Lebanon Crisis Brings Mixed Legacy for Riad Salameh

FILE PHOTO: Lebanon's Central Bank Governor Riad Salameh reacts after a news conference at Central Bank in Beirut, Lebanon November 11, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
FILE PHOTO: Lebanon's Central Bank Governor Riad Salameh reacts after a news conference at Central Bank in Beirut, Lebanon November 11, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
TT

Lebanon Crisis Brings Mixed Legacy for Riad Salameh

FILE PHOTO: Lebanon's Central Bank Governor Riad Salameh reacts after a news conference at Central Bank in Beirut, Lebanon November 11, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
FILE PHOTO: Lebanon's Central Bank Governor Riad Salameh reacts after a news conference at Central Bank in Beirut, Lebanon November 11, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir

Touted as the guardian of Lebanon’s monetary stability, he steered the tiny country's finances for nearly three decades, through post-war recovery and bouts of unrest.

Now, Lebanon’s central bank governor is being called a “thief” by some anti-government protesters who see him as a member of a corrupt ruling elite whose mismanagement has driven the country to the edge of bankruptcy.

The changing fortunes of Riad Salameh, a 69-year-old former investment banker, mirror the rise and fall of Lebanon’s post-war banking sector, which he personally oversaw, The Associated Presse reported.

Last year, as economic conditions worsened and Lebanon was engulfed in mass protests, banks began imposing limits on cash withdrawals and limits on transfers abroad that continue to deprive depositors of access to their savings. In recent weeks, the Lebanese pound — pegged to the dollar for more than two decades under Salameh — lost 60% of its value against the dollar on the black market.

Protesters rioted, hurling firebombs and smashing ATM machines. Metal barriers rose up around the banks.

“They are like thieves, hiding behind their fortifications,” said Ahmad Rustom, 46, a self-employed carpenter standing outside a local bank in Beirut recently. “The fact that they are fortifying means they don’t intend to give people their money back.”

At the center of this tumult is Salameh, one of the world’s longest-serving governors. Prime Minister Hassan Diab's government has singled him out, blaming the bank's “opaque policies" for the downward currency spiral over the past weeks.

Salameh has declined an AP request for an interview but defended himself publicly against what he described as a “systematic campaign” against the central bank, blaming successive governments for the crisis.

“Yes, the central bank financed the state, but it is not the one that spent the money,” Salameh charged in a televised speech.

In perhaps the starkest warning to Salameh, the head of cash operations at the central bank was charged earlier this month with violating banking laws and money laundering, allegations the central bank denied. The official, Mazen Hamdan, was later ordered released on bail.

Salameh’s supporters say he did his best to keep the economy afloat and is being made a scapegoat.

David Schenker, the US assistant secretary of state for Near Eastern affairs, has weighed in, saying Salameh has credibility and that Washington has “worked well” with him.

Nassib Ghobril, chief economist at Lebanon's Byblos Bank, the country's third-largest lender, said Salameh "used the tools at hand to maintain the currency stability for so long, despite the fact that only the monetary policy was functioning” in the country.

Salameh is credited with preserving financial stability at critical junctures.
In 2009, he became the first Arab central bank governor to ring the bell at the New York Stock Exchange.

“I hope that through my work I have benefited Lebanon and its banking sector but for sure this is not an individual effort but that of a team at the central bank,” he once said in an interview.

Successive governments, however, did little to enact reforms or improve Lebanon’s infrastructure, while continuing to borrow heavily, accumulating one of the world’s largest debts reaching $90 billion, or 170% of GDP.

With Lebanon in constant need of hard currency to cover its massive trade balance deficit — it exports way too little and imports almost everything —Salameh helped attract deposits to local banks by offering higher interest rates than those of international markets.

When the flow of hard currency dropped, beginning in 2016 — in large part because falling oil prices reduced remittances from Lebanese working in Gulf Arab nations — Salameh responded with a so-called “financial engineerings” debt policy. This encouraged local banks to obtain dollars from abroad by paying high interest rates, to keep the state's finances afloat.

This approach is what his detractors now say proved too costly for the country. An economic recovery plan recently adopted by the government showed that the central bank had $44 billion in losses over the past years, the result of losing financial operations.

In the months before anti-government demonstrations erupted last October, panicked depositors pulled billions of dollars from banks, which subsequently closed for two weeks and later imposed stringent restrictions on withdrawals.

Protesters now shout insults at Salameh outside the central bank, surrounded with concrete walls and barbed wire on Beirut’s Hamra Street.



