Lebanon’s Kleptocracy: From Water to Waste

All those who are not from Lebanon and may not personally relate to Lebanon, should read this having their own society in mind. Attached is my aided translation of Aharon Shekerdemian latest post on his Facebook page. He has written the piece with a pungent humor underlying a serious social break down to the detriment of the citizens, but not all of them. There is a lesson to be learned here. No society is immune from breaking apart, be it United States of America or Armenia.   Vaհe H Apelian

First row: Aharon Shekerdemian
Seond raw: Private water vendor, accumulated waste in Beirut.

Citizens in Lebanon have long since learned to expect a miracle.

They turn on the tap, hoping for water.

They flip the switch, longing for light.

Yet, every time, instead of a miracle, they are presented with a bill.

They step out onto the street, dreaming of a clean environment. But piles of garbage and a foul stench have already arrived to greet them.

They enter the market, expecting to find at least a few  with "affordable" prices. But prices are so high that they look first at the product, then at their pocket, wondering: is it worth buying the item, or should I save my money?

It seems the state has specialized in the art of sending bills to its citizens. The service might be delayed, diminished, vanished entirely, or exist only on paper, yet the bill miraculously finds its way.

Water is one of the most common examples of this state "genius."

Every year, the citizen pays millions of Lebanese pounds in water fees to the state—to the very institution responsible for delivering water to their household tap. The citizen turns the tap and hears... silence. There is no water, yet the bill is always there.

Meanwhile, the private water tanker roaming the streets arrives right on time.

What an astonishing country!

State-supplied water has lost its way, whereas the merchant's water knows everyone's address by heart. The water vendor secures water in summer and winter, during droughts and heatwaves, and amidst crises—often even on days when the entire neighborhood is scrambling for a single drop of state-supplied water. Naturally, one begins to wonder if Lebanon’s water holds dual citizenship: for the state, it is always scarce, yet for the merchant, it is surprisingly abundant.

Citizens end up paying twice for the same right: first to the state, and then to the private supplier.

Selling the same service twice stands as one of the crowning achievements of economic innovation within the Lebanese system.

The electricity situation offers an even more refined example. Two types of electricity exist in Lebanon: the state-supplied kind, which is absent for hours on end, and the private kind, which—miraculously—never fails, provided you are willing to pay the price for its availability. Here, too, the issue is not the power outage itself, but rather who will pay the price for its absence.

The state grants the citizen electricity for only a few hours a day. It is as if electricity were being sold by the hour. When the state-supplied power returns, a near-festive atmosphere fills the home.

"It’s here!"

A Lebanese person knows exactly what that single phrase means.

The power is back. The water is back.

The return of things that, in a normally functioning state, would have no need to "arrive" in the first place.

During the remaining hours, the generator owner takes the stage. He has built a little empire—with his own rules, his own rate schedule, his own billing system, and, most importantly, his own clientele. If he decides to do so one day, he can raise the rates, bill for extra hours, or find some new pretext to lighten the citizen's wallet. This little "authority" operates with such self-assurance that the state institution is reduced to the role of a mere, humble observer in its presence. The citizen pays every month. The price goes up—they pay. The tariff changes—they pay. The explanation is incomprehensible—they pay again.

Yet, a subtle but crucial question arises here—a question the state seems to have chosen to ignore for years. If vehicle owners must secure fuel daily from these "providers of light," why does the state tolerate its own neglected duty becoming a source of profit for others?

"Ali Baba's caves" are operating within the electricity system... That is the reality.

Principles may illuminate speeches, but they cannot light up a dark room. Electricity has become an extraordinary luxury in Lebanon, whereas in the twenty-first century, it is a standard utility for most of the world.

Then there is the issue of waste.

Many countries value waste as a profitable raw material—for recycling, energy generation, new production, and economic value.

In Lebanon, however, waste long ago acquired a different kind of value.

Political value. Waste remains waste, yet the funds circulating around it find very "clean" paths into certain pockets.

