BEIRUT EXPLOSION: It Is Late, But it Is Early Morning if We Insist
August 15, 2020
Jamil Molaeb (Lebanon), Untitled, October 2019.
The explosion is the cherry on top of the horrors of a 30-year post-civil war
political structure that saw militia leaders turn in their fatigues for
business suits, writes Vijay Prashad.
By Vijay Prashad
Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research
Nothing happens in Beirut and Lebanon that is transparent; plots of all kinds
unravel against the ordinary hopes of the population. After the deadly
explosion, it was impossible to imagine that the most reasonable explanation
would be accepted. Rumors flew around, except the rumors did not have their
impact. It was clear to the people that this time — unlike so many times
previously — it was their own political system that had to be held accountable
for the enormous explosion, which came in the midst of a pandemic, a currency
and economic crisis, and a long-standing and unresolved political quagmire.
From Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research comes “Red Alert No. 8: The
Explosion in Beirut.” This red alert has been put together by organizations and
people from Lebanon, for whose input we are grateful.
In the early evening of Aug. 4, a fire broke out in Warehouse 12 at the Port of
Beirut, the capital of Lebanon (population 6.8 million, including over a
million refugees). An enormous plume of smoke rose from the fire, which was
then overshadowed by an explosion whose powerful force tore outwards and
shattered parts of Beirut. The port was immediately levelled; the pressure wave
reached around 15 kilometers in all directions. At least 70,000 homes have been
damaged, some no longer inhabitable; at least 160 people were killed; 5,000
people were injured; unknown numbers still missing; two hospitals were
destroyed. This is the largest explosion ever experienced in Lebanon, despite
its history of French colonialization, U.S. interventions, Israeli attacks and
occupations, and its 15-year civil war.
What Happened?
It did not take long for the evidence to appear that what had exploded was not
a ship with weapons or fireworks or a missile, but a building that housed 2,750
tons of ammonium nitrate, which had been stored negligently in a port warehouse
since November 2013.
Ammonium nitrate is a flammable chemical that is used in fertilizer,
explosives, and rocket fuel. In 2013, the MV Rhosus, a Moldovan-flagged cargo
ship, arrived in Beirut with this cargo; the ship was headed to Beira
(Mozambique). Port officials impounded the ship, which was not seaworthy, and
impounded what they called the “dangerous cargo.” Six times between 2014 and
2017, the customs officials asked the judge of urgent matters in Beirut for
guidance on how to sell or dispose of the cargo. It is likely that the ammonium
nitrate had arrived in the form of Nitroprill, which is a blasting agent used
in coal mines. Even a small fire can cause the ammonium nitrate to explode
catastrophically. Fireworks were also stored in the same warehouse. More than
19 officials have been arrested, including the director of the Port of Beirut
and the customs director. An investigation is underway.
Paul Guiragossian (Lebanon), La Grande Marche (1987).
What is an Accident?
An accident is something that cannot be foreseen, where there is no human
agency responsible for what has taken place. The explosion in Beirut on Aug. 4
was not an accident. The highly flammable cargo was held in a warehouse for
over six years; this warehouse, in Beirut’s port, abuts the residential
neighborhoods of Gemmayze and Karantina. Over the past six years, customs
officials — with clear political affiliations – leaked reports about the
danger. The authorities were aware of the possibility of an explosion. They did
nothing.
The explosion is the cherry on top of the horrors of a 30-year post-civil war
political structure that saw civil war militia leaders turn in their fatigues
for business suits. The 1990 Taif Accords meeting to end the civil war did not
hold anyone accountable. It did exactly the opposite and legitimized the
sectarian leadership in the country’s government; sectarian warlords of the
civil war became the custodians of the state they destroyed. A corrupt
political class has enriched itself while defunding schools, hospitals and all
public services; they turned these services into clientelist vehicles.
Furthermore, the neoliberal order and reconstruction that was put in place by
former billionaire Prime Minister Rafik Hariri entrenched a resilient crony
capitalist system which already had its roots in Lebanon before the civil war.
Hariri’s reconstruction focused strictly on attracting and benefiting from
foreign investments from Gulf countries to replenish the lucrative banking
sector (in which most politicians have direct stakes), rebuild an exclusive
downtown owned by his corporation, Solidere, and other corruption-riddled and
non-productive sectors.
