12 February 2007
SELAATA: It is not difficult to find Selaata. You don't need a map or even to watch for signs by the side of the road. You just put the sea on your left and drive out of Beirut for a little more than half an hour, then follow the advice most commonly dispensed by inhabitants of the region when asked for directions to the town: "Follow the stench."
Sure enough, the first thing one notices upon arrival in Selaata (apart from the smog visible for several kilometers in all directions) is stinking air that literally clings to the skin and stings the eyes. The experience is almost unbearable as one enters the tiny district of Kouba, over which looms the formidable fortress of the Lebanese Chemical Company (LCC).
Known to local residents as the "factory that never shut down," LCC produces phosphate fertilizers and has operated continuously for five decades despite a variety of national and regional crises. Largely unchallenged politically in its domain, LCC's principal products include Simple Super Phosphate (SSP) fertilizer and Triple Super Phosphate (TSP) fertilizer. According to the Environment Ministry, the company accounts for an astounding 11 percent of Lebanon's industrial exports to Western Europe, the main customers being in Italy, Spain, France, Portugal, Belgium and the United Kingdom.
Unfortunately, LCC also exports dangerous substances into the environment. Its daily routine includes pumping a complex sludge of by-products into the Mediterranean Sea, releasing foul-smelling pollutants into the air, and spreading a blanket of white dust on roofs, roads, sidewalks - any horizontal surface - in the residential area of Kouba and in nearby villages.
"It rains acid here," said Nabil Rouayheb, who worked as an LCC quality-control observer for 26 years before he ran afoul of management after raising the issue of possible health consequences for employees at the plant. "Sulfuric acid," he added, pointing to several patches of discoloration on his arms.
Rouayheb said he underwent open-heart surgery in 1982, but that the condition of his heart and lungs never seemed to recover. Ten years later, ailing and frustrated, he and several other employees tried to establish a union and even called for a strike to press their demands for the improvement of conditions at the factory.
Within days, Rouayheb told The Daily Star, he and others who were involved with the strike were fired.
"We were simply asking for better working conditions and some sort of medical care, as we were all suffering from either respiratory or skin problems," he recalled. "There is no accountability and no one taking responsibility for the health and environmental harms caused by LCC," he added. "My lungs are still sensitive and irritate easily. I'm always feelings tired and short of breath, and I thank LCC for it."
Despite no longer working for the company he describes as "incompetent and irresponsible," Rouayheb said he was still at its mercy because he lives in the vicinity. The most recent incident, he explained, came shortly after the end of the summer 2006 war with Israel when local residents heard a very loud noise from the LCC plant.
"We all panicked and thought that the Israeli Air Force had bombed LCC, and we worried that we were going to die from some massive [chemical] spillage or radiation," Rouayheb told The Daily Star.
It turned out that a water tank had exploded at the factory, but the fear was very real.
When asked why he and his family do not simply move out of the area, Rouayheb was blunt: "for the same reason none of the others did - we simply can't afford it.
"And it's our family home here, passed down from many generations," he added. "LCC should leave, not me or my family."
Before Rouayheb agreed to speak on the record, The Daily Star approached a number of local residents who refused to discuss LCC and its activities. A door-to-door tour resulted in this reporter being shooed away repeatedly, with several people willing to say only that they did not "want any trouble."
"You can't fight it," said one of the residents, who said she had undergone radiotherapy for a tumor in her throat.
"I don't care what politicians or all these medical studies say," she said on condition of anonymity. "This tumor is somehow related to LCC and its toxins."
Like many other local residents who spoke to The Daily Star, she refused to have her name appear in print because she has relatives who work for LCC and fears that they might lose their jobs.
"Nothing can be done about it, so why should we bother with the media?" she concluded before slamming her door.
It is not just local residents who have been affected by the plant. The water near the LCC facility is unmistakably white and murky, while the rocks around it bear deformations resulting from a disintegration process - they're melting.
Over the years a thick sludge - primarily calcium sulfate and commonly known as phospho-gypsum - has formed multiple layers of sediment covering an area of the seabed stretching about a kilometer away from the coast surrounding the plant.
