows, waking me up in the middle of the night, but rarely making me scared. Beirut has always adapted to wars, and so have I. But that day was different. More than 100 airstrikes in Beirut, places that had never been targeted before, were hit as families were gathered at home while others were at work or out shopping. It all happened suddenly, without warning. Israel said it was targeting Hezbollah. But no matter the ideology or belief, there was a feeling among many Lebanese that this had been an attack on everyone. More than 350 people were killed, a third of them women, children and the elderly. For a moment, a country that is usually so divided was united in pain and anger. It was one of the deadliest days in Lebanon's recent history is become known here as Black Wednesday. I drove to one of the sites, hit. A plume of smoke emerged from a building that had been targeted just across the street from where one of my colleagues lives with his wife and two children. I instantly thought of them. This wasn't a place we would consider a Hezbollah controlled area. In a selfish way, we got used to the war being there, not not here. I saw in people's faces the despair and the sadness. With their bare hands, men and women, old and young, tried to peek through the rubble to save memories of lives that had been interrupted or lost. A man called Abdi came to see his brother who had been injured. There were lots of body parts. Only people are getting harmed. What should people do? We can't do anything. I wish I was a bomb so I could blow up whoever is responsible for this. The enemy has no mercy. By enemy, he was referring to Israel. Hezbollah and Israel have been fighting for decades, and many in Lebanon wanted to stop. Opponents accuse Hezbollah of defending the interests of Iran, which has funded, trained and armed the group since its creation in the 1980s. They say Hezbollah has dragged Lebanon into devastating wars with Israel and it must be disarmed. In Lebanon, Hezbollah is more than a militia. It is a political party and social movement, running schools, emergency services and hospitals in areas where the state has long been absent. The group has strong support among Shia Muslims in Lebanon. For them, Hezbollah is an essential part of their lives. In a community that has a history of being on the sidelines. Many believe that Hezbollah has given them power projection and protection. For Israel, Hezbollah is a threat that must be defeated. One of Hezbollah's official goals is the destruction of Israel, and Israelis have been on the receiving end of its rocket attacks for decades. The morning after I visited a different part of Beirut that was hit. Just one block from the Kunich, people were jogging by the Mediterranean shoreline as rescue workers still searched for people who were missing. In a partially collapsed residential building, a small crowd watched in silence. It seemed there was very little chance anyone could be found alive. Abbas was visiting his damaged home. His wife had been killed and their two children were in hospital, badly injured. Without electricity, in the dark, he used his phone to illuminate his walk. He stopped by the pictures that had been glued to a wall, removed the dust and looked at them, desolate. His was a shattered family. Another man, Muhammad, looked at the destruction in disbelief. For 50 years I've had no rest all my life. Let's hope this will be the last war and that things will get better, he told me. Beirut has had many rebirths, but people are exhausted. In parts of Lebanon. The the rubble of the old war had yet to be removed when this new one started. In a country that is a battleground for others, the soul of the nation is also in ruins.
- [07:04]
BBC Correspondent
Hugo Bochega the ceasefire has been cautiously welcomed by some Israeli citizens, but recent polls suggest the majority wanted the fighting to continue, arguing the threat from Hezbollah must be removed for good. Metola is Israel's northernmost town, and most of its residents fled back in 2023 when Hezbollah began firing rockets in support of Hamas October 7 attacks. Around half of the townspeople eventually returned, only to once again find themselves under siege. At least 14 people have been killed in Israel over the last six weeks. Nick Beak reflects on the cycle of conflict locals have endured.