The deeply rooted clientelist nature of the Lebanese sectarian system and its
organic links to foreign interests further allowed leaders of sectarian groups
to maintain power. Their ability to provide basic services to their followers
using state apparatuses and resources dwindled as their greed grew and their
practices went unchecked. Most importantly, their ability to protect the
population from disasters diminished as did their interest in doing so. The
details of how this ammonium nitrate ended up in the port for six years are not
as important as the callous, dysfunctional, and archaic Lebanese sectarian
system which has never been able to hold anyone in power accountable.
The Economic Consequence?
Although designated as an upper-middle-income country, Lebanon’s previously
existing inequalities and poverty have been exacerbated by the Syrian crisis;
the after-effects of 30 years of political infighting and related unsustainable
economic policies; an uprising against the political class in October 2019;
multiple Israeli invasions; and now the pandemic. The Lebanese lira has lost 80
percent of its value since September 2019, with little hope of any solution to
the liquidity and credit crisis as well as the collapse of consumer demand and
the rise of hyper-inflation. Ironically, the cash that is expected to flow into
the country as aid in response to the disaster would extend the lifeline of the
ruling class and postpone its inevitable collapse.
Globally, Lebanon hosts the highest number of refugees in relation to its
population with an estimated 1.5 million refugees from neighboring Syria
joining the 200,000 Palestinian refugees who have been denied the right to
return to their homeland for generations. Even prior to Lebanon’s currently
accelerating financial disintegration, in 2019 youth unemployment was estimated
at nearly 40 percent, while 73 percent of Syrian refugees, 65 percent of
Palestinians and 27 percent of the Lebanese population were living in poverty.
In June 2020, it was estimated that nearly half of the country’s population has
been pushed into poverty. Migrant domestic workers — of whom there are hundreds
of thousands in the country living under a legal kafala system that has been
equated to modern-day slavery — are suffering even more as their employers
refuse to pay them; they have no way to return to their home countries. The
colossal damage wreaked by the explosion to homes, hospitals, organizations,
and businesses — especially the port through which 80 percent of Lebanon’s
needed goods are imported — has pushed the country over the edge.
Lebanon used to have one of the most advanced healthcare systems in the Arab
world. However, the neoliberal policies of the Lebanese ruling class have
destroyed the health system, which has collapsed in the face of the Covid-19
pandemic. The country has 26 public hospitals and 138 private hospitals; 90
percent of its basic medicines and 100 percent of its medical equipment are
imported. Medical workers have protested the lack of pay; patients cannot be
accommodated in the hospitals.
The destruction of this key port leaves the country virtually unable to
resupply itself with food and medicine (the port at Tripoli can – at best –
accommodate only 40 percent of the capacity that used to come through Beirut);
silos near the explosion which housed months of supplies of grain have been
destroyed; government subsidies for medicine, bread, and gas are slated to be
revoked. The overall economic damage to the country is significant – upwards of
$5 billion for a country with an optimistic GDP of $56 billion.
Zena Assi (Lebanon), Beirut, My City, 2010.
Political Outcome?
Since Oct. 17, 2019, Lebanon has witnessed continuous protests due to
corruption and the deterioration of the social situation, as well as economic,
environmental and political crises. Protests have taken place over the past
nine months for regular electricity and water, accountable institutions free of
corruption, a reliable judiciary, a secure currency, as well as a non-sectarian
political and economic system.
Emanuel Macron, the president of France, came to Beirut, summoned and scolded
political leaders, lectured them about statesmanship and made promises for
money and reform. Meanwhile, not far away, young people demanded freedom for
political prisoner George Ibrahim Abdallah, held in a French prison; political
considerations have prompted French authorities to decline a court ruling for
his release. The French-led donor’s conference raised €250 million of emergency
aid for Lebanon, which comes with strings attached to deepen dependence on the
International Monetary Fund and its socio-economic conditions.
Since the bombing, it has been groups of mostly young people, not government
officials or workers, who have been cleaning up the streets and helping people
affected by the bombing from the working-class neighborhoods in Karantina to
the café neighborhood of Gemmayze. The political class lost no time in trying
to capitalize on the “opportunities” arising from the explosion, even as bodies
and even survivors were still being dug out from the rubble.
