Geopolitical instability in the region does not end at the water’s edge – it extends below the surface, into Lebanon’s territorial waters. Maritime border disputes, particularly with Israel around Block 9 in the south, involve more than contested gas fields; they also threaten the preservation of invaluable cultural heritage.

Any discovery in these disputed zones would immediately trigger thorny questions of ownership. To the north, Lebanon has yet to finalize a delimitation of maritime borders with Syria, which could further obstruct future archaeological rescue missions.

Amid these high-stakes geopolitical tensions, another threat looms: looting. The black market for underwater artifacts is thriving, driven by unauthorized divers and compounded by insufficient coastal surveillance. Artifacts from Lebanese shipwrecks regularly surface on international markets, stripped of context and provenance, depriving researchers of vital historical knowledge.

Beneath the Waves: The Fight for Lebanon’s Submerged Past

Lebanon’s storied coastline hides invaluable remnants of ancient civilizations beneath the sea. But these submerged treasures are far from safe; they are under constant threat from a silent, yet relentless scourge: underwater looting.

At a major archaeological site off the coast of Tyre, the damage is stark. A once-massive ancient wall has been partially destroyed. Why?

“Because people come, often at night, armed with metal tools to pry apart stone blocks, convinced that gold lies buried underneath,” says Ibrahim Noureddine, a maritime archaeologist and Assistant Research Professor at Carleton University.

This form of vandalism is not new. For over a decade, organizations such as the Honor Frost Foundation and Lebanon’s Directorate General of Antiquities (DGA) have worked tirelessly to counter it by training young maritime archaeologists and raising awareness about the importance of heritage preservation. Still, the threat persists.

“What makes this fight especially difficult is that the perpetrators remain faceless. Anyone could be involved, and it’s rarely clear who’s behind it,” explains Noureddine.

Sometimes, the first clue emerges by chance: a fisherman hauls up a jar or statuette in his nets. Word quietly spreads, often across borders, and before long, the artifact appears on the international black market.

“We have traced items from a single shipwreck all the way to Spain. We reported it, but these trafficking networks operate like a ghost mafia,” he says.

“It’s a well-oiled machine: the fisherman sells to one middleman, who passes it to another, and so on until the trail disappears. Eventually, a Lebanese artifact ends up in a private European collection,” he laments. For this reason, some discoveries are deliberately kept secret to protect them from theft.

Even sites near military zones aren’t immune. In Tyre, the ancient port lies adjacent to a military base – a seeming advantage, but a limited one.

“Soldiers can’t monitor the sea 24/7. It is hard to tell the difference between a swimmer and a looter. The water is shallow, and the intrusions are subtle,” Noureddine notes.

What, then, can Lebanon do to truly protect its underwater heritage? 

“Education is the only long-term solution. People need to understand that preserving these sites benefits their community: it attracts tourism and supports local businesses. Heritage is an engine, both cultural and economic,” he insists.

In this quiet but relentless war, collective awareness remains the most powerful line of defense. Once history is stolen, it can never be fully reclaimed.

And this raises a pressing question: Are Lebanon’s existing laws enough to protect what lies beneath?

To be continued…

 

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