- [07:50]
Johnny Diamond
Imagine a film set. The scene is a hillside village and it's a couple of hours after the director has called cut. The houses, shops and street furniture are still in place, but the actors are long gone. This is the feeling that hits me as we drive up to the town of Mutula, right on the border with Lebanon. The lushness of the cypress trees lining the route and the beauty of the snow capped mountains conspire to disguise that this has been the front line of a conflict that that's raged on and off for decades, and it's one that's integral to the chances of any sort of peace deal between the United States and Iran. Surrounded by Lebanon on three sides, the people of Matula have got used to being first in the firing line when Hezbollah launched their rockets. I am afraid, says ronit Weiss, a 71 year old retired headteacher. I try to be strong, but it's not pleasant to be here. Our conversation at the side of an empty road is punctuated by the sound of explosions, Hezbollah rockets being intercepted. The blasts become louder. But Ronnett does not flinch. I tried to put it all out of my mind, she explains, before recalling the experience of her mother, who fled the Nazis and arrived in Israel as a child. She had no photos, no mother, no grandmother. She was alone in the world. Ronit says she shares this memory on what is Israel's Holocaust Memorial Day. Hours earlier, a constant siren, less intense than the usual air raid alerts, echoed through the valley to mark two minutes of national remembrance. Ronit moved to Matula with her husband more than 20 years ago. She says she enjoyed working with a diverse range of people at school and in the community. I believe in everyone, she says. Arab, Christian, all the religions together. But they don't want us, she says of Hezbollah. They want to kill us. It is the existential threat from Iran and its proxies. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has long argued that means the fighting in Lebanon must continue. But now, under pressure from President Trump, Israel has suddenly agreed to a ceasefire. A truce here will help the US leader's chances of a deal with Iran. You might assume Israelis would greet this news with relief, but communities in the north in particular say they've been betrayed by a quick deal hatched in America. Without them, they fear the proposed occupation of southern Lebanon by Israeli troops. A so called buffer zone, which Israel says will help protect communities like Matula, would simply be a return to the uncertainty of the 1980s and 1990s. If the start of the Iran war supposedly showed the influence of Mr. Netanyahu with speculation he persuaded President Trump to join an attack on Iran, then this latest development reminds us of who is really in charge. At least that's what 63 year old Yossi Asor believes. Whatever Trump says, that's what will be and we'll have to deal with it. So it's not up to us. We meet Yossi in a small white office with four large screens on the wall showing what dozens of CCTV cameras around Metula are monitoring. This is the headquarters of the local civil defense unit, volunteers who respond when Hezbollah rockets target the town. Hezbollah want to wipe Israel off the map, he tells us. They are just sitting and waiting for the opportunity. That's the reason that most people don't want a ceasefire, because a ceasefire now will leave us in the same position as before. We need to finish this problem once and for all. That is the overwhelming sentiment of Israeli Jews. According to research among Israeli Arabs, most have wanted the campaign to stop 99% of the deaths in this latest fighting have been on the Lebanese side as a result of hundreds of Israeli airstrikes. Yossi never left Mutula, but 1,000 other residents have gradually returned following a mass evacuation when fighting exploded in autumn 2023 after the October 7 Hamas attacks and Hezbollah joined the assault on Israel. You'd never guess so many people live in this place, you just don't see them. I asked Yossi what these latest six weeks of fighting have been like for him. Well, not like 2023, when the danger was massive, he explains. Then all the families were evacuated to Tel Aviv, but now our families are here, so it's been very rough for us. It's this seemingly endless cycle of violence, periods of heightened or reduced peril that has exhausted these communities of northern Israel. A national survey published this week asked Israelis to sum up their emotional state in one word. A third of respondents chose the same one despair.
- [12:41]
BBC Correspondent
Nick Beek the curtain fell last weekend on 16 years of Viktor Orban's rule as prime minister of Hungary after he lost the general election in a landslide victory to Peter Modjo and his Tisa party. The new leader has promised to repair frayed relations with the EU, including unblocking a 90 billion euros loan for Ukraine. Our Budapest correspondent Nick Thorpe, has long covered Mr. Orban's rise and fall and the campaign of the one time political ally who is now set to replace him.
