Surviving The Beirut Blast: A Year Later
Some thoughts and lessons gathered ever since.
Nothing prepared me for getting projected to the floor by a deafening boom on that Tuesday afternoon, at 6:08 pm, with glass splattering everywhere. Or for rising from a pile of destroyed office furniture, looking at my coworkers and thinking: Is a second one coming?
My gut feeling never warned me about having to keep my sliced-up leg wrapped in a bloodied towel or waiting at the entrance of a hospital where corpses were being held in the shaking arms of their loved ones.
Nothing prepared me for that day when the sky turned black and time was ripped to shreds.
On August 4, 2020, an explosion tore through the Beirut Port — killing over 200 civilians and displacing more than 300,000 people. The causes are still unconfirmed, though many speculations took center stage, and the families of the victims are not giving up their fight for an impartial investigation.
15 months have passed since the blast, and the one thing that keeps popping out from the shadows like a rat is Lebanon’s mafia-led government, with its tail between its legs, attempting to distract and threaten anyone who pokes the bear searching for answers.
Looking back at those past months and giving myself enough time to recalibrate, I’m sharing below a few thoughts and lessons I know I’ll carry with me for a lifetime.
It’s not destiny or fate — it’s just painfully random
I’m not religious, so I don’t consider this catastrophic event anything more than a humanitarian tragedy that could have been avoided. It's a historic crime with its criminals still roaming the earth, free.
I often look back at the seconds before the blast hit the city and dissect them into micro-moments. Had I been standing a few inches away from that point or had my back turned the other way, I would have probably experienced a different outcome. I know stories of people who’ve been spared injuries, but their neighbors standing close by did not make it out alive.
A few meters. That’s all that stood between life and death. Not fate or destiny, just a random metric number.
As devastating as it all sounds, life-shattering events like these give perspective — a humbling and sobering realization that no one is special; no one is fully protected from disaster. This understanding forces us step out of our egocentric bubble and appreciate the precarity of life.
Collective trauma fosters empathy and deeper connections
Once the realization sets in, empathy grows stronger. Many Lebanese, including myself, spent hours thinking about the victims and revisiting their pictures that kept circulating on social media. Their laughing faces sent shivers down my spine and made my eyes tear up. They were all strangers to me, but I grieved their passing like I would my family.
Something else quite remarkable took place: the day after the blast, Lebanese from every corner of the country took to the streets and began cleaning up, offering food and drinks, surveying the damages, and launching initiatives to rebuild the affected areas. Once the community came together, healing kicked off. Everyone was there for everyone.
Aside from volunteering, the traumatic experience encouraged open discussions on mental health and PTSD. It was like someone flipped a switch. We’d meet people for the first time, look at their scars and suddenly feel connected. We didn’t know one another, but we saw the pain we commonly carried. We’d each describe how we got our scars and, out of nowhere, either reach out for a hug or a friendly hand squeeze.
Justice is never guaranteed, so we need to seek closure elsewhere to try and move on
Though empathy and solidarity are a powerful antidote to tragedy, true closure comes from getting justice, a basic right for anyone afflicted by a crime.
Sadly, failed systems like the Lebanese government strip us from that right. Combined with international forces wanting to see a country go down, and there isn’t much justice to expect — not anytime soon, at least.
For over 35 years — through extortion, manipulation, and dirty deals — the same political leaders have miserably tried and failed to run a functional government. So it’s not surprising that they’d be radio silent the day after the blast and halt an investigation on its origins, or even send security forces to stop the protests organized by the families of the deceased and beat them senseless.
When faced with immutable corruption, we try to carry on whichever way we can. We try to seek comfort and healing from one another. We turn to our neighbors, friends, and local movements offering glimpses of justice. Through their courage to seek answers, they help the grieving process their grief, the injured accept their scars, and the community stay on its feet for as long as it can.
Final thoughts: On becoming after the blast
I used to think that experiencing catastrophes like the Beirut Port explosion had the power to magically ‘switch’ our mindset and behavior overnight — pushing us to lives life to the fullest when brushing close to death.
While these switches aren't uncommon, they’re not necessarily the norm. Most transformations happen gradually.
Besides dealing with PTSD, I was pretty much the same Léa for a while after the blast. However, noticeable changes to my mindset started surfacing half a year later, and these changes propelled me onto a new and better path that’s still unfolding in front of me.
Pre-blast, I was living life thinking I had all the time in the world. I was constantly delaying, cockily testing the universe. Although I was praised for my grit in the professional world, consistency was not my strongest suit in my personal life — I’d start something and drop it after a while. Trapped in my egocentric bubble, I was suffering from tunnel vision.
Post-blast today, my bubble didn’t so much burst as it started cracking open, letting a broader perspective rush in. I became more disciplined with my time and learned to trust my gut and stick to my decisions. I also started looking inwards to re-cultivate what I was naturally good at and what I truly cared about. Little by little, I was shedding layers that no longer served me.
There’s still a long way to go. Loud noises, flashbacks, anxieties, and petty worries still trigger me. But I can finally say that I’m prepared for the next few bumps and bruises that come along the way.
A disaster almost took my life, but it also helped me reclaim it, step by step.
Thank you for taking the time to read my piece. Even though many living victims affected by the blast are doing much better today, the country is still in free-fall due to an economic collapse that ignited in 2019. If you’d like to lend a helping hand and support a few trusted, local initiatives, you can check out the links below. ❤️
