Volume 74, No. 23, June 14, 2008

From Sancak to ‘St. Jacques’: The Armenians of Sancak Camp Fall Victim to Gentrification

By Elyse Semerdjian

Walking down the newly created sidewalk that cuts through what was the center of Sancak Camp, I saw a woman making her way through the rubble towards me with her purse in one hand and a cane in the other. When we came face to face she asked me in Armenian, “My girl, are you lucky?” Not knowing how to answer her question, I said “a little.” She returned with a request, “I am going to play the lotto, I thought maybe you could give me some numbers, and if you are a lucky person, I will win.” My companion and I provided six numbers off the top of our heads. When we handed her the numbers she said, “Maybe God will look down at me and give me a little luck.” Taking a gamble on the lotto provided better chances of finding a solution to the problem of Sancak Camp than relying on the municipality of Bourj Hammoud, Armenian charities, and churches, all of which have yet to offer tangible solutions to the residents who have been expelled and others who face the same fate with the next stage of demolition.

Sancak Camp is an easy place to miss. It’s tucked back behind a bustling shopping center in Bourj Hammoud and next to the high-speed traffic along the Qarantina highway. It’s one of the last standing Armenian refugee camps in Lebanon—not from the 1915 Armenian Genocide, but from the overflow of refugees following the 1939 Turkish annexation of Alexandretta. The name “sancak” means “province” and refers to the lost “sancak of Alexandretta” from which these Armenians hail. The camp lies, ironically, behind the building that houses the Bourj Hammoud municipality. Before its demolition, it contained about 300 shops and homes that housed around 160 families. Today, the remains of the camp lies in shambles with less than 45 homes still standing after two stages of demolition over the past year and a half.

The composition of Sancak Camp was complex when it was fully intact. On the one hand, it was composed of Armenian refugees from Alexandretta, the only remaining residents today as all other squatters have been removed. However, as demolitions took place in the past, such as the Tyro Camp demolition one block away, some Armenian families moved to the Sancak Camp rather than to other parts of the city. This means that some of the Armenians living in the camp are the descendants of the original Armenian refugees from 1915. The motivations for moving from camp to camp are likely economic because as prices rise throughout Lebanon these slums are some of the cheapest housing for the Armenian working poor. Over the years, other communities entered the camp as Armenians moved out of the camp into Bourj Hammoud, Antelias, Zalqa, and surrounding regions, and some sold or rented their homes to new residents who were sometimes immigrants from Syria, southeast Asia, and Armenia. By the time of demolition, deputy mayor Raffi Kokoghlanian estimated that only 30 percent of the camp’s original population was Armenian. When Bourj Hammoud municipality purchased the land, they began confiscating homes of squatters by lifting the tin roofs off shanties in order to prohibit new squatters from moving in. Some of this was done in haste, evidenced by the personal belongings scattered throughout the rubble: shoes, clothing, children’s toys, and posters.

There are a number of socio-economic factors that have led Armenians to continue to live in these slums. Sancak Camp homes are cheaper than the houses available throughout the city. This is especially true as these residents lack purchasing capital. The irony is that the Armenian myth of affluence bars the wider Armenian community from recognizing this as a problem within their own community, keeping solutions far from hand. Reactions from Armenians I have interviewed have ranged from denial as one Armenian doctor in Antelias told me, “These are not Armenians! Armenians are not poor!” Another Armenian characterized the residents as lazy and seeking hand-outs; in his words, “they need to work to build their own homes.” One Armenian social service worker said that the Sancak community was full of “prostitution, gambling, and incest” as a way to distance herself from the problem. The impression I was left with was that Armenians in the wider community had outlandish stereotypes about the poor in their community. True enough; the profiles of the Armenians who remain in Sancak today are quite grim. Thirteen-year old Katiya, who is a rare half-Armenian half-Arab resident of the camp, has quit school to sew with her aunt to help provide for her family. Her sister Fadiah, who is seven, feels no incentive to attend school any longer and just plays in the rubble of the camp all day long. Their father has had trouble finding sustainable work, but is a professional fisherman by trade. Until recently, they lived in one room, the only one left of their house after the last demolition tore all the houses along one side of their home, leaving three quarters of it unlivable. They have since left the camp and I am not certain of their whereabouts. The rubble from the last demolition has yet to be cleared away even though it took place more than six months ago, making the viewer recollect photos taken after the Nazi siege of London. The current condition of the camp—pools of running water from pipes, pieces of old furniture, and partially standing walls from now-disappeared homes—further emphasizes the general carelessness of the municipality and the developers towards the residents.