- [13:15]
Nick Thorpe
There's a woman in this office whose husband is in Fides, the mayor of one Hungarian town told a leading figure in the Tisa party on Monday morning. Do you want me to fire her? Is she good at her job? The man from Tisza asked. Of course. Then please don't fire her. We have no intention of governing like Fides, he replied. That's just one of many examples I've come across this week of the dominant mentality in Hungary after 16 years of Viktor Orban's rule. In communist times, they called it contra selection. Everyone expects those in power to control everything, from the appointment of humble clerks to secondary school principals to senior judges. One reason why the Tisa Party won so decisively in Hungary last weekend is that Hungarians are fed up with that way of thinking, just as they were back in 1989 when the Communists fell. The tragedy of Viktor Orban as the talented young man who pushed out the Communists in 1989 is that his government 30 years later came to exercise power in a similar way. Single party rule There are plenty of good professionals in the police and the secret services, former intelligence officer Peter Budda told me. But There are also the loyalists who, either out of conviction or watching their career prospects, serve the Fidesz government rather than the Republic. On the eve of this election, two senior police officers spoke out publicly about how the security services were manipulated by the government to harm the opposition. That prompted Peter Magyar, in his victory speech on Sunday night, to describe the whistleblowers as heroes. At 3:30 on Monday morning, a friend witnessed the following scene. Crowds of young people dancing in the streets all night to celebrate the defeat of the Orban government started chanting heroes. At two police cars trying to protect the revellers from the traffic on a busy boulevard. The window of the police car rolled down and the police started waving at the youngsters. It was a revolutionary moment, reminiscent once again of the streets of Prague or Berlin or Bucharest in the astonishing autumn and winter of 1989. All week I've been toying with two explanations of what we've just witnessed in Hungary. One was suggested by John o', Sullivan, head of the conservative think tank the Danube Institute in Budapest on the eve of the vote. He described the election as a vote on whether to continue or end Viktor Orban's experiment. That reminded me of a ballad by Vladimir Mehrta, a famous Czech musician, written in 1989, Konec's Experimentu the End of the Experiment. Viktor Orban never knew quite what to call his experiment, but as long as it seemed successful and real wages were rising, the the Hungarians voted him back in again and again. But now it's over. The other explanation is by the Canadian political philosopher Michael Ignatieff. For him, what Orban, Donald Trump and the new right wing across Europe represent is the counter revolution against the post Second World War liberal revolution of human rights, women's rights, minority rights, gay rights and so forth. Viktor Orban's loss, it seems to me, has dealt a powerful blow to that counter revolution. Without him, it seems much less formidable. And not just here. So where does that leave us all? The hot spring sunshine in Hungary this week has lit up the grins on the faces of the winners and dried the tears of the losers. Supporters of the defeated party wore black to work on Monday. The shredding machines began work on Sunday evening, Beta martyr claims in rooms 523 and 524 of the Foreign Ministry to destroy incriminating documents. The Foreign Ministry angrily denied this. Some Ministry's staff have been offering digital copies on pen drives to the incoming Tisa party in exchange for immunity from prosecution. A good source in Tisza told me he refused the offer he said, because we don't want to govern like that anymore. Hungary's next prime minister, Peter Modyar, cut a slightly comic figure whenever he arrived at election rallies. A short, athletic figure invariably carrying a Hungarian flag. He looked like several heroes from my childhood storybooks, Jack and the Beanstalk, Tom Thumb, Aladdin with his magic lamp rolled into one. Whatever his faults, and he has many, he's a master of ceremonies. The stage on the shore of the Danube exactly opposite Parliament, the wall of flags, the choice of songs, even the perfect voting weather throughout the day crowned his victory. Only now, he says, does the hard work begin.
- [18:12]
BBC Correspondent
Nick Thorpe
- [18:17]
Commercial Announcer
this is the story of the One As a procurement manager for a hospital system, she keeps every facility in her network stocked and ready. That's why she counts on Grainger to be her single source for thousands of products, from disinfectants to lighting, air filters and more. And with fast, dependable delivery, Granger helps her keep every facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done.
- [18:49]
BBC Correspondent
Next to the Republic of Ireland, where roads in and around Irish cities came to a standstill for days last week as farmers, truck drivers and agricultural workers formed a blockade amid soaring fuel prices, which they said were crippling businesses. Sarah Girvin was in Dublin amid heightened tensions that prompted police intervention.