Our country’s most "efficient" recycling program is the conversion of public funds into private wealth.

The culture of corruption has been so perfected through years of experience that graft itself has evolved into a disciplined system—where everything has its proper order, scale, and price.

The consumer market, too, is dominated by unbridled excess.

A product has one price in one shop and a different one in the shop next door; the same product might appear with a third price tomorrow. Thus, a product in the market has a price, and that price follows its own rules.

State oversight often announces its presence through press releases, as if to say, "Just so you know, I’m still alive..."

Officials make statements, investigative committees convene, ministries issue warnings, and television crews film the scene... Yet, the market continues on its course with its usual indifference to all of this.

Lebanon has turned into an economic fiefdom where every political faction and community has established its own monopoly. I can state without hesitation that the Lebanese-Armenian community has remained apart from this system.

One group controls the water supply; another, electricity; a third, waste management. The fourth gets the monopoly on economic agreements. The fifth, state positions. The sixth, control over customs or administrative checkpoints.

As for the citizen’s share—it is to pay.

This entire system operates on a feudal logic: everyone gets their share, while the citizen is left with the obligation to pay.

The state has long since turned into a vast table around which community and political bigwigs sit enthroned in their own seats. Each of them, ensconced behind the banner of their community, defends their share, places their own people, expands their sphere of influence, and frames the portion of public wealth they have appropriated as a communal right.

Plunder very often cloaks itself in the guise of communal dignity.

When a position within a public institution becomes a bone of contention, when state authority is transformed into a means of rewarding "loyalists," and when the law operates at different speeds before the courts, corruption becomes the state's "spoiled child."

Therein lies our true tragedy.

Corruption has become an inseparable part of our daily lives in Lebanon.

The citizen understands the system. He complains in the coffeehouse. He curses in front of the television. He posts on social media. He recounts who embezzled what, who got rich and how... Yet, on election day, he returns to the fold of his "big boss." A human tragedy: the feudal system has permeated the citizen's psyche. A serf's mentality.

The feudal lord intoxicates his followers with empty promises.

The citizen receives the rights due to him as if they were a personal favor.

The bandit bestowing this "favor" transforms into a benefactor, a leader, a savior...

Homelessness and poverty in the United States of America

This is the feudal system's most ingenious ploy: first, weaken state institutions; then, give the citizen what they should naturally have received from the state, while demanding political loyalty in return...

For this reason, people do not turn to state institutions to claim their rights. They seek out the minister, the MP, the party official, the community leader, or the influential intermediary...

The state retreats, while the so-called "patron-intermediary" grows stronger.

Is the public debt rising? A new tax.

Is the treasury empty? A new tax.

Has a service failed? A hike in rates.

Let the citizen pay.

And with this same logic, they still urge the citizen on, claiming that patriotism demands sacrifice.

It certainly does.

But it would be interesting to demand sacrifice from those, too, who for decades have turned Lebanon into a source of dividends for themselves.

Lebanon is experiencing a genuine economic and social disaster. Citizens are losing faith in the state. Yet, the graver loss is the erosion of the very concept of the state. Society is operating under a feudal mindset.

Lebanon is a country endowed with natural wealth. At the same time, it is a state that has been plundered and impoverished. A vast gulf exists between these two realities... Lebanon possesses human capital, universities, specialists, businesspeople, a Diaspora, a strategic geographic location, and cultural and economic potential.

Yet, when the state’s cauldron is carved up by political-sectarian ladles, even the wealthiest of nations ends up with an empty vessel.

The most bitter question is this: how long must the citizen pay for water without receiving water, for electricity without receiving electricity, and for public services without receiving their due?

Will the day come when the Lebanese people take their anger beyond café tables and transform it into a demand for change?

In the meantime, the taps will continue to dispense air; the power lines, darkness; the landfills, a foul stench; and the political stages, empty promises.

Only one thing will remain abundant, relentless, and unwavering:

The bill...

Waste in Yerevan