Indicative of a number of residents I met, Azniv and Hripsmae are both elderly. They keep each other company as their grown children are off at work. Azniv has a walker in front of her, but told me that she doesn’t use it as she is unable to stand without assistance. Her son works as a tow truck driver. Another relative, Taquhi, next door helps out; until recently she worked in a clothing factory but lost her job. Upon my most recent visit, Taquhi, stressed by the continual flooding of her home and pressures within the camp, dizzied and fell in the rubble injuring her nose and forehead. The family is hoping for some help from relatives in the U.S. when the time comes to buy a place and get out of the camp.

Help is hard to come by in Bourj Hammoud itself as most are apathetic about the fate of the remaining Armenians of the camp. Most families in the camp reported that they were receiving about $3,000-$5,000 compensation from the municipality, which is better than nothing, but still not enough to purchase even the simplest apartment in Bourj Hammoud. Some residents have resisted taking the compensation in hopes that a group freeze out with the municipality will result in better compensation.

As those residents grew demoralized, they took the money and left, but a few have continued to hold out. However, those who did take the compensation and whose homes were demolished were not able to afford proper housing. So, Hripsime, for example, used to live in the camp until her home was demolished six months ago; she moved to the neighboring 90-day camp (Dokuz Iyilik) across the highway, which is another small refugee camp of about 10 homes. In contrast, some of the spaces within Sancak are workshops and venders. One Sancak resident, Ara, is in a comparably better situation than the others; he has already moved his home outside the camp and only had his small shoe factory left. He complained that he was not selling shoes like he used to, that Asian competition, poor market conditions, and fear of another war in Lebanon are affecting his profits. He has since left the camp and his factory has been demolished.

The municipality is under pressure to provide better access to the commercial district of Bourj Hammoud, especially its prize Souq Arax commercial center. The Qarantina highway that runs next to the back end of the camp provides quick access to Bourj Hammoud for Beirut shoppers passing by. The ease of stopping off the highway can already be noticed by the frequented Antakiya kebab stand that sits on the highway, a favorite of Beirut drivers who can make a quick stop for lunch. The kebab stand is on the farthest rim of the camp and will be demolished within the next two years, leaving the owner at a complete loss. The owner of Antakiya kebab, as others, had no plans for the future. All along the highway, the tin roofed shanties serve as snack shops, pet stores, and shops selling baskets and brassware. In the new development plans, those shops will be replaced with new ones selling various kinds of crafts and goods on the bottom floor. I asked the developer, Vasken Chekijian, about the plan, and whether the same businesses will be able to open on the new development site. He noted that it would be unlikely as the rent will be too high for those shopkeepers to afford. The new site, ironically called “St. Jacques Plaza,” a strange play on “Sancak,” will have some artisan shops and other businesses on the bottom floor.

Above the shops will be residences, low-income housing for Bourj Hammoud’s working classes. In an interview with deputy mayor Kokoghlanian and Chekijian, they reported that the municipality intends to sell the apartments at cost to the future residents, at no profit to themselves. The projected cost of the apartments range from $45,000-50,000 for two-bedroom apartments and $65,000-75,000 for three-bedroom apartments. I asked Kokoghlanian if he expected any of the original residents of Sancak Camp to reside at St. Jacques Plaza. He commented that the income level of the original residents was too low to make living in the new apartments affordable. The plan is to encourage retention of Armenians in Bourj Hammoud as there has been immigration to other suburbs, a phenomenon that over the decades has led to Armenians living in Antelias, Zalqa, and other northern suburbs over the Bourj Hammoud suburb. The municipality hopes to create an environment that sustains the Armenian population—at least the preferred middle-class Armenians—and this plan is as good as any to provide incentive to young Armenians to stay rather than move away. There will also be a large parking structure on the site to try to solve the municipality’s parking shortage and hopefully bring more commerce into the city.