- [19:10]
Sarah Girvin
If you've been to Dublin, chances are you've been to o' Connell Street. It's played host to many historical events over the years. The General Post Office, the GPO can be found there with bullet holes from the 1916 Easter Rising still etched into the building. I'm here for another interesting day in the history of this place, because as far as the eye can see, lorries, tractors and cars of every color and style are parked on this central thoroughfare right in the centre of Dublin, completely blocking it off. It is quite a sight. The owners of these vehicles are mostly farmers and hauliers and they've traveled here from across the country. They're protesting at ever rising fuel prices, which have rocketed globally as a result of the ongoing US Israel war with Iran. Handmade signs and windows read no fuel, no food, and we can't afford to go home. Many tell us they're angry that their family businesses, their livelihoods, just can't sustain the rises and they're frustrated at the help on offer from the Irish government, which they say is simply insufficient. Katie Cooney is one of the younger protesters taking part. She traveled 70 miles to be here she's studying agriculture and her partner is a contractor in the farming industry. She tells me it's time to stand up or sit down and get walked over. This is our lives, she says. The protesters have been sleeping for days in their tractors and lorries. One man walks through the parked vehicles brandishing a bag of toothpaste as people wake up, asking them if they've brushed their teeth. Further up the street is the Grand o' Connell Monument, built to honour Nationalist politician Daniel o'. Connell. He's watched over goings on here for more than 150 years. Now he watches supporters of the protesters butter ham baps and pour endless cups of tea, sustenance to keep them going. As a cool breeze sweeps in, one of the protest spokespeople, farmer John Dallin, is speaking to reporters, myself included. The government are that bloody ignorant, they're not listening to people, he tells me, but by God, they'll listen to us before we go. He shouts, cheers and roars erupt and protesters pat him on the back as he makes his way through the crowd. Later that day, Mr. Dallin is turned away from talks between government officials and industry representatives. But this isn't just happening in Dublin. Just outside the city, nervous travelers wheel suitcases up a motorway trying to get to Dublin airport on time as cars and taxis are unable to get by the protesters. A scene taking place across the country where roads and motorways are blocked by angry, frustrated demonstrators traveling in slow moving convoys while miles of traffic snakes behind them. Things come to a head In Cork, some 160 miles from Dublin, where protesters are blocking access to an oil refinery. Petrol stations across the country are running low or running out. A government minister says the Irish army has been asked to move vehicles and that it's being treated as a blockade. The announcement isn't well received by protesters. We're hard working people, one man says. We feed the country and now we're being threatened with the army instead of being helped. It's not right. But the Irish Prime Minister, Taoiseach Michal Martin, says blocking roads and infrastructure is not affair for of protest. Over the weekend, fuel trucks regain access to the Cork oil refinery. Some protesters are pushed back by Guardi, the Irish police, using pepper spray in an operation supported by the Irish Defence Forces. Arrests are made and just after 3am on Sunday morning, the O' Connell street protesters get a wake up call from Gardi. They're asked to move on and they do so peacefully. Other sites are cleared too. The Irish government then announces a support package worth £440 million for those most impacted by rising fuel costs. But by Tuesday, the protests have spread north of the border. We spend the day driving around Northern Ireland, catching up with the slow moving convoys battered by wind and rain and the inevitable traffic disruption that follows. Organizers say they're protesting in solidarity with those in the south. The upheaval isn't as dramatic as what we saw in the Republic of Ireland, but a point has been made. Police hand out fines and caution others for public order offences. Much newspaper ink has been spilled in commentary over the handling of the protests, with some writers suggesting they're not over, but rather on a break. Because while the protests have diminished for now, the pressure on people's lives has not.
- [24:20]
BBC Correspondent
Sarah Gavin and finally, from tech billionaires to ordinary folk nearing retirement, there's a seemingly endless interest in unlocking the secret to living longer. Many people look to the world's so called blue zones, areas that are home to a higher percentage of centenarians. One of the most renowned is the Japanese island of Okinawa. Christine Finn went looking for clues.
