Disabled Survivors of Beirut Port Blast Long For Support, Justice

A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
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Disabled Survivors of Beirut Port Blast Long For Support, Justice

A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo
A general view shows the damage at the site of the blast in Beirut's port area, Lebanon August 5, 2020. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir/File Photo

Dany Salameh was already ill but a blast that devastated Beirut's port three years ago aggravated his condition, leaving him dependent on a walker and feeling abandoned by authorities.

People hurt or disabled by the catastrophic explosion told AFP that Lebanon, bankrupt and politically paralyzed, has failed to deliver adequate medical care, financial support or justice.

"The state forgot about us," said the soft-spoken Salameh from his apartment in a district close to the port, much of which was destroyed along with entire districts of Beirut in one of history's biggest non-nuclear explosions.

"I lost my car, my home, my job, my mobility... Yet no one looked after us," he added, AFP reported.

The blast on August 4, 2020 killed more than 220 people and injured at least 6,500.

Salameh was at his family home in a neighbourhood adjacent to the port when the blast threw him from one side of their rooftop terrace to the other.

Formerly a sound engineer, he had been diagnosed in 2015 with multiple sclerosis -- a lifelong condition in which a person's central nervous system is attacked by the body's own immune system.

While Salameh escaped bad physical injury in the explosion, the shock had a devastating effect on his illness. He soon found himself struggling to walk.

Vital medicine for his disease costs $140 a month, twice-yearly injections cost $1,000, and he said he needs an operation that costs $10,000.

But Salameh is unable to afford health care as he survives on family support and limited work opportunities.

His head was bandaged after a fall last month requiring stitches, and he said he had gone for months without his regular medication.

The blast came during an economic collapse that has crippled Lebanon's public sector and pushed most of the population into poverty.

Amanda Cherri, a former make-up artist, said injuries and constant pain forced her to give up her career.

"My life has ended. Someone stole it in only five minutes," said Cherri, 40, from the building overlooking the port where she used to work.

At the moment of the explosion, she was near floor-to-ceiling mirrors and two huge vases that all smashed to smithereens.

The shards pierced her face and body, leaving her blind in one eye and with one hand paralysed.

Authorities said the blast was triggered by a fire in a warehouse where a stockpile of ammonium nitrate fertiliser had been haphazardly stored for years.

"People who have become disabled have a right to lifelong support," said Sylvana Lakkis, who heads the Lebanese Union for People with Physical Disabilities.

Yet "to this day, many need treatment they cannot afford," she added.

Authorities have failed to keep track of the number of people left disabled by the blast, Lakkis said, but her organisation estimates that up to 1,000 people sustained temporary or permanent impairments.

At least four people who were disabled have died in the past year because they could not afford treatment, or received improper medical care, Lakkis told AFP.

"The explosion did not kill them. Their country did," she said.

Mikhail Younan, 52, needs a prosthetic knee but he cannot even afford a doctor's appointment.

He delivers gas tanks to people's homes, in a country where there is no mains gas for cooking or heating and state power cuts last most of the day.

His knee was injured in the blast and his other leg now gives him trouble too. He struggles to carry the heavy gas tanks up and down flights of stairs.

Younan said he has lost customers and earns just a fraction of what he used to.

"If the Lebanese state had helped me... I would have been able to live a somewhat normal life," said Younan, who has a teenage daughter.

Instead, "pain has become my daily companion," and he said he has "been living on painkillers and anti-inflammatories that have given me kidney problems."

Lack of accountability has long been a hallmark of the Lebanese justice system, which is highly politicized in a country built on sectarian power-sharing.

Political and legal challenges have beleaguered the local probe into the blast, with high-level officials filing lawsuits against the investigating judge who charged them.

No one has yet been held responsible and the investigation is at a standstill.

Younan said he wants his daughter to leave Lebanon as soon as she finishes school.

"I have no hope," he said.

"Every time the wheel of justice turns, someone tries to break it."



