It is August 4th once more, marking five years since the people of Beirut awoke to the usual chaos of one of West Asia’s smallest yet busiest cities—only to have their lives violently and irreversibly shattered. A day of thunderous explosions, blinding smoke, and glass shards slicing through the air like bullets. Half a decade has passed since that catastrophic moment, and still, there has been no accountability for those responsible, nor has meaningful assistance reached the many survivors still living with life-altering injuries.
As to why justice has remained elusive, we revisit the political swamp that engulfed the investigation in its earliest days—an investigation that swiftly and selectively targeted ministers, branding them “murderers” under the charge of “probable intent,” allegedly for their “gross negligence.”
The Port Blast Investigation: Paralysis and Politicization
What began as one of the deadliest non-nuclear explosions in modern history quickly devolved into a battlefield of political score-settling and foreign manipulation. The judicial investigation, into the August 4 Beirut Port blast, which left 236 dead and over 7,000 wounded, has since become a symbol—not of justice, but of the dysfunction, paralysis, and foreign meddling that define Lebanon’s institutions, as reported by Al-Akhbar’s Hussein Sabra on Monday (August 4, 2025).
Shortly after the explosion, the Lebanese government referred the case to the Judicial Council on grounds of “national security,” effectively removing it from standard court procedures. The Judicial Council, an extraordinary tribunal whose decisions are final and not subject to appeal, operates through an investigator appointed by the Council of Ministers. The role is vast—equipped with powers to arrest, detain, and prepare indictments. But those powers were soon entangled in political warfare.
Initially led by Judge Fadi Sawan, the investigation took a sharp turn with the appointment of Judge Tarek Bitar, who sought to widen the scope of responsibility. Moving beyond the narrative of administrative failure, Bitar accused senior officials, including former Finance Minister Ali Hasan Khalil and former Public Works Minister Ghazi Zaiter, of “probable intent”—a legal principle that holds individuals criminally accountable for knowing about imminent danger and failing to act. While not accusing them of premeditated murder, Bitar’s framing implied severe professional negligence tantamount to indirect homicide.
This legal strategy sparked immediate backlash. Khalil and Zaiter countered the charges by invoking parliamentary immunity, asserting that any legal proceedings against them required prior parliamentary approval. Furthermore, they filed a lawsuit against Judge Bitar for “legitimate suspicion,” accusing him of political bias, which under Lebanese law freezes the judge’s authority until the Court of Cassation rules on the matter.
Yet that court, like much of Lebanon’s judiciary, had already ground to a halt—several of its members had retired, and replacements were never appointed. The investigation was effectively paralyzed.
In a public statement, then Justice Minister Henri Khoury insisted that the investigation would proceed and that “the state must not fail the victims’ families.” He vowed to remove any obstacles standing in the way of truth and accountability. But beyond the rhetoric, little changed.
In practice, the investigation became a tool of political theater. While Bitar summoned a few military and maritime officials—such as former Army Commander Jean Kahwaji—these inquiries were cursory, with no significant follow-up. Legal observers argue that certain state actors and institutions with direct oversight of port security and customs were strategically spared, while others were disproportionately targeted.
According to legal sources cited by Al-Akhbar, Judge Bitar came under direct international pressure to politicize the case, especially by focusing blame on Hezbollah and its allies. The process, sources say, was marked by selectivity—some parties were aggressively pursued while others, equally if not more responsible, remained untouched. These sources emphasize that Bitar’s role ends with the indictment, after which the Judicial Council, headed by the president of the Supreme Judicial Council and other top judges, assumes control. That trial, if it happens at all, could take many years—if not decades.
Internationalization of the Case
The push for internationalization began almost immediately. Western-backed media campaigns called for a foreign-led investigation, citing widespread distrust in Lebanon’s judicial system. Countries such as France, the United States, and the United Kingdom publicly endorsed the investigation, but this support did not translate into meaningful cooperation. Instead, these foreign powers took prejudicial stances, aligning with factions opposed to Hezbollah and amplifying narratives crafted long before the evidence had been fully reviewed.
Calls to refer the case to the International Criminal Court gained traction, appearing on the surface as a quest for impartial justice. In reality, however, this maneuver was widely viewed as a means of shifting the case away from local control and inserting it into the machinery of foreign political influence, which often reflects the geopolitical agendas of powerful states rather than the pursuit of universal justice.
Crucially, no Western government provided clarity about the ammonium nitrate’s journey—how it left Georgia, why it docked in Beirut, or who exactly arranged its storage. The ship carrying the material was owned by a Cypriot company, and its documentation was approved by multiple European jurisdictions. Yet none of these states have stepped forward to assist in identifying those responsible for the nitrate’s presence in Lebanon.