- [24:46]
Christine Finn
I recently marked a memorable birthday. I became in the uk at least an old age pensioner. Where to mark this life change at 66, well, somewhere 80 is still considered young seemed a good idea. And Japan's southern island of Okinawa is renowned as a tropical paradise for older people. Maybe there was a club with members keen to spill the secrets of longevity, though they're hardly secret. Good diet, regular exercise, a sense of community and a life purpose. Or as it's known in Japan, Ikigai in the west we are fond of puzzles and word games to keep the mind alert. In Okinawa there is no need for a pencil, just take a local bus. Checking the timetable at NA airport, I was surprised to also be given a sort of flowchart. How to pay the fare. Taking the bus north to Ogimi, known as the Village of Longevity, I took a numbered ticket as instructed and found a seat. An electronic sign displays the stops and the increasing fare due when getting off, but it has to be the exact fare. Next to the driver is a coin changer for certain yen notes and only old ones. When the coins appeared, I counted out the fare and put it in another box with the number ticket. It required surprising mental dexterity. The next day I walked to lunch at a famous local family run restaurant. The the owner, Emiko Kinjo, in her late 70s, is something of a rock star in global longevity circles. I'd read about her menus tailored for long life, using local and seasonal produce to promote gut health. High on carbs Low on calories, plenty of vegetables, whole grains, legumes, and key to my quest, some ingredients special to Okinawa. My table was soon filled with a dozen small plates and bowls, foods of many textures in seasonal colours. Dishes run through with the juice of the lime barine and flavonoid rich shiku wasa or the goya bitten melon, another well sunk superfood. From shimmering pearly pork to braised green papaya noodles topped with mozuku seaweed to tapioca and Okinawan doughnuts and served on traditional Okinawa tableware. Emiko came out of the kitchen to greet me. I was encouraged to look at her garden, which she tends every day, bringing years of traditional knowledge to the table. Along with the produce, she also cooks with food grown by other village grandmothers or obi, a team of supple suppliers. Underpinning this is the importance attached to maintaining strong social networks, in turn helping to lower stress and help mental wellness. It's known as the Maui Way, or common purpose. I walked past homes with outdoor bars where men met informally for evenings of karaoke and orchards of bitter melon trees, their abundant fruit ripe for sharing, an excuse for a chat. Time spent in nature is important and keeping to circadian rhythms. Visa Uehara, a young woman in her 20s who has friends in their 90s, kindly shared some tips for Ogini style living. Eating well was a given, but not to excess. The general rule is until 80% full and no need for gyms or jogging either. When there were those gardens to tend, high altitude shrines to climb to, and active work, fishing or weaving, we stopped at a cafe. The owner's friend came in just as I was explaining my visit to Agimi. I hope to pick up some tips for a longer life. I laughed, though they were too polite to say so. I saw an exchanged glance between them. They'd heard it all before. The next day I met a local nurse. She gave me a ride to my traditional lodging house and I thanked her with lunch, over which she revealed she had four centenarians in her care, all still living in their own homes. There are many birthday milestones in Japanese culture. 13th, 25th, 49th and 73rd, to name a few. A chance conversation with a tourist information officer directed me to an even more revered age specific to Okinawan culture, one which her father had just reached his 97th, known as Kaji Maya. Kaji Maya means pinwheel in Okinawan dialect, and pinwheels were toys many elderly Japanese played with as children. So the 97th birthday is a chance to mark one's longevity. An invitation to return to childhood, the tourism officer said excitedly. A license to be young all over again. Age, I was reminded, is but a number.
- [29:20]
BBC Correspondent
Christine finn. And that's all for today. We'll be back again next Saturday morning. Do join us.
- [29:27]
Johnny Diamond
Hello, I'm Johnny diamond, and I'm the presenter of the Radio 4 series how did We Get Israel and the Palestinians? We explore the complicated backstory of that Middle east conflict as the region endures another wider world war. Through conversations with experts with a variety of perspectives. We travel back through the centuries to examine the history of the land that's now so contested between Arabs and Israelis. And we try and understand the past that's brought us to such a present. How did we get here? Israel and the Palestinians? Listen on BBC Sounds
- [30:05]
Commercial Announcer
this summer. Don't squeeze in. Spread out. Find homes big enough for your whole guest list on vrbo. That's vacation rentals done right. Book your stay now.