Disabled Survivors of Beirut Port Blast Long For Support, Justice

A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
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Disabled Survivors of Beirut Port Blast Long For Support, Justice

A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo

Dany Salameh was already ill but a blast that devastated Beirut's port three years ago aggravated his condition, leaving him dependent on a walker and feeling abandoned by authorities.

People hurt or disabled by the catastrophic explosion told AFP that Lebanon, bankrupt and politically paralyzed, has failed to deliver adequate medical care, financial support or justice.

"The state forgot about us," said the soft-spoken Salameh from his apartment in a district close to the port, much of which was destroyed along with entire districts of Beirut in one of history's biggest non-nuclear explosions.

"I lost my car, my home, my job, my mobility... Yet no one looked after us," he added, AFP reported.

The blast on August 4, 2020 killed more than 220 people and injured at least 6,500.

Salameh was at his family home in a neighbourhood adjacent to the port when the blast threw him from one side of their rooftop terrace to the other.

Formerly a sound engineer, he had been diagnosed in 2015 with multiple sclerosis -- a lifelong condition in which a person's central nervous system is attacked by the body's own immune system.

While Salameh escaped bad physical injury in the explosion, the shock had a devastating effect on his illness. He soon found himself struggling to walk.

Vital medicine for his disease costs $140 a month, twice-yearly injections cost $1,000, and he said he needs an operation that costs $10,000.

But Salameh is unable to afford health care as he survives on family support and limited work opportunities.

His head was bandaged after a fall last month requiring stitches, and he said he had gone for months without his regular medication.

The blast came during an economic collapse that has crippled Lebanon's public sector and pushed most of the population into poverty.

Amanda Cherri, a former make-up artist, said injuries and constant pain forced her to give up her career.

"My life has ended. Someone stole it in only five minutes," said Cherri, 40, from the building overlooking the port where she used to work.

At the moment of the explosion, she was near floor-to-ceiling mirrors and two huge vases that all smashed to smithereens.

The shards pierced her face and body, leaving her blind in one eye and with one hand paralysed.

Authorities said the blast was triggered by a fire in a warehouse where a stockpile of ammonium nitrate fertiliser had been haphazardly stored for years.

"People who have become disabled have a right to lifelong support," said Sylvana Lakkis, who heads the Lebanese Union for People with Physical Disabilities.

Yet "to this day, many need treatment they cannot afford," she added.

Authorities have failed to keep track of the number of people left disabled by the blast, Lakkis said, but her organisation estimates that up to 1,000 people sustained temporary or permanent impairments.

At least four people who were disabled have died in the past year because they could not afford treatment, or received improper medical care, Lakkis told AFP.

"The explosion did not kill them. Their country did," she said.

Mikhail Younan, 52, needs a prosthetic knee but he cannot even afford a doctor's appointment.

He delivers gas tanks to people's homes, in a country where there is no mains gas for cooking or heating and state power cuts last most of the day.

His knee was injured in the blast and his other leg now gives him trouble too. He struggles to carry the heavy gas tanks up and down flights of stairs.

Younan said he has lost customers and earns just a fraction of what he used to.

"If the Lebanese state had helped me... I would have been able to live a somewhat normal life," said Younan, who has a teenage daughter.

Instead, "pain has become my daily companion," and he said he has "been living on painkillers and anti-inflammatories that have given me kidney problems."

Lack of accountability has long been a hallmark of the Lebanese justice system, which is highly politicized in a country built on sectarian power-sharing.

Political and legal challenges have beleaguered the local probe into the blast, with high-level officials filing lawsuits against the investigating judge who charged them.

No one has yet been held responsible and the investigation is at a standstill.

Younan said he wants his daughter to leave Lebanon as soon as she finishes school.

"I have no hope," he said.

"Every time the wheel of justice turns, someone tries to break it."



Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
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Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP

Narges Mohammadi, the Iranian 2023 Nobel Peace Prize laureate, will publish her autobiography and is working on a book on women held like her on political charges, she said in an interview published Thursday.

"I've finished my autobiography and I plan to publish it. I'm writing another book on assaults and sexual harassment against women detained in Iran. I hope it will appear soon," Mohammadi, 52, told French magazine Elle.

The human rights activist spoke to her interviewers in Farsi by text and voice message during a three-week provisional release from prison on medical grounds after undergoing bone surgery, according to AFP.

Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years, most recently since November 2021, for convictions relating to her advocacy against the compulsory wearing of the hijab for women and capital punishment in Iran.

She has been held in the notorious Evin prison in Tehran, which has left a physical toll.

"My body is weakened, it is true, after three years of intermittent detention... and repeated refusals of care that have seriously tested me, but my mind is of steel," Mohammadi said.

Mohammadi said there were 70 prisoners in the women's ward at Evin "from all walks of life, of all ages and of all political persuasions", including journalists, writers, women's rights activists and people persecuted for their religion.

One of the most commonly used "instruments of torture" is isolation, said Mohammadi, who shares a cell with 13 other prisoners.

"It is a place where political prisoners die. I have personally documented cases of torture and serious sexual violence against my fellow prisoners."

Despite the harsh consequences, there are still acts of resistance by prisoners.

"Recently, 45 out of 70 prisoners gathered to protest in the prison yard against the death sentences of Pakhshan Azizi and Varisheh Moradi," two Kurdish women's rights activists who are in prison, she said.

Small acts of defiance -- like organizing sit-ins -- can get them reprisals like being barred from visiting hours or telephone access.

- Risks of speaking up -

She also said that speaking to reporters would likely get her "new accusations", and that she was the target of additional prosecutions and convictions "approximately every month".

"It is a challenge for us political prisoners to fight to maintain a semblance of normality because it is about showing our torturers that they will not be able to reach us, to break us," Mohammadi said.

She added that she had felt "guilty to have left my fellow detainees behind" during her temporary release and that "a part of (her) was still in prison".

But her reception outside -- including by women refusing to wear the compulsory hijab -- meant Mohammadi "felt what freedom is, to have freedom of movement without permanent escort by guards, without locks and closed windows" -- and also that "the 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement is still alive".

She was referring to the nationwide protests that erupted after the September 2022 death in custody of Mahsa Amini.

Amini, a 22-year-old Iranian Kurd, was arrested for an alleged breach of Iran's dress code for women.

Hundreds of people, including dozens of security personnel, were killed in the subsequent months-long nationwide protests and thousands of demonstrators were arrested.

After Mohammadi was awarded last year's Nobel Peace Prize, her two children collected the award on her behalf.

The US State Department last month called Mohammadi's situation "deeply troubling".

"Her deteriorating health is a direct result of the abuses that she's endured at the hands of the Iranian regime," State Department spokesman Vedant Patel said, calling for her "immediate and unconditional" release.