All it took was a matter of seconds for Beirut to be demolished to the ground. For an entire city to lay in ruins. For lives to be irrevocably destroyed. For loved ones to be separated. For livelihoods to be eradicated. All it took was a few seconds of horror to provoke a lifetime of tragedy. 4 August 2020 is a day that has been ingrained into Lebanese history. A day in which the astounding ineptitude of Lebanese officials devastated the city of Beirut with the largest non-nuclear blast in history. Its cause? It was not inevitable. It was not bound to happen. It could have been avoided. Lives could have been saved. Yet the corruption and negligence of the Lebanese government has once again led to the anguish of their population.
LEBANON’S PRE-EXPLOSION TICKING TIME BOMB
In October 2019, Lebanese crowds took to the streets, demanding the fall of the corrupt ruling elite which has crippled the country, pushing it to the brink of collapse. Even before the devastating explosion which launched the country into a pit of despair, Lebanon had reached a point of paralysis as a result of its deceitful politicians which have long used state resources for their own personal gain.
The chants of “Revolution!” and “Kellon Yaani Kellon,” translating to “All of Them Means All of Them'' (with respect to the corrupt politicians) echoed the streets of the country as people rose up against politicians who have been thriving off sectarian politics and nepotism, enjoying the luxuries it brings them at the expense of their people.
Lebanon’s economic stagnation, soaring unemployment rates of around 40%, capital controls, and the COVID pandemic had already led to the country’s suffocation. Thus, while this explosion was catastrophic, it was not the root of the Lebanese hardship.
Before the explosion plunged the country into darkness, the country’s inability to afford fuel meant that the majority of the country lived amidst 22 hour blackouts a day, causing a significant deterioration in living standards.
And before the explosion shattered the glass of homes, offices, and restaurants across the city, the government’s reliance on debt to pay its bills, and failure to repay them led to the plummet of the Lebanese Lira, losing 80% of its value and unleashing shockwaves across the country, shattering its economy, and pushing the bulk of its citizens into destitution.
Before the toxic mushroom clouds of ammonium nitrate loomed over the city of Beirut, Lebanon’s air and water was already a paradise of waste and pollution, with sewage being pumped near beach resorts. Residents were suffocating from a garbage crisis where mountains of trash could be seen in the streets, compromising the health of its residents and environment.
Before the explosion brought hospitals to the ground, collapsing on top of the patients, doctors, and healthcare workers, Lebanon’s healthcare system was already disintegrating, with another lockdown being imposed due to a significant spike in COVID cases. The country’s dollar shortage meant that the hospitals were unable to import basic medical supplies such as masks, gloves, and ventilators.
Before the port erupted into a million pieces, cutting Lebanon off from its main source of import of food and destroying its national wheat silo, food inflation had skyrocketed by 200%, plunging more than 50% of the population below the poverty line. In a country renowned for its exciting flavours and dynamic cuisine, a loaf of bread remained a distant dream for more than half of its population.
The cause of the Beirut Blast is yet to be investigated. What is unquestionable however, is that it was a direct consequence of the negligence and corruption of the Lebanese officials. Newly surfaced documents reveal that authorities from Lebanon’s customs, military, security agencies, and judiciary raised alarm that a massive stockpile of explosive chemicals was being stored with almost no safeguard at the port, in the heart of Beirut. Yet, nothing was done. What kind of government sits back with the knowledge that the heart of its city is beating with deadly chemicals? What kind of government proceeds with its daily procedures, knowing that the threat of 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate loomed over the residents of Lebanon for more than 6 years, with officials being warned about it and doing nothing to stop it?
Some say the detonation was an accident, others say it was targeted, the rest say it was sabotage. Whatever the cause, the reality remains clearer than ever. The mere storage of such deadly explosives amidst the country’s civilisation in itself is a crime that the leaders should be held accountable for. One by one. Politician by politician. Kellon Yaani Kellon.
As President, Michel Aoun, says he has nothing to do with it, thousands of people mourn the loss of their loved ones. As the Prime Minister, Hassan Diab, claims he was innocent in the knowledge of such explosives, Lebanon grieves the death of almost 200 people and 5,000 wounded civilians. As Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of the influential Hezbollah Party and what many refer to as the “State within a State”, claims with utter callousness that his weapons were not stored at the port, contrary to many other analysts’ predictions, thousands of civilians head to the streets to search for their loved ones amongst the rubble that engulfed them.
