The south is isolated from the world; no communications, no internet, no contact, and no one to grieve. The strike by the employees of "Ogero, Alfa, and Touch" has paralyzed the sector, placing people in both a real and virtual isolation, with "ALLO" vanishing even from the "WhatsApp" world. People are preoccupied with finding a solution for communication, but all attempts have failed, and the hotlines and emergency numbers are out of service.
How do people view their new reality? The internet is gone; welcome back to the postman, who may regain importance these days in a paralyzed country incapable of addressing its crises. No one denies that communications are "the heart of the country," and without them, it collapses, as was evident yesterday when all communication supplies halted, disrupting banking operations and institutions, as if we had returned to the pre-Islamic era. Even during the war, communication never ceased; yet today, in a time of peace, the internet has been cut off.
According to sources, Ogero's employees will continue their strike until their demands are met, with no return to work until decisions become a reality. The sources confirm that "the telecommunications sector is the only productive sector in the country that generates huge amounts of money for the state, and what the workers and employees are demanding is merely their legitimate right." They do not disguise that "the strike will negatively impact the country and disrupt all movements within it, as everything is interconnected with communications, which means isolation is just around the corner." It is noted that "the state will not withstand this sector's strike for long, as its employees demand salary increases and transportation allowances in line with the Sayrafa platform like the employees of Alfa and Touch."
The sources indicate that the repercussions of the strike have begun to manifest with central offices going out of service due to a shortage of diesel, in addition to emerging malfunctions that cannot be addressed as employees are on strike. They assert that there is no trust in any decisions made, and there will be no return to work before salaries are aligned with Sayrafa along with transportation allowances.
In the face of this bitter reality, it seems that the days of the postman are returning. Abu Nasser, the old postman in the Nabatieh area, may dust off his motorcycle and leather wallet and return to service after years of retirement. He laughs when you ask him about "communications," quickly responding, "There's no communication these days; it's cut off." Never before has Lebanon experienced a time like today; even during the war and occupation, Abu Nasser was dedicated to his work, delivering messages between villages and towns, bringing smiles to people's faces with letters of joy.
He chuckles to himself, saying, "Can the age of the postman really return?" What surprises him the most is that "communications are cut off in a time of communications – what a provision for the age of the written word and the bag," he sighs. The interruption of communication has brought the postman back to the forefront; in the southern town of Hummar, the eighty-year-old Abu Nasser still keeps his tools, preserved for such times, as they represent the key to happiness for him. "If I used to deliver joy to people, today, communications have become a burden."
He asserts: "The age of the postman, despite the long wait, had value in written messages, whereas today, messages travel at lightning speed yet hold no value, quickly deleted, and amusingly enough, they require the internet, which is currently cut off."
Nothing can be ruled out these days, as the state awaits the message from the American envoy Amos Hochstein with bated breath, Ogero employees eagerly await the government's response, and the postman waits for changes in the situation to act accordingly. Only in old Lebanon does it return, and quickly too. So, welcome to the country of no communications.