Lebanon's Army Chief Joseph Aoun, a Man with a Tough Mission

Lebanon's Armed Forces Commander General Joseph Aoun attends a cabinet meeting in Beirut on November 27, 2024, to discuss the ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. - AFP
Lebanon's Armed Forces Commander General Joseph Aoun attends a cabinet meeting in Beirut on November 27, 2024, to discuss the ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. - AFP
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Lebanon's Army Chief Joseph Aoun, a Man with a Tough Mission

Lebanon's Armed Forces Commander General Joseph Aoun attends a cabinet meeting in Beirut on November 27, 2024, to discuss the ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. - AFP
Lebanon's Armed Forces Commander General Joseph Aoun attends a cabinet meeting in Beirut on November 27, 2024, to discuss the ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. - AFP

Lebanese army chief Joseph Aoun, who is being touted as a possible candidate for the presidency, is a man with a tough mission following an Israel-Hezbollah ceasefire that relies heavily on his troops deploying in the south.

Aoun, 60, was set to retire last January after heading the army since 2017, but has had his mandate extended twice -- the last time on Thursday.

The army, widely respected and a rare source of unity in a country riven by sectarian and political divides, has held together despite periodic social strife, the latest war and a crushing five-year economic crisis.
A fragile ceasefire took effect on Wednesday, ending more than a year of war between Israel and Hezbollah that has killed thousands in Lebanon and caused mass displacements on both sides of the border.
Under its terms, the Lebanese army and United Nations peacekeepers are to become the only armed presence in south Lebanon, where Hezbollah enjoys strong support and had been launching attacks on Israeli troops for months, and fighting them on the ground since late September.

The move averted a military power vacuum as the army, which boasts about 80,000 Lebanese servicemen, seeks to bolster its deployment in south Lebanon as part of the nascent truce.

But it will be a difficult task in an area long seen as Hezbollah territory, and risks upsetting the country's already delicate social balance as tensions run high over the war's course and devastation.

- 'Integrity' -

Aoun "has a reputation of personal integrity", said Karim Bitar, an international relations expert at Beirut's Saint-Joseph University.

The army chief came into prominence after leading the army in a battle to drive out the ISIS group from a mountanous area along the Syrian border.

"Within the Lebanese army, he is perceived as someone who is dedicated... who has the national interest at heart, and who has been trying to consolidate this institution, which is the last non-sectarian institution still on its feet in the country," he told AFP.

Aoun has good relations with groups across the political spectrum, including with Hezbollah, as well as with various foreign countries.

Mohanad Hage Ali from the Carnegie Middle East Center noted that "being the head of US-backed Lebanese Armed Forces, Joseph Aoun has ties to the United States".

"While he maintained relations with everyone, Hezbollah-affiliated media often criticized him" for his US ties, he told AFP.

An international conference in Paris last month raised $200 million to support the armed forces.

The military has been hit hard by Lebanon's economic crisis, and at one point in 2020 said it had scrapped meat from the meals offered to on-duty soldiers due to rising food prices.

Aoun has also been floated by several politicians, parties and local media as a potential candidate for Lebanon's presidency, vacant for more than two years amid deadlock between allies of Hezbollah and its opponents, who accuse the group of seeking to impose its preferred candidate.

Aoun has not commented on the reports and largely refrains from making media statements.

- President? -

A Western diplomat told AFP that "everyone has recognized Aoun's track record at the head of the army".

"But the question is, can he transform himself into a politician?" said the diplomat, requesting anonymity to discuss politically sensitive matters.

Bitar said that "many, even those who respect him are opposed to his election as president, because he comes from the army mostly", noting a number of Lebanon's heads of state, including recently, were former army chiefs.

Most "left a bittersweet taste", Bitar said, noting any election of Aoun could also perpetuate the idea that the army chief "systematically becomes president".

This could end up weakening the military as it creates "an unhealthy relationship between political power and the army, which is supposed to remain neutral", he added.

Hage Ali said that the idea of Aoun's "candidacy for the presidency did not receive much enthusiasm from the major figures in the political class, even those who are opposed to Hezbollah".

Aoun, who speaks Arabic, French and English, hails from Lebanon's Christian community and has two children.

By convention, the presidency goes to a Maronite Christian, the premiership is reserved for a Sunni Muslim and the post of parliament speaker goes to a Shiite Muslim.

He is not related to the previous Lebanese president Michel Aoun -- also a former army chief -- although the two served together in the military.