Storm Daniel Exposes Fragile Libya Infrastructure, Sparks Damning Criticism of Authorities

Mediterranean storm Daniel caused deadly flooding Sunday in many towns of eastern Libya, but the worst-hit was Derna. (Reuters)
Mediterranean storm Daniel caused deadly flooding Sunday in many towns of eastern Libya, but the worst-hit was Derna. (Reuters)
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Storm Daniel Exposes Fragile Libya Infrastructure, Sparks Damning Criticism of Authorities

Mediterranean storm Daniel caused deadly flooding Sunday in many towns of eastern Libya, but the worst-hit was Derna. (Reuters)
Mediterranean storm Daniel caused deadly flooding Sunday in many towns of eastern Libya, but the worst-hit was Derna. (Reuters)

The devastation left behind by storm Daniel in Libya has underscored the fragility and decay of the infrastructure in the country caused by years of instability since the ouster of longtime ruler Moammar al-Gaddafi in 2011.

Libyans lashed out at the ruling authorities for neglecting the infrastructure, accusing officials of corruption and squandering the country’s oil wealth during their struggle for power.

Mediterranean storm Daniel caused deadly flooding Sunday in many towns of eastern Libya, but the worst-hit was Derna.

Two dams in the mountains above the city collapsed, sending floodwaters roaring down the Wadi Derna river and through the city center, sweeping away entire city blocks and killing at least 5,100 people. Search teams combed streets, wrecked buildings and even the sea Wednesday to look for bodies.

Political analyst Ahmed Almhadoui said the interim Tripoli-based Government of National Unity (GNU) headed by Abdulhamid al-Dbeibah was “primarily responsible for the devastation.”

In remarks to Asharq Al-Awsat, he explained that the GNU had at its disposal oil revenues that previous governments had never managed to amass.

It should have used these funds to rebuild several Libyan cities that were left in ruins by the conflict, he added.

Moreover, he noted that the several audit reports had accused the GNU of financial mismanagement, adding that prior to heading the GNU, Dbeibah was previously in charge of an agency that was tasked with modernizing infrastructure.

Since the storm disaster, the GNU has dispatched technical teams to assess the damage in Derna. They found that 30 kms of road networks and five bridges were destroyed in the storm.

Meanwhile, head of the Belaady Organization for Human Rights Tarik Lamloum criticized the government of Osama Hammad that was named by the east-based parliament. He also blamed previous east-based governments for the tragedy.

He said they were largely responsible for the devastating consequences of the storm.

He told Asharq Al-Awsat that the Hammad government should have taken precautions such as determining the locations that were most at risk from the storm and evacuating them.

When the government met before the storm hit, it should have turned to experts who could have warned it of the risks at hand.

Neighborhoods located in valleys and near the burst dams should have been evacuated, he added, while noting that the majority of the construction there was unregulated.

Furthermore, Lamloum said the fragile infrastructure has been an issue in Libya for years, even when Gaddafi was still in power.

Everyone is responsible for the disaster, he declared, while noting that east-based governments never lacked the necessary funds to improve the infrastructure, rather they mismanaged the situation.

The eastern and western administrations were solely concerned with amassing their military forces, not construction and catering to the needs of the country, he lamented.

Given the instability and mistrust from both sides, the administrations dedicated their efforts to acquiring weapons and recruiting fighters in anticipation of the next round of unrest, he went on to say.

Political analyst Mohammed Mahfoud rejected the exploitation of the human tragedy to make political gains and trade accusations.

He told Asharq Al-Awsat: “We must acknowledge the reality caused by the political division endured by Libya for years.”

The division has weakened the executive authorities, he added, while noting that crises in the country are addressed through reactions and after victims are claimed, instead of tackling their root cause.

He remarked that in spite of Libya’s wealth, a revision of infrastructure has never been carried out and a center for predicting natural disasters has never been set up.



The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
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The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).

