After the shock and grief comes the anger

When the ship moved into the port of Beirut just over six years ago, the plan was not to stop. Loaded with 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate, the ship would continue towards an explosives factory in Mozambique.

But it never got there. Lebanese authorities found the ship unseaworthy and the Russian businessman who rented the ship abandoned it. A Lebanese court seized the cargo and put it in a warehouse. And there it was allowed to lie. In the middle of Lebanon's capital, not even a mile from densely populated residential areas and neighborhoods full of bars and restaurants.

The judiciary, the prime minister, the army intelligence service all knew that the chemicals were stored in the port and could explode at any time, according to the Lebanese newspaper al-Akhbar. And documents that have now been made public show that customs officials asked the authorities how they could get rid of the explosive material. Repeatedly. But never received an answer.

It may seem incomprehensible, but in Lebanon few surprised voices are raised. There is a lot that the country's government does not do anything about. As if the inhabitants do not have electricity for more than a few hours a day. And see their streets overflowing with garbage. You often have to buy extra water to be able to take a shower. Nor have the politicians solved those problems but handled them in the same way as the life-threatening cargo in the port. Let them be. For years. 

So when Lebanese politicians now talk about setting up an investigation, they are met with ridicule. For many Lebanese, no one is needed. They already have the answer. As they see it, the reluctance, or inability, to move the load is typical of the mismanagement and corruption that has characterized Lebanon's government for decades. 

"Those in control have never cared about us, they just want to fill their own pockets," says Clara, who lived near the harbor and is now sweeping up the remains of her home. 

The fact that the explosions took place in the port area is seen as symbolic of the corruption that permeates the country. The port of Beirut has long gone by the unflattering nickname "Ali Baba and the Cave of the 40 robbers". Billions in tax revenues from the port should never have reached the treasury.

For many Lebanese, the cargo left behind is another sign of the ruling elite's inability to lead the country. In a situation where Lebanon's residents can not withdraw their own money from the bank, see their life savings disappear and can no longer afford to buy food, the shock waves cut through Beirut and demolished thousands of people's homes.

The inability of the leaders to ensure that the population has the most necessary electricity and water has meant that the Lebanese do not expect any help but have become accustomed to taking care of themselves. And each other. When their homes are covered in broken glass, the roof collapses and the doors are gone, there are no authorities to call. Instead, it is neighbors, friends and strangers who step into the place of the absent state. Social media is now filled with texts like this: “Have you lost your home and miss somewhere to sleep? We have space ”.

The chemicals left behind became the culmination of decades of neglect and neglect. And as Lebanon's people now begin to rise from the rubble, anger grows that the authorities knew their hometown could explode at any moment, but did nothing about it. A picture circulating on social media shows a man putting up a sign on what is left of his balcony with the text "Whose head should be hung?".