Explainer: Why Can’t Lebanon Elect a President?

A view shows the empty presidential chair after former Lebanese President Michel Aoun's six-year term officially ended, at the presidential palace in Baabda, Lebanon November 1, 2022. REUTERS/Mohamed AzakirRead less
A view shows the empty presidential chair after former Lebanese President Michel Aoun's six-year term officially ended, at the presidential palace in Baabda, Lebanon November 1, 2022. REUTERS/Mohamed AzakirRead less
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Explainer: Why Can’t Lebanon Elect a President?

A view shows the empty presidential chair after former Lebanese President Michel Aoun's six-year term officially ended, at the presidential palace in Baabda, Lebanon November 1, 2022. REUTERS/Mohamed AzakirRead less
A view shows the empty presidential chair after former Lebanese President Michel Aoun's six-year term officially ended, at the presidential palace in Baabda, Lebanon November 1, 2022. REUTERS/Mohamed AzakirRead less

Lebanon has been without a president for over a month, its legislators unable to agree on a new head of state.

The impasse is holding up a range of initiatives, from putting into place structural reforms for an International Monetary Fund program to allowing the country’s state-owned television channel to broadcast the World Cup.

Here is a look at the latest episode of political paralysis in the crisis-hit country.

WHAT IS BEHIND THE DEADLOCK?

President Michel Aoun, an ally of Iran-backed Hezbollah, completed his six-year term on Oct. 30. Lebanon’s deeply-divided parliament has met nine times to elect a successor and failed every time, worsening political paralysis and stalling measures to alleviate a crippling economic crisis that has pulled three-quarters of the population into poverty.

The weekly sessions have become farcical with most legislators casting blank ballots. Others have written in mock candidates, including late former presidents Nelson Mandela of South Africa and Salvador Allende of Chile. Parliamentarians often leave the session midway through, resulting in no quorum.

The tiny country’s latest spell of paralysis also comes as it is scrambles to rekindle strained ties with Gulf states. Hezbollah’s dominance in Lebanese politics over the past decade and their backing of Yemen’s Houthi militants against the Saudi-led coalition has angered Riyadh. In 2021, Saudi Arabia banned agricultural exports from Lebanon, nominally due to shipments being used to smuggle drugs, and later that year banned all Lebanese exports after a minister called Saudi Arabia’s war in Yemen “absurd.”

Lebanon’s paralysis in parliament reflects that stalemate.

“In order to elect a president in Lebanon, you first need to find a consensual figure who is not vetoed by major Lebanese players, and who is vetted and okayed by regional powers,” said Karim Emile Bitar, Professor of International Relations at Beirut’s Saint Joseph University.

The country has frequently witnessed political paralysis in its short and troubled history, including a presidential vacuum of over two years before Aoun’s election in 2016. In 2008, armed clashes erupted for a week, before politicians gathered to reach a settlement for a consensus presidential candidate.

Ibrahim Mneimeh, an independent reformist legislator, says the impasse has become the “status quo” and believes traditional parties are waiting for “foreign interference” for a settlement.

“Unfortunately this is happening over and over again.” Mneimeh said.

WHO ARE THE CANDIDATES?

Under Lebanon’s power-sharing system since its independence from France in 1943, a president has to come from the Maronite Catholic sect; the prime minister is a Sunni and the parliament speaker a Shiite.

While Hezbollah has yet to publicly name a candidate, public perception is that the group backs Sleiman Frangieh, a close ally of the party and of Syrian President Bashar Assad. The nominal candidate of the camp opposing Hezbollah and that often describes the group as a state-within-a-state is parliamentarian Michel Moawad. Both candidates come from established political families.

Moawad has received more votes than any other candidate, but has failed to garner a majority and is widely seen as too divisive a figure to reach the presidency. Meanwhile, Lebanese army chief Gen. Joseph Aoun has reportedly been discussed as a possible consensus candidate, though his name has not yet appeared on the ballot.