The municipality purchased the land, which had been owned by first the Ghandour and Hilwani families, and was then sold to a corporation called Yanco in the 1970’s. The municipality bought the land specifically to initiate this project. So far, the demolition of half the camp has resulted in a two-lane road with sidewalks designed to bring traffic into Bourj Hammoud. This had left about 90 residents in the camp as of January 2007; however, almost half of them are gone now as another part of the remaining camp was demolished six months ago. The residents now are living in the leftover rubble from the last demolition. Some homes are partially demolished, and as dangerous walls surround most of their living space, many people now often live in the only remaining habitable room. In some places, damaged water lines pour water over the mounds of rubble.

The best solution to the residential crisis lies in finding low-income housing for the residents expelled from Sancak Camp. One municipality worker went to great lengths to find a run-down building in Bourj Hammoud that could be refurbished cheaply, with apartments given to Sancak Camp residents in lieu of the small compensations they were being offered. The plan, prepared some time ago, has yet to be set into action by the authorities although it is often referred to conversation. When I asked about its implementation to the planners, I was told that there was no movement to implement the housing plan for former residents. Then again, one would think that such a plan, if it were indeed taken seriously by the mayor’s office, would have been well underway if there was any intention to look out for the now homeless Sancak residents. Now that most of the camp is gone—only about 15 percent of it stands and the final remains are slated for destruction in about two years—hope is something far from hand. Some former residents have moved into some of Bourj Hammoud’s remaining slums and decrepit buildings. Families may be living on the $3,000-5,000 compensation paid to them by the municipality. When it runs out, it’s difficult to say where they will go. Residents who were shopping for homes reported to me that they were not finding anything less than $25,000 on the real estate market. They were also not able to get loans from the local banks to cover the difference.

In terms of charitable organizations, there were some based in the camp prior to the first stage of demolition over a year ago: the Red Cross, Sisters of Jesus, and the Jenishian hospital. However, those services are no longer easily accessible and residents were quick to complain that no help was reaching them. Out of concern, I decided to visit Seta Pamboukian, the director of Jenishian. It was apparent that Sancak was not a priority for the organization, in part due to budgetary restraints. The director pointed out that “the municipality gave residents the opportunity to move into government housing near the stadium of Bourj Hammoud, but they did not take it.” Importantly, Pamboukian said that other refugee camps, like Tyro Camp, “was much more of a community. It had a school and a church for instance, while Sancak Camp is much more transient.” According to Pambukian, the fact that the camp had been used by squatters placed it in another category, one that rid the organization of any social responsibility for the residents. In fact, most Armenians I spoke with in Lebanon either did not know about the camp or viewed the residents with disdain and indifference. So, in that respect, Jenishian was no exception to the norm.

The 20,000 square meters that comprise Sancak Camp lies at a crucial intersection, not only for the commercial vitality of Bourj Hammoud, but also for the moral consciousness of the greater Armenian community. What is to happen to those residents facing the pressures of gentrification in Bourj Hammoud? Will Armenians continue to ignore the social and economic factors that have contributed to the persistence of this Armenian refugee camp for over 60 years?

These are not easy issues to deal with as the myth of Armenian affluence is quickly shattered by the presence of these Armenian working poor of Sancak Camp whose homes are about to become a parking lot for St. Jacques Plaza. Then again, if the greater Armenian community doesn’t want to face this problem, who will?

Elyse Semerdjian is assistant professor of Middle Eastern/Islamic world history at Whitman College in Washington state. She is currently a Fulbright Scholar researching the Armenian communities of Syria and Lebanon.