Tanya Habjouqa:

Fears for civil war remain a frightening possibility among those old enough to remember the bloodiest chapter of Lebanon's history. Yet those who are taking to the streets under Nasrallah's rhetoric are primarily youth, and the vibrancy feels more akin to a rock festival than murmurings of a coup d'etat. Not until standing amongst the Grozny-like ruins of Bint Jbail in southern Lebanon does it feel real - a reminder of the recent war driving the agendas of both Siniora's beleaguered government and Nasrallah's mobilized protest orgy. Returning to Bint Jbail for the first time since the middle of the war proves cathartic, seeing clean-up efforts and life returning. We find a family willing to share their story, expressing their desire to join the throngs of protesters on Sunday - heeding the call of Nasrallah to demand what they say is fair representation in Lebanon. Yet it is not until their nieces return home from school - wearing jeans, burgundy blouses, and hijab that I am truly jarred to a reminder of war. Their 13-year-old niece, Ala, has the face of Amelie Poulain with a frailty mixed with grace. Something about her is familiar... but I can't place it. She recalls fleeing Bint Jbail on a motorcycle clutching a white sheet with her father and 15-year-old sister, trying to find safe ground. An IDF aerial attack on the road killed her sister and severely wounded Ala and her father. She recounted the story with a frozen, peculiar smile. Prompted by her uncle, she pulls her jeans up to show her war wound on the top of her foot, a ghastly scar still raw despite almost four months of healing. Only then does her smile crack, and she ducks her face to hide the tears that instantly well up, taking me back to the first time I saw her face this summer in a hospital in Tyre. I ask her if she and her father had been in the Hiram hospital during the war, with a head wound. She quickly regains her composure and says yes, furthermore admitting that she remembered me photographing her. You don't forget a face like that, and from all I photographed on the Lebanese end of the Hezbollah-Israel war this summer, it was her memory that haunted me. It was the combination of her quiet tears mixed with the angry and agonized howls of her father pointing to his daughter, asking, "Does she look like Hezbollah?" Ala is healing in her way, and Lebanon reconstruction effort is slowly continuing. The question is, is Nasrallah leading his brethren into a collective vocalized therapy or picking at a very thin scar tissue needing to be left to heal in its own time? (this is taken from a blog I did for UK More 4 News while on assignment recently.) caption to photo/also electronically encrypted: A father and son walk through the carnage of Bint Jbail with a hezbollah flag, preparing for a visit to join the throng of protesters in Beirut under Nasrallah's edict for opposition.