Parliamentarian Gebran Bassil, the son-in-law of President Aoun, the head of the Free Patriotic Movement party, and an ally of Hezbollah, has long been seen as Aoun’s successor of choice. Though he appears out of the running due to limited popular support and being targeted by US sanctions, he and his party have not yet endorsed another candidate.

WHAT ARE THE REPERCUSSIONS?

With no developments to break the impasse, most experts say that political blocs will focus on trying to extract maximum political concessions, including divvying up the appointment of ministerial and senior government posts.

A Western diplomat who had met with most of Lebanon’s political blocs told The Associated Press that they are playing a “waiting game.”

Hage Ali likens the current deadlock to a game of poker. “You keep your cards hidden, you don’t blink or flinch, and wait until the side breaks down,” he explained. “Everyone is maneuvering at this point, either showing up with a blank ballot or choosing a candidate who isn’t viable.”

Meanwhile, tensions between hostile political groups in Lebanon continue to worsen.

Hezbollah deputy secretary general Naim Kassem said the group would not accept a candidate who opposes its stockpile of arms and supports what he alleged was “the American-Israeli project” in Lebanon.

In the opposing camp, Moawad has slammed Hezbollah and its allies’ for ruining ties with the Gulf and the wider international community, and at a discussion panel said would prefer paralysis over a new president affiliated to them.

“We’re seeing a repeat of the past where Hezbollah and allies gives Lebanon two choices: either accept their candidate or have a presidential vacuum,” said Charles Jabbour, a spokesman for the Lebanese Forces party, a Moawad ally.

There are also fears that a prolonged paralysis will further delay a possible IMF deal to recover its economy and renew investor confidence in the country.

The IMF has set conditions following a tentative agreement last April, including amending its banking secrecy law, restructuring its banks, and formalizing capital controls. Lebanon needs a president to ratify any laws that parliament passes.

In the meantime, Lebanon is set to have the second highest inflation rate worldwide in 2022.

“We are already on the verge of state collapse,” Bitar said. “If the paralysis lasts more than just a few weeks or months it could lead to a complete collapse.”



To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
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To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)

Cash is the lifeblood of the Gaza Strip’s shattered economy, and like all other necessities in this war-torn territory — food, fuel, medicine — it is in extremely short supply.

With nearly every bank branch and ATM inoperable, people have become reliant on an unrestrained network of powerful cash brokers to get money for daily expenses and commissions on those transactions have soared to about 40%.

"The people are crying blood because of this," said Ayman al-Dahdouh, a school director living in Gaza City. "It’s suffocating us, starving us."

At a time of surging inflation, high unemployment and dwindling savings, the scarcity of cash has magnified the financial squeeze on families — some of whom have begun to sell their possessions to buy essential goods.

The cash that is available has even lost some of its luster. Palestinians use the Israeli currency, the shekel, for most transactions. Yet with Israel no longer resupplying the territory with newly printed bank notes, merchants are increasingly reluctant to accept frayed bills.

Gaza’s punishing cash crunch has several root causes, experts say.

To curtail Hamas’ ability to purchase weapons and pay its fighters, Israel stopped allowing cash to enter Gaza at the start of the war. Around the same time, many wealthy families in Gaza withdrew their money from banks and then fled the territory. And rising fears about Gaza’s financial system prompted foreign businesses selling goods into the territory to demand cash payments.

As Gaza’s money supply dwindled and civilians’ desperation mounted, cash brokers' commissions — around 5% at the start of the war — skyrocketed.

Someone needing cash transfers money electronically to a broker and moments later is handed a fraction of that amount in bills. Many brokers openly advertise their services, while others are more secretive. Some grocers and retailers have also begun exchanging cash for their customers.

"If I need $60, I need to transfer $100," said Mohammed Basheer al-Farra, who lives in southern Gaza after being displaced from Khan Younis. "This is the only way we can buy essentials, like flour and sugar. We lose nearly half of our money just to be able to spend it."

