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
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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.



Palestinians in Syria Flock to Cemetery Off-Limits under Assad

People pray by the grave of a relative in a damaged cemetery at the Yarmuk camp for Palestinian refugees in the south of Damascus on December 14, 2024. (AFP)
People pray by the grave of a relative in a damaged cemetery at the Yarmuk camp for Palestinian refugees in the south of Damascus on December 14, 2024. (AFP)
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Palestinians in Syria Flock to Cemetery Off-Limits under Assad

People pray by the grave of a relative in a damaged cemetery at the Yarmuk camp for Palestinian refugees in the south of Damascus on December 14, 2024. (AFP)
People pray by the grave of a relative in a damaged cemetery at the Yarmuk camp for Palestinian refugees in the south of Damascus on December 14, 2024. (AFP)

In a war-ravaged Palestinian refugee camp in Syria, Radwan Adwan was stacking stones to rebuild his father's grave, finally able to return to Yarmuk cemetery after Bashar al-Assad's fall.

"Without the fall of the regime, it would have been impossible to see my father's grave again," said 45-year-old Adwan.

"When we arrived, there was no trace of the grave."

It was his first visit there since 2018, when access to the cemetery south of Damascus was officially banned.

Assad's fall on December 8, after a lightning offensive led by opposition factions, put an end to decades of iron-fisted rule and years of bloody civil war that began with repression of peaceful anti-government protests in 2011.

Yarmuk camp fell to the opposition early in the war before becoming an extremist stronghold. It was bombed and besieged by Assad's forces, emptied of most of its residents and reduced to ruins before its recapture in 2018.

Assad's ouster has allowed former residents to return for the first time in years.

Back at the cemetery, Adwan's mother Zeina sat on a small metal chair in front of her husband's gravesite.

She was "finally" able to weep for him, she said. "Before, my tears were dry."

"It's the first time that I have returned to his grave for years. Everything has changed, but I still recognize where his grave is," said the 70-year-old woman.

Yarmuk camp, established in the 1950s to house Palestinians who fled or were expelled from their land after Israel's creation, had become a key residential and commercial district over the decades.

Some 160,000 Palestinians lived there alongside thousands of Syrians before the country's conflict erupted in 2011.

Thousands fled in 2012, and few have found their homes still standing in the eerie wasteland that used to be Yarmuk.

Along the road to the cemetery, barefoot children dressed in threadbare clothes play with what is left of a swing set in a rubble-strewn area that was once a park.

- 'Spared no one' -

A steady stream of people headed to the cemetery, looking for their loved ones' gravesites after years.

"Somewhere here is my father's grave, my uncle's, and another uncle's," said Mahmud Badwan, 60, gesturing to massive piles of grey rubble that bear little signs of what may lie beneath them.

Most tombstones are broken.

Near them lay breeze blocks from adjacent homes which stand empty and open to the elements.

"The Assad regime spared neither the living nor the dead. Look at how the ruins have covered the cemetery. They spared no one," Badwan said.

There is speculation that the cemetery may also hold the remains of famed Israeli spy Eli Cohen and an Israeli solider.

Cohen was tried and hanged for espionage by the Syrians in 1965 after he infiltrated the top levels of the government.

Camp resident Amina Mounawar leaned against the wall of her ruined home, watching the flow of people arriving at the cemetery.

Some wandered the site, comparing locations to photos on their phones taken before the war in an attempt to locate graves in the transformed site.

"I have a lot of hope for the reconstruction of the camp, for a better future," said Mounawar, 48, as she offered water to those arriving at the cemetery.