On Aug. 8, massive street protests called for immediate accountability,
including an immediate investigation with swift results and the arrest of
senior government officials responsible for this catastrophe. Protesters
stormed ministries and other institutions in a symbolic act of reclaiming the
country. The state crackdown has been severe, but it has not dampened the mood
of the population.
On Aug. 8, 2020, Bishop Pedro Casaldáliga Plá died at Santa Casa de Batatais
Hospital in the state of São Paulo. A Catholic priest born in Spain,
Casaldáliga was a major force in liberation theology and a crucial ally of
Brazil’s indigenous communities. In 1971, he wrote a pastoral letter, “The
Church of the Amazon in conflict with large landowners and social
marginalization,” which attacked the inhumane system that expressed itself as
genocide against the indigenous communities in the Amazon. His great feeling
for humanity was expressed in his poetry. In his memory, we share his poem
Nuestra hora, “It is our time.”
It is late
but it is our time.
It is late
but it is all the time
that we have on hand
to make the future.
It is late
but it is us
this late hour
It is late
but it is early morning
if we insist a little.
Casaldáliga’s Brazil is currently in deep distress, with over 100,000 people
killed by Covid-19 and over 3 million people infected with the disease. Trade
unions that represent Brazilian health workers, as well as organizations of
Afro-Brazilians and indigenous communities, have delivered a lawsuit to the
International Criminal Court; they charge President Jair Bolsonaro with crimes
against humanity. Please read my report on this crucial court case.
As part of the report, I asked Jhuliana Rodrigues, a nurse technician at the
Hospital São Vicente in Jundiaí, about her courage to go to work in such
negligent conditions. “If I don’t continue working now,” Jhuliana told me,
“what would I do? Health professionals are chosen and do their jobs with love,
dedication, care of human beings. Just as we already live with multi-resistant
bacteria, Covid-19 will be with us for a long time.” Jhuliana and essential
workers across the world carry forward the courage of Bishop Pedro Casaldáliga.
Vijay Prashad, an Indian historian, journalist and commentator, is the
executive director of Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research and the
chief editor of Left Word Books.
This article is from Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research.
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BEIRUT EXPLOSION: It Is Late, But it Is Early Morning if We Insist
August 15, 2020
Save
Jamil Molaeb (Lebanon), Untitled, October 2019.
The explosion is the cherry on top of the horrors of a 30-year post-civil war
political structure that saw militia leaders turn in their fatigues for
business suits, writes Vijay Prashad.
By Vijay Prashad
Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research
Nothing happens in Beirut and Lebanon that is transparent; plots of all kinds
unravel against the ordinary hopes of the population. After the deadly
explosion, it was impossible to imagine that the most reasonable explanation
would be accepted. Rumors flew around, except the rumors did not have their
impact. It was clear to the people that this time — unlike so many times
previously — it was their own political system that had to be held accountable
for the enormous explosion, which came in the midst of a pandemic, a currency
and economic crisis, and a long-standing and unresolved political quagmire.
From Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research comes “Red Alert No. 8: The
Explosion in Beirut.” This red alert has been put together by organizations and
people from Lebanon, for whose input we are grateful.
In the early evening of Aug. 4, a fire broke out in Warehouse 12 at the Port of
Beirut, the capital of Lebanon (population 6.8 million, including over a
million refugees). An enormous plume of smoke rose from the fire, which was
then overshadowed by an explosion whose powerful force tore outwards and
shattered parts of Beirut. The port was immediately levelled; the pressure wave
reached around 15 kilometers in all directions. At least 70,000 homes have been
damaged, some no longer inhabitable; at least 160 people were killed; 5,000
people were injured; unknown numbers still missing; two hospitals were
destroyed. This is the largest explosion ever experienced in Lebanon, despite
its history of French colonialization, U.S. interventions, Israeli attacks and
occupations, and its 15-year civil war.
What Happened?
It did not take long for the evidence to appear that what had exploded was not
a ship with weapons or fireworks or a missile, but a building that housed 2,750
tons of ammonium nitrate, which had been stored negligently in a port warehouse
since November 2013.
