The Fertiliser that Shook a Capital: Beirut 2020

Beirut, the fourth of August, twenty twenty. Two thousand seven hundred and fifty tonnes of chemical fertiliser have sat in a port warehouse for six years. At eight minutes past six, they explode. Here is how it happened, and who has answered for it.

Start with the place. Beirut is the capital of Lebanon, on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. Its port is the country's main gateway for trade, and it sits right beside the city. Tall grain silos stand on the quay, built to hold up to a hundred and twenty thousand tonnes of grain. Behind the port lie dense residential neighbourhoods. Human Rights Watch notes that the warehouse at the centre of this story stood close to homes. On the evening of the fourth of August, thousands of people are at home, at work, or out on their balconies. But the story begins years earlier, with a ship.

In September twenty thirteen, a Moldovan-flagged cargo ship called the Rhosus leaves Batumi, in Georgia, bound for Mozambique. She carries two thousand seven hundred and fifty tonnes of ammonium nitrate. This is a fertiliser. It is also a chemical that can explode violently when it is heated, contaminated, or confined. In November, the Rhosus puts into Beirut, reportedly because of mechanical trouble, or because her owner could not pay the fees to use the Suez Canal. Port inspectors judge her unfit to sail. In February twenty fourteen she is detained over unpaid bills of about a hundred thousand dollars, according to Lloyd's List. Her captain regards a Russian businessman, Igor Grechushkin, as the real owner. Der Spiegel reported that a Cypriot businessman owned her. Either way, nobody comes for the ship, or for the cargo.

In October twenty fourteen, according to Human Rights Watch, the cargo is moved into Hangar 12. It is poorly ventilated, poorly secured, and close to homes. Between twenty fourteen and twenty seventeen, customs officials write six letters to judges, asking what should be done with it. In twenty sixteen, one letter warns of, quote, the serious danger of keeping these goods in the hangar. It asks for the cargo to be re-exported, or sold. Each request is declined on procedural grounds. Human Rights Watch says customs repeated procedurally incorrect requests rather than correcting them. Others raise the alarm too. A port official recommends handing the material to the army, quote, to avoid any potential disaster. The former public works minister, Najjar, reportedly learns of the threat only on the third of August. In July twenty twenty, a State Security report finds the hangar was not properly secured. Human Rights Watch says the Higher Defence Council, which includes the president and the prime minister, did not act in time. Officials dispute blame, and the investigation is still unresolved. But the cargo stays where it is.

On the fourth of August, at about quarter to six in the evening, a fire starts in Warehouse 12. According to attendees of a Higher Defence Council briefing, as reported by the Lebanese channel LBCI, workers had been welding a door. A former port worker says he saw bags of fireworks stored there. The cause of the fire has not been established in court. A fire crew of nine firefighters and one paramedic, known as Platoon 5, is sent at about five fifty-five. At around seven minutes past six, a first explosion, probably of fireworks, sends up dark smoke and bright sparks. Thirty-three to thirty-five seconds later, the main blast tears through the port. A pale ring of condensed air races outward across the water, followed by a vast column of smoke. The shockwave reaches the city, shattering windows across the capital. It is felt in Cyprus, about two hundred and forty kilometres away. Scientists' estimates, from seismic and sound data, put its force at roughly half to one kiloton of TNT. All ten members of Platoon 5 die at the scene.

Two hundred and eighteen people are killed, at least three of them children aged between two and fifteen, according to Human Rights Watch. More than seven thousand are injured, and at least a hundred and fifty are left with permanent disabilities. People from at least twenty-two countries are among the casualties. The blast leaves a crater about a hundred and twenty-four metres across. Homes up to ten kilometres away are damaged. Seventy-seven thousand apartments are hit, and up to three hundred thousand people are left without a home. Three hospitals are destroyed, and Saint George Hospital is forced to close. About ninety percent of the city's hotels are damaged. The grain silos are largely wrecked, and about fifteen thousand tonnes of grain are lost. Estimates of the cost vary widely. The World Bank counts three point eight to four point six billion dollars of material damage, while other estimates of total losses top fifteen billion. Experts also differ on how much of the cargo actually exploded. Estimates of what remained range from about five hundred tonnes to a thousand, though two experts concluded that most or all of it detonated.

On the tenth of August, Prime Minister Hassan Diab and his government resign. Diab blames, in his words, endemic corruption. The first investigating judge, Fadi Sawan, summons former ministers and security chiefs. In December twenty twenty, Diab and three former ministers are charged with negligence. In February twenty twenty-one, Sawan is removed from the case after a legal challenge tied to politicians' immunity. His successor, Judge Tarek Bitar, pushes on, and several officials he summons refuse to appear. Parliament's speaker does not act on a request to send twelve current and former ministers to trial. By July twenty twenty-one, Human Rights Watch finds that most of the thirty-seven people charged are mid-level or low-level officials. It says Lebanese authorities were, at a minimum, criminally negligent, and calls for an international investigation. In twenty twenty-two, the inquiry stalls. In January twenty twenty-five, Bitar resumes and charges ten people. In September twenty twenty-five, Bulgaria arrests the man the captain regarded as the ship's owner, but in December a Bulgarian court refuses to extradite him. Reports in March twenty twenty-six say Bitar has finished his inquiry. As far as public reporting shows, no one has yet been convicted.

In July twenty twenty-two, grain left in the silos catches fire. The northern part collapses on the thirty-first of July, and more sections fall in August. The government had ordered the silos demolished, but families of the victims wanted the ruin kept as a memorial. In August twenty twenty-five, the culture minister announced that the silos would be added to the national inventory of historic monuments. The cargo sat in that port for six years. Letters were written, reports were filed, and it stayed. And the people of Beirut are still waiting for the answer to the oldest question in this story: why was it still there?