This silence underscores what legal experts describe as calculated inaction: the supposed “international support” for the investigation was never about justice, but about weaponizing the explosion in Lebanon’s internal power struggle, according to sources quoted by Al-Akhbar. Media coverage, both domestic and foreign, mirrored this agenda—publicly accusing Hezbollah before any verdict had been reached, while deflecting scrutiny from official negligence within the Lebanese military, maritime authority, and state bureaucracy.
What was once a moment of national mourning has become a playground for selective justice, where the street is mobilized not in service of truth, but as a political battering ram against one side of Lebanon’s divided system. The result? A process stripped of institutional integrity and public trust.
So, who is preventing the truth? The answer is not confined to a single party. It lies in the convergence of interests between a paralyzed domestic order and external powers that continue to treat Lebanon not as a sovereign state but as a battlefield for influence.
The Tayouneh Ambush: A Coordinated Escalation
On October 14, 2021, a peaceful protest against Judge Tarek Bitar’s politicized handling of the Beirut Port explosion case turned into a deadly ambush in Tayouneh, where snipers killed six unarmed demonstrators and injured dozens. Journalists and analysts, including Ghassan Saoud and Roni Alpha, attributed the attack to militants from the Lebanese Forces under Samir Geagea’s leadership, accusing him of inciting civil strife to shield political allies.
The incident, described as premeditated and more dangerous than the events that ignited Lebanon’s civil war, was seen as an attempt to provoke Hezbollah into internal conflict and portray it as an illegitimate armed group. Analysts argued back then that the ambush exposed the judicial system’s failure and called for the case to be referred to the Judicial Council. Political writer Radwan Akil emphasized that the attack aimed to scapegoat Hezbollah for the port blast, noting that even Sunni religious authorities objected to Bitar’s biased approach. The ambush ultimately revealed a broader scheme to inflame sectarian tensions and manipulate public perception for political gain.
Al-Manar at the time, reported on the names and identities of the orchestrators involved, all whom were members of the Lebanese Forces.
The Tayouneh ambush is not an isolated incident—it is a symptom of the same illness afflicting the port explosion investigation. Both have been hijacked to serve factional interests and foreign agendas. Both have targeted a specific political faction while allowing others to operate without scrutiny. And both have used judicial tools to escalate tensions, not resolve them.
Western governments—chief among them France, the US, and the UK—have consistently voiced support for the investigation. Yet none have contributed meaningful cooperation on uncovering the truth behind the ammonium nitrate: who brought it, who stored it, who benefited from it. The nitrate came from Georgia, was shipped under Cypriot ownership, and carried documents approved by European entities—yet these states have remained silent.
Their silence is not neutrality—it is complicity. “International support for the investigation” has proven little more than a political weapon aimed at reshaping Lebanon’s balance of power, not achieving justice.
Justice? Postponed, Deferred, or Denied.
Regardless of how Lebanese officials proclaims the state’s commitment to justice, we all know the reality. In Lebanon, justice is far too often a malleable concept, wielded as a political weapon rather than a principled process, especially when it concerns the lives and livelihoods of innocent people.
Innocent people like Maryam, whom Al-Akhbar tells their stories, had lost one of her eyes in the Beirut Port explosion and later received an artificial implant funded by the Ministry of Health. Yet the cost of ongoing treatment quickly became unaffordable. Her pleas for support went unanswered. Without continued care, she now faces the possibility of total blindness. Her eldest daughter was forced to take on the responsibility of providing for the family. Maryam began working with an association for people with special needs, hoping to secure some income, but soon found herself and her colleagues overworked, while benefits and grants were squandered—diverted into luxury homes and cars by officials, in a pattern all too familiar to how state institutions operate.
Then there is Ali Qanso, a 24-year-old permanently disabled by the same explosion. Not a day goes by without him enduring relentless pain. His mother, Mrs. Rima Al-Jaroushi, has stood by him for five years, doing everything in her power to ease his suffering. She’s sold household belongings to cover the unbearable cost of treatment. But the greatest tragedy came when the only medication that relieved his pain disappeared from local markets—and sourcing it from abroad proved impossible amid worsening financial conditions and widespread neglect by both the state and society.
Rima acknowledges a limited effort made by Minister of Health Rakan Nasser Al-Din, who intervened to provide some assistance. While she appreciates his gesture, she rightly asks: “Is it reasonable to reduce the entire responsibility of the state to a single initiative?”
From the shattered glass of Beirut’s port to the bullet-riddled streets of Tayouneh, the pattern is clear: Truth remains hostage to political agendas. Justice was never the goal—it has been buried beneath layers of dysfunction, negligence, and foreign manipulation. In Lebanon today, justice is not delayed—it is denied by design.
Source: Al-Manar English Website
