Toxin-Spewing Generators Keep the Lights on around Middle East

A row of privately-owned diesel generators provide power to homes and businesses in Beirut, Lebanon, March 4, 2022. (AP)
A row of privately-owned diesel generators provide power to homes and businesses in Beirut, Lebanon, March 4, 2022. (AP)
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Toxin-Spewing Generators Keep the Lights on around Middle East

A row of privately-owned diesel generators provide power to homes and businesses in Beirut, Lebanon, March 4, 2022. (AP)
A row of privately-owned diesel generators provide power to homes and businesses in Beirut, Lebanon, March 4, 2022. (AP)

They literally run the country.

In parking lots, on flatbed trucks, hospital courtyards and rooftops, private generators are ubiquitous in parts of the Middle East, spewing hazardous fumes into homes and businesses 24 hours a day.

As the world looks for renewable energy to tackle climate change, millions of people around the region depend almost completely on diesel-powered private generators to keep the lights on because war or mismanagement have gutted electricity infrastructure.

Experts call it national suicide from an environmental and health perspective.

“Air pollution from diesel generators contains more than 40 toxic air contaminants, including many known or suspected cancer-causing substances,” said Samy Kayed, managing director and co-founder of the Environment Academy at the American University of Beirut in Lebanon.

Greater exposure to these pollutants likely increases respiratory illnesses and cardiovascular disease, he said. It also causes acid rain that harms plant growth and poisons bodies of water, killing aquatic plants.

Since they usually use diesel, generators also produce far more climate change-inducing emissions than, for example, a natural gas power plant, he said.

The pollutants caused by massive generators add to the many environmental woes of the Middle East, which is one of the most vulnerable regions in the world to the impact of climate change. The region already has high temperatures and limited water resources even without the impact of global warming.

The reliance on generators results from state failure. In Lebanon, Iraq, Yemen, Libya and Afghanistan, governments can’t maintain a functioning central power network, whether because of war, conflict or mismanagement and corruption.

Lebanon, for example, has not built a new power plant in decades. Multiple plans for new ones have run aground on politicians’ factionalism and conflicting patronage interests. The country’s few aging, heavy-fuel oil plants long ago became unable to meet demand.

Iraq, meanwhile, sits on some of the world’s biggest oil reserves. Yet scorching summer-time heat is always accompanied by the roar of neighborhood generators, as residents blast ACs around the clock to keep cool.

Repeated wars over the decades have wrecked Iraq’s electricity networks. Corruption has siphoned away billions of dollars meant to repair it. Some 17 billion cubic meters of gas from Iraq’s wells are burned every year as waste, because governments haven’t built the infrastructure to capture it and convert it to electricity.

The need for generators has become deeply engrained in people’s minds. At a recent concert in the capital Baghdad, famed singer Umm Ali al-Malla made sure to thank the venue’s technical director “for keeping the generator going.”

The Gaza Strip’s 2.3 million people rely on around 700 neighborhood generators across the territory for their homes. Thousands of private generators keep businesses, government institutions, universities and health centers running. Running on diesel, they churn black smoke in the air, tarring walls around them.

Since Israel bombed the only power plant in the Hamas-ruled territory in 2014, the station has never reached full capacity. Gaza only gets about half the power it needs from the plant and directly from Israel. Cutoffs can last up to 16 hours a day.

Perhaps nowhere do generators rule people’s lives as much as in Lebanon, where the system is so entrenched that private generator owners have their own business association.

Lebanon’s 5 million people have long depended on them. The word “moteur,” French for generator, is one of the most often spoken words among Lebanese.

Reliance has only increased since Lebanon’s economy unraveled in late 2019 and central power cutoffs began lasting longer. At the same time, generator owners have had to ration use because of soaring diesel prices and high temperatures, turning them off several times a day for breaks.

So residents plan their lives around the gaps in electricity.

That means setting an alarm to make a cup of coffee before the generator turns off in the morning. The frail or elderly in apartment towers wait for the generator before leaving home so they don’t have to climb stairs. Hospitals must keep generators humming so life-saving machines can operate without disruption.

“We understand people’s frustration, but if it wasn’t for us, people would be living in darkness,” said Ihab, the Egyptian operator of a generator station north of Beirut.

“They say we are more powerful than the state, but it is the absence of the state that led us to exist,” he said, giving only his first name to avoid trouble with the authorities.

Siham Hanna, a 58-year-old translator in Beirut, said generator fumes exacerbate her elderly father’s lung condition. She wipes soot off her balcony and other surfaces several times a day.

“It’s the 21st century, but we live like in the stone ages. Who lives like this?” said Hanna, who does not recall her country ever having stable electricity in her life.

Unlike most power plants, generators are in the heart of neighborhoods, pumping toxins directly to residents.

There are almost no regulations and no filtering of particles, said Najat Saliba, a chemist at the American University of Beirut who recently won a seat in Parliament.