Iraq’s Displaced Kurds Hope to Return Home after Türkiye's Kurdish Militants Declare a Ceasefire

 Barchi village is seen around sunset time in Dahuk, Iraq, Thursday, Feb. 27, 2025. (AP)
Barchi village is seen around sunset time in Dahuk, Iraq, Thursday, Feb. 27, 2025. (AP)
TT

Iraq’s Displaced Kurds Hope to Return Home after Türkiye's Kurdish Militants Declare a Ceasefire

 Barchi village is seen around sunset time in Dahuk, Iraq, Thursday, Feb. 27, 2025. (AP)
Barchi village is seen around sunset time in Dahuk, Iraq, Thursday, Feb. 27, 2025. (AP)

Iraqi Kurdish villagers, displaced by fighting between Turkish forces and Kurdish militants that has played out for years in northern Iraq, are finally allowing themselves to hope they will soon be able to go home.

Their hopes were raised after the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, or PKK, on Saturday declared a ceasefire in the 40-year insurgency against the Turkish government, answering a call to disarm from earlier in the week by the group's leader, Abdullah Ocalan, imprisoned in Türkiye since 1999.

The truce — if implemented — could not only be a turning point in neighboring Türkiye but could also bring much needed stability to the volatile region spanning the border between the two countries.

In northern Iraq, Turkish forces have repeatedly launched blistering offensives over the past years, pummeling PKK fighters who have been hiding out in sanctuaries in Iraq's northern semi-autonomous Kurdish region, and have set up bases in the area. Scores of villages have been completely emptied of their residents.

A home left decades ago Adil Tahir Qadir fled his village of Barchi, on Mount Matin in 1988, when Iraqi ruler Saddam Hussein launched a brutal campaign against the area's Kurdish population.

He now lives in a newly built village — also named Barchi, after the old one that was abandoned — about 2 kilometers (1.2 miles) away, south of the mountain.

He used to go back to the old village every now and then to farm his land. But that stopped in 2015 when Turkish forces moved in and set up camp there in the fight against PKK, hitting the group with wave after wave of airstrikes.

Iraqi Kurdish farmers and their lands became collateral damage. The Turkish airstrikes and ground incursions targeting PKK positions displaced thousands of Iraqi Kurdish civilians, cutting off many from their land.

"Because of Turkish bombing, all of our farmlands and trees were burned," Qadir said.

If peace comes, he will go back right away, he says. "We wish it will work so we can return."

Fighting emptied out villages in Iraq

In the border area of Amedi in Iraq's Dohuk province — once a thriving agricultural community — around 200 villages had been emptied of their residents by the fighting, according to a 2020 study by the regional Iraqi Kurdish government.

Small havens remained safe, like the new Barchi, with only about 150 houses and where villagers rely on sesame, walnuts and rice farming. But as the fighting dragged on, the conflict grew ever closer.

"There are many Turkish bases around this area," said Salih Shino, who was also displaced to the new Barchi from Mount Matin.

"The bombings start every afternoon and intensify through the night," he said. "The bombs fall very close ... we can’t walk around at all."

Airstrikes have hit Barchi's water well and bombs have fallen near the village school, he said.

Najib Khalid Rashid, from the nearby village of Belava, says he also lives in fear. There are near-daily salvos of bombings, sometimes 40-50 times, that strike in surrounding areas.

"We can't even take our sheep to graze or farm our lands in peace," he said.

Ties to Kurdish brethren in Türkiye

Iraqi Kurdish villagers avoid talking about their views on the Kurdish insurgency in Türkiye and specifically the PKK, which has deep roots in the area. Türkiye and its Western allies, including the United States, consider the PKK a terrorist organization.

Still, Rashid went so far as to call for all Kurdish factions to put aside their differences and come together in the peace process.

"If there’s no unity, we will not achieve any results," he said.

Ahmad Saadullah, in the village of Guharze, recalled a time when the region was economically self-sufficient.

"We used to live off our farming, livestock, and agriculture," he said. "Back in the 1970s, all the hills on this mountain were full of vines and fig farms. We grew wheat, sesame, and rice. We ate everything from our farms."

Over the past years, cut off from their farmland, the locals have been dependent on government aid and "unstable, seasonal jobs," he said. "Today, we live with warplanes, drones, and bombings."

Farooq Safar, another Guharze resident, recalled a drone strike that hit in his back yard a few months ago.

"It was late afternoon, we were having dinner, and suddenly all our windows exploded," he said. "The whole village shook. We were lucky to survive."

Like others, Safar's hopes are sprinkled with skepticism — ceasefire attempts have failed in the past, he says, remembering similar peace pushes in 1993 and 2015.

"We hope this time will be different," he said.