Ammonium nitrate is a flammable chemical that is used in fertilizer,
explosives, and rocket fuel. In 2013, the MV Rhosus, a Moldovan-flagged cargo
ship, arrived in Beirut with this cargo; the ship was headed to Beira
(Mozambique). Port officials impounded the ship, which was not seaworthy, and
impounded what they called the “dangerous cargo.” Six times between 2014 and
2017, the customs officials asked the judge of urgent matters in Beirut for
guidance on how to sell or dispose of the cargo. It is likely that the ammonium
nitrate had arrived in the form of Nitroprill, which is a blasting agent used
in coal mines. Even a small fire can cause the ammonium nitrate to explode
catastrophically. Fireworks were also stored in the same warehouse. More than
19 officials have been arrested, including the director of the Port of Beirut
and the customs director. An investigation is underway.
Paul Guiragossian (Lebanon), La Grande Marche (1987).
What is an Accident?
An accident is something that cannot be foreseen, where there is no human
agency responsible for what has taken place. The explosion in Beirut on Aug. 4
was not an accident. The highly flammable cargo was held in a warehouse for
over six years; this warehouse, in Beirut’s port, abuts the residential
neighborhoods of Gemmayze and Karantina. Over the past six years, customs
officials — with clear political affiliations – leaked reports about the
danger. The authorities were aware of the possibility of an explosion. They did
nothing.
The explosion is the cherry on top of the horrors of a 30-year post-civil war
political structure that saw civil war militia leaders turn in their fatigues
for business suits. The 1990 Taif Accords meeting to end the civil war did not
hold anyone accountable. It did exactly the opposite and legitimized the
sectarian leadership in the country’s government; sectarian warlords of the
civil war became the custodians of the state they destroyed. A corrupt
political class has enriched itself while defunding schools, hospitals and all
public services; they turned these services into clientelist vehicles.
Furthermore, the neoliberal order and reconstruction that was put in place by
former billionaire Prime Minister Rafik Hariri entrenched a resilient crony
capitalist system which already had its roots in Lebanon before the civil war.
Hariri’s reconstruction focused strictly on attracting and benefiting from
foreign investments from Gulf countries to replenish the lucrative banking
sector (in which most politicians have direct stakes), rebuild an exclusive
downtown owned by his corporation, Solidere, and other corruption-riddled and
non-productive sectors.
The deeply rooted clientelist nature of the Lebanese sectarian system and its
organic links to foreign interests further allowed leaders of sectarian groups
to maintain power. Their ability to provide basic services to their followers
using state apparatuses and resources dwindled as their greed grew and their
practices went unchecked. Most importantly, their ability to protect the
population from disasters diminished as did their interest in doing so. The
details of how this ammonium nitrate ended up in the port for six years are not
as important as the callous, dysfunctional, and archaic Lebanese sectarian
system which has never been able to hold anyone in power accountable.
The Economic Consequence?
Although designated as an upper-middle-income country, Lebanon’s previously
existing inequalities and poverty have been exacerbated by the Syrian crisis;
the after-effects of 30 years of political infighting and related unsustainable
economic policies; an uprising against the political class in October 2019;
multiple Israeli invasions; and now the pandemic. The Lebanese lira has lost 80
percent of its value since September 2019, with little hope of any solution to
the liquidity and credit crisis as well as the collapse of consumer demand and
the rise of hyper-inflation. Ironically, the cash that is expected to flow into
the country as aid in response to the disaster would extend the lifeline of the
ruling class and postpone its inevitable collapse.
Globally, Lebanon hosts the highest number of refugees in relation to its
population with an estimated 1.5 million refugees from neighboring Syria
joining the 200,000 Palestinian refugees who have been denied the right to
return to their homeland for generations. Even prior to Lebanon’s currently
accelerating financial disintegration, in 2019 youth unemployment was estimated
at nearly 40 percent, while 73 percent of Syrian refugees, 65 percent of
Palestinians and 27 percent of the Lebanese population were living in poverty.
In June 2020, it was estimated that nearly half of the country’s population has
been pushed into poverty. Migrant domestic workers — of whom there are hundreds
of thousands in the country living under a legal kafala system that has been
equated to modern-day slavery — are suffering even more as their employers
refuse to pay them; they have no way to return to their home countries. The
colossal damage wreaked by the explosion to homes, hospitals, organizations,
and businesses — especially the port through which 80 percent of Lebanon’s
needed goods are imported — has pushed the country over the edge.
