Updated August 4, 2022 at 5:14 pm EDT|Posted August 4, 2022 at 3:38 pm EDT Comment on this story Comment BEIRUT — On a national day of mourning, the port of Beirut burned down. The calm of chirping birds and flowing waters on Thursday was broken by the periodic crash of flames attacking silos on the Lebanon waterfront. It has been two years since a fire in a port hangar caused one of the largest non-nuclear explosions in history, an explosion that killed 200 people and leveled vast areas of the capital. Today’s fire is sparking anger and fear here, especially among the victims’ families and those living near the port, for whom it is a reminder of one of the worst days of their lives. Family members, activists and others were marching to a view to mark the anniversary and again demand justice and accountability when parts of the silos began to fall. Remaining silos at Beirut’s seaport collapsed on August 4, the second anniversary of the deadly blast that destroyed large parts of the city. (Video: Reuters) The grain stored in the silos had been baked under the boiling sun and intense humidity, fermented and roasted. Three weeks ago, oils from the grains sparked a fire, which has been growing and licking up the gutted sides of some of the 157-foot-tall structures ever since. On Sunday, four of the 16 silos in the port’s northern block began to collapse. On Thursday, flames continued to weaken the structures. Four more silos tipped to the side and then fell, sending a cloud of sand-colored dust several hundred feet away from the protesters. Emmanuel Durant, a French civil engineer who volunteered to work alongside rescuers to monitor construction, said the southern block is structurally sound. Those silos were built later, are in better condition, have stronger foundations and were mostly empty at the time of the 2020 explosion, he said. There is no fire burning there. “Measurements from both laser scanning and inclinometers show that it is stable,” he said. In April, the government, fearing that the grain silos would all eventually collapse, announced that it had ordered their demolition. However, activists and some victims’ families have argued against the move, calling instead for it to be preserved as a place of remembrance. Their protest is symbolic of the outcry over a botched pursuit of justice: Activists, members of parliament and others are demanding that the silos be left alone until an independent investigation into the explosion’s causes is conducted. A judicial inquiry that began in 2020 stalled late: The first judge to lead the investigation accused four officials of negligence for ignoring 2,750 tons of highly flammable ammonium nitrate over six years, during which the material was stored on the waterfront in a warehouse along with fireworks and paint thinners, on the edge of a busy city. The judge was removed from the case after two of the former ministers he indicted filed a complaint, claiming he had shown a lack of impartiality in choosing prominent figures to indict to appease an angry public. The judge who followed him, Judge Tarek Bitar, faced resistance from officials he tried to challenge, arguing that they have immunity or lack of authority. Courts were flooded with complaints calling for his removal. His work has been suspended as a result: Courts set to rule on the complaints are on hiatus amid judges’ retirements. “Our demands are clear,” said Najat Saliba, an atmospheric chemist and newly elected member of parliament. “And the top demand is the independence of justice, so that people at least feel that the victims and their souls were not lost.” Saliba won a seat in parliament in May as part of a group of young independent candidates dubbed “the forces of change”. They have capitalized on the demand for new voices in a legislature ruled for decades mostly by older men from a few families. Saliba said the silos should stand as witnesses to the destruction, the stables should not be touched until justice is served. “The government says there is an economic loss in the Lost Basin region,” he told the Washington Post. But the priority, he said, is to bring justice to the families. “We say [ministers], no matter what happens, the silos should stay straight and up,” he said. “They remain as a testament to our collective memory.” Thousands gathered on a bridge overlooking the harbor on Thursday. At 6:07 pm, the time of the explosion, they observed a minute’s silence. Then, as helicopters in the background dropped containers of water over the remains of recently fallen silos, the mother of one victim addressed the crowd. “We want to know the truth. It is our right to know that those responsible for this horrific crime are held accountable!” Mireille Khoury shouted into the microphone. Ilia’s son, 15 years old, was killed by the explosion. “It was my son’s right and all the victims’ right to live and be safe,” she said, her voice breaking on the word “safe.” Men and women, standing under a large Lebanese flag marked with red spots to represent the blood of the lost, wept silently. A woman led the gathering with an oath. “I swear by their pure blood, by the tears of mothers and sisters and fathers and children and elders,” he read from a statement, “that we will not despair, we will not acquiesce, we will not comply, we will not retreat. , we will not indulge, we will not underestimate. We are here and here we will stay until the end of the year.” At each pledge, listeners with raised hands repeated the words “I swear.” Earlier on Thursday, some family members visited the port to pay their respects to the dead. Port security officers seemed unfazed by the weight of the day — some expressed annoyance at the attention the silos and port still receive. But others felt differently. A soldier stood guard among piles of dented metal boxes, thick tangled ropes and wrecked cars, rusted aerosol cans and curtain rods still in their packaging. Three ships that were in the harbor when the explosion occurred are still there, lying on their side. A boat, blown clear of the water, sits rusting on the concrete. The soldier, asked if the mountains of debris rising above him were all from the explosion, nodded. “And it will remain,” he said, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak to the media. “Look at it, it’s a mountain of garbage. Who will remove it?’ Asked if he knew of plans to clear the site, he shook his head. “Who can afford it?” The soldier lost a friend in the explosion, a comrade who was near the silos. “When we found his vehicle, it was so big,” he said, holding his hands about 20 inches apart. He had no opinion on whether the south block should remain as a monument or be demolished. He said it wasn’t strange working so close to a place where he lost a friend. “You get used to it. It’s life,” he said. “The ones who can’t are the families. For example, I knew him for a year. They lost their son.”
