the Beirut Blast: The Messy Road to Justice and Recovery
By Toyah Höher | Culture | November 1, 2023
Cover Illustration: White beach in Batroun, Lebanon. Toyah Höher / The Amsterdammer
“Songs have been sung, books written, and movies made about Beirut’s glory, misery, and aura, but Beirut is a feeling that can’t be described. It can only be lived.” – Tamara Saade
In this summer retrospective, Toyah Höher takes the reader with her through the streets of Beirut. Between amaze and despair, hope for a better future for Lebanon persists.
On August 4 2020, 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate exploded in the Port of Beirut. More than 200 people were killed, 6,500 injured, and 300,000 displaced in one of the largest non-nuclear explosions ever recorded. Large areas of Lebanon’s capital city were devastated, and billions of dollars of damage generated. Three years after the explosion, justice for victims and accountability for those responsible remain elusive.
The death toll of the blast remains disputed – one Syrian family struggling to get their son recognized as a blast victim (which could make them eligible for compensation) accuse the authorities of discriminating against non-Lebanese victims. Lebanon hosts more refugees per capita than any other country, and refugee communities count among those most vulnerable to the country’s crises.
On the explosion’s third anniversary, an appeal to the UN Human Rights Council by over 300 local and international organizations, survivors and victims’ families claims they are “no closer to justice and accountability for the catastrophe.” The appeal calls for an independent fact-finding mission into the explosion’s causes, violations of human rights arising from the Lebanese state’s (failed) response, and obstacles to investigations of the blast. These demands have long been rejected by local officials, and progress by a domestic investigation has been repeatedly stalled by legal challenges against investigators.
A Human Rights Watch report revealed that although senior officials (including prime ministers and the President) were aware of the dangers of storing these chemicals, they had been haphazardly kept in a warehouse in the port for six years without appropriate safety measures. The Lebanese government is condemned for failing to protect the public’s fundamental right to life.
Amnesty International’s Deputy Director for the Middle East and North Africa, Aya Majzoub, said at the third anniversary that “The Lebanese authorities have had three years to investigate what caused the devastating explosion in Beirut’s port and to hold those suspected of criminal responsibility to account. Yet to this day, absolutely no one has been held responsible for the tragedy that unfolded on 4 August 2020. Instead, the authorities have used every tool at their disposal to shamelessly undermine and obstruct the domestic investigation to shield themselves from accountability – and perpetuate the culture of impunity in the country.”
The (literal) wave of destruction brought by the explosion came amidst an already trying time for the country: in 2019, an economic and financial crisis sent the lira’s value plummeting by more than 80%, classified by the World Bank as one of the most severe crises in the world since the mid-19th century, and worsened by inadequate policy responses from the government. 2020 saw inflation, unemployment and poverty soaring. Like the rest of the world, Lebanon was also grappling with the pandemic, which resulted in 1.2 million cases of the virus (in a population of only about 5.6 million) and saw the health sector at risk of collapse. The war in Ukraine and the subsequent surge in oil prices has also hit hard: Lebanon relies on Ukraine for 66% of its wheat imports, and the destruction of silos through the blast has made storing seeds difficult.
But life goes on. As the Lebanese people continue to cope with the aftermath of mutually aggravating crises, is there hope for justice and recovery three years after the blast?
Walking around in Beirut this August, the effects of the blast are still palpable. The streets of downtown are nearly empty. Almost everywhere you look, you can spot vacant or boarded-up window frames and shop fronts. Memorial paintings with the photos and names of victims line the street running along the site of the explosion. Tourists haven’t been as common since the blast, which isn’t helping Lebanon’s economic recovery.
What’s more, effects of the fifteen-year civil war between 1975 and 1990 are still felt today; many warlords of the conflict have served as the country’s political leaders ever since. The governing elite’s clientelism, mismanagement, corruption and impunity are recognized as being at the root of the failing Lebanese state. The armed militant group Hezbollah has more power than the national army. Since the war’s end, power outages are common and still unresolved.
In fact, walking around leaves you wondering whether leftover damage is from the blast, the civil war, or the general economic crisis. It would be anyone’s guess.
The Lebanese population has suffered several severe crises in recent years. Faith in state institutions is in decay, and hopes of improvement are dampened by weak prospects for political reform. Compounding conflicts contribute to lasting psychological trauma, disillusionment and brain drain.
I’m visiting a friend from Ghazze, a village in the Beqaa valley to the East of Beirut. She tells me she used to enjoy shopping in the Beirut Souks, but the economic crisis and the blast have left the shutters closed and souk alleys empty as shopkeepers cannot afford to open.
My friend spends 11 days excitedly showing 12 international friends her homeland. Economic, political and social conflicts take a backseat to the unique natural and historical beauty of a multicultural and multi-religious society. Indulging in the natural allure of Lebanon’s geographical diversity, its wealth of historical sites, Beirut’s vibrant nightlife, and mezze after mezze after mezze makes it easy to see that the Lebanese spirit is still kicking.
The ongoing crises aren’t entirely escapable, however. “When does the museum open?”asks a member of the group at the ruins of Baalbek. “When there is electricity,” our guide replies bluntly.
I met one of my grandma’s best friends from university for a drive around the city one morning. A German-born Lebanese, Fawzi storms his way through the lawlessness and swelter of Beirut traffic with the confidence of someone who’s been doing this for a long time – it’s his 87th birthday.
Fawzi and his wife (her 93rd birthday was just two days prior) avoid leaving the house unless their generator is running – neither wants to get stuck in the elevator during a blackout again, and the stairs are becoming more difficult to manage, especially in the unrelenting summer heat. When we arrive, the power is out, and we hike four staircases up to their apartment.
I ask him how he sees Lebanon’s future: What is the way out of all this? Is, as I’ve been hearing, political corruption the main problem? His reply is simple and matter-of-fact: nothing will change until the Lebanese government is able to collect taxes and use them wisely.
Three years on, an international investigation as demanded by the population and the international community could still establish responsibility and support justice and reparation for victims of the blast. A UK ruling establishing liability for a London company that delivered the ammonium nitrate to the port raises hopes for the success of civil lawsuits as an avenue towards justice, and more are on the way.
“Yes, the economy is terrible,” Fawzi admits. “But if you take a look around at the young people, they’re enjoying life and having a great time.” The vibrance and culture of Lebanon hasn’t gone anywhere. Eleven days spent in the country shows that the people’s unquestionable zest, warmth, and thirst for life appear to persist through anything.
Toyah Höher is a university student in Amsterdam. The views expressed here are not necessarily those of The Amsterdammer.