Lebanon used to have one of the most advanced healthcare systems in the Arab
world. However, the neoliberal policies of the Lebanese ruling class have
destroyed the health system, which has collapsed in the face of the Covid-19
pandemic. The country has 26 public hospitals and 138 private hospitals; 90
percent of its basic medicines and 100 percent of its medical equipment are
imported. Medical workers have protested the lack of pay; patients cannot be
accommodated in the hospitals.
The destruction of this key port leaves the country virtually unable to
resupply itself with food and medicine (the port at Tripoli can – at best –
accommodate only 40 percent of the capacity that used to come through Beirut);
silos near the explosion which housed months of supplies of grain have been
destroyed; government subsidies for medicine, bread, and gas are slated to be
revoked. The overall economic damage to the country is significant – upwards of
$5 billion for a country with an optimistic GDP of $56 billion.
Zena Assi (Lebanon), Beirut, My City, 2010.
Political Outcome?
Since Oct. 17, 2019, Lebanon has witnessed continuous protests due to
corruption and the deterioration of the social situation, as well as economic,
environmental and political crises. Protests have taken place over the past
nine months for regular electricity and water, accountable institutions free of
corruption, a reliable judiciary, a secure currency, as well as a non-sectarian
political and economic system.
Emanuel Macron, the president of France, came to Beirut, summoned and scolded
political leaders, lectured them about statesmanship and made promises for
money and reform. Meanwhile, not far away, young people demanded freedom for
political prisoner George Ibrahim Abdallah, held in a French prison; political
considerations have prompted French authorities to decline a court ruling for
his release. The French-led donor’s conference raised €250 million of emergency
aid for Lebanon, which comes with strings attached to deepen dependence on the
International Monetary Fund and its socio-economic conditions.
Since the bombing, it has been groups of mostly young people, not government
officials or workers, who have been cleaning up the streets and helping people
affected by the bombing from the working-class neighborhoods in Karantina to
the café neighborhood of Gemmayze. The political class lost no time in trying
to capitalize on the “opportunities” arising from the explosion, even as bodies
and even survivors were still being dug out from the rubble.
On Aug. 8, massive street protests called for immediate accountability,
including an immediate investigation with swift results and the arrest of
senior government officials responsible for this catastrophe. Protesters
stormed ministries and other institutions in a symbolic act of reclaiming the
country. The state crackdown has been severe, but it has not dampened the mood
of the population.
On Aug. 8, 2020, Bishop Pedro Casaldáliga Plá died at Santa Casa de Batatais
Hospital in the state of São Paulo. A Catholic priest born in Spain,
Casaldáliga was a major force in liberation theology and a crucial ally of
Brazil’s indigenous communities. In 1971, he wrote a pastoral letter, “The
Church of the Amazon in conflict with large landowners and social
marginalization,” which attacked the inhumane system that expressed itself as
genocide against the indigenous communities in the Amazon. His great feeling
for humanity was expressed in his poetry. In his memory, we share his poem
Nuestra hora, “It is our time.”
It is late
but it is our time.
It is late
but it is all the time
that we have on hand
to make the future.
It is late
but it is us
this late hour
It is late
but it is early morning
if we insist a little.
Casaldáliga’s Brazil is currently in deep distress, with over 100,000 people
killed by Covid-19 and over 3 million people infected with the disease. Trade
unions that represent Brazilian health workers, as well as organizations of
Afro-Brazilians and indigenous communities, have delivered a lawsuit to the
International Criminal Court; they charge President Jair Bolsonaro with crimes
against humanity. Please read my report on this crucial court case.
As part of the report, I asked Jhuliana Rodrigues, a nurse technician at the
Hospital São Vicente in Jundiaí, about her courage to go to work in such
negligent conditions. “If I don’t continue working now,” Jhuliana told me,
“what would I do? Health professionals are chosen and do their jobs with love,
dedication, care of human beings. Just as we already live with multi-resistant
bacteria, Covid-19 will be with us for a long time.” Jhuliana and essential
workers across the world carry forward the courage of Bishop Pedro Casaldáliga.
Vijay Prashad, an Indian historian, journalist and commentator, is the
executive director of Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research and the
chief editor of Left Word Books.
This article is from Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research.