A French peacekeeper has been killed and three others wounded after a UN patrol came under fire in southern Lebanon, in what officials described as a deliberate attack.
The soldier was serving with the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (Unifil), which confirmed that one peacekeeper had died and three others were injured, two of them seriously, when their patrol came under small-arms fire.
French President Emmanuel Macron blamed the attack on Hezbollah. The Iran-backed armed group denied any connection to the incident.
It comes amid heightened tensions in southern Lebanon, where peacekeepers have faced growing risks since renewed fighting between Hezbollah and Israel erupted on 2 March.
A 10-day ceasefire between Israel and Lebanon came into effect on 16 April. The US, which announced the deal, urged Hezbollah to abide by its terms.
Everything suggests that responsibility for this attack lies with Hezbollah, Macron said.
France demands that the Lebanese authorities immediately arrest the perpetrators and take their responsibilities alongside Unifil.
France's Armed Forces Minister Catherine Vautrin said the peacekeeper had been part of a mission to reopen access to a Unifil position that had been cut off by recent fighting when it had been ambushed by an armed group at very close range.
Vautrin added that he was hit immediately by a direct shot from a small arms weapon and was pulled away by fellow soldiers, who were unable to revive him.
Unifil said the patrol had been clearing explosive ordnance along a road in the village of Ghanduriyah to reconnect isolated positions.
It said the team came under fire from what it described as non-state actors and condemned the attack as deliberate.
The Lebanese Armed Forces said the incident followed exchanges of fire with armed individuals, adding that it was coordinating closely with Unifil during what it described as a sensitive phase in southern Lebanon.
Lebanon's President Joseph Aoun condemned the attack and told Macron during a phone call that those responsible would be brought to justice.
Prime Minister Nawaf Salam has also ordered an investigation.
Hezbollah issued a statement denying responsibility, describing the accusations as rushed and baseless.
In late March, three Indonesian peacekeepers were killed in separate incidents involving explosions in the region.
Unifil has warned that under international law all actors are obliged to ensure the safety and security of UN personnel, adding that deliberate attacks on peacekeepers were severe violations of international humanitarian law and could amount to war crimes.
The peacekeeping force was first established in 1978 by the UN Security Council following Israel's invasion of southern Lebanon, with a mandate to confirm Israeli withdrawal, restore peace and assist the Lebanese government in regaining authority in the south.
Since then, more than 330 peacekeepers have been killed in the line of duty.
![Caterers, Countless Lives: Detroit Chef's Food Feeds Lebanon's War‑Torn Families","description":"In the suburbs of Dearborn Heights, a 47‑year‑old Lebanese chef turns her catering profits into lifelines for over a million displaced from Lebanon, illustrating how U.S. diaspora communities bridge crises from afar.","summary":"When war in southern Lebanon breaks out, hundreds of thousands flee to neighboring Israel and the United States. Amid rising costs, Mirvet Makki—Detroit‑based caterer—sets aside a portion of her earnings each week to sponsor families back home. Her culinary endeavor, which serves soured couscous stews and savory kibbeh, becomes a quiet lifeline for a nation in economic crisis. The problem mirrors a larger diaspora trend: U.S. Lebanese communities fund relief, rally politically, and keep cultural bonds alive, even as they watch conflict unfold from afar.","image":"https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1588097834006-0edc6c69d944?auto=format&fit=crop&w=640&q=80","text":"<p>In the Detroit suburb of Dearborn Heights, 47‑year‑old Mirvet Makki punches kitchen knives and pushes trays of fragrant Lebanese dishes, the same dishes that stir memories of her childhood village in Bint Jbeil. When the devastating war between Israel and Hezbollah dragged thousands of civilians into tent cities, a wave of refugees hit Lebanon’s southern coast—and the Lebanese diaspora in America felt a pull they could not ignore.</p><p>Every week, Makki allocates a slice of her catering profits to families in Lebanon devastated by aerial bombardments and land mines. She says the money is not a charitable donation in the truest sense. Rather, it is a trans‑national family budget trickle that keeps aunts and cousins fed while they await a return that may never happen. The funds travel across borders to a people whose homes have been reduced to rubble.</p><p>Lebanon’s displacement crisis has reached a scale previously thought unlikely: more than one million of the 6‑million‑strong population—roughly one in six—have fled their homes. The economic damage is brutal and the currency has weakened to the point that the U.S. dollar circulates in many rural markets. Food cost, fuel availability, and basic utilities have all collapsed, leaving communities hungry and desperate.</p><p>“I was thinking, ‘What can I do for other people?’” Makki says. “So I used my business.” She maintains a strict budget, limiting personal overhead to spare enough money for her sisters, nephews, and a small handful of friends who live in the most affected regions.</p><p>Many Lebanese Americans—some of them in the U.S. since the late 1800s—have become the de facto financial lifeline for Lebanon. According to the last census, roughly 625,000 Lebanese‑American residents live in the United States now, though many estimates claim the number could be as high as 1.4 million. Secretary‑General António Guterres shook hands with families in South Lebanon while speaking in Nairobi, underscoring how diaspora remittances are crucial to the country's survival.</p><p>Christians, Sunni and Shiite Muslims, and smaller Druze communities in Lebanon face distinct hardships, but their U.S. cousins unite over common concerns. When the U.S. voted to provide war aid to Israel, a wave of Lebanese Americans gathered around the “uncommitted movement” to protest, and the community also rallied to condemn a Michigan synagogue shooting. These political coalitions share a single aim: to be the voice and the hand for those who cannot lift themselves.</p><p>“When they see suffering in Lebanon, people’s immediate reaction … is for the community to come together, raise funds, raise money, and try to help everybody as much as they can,” says Akram Khater, director of Lebanese Diaspora Studies at North Carolina State University. “Most rely on one another – they are not looking to Washington for the furniture to rebuild.”</p><p>In February, Makki visited her homeland. She saw how the price of living had skyrocketed: a car rental that once cost $200 would now be a luxury. She felt the loss firsthand in a small roadside food stall that had dwindled to a single dish. That trip cemented her determination to channel her income back to Lebanon.</p><p>Some Americans are moving beyond bank transfers; they meet with families on video calls and, when possible, travel to Lebanon themselves to deliver goods or give a hands‑on hand. Nadia Bryant, a 37‑year‑old mother of Troy, Michigan, sends money to her sisters in temporary housing after their village of Ayta ash‑Shab was invaded. “They donated in direct form to orphans,” she says. “They do not even ask to put the money toward their own betterment.”</p><p>While the U.S. still cannot process immigrant visas for Lebanese nationals due to congressional stand‑by, many families despair. Attoui, a Detroit‑based fundraiser, has urged her relatives to immigrate. They are unwilling. “I have all my aunts and my cousins over there,” Attoui says. “So if you could bring [people] here, that would be a relief.”</p><p>Despite the personal losses and cultural distance, the Lebanese diaspora in the U.S. remains fiercely alive. They keep the poise of their homeland, raise money, and stand together in protest. As the war stretches on, the warmth of a pot of stew and the generosity of a family’s earnings become a quiet, daily rebellion against impossible hunger.</p>](/m/d1/2a/d12a9a3593712ff0281d85ddca1a552c8f027c57cb44d7ac67e0241a3bd37d9d/o.webp)