Greenpeace took the lead in campaigning against LCC's practices in the late 1990s. The environmental group studied the sludge produced by LCC's manufacturing process and took samples from the factory's discharge pipes - which pump effluent directly into the sea - that revealed heavy metals such as Cadmium and Vanadium. Cadmium is a known carcinogen and is highly toxic even at low concentrations. A build-up of the substance can cause kidney damage and leads to a weakening of the bones in both animals and humans. Vanadium is known to cause liver damage, among other health problems.
The Greenpeace study also found that both the fertilizer LCC produces and the phospho-gypsum by-products that make up the seabed sediment contained significant levels of several gamma-emitting radionuclides. Many of the radionuclides present can accumulate in soil treated with contaminated fertilizers. This accumulation constitutes a source of what Greenpeace described in a 2002 report as "technologically enhanced natural radiation," increasing the total exposure of humans and other species from natural radionuclides.
Within walking distance of the plant lies the humble home of Evan Khowaja, whose son is currently employed as a driver for LCC.
"LCC employs most of the people here," said Khowaja, who said her 30-year-old son earns an average of about $10 a day.
"I got used to the smell and the fumes," she said. "They don't bother me anymore."
Khowaja told The Daily Star she had suffered no ill-effects from having lived near the plant, but when asked about her son's health she paused.
"He coughs a lot," she finally allowed.
Khowaja requested that her son's name be withheld, citing the usual fear that he might be fired if it were published.
"We don't want any trouble. We're grateful to LCC for providing us with stable jobs in a country plagued with high unemployment and instability," she argued. "LCC is a solid factory, and never once shut down all throughout the wars and political problems. It is unstoppable."
LCC belongs to Antoine and Elias Doumit, members of a well-connected family.
Over the course of two weeks, several attempts were made to have LCC officials respond to allegations about their company's practices, but none succeeded.
At the plant itself, The Daily Star asked to speak with the director of the facility and was initially allowed to enter the premises by a security guard. Another employee quickly intervened, however, and ordered this reporter to leave. He identified the individual in charge of the plant as "Elias Skaff" but said the latter was not on-site and refused to provide a telephone number.
For several days, calls to LCC's Beirut office went unanswered. Eventually the phone was picked up by a secretary who did not want her own name used but confirmed that Skaff was the manager of the plant.
When asked if he would consent to an interview, she said: "Mr. Skaff is away."
When The Daily Star inquired as to the possibility that Skaff might be available for an interview upon his return, the secretary said, "try again next week, and we shall see" - but she warned repeatedly that "he is a busy man." Neither Skaff nor any other LCC official made themselves available for an interview.
Right next to the LCC facility is the Port of Selaata, which is guarded by the Lebanese Army. When The Daily Star visited the area, the soldiers on duty refused to grant access, even for a "stroll."
When asked if the army was guarding LCC, one soldier said: "No, we guard the port, and LCC happens to be next to it."
Despite the fact that Selataa and Kouba are coastal communities, there was no sign of fishermen. The Daily Star had to go further south before finding several men attending to their nets and other equipment. No one should fish near LCC, they all agreed - and in any event, they added, it is "not allowed."
"They have a lot of security, and I think even the army works for them," said one fisherman, who recalled that when he sailed past the plant once, a security guard with a megaphone ordered him to leave.
"There are no fish around anyway. The stuff that company dumps killed all the fish," said Elie, who requested that his last name be withheld. "Even the seaweed has died," he added.
"What's even scarier is that the rocks have melted around LCC, and that can't be a good sign," said a second fisherman.
A third joined in with a stark comment on the condition of the sea off the LCC facility: "I wouldn't even put my finger in that water."
Apart from the unpleasant nature of living near LCC and the possible health risks, the side-effects also have a negative impact on local commerce.
"People don't like to come visit Selaata or nearby villages, simply because it stinks too much," said Nawal Saede, who owns a bakery near the factory.
The constant discharge of smog from LCC, she told The Daily Star, ensures that very few out-of-town customers patronize her business.
"Ever since I was born, that stench has been here," she said, but "I always know when someone is new to town: They come in with that cringed-up, cabbage-like face of someone who just smelled something bad. That smell would even dissuade Jesus from passing by."
Despite her own frustrations, Saede said she wanted the plant to keep operating. "It provides most of the residents ... with jobs, so the rest of us just accept it and keep quiet," she said. "LCC is a gift and a curse at the same time. For while LCC keeps us alive, it is also slowly killing us, the fish and the environment."