In 2024, inflation in Gaza surged by 230%, according to the World Bank. It dropped slightly during the ceasefire that began in January, only to shoot up again after Israel backed out of the truce in March.

Cash touches every aspect of life in Gaza

About 80% of people in Gaza were unemployed at the end of 2024, according to the World Bank, and the figure is likely higher now. Those with jobs are mostly paid by direct deposits into their bank accounts.

But "when you want to buy vegetables, food, water, medication -- if you want to take transportation, or you need a blanket, or anything — you must use cash," al-Dahdouh said.

Shahid Ajjour’s family has been living off of savings for two years after the pharmacy and another business they owned were ruined by the war.

"We had to sell everything just to get cash," said Ajjour, who sold her gold to buy flour and canned beans. The family of eight spends the equivalent of $12 every two days on flour; before the war, that cost less than $4.

Sugar is very expensive, costing the equivalent of $80-$100 per kilogram (2.2 pounds), multiple people said; before the war, that cost less than $2.

Gasoline is about $25 a liter, or roughly $95 a gallon, when paying the lower, cash price.

Bills are worn and unusable

The bills in Gaza are tattered after 21 months of war.

Money is so fragile, it feels as if it is going to melt in your hands, said Mohammed al-Awini, who lives in a tent camp in southern Gaza.

Small business owners said they were under pressure to ask customers for undamaged cash because their suppliers demand pristine bills from them.

Thaeir Suhwayl, a flour merchant in Deir al-Balah, said his suppliers recently demanded he pay them only with brand new 200-shekel ($60) bank notes, which he said are rare. Most civilians pay him with 20-shekel ($6) notes that are often in poor condition.

On a recent visit to the market, Ajjour transferred the shekel equivalent of around $100 to a cash broker and received around $50 in return. But when she tried to buy some household supplies from a merchant, she was turned away because the bills weren’t in good condition.

"So the worth of your $50 is zero in the end," she said.

This problem has given rise to a new business in Gaza: money repair. It costs between 3 and 10 shekels ($1-$3) to mend old bank notes. But even cash repaired with tape or other means is sometimes rejected.

People are at the mercy of cash brokers

After most of the banks closed in the early days of the war, those with large reserves of cash suddenly had immense power.

"People are at their mercy," said Mahmoud Aqel, who has been displaced from his home in southern Gaza. "No one can stop them."

The war makes it impossible to regulate market prices and exchange rates, said Dalia Alazzeh, an expert in finance and accounting at the University of the West of Scotland. "Nobody can physically monitor what’s happening," Alazzeh said.

A year ago, the Palestine Monetary Authority, the equivalent of a central bank for Gaza and the West Bank, sought to ease the crisis by introducing a digital payment system known as Iburaq. It attracted half a million users, or a quarter of the population, according to the World Bank, but was ultimately undermined by merchants insisting on cash.

Israel sought to ramp up financial pressure on Hamas earlier this year by tightening the distribution of humanitarian aid, which it said was routinely siphoned off by militants and then resold.

Experts said it is unclear if the cash brokers’ activities benefit Hamas, as some Israeli analysts claim.

The war has made it more difficult to determine who is behind all sorts of economic activity in the territory, said Omar Shabaan, director of Palthink for Strategic Studies, a Gaza-based think tank.

"It's a dark place now. You don't know who is bringing cigarettes into Gaza," he said, giving just one example. "It's like a mafia."

These same deep-pocketed traders are likely the ones running cash brokerages, and selling basic foodstuffs, he said. "They benefit by imposing these commissions," he said.

Once families run out of cash, they are forced to turn to humanitarian aid.

Al-Farra said that is what prompted him to begin seeking food at an aid distribution center, where it is common for Palestinians to jostle over one other for sacks of flour and boxes of pasta.

"This is the only way I can feed my family," he said.