The road from Beirut to Damascus is now lined with unfamiliar scenes. In just a few days, everything has changed for those traveling to the Syrian capital by land from Lebanon. Once an economic lifeline for Damascus, the route bustled with visitors—Syrians and Lebanese alike—and large trucks carried goods from Beirut’s port to Syria, a necessity brought on by international sanctions that have forced the country to rely on this corridor.

The journey to Damascus via Lebanon begins at the Masnaa border crossing, which, during the early days of Syria’s upheaval, saw unprecedented traffic heading into Syria. While outbound traffic has returned to normal—or even declined—inbound activity has surged again. Hundreds of Syrian families line up at the border, hoping for “humanitarian exceptions” to enter Lebanon. However, the influx has clogged the route for everyone, even those eligible for entry. For days, the road was virtually impassable until Lebanese authorities intervened to reopen it. Still, complaints from Syrians about alleged abuses at the border prompted General Security chief Major General Elias al-Baysari to launch an investigation into these violations, followed by measures to reduce the number of entries to just a few hundred.

Some Syrians leave after being denied entry, only for others to arrive, clinging to the hope that Lebanon might eventually open its doors. Entry is now restricted to those with valid residency, travelers transiting through Beirut’s airport, or individuals with official documentation.

Families wait in cars, with children and women inside while men gather around fires outside. Ayman, a man in his fifties from rural Damascus, anxiously waits for permission to cross after being denied entry by the checkpoint. He mentions receiving a promise that his case will be reviewed. “We are in danger. I won’t take my children back to die,” he says, refusing to elaborate on the exact threat. Determined, he vows to remain in the deserted zone indefinitely if necessary.

Despite no reports of targeted violence against former regime supporters or religious minorities—especially Shiites—fear remains pervasive. Bilal, a Syrian from the predominantly Shiite town of Zahraa near Aleppo, recounts how a relative was killed and claims that his name is on a wanted list. “I’ll never go back,” he says firmly.

The scene repeats itself just past the first opposition-held checkpoint, opposite the abandoned Syrian passport office. Crossing is straightforward and no longer requires ID for Lebanese citizens, unlike in the past. A friendly greeting and a wave from the armed guards suffice, often accompanied by a smile and “Welcome!” This is a stark contrast to the past, when multiple military checkpoints, infamous for soliciting bribes in the form of bread, cigarettes, or cash, made travel cumbersome.

Now, entering and exiting Syria via land is remarkably easy—no paperwork, no questions, and no inspections.

Near a victory arch along the road, adorned with images of deposed Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father Hafez, stands a young man. His old car is parked nearby, with his wife and three children—all under ten years old—waiting inside. Hesitantly, he approaches a Lebanese traveler, asking whether he can enter Lebanon without the “yellow card” once issued by Syrian authorities for outgoing vehicles. Syrian border guards had turned him away, warning that Lebanese authorities might confiscate his car.

The man, from the Shiite-majority village of Foua near Idlib, is determined to reach Lebanon. “I’ve arranged for work with someone there, and I need to leave as soon as possible,” he explains nervously. Though he insists no one has harmed him, his unease is evident as he prepares to leave.

The Assads’ towering portraits remain intact, likely due to their height, while those at ground level have been torn down or trampled. Military checkpoints have been vandalized or destroyed.

Abandoned vehicles litter the roadside, some still smoldering, while others have been stripped of all valuables—tires, parts, and accessories. Military vehicles, tanks, and armored carriers, some still loaded with ammunition, lie deserted along the route from the border to Damascus. These remnants tell the story of a collapsed regime and an uncertain future.

Scattered among the wreckage are vehicles destroyed by Israeli missile strikes targeting Syrian air defense systems, including anti-aircraft launchers mounted on military trucks.

The stretch of abandoned military hardware extends from the Syrian border to the outskirts of Damascus. These vehicles were once meant to defend the capital but now lie powerless, deserted by soldiers who left their uniforms discarded along the roadside as they fled. The old Syrian flag lies tattered and forgotten in multiple locations, untouched—neither reclaimed nor mourned.