It is precisely these lies and lack of accountability that led Lebanon to its knees. Every political official spews the same lies. The lies that highlight their refusal to accept blame for the actions they take while sitting in their palaces, as people die from hunger, from inadequate healthcare, and deadly explosions. Lies and excuses that riddle not only Lebanese politicians, but the entirety of the Middle East. Lies which resonate in more than just their sheer insult to the intelligence of those they are told to. Rather, each lie is equivalent to yet another dagger of glass hurtling through the air, piercing those in their vicinity whose only fault was to be part of a country whose politicians are so deeply corrupt, so incredibly uncompassionate and so insultingly incompetent that the only thing they have accomplished is the ability to point the finger away from themselves.
04/08/20. 6:07PM. THE NIGHTMARE FROM A FIRST HAND ACCOUNT
When the Beirut Blast took place, I was there in Lebanon. I was there in Beirut. I had made plans to be less than a kilometre away from the explosion. A last-minute decision meant that my plan changed, however, and that I stayed safely at home. But that is not the case for the thousands of people who were injured, who were affected, and whose lives will never be the same.
One of these people was my cousin, whose name shall remain anonymous. As a fifth-year medical student, she was on a shift in the Al Roum Hospital in Achrafieh, Beirut which was obliterated in the blast.
At 6:07pm, she sat at her computer, logging in the patient notes for the day. She usually would have left by then, but by chance had taken an extra shift that day.
It was quiet on her floor. Her colleagues had finished for the day and had gone home. When she heard a loud bang, she made a split-second decision which ended up saving her life. As she got up from her chair and went to the window to see what was going on, the second and third series of explosions detonated, causing the walls to collapse around her, swallowing up the chair and computer she was sitting at. The glass shattered into a million pieces, propelling her all the way across the room onto the rubble that once made up the room around her.
It was chaos.
She did not know what was going on. As she tried to get up, pain shot through her entire body from the glass which pierced her legs. Her white clinic coat was drenched in a crimson red. Her vision was blurry. As she stumbled to get up, one of her patients looked at her, screaming, “Your face! It’s covered in blood! There’s so much blood.”
Her instinct was to grab her phone, to call her family. “I’m alive,” she told us. “I think I’m alive, but I’m covered in blood. I think I’m alive, but I’m not sure”, she repeated over and over again.
“We’re coming to get you, don’t worry,” her parents told her. But she screamed down the phone, begging them not to come, not to walk into death voluntarily.
Then the line cut out.
As she tried to get up, to see if there was anyone around her, a pregnant woman and her daughter grabbed her and started running. As shards of glass protruded from her legs, she fled down nine flights of stairs. Each flight revealed sights of blood, death, and anguish that will forever be ingrained into her mind. The piercing screams of frightened children who were separated from their parents. The sights of people taking off their shirts to wrap the babies who were strewn on the side.
The woman led my cousin from hospital to hospital to try to stitch her injuries and check for any brain trauma. Hospitals were at full capacity. The ones that were still standing, that is. The hospital she was working at is now a matter of the past. As she looked around her city, the city that was once referred to as the Paris of the Middle East, she found it in ruins. Her physical pain was bearable. The sights she saw, however, were not.
As her family took to the streets of Achrafieh to try to find her, the roads were cut off. So, they walked. They walked the streets until they found her, five hours later, with the kind woman and her child. As they carried her to the car, they begged the soldier on the streets to make way, telling him that they had a casualty with them. “You may have a casualty,” he replied, “but the people in front of you have corpses.”
The physical injuries she endured were relatively minimal compared to others around her. Two of the nurses she had worked with that day died on the hospital floor. 40 stitches, a deviated septum, and a lot of bruises was a lucky break in comparison. The mental trauma she is still experiencing, however, is unquantifiable. The fear of loud noises. The anxiety of windows. The panic at being left alone.
Her story is one of utter pain and sorrow. Still, it is a story with perhaps a happy ending, a new beginning compared to those whose lives were ripped away from them and their families. All of this is a consequence of a government that is yet to show any notion of remorse.
This tragedy should not be another mistake that is moved on from. It should be a turning point. A point for reform and responsibility not only for this, but for all the hardships unleashed on Lebanon. For its role in all the deaths of not only the bodies, but also the hearts of its victims.
The resignation of the Lebanese government is only a small step in the right direction, but it is not enough. The empty excuses uttered by Hassan Diab are not sufficient. They are merely a temporary plaster placed onto a gushing wound.
The accountability must start now. One by one. Kellon Yaani Kellon.
Sarah is a third year undergraduate student studying BSc Philosophy, Politics and Economics at the University College London. She has a keen interest in human rights - with a particular interest in Middle Eastern Affairs due to her Syrian origins.