“This is extremely taxing on the environment, especially the amount of black carbon and particles that they emit,” she said.

Researchers at AUB found that the level of toxic emissions may have quadrupled since Lebanon’s financial crisis began because of increased reliance on generators.

Similarly, a 2020 study in Iraq on the environmental impact of generators at the University of Technology in Baghdad found very high concentrations of pollutants, including carcinogens. It noted that Iraqi diesel fuel is “one of the worst in the world,” with a high sulphur content.

Generator emissions and “exert a remarkable impact on the overall health of students and university staff,” it said.



Homes Smashed, Help Slashed: No Respite for Returning Syrians

People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
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Homes Smashed, Help Slashed: No Respite for Returning Syrians

People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri
People walk along a street, on the day US President Donald Trump announces that he would order the lifting of sanctions on Syria, in Latakia, Syria May 14, 2025. REUTERS/Karam Al-Masri

Around a dozen Syrian women sat in a circle at a UN-funded center in Damascus, happy to share stories about their daily struggles, but their bonding was overshadowed by fears that such meet-ups could soon end due to international aid cuts.

The community center, funded by the United Nations' refugee agency (UNHCR), offers vital services that families cannot get elsewhere in a country scarred by war, with an economy broken by decades of mismanagement and Western sanctions.

"We have no stability. We are scared and we need support," said Fatima al-Abbiad, a mother of four. "There are a lot of problems at home, a lot of tension, a lot of violence because of the lack of income."

But the center's future now hangs in the balance as the UNHCR has had to cut down its activities in Syria because of the international aid squeeze caused by US President Donald Trump's decision to halt foreign aid.

The cuts will close nearly half of the UNHCR centers in Syria and the widespread services they provide - from educational support and medical equipment to mental health and counselling sessions - just as the population needs them the most. There are hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees returning home after the fall of Bashar al-Assad last year.

UNHCR's representative in Syria, Gonzalo Vargas Llosa, said the situation was a "disaster" and that the agency would struggle to help returning refugees.

"I think that we have been forced - here I use very deliberately the word forced - to adopt plans which are more modest than we would have liked," he told Context/Thomson Reuters Foundation in Damascus.

"It has taken us years to build that extraordinary network of support, and almost half of them are going to be closed exactly at the moment of opportunity for refugee and IDPs (internally displaced people) return."

BIG LOSS

A UNHCR spokesperson told the Thomson Reuters Foundation that the agency would shut down around 42% of its 122 community centers in Syria in June, which will deprive some 500,000 people of assistance and reduce aid for another 600,000 that benefit from the remaining centers.

The UNHCR will also cut 30% of its staff in Syria, said the spokesperson, while the livelihood program that supports small businesses will shrink by 20% unless it finds new funding.
Around 100 people visit the center in Damascus each day, said Mirna Mimas, a supervisor with GOPA-DERD, the church charity that runs the center with UNHCR.

Already the center's educational programs, which benefited 900 children last year, are at risk, said Mimas.

Nour Huda Madani, 41, said she had been "lucky" to receive support for her autistic child at the center.

"They taught me how to deal with him," said the mother of five.

Another visitor, Odette Badawi, said the center was important for her well-being after she returned to Syria five years ago, having fled to Lebanon when war broke out in Syria in 2011.

"(The center) made me feel like I am part of society," said the 68-year-old.

Mimas said if the center closed, the loss to the community would be enormous: "If we must tell people we are leaving, I will weep before they do," she said.

UNHCR HELP 'SELECTIVE'

Aid funding for Syria had already been declining before Trump's seismic cuts to the US Agency for International Development this year and cuts by other countries to international aid budgets.

But the new blows come at a particularly bad time.

Since former president Assad was ousted by opposition factions last December, around 507,000 Syrians have returned from neighboring countries and around 1.2 million people displaced inside the country went back home, according to UN estimates.

Llosa said, given the aid cuts, UNHCR would have only limited scope to support the return of some of the 6 million Syrians who fled the country since 2011.

"We will need to help only those that absolutely want to go home and simply do not have any means to do so," Llosa said. "That means that we will need to be very selective as opposed to what we wanted, which was to be expansive."

ESSENTIAL SUPPORT

Ayoub Merhi Hariri had been counting on support from the livelihood program to pay off the money he borrowed to set up a business after he moved back to Syria at the end of 2024.

After 12 years in Lebanon, he returned to Daraa in southwestern Syria to find his house destroyed - no doors, no windows, no running water, no electricity.

He moved in with relatives and registered for livelihood support at a UN-backed center in Daraa to help him start a spice manufacturing business to support his family and ill mother.

While his business was doing well, he said he would struggle to repay his creditors the 20 million Syrian pounds ($1,540) he owed them now that his livelihood support had been cut.

"Thank God (the business) was a success, and it is generating an income for us to live off," he said.

"But I can't pay back the debt," he said, fearing the worst. "I'll have to sell everything."