In Lebanon, language during wartime is not a neutral description of reality but a means of taming it, or at least softening its weight. Israeli drones have become part of everyday vocabulary under ironic names such as 'the buzz' and 'Um Kamel', a play on the acronym MK. For nearly three years, they have not left Lebanon's skies nor its people's ears.
How Language Tames Fear
This naming reveals how Lebanese popular culture confronts violence, even in its auditory form. A threatening device is turned into something that can be named, mocked, and symbolically tamed. Phrases like 'how nice of you to visit' or 'it's here' are used as ironic greetings for an unwelcome guest, turning performative humour into a form of adaptation.
Constant Presence in Daily Life
In Beirut, the drones' hum is no longer a fleeting detail but a constant presence reshaping the relationship between residents, the city, and the sky. War is not confined to explosions or visible ruins; it is endured as a perpetual soundscape, a low, unbroken hum that reminds people the space above is no longer neutral.
Impact on Navigation and Work
Mahmoud, a delivery driver, struggles with GPS signals that sometimes disappear or send him the wrong way. He says, 'The job now demands double attention: not just to what's happening on the ground, but to what's coming from the sky as well.'
Animals Sense the Drones
In the Ras al-Nabaa district, pigeon-keeper Ibrahim notes his pigeons change direction when drones pass. 'The pigeons sense it before we do. If they are afraid, I know the danger is near,' he says.
Artistic Responses to the Buzz
Beirut's artists have woven the drone into their cultural fabric. Creative artist Karim Massoud compares the city to a resilient mother who continues despite hardship. He says, 'This sound will never become normal. It is a constant violation over the city and its inherent freedom.'
British painter Tom Young, who has lived in Beirut for over a decade, describes painting the sky in thick layers of black with turpentine to create 'tears', symbolising grief. He says, 'Living and working under this sound is psychologically unsettling, but it is also a shared communal experience.'
Graphic Design and Hope
Graphic designer Rana Salam sees the sound as a direct intrusion into privacy. She says, 'They are a constant reminder that we are under threat, and that someone is always watching.' Yet she highlights the city's refusal to surrender, portraying displaced people in vivid colours to create space for hope.
Psychological Impact
Dr Raed Mohsen, a social work specialist, observes that drones amplify the daily psychological toll. 'The constant, invisible hum alone seeps into the nerves and reshapes the sense of life,' he says. The sense of being watched is more disconcerting than the sound itself, eroding a sense of safety and leaving individuals in perpetual vulnerability.
He warns against normalisation: 'The real danger does not lie in the drones themselves, but in becoming accustomed to them. When intrusion into daily life becomes routine, dignity silently erodes.'
Coping Mechanisms
Along the Corniche at Manara, sports manager Walid Shaker finds psychological distance from the hum. He says, 'Sometimes we turn up the music to block it out. But the most important thing is to keep going.' Holding on to routine has become essential for maintaining life's balance.
Beirut's residents continue to adapt, using humour, art, and routine to cope with the constant buzz. Yet the underlying anxiety remains, a reminder that the sky is no longer a neutral space but a source of surveillance and threat.
